#the ectoplasm saga

[lance-thunder-reporting-live]

https://www.tumblr.com/fictionalfoodpolls/758918489464520704/haunted-hot-dogs-from-danny-phantom

Hey Lance, care to weigh in? It looks like the "don't eat ectoplasm" PSA hasn't sunk in yet

That or a third of poll responders are ghosts who like sentient food

Why does this always happen while I’m on vacation.

Come to think of it, that whole mess started when I was vacationing in Canada as well.

It is a horrible idea to eat ghosts or ectoplasm, no matter what. You will get very sick.

[lance-thunder-reporting-live]

Why do I even bother

Hey, I am out of blob jelly. but do u wanna try some real ectoplasm?

Oh, no, my Danno-snack is staring at me. Maybe Lance @lance-thunder-reporting-live was right and we shouldn't eat ectopla-

Just kidding. It wanted some fresh ectoplasm too. Don't call Fentons.

I know he's weirdo but he's all i need @bloustorm

[zhelin-thames]

Danny and Dex-Starr saga

Read the prev parts Masterpost (Lantern corp)

Dex-Starr eyes the glowing ecto-snack, his glowing red aura flickering with hesitation. After a long, tense pause, the angry cat cautiously snatches the snack with one paw and inspects it.

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles, sniffing] “This better not be poisoned, ghost-boy.”

Danny: [Scoffs] “Seriously? Like I’m gonna waste good ectoplasm on poisoning a space cat. That stuff’s hard to make!”

Dex-Starr takes a tentative bite, his furious expression softening for a moment as the snack melts into a satisfying glow in his mouth.

Dex-Starr: [Mumbles through chewing] “…It’s not bad.”

Danny: [Smirking] “See? Told ya. You’re less scary when you’re not hangry.”

Dex-Starr glares at Danny, but the intensity has dulled into something more akin to annoyance than murderous rage. He floats closer, his red aura dimming slightly.

Dex-Starr: “So what’s your deal, anyway? You don’t smell like the rest of these humans.”

Danny: [Floating backward slightly] “Uh, thanks? I’m kinda… half-dead, I guess. Half-human, half-ghost. It’s complicated.”

Dex-Starr: [Narrowing his eyes] “Half-ghost? That explains the weird energy.”

Danny: [Shrugs] “Yeah, it’s a whole thing. But I’m still technically alive, so... anyway, why’re you so mad at everyone? Space cats don’t usually hang out in sewer systems plotting doom, right?”

Dex-Starr’s plasma flickers again, and his posture stiffens. He looks away, his growl returning faintly.

Dex-Starr: [Quietly] “Humans killed my human. The only one who ever cared about me. They hurt her… and they took her from me. Now all I have is rage.”

Danny’s casual demeanor falters as he processes Dex-Starr’s words. His own memories of losing loved ones flash in his mind—the times he felt powerless to protect them.

Danny: [Softer] “…I’m sorry. That sucks. A lot.”

Dex-Starr: [Snapping back] “I don’t need your pity!”

Danny: *“It’s not pity. It’s just… I get it. I lost people too. Felt like the world was out to get me for a while. But staying mad forever doesn’t fix anything. Trust me, I tried.”

Dex-Starr hesitates, his claws retracting slightly. The flicker of anger in his eyes doesn’t disappear, but there’s a hint of something else—doubt, or maybe curiosity.

Dex-Starr: “…And what fixed it for you?”

Danny: [Grinning awkwardly] “Uh, I mean, I’m still figuring that out. But helping people, even when it sucks, kind of makes it suck less? Plus, I’ve got a ghost dog who keeps me company. That helps too.”

Dex-Starr tilts his head slightly, his red aura dimming further.

Dex-Starr: “A ghost dog?”

Danny: “Yeah, big guy named Cujo. He’s kinda like me—half-alive, half-ghost, 100% lovable.”

Dex-Starr: [Grumbles] “Hmph. Sounds ridiculous.”

Danny: [Floating upright] “It totally is. But hey, if you’re ever tired of being mad all the time, you could come hang out with me and Cujo. I bet he’d like you, even if you are a walking rage ball.”

Dex-Starr stares at Danny for a long moment, his tail twitching. Then, with a huff, he turns and starts to float away.

Dex-Starr: “Don’t count on it, ghost-boy. But… I’ll think about it.”

Danny watches the glowing red light disappear into the sewer tunnels, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Danny: [To himself] “Progress. Angry space cat progress.”

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

DPxDC (With a smidgen of Epic the Musical)

Okay, so yall really liked my last one (and thanks to all of you, I'm glad you guys enjoyed). I wanted to try my hand again and see how this goes, idk about you guys, but Epic the Musical has been my soundtrack for weeks now, and the Ithaca Saga has my heart so...Husbands!Danny and Jason torn apart due to bad resurrection? Why not.

Warning for referenced character death and blood mention, nothing too graphic, tho. Pit Rage makes people do questionable things, ya know?

The Justice League's meeting room was cloaked in unnatural shadows, the atmosphere thick with tension, like the heavy silence before a storm. A team from Justice League Dark stood in the center, preparing for a ritual. Zatanna, her voice a whispered incantation, traced glowing glyphs onto the marble floor. Constantine, who had been trying to tell them all this would be a bad idea, leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs, while Doctor Fate floated nearby, his ethereal presence a calm amid the chaos.

Batman stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He hated magic—always had—but these were desperate times. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been spiraling for months. His vendetta against Gotham’s Rogues had left behind a trail of bodies, destruction, and secrets too dangerous to let slip. But it was more than just Jason’s rage. Strange energy readings tied to the Infinite Realms had begun to swirl around his every move. Whatever connection Jason had to that otherworldly dimension had become unstable, and they needed answers—answers only the Ghost King could provide.

“Are we ready?” Batman’s voice cut through the room. Zatanna nodded, stepping back as the last glyph flared to life. “The summoning spell is complete. Brace yourselves. This entity isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.” Constantine snorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Ain’t that just bloody reassuring.”

The air split with a deafening crack, and green light spiraled upward, forming a vortex. From it stepped a figure draped in black armor, a faint crown glowing above his head, his eyes burning with an eerie green light. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, stood before them. "Who dares to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms?" His voice carried an unearthly echo, a stark contrast to the mortal men and women in the room.

Constantine muttered something under his breath—likely a curse—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice steady. “We require your assistance, Ghost King. There’s a man, the Red Hood, aka Jason Todd, whose actions have drawn the attention of both our realm and yours.” Danny’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “Jason Todd?” Batman stepped forward, his voice rough but resolute. “He’s my son.”

Danny’s gaze snapped to him, the glowing green light flickering with intensity. “Your son,” he repeated, his tone colder now, sharper. Zatanna stepped in to explain, her voice calm but urgent. “Jason is targeting Gotham’s Rogues, several have been killed. But it seems he has a connection to the Infinite Realms. His ectoplasmic energy is spiking. We believe he’s drawing power from your domain, whether he knows it or not.” Danny’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, almost imperceptible growl. “And you want me to stop him.”

“Not stop,” Wonder Woman corrected gently. “Help. If he’s tied to your realm, we need to understand why—and how to sever that connection, if necessary.” Danny stood motionless, the green light in his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions none of them could decipher. After a long moment, he nodded, sharp and final. “I’ll handle it. Alone.” Batman started to protest, but Danny cut him off with a steady gaze, his voice softening, just a fraction. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” Without waiting for a response, Danny turned and stepped back into the swirling portal, leaving the Justice League in a heavy, uneasy silence.

---

The Infinite Realms churned around Danny as he passed through the portal, an energy that mirrored the restlessness gnawing at his heart. When he had been summoned, he had expected a crisis—another rift in the realms or a rogue spirit threatening the balance, hell even just cultists trying to mess with the order of things again. What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to deal with him.

Jason...his sweet and loving Jason.

As the portal closed behind him, Danny heard Batman’s grim explanation echo in his mind: Red Hood was spiraling. He’d already killed Joker, Riddler, and Two-Face. And it seemed like Penguin was next. The Pit Rage had taken hold, and no one—least of all Bruce—had been able to pull Jason from the edge. The Justice League had turned to him because the energy Jason radiated had drawn their attention to the Infinite Realms.

It had been twenty years since Jason disappeared from the Realms—twenty long years since Danny had watched his husband, the man he had married in death, pulled from his side and resurrected in the mortal world. For Danny, it felt like an eternity.

As Danny emerged from the portal into Gotham’s shadowed streets, the oppressive energy in the air pulled at him, thick with Jason’s rage. He could feel the ectoplasmic aura that surrounded him, like a storm cloud about to break. But more than that, Danny could feel the familiar tug of Jason’s presence. It was raw, chaotic—lost.

And Danny? He was all too familiar with being lost.

There was no turning back now. Jason was out there, a tempest of pain and blood, and Danny couldn’t stop the wave of dread that surged through him. This was his husband—the man he had fallen in love with, over and over again—and now he was out of control.

Danny’s eyes glowed as he moved deeper into the city, knowing that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be alone in facing it. Not this time. Jason Todd stood among the wreckage of a smuggling ring’s hideout. The docks were eerily silent except for the gentle lap of water against the pier. Blood slicked his gloved hands, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The Pit Rage roared in his ears, demanding more—more destruction, more vengeance, and more blood.

The ghostly glow appeared behind him, and Jason spun, guns drawn. The figure emerging from the green light made him falter.

Danny.

Jason blinked, the haze of rage momentarily thinning. He couldn’t trust his eyes, not after everything. But the way Danny looked at him—with love, pain, and something infinite in his glowing green eyes—cut through Jason’s defenses. “Jason,” Danny said softly, his voice trembling but steady. Jason lowered his guns, his shoulders slumping. “Danny?”

Danny stepped closer, his glowing cape billowing behind him. “It’s been twenty years.” Jason flinched. “Eight.” His voice cracked. “Only eight here.” Danny’s eyes softened. “It felt like forever.” Jason staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He gestured at the blood staining his armor. “I’m not who I was. You shouldn’t be here.”

Danny reached out but didn’t touch him, his hands hovering just inches away. “You’re still you, Jason. You’re still my husband.” Jason’s laugh was bitter, almost a sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve killed them. Joker. Riddler. Two-Face. There’s no redemption for me. I’ve left a trail of blood and bodies. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not—”

“Stop,” Danny interrupted, his voice firm. “Stop telling me who you think you are. I know you. I’ve always known you.” Jason clenched his fists. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done? The things I can’t take back? The lives I’ve destroyed?” Danny took a step forward, his expression raw with emotion. “Yes. I would. I do.” Jason’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face. “I’ve tried to fight it, Danny. I’ve tried to be better, but the rage... it doesn’t stop. It’s like drowning, and every time I surface, there’s more blood.”

Danny knelt in front of him, his hand finally resting on Jason’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve felt it too—the weight of things you can’t undo. But you’re not alone anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Jason. Waiting for you to come back to me.” Jason’s breath hitched, and he looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. “How can you still love me after everything? I’m not... I’m not the man you knew.”

Danny smiled, his own eyes glistening. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the man who carved our initials into a tree in the Infinite Realms. The man who made me laugh, who promised me forever. And I meant it when I said forever, Jason. No matter where or when or what you’ve done, I’ll love you. Always.”

Jason let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in years, the weight on his chest lightened. He leaned into Danny’s touch, the Pit Rage ebbing as warmth spread through him. Danny cupped his face, their foreheads touching. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Let me help you. Let me love you.” Jason closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.” Danny’s laugh was soft and full of love. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve decided—over and over again—that I’ll always choose you.”

Jason’s arms wrapped around Danny, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. But Danny held him just as firmly, grounding him, anchoring him. The green glow of the Infinite Realms pulsed around them, a quiet promise of redemption, of love that could weather even the darkest storms.

---

Danny didn’t leave Jason’s side that night, nor would he ever again. Together, they began the long, painful process of healing. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but they faced it together, their love, a beacon in the darkness.

The heroes would just have to get used to the unearthly presence of the Ghost King in their plane of existence. And no matter how much time passed, Danny knew one thing would never change: he would fall in love with Jason Todd, over and over again, for eternity.

[camels-pen]

You Are Not Immune to Saltwater

Summary:

One moment, Vlad was sipping tea at his desk. The next, he was surrounded by circus performers with a sword at his throat.

He blamed Daniel.

-

HEY GUYS GUESS WHO'S POSTING THEIR BANG FIC TODAY!!! i'll be linking my lovely partners', Bib & Skittles (@bibliophilea & @skittlespoxum), music and illustrations here soon!! i had so much fun writing pathetic Vlad and my partners' works are amazing so i think you all should read and look and listen to our stuff and enjoy! this is a completely unbiased opinion :]

also a note: this takes place during the East Blue Saga, the first arc of One Piece.

Ao3 Link | Skittles' Illustrations | Bib's Music

—

Vlad was in his office.

Vlad was in his office a moment ago.

Vlad was in his office a moment ago and then he blinked. And now he wasn’t.

“Captain Buggy!” The man—one who looked like a minimum wage theatre student working at a theme park and getting far too into their role—held a sword to his throat. “There’s an intruder on deck!”

“Cheese and crackers, Daniel, if you drugged my tea or what have you…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Intruder?!” came a muffled yell. A man in an oddly colourful outfit and clown makeup, complete with a round red nose, stomped through a door leading into what Vlad can only assume is a cabin. “You mean a stowaway!”

“No, an intruder.” The man kept his sword steady even as he looked back at his ‘captain’. “He just appeared on deck out of thin air.”

“A devil fruit user, then?” Maybe Daniel did drug his tea. He’d have to get back at him somehow. Hmm. Maybe adjusting all the security in his home to be extra sensitive to ectoplasm would be appropriate.

“Possibly.” The sword shifted closer to Vlad’s neck. “Should I kill him and be done with it?”

“Now, now,”—Vlad pressed the tip of his finger to the side of the sword—“Figments of my drug induced hallucination or not, I’d rather not have you threaten my life like this, thank you.” He pushed against the sword, expecting it to yield easily.

It did not.

“Ah, this is one of those hallucinations. The ones where everything goes wrong no matter what would happen in reality.” Vlad sighed. “I do rather dislike those ones.”

“Why’s he talking gibberish, Cabaji?”

Vlad clapped his hands. “Oh good, you can’t understand me. I can insult your outfits all I like.”

“We can understand you just fine, intruder,” the ‘Cabaji’ fellow spat. “What are you, some kind of noble? A king’s advisor?”

“As flattered as I am that you’d think me adjacent to royalty, no. I’m a simple, hardworking businessman.”

