#so they could pass as 'not a human possessed by an eldritch god'

[cripplemagics]

Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game?  Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

ALRIGHT BUCKLE IN. THIS IS LONG. (and please note that i don't have the full main BG3 story at hand due to wanting to play through it myself when i get the ability to and don't want to be fully spoiled.)

Okay so Jay's in possession of a relic from the feywild, specifically a drop earring with a large opal in the shape of a star embedded in it. Basically one of the tiefling leaders they grew up under came back from the feywild with it and gave it to them with strict instructions to not let it leave their sight. This is due to the earring's stone containing a fey spirit strong enough to cause destruction if it so desired.

Part of the reason Jay moves around so much is because they know that a Warlock by the name of Elias Jaune desires the earring as part of an ascension ritual to become a god. He's in fact someone the PC can meet in the midst of the wreckage at the beginning of the game, infected with the larvae and doomed to become a mind flayer. Ascending is what he believes will save him.

Jay's personal quest involves tracking down the other relics needed for this ritual and destroying them. All the while Jay has the opportunity to open up about their health and how they view their human blood as far more tainted than the infernal blood that makes up most of their supply.

Should the player lean more towards evil and shows Jay the cruelty of the world, the relics whisper to Jay and offer power to them. In this case Jay will eventually take on the ascension ritual themself in hopes of ridding themself of the 'tainted' human blood if the PC doesn't intervene. Unfortunately the ritual will destroy their physical form and leave them a ghost between planes of existence.

If the PC stays neutral or leans towards good, Jay will stay hopeful about the outcome of their quest. Thus they resist the relics and instead successfully destroy all but two, one they can't find and the drop earring. If at this point the PC hasn't romanced them, they'll destroy the earring only to find that the spirit inside is in fact the soul of Fen, a drow druid they once called their beloved. The quest then turns to one of reuniting his soul with his body, recreating him as a Reborn, with his origin being drow still. While you could still romance Jay as they're polyamorous, they will stay with Fen at the end of the game.

If you do romance them then the chance of the Fen reveal is smaller and requires a higher roll for success in figuring it out. If failed, he'll pass on without acknowledgment. No matter what the PC and Jay (and fen if he's brought into the picture) will confront Elias who now has the last relic. He still tries to ascend, being twisted into an eldritch disaster with the larvae inside him trying desperately to turn him into a mind flayer still. Having Fen in your party as a temporary companion does help in making the fight easier as he has things such as counter-spell and strong fey magic to counteract the disaster at hand. Elias is killed after a boss like fight, leaving jay heavily scarred but proud. Through their enduring determination and the PC's encouragement they were able to prevail against an ascending lich of sorts. Whatever their blood is, it is strong enough to keep them going through the toughest fights.

And idk really what happens after that bc idk how finishing a personal quest affects the overall story. I imagine Jay gets access to special powerful abilities, maybe a special weapon at some point that reflects their strength. If Fen's around at the end he'll leave the party and take up residence near where he and Jay met. I like the idea of him having the spell identify so you can go to him for more information on things you get through the game. idk if that fits BG mechanics though lol.

[mctwilight-mcd]

Marcy and Core/Night Headcanons, LETS GO!

This is gonna be a really long post so I’m gonna put a break here so you have an easier time scrolling.

Alright! First off, the Core and Night are two separate things. Night is in the core but they aren’t the Core itself. Night is one of the stronger and more skilled members of the Core. They use they/he pronouns. 

The core has abilities of it’s own that let Night and Night only materialize outside of Marcy’s body. Additionally, this gives Marcy a few abilities on top of her calamity powers. Night was kinda the head honcho of the Core before Marcy got back control.

Also, ya! Marcy isn’t controlled by the Core! Marcy made them see the wrongs of their ways. They work together (with Anne and Sasha of course) to take down Andrias. They saw that conquering planets and risking lives wasn’t worth it. Most of the minds of the core had been angry and bitter. Marcy’s outlook and fun, curious nature was a nice change of pace.

Marcy can choose who can use the body at certain times, but she has a weaker hold on this when she’s tired, either physically or mentally. During these times (later on) Night will take over the body so Marcy can rest. Sometimes she asks for someone to take over and sometimes she’s burning herself out too much so they step in. 

In the first few months after Andrias’s defeat, Night and the rest of the Core weren’t allowed to use the body without Marcy supervising. This changes the more comfortable they get with each other and the more trust is gained. What this means is Marcy would not be controlling the body, but would still be paying attention.

This also meant that if one of them wanted to use the body while Marcy was asleep, they would have to wake her up. This lead to a few restless nights. Anne and Sasha can tell when this is happening most of the time. How they do, I will touch on later.

Marcy carries a few of the Core’s characteristics over to her body. Example, she can extend the 6 arms the core has. They appear on the same place as the scar on her back. She uses them to help her grab things and walk around. They look more like tentacles than claws without their extra metal plating. 

Marcy isn’t crippled but she does have lasting effects from getting stabbed. She would have it much worse if the Core wasn’t there to support her. When she is too physically or emotionally fatigued, her legs will give out. Panic attacks are a prime example of this. Sometimes she will still be able to feel her legs but they wont support her, others they are completely numb. There are times where different members of the core can use the legs while others can’t. This all has to do with stress or exertion levels throughout the group.

Marky (who is there as a joke tbh) often doesn’t have a problem with this cuz they are very chill. Marcy has a shit ton of anxiety and trauma so this happens often. She has access to crutches and a wheel chair to help her get around in public (her other arms are also used for this reason. She looks like a spider and her friends find it increasingly funny every time someone sees it for the first time).

They’re rarely open but she does have 10 eyes. There are three extra on the rest of her body/clothes (she has a more feminine version of Darcy’s armor that she wears for fun when doing creepy core things). When we are first introduced to the Core in the show, it has 13 eyes. I know it’s been changed since but I like the way these look.

I’m translating a sketch of Core Marcy onto digital rn. Mostly, she’ll only keep her main two eyes open. They turn into Core colours and design when she wants them too or she’s tapping into her abilities as the host. They also often appear when Night fronts. Sometimes they wear sunglasses to cover it up when their feeling too lazy to disguise them.

ALRIGHT!!! I think that’s it. I might add some stuff later if I forgot anything. Night is a cheeky lil bastard who acts like a brother to Marcy (and she calls them as such).

Have a good night everyone! 

[gilbirda]

Never judge a book by its cover (JLxDP crossover)

They had a problem. A big problem. A madman had bonded with an eldritch god from space, it went wrong, and now there was a possessed human rampaging, eating everything it crosses. Constantine and Zatanna had an idea - they found a book about a Ghost King, a being from another dimension so powerful and so dangerous that they only suggested this summoning as a last resort.

What they got was a underfed and sleep deprived kid that knows about: - possession - eldritch gods - space

Can be read on its own.

EDIT: forgot to mention here my lovely beta @avaritia-apotheosis​

From my series, You and me and our best friend makes three

Sequel>>

[Read on AO3][Read on FF.net]

CW:non-graphic violence scenes, implied cannibalism

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Superman side-eyed Constantine as the warlock finished painting the summoning runes using a combination of his blood and pig’s blood. Something about making sure he summoned the correct dimension’s subject.

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely positive, mate.” The blond said around the cigarette in his mouth, his eyes checking back to the picture on his phone, making sure the symbols were correct.

“So this… spectre will help, yes?”

“For fucks sake, I don’t know!” he stopped drawing the symbols and turned to look at the man of steel, annoyed. Once upon a time, Constantine had been intimidated by the hulkling figure of the Kryptonian, but not anymore since he learned how much of a baby he was about some things. (Like, for example, summoning potentially dangerous creatures from another dimension.) “This is my first time doing this summoning circle  and I don’t want to mess it up, so could you please just-”

“Calm down, John,” Batman stepped in. “I know you are nervous but we trust in your abilities and your knowledge.”

John knew it was a white lie but let it pass. He took a deep breath and tried to stop his trembling hands. He didn’t like feeling so powerless. 

“Bollocks,” he fisted his hands and went for the phone, rechecking every symbol of the complicated circle he was trying to make. 

He didn’t like doing things he hadn’t tried and tested before - in his experience, being ignorant of the nuances of a ritual resulted in dire consequences. He didn’t have to look too far in his past to prove it.

But… So many people had died already and they were desperate. He had already been searching for a solution when the Justice League, with their flashy capes and their deeply rooted pride, came to him and other magic users for solutions. 

The best he could find was this High King of the Ghosts. The title sounded ominous, but the ancient book he found talked about a connection with ancient creatures from ‘beyond’ and described abilities like those of the thing that had been rampaging without control through their part of the world.

It came out of nowhere, really. One day, someone suddenly appeared, declaring they were the host of a powerful eldritch god and that now they had to bow down to him. The person was human, or at least originally human; but after days his appearance morphed into a creature made of shadows and many, many eyes…

Constantine shuddered. 

The worst part? Nothing worked. Brute force, Superman’s heat rays, guns. Nothing Green Lantern made could even make a dent in the monstrous creature. Magic seemed to do a bit more damage, but the weird hybrid of human and eldritch monster regenerated faster than they could throw spells at him. Magical traps didn’t work either. Nothing. Not even John’s most powerful spell bind could stop it.

Cue their desperate measures. Desperate times, am I right? That’s what he thought when he considered this particular summoning. It had a warning note made more recently, maybe another magician that crossed paths with the book, strongly advising against summoning this King of the Ghosts. It said that the creature was more powerful than any earthly magic and that it couldn’t be contained - but it also said that the King could be reasoned with. It gave hope to the League. Maybe they could break some kind of deal with this dangerous being.

“And… done!” John sighed, rechecked all the symbols, and put his phone back to his pocket.

“Now what?” Diana approached them from the other side of the room, not really trusting this decision, but unable to leave her teammates alone with such a threat.

“Now,” Constantine kneeled in front of the circle and put his hands, both palms cut, downwards and touching the paint, “let me do the chant in one go.”

The warlock closed his eyes and ignored the dozen of members of the League watching him from a distance. He knew the words. He didn’t know what they meant, but he knew them. He just hoped he didn’t butcher the pronunciation too much and fail at the summoning.

But it was his first attempt, goddammit!

Fortunately, halfway through the chanting the circle changed colors - from blood red to toxic green, the glow illuminating the inside of the abandoned and secluded warehouse, far from civilization, they had chosen to do the ritual. Just in case. 

As he said the last word, Constantine felt the air get sucked out of his lungs, as if the last word was fed right into the circle, nurturing it, physically closing the circle. John fell back and crawled away from the circle as it transformed, glowing greener and greener, a vortex manifesting inside the symbols.

The vortex started spinning faster and faster, the noise of the currents drowning everyone’s thoughts, putting bizarre images of a far away place with impossible physics and green skies in their minds. It also brought a cold sensation, like darkness becoming tangible, like a night without stars closing on them. Whatever was coming was strong, and powerful.

The circle of pyrotechnics shone brighter for a moment and then stopped, the vortex lazily flowing, the streaks of green dull and darkened. The following silence rang in Constantine’s ears. Had he failed?

“What-” Green Arrow started,  when the symbols started glowing softly. 

A figure started coming through the vortex of green, the ‘waters’ becoming toxic green again as it touched his body. It was mesmerizing.

Or it would be, if what came through the summoning circle wasn't… a kid. A white-haired, bluish-gray skinned, tired looking kid, but a kid nonetheless. He was wearing some kind of suit in black and white, with a stylized letter symbol in his chest and a utility belt around his waist.

The kid was half crouched, legs apart and hands ready into fists, as if he was expecting a fight.

“Who are you and what have you done to me?”

Constantine glanced at Batman, searching for help. This was not what he expected.

The Dark Knight stepped forward and John sneakily crawled as far  away as he could.

“Who are you?” 

“I asked first.” The kid was brave, John had to concede. 

Batman was silent for a second, probably fuming at the disrespect. “We are the Justice League, protectors of this planet.”

“Oh… yeah!” the kid relaxed his stance, recognition shining in his eyes. “You are Batman, right? Tucker is, like, obsessed with superheroes and-”

“Kid, focus.” Batman growled. “Who are you?”

“I’m… wait, but you guys called me with this…” he smudged a symbol with his foot. “Oops, I touched it, sorry. Anyway!” he nervously continued when Batman made a move to get closer. “I’m Danny Phantom?”

“Is that an answer or a question?”

“Answer! That’s my name,” the kid smiled nervously. “Look, there must be a mistake. Who were you trying to summon? I can go back and leave a message for you.” A muscle in his brow twitched, and for a moment John could see how exhausted the kid was.

“We were trying to summon the Ghost King.”

“Actually,” Constantine cleared his throat, jumping to his feet and dusting his coat. He walked up to the kid. If he was a dangerous creature from another dimension, he would have done something already. He chuckled. “It’s called the ‘High King of the Ghosts’, but obviously there must have been some kind of mistake.”

But the kid wasn’t laughing. In fact, he became paler.

“Why?” Danny, as he had introduced himself, became more serious. 

“We need his help.”

“With?”

“Bloody hell, kid, we are losing precious time! Tell the King we need his help with some monster-”

“Monster?” he crossed his arms, guarded. “What kind of monster?”

“I don’t know! Someone’s possessed by some creature! Eldritch, maybe from space! But why do you even care?” 

“What have you tried? Did it say it was a ghost? Is that why you summoned me? To destroy a fellow ghost?” something in his tone was dangerous, and Diana, Batman and Superman tensed. Green Arrow moved one hand carefully towards his quiver. 

“This… creature… is killing people, son,” Danny bristled at the naming, but didn’t do anything. Superman continued, trying to control the worry and urgency in his voice. “It is really important we stop it and if it can be done peacefully, better. That’s why we need the Ghost King.”

Danny seemed to think about it for a moment, looking down at his feet. Batman gave Constantine worried looks, silently asking if he could do something about the situation. John shrugged.

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

“Will you contact the Ghost King?” Superman seemed hopeful.

“No need!” the kid laughed, making a dismissive motion with his hand. “You are already talking with him.”

Before they could ask their questions, the kid was engulfed in toxic green flames, maybe greek fire, and in his place stood another different person. Don’t be confused - it was the same white haired and tired kid; but his stance was wider, shoulders back, head up; and over the superhero costume he now wore some kind of otherworldly armor, with black plating and spiky shoulder pieces, a simple white cape clasped over his chest with two tiny skull charms. 

But the most distracting thing was the flaming crown floating over his head, made of the same black metal as the rest of his armor.

Danny smirked, crossing his arms again, as he watched the Justice League lose their shit in front of a kid.

“Well, this was unexpected.”

The kid turned towards Constantine and chuckled low, his voice layered and echoey, adding to the scary picture he presented.

“I’m a man of many surprises.”

“But you are just a kid,” Diana’s voice was soft. One of her hands rested over her mouth, shocked and worried. 

“But I’m a kid that knows a lot about space,” he uncrossed his arms and lifted a hand, counting with his fingers, “about eldritch creatures, and about possession. I can help you and you know it.”

There was a brief silence no one wanted to break. The kid looked nervously at each of their faces, suddenly losing all the bravado he showed before.

“This is a nice summoning circle, by the way. Who did it?”

Constantine lifted a hand.

“Where did you get the information? I thought all the knowledge about summoning ghosts had been lost to time.”

“A- A book. I found a book,” John blinked, walking around the circle to get said book, showing it to the kid. 

“Where did you get this?” Danny’s voice was angry, one hand reaching for the book, as if he recognized it. The symbols in the circle glowed and the Ghost King jumped back. “A binding spell? In my summoning circle?” 

“It was a necessity, the book explained that the king was dangerous-”

“This pitiful attempt cannot bind me,” his eyes glowed even greener and the circle went up into flames, the paint consumed rapidly in the green fire, erasing the circle and the bindings to ash.

Constantine brushed a bit of the ash with a foot, unable to keep the kid from snatching the book from his hands.

“This shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have this,” Danny's voice turned angrier and angrier as he flipped the pages, checking the contents. “How did you get this?”

“Found it in an auction!” John made a placating gesture with his hands. “I swear I didn’t steal it!” Danny seemed to believe him and calmed down, his eyes going back to read the contents, stopping at the bookmarked page on the summoning spell. John cleared his throat to call his attention. “What… what is it?”

“What is what?” The kid kept his eyes glued to the text.

“The book. I couldn't… I mean, there is some magic on it and I can kind of understand it, but most of it is written in a language I have never seen before.”

“Huh? You understand this?”

“Some parts of it,” the kid barely looked up at him. “What is-”

“A diary,” Danny answered, closing the book. “It’s one of the lost tomes of previous Kings’ diaries. And it’s written in a language not from this universe so kudos to you for understanding it enough to summon me.” He made a gesture towards the ruined circle.

“Thanks?”

“Definitely better than the last ritual I was in.”

“Have you been summoned before?” John was curious. If this was a unique tome, then how could someone else have summoned him?

“No,” shadows passed through the kid’s glowing green eyes. “It was an exorcism. And you are way better at executing it than my parents. Their pronunciation sucked,” he struck his tongue at the memory, but it felt like an act.

His parents tried to exorcize him…?

Constantine looked back at Batman, who seemed to be frozen in place. Everyone seemed to be after the last declaration. How could they not? The kid couldn’t be older than maybe fifteen or sixteen, and to be the freaking Ghost King and on top of that, be exorcised by his parents?

From behind them, Superman cleared his throat.

“Mr. Phantom, if you could please-”

“Phantom is okay,” the kid smiled, walking out of the ash circle to approach the Super. “If I can call you Superman?”

“Of course,” the kryptonian smiled back, trying to shake the shock and go back to his usual hero persona. “Phantom,” the kid’s smile brightened, “if you follow us we can discuss further the details of this creature?”

“Ah, yeah, sure!” the book in his hand went up in flames, making the closest to him jump in surprise. “Sorry, but you can’t keep the book, Mr….?”

“Constantine, John Constantine,” the warlock blinked, stunned in place. There goes his precious acquisition. Zatanna was going to be so angry...

***

After guiding the kid towards the temporary headquarters (there was no time and it wasn’t safe to go to the Watchtower) and doing rounds of introductions, Danny was told all the details of the problem, what they have tried, what they have not done in fear of killing the human part of the hybrid…

Danny was shaking his head. “There’s no use. The human’s gone once they’ve reached this level of transformation. If you kill the creature you have to kill the human.”

“Are you sure?” Batman asked, unhappy at the news.

“Yeah. I barely survived-” he stopped himself mid-sentence, as if he was going to say something he shouldn’t. He coughed, maybe trying to hide the mishap. “The thing is, are you ready to kill this human?”

Diana glanced at Batman, knowing the man wanted to pursue this new line of knowledge. She jumped in. “Yes. It’s not something we will be happy about, but if you are sure of this then the cost will be higher if we don’t act now.”

“Maybe if you showed me a recent photo?”

Batman snapped into attention, already opening a panel in his forearm guards and revealing a tiny projector. The image was then projected on the side of the tent they set up. A video showing an attack from that same morning, the camera barely able to capture the many eyes and shadows dancing, the disfigured face of a human in the center of even more mouths, black teeth and poisonous tongues peeking from them.

“Yeah, the dude’s dead.” Phantom leaned back on his chair. He had made his armor disappear in more green flames and now he was only in the suit. He crossed his arms, thinking. “But the good news is I can take care of this.”

Superman took a deep breath. “Are you sure?”

“I need to get closer, but yeah, I think I can.”

Some sighed in relief.

“You think?” Batman wasn’t convinced. Danny stood his glare. “There are no second chances, kid. We’ve seen this thing eat away people in milliseconds.”

“I know I can. And I’m not ‘people’. Have a little faith, dude.”

Green Arrow blinked at the interaction, disguising a chuckle with a cough. Flash would have loved this, but he was on rescue and evacuation duty.

Diana leaned in, interrupting whatever Batman was going to say to the kid. “Do you need anything? Any help? Any weapon?”

“No, not really,” then he had a realization and leaned forward as well. “There’s one little thing, though.”

“What do you need?”

“Do you have food?” his smile was sheepish, and as if on cue, his stomach growled. “I haven’t eaten in weeks and I’ll need the extra energy.”

“Weeks?” Wonderwoman asked.

“Weeks!?” Superman seemed horrified.

“Do ghosts need to eat?” Green Lantern asked from the other side of Batman. Green Arrow shrugged.

“You can’t have not eaten in weeks, you should be dead!” Clark exclaimed, horrified.

As soon as the words came through his mouth he realized he already got his answer. Phantom smiled anyway.

“A bit late for that, huh.”

***

They had to get him food on the go as they travelled to the nearest zeta tube. Danny seemed okay with half a dozen burgers from McDonald’s, and a bucket worth of fries. And if someone had something to comment about the giant cup filled with soda floating close to his head even as he flew at high speed, no one acted like it was weird.

Danny did have something to comment about everything. The kid wouldn’t stop talking, asking questions about the League, about the members, about their powers. He seemed especially interested in how they got them or what motivated them to pursue the hero career at all. 

Batman only observed from Superman’s arms (no, he was not going to comment on this) as the kid ate away his weight in junk food and talked animatedly with Wonderwoman and John, who hitched a ride in her arms. 

“So are you saying that all that Greek mythology is real?”

“Yeah,” Diana always liked talking about her family and customs. “I’m an Amazon, born and raised in Themyscira.”

“Her mom is Hyppolita herself.” John added.

Danny’s eyes seemed to glow brighter. “I mean, I know Pandora and her people in the Ghost Zone, but I assumed it was only a theme or something.”

“Lady Pandora? She’s still alive?”

“Nope, she is the ruler of New Greece,” he chuckled, “back in the Infinite Realms.”

“Infinite Realms?” Constantine seemed interested.

“Is another name my- my people give the Ghost Zone.” Batman caught the hesitation. “How do I put this? It is like a dimension full of dimensions - all things that die go there, since the beginning of time. Different societies and cultures tended to band together and form worlds inside the dimension.”

