#yes this is a direct response to a post i saw that made me miffed

[the-wayward-prince]

The idea that Snape's actions in the first wizarding war are completely out of selfishness blatantly ignores everything about his characterization and his circumstances up until that point (both things that fans cling to to defend the actions of almost any character who isn't their convenient villain, Severus Snape)

Severus Snape was a boy who came from some of the most severe poverty that is showcased in the HP series; even before his time at Hogwarts, he was looked down upon and ostracized for his ratty clothes, family, and lack of social skills due to a dysfunctional and abusive family.

Upon entering Hogwarts, Snape was sorted into Slytherin and thrown into a proverbial viper's den of people who would look down upon for not being pureblood. These people would eventually become the only people to show any sort of kindness to him after Snape (unrightfully calling her a mudblood) lashed out at Lily for siding with his tormentors.

Snape was bullied relentlessly from the moment he stepped into the halls of Hogwarts for existing. James Potter and Sirius Black antagonized the boy far before he ever showcased tendencies for dark spells or Death Eater behavior.

Of course, while all of this is true - Snape is still responsible for his actions - and this is part of why he is a morally grey character. All of these things can coexist with the fact that Snape is sometimes selfish, but to boil his character down to that is a disservice.

This is all to say, it is understandable (though not completely defensible) for a boy who was essentially belittled his entire life, often by people who stood to represent the "good" side, would side with the people who at least pretended to view him as an actual human being, if not at least recognizing his talents and viewing him as a useful tool. Especially when Severus was socially isolated from most people other than his fellow Slytherins and basically groomed, like many of the young were, into joining Lord Voldemort. And in the end, Snape eventually fought for Dumbledore and did more to win the second wizarding war than anyone other than perhaps Dumbledore or Harry Potter himself.

[komoreangel]

𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬

pairing: kazuha x reader

scenario: kazuha takes you to the lake for a romantic getaway, and he finds himself reminiscing of days long gone…ah, but you’re here with him, and that’s the only blessing he really needs, isn’t it?

genre: fluff, kazuha misses his friend but he loves u a lot !! + kazuha with messy hair hdbnd

request: KAZUHA AND HIS S/O SWIMMIGN TOGTHER IN A LAKE <\\3 SO ROMANTIC

a/n: SO TRUE ANON!! man,,,no ones doing it like kazuha,,,sexy and romantic? 🏃‍♀️

he woke you up that morning with a soft grin, telling you he had great plans for the day ahead. you had only just woken up, and already the words that fell upon your ears were nothing short of adoration, along with him trying his best to convince you to agree.

his efforts were in vain, because you would’ve followed him anywhere without hesitation. after getting dressed and grabbing your things, he took you by the hand and the two of you made your way out of the harbor. the crux was temporarily docked there while beidou visited ningguang (which the crew knew could take days, as it was painfully obvious they were more than just business partners).

“kazuha, where are you taking me?” you asked him after a while. you had thought he was planning on going to guyun stone forest again, as the shores of his homeland, inazuma, we’re faintly visible from there. he loved telling you stories about the land of his birth, and always said he’d take you there someday.

“don’t fret, y/n, it’s just a different route this time,” he assured you. however, the farther you got from the coast, the more you realized he had a different location in mind. before you could joke about how he’d tricked you, the two of you stood on a cliff overlooking luhua pool.

he offered to carry your bag and set it down in the sand. “darling, come here,” he called. you went over to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as you gazed at the crystal blue waters in front of you. the weather was rather nice that day, and he was ecstatic to have you here with him.

after enjoying the scenery for a while, he once more took you by the hand, with his eyes only on you and nowhere else. “you want to go in?” you have to admit, the water was gorgeous, and it had been getting a bit hot, as if the sun itself would concede to his wishes. “but i’m just in my clothes, i don’t..” he pulled you closer to the water, slightly chuckling at your protests.

“relax, dearest. there’s no harm in getting your clothes wet, is there? it’s hot enough outside that just setting them on the deck will dry them by tomorrow.” you can’t help but agree with him, especially when he looks at you like that. “alright, but if my clothes get ruined, it’s on you.” you tell him. his eyes light up at your words, and the two of you head closer to the water.

“of course, i’ll take full responsibility.” he replies, and as he steps further into the lake, you follow after him. you move your foot forwards, not realizing how deep the water is, and before you can stop yourself, are falling headfirst into the lake. your hair, along with all of your clothes, are now soaked. to your surprise (and slight annoyance), kazuha lifts you up with one hand, his hands steadying you.

“be careful, y/n. we don’t want you drowning, now do we?” you are slightly miffed that he didn’t help you earlier (because from past experience you know he was fully capable of stopping you from falling) and in retaliation you lean down into the water, as if to look for something. he notices, and turns towards you. “is something the matter?”

“yeah, i’m looking for my bracelet, it fell off in the water.” at this, he also leans down beside you, unaware that the bracelet you speak of is actually in your bag, which he was carrying earlier. as soon as his face nears the water, you push him down, his surprise evident as he lets out a yelp of surprise. you laugh at his struggle, as for once, the man who is always ever so eloquent and full of nothing but the most elegant of words is startled.

his head rises above the water with a tired smile on his face. “i suppose i should’ve expected that, hm?” his hair is wet, and has gotten messy from the sudden submersion into the lake. despite it being a prank of yours, you can’t help but think he looks even prettier this way. you help him up, continuing to laugh as you do so.