Cabaji narrowed his eyes. “So a merchant? Food vendor? Store owner?”

“No—well, I suppose merchant would be closest.”

“How does a supposed merchant end up all the way out here? Without a single ship in sight?” The cold steel dragged along Vlad’s finger as it touched his throat. “Answer carefully.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “I’m fairly certain my nephew is pulling a rather cruel prank on me. I should be out of your hair in a few hours. A day, at most.” Though it would be rather annoying if he was drugged out of his mind for the entire day. He had an important product pitch meeting to attend tomorrow morning.

“So your nephew is the devil fruit user?” ‘Captain Buggy’ said, glaring. “I don’t buy it.”

“Considering I don’t really care what you ‘buy’ or not, that is completely useless information to me.” He sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What am I doing chatting with hallucinations?” 

“We’re real!” the supposed ‘captain’ yelled. “And answer the damn question!”

“I don’t know what kind of drug ‘devil fruit’ is slang for, but my stupid straight-laced nephew likely doesn’t touch the stuff.” Whether he would slip it into Vlad’s drink was another question entirely. He’d left ‘weed’ brownies in Vlad’s office once; Vlad didn’t know what levels that boy would stoop to for revenge.

“Well, it is East Blue. Don’t get many devil fruit users around here,” said a man in a fur vest. “If his nephew hated him and became a user, then it’s possible he really doesn’t know shit.” The large white lion next to him nodded its head.

“Right, well, now that that’s sorted, I’ll just be on my way—”

“Oh no you’re not!” Captain Buggy laughed. “If you value your life, you’ll hand over all your beri! And maybe if you play nice, we’ll even see you home. Of course, you’ll have to fork over all your valuables when we get there.”

“Oh joy.” 

The empty threats on his life were nothing new, neither were thieves after his money. He was impressed by the creativity behind the scenario; he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever imagine such a… fantastical ship of clown pirates and a possibly sentient lion in his right mind. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had hallucinations this out of the box either. Whatever Daniel slipped in his drink must have been something quite strong.

What to do, what to do…

Well. He was in his office last he remembered. The room was empty save himself. And he always locked the door before getting to work to avoid distractions.

Vlad shrugged. He couldn’t see any real consequences, as long as he kept the damage minimal.

With that, he walked forward through Cabaji’s sword. Then the man himself, ignoring his startled breath and Buggy’s yelling about crazy stuck-up men. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be finding the closest thing to a bed around here and sleeping off my… whatever is happening to my body—”

A whip wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side. 

The man in the fur vest glared at him—were those animal ears on his head? “I don’t know how you got around Cabaji’s sword, but you’re not getting out of that.”

It wasn’t wrapped around his legs, he should still be fine. Intangibility spread out from his torso, and the whip fell to the ground. Vlad stepped over it as he continued to the nearest door. As much as he wanted to blast the man for wrinkling his suit, he would have to refrain to avoid damaging anything in his office.

A shadow appeared over Vlad’s head and he preemptively turned everything above his waist intangible. He watched, bored, as massive jaws swiftly went through him, meeting with an audible clack of teeth and a whine.

Vlad sighed, walking through the foul smelling maw. “Are you done?” 

“Not yet!” Vlad felt something grab his ankles and looked down. The captain’s hands were holding onto them. 

Just his hands.

“Can’t move now, can you?” Buggy laughed, his handless-arms crossed over each other. 

He could, but it was always a hassle to turn just his ankles intangible. If he wasn’t careful, his shoes would go through the floor and he’d scare some poor soul in the break room below his office.

Well, nothing some good old fashioned ghostly strength couldn’t fix. Just one smooth tug and then—

Vlad paused. His ankles didn’t move.

He tugged again. And again. Each time he was met with resistance—real resistance. Almost as if another ghost was holding onto him.

“Well, this is rather troubling.” Vlad tapped his chin. “I don’t know any ghosts strong enough to restrain me. Maybe ghost hunters? No, no; none of them have any subtlety. Though Fright—”

Buggy gestured with his head. “Do it.”

Vlad furrowed his brow. “Do what?”

His vision went black.

—

Vlad groaned as he awoke, a throbbing pain at his temple. He couldn’t decide whether coffee would be better or worse, but it’d be different and the promise of it could entice him from his bed—

He tried to pull off the covers, only to find his arms restrained. With ropes. Real, actual, brown ropes. They smelled like his cat’s morning breath.

“Captain,”—Vlad looked up from where he’d been staring incredulously at the ropes, coming face-to-face with the lion—“he’s awake.”

“Good. Mohji, call off Richie.”

There was a quick whistle and the lion turned and walked away, padding around the man in the fur vest. It was the same colour as the lion’s fur. So were the ears.

The man—Mohji, he assumed—rested his arm on the lion’s mane without hesitation, like Miranda with her disgusting, slobbering mastiff on bring your pet to work day. Wonderful. He’d probably assure everyone his little angel wouldn’t even think of chewing on the furniture. And suddenly he’s blubbering in Vlad’s office giving apologies and asking for exceptions and that this has never happened before sir, I swear!

Buggy crouched in front of Vlad. Right. Clown pirates. “Now that you’re all nice and comfy.” He brandished a knife from somewhere. “Your wallet just had some stupid looking cards, so you’re gonna tell us where your business is and—”

“What is it with you hallucinations and your fixation on blades?” Vlad grumbled.

The blade pressed closer. Vlad raised an eyebrow, but stayed still. He wanted to see where the clown was going with this. 

The tip of Buggy’s knife pricked his lower eyelid. 

“I’ve been pretty generous, pretty lenient you know? But even the great Buggy has limits to his kindness.” 

Vlad would argue Buggy wouldn’t know kindness if it shot him in the face.

The blade pressed deeper. “Tell me what I want to know, now.”

Well, Vlad hoped he was aiming at his desk. He was due for a new one anyway.

“Employees can always be paid off, employees can always be paid off—” Vlad mumbled to himself.

“Huh? What was that?” Buggy put his free hand to his ear. “That doesn’t sound like—GYAHH!”

Vlad shot Buggy with his eye blasts. He phased out of his restraints while Buggy was screaming and clutching his face. It would be a shame if the skin melted off—Vlad always hated the stench of burning flesh—but small sacrifices and all that.

He ran through the rest of the thugs waiting around and headed for the door. Loathe as he was to leave his office, this was getting ridiculous and he was getting thirsty—

Suddenly, freezing liquid was dumped over him and he felt all the strength in his body fading. He tripped over his own feet and tumbled face first into the wood. 

“W-What in the world…?”

“Good thinking with the bucket, Cabaji,” said Mohji. 

There was an answering grunt. “Wasn’t me. Captain had a hunch.”

“And what a hunch it was!” Buggy said, laughing. Vlad slowly lifted his head to see Buggy smirking down at him. There was hardly a scratch on him besides a ring of red skin around his eyes.

What?

“Y-You should be… your face should be…”

Buggy laughed again. “What, that wimpy thing? The worst part was how bright the light was!”

“It was essentially a laser beam, how could you possibly—?!” Vlad was cutoff as Buggy stomped on the back of his head, digging his face into the woodgrain. He groaned and made to get up when he felt something sharp pressed against his nape.

“Now, I’ve heard enough of your prattling and you still haven’t answered two very simple questions,” Buggy said, voice quieter and deeper, a menacing undertone to it. “Who are you and how did you get on my ship?”

He should just ignore this ‘captain’—maybe grab the empty bucket and bang it against his head to get enough clarity to fly himself home too—but something about how the water weighed him down, how he found it a challenge just to lift his fingers, stopped him. 

Surely by now, the illusory ‘Buggy’ fellow would know that Vlad was incapable of being restrained, much less threatened with non-ghost hunter gear. And yet the blade against his neck didn’t waver—in fact Buggy himself wasn’t even putting much weight on his foot. Vlad would only need give a little push to dislodge it, something even Daniel’s little friends would surely be capable of. 

And yet he couldn’t do it.

There was something in the water, he thought. Maybe a muscle relaxant? Must have been something strong for him to be affected this quickly. Or perhaps a poison of some sort.

Buggy increased the pressure on his foot. Vlad started to struggle pulling in breath.

Ugh, Vlad was really hoping no one was right outside his office. 

“My name is Vlad Masters,” he said, voice raspy. Buggy eased up and Vlad coughed. “I don’t know how I got here, but it was likely my nephew’s fault as I said earlier.”

“And as I said earlier, I don’t buy it.”

The pressure increased, harder than before.

“W-Wait, I can—” 

“There’s nothing to prove. You’ve got devil fruit powers yourself, we all saw it.” That ‘devil fruit’ nonsense again. What in the world were they talking about? 

“It’s true: I can’t prove it.” Well, he could fake it, but at this point these fools would probably skewer him even if he knew the truth. “But I’m clearly at your mercy, and I’m no fighter. How about I pay you for escorting me back to my home?”

“Uh huh, how stupid do you think I am? For all I know, you could be leading us to a Marine base!”

“You’re pirates; don’t you have maps?”

“I don’t know how fucking rich you are, but we don’t have maps for the entire fucking East Blue.” The prick at the back of Vlad’s neck disappeared. “But considering how you’re acting like you’ve never stepped foot outdoors, you’re probably some stuck up rich merchant like you said. Either that or you’re a pretty flashy actor.”

Flashy? “Er, thank you, I suppose.”

“We’ll take your offer.” Protests sprouted up, but Buggy shouted over them. “Shut up, you idiots! You chose to follow me, didn’t you? We’ll take this rich moron home and get some… fair compensation.” He said ‘fair compensation’ like they were dirty words. The protests died down—some of them even started laughing and eyeing Vlad like a piece of meat. How flattering. 

If this was supposed to be some kind of subconscious guilt about cancelling the sensitivity training at the office this month, Vlad wasn’t listening.

“Excellent. You can untie me now.”

“Captain, let me watch him for the night.” Cabaji narrowed his eyes. “For my own peace of mind.”

“Yeah yeah, do what you want. I’m going to the galley. Hey, one of you buffoons put on some grub!” Buggy and the few others present filed out of the cabin, leaving Vlad prone in front of a man with two swords and a glare sharper than both of them. 

“Oh joy, I’ve always wanted a sleepover.” 

—

Vlad didn’t sleep a wink.

Cabaji took his self-assigned job very seriously and the thought of closing his eyes around this man sounded like something stupid enough that even Daniel wouldn’t attempt it.

Vlad sat himself atop a box pushed up against the side wall, keeping an eye on Cabaji from his peripheral. The man was behind him, leaning against the back wall. The white of his eyes had stayed visible the whole night so Vlad hadn’t let himself nod off.

Vlad startled as the door burst open, slamming against the wall with a big BANG. 

“Rise and shine, breakfast’s on!” Mohji said, setting down his foot. Was it really necessary to kick the door open? “Hey, Cabaji, I’m talking to you. Quit the circus act and get up already! Also, merchant, what are you doing?”

“What?” Vlad looked down. His hand was raised, palm facing Mohji. He could feel the ectoplasm in his palm, but it thankfully wasn’t enough to start glowing. Vlad quickly tucked his arm behind his back. “Oh nothing, just a… greeting? Yes, it’s a particular greeting where I’m from.” He gave his best press smile to really sell it.

Mohji’s face scrunched up. “Ugh, don’t smile at me like that. It’s creepy.” He turned and leaned out of the doorway. “Oi Richie, I don’t wanna get stabbed so give him a morning call for me.”

There was a rumbling growl followed by the lion taking his owner’s place in front of the door. It took a comically large breath in and let out an earthshattering ROAR into the room.

Vlad tried to cover his ears, but it was like putting a kitchen sponge in the ocean. Absolutely useless. 

There was movement in the corner of his eye and Vlad turned, getting a good look at Cabaji for the first time since yesterday. The man was hunched over a bit, rubbing his eyes. The half of his hair that wasn’t shaved with those ridiculous stripes hid his face. 

“Richie,” he said, tone dangerously low yet somehow loud enough to be heard over the lion. “If you don’t shut up right this second, I’ll skin you alive.”

The lion immediately quieted, shaking and quickly backing away. What an oddly intelligent animal.

Cabaji looked up, adding, “Mohji, how many times have I told you never to make Richie wake me up?” The scowl on his face was slightly terrifying. Only slightly though; Vlad was far better at it. It was more impressive how he wasn’t as jumpy as Vlad was after a sleepless night.

He seemed sluggish and less tense than yesterday, actually, with the way he was pushing himself off the wall. There was something smudged on his face and hands. It was a slightly off-white colour—

Vlad froze.

He. painted. his eyelids. 

“What is wrong with you?” Vlad said, without thinking. 

Cabaji’s gaze turned on him. He smirked. “I said I was going to watch you. I didn’t say I was going to stay awake.”

“Not very bright of you.” Vlad should probably stop talking, but to hell with it. “And here I thought you were the cautious one.”

“I am the cautious one,” Cabaji said. He walked up to Vlad, his sheathed swords bumping against his hips. “Your type never looks back.”

Vlad felt his face heat up as Cabaji grabbed the back of his blazer and dragged him out of the room.

—

Breakfast was… disgusting. Even Jack had better table manners than these barbarians. And Jack had very little table manners to speak of. 

He was deposited back into that same room, this time by Richie, but Vlad was starting to get tired of waiting for whatever hallucinogen he’d ingested to wear off. 

Richie’s ear flicked as Vlad started to move towards the door. The lion’s eyes opened to slits and it lifted its head to growl at him. Not wanting to alert anyone else, he held up his hands and backed up to the wall furthest from the door. Richie huffed and settled back down. Within a few moments, its eyes were closed too.

Vlad tried over and over again; different plank, same result. He tried longer and shorter strides, using his tip toes, taking off his shoes, then his socks. Nothing worked. It was infuriating.

If a single step was enough to alert Richie, then what about opening the door? The knob and hinges wouldn’t be an issue since he could just pass through the whole thing instead of opening it. No, the problem wasn’t the door, it was the distance.

If only he could soundlessly make it to the door in the first place—

Oh.

Vlad floated a few inches off the ground. He made it to the door within moments. Richie didn’t move, snoring lightly. 

Vlad would blame this on the lack of sleep.

He phased through the wall, turning invisible as he passed through the wood. He’d already given up at this point; if someone had come into his office, he’d just have to deal with it when he had his mental faculties returned to him. 

The sunlight passed through him, its warmth missing him entirely just like the sea breeze. He slowly circled the ship from above, taking in the layout of the ship and noting the groups of pirates milling about. He paused by the crow’s nest, snatching a leftover spyglass for his own use.