“And New Greece? Is that where Greeks go when they die? How about the Hades? Do the gods go there as well?” 

Danny was shaking his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Uh… I said dead people go to the Infinite Realms when it is their time, but there are more than dead souls in there. There are… Born ghosts, who were never alive, for example. There are also Undyings there. Beings that exist outside time and that aren’t ghosts but reside there if they want.”

“Gods.”

“Not all of them are gods,” Danny’s voice was low and his eyes became dull. He floated his trash into a bag and stored it into a pouch in his belt, somehow fitting it. Was it a pocket dimension? “Okay! How long until we are there?”

Batman would have liked to insist on the topic (Undead gods from another dimension? He had to investigate in case of a future threat), but they were arriving at the closest zeta tube and the conversation would require more time.

“We need to do a quick jump and then fly a bit more,” he said, checking his computer. “The situation is turning more dire, we must hurry.”

Superman nodded and flew faster, Diana and John close behind, the kid noticing the others hurrying and boosting his speed as well. Clark’s eyes followed the bright form of the teenage-looking superhero before coming back to his teammate in his arms.

“Already investigating,” Batman knew that look. Superman was especially sensitive when children were involved in League missions, and the fact that their ace-in-the-hole was just a kid clashed with everything the man believed in. “Oracle’s been searching since we got out of the warehouse.”

Superman nodded, looking back at the kid doing loops and flying around the League members, asking more questions while he still could.

Batman looked down at his computer, changing to another tab and continued reading the articles Oracle found about this ‘Phantom’ superhero, after making a worrying comment about how tightly secured any and all news about this ‘Amity Park’ were. Pentagon level of security - nothing she couldn’t handle, but that didn’t fit in a small town in Illinois.

The hero was relatively new, had the people’s opinion divided, did some shady stuff and then saved them from a massive ghost invasion. For a while there was a crazy rise of ghost fight sightings until it stopped abruptly.

And then…

[Local hero Phantom new King of the Ghosts? Human liaisons Samantha Manson, Tucker Foley and Daniel Fenton confess association with the ghost since highschool.]

There was a photo attached to the article, of the ghost and two kids, humans, smiling awkwardly at the camera. The girl, Samantha, seemed familiar to him. Manson? The more he thought about it he felt the name familiar. The boy he didn’t know at all.

But there was another name mentioned as human liaison. Daniel Fenton? He felt he should know that name.

A new ping from Oracle alerted him of another of her findings, and he opened without hesitation. It was a science journal article talking about the Fentons and ridiculing their field of investigation - ghost hunting, ectobiology, paranormal technology.

Another ping - a photo of the family. The parents wearing jumpsuits. A girl, maybe the older sister, looking like a normal girl. A boy, a teenager, normal looking. His eyes were a striking blue that looked nervously to the side, even if he was trying to smile at the camera, and his raven hair was carelessly brushed away from his face, probably for the picture. 

Batman went back to the newspaper picture with the two humans and the ghost, noticing Superman start descending as they arrived at the zeta tube. Danny Phantom and the other kids. One human is missing. Batman pulled the family picture. Daniel Fenton trying to make himself look smaller, invisible.

He looked at the King of the Ghosts trying to coax John into confessing how he really got the diary. 

The connection wasn’t difficult to make, but it only raised more and more questions. How did he end up like this? How did a kid from a small town end up as a being summoned by a spell that Constantine was almost too scared to do? 

What had happened to this kid?

***

One teleport and one quick flight later and the kid finally stopped asking questions, more specifically, stopped asking Green Lantern about the Green Lantern Corps. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed as he saw the destruction and the still rampaging giant creature in the distance.

“Language,” Superman said without thinking. The kid laughed.

“Sorry.”

“FINALLY!” the lightning was a telltale before the Flash appeared before them, “did you summon the kingy thing?”

Danny took a step back, hiding behind Superman’s cape, equally stoked to see the Flash in person but spooked by his sudden appearance. 

“Report.”

“Gee, Batman, everything’s fine around here. So did you meet with the ghost?”

Superman turned his head to check on the ghost kid, trying to be inconspicuous, but Flash saw the movement and found the kid hiding there. Flash frowned a little bit and looked back at the man of steel.

"Adoption on-the-go? I expected something like this from Bats but-"

"No! Nobody adopted anyone," Superman sighed and stepped aside. He cleared his throat. "This is the Ghost King."

Flash blinked. "You are joking, right?"

"He is. Believe me."

"He is right here!” Danny frowned, making Flash laugh. He looked like an angry puppy. “And I-”

In a blink, the kid turned and put up a shield, his armor materializing again in a burst of green flames. He then jumped away from the group, floating up to evade a rush of magic energy blasts, eyes searching for the source of the threat.

“Zatanna!” Constantine was already screaming, waving his arms, in an effort to make her stop trying to decimate their solution to the eldritch problem. “He is alright!”

“Have you gone MAD!” she screamed back, magically floating into the group, her eyes following the kid as he dodged more of her attacks. “That thing is dangerous! And you brought it here!?”

“That’s the King we were trying to summon!”

“What!?” she turned briefly, but that was enough. 

Danny took advantage of the moment and shot his own green ray, hitting the woman in the chest. Everyone rushed to check if she was okay, eyes nervously going back to the ghostly creature floating at a distance.

Zatanna was okay. Her wrists and ankles bound together, and a gag in her mouth so she couldn’t do any more spells. She wasn’t even hurt where the ray collided with her chest. At most, she was annoyed at being on the dirty floor.

“I would appreciate it if people stopped trying to shoot me first and ask questions later.”

Danny floated back to the group, glaring at the bound magician, his armor still in place.

“I’m Danny. I’m the Ghost King. And these people summoned me to help with some kind of situation. I mean no harm and when I’m done I will leave. Okay?”

Zatanna looked regretful and sighed, nodding. She lifted her bound hands and he made the green shackles disappear with a wave of his hand.

“You are just a kid,” was the first thing she said. 

“So I've been told,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “But I’m actually eighteen. Not a kid.”

“You still have the ‘teen’ in the number. Sorry, kid.” 

If looks could kill, Constantine would be underground already. 

“This is cute and everything, but could we focus on the issue at hand?” Flash shifted his weight from one foot to another. He wanted to know more of this kid, but the monster they needed him to defeat was super scary.

“Report?” Batman continued like nothing had happened at all.

“Everyone from this city is safe. So far the creature is wandering and looking for more victims. Shazam and Manhunter are on distraction duty.”

The Bat nodded, turned towards Danny. “What can we do to assist you?”

Flash would never forget the moment he witnessed Batman waiting for orders from a kid.

“I can do this alone. I think it's best if you guys get as far away as possible.”

“But if you fail we need a contingency plan.”

“I won’t,” Danny’s confidence should be reassuring, but it only worried them more. “I just know I can deal with this. Don’t ask why.”

“Why?” 

The teenager growled, and for a moment Batman thought he saw his shadow flicker, but then the ghost breathed deeply and smiled without showing his teeth. “I need my secrets to be mysterious, don’t you think?”

He was deflecting, but this was not the moment to interrogate the kid. An explosion and a loud scream in the background reminded him why.

“Okay, I will go and when it’s safe to come out I’ll tell you.”

“We are going with you.”

“Uh, no??” Danny frowned. “That thing is dangerous.”

“That’s why-”

“No, no. I mean it’s dangerous for mortals. I will be fine…” Batman gave him a look, and Danny groaned. “You are worse than my sister. Fine! I guess. But stay away.”

“Take a communicator, at least,” the bat opened a compartment with the backup devices and instructed the ghost on how to set it on his ear. “You know how to use it?”

Danny nodded. They worked a bit like the Fenton phones. He hoped they didn’t get much distortion from his ghostly presence, like every electronic device not adapted to ectoplasm.

“Any last minute request?” Superman seemed tense, eyeing the sword at the hip of the ghost, which he hadn’t noticed materialize before.

“Yeah. Um…” Danny looked down for a moment. “I really like you guys, so… Whatever happens, whatever you see… I’m still me. And my boyfriend would kill me if I managed to antagonize the whole Justice League,” he rubbed the back of his head, nervous.

The man of steel noticed the sharp teeth peeking from his lips when he smiled trying to mask his fear. Somehow he knew that it was going to get ugly real fast.

He put a hand on his armored shoulder. “It’s okay, son. We believe in you. And if you need us just ask.”

The kid didn’t seem convinced but appreciated the gesture. He didn’t even flinch at the hand contact.

“Let’s go,” Batman shut down the moment and gestured to the ghost to follow him where Manhunter had informed them through the mind link the creature was.

In the back, Flash turned towards Green Arrow. “The Ghost King is gay?”

***

Batman was equally excited and afraid to see this boy in action. His request from before only added a new piece to the puzzle, more questions. What could make them antagonize the ghost after they declared he was an ally? He looked down at the transcription of an old book regarding the Ghost King. Granted it was made by humans and it stated it was a translation from something called ‘ghost speak’ and that was also translated from the language ‘of the gods’ (the book’s words); so Batman preferred to take everything he read with a grain of salt.

Even so, he could gather that the King was maddenly powerful, so much that the last king, Pariah Dark, had to be sealed away by the ‘Ancients’ after going actually mad because no one could defeat him in single combat. 

Then something about a ring and a crown? That the objects weren’t just relics, something about how they were powerful themselves. Batman remembered the crown, but he didn’t see any ring when Danny showed his true form back at the warehouse.

He looked up at Danny as the boy carefully turned around a corner, following Manhunter’s instructions in his mind (the boy freaked out for a second when the alien settled the link, before he apologized for the mental shields he had to lower down for the leaguer). The boy had to defeat this… Pariah Dark, to inherit the title. That’s how these things worked. Right of conquest.

So. There was this human boy, Daniel James Fenton, who somehow gained ghost powers and then defeated the previous Ghost King and… what? Stole the ring and the crown and magically gained the title?

A human acting as Ghost King?

“Uh, that’s nasty,” Danny whistled under his breath.

They had arrived at the place the monster was in, Shazam and Manhunter still flying in circles at a safe distance and trying to keep it in place. Danny took in the horror and the eyes and the shadows with a straight face, all the smiles and the jokes gone from his expression. His eyes showed a deep recognition.

“I barely survived-”

Has he met a creature like this before?

Or… was he implying he bonded with one, too? Maybe that explained Zatanna’s sudden attack, and the nervous looks she sent his way from time to time. Batman saw her and Constantine whispering something at the back of the group, making wide gestures and worried faces. They knew something and they weren’t telling.

But he couldn’t ask now.

“Okay, I’m going in. Wish me luck!” he didn’t wait for a response and kicked the floor, launching himself up to fly towards the hybrid creature.

“Hey ugly!” , he heard the boy scream through the comms. “I heard you liked to eat stuff. Eat this!”

And the boy punched the hybrid in the face, or what was left of it, pushing it back towards the end of the street, giant black mass of a body and all.

“Huh, directly to the point. I like it.” Diana tried to smile, but she was worried as well.

"Bats," he turned, finding the worried faces of the Justice League Dark members. "That kid is not normal."

"I've gathered," he nodded, his eyes following as the kid in question flew confidently towards the creature, which was recovering from the hit and was trying to lash back at the ghost. 

"No, he's not even human." Zatanna was terrified. "He was, once. Not anymore."

"Z says she can sense a creature just like our buddy there."

That interested the man. "Is he dangerous?" He didn't want to have double the problem. "Why didn't you mention any of this before you summoned him?"

"There was nothing about any eldritch god in the book," Constantine was already shaking his head. "We checked - Raven said the book was legit but not evil, even if she didn't recognize the language."

"He seems in control, maybe he's not possessed? Maybe he has access to some of its powers and that's that." Diana leaned in the conversation.

"Or maybe he is a god. Or an alien." Superman pitched in, trying to seem positive and not freak out at the obvious otherness of the kid. It would be a bit hypocritical, too.

Ok, this conversation was not private anymore. Batman sighed, opening his computer and showing the family photo to his colleagues.

"Born human. Daniel James Fenton. One older sister and both parents are human and alive. Almost four years ago he was involved in a lab accident - I assume it gave him some extent of ghost abilities."

"Could be a cover story, something to blend in with humanity." Diana wasn't surprised he had gathered so much information from the boy already, including his human secret identity.

Batman was already shaking his head. "Oracle says it checks out. Either this entity is very skilled at forging a life here or he is human."

"Not anymore, Bats. I mean, I can sense some human-like aura but it is buried under layers and layers of raw power. The bad kind of power. Nothing I've dealt with before," Zatanna insisted.

"I repeat, is he dangerous?"

As if answering him, the boy then plummeted down towards the creature, the collision sending a wave that reached the heroes. An explosion of green fire came next and they heard growls and high pitched screams through the comms.

“I said,'' Danny's voice was distorted, as if he spoke with more than one layer, more than one voice. Batman checked, but there was nothing wrong with the communicators. “Go back to wherever you came from and leave these people alone!”

“We won't let a puny mortal tell us what to do!” The answer came from both the comms and their own ears, as the rumbling voice could be heard from the other side of the street. It was barely human and the words were distorted by the voice obviously not made to sound with human vocal chords.

“Oh yeah, I will- ARGH!” The boy’s scream made some of them cringe from how loud it was against sensitive hearing through the communication device.

The glowing body of the armored kid flew backwards from an attack they didn’t quite see. Superman tensed, ready to jump and catch the kid before his head hit the concrete; but Danny recovered mid air and landed on his own feet, sliding a bit from the momentum of the throw.

Batman watched carefully how the boy growled and his lips curled, showing sharp teeth and unnaturally elongated upper and lower canines. His gray-ish blue skin pulsed with something, the scars in his skin glowing greener and flickering, displaced by the movement of the muscles below. 

But it was not a natural way of muscle stretching, it was almost as if he could control the surface level of skin, like a cat - a smooth ripple coursing through his body.

The glowing green eyes flashed and for a split second, Batman swore he saw the pupil contract into slits. He blinked, and his eyes were back to normal.

“Stand back,” it took a moment to realize that the kid was talking to them. “I need more space.”

Wonderwoman gave the kid a worried glance, but she quickly obeyed, dragging the bat and the man of steel with her, both frozen in place at the sight of the kid transforming in front of their own eyes.

If he was unsettling before, now Danny was giving more and more reason to believe that he was the rightful ruler of the dimension of the dead - his hair waved with an invisible breeze, showing pointed ears they hadn’t noticed before; his hands curled in claws, the nails growing and becoming thicker, real claws; and his eyes…

Danny blinked and his eyes became only sclera. Toxic green flowing, glowing, the corners of his eyes pouring out some kind of green mist, as if the sockets weren’t enough to contain all the green and the power in them.

The boy also straightened his back, becoming suddenly taller, broader, not afraid to show all the muscles bulging in his arms and chest as he tensed, ready to jump.

But that wasn’t all. The ripple he saw before in his skin happened again and again, in sync with some kind of heartbeat he couldn’t hear. With each beat, the skin became darker and more… purple, the glow of the scars diminishing.

Danny jumped in place, as if flinching. He made a sound that came from deep in his chest and the rippling stopped.

He had become a different person altogether, some kind of creature less and less human, and it was now easier to believe Zatanna that this… Daniel Fenton had stopped being human a long time ago. 

When the bat thought the transformation had stopped, it was when it happened.

The lights went out. The streetlights that were lining both sides dimmed until they went out, and the neon signs of the few shops and cafés in the area exploded at the same time. Darkness began creeping from the shadows, tentacles made of absence of light, of existence, a tangible form of darkness that was almost a physical form.

All of the darkness crawled towards Danny, as if he was some kind of black hole, absorbing matter around him. It wasn’t until the dark void tentacles grabbed him from the waist and lifted him up that they didn’t notice how from their position they could almost hear it whisper the kid’s name over and over again.

For a moment Batman feared that the creature had done something to trap their ally, but it went out of the window when the Ghost King himself let a few dark tentacles curl around his hand and lifted them towards his face, nuzzling them like a mother cat.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. The kid’s all green eyes were hard to read, but the bat somehow got the impression that the boy was sad to be seen like this.

Phantom turned, his body carried towards the hulkling figure of the hybrid by the material darkness around him.

“Impossible!” they heard through the comms the growling voice of the creature. “This is not possible!”

“One last chance to surrender,” Daniel’s voice was also changed. A deeper layer also not made to exist in human voice boxes was under the usual echoey voice of the ghost. 

In the silence that followed another voice was almost heard in the background, a whispering nonsense of words. Clark frowned, tilting his head, trying to decipher what they were hearing, mouthing the sounds and waiting to make sense of them.

“Sir, We didn’t know- I mean, I didn’t, we…”

A growl. The deeper voice fought for dominance, and the street became even darker, if that was even possible. 

“I didn’t know this was your turf, sir!” The creature’s voice became a bit high at the end, the layered voice turning into a prolonged whine, like a kicked puppy. The eyes and the tentacles that the hybrid had slithered between the buildings started to retract.

“You knew, you just didn’t care. This place is MINE.”  

“No, sir. Please! Please, sir! No-!” a crunching sound was heard, followed by a layered scream and more of that whine. Some leaguers shivered, happy to not be able to see what was going on. “I’M SORRY SIR. PLEASE HAVE MERCY!”

“Mercy? You should have known before you bothered the people of this planet,” another crunch, followed by wet noises. 

Someone gagged behind Batman. 

“MERCY!” was the last gurgling scream as more and more crunch and wet noises filled the comms, the alarming speed increasing as the seconds ticked, drowning whatever the hybrid was trying to say to plead for its case, until not even the whine could be heard.

Only the chewing.

Batman had to admit. He was used to weird stuff. As a Gothamite through and through, he had to develop an iron stomach to process everything he saw in his career as a vigilante. But this? This made him swallow back bile and shiver uncomfortably.

A few seconds later they heard heavy breathing and Danny whispering something that sounded like “it’s okay, i’m okay, we’re okay” before the bulbs of the streetlights came back on. The air was less heavy, something they hadn’t noticed had changed, as well as their breathing was back to normal.

But things weren’t exactly ‘back to normal’.

Danny appeared soon after, flying carefully towards the group of terrified heroes, his scary form gone and the armor gone and looking like a normal kid. He had some kind of black ooze smudge on his cheek, probably an effort to clean his face after-

The crunching and the deep layered voice was still fresh in their minds. This was not a normal kid. Not even a meta or enhanced kid. Or their usual level of weird and scary. No. There was a reason that this was the Ghost King, and they had witnessed it.

“Heyyyy….” Danny waved his hand, landing without making a sound. “Sorry for the show, ha ha,” he laughed nervously, not really looking anyone in the eye, his hands unable to settle in any position. “I admit it was a bit too much for the usual so… yeah…”

Nobody could really speak.

“Um, the guy’s gone?” he pointed with his thumb towards where the threat had been. Now they were too afraid to check what was left. “So if you don’t need anything else… I can… I mean, I can make my own portals, kinda, a friend is teaching me. Uh, I’m rambling again. I’m going to shut up now.”

Another moment of shocked silence. Danny tried to smile, but it only reminded them of his sharp teeth and fangs. He had to feel all the stares fixed on his mouth and what it did just a few minutes before.

“O…kay…” the kid swallowed, uncomfortable, “It’s been a blast, guys. Call me if you need anything else,” he lifted a hand to make a portal to leave, but a hand stopped him.

“What the actual fuck, kid?” 

“Language,” Superman blinked, coming back to reality at the absurdity of reprimanding Constantine. 

Phantom snorted, realizing the same. The warlock glared at the Super before turning back to the ghost.

“Those were some, um, moves, kid.”

He smiled, his cheeks becoming a little green. “Thanks! But you should see my wife!”

“You are married?” John tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

“No! I mean, it was supposed to be a joke from that movie… nevermind, - and I do have a girlfriend I plan to marry waaaaay in the future but - uh, you know what? If she was here she would kill me for this.” His face had gone green, and they assumed it was him blushing. The blush was cute, but out of place next to the remaining blood of the creature on his face.

“Is she a ghost, too?” Is she like you? Constantine was trying to ask. Better be warned in case they multiply.

“Nope! Human!”

“A meta, then?” this interested Diana, who had relaxed at the rather normal conversation. 

“Nope again! She’s completely human, but she has a special suit, well, more like an armor… Kinda like Batman! She’s normal but she’s amazing! Not that I don’t think you are amazing, Batman! Aaaaaand maybe I should stop talking again.”

“I thought you were gay?” Barry walked up to ask.

“Bi, actually,” Danny’s shoulders relaxed. He preferred talking about this and completely ignoring what had happened before. “And poly. Sam and Tucker are the best partners I could have asked for.”

He pulled his phone to search for photos to show the interested leaguers, but Batman interrupted him.

“Kid,” he looked up at the man in a dark suit. “We need to talk.”

Danny gulped loudly. “Do we?”

“Yes. Like, for example, how does a human named Daniel James Fenton end up eating an eldritch god like it’s nothing.”

The kid sobered, his fingers frozen over the screen of his phone. When he looked back at the bat, his expression had sobered. “You really are the world’s best detective, huh.” He smiled, but it was weak.

Batman didn’t smile.

“It’s not like it’s a secret, not anymore” Danny shrugged. “I was a kid and I did something stupid, there was an accident with a portal to the ghost dimension, I got some cool ghost powers, defeated the other king, now I’m here.”

“I’ve already gathered as much, kid. But that,” the man gestured towards where the horror happened, “that is not ‘some cool ghost powers’.”

“I may… have skipped a few things.”

“Yes, you did.” He crossed his arms.

“Hey, Bats, I don’t think-” Supes frowned, feeling the kid start to close on himself, his glow diminishing.

“What do you want to know?” Danny pocketed his phone and straightened his back, trying to put on the mask of the King. “And why?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I want to know if we should worry about another hybrid problem soon.”