"sorry," you say between giggles. he continues to grin, pausing to add, "you didn't actually lose the bracelet, did you?" the bracelet was a gift from him to you for one of your anniversaries. "of course not, kaz. i'd never lose it."

he smiles at you and turns his gaze to the water. it wasn't long ago he was standing here with tomo... hoping to himself that things would forever stay that way. moments like these are when he truly understands the shogun's desire for 'eternity'. for the time we spend with our loved ones to last forever, and for the emotions and feelings we hold dearly to never end.

"kazuha, are you okay?" you've moved towards him, your hand on his shoulder. he falters a bit. "ah...yes, darling, don't worry. just lost in a thought, that's all." the smile you give at his words is everything to him, even if you don't know it. "thank you for bringing me here, kazuha. i know it's an important place to you."

so you'd known what he was feeling the whole time? he'd always said you understood him like no one else did, but apparently even he didn't know to what extent. he feels so comforted in your presence, like he doesn't have to say anything to convey his feelings. you just know, and vice versa.

he's never felt more grateful to have someone like you by his side. maybe, even though tomo is long gone, his friend had done him one final favor and pushed you in his direction. because to be in love with a person as amazing as you, kazuha believes there's got to be some other force of nature at work.

a/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON </3 I MEANT TO RELEASE IT EARLIER I SWEAR. there goes kit again with her wack post schedule. BUT 2.1 IS OUT!! AND SCARAMOUCHE APPEARED!! FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!! all jokes aside IM SO HAPPY HE FINALLY SHOWED UP. LIKE....GENUINELY WHEN I WAS PLAYING THE UPDATE AND I SAW HIM I WAS VERY VERY SATISFIED 10/10 !! i also learned the way i portray him might be completely ooc...which is fine its fine im fine- but i think i will be posting more scara content (whos surprised) just to celebrate plus i also wanted to get this one out before another day goes by where i forget, thank u for reading !! <33

[photiniainsummer]

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

[xbarrjallenx]

Beautiful Disaster

Pairing: Darren Chen x Reader

Summary: Darren wanted to help (Y/N) on baking some delicious Christmas cookies, but everything ended up on being a disaster, a beautiful disaster.

Word count: 1.197

Posted: 22nd of December 2018

A/N: This is my first time writing for this cinnamon roll and thank you, Jamie, for requesting and giving me some prompts. I hope that you love this fluffy stuff. Please let me know if it is hao hao hao hao worthy!

- G. x

Tags: @ocean-calls-me;

“After the wet ingredients, we need three cups of flour.” You seriously declared as you tightly kept your phone in your hand. It served you as a guide since you were following a simple Christmas cookie recipe that you found on the internet weeks ago. “Darre-,”

Your eyes abruptly grew wide in shock as you saw your boyfriend munching on the chocolate bar that you were supposed to use for the cookies.

“What are you doing?!” You frustratedly questioned while you put your phone on the kitchen counter, arms quickly crossing as your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

Darren embarrassedly chewed on his lower lip, swallowing the bolus and quickly wrapping the remaining chunks of the chocolate bar once again. “Oops!” He adorably muttered as he flashed a wide apologetically smile, dimple and chocolate stained teeth showing nonchalantly.

You playfully giggled, shaking your head in disbelief. “If you weren’t that cute, I would have already lashed out against you, Kuan!”

You walked towards your tall boyfriend, pinching his soft cheek gently as he confidently chuckled, silently thanking himself for being adorable and irresistible. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright! Chocolate tastes good, can’t blame you, but your part of the cookies won’t have chocolate on.” You naughtily pointed out, earning a very charming pout from him.

You couldn’t deny that there were times when you wondered if you were dating a twenty-three year old man or a five year old kid, because he had a very endearing baby face and a very childish, but enchanting behaviour.

“Sorry, boo, but you get what you deserve.” You mumbled as he pulled you into a warm embrace, arms slowly slithering around your waist.

“Fair enough!” He softly giggled, pressing a kiss on your forehead and then on the tip of your nose.

“Babe, we are in the middle of baking these Christmas cookies, so stop being a huge distraction.” You authoritatively announced, pushing his chest gently so you could break the hug between you. “Flour, please!”

“Oh, c’mon!” He immaturely whined, pouting once again as he involuntarily searched for the flour on the messy kitchen counter.

You understood where he was coming from: he was craving for your affection and attention. The last few days have been a hard time for him, mostly because he had to travel by plane continuously for his new upcoming project, causing him to barely get in touch with you and get enough sleep during the night.

He must be resting during his short break, but he clearly stated that he wanted to spend some time with you, catching up the days that you weren’t together.

“Flour, Mr. Chen!” You cheekily winked as you caught his confused and offended gaze. He playfully rolled his eyes in response and you just gave him some tumultuous laughs, heading back to the unfinished cookie batter that you were preparing.