Honestly, he was hoping this was one of those frivolous toys with the swirling colours in it rather than a real functioning spyglass. He always got a bit queasy looking at them so maybe he could make himself throw up whatever Daniel tricked him into taking. Not really something his employees would leave lying around, but one could hope.

Vlad put the spyglass up to his eye. It seemed like an ordinary one, but looks were deceiving. It could be the stupid toy he needed in real life and a few more moments would—

Was that another ship?

“Captain!” a distant voice yelled below. “Enemy ship spotted! It’s the Marines!”

Sure enough, painted on some of the sails was the word MARINE in big bold letters. The other sails had a blue symbol on it—Vlad’s best guess was a bird with a a wrench. 

“Alright you blockheads, get ready for battle!” Buggy shouted. “And make sure to be flashy about it.” There was a collective “Yes, captain!” followed by stomping feet and banging doors, bringing out swords and guns and cannonballs to dump on deck. Others ran for the cannons lining the side of the ship.

Enemies of Buggy and called the ‘Marines’ of all things? Vlad breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, his subconscious was giving him a real break.

Vlad quickly landed at a good spot behind a group of barrels, right by the ship’s railing. Just as he was about to try and catch the attention of the marines, there was a startled roar and the lion burst out of the storage room Vlad so brilliantly escaped.

“Richie! It’s just Marines, you’re supposed to be guarding the creepy merchant!” Mohji shouted. Richie was shaking its head and using one paw to gesture at the room it ran out of. 

On the Marine ship, a man with a white coat draped around his shoulders shouted over the din of people in eye-searing colours running around with guns. “Buggy the Clown, in accordance with Marine law, we are here to arrest you. Do not resist or we will show no mercy.”

Buggy laughed, loud and barely a few feet from Vlad’s hiding place. “You heard ‘em men! Show no mercy!” The crew roared as one and began their assault.

Gunshots and cannonfire. The whistle and shink of thrown knives hitting their targets. Cursing and grunting and yelling and, of all things, laughing. One of his employees might call it ‘brutal’, but Vlad called it a mess.

The Marines, in a far more organized and proper fashion, fired their own cannons in sync at the call of the man with the coat. Buggy’s ship rocked rather dramatically and sent a good chunk of the crew reaching for something to brace themselves. Then, moments later, everyone on the Marine ship swung over on ropes to take the fight to the pirates.

Vlad watched the man with the coat land aboard Buggy’s ship, cutting down those idiotic pirates left and right. Maybe that man was the captain of the ship? The way he was barking orders while fighting pointed to a yes. Vlad needed to make his way to him ASAP.

The ship swayed underneath him, still rocking from the cannonfire. He grabbed the bar of the railing in a death grip—who knew what kind of rusty nails or broken glass were littered about? He couldn’t afford to fall over. It was out of the question.

He started to pull himself up as the ship started to settle. Then a large wave of water splashed over the railing, soaking him completely and sapping his strength.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” Vlad hissed, glaring at his visible hand and the ocean beyond it. Leaning his whole weight on the barrels, he tried to push himself up. His hand slipped and he landed ungracefully on the deck.

He couldn’t wait for his strength to come back; the sooner those Marines got a hold of him and the sooner he could sober up, the better. Plus, he didn’t want to chance that his hallucination wouldn’t make something up for the Marines to suddenly leave or get beaten by such a disorganized crew. Then he would be left to Buggy’s clutches for however long it took for him to become sober naturally!

Vlad scowled in disgust at the damp wood probably oozing tetanus. He slowly shifted to his elbows. “Crawling it is.”

He was lucky the only thing he had to worry about was unknown janitorial standards. His powers would take care of the rest.

—

Vlad spoke too soon.

As soon as he’d remembered the little detail about this not-real seawater turning off his very-real powers, he was already too far to turn around and dry off.

Guns were going off all around him—at first he’d ducked his head, but now he could only afford to flinch as he continued forward, the constant movement of feet and swords deterring him from pausing for even a second.

Thuds and thumps and slashes and cracks and the BOOM of cannon fire. There was no respite for his poor heart. 

One elbow at a time, Vlad, just one elbow at a time.

The Marine captain was blessedly keeping himself to just one corner of the ship, but Vlad wasn’t sure if he’d make it to that corner in one piece.

The scrape of his blazer against the deck grated at him like the rough wood under his hands. He spent not a small sum on this suit and it was getting sullied all for the sake of some stupid teenage boredom. When Vlad saw Daniel again, he was going to—

A sword impaled itself into the deck, a barely an inch from Vlad’s arm.

A cold sweat broke out all over his body and he kept himself as still as he possibly could. He heard the smack of flesh on flesh directly above him followed by a loud thud. Then a series of stomps and the distinct sound of clothes dragging on wood. 

He heard the tear in his suit before he’d even realized he’d jerked his arm free.

Vlad kept his gaze only on his goal, ignoring the jagged cut in his blazer and the not-so-distant splash that echoed over the rest of the battlefield.

He navigated around broken weapons, splintered holes, and still bodies, all while keeping down his breakfast. He nearly didn’t manage it when he realized the only way forward was through a blood splatter almost as big as Vlad himself.

He did make it, though the less said the better. 

Finally, he’d made it to the mast, not far from the captain of the Marines, but not as close as he’d like either. He sat up against it, thankful his suit was black and hiding the dark stains that he could still, unfortunately, smell. The man who made a fool out of him all night was providing quite the distraction though.

Cabaji was smiling like a cat that caught the canary, engaged in a swordfight with one of the Marine soldiers. And he was riding a unicycle of all things. On a swaying ship. Not far off, he saw Buggy’s legs running around, and Buggy himself laughing somewhere behind Vlad.

That grating laugh spurred him on and before Vlad knew it, he was already at his goal.

“We’re pushing them back, don’t falter!” the Marine Captain yelled.

“Excuse me.” The captain looked down to where Vlad was tapping his shoe. He quickly dispatched the closest pirates before pointing his sword downward. “Ah, I see you’re quick to make assumptions, but I am no mere pirate—”

“Uh huh, you’re ‘one of the best’?” The captain glared at him. “Heard it a thousand times. How about you get up from where you’re scuttling around down there and prove it?”

“No no, there’s a misunderstanding here—you see, I’m a hostage, not a pirate.” He glanced a look back at the carnage around them. “Hence the… scuttling, as you put it.” He clasped his hands. “Please, I really do need some protection. I’m a simple” —ugh— “merchant, you see, and this band of pirates kidnapped me for my wealth!” 

“That so? Well then, allow me to correct myself.” Vlad sighed, relieved. Of course, there was no reason to worry. A smart fellow like this would know the difference between an upstanding citizen and a group of horrendous criminals.

The captain reached down with his free hand. “Oh, thank you—” 

He yanked Vlad up by his shirt collar. “You’re one of the worst.”  

“I don’t know what you mean,” Vlad rasped, clutching at the arm currently choking him out.

“You’re soaking wet, roaming freely above deck, and none of the pirates have done anything to stop you—in fact, they’re getting out of your way.”

What? That was preposterous. Vlad was just exceptionally observant and aware of his surroundings. Why would these pirates bother to avoid him at any point when they’ve made his life so miserable already?

Buggy caught his eye. He broke into a wide smile. 

He rubbed his thumb against his index and middle fingers.

Vlad scowled. That stupid clown planned this. All for the sake of getting his money! 

Why couldn’t that buffoon act like any other security detail he’d ever contracted and be just as incompetent and mediocre as he thought they’d be?!

“I know your type,” the captain hissed, cutting down another pirate without looking. 

“M-My type?” Vlad laughed. Or at least he attempted. “I’m flattered, but I’ve already got someone—”

“You’re the type that throws away their pride, their dignity. Quivers and grovels at your enemies feet until they can’t help but believe you. Pity you. Hesitate. And just as they let their guard down,”—the grip around his neck got tighter; Vlad desperately scrabbled at it—“you stab them in the back. Gloating and mocking them before they take their last breaths in front of their—!”

Just as Vlad was starting to black out, the captain screamed and Vlad dropped to the ground. As he coughed up half a lung trying to catch his breath, he noticed a different captain’s legs in front of him.

“Aww,” Buggy said in mocking sympathy, “did your daddy get duped by a poor little pirate?” He laughed. “What’d he fucking expect? A thank you card?”

“He was a good man, but he was naive.” The Marine captain gripped a bloodied dagger lodged in his shoulder. “I won’t make the same mistake. 

“Fire on me!”

What?

Cannons sounded to the left without a moment’s hesitation. 

“You maniac, you’ll get yourself killed with us!” Vlad shouted.

The captain grinned, sweat running down his face. “If I can take down even one of you disgusting pirates, then my life is a small price to pay.”

The screech of metal on wood echoed in Vlad’s ears as he watched marines heave and shift their cannons to point at their own captain. Men rushed about and moments later there were several booms and Vlad was still damp, he couldn’t manage total intangibility much less—

“We’re running, you shady bastard!”

Something grabbed the back of his jacket and hoisted him up. And up and up and up.

Flying. 

He was flying!

The wind on his wet clothes made him shiver.

He was flying?

“Hey, hold these.” A pair of boots—severed feet in boots—were thrust into his hands. “You drop them, I drop you. Got it?”

He nodded, a little dumbfounded and a lot relieved.

“A little fight is all it takes to shut you up?” Buggy laughed. “If I knew that I would’ve beat you up when you first got here.”

“I’m just impressed a simpleton like yourself managed to find a way to make yourself fly with your limited abilities.”

“Shut up! I could drop you in the ocean, you know!”

“I’m well aware, thank you.”

Buggy continued on with some inane drivel about respect for the strong, but Vlad tuned him out as he kept his attention on the mess below. 

Seeing the deck from high above was nothing like before. The bodies alone were disturbing enough, but the spilled blood, the open flesh—the gore—it was almost too much for Vlad. Plotting murder was one thing, but seeing it first hand…

“Alright, I’m dropping you. Don’t bite your tongue.” Vlad jerked, desperately gripping Buggy’s arm. “Get a good hit in or whatever. Doesn’t matter as long as you distract him.”

“Are you insane? I’m not letting—” His hands held tight, but Vlad lowered slightly. He looked up and noticed Buggy’s arm separate from his shoulder. 

Then it turned into pieces.

Vlad dropped to the deck, screaming the whole time. He was about to die a terrible death and for what? A stupid no good pirate clown and what sense did that even make, just pick one—!

His wildly flailing feet connected with something hard and meaty. The lumpy ground he landed on miraculously broke his fall, leaving him with only a racing heart and aching legs. 

“Hey, you actually landed on him!” Buggy laughed, floating right above him. “Nice one, priss!”

Vlad scrambled up off the Marine captain he just landed on. The blood seeping into the cracked wood did not bode well for his chances of being believed. Something wiggled in his arms and he startled, letting Buggy’s feet fall to the deck.

“You—You dropped me!” He jabbed a finger in Buggy’s chest. “I didn’t meant to fall on him; that was all you!”

“I can’t fly around while carrying someone for that long, dumbass.” Buggy looked past Vlad. “Now, how about you make use of your useless devil fruit and get outta the way.”

Vlad followed his gaze to the Marine captain pushing himself up, a gash on his forehead bleeding profusely over his snarling face. “All troops!” he yelled. “Ignore the man in the suit!”

A swell of hope filled Vlad’s chest. Maybe the man somehow knew this was all Buggy’s doing? Or he’d decided to give Vlad another chance of proving his innocence? Either way, as long as he deduced this was one big misunderstanding, Vlad could finally be taken somewhere civilized! 

The man looked Vlad dead in the eyes. “He’s mine.”

“Oops, forgot about killing him when he was distracted,” Buggy said, pulling out almost enough knives to match his fingers. “Well Shady, time for you to leave.”

“No.”

“There water in your ears? I told you to beat it!”

Vlad clenched and unclenched his fist. He felt ectoplasm gather in his palm, pink fire condensed in the centre. Good.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, priss!”

���Do you seriously expect me to just sit back and let you handle this, like some damsel in distress?” Vlad asked.

“Cut the crap, you’re weak as shit. Even a cadet could take you out.”

A red glow lit up Buggy’s face. “Where I’m from, I am the being that everyone fears.” Vlad hovered over Buggy. “Disregarding you and your crewmates’ abnormal strength, I am no pushover.”

“Making yourself taller doesn’t change anything.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Vlad hissed. “I defeat this fool of a soldier and show him the staggering difference between us.” The glow grew brighter. “Then, once you are sufficiently afraid of me, you will start treating me like a real guest.” He floated closer, practically nose to nose. “You will escort me home and, as a courtesy, I will actually pay you for your services. Then you never bother me again. The. End.”

Buggy laughed, long and loud. “Shady, I think you’re the stupidest man I’ve ever met! And I’ve met tons of stupid men!” 

“My name is Vlad.” The red glow shifted to pink. “And unless you want another blast to the face, I suggest you beat it.”

“Fine fine, no need to be cranky.” Buggy threw up his hands in one swift movement, his knives disappearing somewhere. Great, a clown magician. 

Something swung towards Vlad from the corner of his eye and he turned intangible with hardly a thought. “Finally, I can beat some manners and common sense into your dense skull. Tell me, what kind of pirate wears a hand-tailored cashmere suit?”

“The kind that tries to bait you!” the captain said, hardly pausing before drawing back for another swing. Vlad shot his eyeblasts—perfect aim as per usual—before flying a good distance away. The man cried out, covering his eyes. It didn’t stop him as long as Buggy, hardly a few seconds before he was glaring at Vlad again.

Vlad spread his hand out, firing a blast at his chest. The shot bounced off, seemingly harmless as the Marine captain stalked towards him.

Okay, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tried again, aiming higher. The man hardly flinched, a small, easily missed burn on his forehead. Then Vlad’s flying suddenly cut out and he was stumbling on deck. Shoes on wood. 

The ship swayed again, maybe a wave or the fighting was getting too rowdy on the other side of the deck. Something wet trickled down from his hair. 

Sea spray. Or maybe even rain. Well, wasn’t he lucky.

“More of your tricks?” the captain asked, pulling a sword sticking out of the deck. Two swords now, dragging against the floorboards. Vlad started to back away. “Trying to distract me again before your captain delivers an ambush?”

No, those were attacks that would leave Daniel—and any other ghost, for that matter—groaning in the dirt. A human would have to seek immediate medical attention. Or a morgue.

This man walked it off like it was a pesky bug flying into him. Less than a bug; there was no notice of danger, no fear of injury.

“Of course someone like you would resort to party tricks. Considering the circus crew you’ve aligned yourself with. And considering your lack of fighting skills, you’re either a disposable pawn or you’re the captain’s boytoy.” The man scoffed. “Must be a good fuck if none of this is a trick.”