Phantom’s lips stretched in a joyless smile. “I should have known you figured it out. Not like I was hiding anything.” He shrugged.

“So it’s true?”

“Yeah, I’m the host of another god.” He didn’t move, not even when Diana stepped back quietly. “But mine was a more… successful ceremony.”

“Why? What did you expect to gain? More power?” Zatanna approached him.

“No.” He said quickly, not wanting to elaborate further. Batman glared harder. Danny sighed. “Before I say more I would like to ask for your absolute discretion. This information is classified even in the Ghost Zone and only some of the Council are allowed to know.”

They nodded.

“Also I would like to preface this by saying that I did what I had to do.”

“We understand.” Zatanna wanted to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but when she moved he only curled more into himself, looking down at his gloved hands.

He suddenly seemed to age before them. The tired and underfed kid they had summoned was back, gone was the high and proud King of the Ghosts, but his eyes were hardened around the edges. Batman had only seen that look a few times in his life.

“I became… something else. With the union, I mean. ‘Union’, ha, it makes it sound like it’s a marriage,” he scoffed. “I’m the host, but my role is more like a buffer between the Whisper and the ghosts in my dimension. If there’s not a King bonded with it, the Whisper will eat it all. And if the Infinite Realms go down, the human world goes too. They are like two sides of the same coin.”

“Power? I guess I gained more power,” he continued, shrugging, “but the cost is too high. You saw what it can do to a weaker human mind. It could have been me, if the Whisper didn’t like me.”

“But you were not human to begin with.” the Bat not-asked.

“No. I died in the accident, but came back as something in between. A halfa. Half human and half ghost.”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“So you are saying,” Flash swallowed the knot in his throat, “that you died, defeated the previous king and volunteered to get possessed by an eldritch god because if you didn’t do it then the world would end? At only eighteen?”

“Fourteen. I was fourteen.” The corners of his mouth curved up, knowing how it sounded out loud. “The coronation part was a few months ago, but, the rest… yeah.”

***

Back at the Watchtower, the Justice League was having an impromptu emergency meeting. 

It was pure mayhem - half of them couldn’t sit still and were pacing around, talking out loud, maybe hoping that bouncing ideas would somehow solve anything. The other half sat frozen at the table, an air of defeat and astonishment over them. Superman was straight up crying, no longer trying to keep it in now that they were safe at the Watchtower and the kid went back to his realm.

“This is fucked up. This is so fucked up.”

“Why did the League never hear of this?”

“He’s just a kid! Our nuke option is barely out of high school!”

“Bats, there must be something we can do, right?” Superman said, more calm now that he cried it out. Diana was patting him on the back, also looking expectantly at the Bat.

The Dark Knight was sitting with his head in his hands. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He had never encountered anything like this before. A kid that slipped between the cracks like this, becoming a willing host to an eldritch horror, unguided, alone.

How could this happen? They should have been alerted as soon as the ghost attacks started in Amity Park, as Danny had confirmed his hometown was called. They should have been there, assisting the young hero, training him better…

And now it was too late for them. A kid had almost died (he refused to believe he died all the way) and took upon himself to save them all, not only not asking for anything in return, but sacrificing himself to an eternity on the edge of becoming what they were asking him to stop.

Danny explained all of this with a calm and serenity that could only exist from a deep acceptance of what he had become. He tried to brush it away and simply move on, cracking jokes that didn’t quite land (he reminded Batman so much of his sons) and nervously laughing and resuming his light questioning of the League members.

Shortly before he left, he asked them if they could keep it touch. He said he was trying to form a Council and wasn’t sure how to create a functional one, especially when ghosts were not exactly the teamwork type of creature. And so, he wanted some advice.

So they exchanged contact information, the boy giddy as he typed in the phone numbers of those that allowed it; ecstatic when even Batman shared his number as well (for emergencies ONLY) once Oracle deemed his device totally secure. 

Danny’s phone had an anime background and a few games that Shazam recognized, starting an enthusiastic conversation about gaming strategies.

He was just a kid. An eldritch god that could eat an entire dimension full of dimensions, destroying everything they knew in the process, lived inside this kid. 

They were supposed to protect everyone on this planet from evil. The whole point of the Justice League was that. But they had failed.

Batman suddenly had the urge to go back to Gotham, hug his children and never let them out of his sight.

BACK TO THE ARCHIVE

Sequel>>

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Okay rewrite ultima things.

Technically a spoiler for my rewrite. So be careful.

Okay, so the ultima curse is still sort of a curse. Just not in the canon way.

Ultima tale starts the same. Dude’s wife gets ill, he ends up making a deal with a god to make her not ill, and he sacrifices a wolf to do it. However, instead of wolf god going ‘hmph, me no likey’, the god that he’s sacrificing the wolf to ends up taking his body as a vessel. His body becomes wolf-like, mimicking his sacrifice, and alongside this, and the god moving in, the wife becomes well. But the man, In a blind fit of rage brought upon him by the curse he was now a victim of, he kills his wife. The canon curse is the commonly known story of it, but this is the true one.

Eventually he finds a new love, has children, turns a few werewolves (I could get into that in another post), and passes down the down to his son, and then his son after that. And as werewolves mix with humans, so do those in the Ultima bloodline. They become more humanoid, their wolf-like traits slowly become closer to that of a dog, and eventually they’re able to walk amongst humans without a second glance. However, they still do carry the curse, no matter how hidden. They still have access to pretty much everything a werewolf from MCD era could do, the insane healing, incredible strength, etc, whilst other werewolves have chilled out a bit.

So, to simplify. Aaron is possessed by an angry eldritch god and is incredibly impressive because of it. UwU and him are also pretty close, because UwU just enjoys reconnecting with old friends. And I just think that’s cooler than ‘oh no I am wolf man, grr’

Oh, and also, the god he’s possessed by is amongst the oldest. It’s incredibly powerful and has proven to be a nuisance to Irene during her early days (which were several thousand years before the days of the divine. I can expand on Irene later). Because he’s a little shit and he likes to start stuff.

The god also gains a slight crush on a certain person, which may or may not have been influenced by Aaron’s own feelings towards them.

[augment-techs]

I'd like to learn more about your SDMI Aus, they sound very interesting. Specifically the Time travel AU.

0_0 Ohhhh, boy, of all the questions to ask about my love of SDMI, those AUs are some of the most detailed. Strap in. The Time Travel AU: You know that narration the Nova Annunaki gave us just before everything really went to hell, showcasing all the Children of Nibiru leading up to our disaster babies? The Time Travel AU started because I had this very weird idea of a group nearly identical to that, but working under the guidance and jurisdiction of the Annunaki. Who did not care about a treasure or a curse or anything that complicated--they just wanted to FIX THINGS. Then I thought to myself, "But I also hate what happened to the Gang's parents," and an image of the parents I actually like superimposed itself onto my brain. They're no good at being noble, but I figured if the reasonable ones had a little help, it would be nice (delightful) to explore. Because Jones came off as actually pleasant, but no-nonsense in post-Nibiru, I decided to give him every unpleasant thing I could think of and let him actually work his way into a more fitting redemption arc. Give him anxiety, give him a guilt-complex, give him not-quite DID with The Freak hanging around in the back of his mind; but also make him actually put some effort into his job, and reign in Bronson's idiocy, and recruit Janet as an aid before slowly easing her into taking his place as Mayor--because, I also decided to have The Entity get pissy and super-ultra curse him for his defiance. He wants to turn his back on over twenty years of haunting Crystal Cove? Fine, in that case he can keep his speed and his strength, but also can't leave the city limits or experience extreme emotions without getting horribly sick. Angie gets a pass on anything too bad, because I hc that the talisman around her neck actually served a purpose and she's probably the most put-together person in this group--despite keeping her knowledge of the unknown and the future away from her husband, because she figures she can shoulder that burden. No, I decided to make Angie lose her fucking mind as she finally paid attention to just what the hell Velma was doing in her "relationship" with Shaggy and drive herself up the walls trying to deter negative fallout and broaden her daughter's horizons when Angie wasn't helping to save the world. The Blake parents did and didn't need as much of an overhaul as I thought they would, just a little blunting of their sharper edges and some deep diving into backgrounds that there is no fucking way the canon was going to give us. Nan Blake has a host of mental health issues going on in the background that get laughed off as dark humor? Not here. Here she gets to be a little bit like every other Stephen King protagonist/antagonist with dormant psychic abilities from her house being built over the Entity's tomb and living in the Cove her whole life. Haven't decided if she can merely feel or see when a choice their group makes can lead to real ripples of change, or if I should give her something like that thing Mina Harker had when Dracula had a go at her. Barty Blake was the one I had to sit and contemplate on the most, because he both reminds me of Fred and Brad, but also like those movie stars from the '50s that could have been from another planet for all they acted like human beings. So, I gave him foreign heritage, a Trans-Atlantic accent, his last name coming from his wife, ties to royalty and the ability to actually use a sword if he has to; all from his sometimes forgetting words in canon and Daphne's dislike for the Swedish family that owned that graveyard reminding me of that weird thing between the Danes and the Swedes. The Annunaki possessing Nova is their emotional support alien-eldritch god and also kinda doubles as Miss Exposition and a pseudo-service animal to Jones having a bad time. None of them fall specifically into the roles previous groups filled in their inter-personal relationships or that whole element thing, because, again, for them it isn't about solving mysteries, it's about keeping their kids--and the world as an

afterthought--safe. Jones isn't a coward and could kick everyone's ass; Angie's knowledge is strictly focused on the occult and people as they are; Nan is vain and air-headed and could also kick ass, but needs someone constantly there to remind her to stay in the moment; Barty is very goal oriented, but unless something ties directly back to his family, it's only a passing concern for him; and Annunaki-Nova is the one that has help these idiots save the world while experiencing things from the perspective of a dog that can fit in a handbag. Then of course I'm working on a No Mask/Alternate Dimension/Not Everyone Dies AU. A Star Wars AU. Episode Tag-Canon Divergence AUs. Honestly, I have so many.

[heartheaded]

followed our hearts for this starter // ❥ @formerlyrighteous

{ ❥ } ══════════════════  { ❥ }

To have a heart is to be human. Or something like that. The greatest philosophers have preached and will preach again that being human is simultaneously the most simple and yet beyond comprehension. That humanity has the potential for much more than simply being alive: it's the experience. Emotion. Consciousness. Intelligent minds.

Most would see this as a relief, that the fact that they can feel is what gives them a soul. Some take this philosophy as a weakness, that nobody can be manipulated as easily as mankind. God, the Devil, angels, demons, and what have you. All of them know how to push those buttons, but no one can take advantage of it more efficiently and drastically than a witch.

One particular witch found a fondness for manipulating hearts by way of incantation, by way of influence and control. Hundreds of years she'd been practicing, and the amount of cupids she's slain to make it possible... Who knew she could possess their bows so flawlessly, and make the deaths that followed seem like some sort of divine accident? The higher powers would know no better, since the mark of a cupid was always at the scene, the grisly, bloody crimes of passion crafted through the perversion of perhaps the purist and most powerful emotion: Love.

Hundreds of years she has gone unchecked, and for only a short handful of them did she have an heir to pass those teachings unto: a son of modern era who would age until he was ready. The problem came when he grew his own thought process, gained an empathy for others despite how hard she hammered and preached the evils and how although they were once human, witches were the next advancement in evolution, and she would forward it by any means necessary.

It was easier back then, before computers and digital records and... Hunters. Before the commoners found out how to fight back. Many a hunter have come around overtime, but none were as dauntless and desperate as this most recent attempt. None have followed their trail so terrifyingly precise, have even found out it was a witch at all. Most didn't know about cupids or eldritch beings or even God. But this one. This one was bloody dedicated, and this one was exactly what Ai Kisume needed to break the cycle.

These ones, the brothers personally born by the influence of cupids, were exactly what he needed to take his mother down. And after this most recent crime scene where the unfortunate couple literally ate each other alive, Ai ensured he would be left behind to clean up the mess.

Instead he hid. And waited in that quiet house with the scent of viscera and torn flesh. He waited for the hunters that could deliver him from this.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I A VENOMOUS INTERLUDE

Did y'all know symbrock is canon? Well, now you do. Reader's favourite deadbeat surrogate uncle is in town and he brought a... Friend. No warnings, just a boatload of crack and fluff, as usual. Reader being mouthy. Takes place a little bit into the future - around after chapter 32: spoiler alert is useless because we already know a tonybrucestrange/reader quartet is the endgame. 💖💝✨

"What," I had to pause for a second for my brain to catch up with my eyes. "The fuck?!"

It was truly a miracle I could say anything out loud, at all. Words weren't valid enough to describe my shock and confusion. The scene unfolding in front of me resembled and unholy cross between a B-rated horror movies about demonic possession and some deep-sea Eldritch monstrosity.

The eight-feet tall black, oozing dude in front of me? Yes, you, with the teeth. Ctulhu called, he wants his tentacles back.

The creature honest to god rippled, like some nightmare-fuel goth Jell-O, rapidly shrinking in size within seconds. As more of the black tar-like substance receded, a much more human form started to appear under it. Worn jeans, leather jacket, ungroomed beard and the look of a biker gang member coming off a serious bender.

"Uh, Princess?"

"Eddie. Fucking. Brock. Uncle Idiot." I punctuated each word with an increasing widening of my eyes. The world was fucking nuts. Two and two did not compute - Eddie might have looked threatening to some people - like white suburban Karens - even without the... Gooey squid-on-steroids thing he had going on. The man was built like a fucking brick shithouse, but I knew him way too well. Eddie couldn't be that badass to save a life.

"You two know each other?" Tony shrieked indignantly, a coarseness in his voice that indicated only one thing: my boo was well into his third drink. Hell, I didn't blame him - that gaping toothy maw was fucking gnarly.

Hands on my hips, I caught myself slipping into a mute rage, storming over to the 200lbs worth of pure dumbass and knocking him right in the face. "You! Didn't tell! ME!" A black tendril wrapped around my wrist, carefully but firmly securing it and preventing me from causing my non-related uncle any more physical damage. Although I must admit, my knuckles probably were more affected than his jaw. "You! Are! A MUTANT!!! HOW COULD YOU?! How could you NOT tell ME?"

I trusted the man with my soul and most embarrassing drinking stories. Hell, I called Eddie in a stoned haze the very same night I lost my v-card. I just thought we were bros, you know? I saw his whole fucking life implode more than once and personally flew to California to ice his injuries and his hurt ego countless times. I was done dirty in the worst way.

"I'm not-" Eddie's sigh was long-suffering. "I, uh, I have a parasite..." He sounded meek, in the same way he used to describe his drunkenly misconduct when I made our family driver bail out his ass outta jail in the morning.

"TAKE THAT BACK!" A deep gravelly voice thundered, seemingly coming out of his chest?

"Okay, okay," Eddie smiled. It was strangely soft and un-eddie-like. The only person he smiled like that was... used to be Anne. "This is Venom. They're an alien and we're, uh, a thing. It's a recent development." The tentacle unwrapped itself from me as I took an involuntary step back.

Even barring the fact that Eddie was dating an alien, this was way too fucking weird for 3 o'clock on a Sunday. I always knew the reporter was, for the lack of a better word, a little weird but he really took it to new heights. With Thor and Loki looking... Like that, I could see a human dating some sort of a hot alien. But with Ctulhu looking the way he did just minutes ago? Did Eddie seriously let all of those teeth in close proximity of his dick?

I had a "ERROR 404, common sense not found" hanging over me for the longest time. The others were quiet behind me, too, even Tony - one of my boyfriends, the most likely to cause utter chaos, was hanging back and expecting me to do something.

"Venom," I clarified, just to fill the silence with some noise while my brain processors re-synced.

"WE ARE VENOM." The tentacle that was sleek and black now had two completely white eyes and a smaller-scale version of the toothy grin that had drooled all over the common room carpet. Their voice had an interesting effect: it was so deep, the air around them vibrated slightly when they spoke.

I tilted my head examining the appendage. It was considerably less terrifying when it wasn't five times my size. "What are you?" And most importantly, are you a threat to my favourite non-related family member? I left that statement unspoken although it was obvious I was ready to fight it? Them? If need be.

"A SYMBIOTE," They replied, swaying the head-tentacle slowly. "WE LOVE EDDIE AND KEEP HIM ALIVE AND HEALTHY." So, they understood the actual question.

"Which is fucked up because Klyntar usually behave in the opposite way." Hearing Thor swear was, perhaps, even more unsettling than finding out about the symbiote-alien-boyfriend thing my uncle had going on. The thunderer himself was nursing a jug of golden liquid. The good Asgardian stuff, he must've been really fucking bamboozled.

"Okay. So anybody wanna fill me on the details before I beat up my favourite idiot?" I sighed, pointedly looking at Tony.

"I thought I was your favourite idiot!" He immediately retorted, hurt, but nonetheless opened his arms to give me a grounding embrace. We may have sucked face for a few seconds, because why the hell not, Tony was an amazing kisser and his tongue down my throat was very calming.

"Hold up, what the fuck?" Now it was Eddie's turn to act all offended. "Aren't you a little too young for him?"

"You and your most likely carnivorous goth space pudding can fuck right off if you're not going to be supportive of my very inappropriate, very polyamorous relationship with three incredibly hot boomers," I shot back, slipping into some resemblance of normalcy. Me and Eddie go way, way back and shitting on each other's bad life decisions was the founding stone of our bromance. Hell, he was the guy who showed me the wonders of sarcasm at an early age! Wonderbaum!

"There's three of them?" Eddie's voice pitched and he gaped, palming his face.

"SHE HAS A POINT, EDDIE. WE EAT PEOPLE. BEING UNSUPPORTIVE WOULD MAKE US LOOK LIKE AN ASSHOLE." Eddie's buddy stated, sounding almost fed up. So, they were sentient enough to recognize how much of a pain in the ass Eddie could be. I could work with that, disregarding the cannibalism comment, of course. What the fuck was up with that?

"Yes, Eddie, I also periodically bump uglies and trade disgustingly sweet text messages with the Hulk and a badass wizard," I rolled my eyes at the reporter's following gasp and angry muttering. "Venom, I like you."

"WE RETURN THE SENTIMENT. YOUR CHOICE IN MATES IS VERY WISE, CONSIDERING YOU ARE A WEAK MORSEL. THEY CAN PROTECT YOU."

"Shut up, Squid. I'll still kick your motherfucking ass if you hurt Eddie."

The emo space goo laughed, a terse scratching noise, showing way, way too many teeth for me to feel comfortable but I allowed myself to be placed on the couch between Tony and Eddie nonetheless. The initial shock of seeing a talking octopod with fangs passed quickly - I've seen Stephen's "trophies" he brought from his otherworldly journeys and Lovecraftian horrors were, honestly, pretty low on the gross/creepy scale.

"Both of you, explain. For the love of fuck," Tony sighed, emotionally exhausted and drained of his usual bravado.

"Eddie was my dad's friend until he moved to Cali, I've know him for fifteen years, give or take. He taught me how to ride a bike and bake the best pot brownies," I shrugged. There wasn't much to say. "I visited him whenever I could but you know, with school and then you guys, there wasn't that much time to iron out the details." I have Eddie a death glare, pointing to Venom's floaty head with my eyes.

Eddie nodded. "What she said..." And then launched an elaborate tale about some company called Life Foundation, some evil dude named Drake and his own alien pudding named Carnage, who was one ugly motherfucker judging by Eddie's and Venom's combined "ew" face, their aching need for human brains to survive and other, more trivial things, like mental breakdowns in a lobster tank and getting dumped by a fiancé and eating their way through a HYDRA base after being captured and tortured. What a wild fucking ride.

"Sounds like you had a rough year," Everybody's dumbfounded silence was ended by Tony who took a slow swig of his whiskey before speaking.

"Yeah, no shit," Eddie muttered, twisting his black coated fingers in elaborate but frankly pretty shapes. His alien wrapped around his neck like a tube scarf and additional tentacles appeared between Eddie's hands, gently prying them open and enveloping them in a sort of a hug? It was hard to compute, the black mass appeared to be totally amorphous.

"How's your anxiety?" I asked, damn well knowing Eddie's mind tended to run like Tony's: zero to sixty in point five with no clear destination. Having an alien inside of him must've really thrown Eddie for a loop.

"It's, uh, better. Venom helps," The reporter admitted, still staring at his hands but the crease between his brows had disappeared and the expression he wore was kind of fond.

"Good. You know, Venom," I thoughtfully addressed the definitely sentient creature. "Eddie is a bigger dumbass than me, which is saying something. You ought to keep a really close eye on him. If not for me, he'd probably be dead from alcohol poisoning, like, years ago."

"WE ARE AWARE. WE CAN ACCESS EDDIE'S MEMORIES." A head manifested itself on a thicker tentacle, floating over to look me in the face but maintaining a respectful distance and staying out of my personal space bubble. "AND WE ARE THANKFUL. EDDIE IS THE PERFECT HOST. WE LOVE EDDIE."

I felt the corner of my mouth tilt upwards at the alien's proclamation. It was child-like in its blunt honesty but carried a certain weight with it. It told me whoever tries to separate those two in any way would get eaten faster than they could say "SIKE!". And honestly? I would help Venom hide the evidence.

"I literally had you for thirty minutes but I would kill everybody and then myself if you two got hurt. This is too soft, I can't." I snorted, extending a curious hand towards Venom. They looked so shiny. I had to touch them.

And they let me. Venom butted their head into my palm and let me gently run my fingers over their slightly cool, slippery flesh. It felt like putting my hands on a surprisingly sturdy yet bouncy piece of flubber. I purposely avoided the small maw and the endless rows of sharp teeth but managed to accidentally brush against something rough and scratchy - as it turned out, the Symbiote had a very long, very dexterous tongue. And didn't that give me a bunch of interesting mental images.