“Is it this one?” He curiously asked as he walked towards your direction, patiently waiting for you to consider his brown orbs.

You nodded right after you examined the pack of flour that he was firmly holding in his hand, not noticing the little prank that he had in store. “Ye-,”

Before you could finish your sentence, you were surprised by a great nebulous substance thrown towards your face, making you cough exaggeratedly. What a very unpleasant person!

“Chen Guan Hong,” You vexedly shouted as you heard him burst into a heavy laughter. “I solemnly swear that you are getting the taste of your own medicine!”

“Ah, you can’t do that!” He shamelessly replied, ignoring your serious threat. “I know that you have a soft spot for me, my love.”

You cleared your path as you reached for the mussily opened pack, rapidly grabbing a fistful of flour and barefacedly throwing it to your miffing and spiteful boyfriend.

“What were you saying, Mr. Chen?” You assertively raised an eyebrow as you watch him struggle because of the huge smoke-like effect that the flour has created. His chocolate tousled hair and clothes were quickly stained by the ingredient and you couldn’t help but let out some thick chortles.

“This means war, (Y/N)!” He fiercely declared, loudly laughing because of your dishevelled appearance.

You both grabbed a fistful amount of flour with your hand and had a little battle in the kitchen, dirtying the once-cleaned kitchen of Darren’s flat.

You seemed like two little kids, but you never minded it, because what mattered the most was that you were having fun.

“Truce!” He shouted, covering his face as he made his way towards you.

“Truce? We finished the flour, dork!” You adorably exclaimed, eyes widening in shock as soon as you realised what has just happened. “The flour! We needed three cups for the cookies.”

The tall man that slowly towered you cheekily chuckled, pulling you in his arms to give you a warm hug once again. “Do we really care about that?”

“Absolutely not!” You happily responded, letting go of the thought of finishing your Christmas cookies in time as his pleasant perfume permeated your nostrils. “But your kitchen is a mess, boo!”

“Do I care about that?” He tightened his grip around your waist, making you reciprocate the affection that he was giving you by hugging him back.

“No, but we created a distaster and we are a great mess too!” You pointed out as you leant your head on his chest, his heart crazily pounding against it.

“Well, you are a beautiful disaster, my angel.” He smoothly muttered as he corrected your statement, sweetly pressing a kiss on the top of your floured head.

“A beautiful disaster?” You hummed as you gently fluttered your eyes shut, slightly slipping because of the flour scattered on the floor but Darren held you tightly.

“Yes, love.” He nodded in response as he brought one of his hands to your head to caress your hear. “Loving you is dangerous, it seems like a real disaster, but I can’t help but love you even more, (Y/N). You are the one who brings happiness and joy in my life, in everything that you do!”

A wide smile swiftly flashed on your face, teeth confidently showing as tears started to linger in your eyes. He was so sweet and sincere that your heart was about to burst in excitement and enthusiasm. He made you feel so special and important, amiably appreciating every single thing that you did for him. “I love you too, Darren.”

You slightly pulled away as you considered his beautifully sparkling eyes. He gave you another toothy and dimply smile, slightly slouching as he reached for your flawless face.

He carefully leant in to diminish the space between the two of you. He caressed your chin with his fingers as you gracefully tiptoed to passionately and synchronically lock your lips with him, still tasting the delicious chocolate bar that he was eating earlier.

You loved him more than anything else and he knew that.

“You still owe me some cookies, though.” You reminded him, breaking the kiss rapidly to tease him once again.

He groaned and rolled his eyes in annoyance, pinching the tip of your nose with his fingers. “We’re buying them tomorrow, glutton!”

[evilcoconutz]

Four Lives, Four Days

Sorry for the long post. Lucy, Levy, Juvia, and Erza get poisoned but can the guys handle saving them on their own? Also read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11547089/1/The-Fight-of-a-Lifetime

“Hey, Natsu!” Lucy called across the guild hall as she made her way to the table that he was seated at with Happy.

“Hey Luce!” He called back. Lucy sat across from them and placed a bag on the table.

“I have something for you guys.” Lucy said with her best smile. Natsu quickly snatched the bag and ripped it open.

“Fish!” Natsu's eyes started to twinkle and he began to drool. Happy looked identical.

“Not just any fish, these are the rarest fish in Fiore!” Lucy spoke proudly with her fists on her hips.

“Where did you get these?” Happy's voice sounded like he was hypnotized.

“From a little job I did in town earlier. I would have invited you, but I wanted to surprise you. Both of you have done so much for me, I wanted to do something nice.”

“You need to marry this woman, Natsu...” Happy attempted to whisper but was so focused on the fish.

“Yeah...” Natsu didn't even hear what happy said, he was so intrigued by the multicolored fish.

“Uuuh.... no need for all of that...” Lucy blushed and tried to change the subject.

“Dig in, and enjoy!” She said cheerfully. Happy flew down and stuffed one in his mouth. His face practically melted off of his head.

“Mif if teh beft fith eva!” (This is the best fish ever!) The blue cat attempted to say.

“Yeah!” Natsu yelled, shoving a whole fish down his throat.

“Well I'm off!” Lucy waved at the pair stuffing their faces.