“I generally abhor getting my own hands dirty—save for one very special case—so congratulations! You’ve made my list.” Vlad held his hands close together, drawing as much ectoplasm as possible into a single point between his palms. “Have fun in the afterlife. I’ll be sure to send an orange coloured buffoon after you soon.”

He let the ectoplasm explode from his palms, creating a massive ectoblast well over the size of the Marine captain. Smoke burst from one of the barrels—perhaps ignited gunpowder—covering half the deck and obscuring his view. Probably for the best, he didn’t care for seeing the messy aftermath.

Mohji whistled a ways behind Vlad. “Some light show. Did you blind him?”

“It wasn’t a mere light show. It was a highly destructive laser made of a corrosive energy source I can create and use at will.” Vlad dusted off what he could of his suit, grimacing at the sticky blood covered in dust and dirt. “That man is most certainly dead. I guarantee it.”

“Just like you were ‘certain’ you’d injured Captain Buggy yesterday?” Cabaji asked, arms crossed and glaring. The whole thing was undercut by the ridiculous unicycle he was riding back and forth in place.

“That was a fluke. Your captain is abnormally strong,”—and so was Cabaji for that matter, but Vlad wasn’t going to admit it to his face—“but this soldier is human. And every one of my abilities is lethal to—”

“You…” came a deep, rasping voice from the smoke. “Are going to die. By my hand.”

Vlad froze. Somewhere behind him Richie growled.

“You think you can get away without taking me seriously?!”

Out from the smoke emerged the Marine captain, covered in dust, lightly singed, and the picture of rage.

“I’m done doing this by the book.” The man dropped his sword. “I’m going to beat you until your crew can’t even recognize you anymore.” He stalked toward Vlad. “Then I’ll choke you out, tie you to an anchor, and throw you over the edge.”

He loomed over Vlad. “Maybe then you’ll regret the lives you’ve ruined.”

Vlad laughed stiffly. “Well, there’s no need for all that. I’m already regretting my life choices as we speak. You see it all started—” He threw a swift punch to the captain’s gut. There, that should solve that.

Where he was expecting a groan of pain and the man falling over, all he heard was a low, “Did you really think that would work?”

The man reached for Vlad’s wrist, but he turned intangible and quickly flew back. “Listen, I’m not really in the habit of fighting people I don’t have life long revenge plots against,”—and annoying teenagers who try to foil said plots—“so how about you accept your defeat now and I’ll graciously accept your surrender.” He shook out his hand behind his back, trying to subtly relieve the smarting pain in his knuckles.

“I’m done talking.” 

The Marine captain rushed Vlad, throwing punches left and right that Vlad was just barely able to dodge. Or rather, phase through. His intangibility had started to flicker between punches and he couldn’t figure out why.

Something sparkled off the captain’s arm, reflected by the sun. Water. Seawater.

“When did you even—” Vlad was cut off as his intangibility dropped completely and he had to dive for the deck to avoid an armbar. “Sugar and cream, can you just hold your horses for a one blasted moment?!”

Vlad tried to swing out a leg to trip him, but it was like slamming his shin into a tree trunk. He pulled back his leg with a hiss. “Cheese logs, what are you people made of?!”

Mohji and Richie, the useless oafs, had the gall to laugh at him while he was fighting for his life. Vlad even caught a glimpse of Cabaji with a smirk on his face. He shouldn’t have expected less from pirates of all people, but what happened to Buggy’s ridiculous order of keeping him safe to humiliate him?

He hastily turned himself invisible and scrambled away as the man was about to stomp on him. Then he found his invisibility had stopped working the moment another kick landed right on his back.

“Sir, really, I’m not part of this little group of—”

“My name,” —the captain said, cutting him off—“is Desta Abebe. I’m the 83rd division captain of the Marines.” Vlad felt a prick at his neck. A sword. “In the name of the Marines, you are hereby to be executed. Right here, right now.”

“Hey now, what happened to breaking the rules—?”

Desta leaned down, whispering with blood on his breath, “I will use any means necessary to kill a pirate.”

Vlad’s intangibility. He needed to strain himself, pull on it as much as possible and phase through the man. No, not even the man, just the sword. If he could go through the sword then he could bluff the man, he just needed a second—half a second. A millisecond even—anything!

A loud, grating laugh echoed from above. “Now isn’t this a familiar sight?”

The sound of metal slicing into flesh and finally, finally the painful noises from the captain that Vlad had been waiting for.

Desta didn’t move, but Vlad could feel the blood seeping into the back of his suit. More metal slicing into flesh, accompanied by Buggy’s laughter, and at last, the man stumbled back. 

Vlad tripped his way to his feet as Buggy’s legs walked up to him. Buggy’s torso and head floated above, his hands missing. He grinned down at Vlad. “I saw those flashy lights of yours! You should’ve said you had something that big and bright; I would’ve treated you better!” He laughed, floating down to slap Vlad’s back and send him stumbling. 

Vlad rubbed his back as he asked, “Really?”

“No, but I would’ve considered it.”

“You f-filthy—” Captain Desta dropped to one knee, bent over to reveal the dozen or so knives lodged into his back, a dark red stain rapidly growing on his white coat. He coughed, leaving a splatter of blood on the deck. 

Two Marine soldiers came up on either side of him, lifting him to his feet. “Sir, we need to retreat,” the woman with purple hair said. Imagine that, a member of law enforcement with dyed hair. Vlad would be bemoaning what the world had come to, but… well.

“You should listen to your cadet, Captain,” Buggy said, a toothy grin on his face. He brandished another handful of knives with a cackle. “Unless you’d like your front to match your back!”

The man tried to push himself up. “No, I’m going to—”

“Captain Desta. With all due respect, even if you could win we would not.” The captain’s brow furrowed and for the first time since the battle started, Vlad took a a look around the ship. A good look.

There were countless injured and dead Marines. Meanwhile, Buggy’s crew watched with wide, bloodthirsty smiles. If it weren’t for Buggy and his trusted aides between them and Captain Desta, he didn’t think they would’ve hesitated to continue the carnage.

Desta snarled, ceasing his struggles. “All troops, retreat!”

“Alright you all!” Buggy shouted. “Give them a flashy farewell!”

Buggy’s crew responded in kind, a loud deafening roar as the crowd ran past Vlad, swords in the air and guns at the ready. The remaining marines fled as fast as they could, the ones first to their ship trying to give some kind of cover fire. The Marine gunmen were picked off, falling like dead flies one after another as the cacophony of laughing pirates chased after their allies.

“Barbarians,” Vlad muttered, turning away from the sight.

“You’ll get used to it,” Buggy said, finally connecting his body together. “They’re like dogs with their favourite treat.”

“Like K-9 units I suppose.” He rolled his eyes as he patted himself down. Relatively dry again, likely enough to avoid a repeat of earlier. “How very charming. And would this mean you’re calling yourself a mutt?” 

“Watch it, Shady.” Buggy pointed one of his knives at him. “I don’t like you that much.”

“I don’t recall saying that with the intention of you liking—” 

A searing, mind-numbing pain erupted from Vlad’s thigh and he fell to his knees. He was so startled he didn’t even try to hold back his scream.

There was blood seeping from the hole in his suit. He put a hand over it, then immediately yanked it back. He turned over his palm, staring at the liquid staining his skin. It was warm.

The thumping, aching pain, the red-green colour trickling from his leg, it—

Hastily, he tore away at his suit. Because it couldn’t be his blood. It couldn’t be. That was impossible, completely and utterly so. This was all a hallucination, a stupid prank from Daniel that had gone much too far and really he needed to have a talk with his mother about the dangers of slipping people unknown substances in their drinks and—

A hole in his leg, a little bigger than the width of his finger. Still trickling blood.

Index finger hovering over it, he stared at the hole. Willing himself to take the final step. To find out once and for all that this wasn’t real. That he’d just banged his leg into a desk or a wall or the edge of his car.

Something grabbed at his hand, but he phased through it with hardly a thought. He took the plunge.

His throat hurt, but he could hardly hear his own voice. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the harrowing realization that washed over him.

This world was real. 

This world was real.

There he sat, finger jammed in his actual real live bullet wound, the sounds of battle hungry, village pillaging, in-the-flesh pirates ringing in his ears like a death knell. 

How—How did this even happen? How did he get here?

More importantly, how was he supposed to get home?

…Could he even return home?

What if this was it? What if whatever put him here left him stranded? Unable to call for help or aid—though he didn’t even know who he’d call—and left to wander this world for the rest of his natural life. How long would that even last? He aged like any other human, but being part ghost must have some affect on his lifespan. And he was more likely than the average human to become a full ghost, so would that mean he’d be stuck in this world for the rest of his existence? Cursed to roam unfamiliar waters and lands until he had the courage to—

Something slapped the back of his head. “Oh man up, it was just one bullet.”

Vlad grunted as he fell forward, reaching back to rub the tender spot.

“I’ve been shot at dozens of times and you don’t see me whining about it.” Light blue hair tickled the side of Vlad’s cheek and Buggy’s voice sounded closer. “Oh eugh, you actually got shot. You should work on not letting that happen.”

“You—” Vlad cut himself off with a shriek as his hand was pulled from the wound.

“What is wrong with you? Why would you just stick your finger in there?” Mohji said. “They teach you that in high society or something? Fucking idiot.” He turned to call out to one of the pirates lingering at the edge of the fighting. “Hey, toss me a bottle!”

Buggy’s feet stepped around them, his floating body reclined with his hands behind his back and following until he was behind Mohji. “Thought you liked your eyes?”

“I’ve got it covered. Richie.”The lion sat itself next to Mohji. It placed a paw on Vlad’s face the same moment Mohji grabbed a unmarked bottle out of the air. Vlad heard the cork pop and Mohji’s condescending voice. “Trying to die of an infection before you hand over your estate isn’t very smart of you, Merchant.”

Offput by the smelly, sticky paw in his face, he managed a muffled, “It’s Vlad, and I wasn’t—” Their odd conversation finally clicked. “Wait, no you don’t need to—!” A string of cheese and cookies ripped from Vlad’s croaky throat as Mohji proceeded to dump alcohol on the wound. 

“Was that really necessary?” Vlad asked as Richie pulled his paw away. Mohji was covered in a red glow.

Mohji rolled his eyes and grabbed a roll of bandages from somewhere. “Put that away, you’re not scaring anyone.” He noticeably didn’t answer Vlad’s question. He didn’t ask before roughly wrapping up Vlad’s leg. “Our doctor’s probably performing some generous amputations on our unannounced guests, so you’ll have to wait until later for someone to take a proper look at it.” He tied off the bandage to the point Vlad thought it would cut off circulation. Probably did it that way on purpose, the sadist.

Mohji pushed himself up and walked off with Richie, probably to join the others as they shot canons off at the fleeing Marine ship. The moment he moved, Buggy laughed. “Hey look! You look right at home!” 

Buggy pulled out a small mirror and Vlad took a look at his reflection. The blood from Richie’s paw had smeared on his face in a way that wasn’t unlike Buggy’s own clown makeup. 

It should’ve been terrifying.

Instead, it gave him an idea.

“If—” he started, breathing heavy and voice shaky. “If I wanted to join your crew. Would you let me?” 

Buggy’s brows raised. “Oh, what’s this? Had a taste for battle and now you want more?” He dropped the mirror, leaning in until he was nose to nose with Vlad. Unblinking, he dropped into a low whisper, “Or are you pulling my leg to steal my treasure?”

“Y-Yes.” Vlad gulped. “Er, no I don’t want your treasure. I’m… I’m already wealthy, as you well know. Uh, but my days have always been… mundane so to say. Confined to a boring routine that hardly changes. But this—” The best lies are centred in truth, the best lies are centred in truth. “I always saw more for myself than what my life has come to. I imagined being with the girl of my dreams, and that didn’t happen. I imagined making scientific discoveries and being famous for my work, and instead I sit behind a desk all day doing—doing nothing.

“This is the first time I’ve felt a sense of adventure—a sense of living by your own rules and not caught up in stupid paperwork and… well I suppose I want to chase that feeling as long as I can.”

Buggy continued to stare silently. It dragged on uncomfortably long. Vlad would loosen his tie, but he didn’t think that would help the choking fear in his throat.

Just as he was going to continue his rambling, Buggy laughed.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so!” He put an arm around Vlad. “Welcome to the crew, Shady!”

Relief blew through him, culminating in a, “Thank goodness.” He scrambled to correct himself. “I mean, thank goodness! I was worried you’d refuse and throw me overboard.”

“Don’t be silly!” Buggy’s grip grew tighter. “If we threw you overboard, we would’ve never got the escort money.” His grip loosened. “Which we’re still getting by the way. Think of it as a flashy entrance fee.”

“Did your other crewmembers have to pay an entrance fee?”

“No, but you’re stinking rich and I recently had all my treasure stolen.”

Vlad sighed. “Right.” Something he’d have to figure out an excuse for sooner or later. 

“Of course, we’ll be stopping by Loguetown first; I have a dirty thief and a stupid rubber boy to catch and kill. Roronoa Zoro too while we’re at it.”

A small mercy. Vlad could figure out an excuse once they finally reached a town and he could acquire some books and maps on this world. 

“We’ll keep your fee on pause until after me and my crew get our revenge. Then we’ll settle things and you’ll officially be one of us.” Buggy grinned. “Maybe I’ll even let you borrow some makeup since it seems you like it so much.” He gave a final laugh and slapped Vlad’s back before floating off to adress his crew.

Vlad roughly scrubbed the blood from his face with his sleeve. If he took a few more moments than necessary, his arm covering his face and shoulders shaking, that was his business.

“Hey Shady! Come and introduce yourself proper so these layabouts know who’s paying for our future feasts!”

Vlad would return home one day. To his loving cats and future wife.

He’d make sure of it.

Vlad put a hand on his knee and pushed himself up, taking the first step to—

He screamed.

“SON OF A BITCH.”

[danny-fenton-blog]

It has 0 nutritional value to humans, and is more poisonous than anything.

It’s like rotten cucumbers.

Why would you want to eat that?

Ectoplasm, pure with spaghetti noodles and vinager. Also add a hint of basil, some pate and garlic to it

Don't eat ectoplasm unless you're already a ghost.

[dragonshoardofworks]

Danuary24_ Free Day (+ Voyage?)

I'm a bit late because I wanted to clean the sketches digitally, but @crossoverdanuary you can blame @cleanlenins and their birthday present for this idea! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

In this crossover, when the Portal Incident happened, Danny got Isekai-ed into the One Piece World early in the East Blue saga (still haven't decided exactly when).