"Oh my God, NO!" Wanda moaned from somewhere, the voice mortified and disgusted.

"Why are you touching the people-eating alien?" Bruce yelped, entering the room with several people in tow. The scientist looked worried, a little bit green around the edges. The tablet in his hands beeped periodically, signifying the ongoing sciencing bender he was in process of.

"WE WOULD NOT EAT THIS HUMAN. WE ARE FOND OF THE MORSEL." Venom defended, well, venomously. Eddie wisely choose to stay silent, trading a knowing look with Tony.

Stephen Strange sighed, briefly closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with a jagged movement. "One day, Princess, one day you will stop collecting people that are obviously bad for your health and your future. That, or space in the tower will simply run out." With a deeper, calmer sigh, the sorcerer landed in front of me on the floor, sitting cross-legged and subtly begging for a head scratch. Which meant just placing his always neatly trimmed curls under my free hand. His jealousy was about as subtle as a foot in the face.

"I'll just ask Tony to build more floors, duh," I rolled my eyes with force at the obvious solution, giving into Steph's demands, beginning to card through his hair. It was calming both of us, really.

Bruce came over to give me a kiss and my other boyfriends didn't even grumble about the scientist placing himself in my lap, crawling over both Tony and Stephen to get comfortable.

Our dynamic was unconventional and more than a little weird, but it worked for us and the rest of the team most certainly didn't complain about the vast decrease in conflict that came with the territory. Come to think of it, all of us were more tactile than just a group of friends sharing a house and I was very much on board with that. None of us except select few (looking at you, mister doctor) were hugged enough as children and we were making up for it in spades right fucking now.

"Girl has a type," Wanda remarked, like the messy little shit she was. I stuck out my tongue in retaliation.

The Avengers' brain trust began talking about Venom's slightly inconvenient diet that directly resulted in multiple felonies for one Edward Brock, and as much as I tried to follow the flow and make my own, however feeble, contributions to the scientific side of the conversation, the new life form was much more interesting. I asked Venom several questions and they deemed them acceptable enough to answer - which evolved on both of us absolutely geeking out over the differences in our physiology. The space pudding didn't hold back one bit, insulting the inferior human biology with gleeful gusto.

"They need a chemical called phenethylamine," Bruce sighed, having deduced it through discussion since Venom and Eddie both protested aggressively against any kind of invasive testing. "I can synthesize it. No more head-chomping, no more murder."

It made perfect sense. Except it didn't. "Brucie-bear, you're a brilliant fucking scientist but a shit psychologist." I interrupted whatever came next. "Venom is a person, like me and you and, yes, even Hulk. Tell me this: if you found a way to get rid of Hulk, would you stop sciencing in the gamma radiation field?" I looked my boyfriend straight in the eyes, hoping for a spark of common sense. "Do you see my point? You science, Tony engineers, Steve draws and Clint bakes. Venom hunts. It's who they are, you can't give them a pill to make it go away."

The weight of my word landed in the room like lead, heavy. The only source of sound was the TV, playing the news quietly in the background for the longest time. Those few minutes felt like hours until Thor expectantly turned towards Eddie/Venom.

"IT IS SO. WE ARE AFRAID WE CANNOT INFLUENCE OUR INSTINCT TO HUNT PREY. KLYNTAR ARE APEX PREDATORS." The little black goop sounded almost apologetic. It was hard to hear undertones with their voice being so deep and grating. "BUT WE CAN TRY." Okay, I could totally hear the hope. Finding out the Eldritch horror could make puppy eyes was... Terrifying, to be honest, because they fucking worked.

"Got any better ideas?" Tony asked me sarcastically.

"I do, actually." I leveled a look with Natasha. She understood. "HYDRA goons. The aliens that, for some reason, keep invading New York every month or so. Stephen's adventures in Hell. Do I need to continue?"

"Wait, hold on," Steve raised his palms. "We don't kill HYDRA, we deposit them in SHIELD custody."

I snorted at the naïve Captain. "And what do you think happens to them there? Did you honestly think they just let torturing, murdering, world-domination planning psychos back on the streets?"

Steve frowned in confusion. "They go to prison?"

Natasha choose that moment to step up. "It's not uncommon for them to possess certain enhancements to be deemed too dangerous to be released back into society. Some of them are low-tier mutants and inhumans. Trust me, Steve, the lethal injection is a much more humane treatment than solitary life imprisonment in a ultra-high security prison." Romanoff stated with a trace of compassion. "And some mutants, we can't contain for prolonged periods of time." She added quietly, looking away.

Rogers was staring blankly into the wall, mulling over the information in his head. His intensive thought process was plainly visible on his face. I heard about some kind of fiasco with HYDRA agents suicide-bombing a city in Europe few years ago and Steve was there, along with Wanda and Sam.

"Venom is a whole person, and even if they look like they could be the main character in Call of Ctulhu video game, we can't just disregard them like they are some kind of badly behaving pet. They're my honorary uncle's boyf-sorry-significant other, for fuck's sake," I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. "Y'all should know I don't fuck with people who give shit to one of my own. Don't disappoint me like that." I finished, feeling more tired than I had in months. I didn't regret giving into the found family dynamic, however I didn't exactly sign up for hard choices like them vs my long lost uncle, y'know?

Great, now I had a headache and three very concerned boyfriends glaring at me for unknown reasons. The urge to pace always manifested strongly within me as the emotional atmosphere rose in the room. With Bruce dangling off my lap, I couldn't do even that and I felt the restlessness blossom into irritation more and more with each passing second of my existence.

Eddie remained silent, looking down. Venom had mostly receded into the reporter's body, save for a few tentacles tightly wrapped around Eddie's palm.

"Alright," Steve suddenly said. "We can work with that."

"Princess, you look like you're either going to cry or yell any second," Bruce said softly, squeezing my shoulder and pulling me closer.

I immediately hid my face in his chest, taking several deep, shaky breaths. "Eddie is family. Y'all are family. It's terrifying to have to choose between the two." I said, after a brief moment of hesitation.

The reporter made some sort of a choked gasp, quickly masking it with a cough - I knew him way too well to miss the way he was fighting back tears of his own. Bruce understood, he really did understand me - hopped off my lap and let me hug Eddie properly, my happy-sad tears soaking through the collar of his tee.

"You're, uh, welcome to stay. I'll have a guest room prepared." Tony cleared his throat, passing his half-finished glass to Stephen who swallowed the liquid in one gulp. My boyfriends were so fucking emotionally illiterate. Disaster humans.

Huh, I really did have a type.

Later that night, I made the mistake of barging into Eddie's room with a bottle of really fancy whiskey I liberated from Tony's overstocked liquor cabinet. Visiting my uncle and boozing and smoking on the balcony, for old times sake, was my plan and...

I failed the mission successfully.

I didn't bother knocking. As soon as I saw a pair of bare feet, my eyes traveled further up on the couch on their own volition. There were so many tentacles, a writhing, oozing silky black mass and Eddie was making sounds, unmistakable noises-

"UNSEE. UNSEE. OH MY GOD, UNSEE, UNSEE." I stumbled back into the common room shivering.

"What happened, is everything okay?" Bucky stood up as soon as he saw me enter the doorway with my face scrunched in a grimace of regret. I felt like I've gone through the five stages of grief in the shortest time possible for a human being.

Somwhere, I heard Wanda's sudden moan full of pain and misery. "Please, stop THINKING about it!"

"Brain bleach, oh my God," I cringed. "Where's the Clorox?! I have decided I don't need my eyeballs-"

"Oooh," Tony's proverbial lightbulb lit up. The engineer sounded like he was about five seconds away from building a space ship and permanently moving to another planet. "They're together-together..." Tony intercepted me nonetheless, doing the most effective thing to make me stop speaking and thinking bullshit. He kissed me. With lots of tongue.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

[rosy-cheekx]

Dragged from the Deep

I will update with an AO3 link, two chapters, but I really wanted to get this out!

This is from @voiceless-terror‘s prompt:  “ Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?” with jmart in the safehouse...Not what they expected but I am VERY VERY proud of this!

--

Martin awoke to the sound of Jon mumbling in his sleep. “I took my hand, and I reached down into the darkness.” Jon’s voice is quiet, reverent. Its barely his own; his voice of the Archive.

Really should have heard from Basira by now, Martin thought, trying to tamp down the frustration rising in his chest.

“Down and down,” Jon continued. “Until my whole arm was inside, up to the shoulder. It was damp and cold, with the rough stone sides scraping my skin, but my hand was stretched as far as I could, and it still gripped nothing but empty air. Then the hole began to close, and all at once the spell was broken.”

“Jon, m’dear?” he half-whispered, stroking Jon’s cheek softly. Jon was a light sleeper, but these times were...tricky. “Hey, Jonathan,” he added, voice at a speaking-volume now. “Wake up, it’s not real.”

“I tried to pull my arm out, to get free, but it held me tight. Not quite crushing me but holding me in place. I screamed and cried for help, looking around for anyone who might be able to hear me, but the only people walking by seemed utterly oblivious to what was happening. Then I felt it, something brushing against my hand from below it in the hole. Teeth. Wet, blunt teeth, which quickly gave way to a rough, slender tongue-”[97]

Martin couldn’t bear to hear any more. He hated witnessing Jon like this, possessed by the statements, by his need to feed. Jon’s voice was like marble, smooth and cold and mesmerizing, but it was heavy and would consume Jon if he allowed it.

Martin would not allow it.

“Jon!” He gave him a shake, firm on his shoulders. “Wake up!”

A drowning man suddenly reunited with his lungs; Jonathan Sims gasped for air. His eyes flashed open (there it was, the cursed glint of green that seemed to glow from within) and he clutched a hand to his chest as he began to cough. Martin pulled him into a sitting position, kneeling next to him and resting a hand on Jon’s lower back as he felt the convulsions double his frame. When his hacking had settled, Martin felt safe enough to breathe again himself, lest he had stolen air from the man beside him.

“H-hi,” Jon murmured, voice shaky, drawing his knees to his chest beneath the comforter. “How-how bad was it this time?”

Martin knew about Jon’s hunger, knew that statements were his fuel more than anything organic. The arrangement with Basira had been working relatively well up until now. Every three to four weeks, Basira would call the mobile they kept stashed in the safehouse for that purpose, only her number programmed in and let them know when she was coming, typically within a day or two. She should have called almost ten days ago. Had she let them go, at last, to fend for themselves? Had something happened to her, to the Institute? Things were getting dire.

At first, a little less than a week ago, Martin thought it was the nightmares; that the mumbling had been Jon apologizing to those so unfortunate enough to have him as a feature player in their nightmares. His words were unintelligible, so Martin had hugged him tightly in the night, in the way they had held each other those first days weeks, whispering affirmations of safety and love.

When he asked the poorly-rested Jon about it the next morning, he had frowned. “Ah, no. I mean, I haven’t slept with anyone—ah, more to say, no one has been in the room while I’ve been asleep to confirm for sure besides you, but I don’t think I usually talk in my sleep.” Martin chalked it up as “Weird, But No Too Weird,” and they agreed to keep an eye on it. Every night since, Martin had repeated that ritual, the words too unintelligible to understand, Martin clutching Jon like a life vest, carrying him safe through the morning.

Jon’s flu-like symptoms had cropped up three days ago. He woke weak, hardly able to move, and couldn’t keep any food down. The tea and water Martin literally spooned him were staying down, at least, which helped combat the dehydration Jon was surely suffering from the 40-degree fever he was running. The fever reducers weren’t helping, and Martin had nearly dragged Jon to A&E before he’d been able to explain to him what was happening. He was breaking down, needed the statements or things would get worse. “And, no, Martin-” cut off by a coughing fit. “I don’t know how much worse. Bad.” Whatever role Martin usually played in Jon’s life: roommate, friend, boyfriend maybe?, it didn’t matter. Or, at least, it came to second to Martin’s new role as nurse. Nurse was a role Martin was good at it. Practically a professional home-care assistant. But caring for a starving eldritch demigod was marginally different than caring for his human mum. At least the vomit cleaned the same way.

The statements had become more distinct the first night of the fevers. Words that had typically barely passed his lips were now being told to the night air with an intensity Martin had sorely wished he would never hear again. If Martin strained his ears, he could typically hear the tired hiss of a tape recorder. He tried to smash it that first night, out of anger and exhausted desperation, but Jon had screamed when he had bashed it with a vase, weeping as if it had been his head smashed and not the spinning dials of that cursed thing. Jon’s migraine had lasted through the night and into the afternoon, with Martin unable to do anything but apologize and stroke his hair, reading to him a novel that just wouldn’t be enough.

“Not too bad,” Martin answered, plastering a soft smile over his tired face. “Just scared me was all, I don’t know if it’s better to wake you or not, but it felt weird not to.” Jon was scratching at old worm scars, skin shiny and taut, and Martin took his hands gently, pressing a kiss to his pulse points in turn. God, he felt so hot against his lips.

“M-I’m sorry,” Jon sighs, eyes already fluttering closed again. His face was pale and his muscles slack; Martin hated how hollow his eyes and cheeks seemed, skeletal in the light of the moon.

“Shh, nothing to apologize for,” Martin assured him, reaching across Jon’s side of the bed to click on the lamp, wincing at the sudden light and the clock. 4:15. Too early, even for a morning person like Martin. “Do-do you want me to read to you some more? I can make some tea, chamomile? Milk and honey? Or we can listen to some music, or a podcast?” He knew it was fruitless. It would all be for naught until he got the damn statements from Basira.

Jon had the comforter drawn to his neck, shivering slightly, eyes closed. He nodded vaguely. “The book,” he managed, voice a broken whisper, so unlike the strong and powerful intonation Martin had just heard. Martin nodded, kissing his forehead, clammy and plastered with baby hairs, and stood, passing the book into Jon’s lap, page marked with a flat-barreled pen, something that had been tucked into a journal in the bedside table. (Jon and Martin had agreed that some things are better left unread.) Martin could see Jon’s hands shaking slightly under the blanket.

The walk to the kitchen was cold and dark, and Martin took a moment to himself, while the electric kettle hummed to life, to press his forehead against the cool plastic of the refrigerator, fingers interlaced behind his neck. God, he was so tired. He loved Jon more than anything, that was true, but he was at such a loss. It hurt to know there was nothing he could do to help, short of kidnapping a random neighbor from the town and begging them to tell Jon their story. He would call Basira this afternoon. He had tried the day the fever started and hasn’t received an answer. She was probably chasing down a lead about Daisy; she was known to go off the grid when hunting after her.

The click of the kettle, and Martin is on task again, portioning out tea and honey, chamomile for Jon, English breakfast for himself; he needs the caffeine. Two travel mugs later, Martin was heading back into the dark hallway, up the stairs, and to the dimly let bedroom.

The task had taken no more than five minutes, eight max. This was apparently, long enough for Jon to rifle in the nightstand drawer, retrieve that little notebook they had found, and to begin scribbling in it furiously. Martin could already see a good quarter of the notebook had been filled already, though what measure of that had been used prior to their arrival was unclear.

“Jon? Writing anything interesting?” Jon’s eyes jerked open and he let his gaze fall on the notebook.

“Oh-ah, no. Just doodling,” the words still weak, but the half-smile on his face lifts Martin’s spirits. See? He told himself. He’s still Jon. Jon closed the notebook and tucked it into his lap, reaching for the spill-proof mug with the hand not holding the pen that had been marking the page number. Martin noticed Jon twiddling the pen between his fingers and elected not to say anything. Whatever helped. And it had seemed to help; Jon seemed a little less gaunt than he had, but maybe that was the consequence of sitting up, letting himself focus on other things than his gnawing hunger. “Page 74,” Jon sighed as Martin resumed his position next to him in bed, tucking his head on Martin’s shoulder. “Second paragraph.”

“Creep,” Martin muttered good-naturedly, before settling into the pages and resuming the book, some sort of cop thriller-mystery (because of course that had been Daisy’s preferred reading material).

Martin had been reading for nearly an hour when, while pausing to sip his tea, the scratching of pen on paper had distracted him from the story. They had been at a rather thrilling part of the chase; the detective had just discovered that his wife, who he thought to be dead, was not actually dead and maybe even a part of the mystery. Martin had felt rather invested in giving Jon a good show, throwing himself into the narration maybe a little more than was necessary for the audience of one (1) ill partner (Boyfriend? Love? Patient? Whatever). Jon had remained quiet, save for a periodic coughing fit, but didn’t seem to be asleep from the way Martin could feel The Eye in the room with him, an inescapable feeling now, consequences of his proximity to The Archivist. With the sound of the pen, however, Martin closed the book, flipping it upside down and open. (Usually, Jon would chastise him for such a horrendous act to a book. Martin wished he would.)

Jon’s eyes were cast on the book, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was scribbling furiously, writing continuously in the notebook that had once belonged to Daisy. Jon’s handwriting, difficult in the best of circumstances, was positively chicken scratch as Martin tried to parse out the strings of words on the paper, some he could swear weren’t even English.

“Jon?” Martin asked, placing a hand on the journal gently. “Is everything alright?”

“I-ah, yeah,” Jon capitulated, sighing softly, even as it resulted in a series of weak hacks. “I was trying to remember the dream, the statement I was reading in my sleep. I thought maybe writing it down would help.”

“And? Did it help?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jon frowned and scrubbed his hands over his eyes, blinking wearily. “I need to keep trying.”

Martin frowned internally but tried to keep his face neutral. “D’you think it’s…good? To try?”

“I don’t know, Martin.” Martin is suddenly reminded of a paranoid, frantic Jonathan Sims, angry and scared and not knowing who to trust. “But I have to try something! I can’t just sit here, waiting to wither away and die.”

“O-okay then,” Martin took a deep breath. “It was just a question.”

“A stupid one.” He’s sick, Martin reminds himself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Well,” Martin closed the book properly this time, surreptitiously dog-earing a page. What Jon doesn’t know won’t hurt him. “I’m out of tea. Need any more?”

Jon shook his head, quiet now as he continued to write, eyes glued to his page. “A-alright then,” Martin slid off the bed and frowned, catching a whiff of himself. Yikes. He had lost track of the last time he bathed, so worried had he been about missing a call from Basira. “Would you be okay if I have a shower?”

More silence, the scratching of the cheap pen the only sound in the room. At least there wasn’t a tape running. “Shout if you need me.”

-

It felt good to breathe in the steam and smell of lather, to luxuriate in the hot water rolling over him. Martin has always been a bit generous with his showers, especially as a teen. They had been his designated times to be off the hook from his mother, chores, his jobs, anything that was causing him stress. Martin felt a bit guilty remembering these things. His shower wasn’t long because he wants to avoid Jon, not at all. It’s just. Jon is clearly in a bit of a mood, so it would be good to give him some space without making it seem like he’s upset. Which, he’s not upset! Just. a break is good. Yeah. A break is healthy.

Martin turned off the water when he started to feel a bit dizzy from the heat, wrapped himself in a towel and splashed cold water on his face. There. He was feeling better already.

“Jon!” He called, cracking the door and letting steam roll out around him. “I know it’s a bit early, but I thought maybe I could start on breakfast. Maybe you can stomach down some crackers today?”

After a few beats of silence, Martin called out again. The loo, while not an en suite, was pretty close to the master. “Jon?”

Must be asleep. Martin smiled softly to himself and shook his head, ruffling his curls, more white than auburn anymore, and pulled on a fresh pair of sweatpants. Not like they were going anywhere today.

Tinged pink from the hot shower, Martin rounded the corner into the master bedroom and stopped, momentarily confused. “Oh, did you not hear me?”

Jon was awake. He was still writing, bent over the notebook and scribbling furiously, murmuring to himself, too quiet to hear. He didn’t look up. Martin frowned, shivering as a wave of static rolled over his body like a cool wind. “Jon. Jon, a-are you in there? Are you okay?”

The muttering continued, unceasing. Martin edged forward carefully, hands in front of him like he was buffeting back a storm or trying not to scare a wounded animal. Honestly, Martin wasn’t sure which sentiment was more accurate. He crept his way to Jon’s side of the bed, still apparently unnoticed by the Archivist. There was a bloody tape recorder on the bedside table. Martin knew better than to touch it.  

He bent down, kneeling on the floor and craning his neck to look up into Jon’s face. His shoulders slumped as he gazed up into an emerald glow as Jon’s own eyes, usually a deep brown, lit the page in front of him like a torch, bathing it in harsh light. Jon’s own form was crackling slightly, seemingly more solid than a usual body should, silhouette a little too crisp against the wall behind him.

Martin could hear him now, too, and his voice was the same low, consistent monologue that Martin had first loved, but had grown to hate in his years working in the Archives.

“As I said, it was one of the last boxes I opened on the second day. It was late, and I had already made my way through most of a bottle of wine. The more I think about it, the more I think that opening that box felt no different to any of the others. No hard feelings, no smells, nothing. It was just a box empty of everything except a single typewritten note and an old hand mirror.

It lay inside, utterly innocuous. If it was a trap, there was no way to tell.” [60]

That one sounded familiar. An old statement, it must be. Something about a mirror and seeing things in a reflection? Punching a camera? he wondered. Martin felt another shiver roll through his body; he turned his attention towards the notebook, towards what he knew would be there. Now that he knew what to look for, he could read the handwriting with little trouble. As the Archivist spoke, he wrote the words in Jon’s handwriting, transcribing the statement.

“Jon,” Martin’s voice was soft. “If you can hear me, I’m going to take away your pen now. I think…I think that will let you rest. I’m going to count to three, okay? One. Two. Three.”

As soon as Martin reached for the pen, he felt himself being thrown backwards, as if by a tidal wave. He felt his body hit the wall, heard his skull hit the wall with a sickening thud.