“Woah, where are you goin'?” Natsu's mouth was full.

“Oh, Levy, Erza, Juvia, and I are having a girls night at this club near by. They're waiting on me so I'll see ya later!” Lucy waved again and Natsu waved back thanking her for the amazing food. Lucy made her way to the bar and walked through the double doors. The bar was quaint and old fashioned. It wielded a long wooden bar and about ten wooden tables. There were people everywhere, drinking, laughing, and fighting. It almost felt like Fairy Tail's guild hall, just more peaceful. Over to her left the three women were seated. They waved over at Lucy.

“Sorry I'm late!” Lucy took a seat.

“Where you with Natsu?” Levy teased. Lucy could tell she had already begun drinking.

“Cut it out! It's not like that!” Lucy hissed playfully. The girls just laughed. Juvia raised her glass.

“Lets make this a night to remember!” They all clinked their glasses and sipped down their drinks. All of the sudden, Erza stood up.

“Every one get out of the bar!” She yelled.

“What's going on?” Levy panicked.

“Something's coming, I can feel it! Help every one out!” She yelled demandingly. The girls got every one outside, but none of them could make it out themselves. Right as the last customer was thrown outside by Erza, a large smokey bomb hit the building, shattering everything inside. The black smoke billowed high into the night's air.

-------

A crowd began to form in front of the infirmary. So many members of the guild wanted to see what had happened.

“They are alive, but they're in a critical state. We can only allow one of you to go in at a time so please be patient.” Wendy held her tears back and tried her best to be strong.

“Lucy! Erza!” Natsu called from the back of the room. “I'm going in first!” Natsu demanded as he pushed his way through the small crowd. Happy flew above his head. He swung the door open. Natsu raced into the room, unaware of the severity of the situation. Happy was right behind him. He walked between Lucy's and Erza's beds which were placed next to each other. He looked over at Erza, and was struck with shock. He had never seen Erza struck so badly. Her hair in tangles and black eye was starting to form. He glanced over at Lucy, lying still on her bed. She had a lang scratch across her nose, which had been bleeding. He leaned over and grabbed her hand, it was so cold. Her cheek bones protruded under her skin. She was covered in scrapes and bruises. She looked dead. He held her hand and tried to warm it with his fiery palms, but to no avail. He could hear her heart thumbing so slow through her fingertips.

“Lucy...Erza...” Happy landed on Natsu's shoulder and placed his hands over his mouth. Tears formed in his eyes.

“Lucy... Wake up...” Natsu’s voice sounded weak. His eyes filled with angry tears. He laid her hand back on the table and leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“I will kill the person that did this to you and Erza and everyone else! I promise!” He yelled. Natsu's body caught fire as he stood over Lucy. His eyes glowed with rage. He shot out of the infirmary. Now it was Gray's turn to go in. He walked over to Juvia's bed with his hands in his pocket, not knowing what to expect. Gray stood over Juvia's practically lifeless body. He took his hands from his pockets and grazed Juvia's arm with the back of his fingertips. She was practically frozen. Her chest hardly moved as her breathing was slowed. Her face was more pale than usual. He could feel an immense amount of angst and hatred rise through his chest. He whispered something under his breath before he turned and stormed out of the room with his hands curled into fists.

“Tch, Who ever did this is going to pay.” He mumbled through his gritted teeth as he passed Gajeel in the hallway. Gajeel slammed open the door as he entered the room. He could smell Levy's perfume. She was in the corner next to Juvia. He marched passed all the women in their fragile state. His temper was already rising. When he turned and looked at Levy, she was lifeless. Her tiny body hardly moving. Gajeel slammed his fist into the wall, smashing a giant hole in it. He was humped over and completely infuriated. He stormed out of the room and turned to Wendy.

“WHO THE HELL DID THIS?!” Gajeel yelled at the top of his lungs. The whole guild went silent.

“Ummm... Natsu and Gray went to look at the scene... They're seeing if they can find any clues...” Wendy whimpered.

“I'd help too, but I think I'm more useful here. Porlyusica and I are going to work on a cure.” Wendy was intimidated by Gajeel's appearance. She could feel his magic power increasing with his anger.

“Contact that blue haired guy that likes Erza!” He called over his shoulder as he stormed out. Gajeel took off at high speed toward the site. When he got there, Natsu and Gray were already searching the rubble.

“I can't catch a scent what the hell?!” Natsu stood up and scratched his head.

“Maybe it's because you're too stupid.” Gray hissed over his shoulder as he threw a log toward Natsu.

“Watch where you're throwing things!”

“Dammit, I missed.” Gray sneered back.

“Will you too shut up and get to work?” Gajeel stepped in with his booming voice. The three of them searched the large pile of debris but found nothing. They spent hours talking to witnesses and searching for clues. The only information they received was how the incident happened. No one saw anything but the explosion. Defeated, they made their way to the guild hall. All three of them sat depressed at a table, when suddenly a stranger walked through the guild doors. Natsu looked up to see a cloaked man standing in the door way.

“Who are you and what did you do to Lucy?!” He exclaimed. The man lowered his hood to reveal blue hair and red mark on the right side of his face. Jellal.