It's also (back in Amity) a No One Knows AU, so when the Portal started working "out of nowhere", Danny seemingly disappeared in the same period (no one could actually pinpoint when, though, due to neglect).

Was Danny friends with Tucker and Sam? Did they even exist in this Amity at all? No clue, but the only thing I know for certain is that Danny was a lonely boi...

Until the Strawhats happened, that is.

Like canon, Danny needed a while to start learning how to use his powers, which were such a trial and error thing that he ended getting a slightly different "moveset", so to speak:

Basic common powers + Ghost Form_ ✓

Ice powers_ ✓ (after Drum/Alabasta)

Overshadowing_ X (technically he still could, but has no idea it's a viable option)

Weakness to the Seastone_ ✓ (it has the same properties as the Ectoranium)

Telekinesis_ ✓

Ghostly Wail_ ✓ (post Water 7, if you know what I mean) However, it leaves him so drained that in addition to going back to human form, he's also unable to move for a while (pre-time skip)

Devil Fruit Sense_ ✓ (works like Ghost Sense)

Duplication_ X

(NEW) Spiritual Extraction:

If an object has enough personality/presence, Danny can extract/create a spiritual projection (or even a ghost if the physical object is destroyed) of it. The "blob ghosts" thus created are capable of interacting (minor powers included) with the material world depending on how much of his ectoplasm he feeds them. The Going Merry is the first example of it (AKA the first pic), followed shortly after the Gomu Gomu no Mi and the Hito Hito no Mi (Luffy and Chopper's Devil Fruits). (Oddly enough, the Hana Hana no Mi and the Hono Hono no Mi, Nico Robin's and Ace's fruits respectively, can't be projected, but they dismiss it as Danny's weird biology.) Few other objects that can be affected include the Wado Ichimonji, the Sandai Kitetsu and Luffy's Hat. (Still deciding what else to add.)

More details under the cut (Lenn it will definitely be spoiler-y for you, since you're still at Water 7, so read at your own risk! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) )

As you probably have already guessed if you're following the Japanese scans, the reason Luffy's fruit can be projected is because it's a Zoan.

The reason for this is that the manga said that Zoan have their own personality (which could overwhelm the user if their will isn't strong enough) and so I interpreted that this implies also a spirit/soul within!

(Thus, in the second pic, the mini swirly sun over the sleeping Danny, Merry and Sunny is Nika, who's bewildered by the mere concept of staying still and resting. You should move and have fun!!)

Other spoilery plot things include:

Usopp never deflected at Water 7 (there was still angst about the physical death of the Merry, but having her literal spirit hanging out with and scolding you if you were spiraling helped immensely);

Franky's personality (since he's one of his creators) rubbed off Sunny, so he's prone to join him in his dances and screaming "SUUUUUPEEEERRR!";

Danny gives off passive harmless ectoplasm radiations (moreover when he's in ghost form) that the Merry feed on when she's a full ghost and so doesn't need any active recharge;

because of his high metabolism, Danny has to eat either a lot (not Luffy-levels) or food choke-packed of nutrients. They also notice that the rawer the meat, the less Danny needs to eat (since it has higher content of non-degraded ectoplasm);

As I was writing the previous point, a thought occurred to me: could this also be a Ghost Hunger AU where Danny also feeds on emotions? 🤔 Let's keep it on maybe, because with Luffy around it would be like a nuclear reactor to feed on. No, I changed mind again, it's a YES, because there's no Ambient Ectoplasm in the One Piece world (contrary to what I headcanon Amity Park), so the only way for Danny to survive at all would be to stay on Luffy's side almost constantly.

And this leads me to the timeskip separation: because of the battle with Kizaru and the Pacifistas, and consequent use of 1-2 Wails, Danny has to retreat to his Core (first time ever happened), causing panic and forcing Luffy to stash it in the ribbon of his hat due to the heat of the battle (and so be separated along with him).

Danny stays unconscious two whole arcs, until Luffy is about to die of poison on Level 5 of Impel Down. He still hasn't enough energy to manifest outside his Core, but he gives his Captain as much as he could to keep him alive until the Okamas find and save them; he continues to do so even during the Hormone Treatment, having received a boost from Bon Kure and the others' emotional cheering.

After a short rest (he fainted) made during the escape, Danny wakes up again at Luffy's Conqueror Haki shout and given how much death and despair there's in the air, he's able to manifest again and speed up the rescue.

Who lives and who dies? No clue, but given my bleeding heart, Ace Lives, but not without grave injuries for the three of them (maybe so much that Danny ends again into his Core).

I just realized that this could end with Danny adopted officially into the ASL (Luffy had already started the process)... Our boy Danny is so Adoptable™ LMAO

Sabo regains his memories at the news of the close call and hijacks any mode of transportation to reach the trio. Two years timeskip happen with quartet bonding and training, then into the New World We Go!

Nothing else comes to mind at the moment, but I guess that I already said enough, don't I? (≧∇≦)

[senashenta]

Storm Season: Chapter Five

Title: Storm Season (Chapter Five)

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut

Summary: “Dean Winchester is Saved.” The angels all say, clear as a bell—and Dean crawls out of his own grave. Shortly after, he meets the person who pulled him out of Hell, and it turns out to be CASTIEL. Seven years after Cas vanished off the face of the Earth, Dean is suddenly confronted with his former lover again, only this time he’s not just a regular college kid—he’s an ANGEL, and Dean just doesn’t know how to compute that AT ALL.

But even after all these years, Dean can’t deny that he still has feelings for Cas, even as he and Sam embark on an out-of-place-palraijuq Hunt in Louisiana. Not even a giant crocodile monster can keep his attention when Cas comes around—and just like before, the angel is very, very distracting, bringing up Dean’s love for him once more. But things aren’t as simple as when they were younger and Cas was human, and it will take a lot of work before Dean can trust Cas again.

Notes: I hope everyone had good holidays and a good New Year’s Eve! Tomorrow is my birthday, so Happy Birthday to me, I guess! :D

All the post-Storm Season one-shots have now officially been cut back by five, so there’s twenty-five of them instead of thirty BUT LIKE TWENTY-FIVE IS STILL PLENTY, RIGHT?? lol. Also, I’m tinkering with a spin-off series that may or may not ever see the light of day, but we can talk about that later because it relates to #23/24/25 of the post-Storm Season one-shots and BOY are we not even close to there yet! :P

Like I said before, my next big project is going to be Cessation, which is a SPN/The Walking Dead crossover because WHY THE FUCK NOT SOMEONE TRY TO STOP ME. But I also have a SPN/Heralds Of Valdemar crossover (Where Monsters Come From) that I’m planning to write at some point as well (that realistically I know no one will read because Valdemar is such a small fandom), so keep an eye out for those when I eventually get finished this whole Horror High et al SAGA. XD

This is all on top of writing original novels, so. Yeah. I’m a busy, busy gal. (ADHD meds are the BEST.)

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.

STORM SEASON ET AL TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

STORM SEASON Chapter Five By Senashenta

The clerk by the front door gave Dean the dirtiest of dirty looks when he and Sam made their hasty exit, and immediately bolted to check out the upstairs—they could hear her shriek all the way from the car, which they very swiftly piled into to make their getaway. It was safe to say that the two of them (or Dean at the very least) would no longer be welcome at that particular library. That was fine, though, because they wouldn’t be coming back during daylight hours anyway.

It wasn’t all bad news, though, because while Dean had been upstairs being thoroughly slimed, Sam had managed to locate several possible leads in his microfiche scrolling and not only printed them out but remembered to grab them on the way out the door, too, even slapping down a five-dollar bill to pay for the printouts on the way past the front desk. He always had been a bit of a boy scout like that.

They drove back to the motel almost recklessly, and when they got there, they dashed inside, slammed and locked the door behind them.

“Dude, what the hell happened?” Sam gestured to Dean’s… everything.

Dean was wiping at his jacket uselessly, basically just smearing the ectoplasm around. “Basically, the entire freaking library attacked me. Books flew off the shelves and pelted me, one of them got me in the eye, Goddamnit, and the stupid… cards… exploded… and just ectoplasm everywhere.” He picked an index card off of himself, dropped it on the floor and let his head fall back as he bemoaned; “and poor Baby, Sam, she is so completely slimed up now, I’m gonna be cleaning her upholstery for weeks.” (That was an exaggeration, and he knew it, but the sentiment remained the same.)

“Whatever’s in that building is seriously annoyed.” Sam observed, and then; “Dean, just take your jacket off and we’ll get it to a dry cleaner tomorrow. And stop dropping stuff on the floor, you’re getting ectoplasm all over the carpet.”

“You don’t care about Baby at all.” Dean complained, but he was already stripping his jacket off, turning it inside out and draping it over one of the kitchenette table chairs. His shirt underneath wasn’t exactly clean, either and neither were his jeans, so he quickly shucked out of them as well, tossing everything in the laundry pile to be washed the next day. He vaguely wondered if Cas was upstairs watching, but dismissed the idea just as quickly as it came to him.

“Go have a shower.” Sam told him, interrupting his thoughts; “seriously. Your hair is…” Trailing off, Sam just shook his head and reached to pluck another index card out of his brother’s hair, then repeated, “just go have a shower, Dean.”

Dean was already heading for the bathroom, pausing just long enough to swat Sam’s plucking hand away. He might not have been great about taking care of himself lately (he was getting better about that) but this time he was definitely on Team Shower. Being coated head-to-toe in ghost snot would probably do that to anyone, he figured.

His shower was quick and used up probably too much shampoo and soap, but by the end of it he finally felt less like a library had sneezed him out when he stepped out into the bathroom proper and grabbed a towel to dry off. He dried quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist before heading back out into the motel room to root out some clothes—he needed to be dressed so he could go outside again and take care of Baby, because he was not leaving her all mucked up for any longer than he had to.

Sam was sitting at the table, shuffling through the new papers he’d printed off at the library, his bookbag sitting in a chair next to him, open so he could dig through it as he highlighted the important sections of each article. They would go up on the Wall Of Weird soon, but not until Dean deemed fit—the elder Winchester had gotten touchy about who added to his Walls as of late.

Whatever got him through the day, Sam figured.

While Sam worked, Dean made his way around the room, pulling on clean clothes and then tossing his towel in the direction of the bathroom—he was bad about that. Putting towels away properly. It drove Sam insane. Now, at least, Sam’s back was to it so he couldn’t see it right away. He would just bitch about it later instead, when Dean was done dealing with the Impala.

Once he was dressed and had pulled his boots on, Dean went out to the car and dug in the real trunk—not the fake one—for a shammy and the Armor All, then sneaked his way into the maid’s closet by the motel office where he pilfered a bucket, which was filled in the sink of their motel room. The water was a last resort, in case the Armor All failed him.

The poltergeist gunk was basically everywhere he had touched in the Impala, so the steering wheel, the seat and the floor. He did have floor covers for monster-y occasions, so he just pulled out the one on the driver’s side and washed it off with the water from the bucket and the shammy. It took some work. Then he set to scrubbing freaking ectoplasm out of all of Baby’s nooks and crannies. Sadly, this wasn’t his first time doing this exact job, either. He definitely had a really weird—and more than occasionally disgusting—life.

The problem with ectoplasm was that it was sticky, gunky crap, like snot on steroids, and it got into all the crevices. Dean knew that from personal experience. He also knew that it was going to take an entire afternoon of vigorous scrubbing to get Baby looking spic-and-span again, which was why he’d gotten the jump on it immediately after getting himself cleaned up.

It was also a good way of keeping his mind off… other things.

Or that was the theory, anyway. As he worked, though, Dean’s thoughts wandered to the inevitable. To Cas, and everything that had—and hadn’t—been between them. To the loss and the anger and the absolute betrayal that he had felt when he had learned that Cas was alive and well for all that time after all.

And then to the love, the love that was still there, taking up so much space in his heart. The love that hurt so, so badly at the moment, but he couldn’t shake off, couldn’t deny despite his best efforts to do just that.

Because Dean had said it many times in the past, but Cas was it for him—his soul mate, if he believed in such things—and no one else would ever compare to him, angel or not. It was just the profound sense of loss and the icy shock of pain after Cas disappearing for so long, being dead for so long, that stopped Dean from wrapping him up in his arms and—

And what? Proclaiming his undying love? He couldn’t do that after everything that had happened, even if he had… somewhat… already done it. Goddamnit, he had basically already done it, hadn’t it? And then right after that he had…

Dean didn’t realize how hard he was scrubbing at Baby’s seat until his knuckles started to hurt, and he eased off, sitting back a bit and shaking his hand out, eyes on the ground under his feet. And that’s what he felt like, really. He felt like dirt. Lower than dirt, even, for hurting Cas like that, even if in the moment it had felt… not good necessarily, though he had obviously come from it, buried deep inside Cas just like the old days, but maybe… cathartic? Was that the right word?

Dean shook his head, dismissing the thought, and went back to work on the Impala, this time paying more attention to what he was doing and less attention to the near constant narrative that was going on in his head.

-- --

Poltergeists could be tricky things and didn’t like to play by all the same rules as regular ghosts. Sure, if you could figure out who the spirit belonged to, you could try to salt and burn the bones, but that was if you could find the body. That wasn’t always a given, in their line of work. And that was also if burning the bones even worked at all, which wasn’t always a given with poltergeists either.

Dean stood in front of the Wall Of Weird, studying it, what there was of it so far anyway, while Sam did what Sam did best and booted up his computer to do some more research, since they likely wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the Albany County Public Library again any time soon (during operational hours, anyway.) Thank God for the Internet.

When they had been at the library earlier, Sam had managed to pull a handful of articles from the microfiche, and three of them had been obituaries: people who had died on the land, if not in the library itself. The first, Ed Carson, was an elderly gentleman who’d had a heart attack in the parking lot three years ago. Probably not their spook. Too benign of a death.

The other two, Abby Perkins and Margot Good, were less clear than Mr. Carson, the articles that Sam had managed to find at the library providing only the basest of details; Abby Perkins had died in nineteen eighty-four, and Margot Good in seventeen ten. Now Sam was doing his thing, working on digging up more information on the other two deaths while Dean continued to side-eye the Wall until he eventually decided it was time for a beer and went to get one from the minifridge.

Privately, Sam was impressed with how little alcohol had passed Dean’s lips that day so far. Then again there were still some hours to go before they crashed for the night, so things still had time to edge downhill. Still. He could handle a few beers. Dean could handle a few beers. It was good to see him taking the job seriously. But he had taken the rugaru job seriously, too. He was a professional when it came down to it.