                                        ------Chapter 2------

When Martin woke, he was confused. Last he knew, he had gone to sleep in bed, right? Not on the couch watching telly or drunk in a bathtub. So why was he so stiff—ow. He rolled his neck. And sore. He was on the floor, for one thing, head against the wall and legs splayed in front of him. God his head hurt. Was he hungover? No, he hadn’t drunk anything. Just eaten dinner in bed with Jon, done dishes, read, and fallen asleep.

Oh shit. Jon. It rushed back to Martin in a dizzying spiral; Helen would be proud. The mumbling, the writing, the pen, the eyes. Had Jon pushed him? Not physically, maybe. But hadn’t he heard through the grapevine something about Jon and the delivery man—Breekon? Or maybe Hope? Whichever one hadn’t died in the Unknowing. Something about him shoving him backwards with sheer force of a word? Jon had thought they were exaggerating. But maybe…maybe not.

Martin’s eyes were still closed, he realized. He was afraid to, he realized. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see: maybe a big, unblinking Eye where the body of Jon had been? A torrent of books and pages spinning around Jonathan Sims in a dramatic flourish as he commands them? Hundreds, if not thousands, of tape recorders piling around their bed, drowning them both in magnetic tape and words? Slowly, painfully, Martin opened his eyes.

None of those were there of course. There was just Jon. Sitting in bed, gaunt and frail. Writing and reciting as if nothing happened. That was almost worse, in a way, that he had flung Martin against a wall and continued as if it hadn’t hurt him to do so. The Archivist’s movements were stiff and mechanical as he turned the page and continued to write, voice now in a language Martin couldn’t understand but was probably Chinese.

Stopping the writing was no longer an option, he supposed. But what else could he do? Maybe it could recharge Jon a little, like sucking the marrow from a bone. Only Martin wasn’t sure if the statements or Jon was the bone in that scenario. God, he wished he could Eldritch Google “Eye statement starvation: stages of bad?” Unfortunately, his Eldritch Google was out of service and there was no one else he could ask who wasn’t also trying to actively kill him.

What were his options then? Wait and hope Jon doesn’t die. Call Basira again. Kidnap a stranger and have them read a statement. Well, he wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Martin sighed, running a hand through his hair and feeling a lump throbbing gently on the back of his head. He checked the rest of his body for injuries and was grateful to find nothing too bad. Probably just a concussion.

Hauling himself to his feet (using the floor and doorknob to a closet as his supports), Martin teetered his way to the kitchen. He threw open the cupboard beneath the sink and grabbed the small black phone with Basira’s number saved.

Dialing, he slid himself into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his forehead against his free palm and closed his eyes again.

“Hello?” The faint voice Basira Hussain rang out into the air.

“Basira? It’s Martin. Any word on the statements? It’s getting a little dire here.” He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

“Dire? How do you mean?” Basira was always a little too direct for Martin’s taste; couldn’t she hear how drained he was?

“He won’t stop repeating and writing old statements. I tried to stop him and he—well. It wasn’t on purpose…But he threw me into a wall.”

“Shit.” Basira was quiet for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bit back. “I would be better if we had the statements.” There wasn’t time for him to feel guilty about his delivery.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I caught wind of Daisy being in Italy, so I’m there now. If I take the first flight out of Rome, I can be at my flat tomorrow and yours the next. Two days, max. Less if I can. Can he make it that long?”

“Better bloody hope so.” The fight drained from him. “Please, Basira,” he added, sighing. “I don’t know what to do. He was sick and feverish and I could handle that but now he’s just…empty.”

“Maybe it’s like a diet.” He could practically hear her mind spinning through the phone. “You know, how when you starve yourself for too long? You start losing weight and all’s dandy. But the longer you wait, your body starts taking nutrients from your own organs?” Martin hummed an affirmation. “Maybe he’s sucking out every bit he can from himself to survive.”

“So…how do I fix that?”

“I mean, when I get you the statements, we can force-feed him. But until then? I dunno. I’m at a loss too. Keep him safe, I think? But don’t let yourself get hurt either.”

Martin nodded, momentarily forgetting he was on the phone. “Oh, yeah. Um, thank you Basira. I’ll do my best. Call me when you’re at the flat?”

“Of course. Call me if you get lo-bored.”

“Please hurry.”

Martin hung up and dropped his head to the table unceremoniously, wincing as the impact rattled the back of his skull. Now what? He didn’t want to sit in the room while the Archivist worked, but he was afraid to leave him alone. He hated how it felt to be in the room, the low wave static and the feeling of being known permeating every pore. He was afraid what staying in there would do, if Jon would Know him too well after he came back. Looking around, Martin grabbed the egg timer Jon used when he cooked and spun it to an hour. If he checked in every hour, that would be fine, right? He could let the Archivist have the bedroom; he’d stay downstairs, and check in every hour.

The first few hours crept by, but each ding of the egg timer was much too soon for Martin’s liking. He iced his head, wincing again when he realized it was the late morning and he had been unconscious for quite a while. He made himself an unassuming brunch, cheese toasty and curry left over from dinner a few days ago. Made some more tea, obviously, and took some acetaminophen to reduce the swollen goose-egg on his head. Read, watched an old DVD of some American TV show Daisy must have liked. Tried to keep his mind off whatever had taken over his boyfriend in the upstairs bedroom.

Each time the timer went off, Martin would repeat the same process. He would ascend the stairs, knock on the doorframe of the bedroom, tell Jon he was coming over to check on him, and would watch and listen to him for almost a minute. Some of the statements he recognized, some he didn’t. His eyes were always that throbbing, blinding green, staring into nothing, his face hollow and gaunt. Around two in the afternoon, Martin went in to see that Jon had moved from the bed. The notebook lay abandoned, filled to the last page. The Archivist was standing, in baggy sleep boxers, facing the wall, still intoning the fears and terrors of those who had contributed their stories to the Institute. Their stories were stark when written against the robin blue pant. Martin left the room before he could Know he was crying.

Afternoon turned to evening, and Martin continued his ministrations. The egg timer ran his day and he got little done, managing maybe half of a book from the meager shelf downstairs. He wasn’t even sure what it was about; he had to keep rereading the same pages over and over. The writing had grown to cover half the wall in Jon’s slanted script. Martin wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what would happen if he tried to smudge it. Between checking up on The Archivist, he half-heartedly ate scrambled eggs and chugged some wine; he figured he’d earned it. It was weird to feel strangely like an Archival Assistant again; knowing things were bad for the man he desperately wanted to be there but not knowing how to help.

KRRRRRRRRRRG!

Time to check on him again. Martin trudged up the stairs for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The Archivist was in a different position this time. He was kneeling, head bowed. Martin could have sworn he was praying; the monotony of words slipping from his lips as easily as the nuns Martin had seen growing up. Martin paused. It was…almost beautiful, in a way. The slight form of a man paying his service to a god to whom he was so completely indebted. The green light reflecting off the wall, covered in his scripture, casting a glow on his skin and through his curls, mussed from fever.

Would’ve been, anyways, if Martin hadn’t seen the drop of blood snaking its way down Jon’s thigh, creasing where his leg was folded along the calf. All at once, the beauty he had been caught up in was gone and all he saw was a helpless, broken man, compelled to write the words of the desperate, the lost, the broken. Martin shook a pillowcase from the bed, letting the pillow fall unceremoniously, and cautiously moved to the Archivist. As worried as he was, he needed to know what was going on before he could help.

The sight made him slightly sick. Jon was bent over his thigh, holding the pen as if it were a dagger, and was using the ballpoint tip to carve words into the meat of his leg. He hadn’t gotten far, apparently the effort took more out than the body of a weakened Jon could take.

“a fac-” [54]

Confused, Martin looked up to the wall where he had been writing and figured out the problem. The pen had run out of ink. The words got paler and less distinct until they were barely readable. Judging from the smears, the Archivist had tried to use Jon’s blood to write, using the pen as a quill. It clearly hadn’t worked, judging by the thin, weak curves of red and brown. Jon was still mumbling the statement, eyes blank and voice even, but the lines of his face seemed frustrated and dark.

The letters on his skin were weeping dark red now and Martin could see his hands weren’t the only ones shaking. He was afraid to touch him, afraid that trying to press a cloth to his wounds could quite literally be both of their deaths.

The more he stared, trapped in indecision, he watched as the decision was made for him. Jon had been ill, dehydrated and fever-laden, and the assault to his body was more than he could handle. His face, an ashen brown-grey-green from the glow of his eyes, went slack and as the emerald lights went out, Jon slumped, falling into Martin’s lap and shoulder as his body gave up. As soon as their skin touched, Martin’s mind snapped into focus. Fix this. You have to fix this.

Martin was immediately comforted by the fact that Jon was breathing. He hadn’t run out of fuel, not yet. Martin pressed a kiss to his hair (still hot) as he gently laid Jon flat, tearing open the sealed end of the pillowcase clutched in his fist so he could slip it up Jon’s leg and press it down, trying to stem the blood flow. You need something better, he thought, mind racing. It was oozing, not squirting, so Jon hadn’t hit an artery. That was good. Thank god Mum’s hospital soaps were worth something in the end. He needed a thicker fabric; the sheet wasn’t doing any good. Martin scoured the room, looking for any sort of thick fabric.

His towel from his shower. Thank fuck for his laziness. In less than ten steps, he had retrieved the towel from where it was haphazardly abandoned by the dresser and brought it back, folding and pressing it to his thigh, exchanging it for the thin white pillowcase. Sorry, Daisy.

Kneeled beside Jon, Martin lent most of his upper body weight to pressing down on the towel, keeping a cautious eye on Jon’s face and his chest, each shallow breath another blessing. He’s not sure how long he sits there in, that position, whispering platitudes to the pallid-faced man laid in front of him. Maybe an hour? Maybe three? Maybe twenty minutes? Time is blurry, intangible to him.

It’s dark when Martin felt okay to cautiously lift the towel and examine the letters carved in his leg. They’re starting to clot, he nodded to himself, feeling safe enough to leave Jon there on the floor to get the first aid kit from the lav. Carefully, lovingly, Martin pulled the ace bandage tight around the cotton pads on his leg, freshly doused and swabbed with cleansing alcohol. Daisy was nothing if not prepared for injuries.

Satisfied with his care, he gently pulls Jon into his arms and takes him downstairs. He didn’t want Jon to wake up and see the room like this—bloody and covered in the writings of the Archivist. Between the carpet and walls, it would take a while to clean anyways. The couch was certainly big enough to hold the man he held in his arms (and god he was way too light).

One Jon was laid on the couch, Martin made a fresh cup of tea, black tea with as much caffeine as he could stomach and pulled a cold compress from the freezer. Lifting his shoulders carefully, Martin situated himself to act as a headrest for the unconscious Jon, a cold compress acting as a barrier between them to hopefully aid the fever. One hand in Jon’s curls, the other holding a book open (still, no idea what it was about), Martin settled into the evening, saying a prayer to anything that was out there that Basira would hurry the hell up.

Martin read aloud to Jon all night, trying in vain to keep himself awake. Apparently, the book was a romance novel, some trashy erotica about a woman and a werewolf. Martin was just graceful it wasn’t sci-fi and horror. He annotated it as he read, giving Jon his stream of consciousness thoughts. “You know, I haven’t done that,” he chuckled to himself, brushing Jon’s hair from his face. “Especially not with a woman, but I don’t really think it’s anatomically possible.”

His eyes were starting to droop around three or four in the morning, the adrenaline draining out of him. Resting a hand on Jon’s neck, he felt for his pulse point and, after finding it, light and shallow as it was after the coma, let his eyes close, comforted in feeling the life fluttering beneath his fingers.

-

Martin woke up to a pounding on the door and he snapped awake like the knock had been a gunshot. The care he took to lay Jon’s head back down was deeply contrasted by the way he bolted to the door, unlocking it with haste and resisting the urge to throw his arms around Basira, wincing at the bright daylight that streamed inside.

“Woah—Martin,” Basira took a step back involuntarily. “Is there a reason your hands are covered in blood?”

“What? Oh-yeah, I’ll tell you about it. Things were bad. It’s fine now. It’s-It’s not my blood.” Martin swung the door open, letting Basira in. “What time is it? How did you get here so fast?”

“It’s quarter-three; I may or may not have found a plane that wasn’t on the official flight plans. And there’s more than one way to get in the Institute besides a key.” Martin shook his head and decided it wasn’t worth asking about. He beckoned her to the couch, where Jon lay, limbs limp.

Basira handed him the first statement on the pile and opened one for herself. “Ready?”

“Statements begin.”

-

Jon’s first thought was how wet his neck felt. His second was why he heard so many words. His brain floated between living dolls and a message in a bottle, washed up on the beaches of Greece. His teeth were chattering and he felt so cold. He grasped his hands out, reaching desperately for the comforter. Martin must have stolen it, he smiled to himself. Oh, that’s Martin. Martin’s voice.

“Hmm…Mm’tin,” he murmured, shifting towards the sound of his voice. Martin’s voice continued, telling him a story about a doll with painted lips and angry eyes. A hand reached out and cupped his face. Jon leant into the touch hungrily, grateful for the heat on his skin. He let Martin’s words carry him away again.

-

When Jon woke again, he felt more alive than he had in days. If his illness recently had been him submerged, he finally felt like he was breaking through the surface. The Choke released him, and he felt oxygen return to his lungs. But he was not in the Buried, he was on the couch. He was not drowning, he was breathing sweet air and felt it wafting over him in the drafty house that felt like a home when he was with Martin. Martin. God, he could hear his voice and he didn’t think he had heard anything so sweet than Martin speaking and reading to him. He was reading, yes, and Jon knew immediately what it was: the statement of Herbert Conklin, an Irishman who watched his son turn to plastic before his eyes, piece by piece. Jon’s eyes flew open and he craned his neck to find Martin’s face. His eyes were cast down on the statement in his lap, but his hand was folded in Jon’s, running his fingertips over the smaller man’s knuckles gently.

Jon felt paralyzed, unable to move as he let the statement wash over him, hating how good it made him feel to hear the statement, lavishing in the words. He felt a sharp pain in his leg throb to dull ache as the healing words flowed through him. As Martin uttered those forsaken words: “Statement Ends,” he brought his eyes to meet Jon’s, a pale smile ghosting his face before it solidified into something more real, more Martin.

“Hi love. Been a tough few days. How are you holding up?”

Jon was lost for words for a moment, gaping like a fish before he brought Martin’s clasped hand to his lips. Kissing it, he pressed the words into his skin, begging them to impress themselves there forever.

“Better that you’re here.” His memory was a blank, sure, but he knew it must be true and didn’t need to ask the Eye to confirm. Martin was here. All would be well.

[randomspn]

Just some ideas for the HBO!AU…

Let’s pretend we don’t have to worry about CGI or anything, lol. Also, sorry it’s so long, I’m gonna ramble a bit. 

All monsters are more, well, monstrous. Deformed, terrifying. They would be more like some type of Lovecraftian type of creature than a human form. And if they were passing as human it would appear more uncanny valley, something is off but you can’t say what for sure. Angels would be more like eldritch beings, insanely powerful. Humans are seen as ants for a reason. Like, almost God tier type shit from them. I’ve seen a lot of great ideas that the vessels would just fall apart in the grossest way and the way they behave is so wrong that it's plain terrifying and I completely agree. 

Demons are similar but lean more toward poltergeist type of area. There was someone who said that they would act like manic people, operating on all cylinders and their emotions being at 1000% at all times which I think is perfect. Their power wouldn’t be as infinite as Angels, but it would be strong enough to be the main threat before angels appeared.

I think angels are so much scarier because they were never human. Demons were people before they died, but angels were never people. They’re just walking around in a decaying body doing God’s work, they don’t even really see the point in trying to pretend to be human. I think that just by looking at them you could tell that there is a stark difference when you compare a human vessel to a live, angel-free person. 

Sam was very religious growing up. Dean told him that their mom said that angels were watching over them and he tried to believe it. His abilities appeared while he was young. Telekinesis was always there and it only got stronger as he grew. This alarmed him and he was terrified of becoming what they hunted even as a child. He just wanted to believe he was good, that he belonged, that he was loved so badly he kept the hope that it was the truth into adult life. If it was up there, maybe it could save him.

Later on in the series, the public is well aware of monsters. Technology is far too advanced, people have noticed them. People get scared, paranoid, and violent towards each other. It doesn’t make hunting any easier when people are all getting involved in one way or another. Either from fear, anger, or vengeance. Hunters are treated as criminals/heroes, but are considered murderers one way or another. Hunter’s risk being arrested every time they investigate a strange crime or murder, the police and FBI are well aware that they infiltrate the system with fake badges. They have to start finding new ways to solve the cases.

Castiel is unique in the way that he is one of the only angel’s who is “emotionally” attached to his vessel. Wasting grace on a host that is decaying is pointless and foolish in angel culture. He doesn’t feel guilty about Jimmy at first but he does recognize the impact Castiel had on his family. He does his best to keep Jimmy’s body in good condition rather than swapping out. He thinks it would be rude and wasteful. Humans are interesting to him. He likes them. Getting another host would just destroy another body, another life. It would be for a good cause, sure, but there is always the chance that the vessel couldn’t handle an angel and would explode instantly. Which would create more waste and more mixed feelings for him. 

Despite valuing his host, he damages it frequently. Humans, again, are incredibly fragile. Bones break, flesh peels, nails and teeth fall out. It’s all replaced but it’s not a pretty sight. He really only heals the vessel and repairs his clothes when Sam and Dean get too grossed out by it. 

While Castiel likes humans, is obsessed with them even, he doesn’t feel emotions like a human would nor has any of the same morals, views, or experiences as they would. Human’s lives are of meaning and importance to him and angels are meant to protect and serve them, but if one interferes with the brothers or his mission, smiting is happening. I kind of see it being more gory than spn has it. More guts and flecks of bone everywhere. Monsters and demons would be in for a much worse time. Castiel was a badass soldier and leader for a reason. 

When angels smite people, they can’t return to their bodies if resurrected since it's been completely destroyed on a molecular level.

The boys have on occasion, put coke or meth on toothpicks and sucked on them as a way to stay awake, alert, and energized. John taught them this. They don’t do it often, since they know it could lead to addiction which is expensive and they can’t afford having withdrawal on a hunt. This doesn’t keep them from drinking like fish, though. 

Sam did resort to snorting coke when he couldn’t get any demon blood. After he came back soulless, he dropped it all together since soulless people don’t get tired, don’t need to sleep. 

Sam still has his power’s. If a baby who only had a mouthful of demon could use their abilities as long as they did, he should still have been able to use them after chugging jugs of it before going to the cage. Unless being possessed by an angel cured the demon blood’s hold, I feel like it should still be something he would have. I also feel being a former angel’s host would leave lasting effects as well. Not sure what quite just yet.

Anyway, those are some of my personal ideas. There are all ready so many great ones out there, it’s really great to see. It reminds me of a comic book series I was making a long time ago. Gritty, modern fantasy. 

Love it.

[blueluneacy]

Familiar Shore

Hey, so this is a commission for the lovey @lliminall! Thank you so much for commissioning me, it means a lot! This is a continuation of Black Ocean, so go check that out if you haven’t! It’s Bruno bucciarati x reader timeeee

Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: kidnapping, suicide, transformations, just general angst and comfort vibes

The ocean no longer had any color. It was like the moment you woke up on this terrible island, most everything lost color, the strange world you now found yourself in feeling small compared to the extent of the Labyrinth you once knew. You tended to sit by the ocean nowadays, watching the fish that swam up to the shores to see the strange being that liked to sit and watch them. When Bruno first dropped you in his little lair, some minor beasts that inhabited the ocean and the island, but it seemed that in the days that Bruno was gone, he quickly straightened them out. This place was strange in the sense that everyone seemed a lot more docile. You supposed that most people would have considered that ocean uncrossable and that the local wildlife wasn’t used to humans like yourself, leaving to strange circumstances, like finding that the many tailed foxes seemed to like your company, or that after giving some of the gray birds some of your dinner, they perched near you and cawed at the beasts that came towards you.

Of course, that’s not to say things were sunshine and roses. For example, Bruno was actually terrible. A few times you had tried to pull together a raft and get back to shore, only from Bruno to simply tear it apart and carry you back to your little island. A paradise, he called it. Yeah, what a paradise. And you had gone to Jurassic measures. You remembered waking up in that cave after doing something terrible, stepping out to find Bruno sobbing over your lifeless body. You actually felt bad enough to sigh, only for Bruno’s new keen ears to pick up on it and lunge back to you, thanking whatever Gods there were looking out for the two of you that they set your spawn to here, that you would be with him, that he wouldn’t lose you. You cursed those same gods.

But for now, Bruno seemed to leave you alone. Whether it was because he understood that you needed space and time to process this, or just because he was busy with who knows what, you weren’t sure. Maybe he needed a steady supply of torture to sustain him. It would make sense, the way beasts seem to just thrive on destroying any human being that they came into contact with. But, there was also another problem, one that plagued you. It had to be a lie, right? Bruno couldn’t have possibly actually… Turned into a beast, right? No, he had to be one beforehand. There’s no way that a human being could turn into a beast, and even so… Why would he? Bruno was kind and caring… Unless he wasn’t. Until he was completely deranged, dragging you under the depths until you passed out. You didn’t like to think about it, didn’t like to think about those eyes. You just closed your eyes, telling yourself in just another minute, you’d walk the fifty feet back to the cave you had now found as your home, finding the stone becoming increasingly more smooth, the terrible thing that was keeping here making it more homey day by day. What started off as a simple cave with furs on the ground now had furniture, actual walls, even a bed. You still preferred to sleep on the floor if it meant it kept Bruno from holding you. It didn’t.

After a few moments and a lot of convincing yourself to get up, solely just to eat and get some rest as you plotted your way out of this mess, you made your way over to the cave only to stop when you heard voices. One of them you recognized, Bruno, but there was someone actually responding to him. You swallowed, unable to help yourself from hiding at the edge of the cave to listen in to what they were saying.