“Where's Erza?” He asked immediately. All three of the men pointed toward the clinic. Jellal rushed toward the door and opened it slowly. He walked passed the injured scanning their faces. He had seen this before. He kneeled next to Erza's bed. He took her hand in his.

“I'm here Erza. I know you can sense me.” Just then, Erza's fingers twitched in response. Jellal smiled.

“Even in a state like this, you're still fighting...” He whispered.

“There's something I need to tell you, you can't stay in this state for long... I've see this before.” He Paused. “Erza, you only have four days to live.”

Jellal stood up and stared at her injured body. She looked so pale and her skin was like ice. Jellal had seen this many times before. He brushed a few stands of hair from her face and gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

“Don't worry. That means we have a whole four days to cure you.” Jellal gave her a tiny smile and headed for the group of men humped over at a table. When he arrived, he stood at the foot of the wooden, liquor stained table.

“Listen up guys.” He slammed his palms face down on the table to get their attention.

“I've seen this before. I don't know how to say this in an easy way. Those women only have four days to live.” He curled one of his hands into a fist and punched the table. Natsu shot up from his seat.

“WHAT?! YOU BETTER NOT BE LYIN' TO ME!” Natsu shook a flaming fist in Jellal's direction.

“I wish I were...” Jellal lowered his head.

“Is there a cure?” Gray's voice was low. His arms were crossed against his chest.

“Yes, but the only people who have the cure, are the same people who attacked the girls.” His voice was just above a whisper.

“Ok, so we find the guild, and beat them until they give us the cure and then we kill them. Easy.” Natsu said conceitedly.

“Natsu, if it were that easy, I would have done it already.” Jellal was getting annoyed.

“Gihi, let me have a go with them.” Gajeel let a grin crawl across his lips.

“You absolutely cannot underestimate these guys.” Jellal stood up straight and crossed his arms.

“We've failed at many attempts to track these criminals. They are professionals at not leaving any trace behind.”

“Great, so we have to track the un-trackable.” Gray dropped his forehead on the table.

“All we have is this. Their guild symbol.” Jellal pulled a scrap of cloth from his pocket. It was badly burned, but part of a guild insignia was still visible. It was too burned to make out, but it was still a start.

“How do you know this is even their guild insignia?” Gray asked. Other than Jellal, Gray was probably the smartest guy amongst them. Natsu and Gajeel preferred the “punch first, ask questions later” strategy.

“Well... We don't, but I've taken this to Hibiki, from Blue Pegasus, and he searched his database to see if there was anything similar amongst the dark guilds. In the end, the search was inconclusive.

“So we're practically empty handed...” Gajeel mumbled through his teeth.

“Not necessary. I know a wizard who lives in a cave up in Mount Hakobe, which isn't too far. He can trace objects to their original owner. For a price.”

“Ok so whats the price?” Gray stood up from his seat. Jellal looked down at the table again, almost too ashamed and annoyed to say it.

“He... He'll only work with women. Good news is that his sight isn't too good. I kinda have a plan...” Jellal gritted his teeth at the thought.

“I don't get it, but lets go!” Natsu cheered. The men made their way up the mountain in dresses and high heels. Natsu had decided on a pink fluffy dress and a blonde wig. Gray was dressed in a blue dress and placed his hair in pigtails. Gajeel sported a tight dress in which he shoved melons in, to create breasts. Jellal was the only smart one who hadn't changed yet. He thought it'd be a bad idea to try and trek up a mountain in that kind of clothing.

“Ugh... My feet...” Natsu whined. Just as he said that, one of the heels on Gajeel's high heel snapped. He tumbled backward.

“SHIT!” Gajeel yelled as he fell into a large pile on snow. Jellal couldn't help but laugh at the foolish sight.

“Shut it, pretty boy!” Gajeel growled back. The men finally made it to the cave where Jellal changed into a sexy maid costume. The other guys looked at him sideways. Jellal just sighed and walked into the entrance of the cave. As they walked in, a foul stench resonated around them. The air was heavy and the stalactites dripped, creating an echo. There was an uneasy feeling surrounding them. The further they ventured, the darker it became. Natsu held his hand high and used his flames to light their path.

“How far in do we have to go?” Gray asked.

“That's what she said...” Natsu giggled. He thought he was so clever. Everyone rolled their eyes at him.

“Not too much further.” Jellal spoke faintly, trying not to create an echo. All of the sudden, Jellal felt an unfamiliar presence behind him. As he turned around he met with a face inches away from his.

“Hello Ladies...” The raspy voice spoke. The old man was on his tip toes and was adjusting his glasses as to see Jellal better. He wore a thick brown bear skin robe, and wool socks. It seemed his pants were missing.

“Uhh...” Jellal coughed as to cover up his manly voice.

“Hello!” Jellal spoke in a high pitched voice and gave the old man a smile. The other men tried to hold in their laughter.

“You can cut the crap, I know you aren't women...” The old man backed away from Jellal and examined the cross dressed men.