“Okay, so,” Sam spoke up after a while of working his deep dive, and Dean turned away from the Wall again to look toward him; “Abby Perkins died of anaphylactic shock back in the eighties, she was allergic to bees. But Margot Good—she was hung on this land way back in seventeen ten.” He looked up from his computer to grin slightly, “which was, of course, the popular way to deal with witches, back in the day.”

Dean’s brows rose and he took a pull of his beer. “Real witch or is this a Salem Witch Trials situation?”

“Oh, Salem Witch Trials and in more than one way.” Sam gestured toward the computer screen even though Dean couldn’t see what was on it; “in seventeen ten the witch hysteria was still very real, and it had spread out from Massachusetts to other colonies all over the country. And Margot Good just happened to share a last name with the most famous of the Salem ‘witches’—” He made air quotes around the word ‘witches’ for emphasis; “—Sarah Good. So, in this time of mass hysteria, rumors spread, and Margot is connected to the most infamous witch in history to that date. They practically had to hang her, as far as they were concerned.”

“But she was innocent, yeah?” Dean asked around the edge of his beer.

“Undeniably.” Sam agreed, “or at least that’s the prominent theory. But she was buried on the grounds where she was hanged, which was tradition at the time, I suppose, and guess what now stands on that ground?”

“The Albany County Public Library.” It wasn’t a guess. Dean made a little clicking sound with his tongue and finished off his beer. “But if she’s been dead for this long, what woke her up, now?”

Sam tapped at his laptop for a second before spinning it around for Dean to see the article he’d pulled up. “Look, they just started renovations on the library basement. They’re digging up the whole thing to replace the foundation. They broke ground last month. Bets that she’s buried somewhere under that floor?”

Dean was back at the minifridge pulling out another beer. He popped the cap and muttered, “no wonder she’s pissed off. She gets accused of witchcraft, probably tortured, then hung to death and she can’t even rest anymore because they’re digging up her grave? Shit.”

It took a really ticked off spirit to become an actual poltergeist instead of your run-of-the-mill ghost, but from what Sam had dug up, it sounded very likely that Margot Good had every reason to be seriously angry. That was definitely poltergeist territory right there. They both figured they’d probably found their culprit.

Now they just had to figure out what to do about it.

The standard for poltergeists was special hex bags in the walls of the building, north, south, east and west. Sometimes you could take one out by finding the body that had belonged to the spirit of the poltergeist in life, salting and burning the bones, but unlike with normal ghosts, that didn’t always track with poltergeists.

So hex bags it was.

With a call to Bobby, they were able to locate a witch in Cheyenne, Neave Wynne, who was willing to help them out with the proper hex bags to put down a poltergeist. Dean went alone, claiming that he needed some time to think, and Sam gave only a token protest before just agreeing that he would stay behind and make the rest of the preparations.

So, Dean made the hour’s drive (in forty minutes, tops) with his thoughts on Cas the entire time, despite initially trying to keep his mind on the job at hand, going over all of their interactions so far and how well, or badly, they had gone. He managed not to completely spin out this time, during the drive to Cheyenne, though he had his hands gripping too tightly on the wheel again by the time he pulled into the driveway at the address Bobby had given them.

In Cheyenne it was only a matter of minutes for him to pick up the hex bags, pay the witch an obscene amount of money and go on his way. Dean thanked Neave profusely on his way out the door, and she, in turn, thanked him for the cold hard cash. She wished him well in his endeavours, and he was off again, heavy four hex bags in his jacket pocket. Hopefully, they would do the trick.

Then there was the hour drive back to Laramie and a return to all his swirling thoughts. He managed to tamp it all down when he got to the motel and came face-to-face with Sam again, though, dropping the hex bags on the table with a little triumphant “Ta-daa!” and making Sam roll his eyes.

But even though he pushed the thoughts down they were still there, niggling, and his first instinct was to go for booze again. Beer at the very least, but preferably something stronger. They weren’t going to the Albany County Public Library again until the next day, so for now he allowed the impulse and went over to pour himself a glass of whiskey. He downed it in one go, then poured a second glass quickly. Sam gave him a look but didn’t say anything.

The rest of the evening was spent going over the case over and over again until Dean’s head was aching—or maybe that was him mixing his liquor again. That was definitely a possibility. Either way, by eleven o’clock that night Dean was exhausted, physically and mentally, and Sam wasn’t doing much better, so Dean finished off the last of the beer in his hand and set the bottle down on the table a little too hard before making his way over to collapse into his bed, not even bothering to get undressed first.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day, too.

-- --

The next morning the brothers woke at eight a.m. to the alarm blaring Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley and Dean moaned a protesting noise and pulled his pillow over his head in an attempt to block out the shitty, shitty music. In the other bed, Sam just muttered, unamused, “the radio is freaking Rickrolling us. It is too early for this bullshit.”

Dean’s response was a muffled, “what the hell is a Rockroll?”

“Rickroll. It’s when you—” Sam started, even as he levered himself up and reached to smack at the alarm until it turned off. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. Come on, it’s time to get up.”

Still, Dean stubbornly stayed in bed while Sam got up and got ready to go for his morning jog, changing into his sweatpants and running shoes, and he left Dean where he was while he grabbed his ipod and wallet and disappeared out the door. He would let Dean snooze for another half an hour until he came back, coffee in hand. That would get Dean out of bed for sure—it always did.

And sure enough, when Sam got back (forty minutes later, the lineup at the coffee shop had been unreal), all he had to do was walk in the door with a tray full of fresh java and Dean rolled over in bed and lifted his head to peer back over his shoulder blearily. “You get coffee?”

“Yeah. Got one for you. Help yourself if you can haul yourself out of bed long enough.” Sam was already heading through to the bathroom for a shower; “I’ll be back out in a few. Don’t drink my coffee, too, jerk.”

Dean hummed and nuzzled into his pillow before absently replying “bitch” and finally swinging his legs around to sit up, rubbing at his hair absently before standing and wandering over to take one of the coffees from the tray on the table. He opened it up and began to sip at it as he wandered over to stand in front of the Wall Of Weird, still a little sleepy, staring at the article about Margot Wood that was pinned up right in the very center.

A poltergeist was easy. Ish. Usually. This one was just a little stronger than most. And gooier. They totally had this in the bag.

Dean nodded to himself, halfway through his coffee and feeling much more awake already and glanced over when Sam came out of the bathroom a couple minutes later, crossing the room to root through his bag for a change of clothes and then, once he was dressed, taking his wet towel very pointedly back to the bathroom again, thank you very much, Dean.

A little smirk tugged Dean’s lips up and he went over to set the rest of his coffee on the table, then ducked into the bathroom once Sam was out again to shower and brush his teeth quickly. That was followed up by coming back into the main room, getting dressed, and just tossing his towel in the general vicinity of the bathroom, Sam. This was a game that never got old—or at least not to Dean. Sam found it very irritating.

The rest of the day was spent bickering between themselves as they gathered up everything they needed; the hex bags, obviously, but also their sawed-off shotguns, filled with rock salt, and the huge tin can of table salt—just in case the malevolent spirit actually showed itself. That was an unlikely scenario, though, as poltergeists rarely manifested as actual entities.

Dean sat taking his shotgun apart, cleaning it and putting back together, over and over again for over an hour in the middle of the afternoon, basically on autopilot, not really seeing what he was doing, just doing it on instinct alone, his thoughts a million miles away. It was something he and Sam both did when they were anxious over something—field-stripped and cleaned their weapons.

When he eventually blinked out of it and realized what he was doing, he could only sigh and finish his current round by putting his shotgun back together. Then he immediately retrieved his sidearm and proceeded to strip and clean it as well, but in this case only one time. Both guns were fully loaded and ready to go, now.

Across the table from him, Sam had finished cleaning both of his own guns long since and had been watching Dean do his work over and over for the past little while, but quickly turned his attention to his laptop, pretending he hadn’t been watching. “So, the library closes at eight.” He announced; “we can probably go around nine, just to be sure none of the staff are still around.”

“We have time to grab food, then?” Dean looked up at him, eyebrows lifted. They hadn’t even taken a break for lunch, just going on power bars that Sam always kept in his duffle. “I could use some real food before we do this thing.”

“Yeah, totally.” Sam agreed. “Diner down the street?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean nodded, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Oh, and Sam? Your power bars do nothing.”

-- --

At nine o’clock that night, they packed up their shit and drive across town to the currently closed Albany County Public Library, where they parked around back, and Dean made quick work of picking the lock on the back door to get them both inside the building.

They were not expecting a warm reception, but the instant they walked in the door a book flew out of nowhere and clocked Dean in the side of the head—and he cursed. Loudly. At least it was a dry book. No ectoplasm—so far. Dean really hated the ectoplasm. (So did Sam.)

Dean and Sam made their way through the rows of tables in the back section of the library and things exploded around them. The computers started fritzing out, blinking on and off, the keyboards sparking in the dark. The printers began printing out reams and reams of paper, spitting them out all over the place.

Sam reached down and picked one up, and all it had on it was one word, printed over and over again: INNOCENT. Sam held it out for Dean to see and got a snort in response. He dropped it back to the ground afterward.

“You take north and east; I’ll take south and west.” Dean said, and handed two of the hex bags to Sam, who pocketed them quickly and headed out, even as the filing cabinets began spewing out papers and index cards, along with more ectoplasm than anything they had ever seen before. It practically rained the stuff.

With Sam off to do his part, Dean made for the back wall and began hauling one of the filing cabinets away from the wall so he could kick a hole in the plaster. That part done, he shoved a hex bag into the hole before moving on to the west wall, where he spent a couple of minutes fending of books that were flying in his direction from the stacks before repeating the process of pulling out a cabinet and booting a hole in the wall. The second hex bag went in as (relatively) easily as the first.

That done, he looked around for Sam and, when he couldn’t spot him, assumed he had gone to the north wall at the front of the building. So, with things still freaking out around him, Dean braved a dash through the stacks, books pelting him the entire way and slime dripping off the shelves, now, until he burst through the other side—only to find Sam standing there looking at him.

“Why didn’t you finish south and west?!” Sam demanded over the library having an utter fit.

“I did!” Dean replied, incredulous, and then winced when another heavy book bounced off his shoulder blade. That was going to freaking bruise. He made his way forward to stand next to Sam, farther away from the cacophony in the main part of the library. “What the hell is going on?!”

Margot Good was one strong poltergeist if the hex bags didn’t even phase her. And if that was the case, then the only thing they had left was uncovering the body and salting and burning the bones. Otherwise, they were seriously screwed. So, it was decided that they would go to the basement, where there were hopefully less books to collide with their faces.

A quick rock-paper-scissors later and Sam braved the book-and-index card melee to go back outside for shovels from the trunk of the Impala while Dean stayed behind and continued to endure the onslaught inside, this time the metal detectors by the front entrance trying to electrocute him—he just barely managed to dash away in time to avoid frying. Now everything was covered in black goo, and he would hate to see the face of the librarian who came to unlock the building in the morning.

When there’s something strange, in your neighborhood… who you gonna call? If there’s something weird, and it don’t look good… who you gonna call? Dean’s voice singsonged, even as Sam burst through the stacks again, carrying two folding shovels and covered head-to-toe in ectoplasm.

Shovels obtained, they found the door to the basement, which was, predictably, locked. So, they, just as predictably, picked it, and quickly flicked the lights on, heading down the narrow staircase cautiously. The overhead lights flickered, almost like a strobe light, but at least the basement had been cleared out to make room for the construction on the floor, so there was less for the poltergeist to throw at them. Still, little chips of gravel and concrete left over from the excavation of the old floor pelted them constantly their entire way down, tiny and stinging like bites from a fly.

The whole poured concrete floor had been dug up and hauled away, leaving just dirt behind, which they assumed was going to be covered up with more concrete, eventually. For now, it left things perfect for them to dig, assuming they could figure out where because the library didn’t exactly have a small footprint, and—

Over in one corner, the ground was moving. Shifting and lifting, something rising up from under it.

They both froze and watched as a shape clawed its’ way out of the dirt, vaguely human but rotted nearly through—

“Is that a freaking zombie?” Dean asked almost flatly.

“I think… it’s Margot Good.” Sam replied, almost blank.

The rotting corpse—which by all means should have been nothing but dust and bones by now, considering she had been buried in the seventeen hundreds—spun to face them, mouth wide and shrieking and the walls started to bleed ectoplasm. Dean flinched his shoulder away from the nearest wall and yanked his pistol out of the back of his jeans. “Well, we know what to do with zombies. Sorry, Margot.”

A quick headshot did the trick. The walls immediately stopped oozing, and the cacophony upstairs fell silent; they could hear midair books dropping to the ground deadly and when the printers suddenly stopped spitting out page after page of paper. They watched the body slump to the ground, then immediately begin melting, then turning to dust, and Dean tucked his gun away again.

“You, uh, ever see something like that before?”

“Nope.”

“We should get out of here.”

“I call dibs on the first shower.”

-- --

Now that they were done with the poltergeist-slash-zombie, Sam wanted to immediately go to South Dakota to help Bobby with his research into the Louisiana thing. Dean was happily stuck in his rut right where he was, though. He thought he deserved a few days off rather than hopping on the road again so soon, but Sam reminded him that lots of people were dying in New Orleans. Literally boatloads of people. They went around and around on the topic for a good, long while, especially because Dean wouldn’t allow Sam to just up and take the Impala to go to South Dakota without him.

Sam finally threw his hands in the air and declared; “fine then! I’m calling Cas!”

Dean froze, then blanched slightly, then stammered, “he’s—he’s not a freaking taxi!”

But it was too late, Sam was already casting his eyes toward the ceiling and saying, “Cas, if you’re listening in, it’s Sam Winchester and I could really use a ha—”

Dean next thing to tackled him. He scrambled out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste, and collided with his brother, tumbling them both onto one of the beds, where they proceeded to wrestle and fight while Dean tried everything he could to keep Sam from praying—including actually clamping a hand over his mouth. When Sam childishly licked his palm, Dean jerked his hand away again and made a disgusted noise, wiping it on Sam’s shirt.

“Sammy, I told you—”

“Uh. If this is a bad time I could come back later.” Cas said from over by the table. He was observing their little scuffle with more than a bit of amusement in his eyes and proceeded to watch them both scramble to get up and right themselves, too, a small smile on his face.

“You don’t have to be here.” Dean told him gruffly, straightening his shirt and avoiding eye contact like it was a deadly dangerous thing.

“Sam called me.” Cas pointed out before turning his attention to Sam, who was still floundering in the blankets slightly. Finally, Cas made his way over and helped the younger Winchester to untangle himself, then pulled him to his feet.