“I just don’t know if I can make it work, is all. I mean, you’ve seen them. They’re horrified of… This.” Bruno spoke out, leaving the other beast just to scoff.

“They’re horrified that you’re no longer human. Something that you can’t change. Do you honestly believe that you can make them separate this idea of who you once were versus who you are now?” The other beast, for what other creature would be able to speak out with such calm in front of Bruno in the state that he was in now, replied, sounding simply skeptical.

“But you don’t understand, it’s not like I’ve changed. I’m still the same person, I just-”

“Happened to have turned into an eldritch horror beyond basic human comprehension now trapped in a liminal space shaped like a labyrinth. Good pitch.” He sounded so curt, leaving Bruno just to huff.

“I don’t know why I even bothered to ask you.”

“Because you knew I would be honest with you. It would be easiest if you just gave up on the human, Buccellati. Humans are odd, fragile, and emotional. You could easily find a nice beast girl to settle down if you really wanted.” He replied, leaving you just to… ponder. You never really thought of beasts actually speaking to each other, much less loving each other.

“You act as though we’re not humans.” Bruno replied sharply, leaving the other beast to sigh.

“You’re not. We’re not. Sure, maybe at one time, but there’s no way back. Who knows, maybe you and Dio can laugh over this one day.”

“He’s on the other side of the Labyrinth. Speaking of which, how are there other Beasts in this territory? I thought it was supposed to be mine.”

“Oh, only stronger beasts deal with things like territory. Pathetic ones like me, we don’t have that luxury. It’s easier to say you’re with the biggest guy in the room than to try and stake out your own claim in the world. Plenty of territories are filled with beasts that simply stick around for protection or just because they feel like it. I’m surprised you don’t have a line out the door with Beasts asking for your blessing to move in, this is prime real estate.”

“They’re too dangerous for my beloved to be around. I’m particular about the things that might feel too comfortable to try and hurt them.”

“If you’re choosey, then you really made a bad choice in letting me stay.”

“You don’t like humans. I figured you didn’t have the spine to break theirs.” You gasped at that, Bruno’s fine tuned ears finally picking up on your listening in to their conversation and standing up.

“Cara, you can come in. It’s rude to listen in.” He called out to you, leaving you to swallow as you stepped out into the low candlelight of the cave, making your way inside. You just stared at the ground, not wanting to respond for fear of… You weren’t really sure. Bruno didn’t tend to get mad at you, but you didn’t know anything about this other beast. When you caught a glimpse of him, you were a bit skeptical. While Bruno tended to hide his more… Er, Inhuman qualities, this other beast had no qualms about being comfortable. You saw how his silvery hair fell over his shoulders, his painted lips barely concealing rows of sharp teeth and neatly done nails actually claws.

“Tesoro, this is Leone Abbacchio. He’ll be staying near the Shore, so you may see him often.” Bruno told you, leaving you just to roll your eyes.

“Oh boy, another terrifying monster I get to live near! I’ll make sure to bake cookies for the house party.” You replied, leaving Bruno’s face just to set into a grimace while Abbacchio just smiled and rolled his eyes.

“I have no interest in humans, and much less one this scrappy.” He replied, standing up. It took a moment for his insult to click, but once it did, you were ready to fucking fight. Would you lose? Probably. But your honor. But, before you could get a word out, Abbacchio just brushed himself off of bits of sand that seemed to stick at his body, and turned to Bruno.

“I’ll let you two have your lovers quarrel in peace.” And with that, Abbacchio quickly was out of there, leaving you alone with Bruno, who just shook his head as he sat down, motioning for you to sit with him. You did not obey.

“Don’t just stand there, tesoro. Perhaps we should talk. I hate the idea that there’s something wrong with our relationship.” Bruno told you, leaving you just to scoff as you crossed your arms.

“It’s fundamentally wrong, because it’s based on a lie. Me being here isn’t because of love! It’s because of… Because you… I’m your prisoner, Bruno!” You didn’t know why tears were welling up in your eyes, why the pain hit your heart as you spoke the truth, but it did. Your dreams of escaping with Bruno to the outside world, outside of this hell, were crushed entirely. Everything was just a wreck, Bruno had lost it, and beyond it all, he still gave you a pang in your heart. Bruno just shook his head, standing up and you released how much taller than you he was. Was he always this much taller than you? Still, it didn’t matter, you didn’t have the chance to step away before Bruno wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. It was possessive, but his hand came behind your head, pressing your face into his chest. You gasped as you released he still smelled the same as before, of coastal air and cypress.

“I… I don’t care about that, (Y/n). I can’t lose you, not like everyone else. Please, just stay with me. If I lose you, I know… I know I’ll become like the rest of them. Please, I really do love you. Don’t you love me back?” Bruno’s voice was shaking, as if he were about to cry. You had the instinct to try and comfort him, holding yourself back the best you could.

“I… I don’t know anymore. It feels like… I’m haunted by you at this point. This person you once were and the… Thing you are now.” You replied, leaving Bruno just to sigh and let you go.

“I… But I haven’t changed. I haven’t hurt a single human. If anything, I’m safest out here. No one could possibly come out here, it’ll just be you and me. We can make the life you spoke about here, we can get married and have a family-”

“Bruno, no! We can never have that! You know that! Deep down in your heart, you know that just as well as I do, that this will never work! Even before... “ You looked away, hoping to find some sense of reality in a pace that seems to lack it. God, this was terrible. “We were just chasing after affection, weren’t we? Did we really love each other, or were we just so lonely that we didn’t know what to do and threw ourselves at the idea of human contact?” You replied, leaving Bruno to sigh.

“(Y/n), do you remember how you entered into the Labyrinth?”

“I…. What?” That was out of nowhere. You wondered if maybe he was trying to change the subject, but nonetheless, you shrugged and decided to answer.

“I don’t remember. I was walking through the woods one day, and it was like I got lost… Well, lost forever. I don’t really… Know what I did to deserve all of this.” You replied, leaving Bruno to sigh.

“Is there something back in your old life so pressing that you have to return to it? Is the world outside better than something we could build?” Bruno asked. You wanted to argue so bad, but he was right in a way. There really was nothing that you had going for you back at home. You would go back to work, live your boring, mundane life, but…

“You’re holding me hostage here, Bruno.”

“I’m protecting you. (Y/n), there’s no way out of the Labyrinth unless you have someone from the outside to pull you out. There’s no exit. That is the main secret of the Labyrinth.” He told you, his voice serious, and you knew he was telling the truth.

“I-I… T-Then, what were we searching for all that time?! Why were we… What kind of torture is all this?!” You replied, shaking a bit. You didn’t notice the way your hands were starting to fade and distort, but you didn’t care. “What kind of being would create such a terrible place?!”

“I… I don’t know, tesoro. I really don’t know. But… If there’s no one outside looking for you, you have to understand. Travelling back to the main portion of the Labyrinth is…” He didn’t have to say it. It was a death sentence, a world of torture waiting to happen. You just collapsed, feeling yourself collapse into a pile as you sobbed, trying to find some way, some reason for your entire existence here. You wanted to believe this was a lie, you really did, but something about Bruno’s tone.... How did he even learn this? Did that other beast tell him? Maybe it was just a lie that that beasts told, and Abbacchio knew that Bruno would try to be a sap with you. Torture by proxy. But still… Bruno’s hand hit your back, rubbing it gently as he sat down next to you.

“I… I know. Apparently… Every Beast that is in the Labyrinth was once a human being. One that was never saved.” He told you, leaving you just to go silent. You looked at your hands, the twisting of your own flesh and the accenting of claws that you had been telling yourself was just your nails growing jagged from lack of care. You turned to Bruno, lip quivering.

“I’m just haunted by the ghost of the person I thought I loved, and I don’t know if that person truly is you, or if he was killed in the fire.” You whispered, almost hoping that Bruno wouldn’t hear it. He just pulled you closer, wiping away your tears.

“I… I honestly don’t know. I feel like I am the same person, but who knows. I don’t know what has changed about me, and what hasn’t. All I know is… (Y/n), you keep me whole. You keep me… Good. I can’t explain it. I know you loved that person before, but… Could you ever be able to love me too?” He asked, leaving you just to look at the ground.

“I… I think so. I…” Your eyes just welled up with tears again as you grabbed onto Bruno, sobbing. You mourned for him, for yourself, for the hell that dozens were put through.

“What’s going to happen to me, Bru? Am I going to become a monster?” You asked, leaving the man to just pet your hair, hushing you.

“No matter what you become, you’re still going to be mia cara. And I’ll always love you, no matter what. I promise.” He told you. You looked up, letting your hand run along his cheek as you pressed your lips against his for the first time in forever. And he wasn’t warm the way he once was, but the kiss was still real, and his lips were still soft. When he pulled away, Bruno just held you in his arms, the two of you sharing a soft moment as you both tried to process the new reality that had come upon you. This was now the world you lived in, a world of Beasts and humans who would someday become beasts. If there were gods, they were only malevolent.

“I… I really do love you, (Y/n). I want a life with you. Even if it has to be in this hell, I really do mean what I meant. I think we could create a paradise here. A place just for us, forever.” He told you, and in your week state, you just nodded, letting Bruno hold you as you closed your eyes.

“I… I love you too. I’ve always loved you.” You told him, feeling your eyes get heavy as you cuddled up with Bruno. You looked into his eyes again, seeing that blue you had fallen in love with in the beginning, the Fisherman’s son who was determined to get home, with that serious look on his face, but full of hope. His eyes still had hope, though. For some reason, that seemed to comfort you, seemed to make you feel like things… Might be okay. Maybe not now, but someday.

For the last time that night, you dreamed of that idyllic life you once wanted with Bruno, in the old world on the ocean, a family and kids and peace. When you awakened in the arms of the beast, you were finally ready to throw it away.

[queenofcats17]

So, inspired by @year2000electronics‘s HLVRV Freeman, I decided to write a thing for Eternal Stream where Benrey is in that position.

However, as I wrote, I quickly realized Eternal Stream Benrey is the worst replacement G-man candidate. He awful at being serious and mysterious.

Eternal Stream belongs to me, @liliflower137, and @lady-lampblack

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chance had been far too tempting to pass up. 

This one had already lost his memories once. He had already distanced himself from his birth family. 

All he had was his science team and his fiance. 

None of them were entirely equipped for dimensional travel. Only a few were even combatants.

It was almost too easy. 

All he’d had to do was pluck the man from his bed while his fiance had been out.

Getting rid of his remaining memories hadn’t been too hard, since he didn’t have many. 

The man had resisted, of course, but this had proved futile. What could a human do against a god?

After that, it was just a matter of releasing the replacement into the world to do his job.

There was no way this could fail.

.

He was called Agent B. What did that B stand for? That wasn’t important. Also...he didn’t actually know. But it didn’t matter anyway.

His job was a fairly simple one. He kept things under wraps, made sure everything went well. He cleaned up particularly messy dimensional events and nudged things in the right directions.

As far as he was concerned, he’d been doing this forever. He couldn’t remember not doing it. Actually, he couldn’t remember much of anything. He knew his name, he knew his job, but that was about it. He didn’t have memories of a childhood, a life. 

But he wasn’t supposed to, was he? All that mattered was doing his job.

He knew everything he needed to.

Except....He didn’t know what his ring was. 

There was a ring he wore on his right hand. He didn’t know where he’d gotten it, just that it felt...important. His superior had told him to get rid of it, but it didn’t feel right to do that. He kept it hidden under gloves most of the time. He didn’t want his supervisor taking it away from him. 

He couldn't lose it.

His life was...boring. Or as boring as life as an inter-dimensional government agent could be. It was just the same thing over and over. Watching, waiting, intervening at the right times. It was just one big cycle and it was so boring. He didn’t intentionally slack off, he knew he’d get yelled at if he did, but he didn’t exactly...give it 100%.

He did fine, but he could tell that his supervisor was incredibly disappointed.

B got bored a lot, itching for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d brought this yearning of his up to his supervisor before, hoping his supervisor might know what was going on. His supervisor had shut him down almost immediately, telling him that those feelings didn’t matter and B just needed to do his job.

So, B kept doing what he was told.

And one day....things changed. 

He’d been out on an errand from his supervisor, which he did a lot, when someone had noticed him. 

That in itself was strange. 

People didn’t often notice B. Perks of the job and all that. If they did notice him, whatever eldritch power he possessed forced them to forget him as soon as they looked away. 

But that wasn’t what happened this time.

“Benrey!” 

Before he could process the voice or the name he’d just been called, someone had practically tackled him with a hug. A man was holding him tightly, sobbing incoherently. B couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see long brown hair and could feel a metal hand on the back of his neck. Something about the voice sounded...familiar.

B stiffened, unsure what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be approached like this. 

“Sir, I would appreciate if you didn’t just grab me like that,” he said, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice his voice going up an octave in panic. He didn’t do well with unexpected socialization. The only reason he was any good at this job was that he didn’t have to interact with people most of the time, and when he did he had time to rehearse what he would say.

The man pulled back and....Oh gods. He was hot. B wanted to get out a flirty comment, but he’d been reprimanded in the past by his superior for such “unprofessional” behavior, so he kept it to himself. 

“It’s so good to see you,” the man said. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Even with tears streaming down his face and his nose running like a faucet, he was still one of the most handsome men B had ever seen. He could feel his face getting hot.

“Do I know you?” He asked, trying to keep up his cool facade. 

The man blinked, his expression of relief turning to one of confusion. “Benrey, it’s me.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” B said.

“I’m your fiance, Chester.” The man held up his flesh hand, upon which there was a ring. A ring that perfectly matched the one hidden under B’s glove.

“I don’t have a fiance,” B said, although he’d begun to worry with his ring. 

The man, Chester, stared at B. He looked like B had just kicked a puppy in front of him. It made B’s heart hurt, even though he didn’t know why.

“You really don’t remember me?” Chester asked quietly.

“No?” B replied, although something about this stranger felt ever so familiar. 

Perhaps it was the unsure tone in B’s voice, perhaps it was his own stubbornness, but Chester set his face in solemn determination and grabbed B by the hand. For a moment, B panicked at the forceful contact. Then Chester’s grip grew softer, gentler. 

“I’m not letting you go, not again,” he said, cradling B’s hand between his own. “Please....Come home with me.”

B swallowed, hunching his shoulders in hesitation. His supervisor would yell at him if he found out about this. 

But Chester had the same ring as him. 

Chester felt familiar. 

Something about Chester’s face made B feel...safe.

“Uh....Okay...” B mumbled, his cool mysterious facade unraveling in an instant. Chester’s hand was so warm.

Chester smiled. 

B couldn’t help but smile back.

[missblissy]

Rebirth (Chapter Four)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU)) 

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four

Tagged: ((You can ask to be added to the tagged list!!)) @alastors-bambi @peachesandkats @riintss @destiny-in-the-universe @dadzawas-eyebags @daedaliaaan @putridjoy @shieldagentofthemonth @originofthedragonjim @animals4ever527 @jexinqq @chaotic-pansexual @geekin-about-alastor @keenhumanoidduckeagle @fafefae​ @honeydrops01010​ @itz-kira​ @xoceanicgemzx @the-monochrome-jester @holdnyvaseline

Fuck! FUCK! Your back was still pressed against the door. You could hear someone coming down some stairs then a deep voice call, “Hello?” Seconds later Vanderlinde rounded the corner and come into the foyer. He saw you shaken form and worried look painted his face, “(Y/n)? What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“YES!” You blurted out. For whatever reason, you felt like you could confess in Vanderlinde. Although he was a professor at the university you attended, he was once a priest who left the church for personal reasons. Maybe he knew something? Maybe that’s why Alastor was stuck outside. You stood up straight and hurried over to the window in the living room. You pulled back the curtain and saw Alastor still standing there. He looked confused even with a distorted smile on his face. It looked painful and unnatural on his human face. 

Vanderlinde was close behind. He was about to ask what was going on but he found out for himself. The second his eyes came in contact with Alastor’s figure, he grabbed you and yanked you away from the window, “Holy Mother of Mary!” Vanderlinde whisper-yelled, “Do you know what that is?!” His green eyes nearly jumped out of his head.

Fear was written all over his face. What was the reason? You stood beside Vanderlinde with concerned eyes, “He’s a demon-”

“THE DEMON!” Vanderlinde jumped at you. He placed both his hands on your shoulder and nearly shook the life out of you, “How? How did you get him here? Why did bring him here?” Vanderlinde’s voice shook in his throat, “Why did you bring The Radio Demon to earth?!”

“I-..I don’t even know who he is, Van!? He- he said his name was Alastor-”

“Alastor the FREAKING AXE HUNTER!!” That sounded familiar but you didn’t quite pick up what Vanderlinde was saying. Luckily he went on, “The serial killer from the 1920s? Ya know? They called him The Southern Axe Hunter? A radio host that’d trick you with a smile into a dark corner? Kidnapped his victims then take them home and dismember them? While they were still alive! He killed all those people to summon an Eldritch spirit that is not of this universe!” 

“I didn’t summon him!” You quickly defended yourself, “Him and his little shadow friend Eon broke into my home. He started spouting some nonsense that he knew me in a past life! He wants to take me back to hell!”

Vanderlinde stares at you with wide eyes. He didn’t say anything for the longest time and it started to worry you, “He wants to take you to hell?” he repeated your words in the form of a question. 

“Y-yeah. He said my soul is too pure to go right now. I think he’s trying to taint me or make a sinner-”

Vanderlinde cut you off again. His face now stern and cold, “Come with me.”

You silently followed after him. Less than a few days ago this was your home for what felt like lifetimes. You had been roommates with Vanderlinde and Sage for almost 3 years. The house was exactly the same way it was when you last saw it.

Vanderlinde lead you downstairs and into the basement. What could possibly be down here beside the laundry machines and dozens of canned foods? Well, a lot of things. You watched your friend head towards a door you’ve seen thousands of times but never dared to open when you lived here. It was always locked so you just assumed it more storage of some kind.

It was an old round wooden door with black hinges. Vanderlinde pulled a necklace out from under the collar of his shirt and snapped the key off the string. He unlocked the door and pushed it open with ease. As the door squeaked open, a deep earthy smell with the overpowering scent of herbs and chemicals wafted from within the darkness.

You were stunned by what you found inside. As Vanderlinde flicked on a light that dangled from the ceiling you came face to face with the lovechild between a science lab and a witch’s hut. Dozens of herbs hung from the walls while a cauldron boiled and smoked from the center of the room. An altar made of skulls, bones,  and candles lit itself to life all by itself as Vanderlinde got close to it. In the corners of the room were benches filled with test tubes, beakers, Bunsen burners and all sorts of chemistry equipment. It looked like a haunted science lab from high school chemistry class of the undead.

You noticed the floor was made of dirt with rocks placed in circle patterns embedded into the ground. You stood beside Vanderlinde at the alter and asked “Has this been here the whole time? What is this?” He still had that stern and cold look on his face. It was odd to see him so stressed out, he was normally a very relaxed person. Seeing him like this made you worried that things were worse than you first thought.

“Yeah, it’s Sage’s lab. I’m not going to hide this from you anymore seeing as we have a literal code red, but we’re demon hunters,” He didn’t take his eyes off the spinning orb at the center of the alter. Vanderlinde hovered both his hands over it as he went on to say, “Well, Sage is. She’s a witch and demon slayer. I’m just the researcher, I don’t actually slay anything other than words and books.” How did you not know this about your two best friends? And witches? They were real too?! What’s next? Vampires!? Mermaids!?

“Where is Sage?” You asked as you realized she hadn’t shown up yet.

“She’s on a hunt. That job she’s always traveling a lot for? It’s to kill demons.” Huh, you wished you knew that sooner.

“Okay, so can you get rid of Alastor then?”

“I’m going to try my best,” He said with a worried smiled. As he placed his hands on the glowing orb you watched with amazement and wonder as he pressed his hands into the orb. They seeped into the glass as if it were water, “I don’t have a divine weapon. I can’t kill him without Sage or her rapier. So this is going to have to do,” He pulled his hands from the orb and in his grasp was a black dagger, “You can only kill a demon with holy technology. The weapon’s of angels work the best. If you don’t kill them with a divine weapon, they just go back to Hell and then the fight starts all over again.”

You watched him hold the black dagger with just the tips of his fingers. It looked like it was made of obsidian. Vanderlinde then started to pluck herb after herb while tying them to the handle of the dagger with string. He went over to a large makeshift dresser and started pulling out bird beaks and feathers, he tied those to the dagger too. Lastly, he took a large bucket from under a bench and popped the lid off. You were instantly met with the fermenting, rotting smell of animal blood as it washed around in the bucket.

The smell was awful enough to make you nearly barf. Vanderlinde didn’t even seem fazed. For an Ex-preist, he sure did use a lot of dark rituals. He dipped the very tip and only the tip of the dagger into the bucket of blood then held it upright with the blade pointing to the sky. You watched the little drop of blood fall down the center of the blade then drip back into the bucket. Vanderlinde waved the dagger a few times the muttered words in a language you didn’t know.

In a firey explosion of smoke and sparks, the dagger changed right before your eyes. Once black obsidian, the dagger was now crystal clear glass that you could see right through. This must be magic... You thought.

Without a word spoken between the two of you, you followed Vanderlinde upstairs and to the window. Alastor was still there but this time he was tapping his ghostly microphone onto the magic barrier keeping him off of the property. He was testing for weak spots. Vanderlinde took in a deep shaky breath then whispered a prayer to God before heading to the door.

You made sure to stay behind him as you left the house. Alastor was still standing there on the sidewalk with a twisted smile that tore apart his human flesh. His eyes were bloodshot with slivers for pupils, much like that of a cat. Anyone would have guessed that he was possessed in some kind of way.