“Heh... You know thats just a joke my friend started, he knew no woman would come here, so he told everyone that I would only see women... This was the last thing I expected.” He laughed with his raspy voice and followed it with a rough cough. The men looked so embarrassed. Jellal's face shot blood red. Gajeel was pissed about his heel breaking too. They all changed into normal clothes and followed the hermit to his home. When they arrived, it was much nicer than they expected. This guy was practically living in luxury except everything was made from ice. Naturally, Gray walked around admiring the scene. Jellal forced Natsu to stand in a corner because he was too attempted to melt everything. It seemed like Jellal had just ended up babysitting, although he knew they had good intentions. The older gentleman lead them to the living room and sat them on some ice sofas which were more comfortable then they had expected.

“So what can I do for you, fellas?” He had sat in a criss cross style and reached for his pipe, lighting it.

“Umm...” Jellal reached in his pocket and pulled out the scrap of cloth.

“We need to know who this originally belonged to.” Jellal passed the cloth the the man.

“Hmm... I've seen this symbol before...” He took too puffs from his pipe.

“We think it's a guild emblem...” Jellal tried to see if he could maybe jog his memory.

“Yes... This is a guild crest.” The man pulled the pipe from his mouth and leaned toward the seated men across from him.

“This crest, is the crest of a guild named Yurei Manto, which means ghost cloak. They specialize in a type of cloaking. It can allow them to turn themselves invisible and cloak their scent. These guys are very difficult to track.” He stuck the pipe back between his lips and sat back against his seat.

“This is a quite remarkable piece here, would you mind if I keep it?” He raised an eyebrow toward Jellal.

“Uhh.. Sure it's the least we can do for all of your help.” Jellal's voice sounded genuine.

“Heh, I'll say. Whats remarkable is that you know this, yet you're a hermit!” Natsu splattered out.

“Shut up Idiot! Why does it matter?” Gray hissed.

“I don't know...” Natsu was very simple minded.

“No, he's right. The only reason I know this, is because I used to be in this guild long ago. Although when I was in it, it was just a few non-wizards and real wizards taking justice against evil guilds. It wasn't very effective as you could imagine. The fact that normal humans were in a guild mixed with wizards wasn't a very good idea. These non-wizards often got killed in battle, or a wizard would try to save the muggle from harm, and end up in a fatal state. There were a few guilds at the time who had done the same. Unfortunately, it has since been outlawed by the Magic Council due to the safety of everyone involved.” He took a long drag off of his pipe. Natsu and the others stared in awe. There was a slight moment of silence.

“If only we could use Levy...” Gajeel murmured. The men thanked the old man for his time as they had received all of the information they needed. Since Levy was out cold, they decided to head back over to Blue Pegasus. Although Hibiki could use his magic to retrieve information, there was nothing new he could pull up. Before they had knew it, it was already day three. Just as they reached Fairy Tail, the men were met with bad news.

“Their organs are failing. Porlyusica and I are doing our best, but this poison is bad...” Wendy choked back tears. Natsu rushed by Wendy to get to Lucy.

“Lucy...” He whispered as he approached her bed side. She was so pail, she looked like death. He could tell she was in pain although she show no expression on her face. Natsu curled his hand into a fist and let a tear fall on Lucy's hand.

“I'll save you Luce, just hang in there...” His voice trailed off as he turned to face the other women.

“You hear me?! I'm going to save all of you!!” Natsu yelled and stormed out. Just as Natsu reached the table of men in the Guild Hal, he noticed they were all huddled around something. When he approached he noticed it was a letter.

“Give us Jellal and we'll give you the cure. Midnight at the giant Oak -YM.”

“Heh, who knew we had the upper hand?” Natsu sneered.

“Yeah, now we can set a trap...” Gray gave Natsu a small fist bump.

“No, just let me go. I can handle myself...” Jellal let a devilish grin crawl across his lips.

“No way. We would never do tha.....” Natsu tried to speak but it was too late. Jellal had previously learned Mystogan's magic, even the sleep spell. Before he knew it, everyone was passed out. Jellal put a timer on the spell so that it would release at one in the morning, an hour after he was gone. As he sat under the oak tree and waited for the culprits, Jellal suddenly got a bad feeling. All of the sudden he was falling to the ground, paralyzed. He had seriously underestimated their abilities. As he lie still on the ground a man in a black cloak swung around and pulled a sack over his head.

Natsu and the others finally awoke and realized that Jellal had cheated them. Without wasting a second, they jetted off to the oak tree to find a tiny bottle and a note that simply read “thanks.” The boys ran as fast as they could back to the Guild Hall to give the bottle to Wendy. When they arrived, Wendy took the bottle and kicked them out of the infirmary. Now it was just a waiting game. While the men waited for the women to wake, they tried to advise a plan as to save Jellal. They had gone back multiple times to the Giant Oak to find clues, but these guys were just too good. Their plan was to find the culprits, beat them up, and save Jellal. That was easier said than done.

[pseudinymous]

Respite

Even after ten years, Danny and the Ghostwriter are still not exactly getting along...

Big thanks to @thehobblefootalchemist, who gave me the prompt for this piece.

The Ghostwriter was just sitting down to continue writing the second book in a series of novels when an unholy crash shuddered the very foundations of his house.

He ignored it and put a few more pen strokes down. After all, this was Amity Park.