“Giant baby.” Dean commented.

Cas chuckled and Sam glared. “Cas, I need a lift to Bobby’s place, if you have the time. Dean refuses to drive there, and I want to help Bobby with research for the New Orleans job.”

“Do we not deserve breaks in between cases, sometimes?” Dean demanded.

“You do.” Cas agreed with Dean, but then gave Sam a smile; “I can absolutely take you to South Dakota, Sam. When do you want to be picked up?”

“I dunno… thirty-six hours? That’ll give us a good head start at the very least.” Sam was already cramming all of his stuff into a bag, “I guess if I need more time I can always, uh… let you know.”

“Yes, prayer works no matter where you are.” Cas nodded, waiting for Sam to finish packing before stepping over and hovering one hand over his shoulder. “You might want to brace yourself. The first time can be… a little jarring.” Then he patted his hand down on Sam’s shoulder, and they were gone.

In South Dakota, the two of them appeared just outside the door to Bobby’s house: Cas had very specifically not transported them inside because Mr. Singer had yet to see him since he’d been back, not really, and he wasn’t looking forward to the reunion. Bobby had made threats during their first meeting, back when Cas had still been human—about what he would do if Cas ever hurt Dean—and Cas had more than just hurt Dean, he had, as John Winchester had correctly predicted so long ago, destroyed him. Not that he thought Bobby could physically harm him, very little could, but…

It was a confrontation he was still putting off at all costs.

Now, Sam steadied himself, feeling a little woozy from the flight over, and glanced toward the door before offering a smile. “You should—”

“I’m going to.” Cas told him softly. “Just as soon as I’m done here.”

“Good luck, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam. I’m going to need it.”

And then he was gone again, leaving Sam to knock on Bobby’s door at eleven o’clock at night, no Impala in sight, when by all intents and purposes he should have been in Wyoming. He got a splash of Holy Water to the face for his troubles, and his entire explanation was “angels”, which just made Bobby snort—but at least he was let in the door in the end.

-- --

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean tensed up at the familiar voice and didn’t move for a moment. He had barely managed to right his chair and sit back down and now Cas was back again, and it threw his whole everything off-kilter. Finally, he lifted his eyes to look at the angel standing next to him. “Hey… Cas.” He replied hesitantly.

“I can… leave. If you want me to.” Cas offered softly.

Dean sighed and glanced away again before shaking his head. He lifted one leg to shove the chair opposite his out from the table a bit with his foot. “No, I—it’s fine. Sit.”

Cas took the olive branch and pulled the chair out the rest of the way, sitting down, his every movement careful, as if Dean might spook if he moved too fast or too suddenly. As if he might snap, which he had every right to do, really, despite the headway they’d briefly made with Cas helping him with his nightmares. Once he was seated, Cas looked down at his lap for a long moment before finally speaking up again; “I’m… sorry, Dean. I’m sorry things are so broken between us. I never meant for any of this. And it’s…” Shaking his head, he added; “I’d hoped the other night might help, some, but you barely even remember it…”

When he trailed off, Dean glanced up at him slightly, then away again, the two of them both avoiding eye contact, now. “I’m sorry, too.” He replied after a long silence, then just shoved out of his seat and made his way over to his bed, where he flopped down and curled up on his side. At first Cas assumed that he was just trying to put some more distance between them, but then Dean asked, “are you coming, or…?”

Surprised, Cas blinked, then hesitated before getting up and crossing the room, toeing his shoes off and then crawling onto the mattress behind Dean, settling on his side facing Dean’s back. After a brief moment, he lifted one hand to rest by Dean’s hip, and Dean allowed it without complaint. The two of them were silent for a long time, just laying together, breathing together, before Cas finally spoke up:

“Have there been others, while I was gone?” He asked softly. He knew the answer to that question already, he had seen it, but it would be different actually hearing it from Dean’s mouth.

Dean frowned, though his back was still to Cas so Cas couldn’t see it. He shifted slightly. “Cas, I—damnit, of course there have been. You were gone for seven years, and I—I thought you were gone for good, that—that you died or—or something worse—and was I supposed to just stay celibate all that time?”

“Of course not.” Cas assured him, voice still quiet. Then he asked gently, “did any of them matter?”

Dean hesitated at that, one hand coming up, fingers touching along the back of Cas’s hand absently. “One.” He admitted, finally, “her name was Cassie, and trust me, I get the irony in that. Cassie’s the first person that I really loved after you. The only one. But still not—not the way I loved you. Nothing could compare to how I loved you. Anyway, it didn’t last.”

“You deserve love, Dean. I’m glad that you found her, even if only for a while.”

There was a long silence after that, Dean stewing over everything in his head and Cas giving him the space and silence to do so. This thing between them was… almost new, again. Raw and painful, particularly for Dean. Especially after what had happened the week before, the last time they had been alone together. Cas didn’t want to push too hard and possibly break it, or him, again.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean said finally, voice coming out gruff, “I’m glad you’re not dead. I was so afraid you were dead, but… you were just upstairs this whole time? You keep saying you couldn’t leave, but why couldn’t you come see me? Why couldn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to,” Cas admitted, “all this time, I wanted to go to you so badly. But they wouldn’t let me. I was forbidden contact with you until…” Trailing off a little, he slid his hand to rub by Dean’s shoulder where his own handprint was branded into Dean’s flesh, “until I was ordered to pull you out.”

“You’ve never really been one to break the rules all that much,” Dean admitted softly.

“Especially when they’re handed down by God Himself.” Cas added.

“I get your point. Doesn’t make this any easier to swallow.”

“I know, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Finally, finally, Dean shifted, rolling over to face Cas. He looked at the angel quietly for a moment before offering; “you do look good, Cas.”

Cas gave a little smile, “so do you, Dean. For someone who just escaped Hell.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dean muttered. He lifted one hand to tug at the lapel on Cas’s trench coat and he made a soft, almost amused noise. “With the trench coat. You’re an angel now, you couldn’t find anything better?”

“I was wearing it when I was Called back to Heaven.” Cas explained, and a hand came up to cup Dean’s jaw gently, thumb running along his stubbled cheek. He added, “besides, I told you before, years ago, that I like it. So, when I changed the rest of my clothes, after I returned to Heaven, closer to their dress code, I kept my trench coat. For sentimental reasons. I’m still wearing my bracelet from Charlie, too.”

“I saw that, yeah.” Green eyes flitted down to his own wrist, where he had worn the leather cuff for so many years.

Cas followed his gaze, lips quirking just slightly. “You’re not wearing your cuff anymore. Did it finally break?”

“No. I…” Dean trailed off, avoiding Cas’s eyes, before trying again, “I took it off, a couple of years after you vanished. It was… it was painful. To wear it and think of you every time I saw it.” He admitted softly, looking almost ashamed, “I still have it, though, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I just… haven’t worn it in a really long time.”

Sadness flitted across Cas’s face. He had already known all of that, but this conversation was important. He sighed softly, resisting the urge to pull Dean into his arms. He didn’t think they were there yet; despite the fact they had already had sex a little over a week before. “I’m so sorry, Dean. That I put you through that. It wasn’t intentional, I had no choice, but… you suffered because of me. And I never wanted that. I only ever wanted you to be happy.”

And Dean knew that, really, deep down inside himself. He knew Cas hadn’t abandoned him on purpose, hadn’t left him willingly. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He was still wrestling with the fact that Cas was back after so very long—and not only that, that he wasn’t human as he had appeared to be for all the years Dean had known him before.

He was a freaking angel, and angels existed, and it was a lot to take. But speaking of angels…

“Hey,” Dean said, changing the subject entirely, much to his own private relief, “that… ringing in your ears. Was that…?”

Cas quirked a smile again. “It really was angels talking,” He informed Dean, “when I hit my head during the jorogumo Hunt it knocked something loose… or maybe back into place. I started hearing the other angels talking to each other. Not tinnitus, like the doctors said. More like Angel Radio, as my Father called it.”

“You were an angel all along.”

“So it would seem.”

“Tell me about it, Cas. Tell me about you.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I really do.”

Cas sighed and shifted slightly, pausing to think. “I’m countless eras old, and I’ve had many true forms. I’ve been around since the dawn of time, pretty much. Since before the Earth was even born. I was a warrior for God through it all. I fought and then commanded in his armies.” And ah, that explained the slightly hardened look in his eyes, now, Dean thought. Cas continued; “then, twenty-five years ago, I was ordered to come to Earth, but my True Vessel at the time, Jimmy Novak, was only a small child then. Five years old. He wasn’t ready. Being placed into an unready body was… traumatizing. My Grace was supressed. I lost my memories. I was… trapped, I guess, in this body. For lack of a better term.” He shrugged a little, “so I was placed with my Father, and he raised me into adulthood. I lived a normal, human life. I moved around a lot. Eventually I met you.”

He paused there with a fond little smile, “I fell in love, the way humans fall in love. So totally and completely. You were my everything. I would have given anything, everything for you, to you… I still would. But… when my Vessel was twenty-three, my body became ready and my Grace reawakened, and I was Called back to Heaven to Serve again. But you already know that part.” Cas hummed to himself before continuing; “loving you… it changed me, as a person. As an angel. I’m not the same Castiel that I was before my time on Earth. Before my time with you.”

“Loving you changed me, too.” Dean agreed, but then frowned, obviously bothered by something, and asked, “why were you ordered to come to Earth if your Vessel wasn’t ready?”

“I don’t know.” Cas told him truthfully, “I don’t question when orders are given to me from Heaven, from God.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Did you question your father when he gave you orders?”

“That’s different, I…” Dean started—then trailed off because it really wasn’t all that different, after all, when he thought about it. He glanced down—and finally lifted one hand up to touch against Cas’s chest, just tentatively at first, and then harder, until his palm was pressed there firmly, feeling the angel’s heart beating under it, reassuring. Or, his Vessel’s heart, anyway. Either way, it was Cas. “I really thought you were dead, Cas.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I never meant for any of this. And the last thing I wanted was to leave you.” Then, softly, “I loved you, Dean. With my entire being, with everything I had. I still do. I always have. I always will.”

“I…” Dean had already told Cas he still loved him, days ago, but it had been shouted in anger and frustration. Now he hesitated again. After a moment he flashed a little, fleeting smile and just offered, “same.” Then he adjusted, ever so slowly and carefully, to tuck himself against Cas’s chest, letting Cas wrap his arms around him delicately. “I really thought you were dead.” He repeated after a moment, head tucked under Cas’s chin, forehead pressed by his clavicle and voice slightly muffled. “I thought you were dead and I just… I died inside.”

“I saw. I watched you search and suffer. I suffered along with you.” Cas was speaking softly, afraid of breaking whatever spell had come over them. The sudden peace. “I cried for you countless times.”

“It just… became all about the Hunting. After I gave up searching for you.” Dean continued, and Cas fell silent again, “just Hunt after Hunt after Hunt, never ending, and the pointless sex, the booze, the loose women. Anything to forget about you. Until Cassie. And even that didn’t last. But no other men, I couldn’t…” Trailing off, he took a bit of a breath and swallowed slightly. “Then there was Yellow Eyes, and Dad dying… saving Sammy, bartering my soul. And forty years in Hell.” A weak chuckle, “turns out it was only four months of Earth time. And you—”

“I was the angel tasked with leading the army into Hell and rescuing you.” Cas agreed quietly. “And I think we both know why.”

“We do?”

“I would move Heaven and Earth for you, Dean. I would have done anything to pull you out of Hell. I would have sacrificed everything. You didn’t belong there. And my superiors knew all of that.”

“I’ve done bad things, Cas.”

“I know. So have I. Everyone has. That doesn’t mean you should be damned to an eternity in Hell.” Cas ducked his head to press a gentle kiss against Dean’s hair and murmured something he had told Dean countless times in their past together; “you are a good man, Dean Winchester.”

“I guess that should mean something, coming from an angel, huh?”

“Coming from me.”

Dean was quiet for a while, then, just absorbing that much of their conversation and feeling Cas’s chest rising and falling under where his head was pressed. They weren’t there yet, they had a long way to go, but this was a step up from the angry sex from before. It felt… honest. Real. It helped to soothe a part of Dean that had been raw and wounded for years.

For now, this was alright, though. They could take their time while Dean attempted to work his head around the fact that Cas was back—and wasn’t exactly human. He knew Cas wanted nothing more than to fall back into the way things had been before—his feelings for Dean had clearly not changed an iota in all their time apart—but for Dean it was more complicated. Cas had been able to watch over him, all those years, but to Dean, Cas had simply been dead and gone. It was hard to swallow that he had actually been there invisibly riding shotgun all along.

Dean pressed his forehead a little harder into Cas’s chest and in response Cas tightened his arms around Dean, just the slightest bit. “This is a lot, Cas.” Dean said finally, after a long silence, “coming back from Hell, and you coming back from the dead, and… just. Everything.”

“I know.” Cas replied, tone soothing, and rubbed one hand against Dean’s back gently. “We can take things as slow as you need us to.”

“We already screwed, Cas, that’s not exactly taking it slow.”

“Mm, but I mean from now on. Now that you seem more… settled. We’ll start out from the beginning, if you want, like we’re just starting to date again. Does that make sense?”

Dean actually laughed, just a little. “Making out under the school bleachers?”

That made Cas smile. “Well… maybe not that far back, exactly. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean eased back a bit, lifting his head up to look at Cas again, his gaze mostly unreadable, but scrutinizing. Finally, he hesitated, then leaned in to kiss the angel, just lightly—then a little harder before pulling back again. “You know I still… I still… I never stopped…”

Cas hushed him with another gentle kiss. “I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say it back, not in those words, but Cas didn’t need him to.

[talesofsonicasura]

Ryomen Sukuna spectating Ghostbuster Reader's Job

The next long due part to our Jujutsu Kaisen flavored Ghostbuster saga. Our King of Curses is gonna have a taste to average ghost busting insanity with dear Reader. Let's see how it goes. Can be read gender neutral or preferred gender.

Let this be known that the first week since his capture, the King of Curses is a BITCH. He took every moment to make you know how much he loathes the new housing arrangements. The curse was too dangerous to stick in the average ghost grid since he'll terrorize all the ghosts. Thus he been moved to a carrieable friendly trap.

It was a trap capable of letting him see the outside, hear around a 6 meter range and speak to you through a special Bluetooth. There's also a lock that cannot be open without the scans of the PKEs from five different Ghostbusters. It repels any Cursed Energy and not even a tank round could dent it.

You were taking zero chances as Sukuna getting out again would be Japan's third nuke to put it lightly. He also made hunting down his fingers easier. You were gonna take advantage of Sukuna quest to reclaim his power. Thus the Two Faced Specter became a mandatory companion.