“I thought I smelled some type of trash lingering around here!” Alastor said with a grin, “Where is the witch?” You and Vanderlinde stood in the driveway, only inches away from the sidewalk. You had only just noticed that Vanderlinde had a rosary in one hand. His thumb passing the beads through his fingers as he nervously counted each little bead. Alastor let out an evil giggle, “You’re foolish if you think that can work against me, Father,” You saw Vanderlinde flinch at the jab Alastor was trying to make.

“I don’t work for the church anymore,” He said slowly, he lifted the dagger up to Alastor’s eye level and for the first time you saw an emotion plaster itself on his face.

He jerked away in disgust and hissed and spat out vile sounds, “What kind of Christian taints their soul with Voodoo!?” Alastor’s smile wavered and thinned but never dropped from his face. It only shifted in size, “Did you really throw away your only chance at Heaven just for this little trick?”

Vanderlinde’s eyes flashed harshly with an emotion you couldn’t describe. His gaze was firmly locked with Alastor’s as he brought the crystal blade to his hand, “I was never getting in anyways,” He quickly sliced open the palm of his hands to let his blood flow onto the sidewalk. It splattered around Alastor’s feet and even managed to get on his shoes. Ghostly transparent chains sprung from the ground and trapped Alastor there as they tangled around his legs. 

Surprise coated Alastor’s face and you could see Eon watching from his shadow on the ground. A pair of hollow empty holes stared up from the pavement as Eon absorbed what was going on.

“Now that I’ve got you stuck here,” Vanderlinde started. He dropped the dagger to the ground and watched it break. He stepped on the shards and crushed them even more into little bits of broken glass, “You’re going to answer some questions. First off, why are you here, demon?”

There was a battle happening on Alastor’s face. He must have been under some kind of truth spell because you could tell he was fighting to keep his mouth closed. Whatever Vanderlinde did with the dagger must have worked. After a minute or two Alastor gave up. The static returned to his voice and his words were strained, “I’m here for (Y/n). I’m bringing her back home,” He sounded like a robot, he even kind of looked like one. His face was stone cold and didn’t move. your stomach twisted into a knot as you watched his smile grow larger and larger by the second. Even his eyes were fixed and locked on Vanderlinde. He didn’t blink once or even dare to look away.

“What do you need (Y/n) for? Who is she to you?” Vanderlinde asked. All while this was going on, you made sure to stay behind your friend. You didn’t want to get to close to Alastor because as ever second past more of his human features melted away.

A pair of horns started to grow from Alastor’s head as he helplessly answered the question like an automated voice message, “I want to take her home so we can get back to our afterlife in eternity. She was my wife,” Alastor’s hair started to fade into shades of red and black as it grew out. His skin started to turn an ashy gray color as blood soaked into his eyes, giving them the red tint they usually had. Two long and fluffy ears flipped from his hair and stood upright.

Shock jumped onto both yours and Vanderlinde’s face. That was it? That’s all he wanted? You felt something in your chest crack and scream. You were his wife in your past life? Or afterlife? When exactly did your past self meet him? At the same time, something in your heart made you feel extreme pity for Alastor. Another part of you felt fear, anger, and confusion. Mostly anger.

Alastor’s answers only brought up more questions. Thank God that Vanderlinde was thinking the same thing as you, “When did you first meet (Y/n)? And who was (Y/n) before she was reincarnated?” He asked.

By now Alastor was looking more and more like his demonic self. His voice never wavered once and stayed uncomfortably calm, “I met her the day I died in 1933 at the seventh and final gate to Hell. She was The Crybaby Demon, (Y/n) (L/n), and Hell’s Gatekeeper, similar to your Saint Peter at Heaven’s gates,” Alastor’s words meant something to Vanderlinde because he snapped his gaze to you for only a second. You had no idea what this Crybaby Demon was or what Alastor was talking about.

There was a cold chill that slapped the back of your neck and suddenly Alastor freed himself of the chains of truth. Now fully in his demonic form, Alastor gave a quick and toothy smile as he stepped forward and place a foot onto the driveway. The magical barrier was useless against him now. He got into Vanderlinde’s face and chuckled.

With a click of his tongue and dark little giggle, Alastor threatened Vanderlinde “I best hope you have your little witch around next time, Father,” He said in a dark and demonic tone. Alastor’s voice was so warped and demented that you could barely tell what he was saying, “The next time you see me will be your last,” Alastor snapped his finger and then -POOF- he turned to dust in the wind and just like that... he was gone.

___________________________________________________

He wasn’t irritated. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t angry. He was enraged. He was full of wrath and hate and malice. His little radio heart THUMB THUMB THUMBED in his ears as he peered at his own reflection through a mirror he broke seconds before.

Alastor was having an incredibly difficult time dealing with his emotions. Normally he had them under complete control. He underestimated the power of Vanderlinde and Sage. He had been keeping tabs on these silly little demons hunters and he was sorely unprepared for that little attack that Vanderlinde pulled on him. 

As Alastor peered into the Water Well, he could see through the eyes of Buck, your cat and his familiar. Though Buck’s eyes, Alastor watched you and Vanderlinde cleans your apartment head to toe with Voodoo rituals that were so secret and private that Alastor nearly flipped the Water Well over in a fit of rage. 

“HOW!?” He yelled, baring his teeth with an ugly and large frown, “Where did he find it!? Where did he even get this kind of knowledge!?” Thank god he was alone. Alastor watched as Eon’s shadowy figure formed before him.

“Calm yourself, friend,” That was kind of hard to do right now, “We’ll get them next time. Do not worry about it,” 

Alastor ignored Eon’s words and bent as close as he could to the Water Well without getting wet. His large red eyes filled with hate as he watched Vanderlinde teach you forbidden Voodoo rituals that no outsider should ever have the right to know. Voodoo was a very closed and secretive culture that didn’t welcome outsiders, “Who is he!?” Alastor snapped, “Who is that stupid little bitch witch!? What clan does she belong too?” 

Suddenly there was a knock on his door. Alastor stood up tall and slapped a smile onto his face. He hid any sign of his rage and opened the door to his grand hotel room. 

He was going to quickly send off whoever it was, but it was Charlie. Instead of quickly dismissing her, he smiled and asked, “Something I can help you with?”

The little demon princess had a worried look on her face as she raised her brows and peered beyond Alastor and into his room. She noticed all the broken glass and furniture, “Uh, haha- um-” She weakly laughed with a sad smile, “I was wondering if I could actually help you with... whatever you're dealing with? Everyone heard a bunch of loud bangs and crashes coming from your room-”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Alastor cut her off and waved his hand in her face, “Everything is fine, Charlie,” He started to close the door on her when suddenly a voice snuck into Alastor’s mind. It was Eon, whispering into his thoughts so only Alastor could hear him. We could use her help, Eon said, “Actually,” Alastor opened the door up again. A natural yet sinister smile was on his face, “I think you can. Do you think you could de me a sweet little favor? Something nice and easy?”

Charlie lit up like a firework with a smile on her face, “Sure!” She always loved helping others, “What can I do for you, Al?”

He chuckled then leaned down to her eye level. There was an overwhelming sense of happiness and joy in his twisted smile, “Call your father for me?”

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Reaction to ‘Wizards’

There were some elements of Wizards that I was quite pleased with and others I found disappointing.

Here are some notes I took while watching it: 

“I was busy,” says the guy who was ASLEEP.

Cuckoo clock in bookstore looks like Bular’s head.

Green Knight can teleport, confirming potential parallel character to Angor Rot and Tronos Madu, both yellow-eyed assassins with teleportation and tragic backstories (later confirmed, yes, there are parallels between this character and those two besides the visual one)

Jim always tips at the cafe; yup, that sounds like Jim 

Gunmar saving Jim: irony. Is Jim going to go to the Gumm-Gumm camp now? 

Confirmation that portrait was Arthur and Guinevere and she is “gone”, presumably by magic or killed by a troll - is she dead or did she just leave? (Later confirmed, dead)

Morgana’s name is carved on the tree under Arthur’s and Guinevere’s - was she in love with Guinevere too? 

Is that Nari with Morgana and Guinevere? (Later confirmed, yes)

Stone doll Callista finds looks like Angor’s totems - same village? He said it was “Gunmar’s war” that destroyed it, and she says it was a human attack, but Angor might’ve seen it as a retaliatory attack by the humans which Gunmar’s actions had provoked?

Arthur being the one to cut off Morgana’s hand makes Merlin SLIGHTLY less of an asshole for using it in the Amulet, but a lot of this still could’ve been avoided if Merlin had been willing to shut up and listen. 

Oh, except it wasn’t Arthur who cut off Morgana’s hand the first time anyway? 

Episode 3 ends without Steve getting knocked on his back, so that scene must’ve been his sparring match with Lancelot in Episode 2 instead of keeping it an Episode 3 tradition (like how Zuko and Iroh hug in Episode 18 of each season of Avatar the Last Airbender)

Why would Douxie be grossed out at the idea of swimming naked? Swimsuits have only been around for, what, 80 years? Presumably it was a specific lack of desire to see Steve naked.

Neat take on the Lady of the Lake. 

AAARRRGGHH used to have a triple set of horns - what happened to the other two? Receded, amputated, knocked off? Also, Gunmar says AAARRRGGHH is ‘holding back’ when they spar and has yet to win against him - if AAARRRGGHH was doing that on purpose, this supports my theory that he was debating how safe it was to stay on Gunmar’s side for some time before deserting. 

Morgana possessed? 

Angor Rot saved Morgana/recovers her body and gives a funerary-sounding blessing, showing he was sympathetic to humans before losing his soul  

Oh, and Nari gave her the new hand 

Wait, so who steals Angor’s soul in this timeline? 

Called it on that servant guy being a Changeling - he appears in the background of, like, every scene that episode where they’re talking about Morgana using unexpected strategies to sneak into Camelot. 

Wait, except his human form is an adult - so is he a polymorph? Or Familiars can be taken as adults but babies are easier to contain and have less ‘established personality’ to match after replacing them? Or has Morgana already been creating Changelings? AAARRRGGHH calls Jim “impure” when they meet in Dwoza, suggesting Gumm-Gumms already know what Changelings are, except Morgana wasn’t working with them yet

Is Callista going to be Deya? (Later confirmed, yes)

Show seems to be matching up with old theories about Deya being the first Trollhunter, confirming that the show, comics, and novels are all separate continuities (since comics and novels show pre-Deya Trollhunters). 

Gumm-Gumm berserkers - mind-controlled or grit-shaka’d (talisman of “no fear”), to throw themselves into sunlight like that?

Steve seems ready to refer to any half-decent older man as his dad, like when he refers to Merlin as ‘Wizard-Dad’. Maybe it’s because I was watching Brooklyn 99 recently but I’m reminded of Jake Peralta.

Big Jim’s crystal neck protrusions look like Strickler’s knife collar back when I thought that was part of his body. Glowy lines look like Gunmar; tie-in to Gunmar born of a “corrupted Heartstone” since Jim is “corrupted” now?

Aw, Krel called Ricky his dad. 

How did AAARRRGGHH fit through the HexTech door to the backroom?

“Cat and mouse” line cuts to a shot of Archie obviously imitating Nari (confirmed a few minutes later)

Toby has obviously seen Ghostbusters. “When someone asks you if you are a god, you say YES!”

Decoration in bookshop looks like Angor’s head.

Was that lightshow of Nari searching the world for Jim’s soul just a visual metaphor for her powers or did literally everyone on Earth see that?

“There’s a force neither of us can escape - gravity!” says the woman who can fly.

Morgana’s occasional echo-y voice in Trollhunters matches Bellroc and Skael - possession/magical-influence related?

So did Merlin have that book on him or did his body turn into the book?

Are all dragons fluffy and/or shapeshifters in this universe? 

Might’ve been smarter to keep Merlin’s staff intact and destroy the Grimoire so the Arcane Order never knows where to find the Genesis Seals, just saying.

If Morgana didn’t become “the Eldritch Queen” until, like, IMMEDIATELY before Angor approached her (therefore days earlier at most in the unaltered timeline), how had he heard of her to seek her aid? Was he actually reaching out to the Arcane Order? At least this explains why he didn’t go to the Trollhunter for help - there was no Trollhunter to approach yet.

Big Jim ‘dies’ in the same pose as AAARRRGGHH in Trollhunters Season 1 and Draal in Unbecoming, both false death scenes, for five-second foreshadowing Jim was alive. 

Mixed feelings about him being human again - like I’ve said, I didn’t think the Troll Jim subplot was well-executed but I also felt like, now that it’s been established, the show needs to stick with it. Since everything’s over I’m going to headcanon Jim having shapeshifting powers now and being able to switch between human and troll at will, he just didn’t think to try to do so on-camera.

Also, I feel like Jim’s relationship with Claire is once again completely overshadowing his relationship with Toby, instead of them being different kinds of relationships with equal weight. 

Barbara is going to be pretty shocked when her human son shows up again. She and Strickler don’t appear at all in this series, even in cameo. 

Maybe Jim’s not a troll anymore because, with Merlin and Morgana both dead, their magic is “broken” and that’s what was holding his transformation in place? Merlin’s through the potion, Morgana’s through the Changeling femur, both through the Amulet.

Is Jim still going back to New Jersey? Blinky’s got to, unless the trolls there have elected a new leader or they’re bringing the New Jersey Heartstone back to Arcadia.

Series ending scene also would work as the final scene of a movie, setting up a sequel hook even though it’s supposed to be over now. 

Seems like wizards are long-lived and age really slowly? Possibly a “will not die but can be killed” situation, like vampires, or unicorns (at least in The Last Unicorn) 

Additional thoughts after finishing the show and thinking for a while: 

I don’t get how Morgana could end up with such a reputation among trolls - enough to have superstitions about her, seen when Dictatious objects to Usurna saying her name - when they only interacted with her for like a few days at most. I guess she made a pretty strong impression on Gunmar, who passed that on to everyone else? Or maybe she cultivated that reputation over time via the Changelings?

Speaking of the Changelings, does this mean that, while Morgana designed the process to create them, she doesn’t make each individual one? Otherwise she would’ve had to pre-make a bunch in the time between getting her new hand and being trapped in the Heartstone. Although, if she can steal Angor’s soul remotely (with the idea she was already trapped in the Heartstone when that happened), she can probably also make Changelings remotely. 

I’m kind of sorry the Changelings got invented so quickly; I figured there would be some trial-and-error to that process.

How I think the Original Timeline went: 

Morgana would’ve turned to the Arcane Order seeking magic allies, later in the day that gets changed when the time-travelers arrive. Possibly she seeks out Nari, specifically, remembering her from childhood. 

Merlin then sees Morgana as the Future Threat and he or one of the knights (not Arthur) cut off her hand in the resulting fight. 

Merlin makes the Amulet. It chooses Callista, who is still in Camelot’s dungeon at the time, and she agrees to fight Gunmar in exchange for her freedom. 

She fully intending to go back on the deal and run for it, but then something-something-something and she learns her original name and saves the world anyway. Probably she’s the one who took down and imprisoned AAARRRGGHH in Dwoza, which inspired the other trolls there to follow her. 

Morgana finds out about the Trollhunter shortly before Angor arrives to ask her for magic, which is why she orders him to hunt the Trollhunters down.

Arthur thinks Merlin killed Morgana and wants to avenge her, leading him to the Arcane Order for the original not-time-loop-prompted attack.  

Show did a good job establishing and developing Douxie’s relationship with Merlin

Also, how did that bookshop end up a center of Merlin’s power? He’s only been in the modern world for a few months. Did he set a shop up off-camera while the trolls were travelling to New Jersey and the Akiridions were discovering Earth? 

How did Ricky Blank lose his head, anyway? Can Hex Tech fix him? Krel says magic and Akiridion tech combine harmoniously. 

[robbyrobinson]

I

I haven't the faintest idea how I ended up getting into this position, but I am forever grateful that I managed to escape it. Ever since I was a child, I was an avid reader. I read just about anything: newspapers; comic books; obituaries, you name it. I'm certain that you had the same feelings I had. Of reading whatever you could get your grubby hands-on, you find yourself in a bind. Craving more knowledge, I am assured that you would've done anything to satiate your hunger.

When I was allowing my mind to humor the imagined solutions to my plight, it happened. While I was browsing the town's bookstore, I bumped into a strange man. He was the spitting image of a walrus. He was a rotund man in the perfect shape of an egg. He had a double chin that was partially covered by the thick, wintry whiskers of his mustache. Whoever this man was, he clearly was of some form of nobility. He was dressed in the finest black tuxedo that money could buy...if not for the fact that his paunch peeked through the bottom of his shirt. His arms were of a gargantuan frame with rolls of fat jiggling from the slightest movement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," I said. I had about four books in my hands at the time. I gazed down at them and collapsed on my knees to collect them without hesitation. The man tentatively wiped his shirt off with his pudgy fingers.

"It's quite all right, my good fellow," he said in an understanding tone of voice. While I should've been relieved that he wasn't going to take vengeance on me for my mistake, I felt the heat of his stare. He observed the books on the ground with a passing curiosity. "A fellow book connoisseur?"

"Well, yes," I answered while still being intimidated by the sudden interrogation.

"That is very good news," he replied. His smile shifted down into a frown. "But these books just won't do."

My interest peaked. "You know more appropriate literature for me to indulge myself in?"

"Yes. Just between you and me, let's just say that I have a collection of forbidden literature."

That proved to be the most intriguing part of the discussion. This man I had met on accident had access to literature that was assuredly banned by the government. I've heard stories of such books containing such unorthodox material, they were buried away, never to be seen by the light of day. The opportunities were limitless. I could barely conceal my excitement as I almost glossed over the gentleman providing me with his address. He became like a penguin and wobbled away, throwing his weight on his legs. Before I walked over to the counter, for a moment, I could've sworn that I saw a large, monstrous anomaly acting as the man's shadow.

II

Not too long after my realization that I neglected to ask the man of his name; a series of disappearances befell the city. Children between the ages of 10 and 16 were reported missing. They each disappeared not too long after the other. Approximately, there were six missing children. I thought back to the man I met at the bookstore and how eerily his shadow matched the news reports of the children complaining about being relentlessly pursued by a monster shrouded in darkness. It sent a chill up my spine whenever I weighed more on it.

The day of my little get-together with the man from the bookstore arrived. I fidgeted through my important papers until I fished out the note with his address on it. His home was a decent walking pace from mine. With my briefcase in hand, I traveled down the path. When I reached the house, it did not resemble anything I have imagined for a man of such a high status. The outer layers of the house contorted and shifted. The outer layer was transforming into indescribable shapes unknown to man. The trees around the settlement transformed into scaly talons. I turned to leave, but the voice of the fat man was calling out to me over the onslaught of chaos.

I walked through the shifting front door and trudged down the hallway. The walls were now a fleshy mass of red meat. They shook violently so much so; I was afraid they would leap at me. The other sights were…unappealing. In one room, what I could only describe as the most horrid of debaucheries was transpiring before my eyes. A wave of men and women bereft of clothing were committing the most audacious of sins. They danced around in a perverted succession and clawed onto each other in large orgies. Their incessant moaning disturbed me. “Lust,” I thought. It was undoubtedly a section dedicated entirely to the deadly sin of lust.

The next room was worse. Inside, chains of people were wrought with hunger. They tore into each other as wild dogs looking for scraps. Limbs were ripped off and fingers were plucked one by one like feathers. Not once did they grant me a passing glance. Instead, they continued to indulge in their cannibalistic rituals, never once feeling their hunger subsiding. What I have experienced was the sin of gluttony in its most perverted form.

Sloth was next. It was another guest room. It was relatively easier on the eyes, but that would be comparing a severed arm to a paper cut. Fat blobs sat on the bed and floor without rhyme or interest in anything currently happening. They were of people who were so corrupted by their slothfulness, they were reduced to creatures even below the worms.

The further I glanced into the rooms, the more I felt my mind crack from my incapability of understanding it. A hand reached out and touched my shoulder, sending me over the edge. “Glad you could make it; the festivities had just begun.”

It was the fat man again. But something was horribly wrong. He did not have any noticeable change in his demeanor. He still was just as jolly as he was when I first met him. In fact, he treated the unholy nightmares festering in his home with seeming indifference. That kind of indifference a man may feel when he views the same events daily. I now felt uncomfortable being in the same room as him.

Before I could respond, he whisked me away into the kitchen where he had a lavish array on the table. It looked normal at first glance, but after seeing all the bizarre, surreal nonsense in the respective rooms, I couldn’t help but be suspicious. The obese man sat at the head of the table and glutted himself on fattening foods from turkey legs and mashed potatoes. Thinking back, he looked even more massive than I gave him credit for. He looked up from his many plates and eyed me inquisitively.

III

“So, how are you enjoying your stay?”

I slammed my fists on the table in a dazed frenzy. “What in the name of all decency is going on here!?”

He frowned and sighed deeply. “I see you don’t understand. Such a shame.”

“Shame?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’m sure that you noticed by now that I am by no means an ordinary man.”

My mind became a blank. Not human? What is he suggesting? I knew he was insane, but what the hell did he mean by those cryptic words? I hushed my thoughts when he began to speak again.

“I am of a race of gods eldritch to your thought processes. Please, call me the Defiler.”

“Where are you going with this?” I asked now in irritation. Great; this man was insane, and he also believes that he was some powerful deity. I rubbed my throbbing temples in bewilderment. If this were a dream, I very much would’ve loved to wake up. I’d imagine waking up in my bed in the early morning going about my day and then indulging in my cherished hobbies. Instead, I was currently in a grotesque house filled with unspeakable perversions getting lectured to by a deranged man who may as well have escaped from a mental asylum not too far from here.

“I see that I am boring you, boy,” he said. His face was contorted into a vengeful scowl. “I am here speaking to you, but I am also far away.”

“How far, fat man?” I asked.

“My body is indescribable to you mortals, but I am confined behind a stone wall.”