Unfortunately the crashing seemed to continue. The pen was placed carefully upon the table after one of the windows nearly shattered, only to be bumped off by yet another earth-shaking thump. It felt like living in the pits of a battlefield — usually ghost fights didn’t get this bad, did they? Not that he ever participated in them enough to know. He understood exactly how weak he was and pushing that wasn’t a rabbit hole he wanted to fall into.

He opened the front door to find one Daniel Fenton wasted on the concrete outside. The ghost he’d tangled with was already flying off into the mid-morning sky, its need for violence apparently satiated by beating Amity Park’s ghost boy senseless.

Writer crept out of his house. They weren’t on the best of terms, yet. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m lying spread-eagle on the ground after a ghost mauled me. I’m fantastic.”

… Well, one thing was for sure. This Daniel Fenton certainly wasn’t an imposter.

He also didn’t seem particularly able to move — the man was staring up at the sky as if still quite dazed even though his speech didn’t slur, and Writer, in spite of himself, felt a mollusc of pity well up within his chest. “Do you want some help?”

Danny snorted his laughter and looked away. “As if I want help from you.”

The Ghostwriter looked around — there was no one else here. After a commotion like that most Amity Parkers would be hiding in their closets and trying their best not to be seen. At the very least, probably no one saw Danny get beaten into a pulp and then presumably lose grip on his ghost form. It might be better for everyone if his human form wasn’t found lying out to dry on the sidewalk sometime later.

“What are you doing?” Danny asked. Writer ignored the question and kept his pace up the driveway until he was standing over him, holding out a hand. “I said I don’t want your help.”

“Actually, you said ‘as if I want help from you’, which if you studied English a little harder in your school years, you would understand doesn’t quite literally mean as much as it implies. And in any case, I think we both realise your sister would have my head if I didn’t help you, and your head if you chose not to accept.”

Amity Park’s resident ghost boy glared at his equally miffed helper, but finally, with the air of someone expending great effort, reached up an arm. The Ghostwriter wasn’t sure, though, how much was actually great effort and how much was simple reluctance to be helped.

Danny was pulled to a standing position, but wobbled to the side just before Writer caught him.

“You might not want my help, but it’s fairly obvious you need it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Danny. He stumbled along as Writer guided him back down the driveway, up the stairs of the decking, and through the front door of the house. The front door of course was never opened — it was easier for the Ghostwriter to just haul the man in there intangibly, and considering Danny knew who he was and was himself quite used to intangible hijinks, it was the preferable method. “Thanks, I’ll be fine from here.”

The Ghostwriter let him go, and he collapsed in a heap on the lounge room floor.

“Mm. Yes. Fine, as you say.”

Danny glared, and had to be helped back up off the floor and hauled into the Spare Room.

There is a reason that the author, here, chose to use capital letters for the Spare Room. It wasn’t that the room itself was anything spectacular, no, but what was in the room was a different story entirely. Sure, it had a nice relaxing bed and a decent reading lamp, but one hardly needed any extra light with all of the strange glowing books, native Ghost Zone plants that were suspiciously potted and domesticated, and the downright off-putting ghostly fragments, smaller than the size of the tip of your nail, that seemed to go along with this. Danny got the most suspicious feeling that they were all somehow watching over the plants.

“Glad to see you drag Jazz into all of your creepy Ghost Zone shit,” Danny shot, even as the Ghostwriter carefully laid him down.

“I’m glad to see you’re willing to drag Jasmine into all of your dangerous ghost fights,” Writer shot back, glaring. “Mind explaining why you ended up on this side of town?”

“I don’t choose where the ghosts show up!” His voice was full of indignant rage from just having lost. “Anyway, that ghost wasted me! I tried to draw it away from here but it kept hooking me from behind!”

The Ghostwriter decided to leave that information where it was. “I assume you’d like some water?” he asked, skipping ahead.

Danny made a grunt that was taken as a vague form of acceptance. When the Ghostwriter returned with the glass, Danny took it without thanking him and almost threw three quarters of the liquid down his throat. The rest he splashed over his face. It was supposed to be a warm day today, Writer recalled.

“Where’s Jazz?”

“Shopping, I believe.”

“Good,” said Danny. Writer arched a brow. “Hey, you know what she’s like when she fusses.”

For the first time in their exchange the ghost cracked a genuinely amused smile. “Oh, I do. Now, mind if I leave you there and get back to my work?”

“I dunno, are these plants gonna eat me if you leave me alone in here?”

Writer shrugged. “No one’s died yet.”

“I feel so much safer,” said Danny, apparently unable to restrain his sarcastic tongue. The Ghostwriter ignored him, and left the room.

***

Writing this book was very much like attempting to restrain a lion. Difficult, messy, and if you were very unlucky it was dangerous — if only in terms of sanity. It also meant that breaks were frequent and frustration always imminent on the edge of the swimming pool that was his mind. The Ghostwriter sighed, put the pen down (this time it did not rattle its way onto the floor), closed his eyes, and tried to think.

“Those books are weirder than the plants.”

Writer’s head shot up — it seemed Danny’s exceedingly quick natural healing cycle had reinvigorated him enough to peel himself off that bed, and he seemed to be balancing rather well too for someone who’d just been so knocked around.