Now you don't fully focus your time on looking for the other 19 fingers. They were super difficult to find without any clues and data was invaluable as some news came into light. A group of Curses were looking for Sukuna specifically with the aid of an infamous Curse User.

Jujutsu Sorcerers' Elders tend to make very dumb or greedy decisions that always ends up creating enemies. Every Ghostbuster was made well aware about any significant movements and changes as no one wants this to leave Japan's borders. You guys didn't need more shit. Especially since Gozer struck a major blow on the Ghostbusters business by killing one of the founders, Egon Spengler. Bless his soul.

Anyway, the Curse User in question was one of Tokyo's branches more skilled Sorcerers, Geto Suguru. Rumors had it he been slain by Gojo Satoru but the man clearly didn't stay dead. Thus you need to exercise caution unless you want any collected fingers to get stolen or a Ghost Grid get taken out.

It was a ghost busting day as the latest client mention their game console might have a specter inside. Sukuna, of course, decided to stick his two cents in. "It's a Curse, not a Ghost you dumb bitch!" "Curses aren't the only type of spirit you bathroom wall decorated whore!"

Ghosts don't spawn much in Japan as the area was practically drowning with Cursed Energy. Any spirit that does know how to avoid their more vicious cousins and can be quite volatile if agitated. Just like Curses, the higher a ghost was in Level the more dangerous they were. 1 is harmless while 10 is cataclysmic.

Your client was an avid gamer who picked up a Amiga consolefrom a yard sale. They explained that bizarre phenomenon began once turning it on. Game console switches on by itself and slime oozes from the electrical sockets but the last clue was able to help identify the specter. 8 bit characters manifesting at the dead of night.

"Pixel Ghosts. A Class 2 Swarmer that haunt in videogame consoles. They can get a bit agitated if someone disturbs their nest. Don't worry one bit. I can move them without any damage to your console and get dispose of the leftover ectoplasm."

Sukuna observed intently as a new type of trap was put on display. It held a USB cord and was smaller than he is. You hooked up the trap to the Amiga Console then flip the power. Various pixels dance across the screen as they broke apart and the light on the trap lit up an orange glow.

It was absolutely infested since over a 100 ghosts had made residence inside. You put the Slime Blower on suction mode and began scooping any residual ectoplasm as it would attract curses or more dangerous specters. Overall, the job took about an easy two hours.

You had a few more, two being Curses instead of ghosts, before calling it a day. Sukuna kept quiet throughout the whole affair. Could only guess that this new revelation on spirits was the cause.

You were tuning up your Proton Pack when the Two Faced Specter spoke. "How did this job come to existence? Why haven't you offered your services to those sorcerers?" Honestly wondered when he was gonna ask.

"Not all spirits are malevolent or evil. Jujutsu Sorcerers would just treat ghosts the same way they do Curses. Some spirits come into being for the sake of unfinished business as they can't rest until it's done. As for the job..." Sukuna was properly introduced to the ghost busting world through the famous Ghostbusters commercial. His snark wasn't a surprise but things felt peaceful.

And that's it! I won't lie there was some issues writing this. The issue sorta lied on the fact I don't have a Tobin's Spirit Guide and the entries from the Ghostbusters videogame is all I got. In my opinion, ghosts would be rare in areas with a lot of Curse activity.

Lower levels, specifically 3 or less, are seen as prey hence the more reclusive behavior. I won't be surprised if jujutsu sorcerers viewed ghosts like pests similar to Curses either. They're probably also dumb enough to unleash an apocalypse on accident since specters operate the same way as their more negative cousins.

Sukuna feels like a glutton when it comes to knowledge than just food or power. He will want to learn about whatever grabs his interest and throw his two cents in. Plus the King of Curses would be bitchy no matter his arrangements.

Next headcanon will have our dear Ghostbuster interact with the Jujutsu Kaisen cast! Until next time folks, I'll see you later in my Domain Expansion and keep on ghostbusting!

[mommybard]

What format do you play?

Commander! Right now my either in-progress or completed decks are...fuck where's that toolbox. Ayula - Monogreen Bears. Because bears are the best animal ever and no I will not take feedback for this statement at this time. Kodama of the Central Tree - Monogreen Kamigawa Spirits. It's silly, not the strongest, but I love spirits. Yuriko - Dimir Ninjas. Thinking of changing this to a Sultai one with Tatsunari at its head cause Yuriko is just such a target once she enters the battlefield. Sure she cheats out easily but like I feel bad because people see her and think my deck is gonna be so much scarier than it actually is Magda - Monored Dwarves. Because dwarves are one of my favorite fantasy races <3 Heiko Yamazaki - Monored Samurai/artifacts. Yeah, I normally hate artifacts, but she's a queer samurai rebel, so of course I was gonna make a deck for her. Gyome - Golgari Food deck. It's silly, but its fun and I love it. Can't wait for the lord of the ring set to come out so I can make another food deck. Gretchen Twitchwillow - Simic Moonfolk Landfall deck. All about bouncing lands back to my hand with the moonfolk and playing extra lands. I love Moonfolk, and I wish they got more love Kotori - Azorious Vehicle Moonfolk. Look, you give me an excuse to play moonfolk and I will take that fucking excuse. Uses all the newer Kamigawa ones who cared more about vehicles/artifact creatures instead of bouncing. Rhoda & Timin - Azorius Spirit Control. All about tapping other peoples creatures and boosting Rhoda for it. Not as mean as other azorius controls, I just want to tap your stuff not stop you from doing anything whatsoever. Ranar - Azorius Spirit Blink/Foretell. I LOVE SPIRITS OKAY SUE ME AND THIS LETS ME PLAY THEM A DIFFERENT WAY. Millicent - Azorius Spirit Tokens. I will not defend myself again, spirits are the best and the other tribes, besides dwarves and moonfolk, can suck it. YOU HEAR ME DRAGONS. YOU CAN FUCKING SUCK THIS ECTOPLASMIC DICK. Miirym - Temur Dragon Tribal. LOOK. HE'S A SPIRIT, AND I MADE IT DND THEMED OKAY. Gisa & Geralf - Dimir Zombies. Not as strong as some other zombie decks cause I themed it hard around Innistrad vibes. Captain N'ghathrod - Dimir Horror Mill. I couldn't resist playing the mindflayer. And he's so much fun. Umbris, Fear Manifest - Dimir Horror Exile. Started this one before Captain to make an Ashiok themed deck cause I love their spooky dream haunting nb ass. Satsuki - Selesnya Saga. I love Sagas and really enchantments in general, and I find her fun. Anafenza - Abzan themed Abzan deck. Look, Tarkir is the greatest plane in the multiverse and of the factions on Tarkir, the Abzan are the best <3 Go-Shintai - Five Color Shrines. Purposefully not made to be as degenerate and scary as the normal Go-Shintai bullshit decks, just made it to play all my shrines together. Manabase is a fucking mess on this one. Naomi - Orzhov Unnatural. This was originally my Mardu Samurai but it just felt like a mess so I took it apart and refined it into her <3

[doomedandstoned]

UK Rockers FROGLORD Groove on ‘Sons of Froglord’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Since the dawn of time, Mystics have foretold the coming of the Froglord An ancient amphibian with death ray vision and ectoplasm slime...

Behold, the mighty FROGLORD has returned! We first met the Bristol bunch in these pages when they split an album with Bog Wizard, then again for our compilation, Doomed & Stoned in England, Vol. II. Now they're back with 11 new tracks, 'Sons of Froglord' (2023), each one linked to overarching plot (the saga now spanning four records):

500 years before ascension, Froglord tires of wordly trappings and so departs into the wilderness. There, the great Wizard Gonk awaits, a mighty guide through this garden. Together they seek its forbidden fruit: the Road Raisins. Once found, the flesh is consumed, giving way to visions of a coming collapse. The sound of The Amphibian can be heard, calling to the sage, and the Froglady's embrace guides him back to earth. Returning to the world on a Wednesday, he knows he must hold on till the lord cometh. Till that time, the mind must be honed and create a swamp of its own.

The content really delivers on the storyline, too. "Wizard Gonk" is a riff-driven romp with foot-shuffling stride and deadpan, shoegazy vocals on the order of Depeche Mode. "Garden" is a dank one for sure, donning bluesy guitar, strident rhythm, and a fist-raising chorus. "Road Raisin" couples humid Kyuss guitar tone with an easy-going desert rock tempo and mysterious, doomy vox. Speaking of singing, "Collapse" features grisly pipes that remind me of Neal Fallon's early work. Many tokes will be taken, surely, early on in this album.

It's not all an anuran fantasy, however. "Wednesday" is an ultra cool rocker a la Velvet Revolver about riding through the midweek blues. And the album closes with a nod to the CCR classic, "Born On The Bayou," giving it the Froglord treatment with gutsy drumming, smooooooth bass work, stinging guitar, and crooning that tells us we're deep into marsh country now and there ain't no returning.

Sons of Froglord is an up-beat romp through the swamp, ideal for baking on your favorite lilly pad. Look for the Froglord's latest release on Friday, July 7th (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist with Deep Purple, Clutch, Merlin, Geezer, and Forming The Void.

Give ear...

FROGLORD - Sons of Froglord

SOME BUZZ

During the pandemic as a one-man project, Froglord released their first EP in 2020, followed soon after by a full-length album 'Amphibian Ascending.' Through their infectious grooves, storytelling, and DIY music videos, Froglord quickly amassed an online cult-like following. After the release of their second album 'The Mystic Toad' a year later, Froglord developed into a full 4-piece band as live venues began to reopen.

Since then, Froglord have released a further EP, split record, a single, and two more full-length albums: 'Army of Frogs' and 'Sons of Froglord.' During this time, Froglord has quickly gained a reputation for their commanding and theatrical stage performances.

Photo by April Marie

Whilst Froglord's sound leans primarily toward stoner doom, they have been characterised for their genre-bending sound, with each album taking on it's own distinct style, taking strong influences from psychedelia, prog, sludge, grunge, groove and blues to deliver the tale of The Froglord through a concept-based discography.

Rooted also in environmentalism, Froglord has worked closely with Save The Frogs, the world's largest amphibian-based conservation charity, raising over £2500 through 'Save The Frogs' EP sales and campaigning, as well as £300 for the Human Dignity Trust through merch sales.

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[lance-thunder-reporting-live]

Hm. That other anon had a point about salad.

Salad is made of plants. Plants are green. You know what else is green? Ectoplasm.

Ectoplasm is salad, and salad is edible. In this essay I shall-

Absolutely not.

[f4nd0m-fun]

I vote they accidentally end up in Gotham during the whole no man's land thing, which I'm pretty sure is during Tim and Steph Robin saga?

So they're already having paranoia from the government situation, but now they can't even leave without using ghost powers, but none of the kids are strong enough to use them for long.

But then they find a source of Ecto, and set up as close to it as they dare, hoping things will improve faster with this.

It makes Ellie worse, much worse, but over time, morning immediately obvious.

Vlad has to figure out a nifty way to make Ecto dejecto out of his ectoplasm, or try and purify what he found, but on the run means he can't.

Cue Dan and Danny and Ellie hiding in their base while Vlad starts breaking into Wayne enterprises and whatnot.

He of course gets found out. I vote Lucius instead of Bruce is the first one, and Vlad Barely trusts him not to say anything after running into him like 5 times and no one trying to catch him.

However, Bruce accidentally kidnaps the kids while looking into Lazarus pits in Gotham.

Cue Vlad trying to find his kids, trying to build something to help Ellie, meanwhile Bruce and Lucius should probably tell the other more about their side of the situation.

The other option is they somehow end up at the League and go 'fuck it, they have ectoplasm here', and then Talia is all 'hey you're good at protecting your kids, take my son to his dad, his city has pits as well' and just... giving them a crap ton of untraceable money to get them to Gotham. Also, Danny and Dan being Damien's age.

Also, I'm torn on making Alfred a version of Clockwork again, but it'd work especially well for the first option because 'Grandpa Clocky says Vlad will find us with the time is right and I trust Grandpa and I really like his cooking so I'll trust him' (Dan is 50/50 attitude towards Clockwork, on one hand he got stuck for what felt like centuries because of him, on the other hand he got a second chance at living). Also, Alfred putting some of his ecto in the food he makes for the ghost kids. I've of the batkids finds out (at least about it being technically blood ish) and all he has to do is raise a finger to his lips and that kid isn't saying a thing about it no matter how much they want to.

Prompt 287

“Bleh,” Danny stuck his tongue out, nose scrunching at the taste of blood. “Ma’ nose ‘s bleedin’!” he complained, utterly offended that it had been from ducking into a wall and not something like a fight. But also incredibly concerned about how dripping blood everywhere meant dripping literal poison. 

Jordan snorted and Vlad cursed under his breath, a napkin already in his claws. Curse these tinier bodies, but at least it was better than being a toddler. But they were still so fragile compared to how he’d been at 14 that it was annoying! 

And okay, they didn’t have a lot of choices being on the run, but still. Could be worse with how close their cores had come to cracking. They could have shattered instead of both halves bleeding across to the other. 

And look he’d never thought he’d be on the run with Vlad and Dan and Ellie but… He didn’t want to think about it. Danny grumbled as his face was wiped, but it was better than leaving traces of their presence, crime-ridden area or no. 

Ancients this was a mess. They were all exhausted and injured and had already fled across several states, backtracking and leading false trails when they could. They hadn’t eaten much, not gotten a chance to besides what they could steal on the way, avoiding any sort of cameras or being spotted in general.

“Ellie ‘s hungry,” Dan spoke up, practically tattling on their now-younger sister who had gotten in the habit of not mentioning when she was, despite being the youngest and needing the most food of them all. And that was without even starting on her medical issues. 

Vlad cursed again under his breath, biting into his wrist. “Not too fast,” he grunted as crimson ecto dripped from the wound. Ellie latched on immediately with her own grumble, glaring at Dan before she did. The oldest halfa half picked her up onto his hip, motioning the both of them closer. 

“Both of you too,” his voice was no-nonsense, the one that promised that he would force-feed them ecto so they didn’t collapse again, despite it only happening once. Stupid Vlad somehow actually being a good caretaker during this entire bullshit. 

[jackson-imbecille]

I haven’t drawn in months, maybe since April? Or maybe it was May.

Here’s a cursed sketchpage to apologize for my absence.

[not-a-month-107]

That moment when the citizens of Amity Park are actually EATING ECTOPLASM?? WHAT IS GOING ON GUYS

====== for real tho can someone explain what's happening in the phandom

[daddyplasmius]