I listened tentatively despite my disbelief. What he said next horrified me. If the idea that he was locked away behind a stonewall was already unbelievable, what he spoke of still to this day greatly disturbed me.

“Do you like my latest body?” he asked, “after all, this freak was just like you before I found you.” He told me that there was a man who was much like me who hungered for knowledge. After he grew bored with the typical literature he read, he sought more. In his endeavor, he met a member of an underground cult who told him that he could have access to the more problematic pieces. He was exposed to the depravities that the cult performed in dedication to some Great Old One or something of the sort. Despite it, he nevertheless allowed his cravings to overpower him, and he read a book that summoned that unearthly presence to him.

“It’s a pity that this body is going to waste,” the fat man bemoaned. “It’s about time I parted with him; we had so much fun together.” He feigned a single tear. “Those children were my favorite part.”

“Children?” I said.

He wordlessly took me forcefully out of my seat, and we both walked to the basement of the house. The remains of the missing children were spread astray. I choked back vomit as I took a closer look at them. Large chunks were noticeably taken from the corpses. I looked back at the fat man, his grin only growing larger with a more deranged glaze in his eyes. His smile circled around the tips of his mouth.

“What? What can I say; after I had my fun with them, I got hungry. Can’t blame a Great Old One becoming famished.”

My fists clenched. After everything, I was mentally preparing myself to punch this “god” back towards whatever plane of existence he originated from. “What else did you do to that man?”

He smirked. “When I possessed him, I cast his soul aside. He will forever be trekking that long path between life and death. I maneuvered him like a flesh puppet subservient to my rule. I do wonder though if he ever was made to watch his body cozy up with strangers?”

“What are you wanting from me now? And what is the reason behind any of this!?” I finally yelled.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After about three hours or so in my home and you still fail to understand?” He sighed. “I live for the carnality of you simple humans. I know all of man’s depravities and abominations, and I bask in it. That sense of pleasure mixed with pain is intoxicating. But what I desire the most is to be free from my prison and walk among you simple humans!”

The man’s disguise was wearing thin. His skin became papery with small cracks forming all over. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, his disguise cracked open. Underneath was displeasing to man’s eyes. An abnormally fat, headless man burst through the skin and towered over me. His hands were large and enshrouded my head. What sent me the most alarm, however, were the two mouths within the palms of his hands. Hot drool dripped down from his serpentine tongues. The room transformed into a chasm of red meat with oozing slime. A book manifested before me. It opened to the section that mentioned the fat man, the Defiler’s, name.

“Say my name and free me!”

My eyes darted towards his name. I tried my darndest to fight, but once my mind was set on the name, my tongue began to betray me. “Y…Y…”

The Defiler stiffened up in anticipation. “Yes! Yes!”

I grasped my throat and grunted. My attempts at choking myself were also proving to be unfruitful. “Y’gol…”

I immediately stared down on the floor of the basement. Beside one of the bodies of the slain children, I saw a carving knife. With my little time, I made a grab for it. The Defiler was perplexed, though because of lacking eyes, he could only express it through his mouths. I grabbed the knife and held it in front of him. My tongue slid out unconsciously from my mouth, and I grabbed it with one hand.

“No, no!” he screamed.

It was painful, but I sliced my tongue off, allowing half to fall on the floor. The Defiler shook violently. I was running out of blood quickly, but I ran forward with the knife and tussled with the Great Old One. He pinned me tightly with one of his hands and he tried to shove me up his other mouth. I clenched my knife and I rammed it into his chest cavity. He loosened his hold on me and tumbled forward. Blood was leaking out onto the floor. Nevertheless, he laughed. Despite the pain and blatant loss of blood. He was still laughing as if he was having the best day of his life.

“Don’t think that this is over, fool,” he said, “I can never truly die. Shame we won’t be able to play some more, though. Oh well, I guess I’ll go defile some other poor sap.” He laughed through his hands and contorted into dust. Without its owner, the house began to collapse, and debris came raining down. From the sound of the bloody screaming, the Defiler’s followers were also being buried alive. I staggered my way through the horrific freak show and exited the house. The house imploded, burying itself deep into a crater in the ground.

IV

Even though it was a few months ago, I still find myself thinking back about how my lust for reading nearly cost me my life and the threats of that beast getting released. But he also said that he would try to corrupt some other hapless victim. I just wonder who will be the next to fall, victim?

[luckyspike]

Spooky Halloween - A Good Omens Fanfiction

in which the line between the real world and the supernatural gets a little thinner

and the ineffables deal with it as well as they can

--

Everyone who knew Crowley’s true nature - these days, this included the Them, and a select few adults - assumed that Halloween would be prime time for the demon. It was, after all, the eve of the spirits, when the physical world pulled in closest with the supernatural, and the borders between the two broke down. It was the day when spooky was loved and celebrated, and surely Crowley would be all about that, wouldn’t he?

It was why Anathema was struggling particularly hard with Crowley’s outright refusal to show up at Adam’s Halloween party. “Come on, Crowley, you have to be kidding, what do you mean you don’t go out on Halloween?”

“I don’t,” he replied firmly. In the background, she could hear something that sounded suspiciously like plants being ripped out of the ground. “Stay in all day. 24 hours.”

“But it’s spooky. You love spooky.”

“Yes, but you know there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.”

“Oh?” She thought it over. “Like, too reminiscent of Hell, because I could convince him to tone down the decorations.”

“No, not that.” She heard him huff, and there came the sound of a body flopping into the grass. She had trouble not smiling, imaging the demon sprawled out on the lawn of the cottage, because she knew him and knew that was precisely what he was doing. “Me.”

“What about you?”

He groaned. “You can be really thick sometimes, you know it, Book-Girl?” She bristled, almost snapped a reply, but he had plowed on. “The boundaries between the human world and the supernatural are blurred. My corporation can only keep it together so well when that border breaks down.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, Aziraphale’s too,” he added, as an afterthought. “But he just gets sort of gimpy on that leg and has some extra eyeballs. He could - and he has - pass it off as a costume if he really needed to. Whereas me, well …” He sighed. “If I don’t just go serpent altogether I can hold a vaguely-human shape but it sort of stretches the limits of credibility to say it’s a costume or makeup or what have you.”

“Ah. Sorry I, uh, didn’t think of it that way. I think I understand now.” And she did. Crowley made some kind of non-specific noise on the other end of the line, and she went on, “Seriously, sorry.”

“Eh, don’t be. Natural assumption, really. And I have gone out on Halloween,” he added, “but because I needed to do some proper demon things. The scales and the horns really do help.”

She tried to imagine Crowley looking anything like a proper demon, and failed miserably. “I can imagine,” she said anyway. “Well, alright. I’ll tell the Them … something. Say you’re not feeling well or something.”

“Just tell them the truth. Adam’s the Antichrist, I hardly think demons doing demon things is going to be a shocking revelation.”

“Well, no, but I think if I tell them you’re spending the day cooped up because you look properly scary for once they’ll be even more disappointed you didn’t put in an appearance. You know how they are.”

“True.” He sighed. “That’s fine then, tell them whatever. And, ah, enjoy the party.”

“You’ll be alright by the weekend? I was thinking that new movie about the possessed priest -”

“Oh, yeah. Like I said, twenty-four hours, back to normal. Mostly. Might be a bit of ash around the fingertips but I’ll definitely be fine by Saturday.”

“Good,” she said, like they were discussing a brewing cold or sore throat, and not Crowley becoming an eldritch horror for a short period of time. “Alright, well, uh, good luck I guess. Hope it’s not too bad.”

“It’ll be awful, but thanks all the same.”

--

It always started at the stroke of midnight. Crowley and Aziraphale waited for it, knew it was coming, and took up stations where they would both be most comfortable. Aziraphale settled in n the library, books stacked high and at the ready, and an old but serviceable cane leaned up against the side table. Crowley carefully spread a few cheap old blankets over the couch and placed the iPad and his phone in easy reach. Preemptively, they both let their wings out, and Aziraphale took the time to rub some of the ache out of Crowley’s bad wing while his hands were still unfettered by eyeballs.

“We really have to look into fixing this,” he murmured, working the stiff joint of the wrist a little looser and ignoring the way it cracked, bones grinding arthritically. Crowley made a little noise of appreciation. “Even just the joint - I don’t know how we could get the feathers to grow back, but if we could get this wrist less contracted -”

“Can’t be done.” Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale let the wing go, the better to allow the demon to slump sideways into his chest. “Would’ve done it if I could.”

“I know that, dear boy.” He ran his hands down the leading edge of the wing, following the warped bone into Crowley’s shoulder and rubbing the muscle where the limb attached. Crowley sighed again, happily this time. “But I’ve never helped you look for a solution before.”

“S’pose not. Still don’t think there’s much to do about it, though. I mean, short of getting God or Raphael to fix it.” He snorted. “And fat chance of that.”

“I’ll have a look anyway. Perhaps - oh.” 

The clock on the buffet chimed. One, two, three, all the way to midnight. Crowley groaned. “Here we go.”

It wasn’t a painful transformation, but both had scars from the Great War, and the aftereffects weren’t enjoyable. When all was said and done, Aziraphale was leaned back into the couch, massaging his right thigh, and Crowley was carefully extricating himself from the angel’s lap, mindful of the ash raining from his form and Aziraphale’s newly-visible multitude of eyes. Cautious of the eye now in his palm, Aziraphale grabbed the tip of Crowley’s broken halo - horns, now - and guided it away from his wing. “Careful.”

“Sorry.” They exchanged a look. Exasperated, frustrated, but most of all, tired. It wasn’t a terrible trade-off, one day each year, but neither particularly enjoyed the in-between form that Halloween forced, and it had grown old over the years. “I hate this.”

“Me too.” Aziraphale sighed, and closed most of his eyes, although a few along his wings stayed open. “Twenty-four hours.”

“Ugh.” Crowley made a vague gesture, head leaned back over the sofa, eyes closed. “Don’t even feel like doing anything.”

“Take a nap?” Aziraphale suggested. He stood, hobbling from the couch to the chair, and picked a book from the top of the pile. “I’ll be reading.”

“Mm. What book?”

“Oh? Ah.” He didn’t bother to close it again, and instead blinked open the eye on his palm to read the cover. “It’s contemporary.” This was said with the same tone as he might have informed Crowley of a particularly insistent customer in the shop. “But I suppose it was well-reviewed. It’s a signed first edition.” Crowley made an interested little noise. “‘The Da Vinci Code’ by a Dan Brown. Supposedly has a good deal of Bible lore.”

“Haven’t you read that?” The demon looked up, grinning, and Aziraphale didn’t mind the fangs. “C’mon, you can’t have missed that.”

“I didn’t. I’m just getting to it now. Have you read it?”

“Nah. Downloaded it ages ago but then everything happened with the kids and I forgot about it. Meant to, though.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “I could read aloud, if you’d like. Good a way to spend the next 24 hours as any.”

Crowley hummed. “Can’t say I disagree. If you’re going to read, though, ah, and I don’t need hands -”

“Of course, dear.” There was a relieved hiss, and after a few seconds an enormous black winged snake was draped over the couch, coils heaped on coils to fit on the now-sagging piece of furniture. Leisurely, Crowley slithered forward, off the arm of the couch and across the empty space between there and Aziraphale’s chair. “Come around,” he encouraged, while Crowley draped the front length of himself around Aziraphale’s shoulders, until the tip of his snout was tucked under the angel’s chin, and the length of himself with his wings was resting on the floor, wings splayed out lazily. “Comfortable?”

“Yesss. You?”

“Budge off my right shoulder a bit, there’s a love. Right.” He turned from the title page, and started to read: “Fact: The Priory of Scion - a European secret society founded in 1099 - is a real organization.” He stopped. Frowned.

“Wasss it? Don’t remember that one,” asked the Serpent of Eden.

“I’m fairly certain it was not,” replied the angel of the Eastern Gate. He read on, expression growing more disapproving by the word. “In 1975 Paris's Bibliotheque Nationale discovered parchments known as Les Dossiers Secrets, identifying numerous members of the Priory of Sion, including Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo, and Leonardo da Vinci.’ Well, that’s utter tosh. Who published this pulp?”

Crowley’s forked tongue flicked the tip of his nose, and Aziraphale heard a hissing sort of laugh. “Who caressss? Go on, I want to hear thisss.”

All in all, it was not a bad way to spend 24 hours. By the midway point of chapter one, Aziraphale was so bent out of shape about the inaccuracies that he all but forgot about the ache in his leg, or that Crowley dribbled a little ash onto the rug every time he laughed. At some point, cocoa appeared, and Aziraphale pretended not to notice as Crowley sipped at it, even though the sheer size of his snout made stealth a bit difficult, considering the gentle thunk he made every time he shoved his nose into the cup. The reading went a bit slow, too, considering they had to stop roughly every five paragraphs to criticise something, or point out some inaccuracy, but the interludes were mutually enjoyable, and neither found they minded. 

Ordinarily, Aziraphale would have been able to read a book of that length within 24 hours. It was the reason for the other books settled within easy reach, after all. But when the clock again chimed midnight, and the eyes faded back into the ether, Aziraphale just paused, marked his place with a finger between the pages, and took a sip of fresh, warm tea. “Well, there we are. Another Halloween.”

“Yeah.” Crowley stretched his newly-returned limbs - wings included, he was loath to put them away yet if he didn’t need to, it felt so good to let them breathe now and then - and flopped back onto the couch. “Not the worst I’ve had. Possibly top ten best, actually.”

“This book is dreadful.”

The demon patted the sofa next to him. “Well, yeah, but in a good way. C’mere, I gotta know what happens.” Aziraphale grumbled a little but he obliged, moving over to the couch once again with his usual gait, although he too left his wings out, albeit without the eyes. He settled, and Crowley slouched up against him, a tumbler of scotch suddenly in his hand. “You think they find the Grail?”

“I rather hope not, honestly.” Aziraphale scowled. “It’d be a real shame if he butchered that as well.”

“You know there’s a prequel?”

“No.”

“Honest truth. Called Angels and Demons.” Crowley waved his free hand. “Whole series, actually. Never read any of them.” He raised an eyebrow. “Might be fun?”

“You have a strange definition of fun, Crowley.” Absently, he kissed the top of Crowley’s head, ignoring the way the demon’s hair tickled his face. “Comes with being a demon, I suppose.”

“Comes with having a sense of humor. We should read them.”

“No.”

“Well not right now. Later.” He gestured vaguely. “After I get the garden cleaned up for the winter, maybe.”

“Hm. I’ll have time to read a few palate-cleansers.”

“There’s the spirit.” He snuggled in closer, right wing wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders and the left covering himself like some kind of massive feathery blanket. “Go on, let’s see if they get the Grail.”

Aziraphale sighed, defeated and resigned, although Crowley could see the tiny movement well enough to note the little twitch at the corner of the angel’s mouth, almost a smile. “Very well.” 

He turned the page, and kept on reading.

[lassieposting]

Do you have a HC on angel/demon bodies in the Lucifer universe? Like, it seems that the goddess never her own physical body based on what Maze said about when she was in hell. And we know that demons possess humans, but do you think they have their own bodies as well? If they have their own do they leave them behind when possessing? Do you think Maze’s form is her own or did Lucifer allow her to possess a recently deceased human so that she could accompany him to Earth? What about angels?

oh my god i have so many thoughts on this i dont even know how to structure this post, literally this is me rn

post under the cut because yet again this bitch be ramblin

ok so, starting with the celestials

GOD

I’m not gonna elaborate too much on God, because I’m in the middle of writing a fic which elaborates on how I see his body/physical shape working and it would spoil a twist. But a few non-spoilery thoughts: 

- God and Goddess are completely different species, from different universes

- God is - as far as he knows - the last of his kind. The universe he was born in was destroyed by a massive war; his species are naturally peaceful and he had no part in it. 

- His species are immensely powerful; he can cross between universes with ease as an adult, and the ability to create universes is a species talent, not an individual one. They can all do it. They live for billions upon billions of years in deep space, so that’s how they pass the time. 

- He’s naturally telepathic. Goddess is not at all, and the angels inherit this from him but only to a very minor degree - they can sense when another angel is in the area, but can’t actually perceive one another’s thoughts. 

- He doesn’t originally look like us. Not in the slightest. But changing his shape is very easy for him, and he is capable of “modifying” his own internal biology, so he can and does choose to take a human shape - having hands with which to manipulate objects is useful when you’re no longer living in deep space, and being able to communicate verbally is useful when you’re the only major telepath in your (very large) family. 

 GODDESS

- Goddess does have a solid, physical form, and she actually has our basic shape too. “Two arms, two legs, a head and a body to hang them on” is a popular evolutionary route in her native universe. 

- Humans and demons, however, don’t have the right eye equipment to see her properly. Humans see in three dimensions, demons in one or two more, but neither species has enough perceivable dimensions or colours to actually make sense of Goddess’ true form. We see her as a blur of light, because that’s all of her that’s visible to us. We’re actually only able to see like, 30% of her and it makes our brains freak out some. 

- Lucifer knows this, but neglected to mention it to Maze when she was torturing Goddess in Hell. He did nothing to defend her when God kicked her out, because he’s smarting over her abandoning him, but at the end of the day she’s his mom and he loves her. He’s the only one in Hell who can see her properly and interact with her physical form, and there’s no way he’s going to actively participate in his mother’s torture. 

THE ANGELS

Now, I believe “canon” says that the angels were created as adults, but fuck that, because baby angels. 

- The angels were created with wings, but they don’t get their first feathers until they’re toddling, so they’re like weird little naked birds for a bit. 

- They moult every few hundred years while they’re still growing, and they don’t get sharp primaries until they have their adult feathers. Once they’re fully grown, they won’t moult again, but they’ll grow new feathers if the ones they have fall out or are damaged. 

- No one actually knows how long their lifespans are. No angel has ever died of natural causes. But they’re long. The angels Chloe knows are archangels, the oldest, and even though they’re physically full-grown adults they’re barely out of celestial puberty. Tom Ellis plays Lucifer as having the emotional maturity and worldview of a teenager. Amenadiel is the overtired early-20-something having to live away from home for the first time. 

- Their abilities are genetic - they were born with them and have a chance of passing them on to any nephilim they create - and they start manifesting around the toddler stage. 

- The toddler stage is fun, actually. Way worse than the terrible twos for humans. Their first set of feathers come in which is itchy, they’re teething, they can talk enough to be defiant, they’re climbing up/falling off everything, their powers start developing, they’re clingy, and the tantrums are spectacular. 

meanwhile, in hell

in my headcanon, hell is home to three classes of demons:

ELDRITCH DEMIGODS

- the oldest, most dangerous and rarest creatures in Hell. They did not create the dimension Hell is located in, but they did shape the landscape and were the original rulers of the dimension.

- the original users of what demons call magic. lucifer learned some of this during his time in hell - illusions, levitating his pentecostal coin, his desire ability, the fine art of binding someone with a deal and get yourself out of any situation with a loophole. 

- the eldritches feature prominently in my fic but have absolutely nothing (as far as I know) to do with canon - the only reason I’m including them here is because my personal headcanon is that Lucifer’s angelic gift is his light. His “hypno eye thing” is something he learned while he was in Hell. he wasn’t lying with what he said to chloe - it’s a gift from a god, but not a gift from his father, god. 

HELLBORN DEMONS

- these demons have no human DNA at all. 

- they’re older than the lilim, and more physically powerful, but they’re less adept at magic (glamours, for example) and mind games. 

- hellborn demons look nothing like humans. they might not be bipedal at all; leviathan is a giant sea serpent. spines, extra jaws, multiple sets of teeth, a ridiculous number of limbs, too many or too few joints, no eyes at all, exoskeletons etc are all perfectly normal demon traits.  

- those that have eyes are red, yellow or black. my hc of hell is inspired by the very deep ocean though, so it’s just as common to have no eyes and a superior sense of smell, or electroreception, or sonar, instead. 

- they can learn to glamour, but they still wouldn’t look right. there would be something subtly off about them, something in the mind of any human looking at them screaming at them to run. they’re the basis of those horror stories where someone looks just a little wrong; they don’t blink enough, or seem to have too many teeth, or they walk wrong. 

- they’re more durable than lilim demons. short of a celestial, an eldritch or a bomb, nothing stops these fuckers. they can come back from insane injuries that would absolutely kill most life forms. if you leave one critically injured but don’t finish it off and make sure, chances are it won’t die. it’ll crawl off and recuperate and come back for you later. 

THE LILIM

- the lilim are the descendents of lilith and, as such, they have human DNA. the closer their link to lilith, the more human they appear - maze, for example, is almost entirely human in appearance except for one half of her face. the more distant the link to lilith, the less human DNA they have, and the less human they appear. 

- really common lilim traits: claws, fangs, scales, horns

- almost all lilim have the human body shape and facial features arrangement, so they’re bipedal with two eyes, a nose and a single mouth. yellow, red and black are all pretty standard demon eye colours, but lilith’s eyes are white and her children tend to inherit them. the more diluted her blood gets, the less likely a child will have her white eyes.

- with practice, the lilim can glamour their demon features and pass undetected among humans, unless they choose to reveal their real face.  their physical strength, speed and heightened senses remain the same even under a glamour. 

- because of their human ancestry, lilim demons don’t need to possess a dead human body. but it’s a lot more convenient. to leave Hell in your own body, you need to a) leave through the front gate and b) have a way of generating enough energy to shunt you across the divide between dimensions. for maze, this was lucifer; he carried her out of Hell. but she can’t return (or get out) without him. God, Goddess or any of the eldritch abominations would also have that level of power. 

- plus, like. with a dead human body, you can take as much damage as you like or commit as many atrocities as you fancy and just change your body when you’re done. you don’t need to be careful of injury or worry about sustenance. and you don’t have to compete with anyone else in the same head, which is a vast improvement over possessing someone living.