“They do tend to have minds of their own,” Writer agreed, quickly flipping closed his notebook, but trying to leave out just enough urgency that the other wouldn’t get curious enough to read it. “You seem to have recovered quite well.”

Danny just seemed to shrug oddly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“No ‘thank-you’?”

Silence. Obviously that was too much to ask. The Ghostwriter let out a heavy sigh and began tying all of his nice pens together with a rubber band. Danny had been more than just irritated when he found out just who Jazz was getting so friendly with, and when they’d eventually decided to go out with each other and live together, Danny had nearly exploded.

It had been a quiet explosion, of course. Precious few others knew Writer was a ghost, and anyone who didn’t know was under the keyboard’s spell; they simply didn’t notice the grey, glowing skin, the luminescent green eyes, the teeth. They could look at it all day and they would never be the wiser, for that was how his keyboard worked — he typed in a command, and reality changed to suit.

“I see you’re still upset with me.”

The direct query seemed to catch Danny off-guard. “I— but— you…” he stumbled, before collecting himself. “Dude, you’re a ghost. And you’re going out with my perfectly normal, perfectly human sister. It’s weird.”

“I’ll admit to it being unorthodox.” Writer found his arms crossing, and his muscles getting tight. Being questioned on his life — or perhaps post-life choices was one of his least favourite activities, and he’d already had enough teasing from Randy to last into the next century. “But that’s between Jasmine and I.”

“Sure it wasn’t just you?”

The words came out with just as much accusation as they implied. Danny had found himself taking a step forward, falling — out of habit — into an almost aggressive stance. Like a challenge. The Ghostwriter decided to play his game, and stared him right in the eyes.

“I never intended for any of this to happen the way it did, but I assure you the feeling was mutual. And with all of that amateur surveillance you did—“ Danny’s face twisted to abject horror. “—Yes, I do know about that, you should know by now that I hold the utmost respect for your sister. Is this how you would treat me if I were human?”

Danny grunted some noncommittal answer or another. The Ghostwriter’s frown grew as he stood from his chair, book and tied-up pens in hand.

“Mm. I see how it is, ghost boy.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Writer shrugged. “Well, I’ll admit to you not being a boy anymore, but you most certainly are — at least in part — a ghost. Perhaps you should use that knowledge to enhance your perspective.”

Oh yes. And there was the huff, the turn away — for an adult he certainly remained well within the throes of teenager-hood. The Ghostwriter found that the best strategy was simply to ignore him and continue going about his business. In this case, that involved carefully putting away his writing equipment in a draw and wandering over to the kitchen to make lunch. Jazz would be home soon. Danny ‘settled’ into a chair, face sour, arms crossed, and generally looking rather miserable.

“Since when do ghosts eat?” Danny shot, as Writer pulled some ingredients out of the cupboard.

“They don’t. Your sister however does, and since I don’t have any sort of job the least I can do is make some meals for her.”

“Mm. Okay.”

The Ghostwriter didn’t argue, because “Mm. Okay.” was probably the most positive response he’d gotten out of the half ghost all morning. He continued on with what he was doing: Sandwiches. Sandwiches were easy, and easy was important when your cooking skills were subpar at best and unable to be supplemented with a sense of taste.

“It’s weird watching a ghost look so domestic.”

Writer kept cutting up the carrot as he spoke. “No more strange than watching a human turn into a ghost and vice-versa, I assure you.”

“…Eh. I guess not.”

The sandwiches came together into little sets of four. There was chicken, lettuce, tomato, salad onion, and cucumber in there, with a bit of salt and pepper for good measure. Hard to mess that up, right? You just put equal amounts of each ingredient in except for the onion, which you went easy on. He could do Rules. He just couldn’t do anything that required taste testing to get right. At the end he had four sets; two went on one plate, two went on another.

“Eat.”

Danny looked up to the sandwiches as if they were about to attack him. Just… really? The Ghostwriter thought? This reaction still, even when he was obviously trying to be civil? He was willing to give having a neutral relationship with Jazz’s brother a go, but his stubborn demeanour made it all the more difficult. A slight of anger whipped around in his stomach, and he quelled it.

“It’s lunchtime and you’ve been mauled. Take it, or I’ll type on my keyboard that you did so whether you wanted to or not,” said the Ghostwriter, frown increasing with the seriousness of his expression.

Danny was still suspicious. “Is this forced care?”

“I understand what you’re like. And I also understand what Jasmine would be like if she found out I didn’t look after you properly after a ghost fight. So I suppose the answer to your question is yes.”

There was a ginger way he took the plate, before finally he cracked one of the first smiles Writer had ever seen on him. There was even a genuine laugh. Writer found one of his eyebrows cocked, unable not to show the scepticism he was feeling.

“No, just—“ Danny stuttered. “I mean, I guess Jazz would lecture you endlessly about needing to nurse me back to health, or something.” He took a bite, screwing up his brow as he did, though not telling the Ghostwriter why. “As if I need nursing when I can heal like this.

“Nursing present or not, you still need energy from something,” said Writer, turning on his heel and returning to the kitchen counter. “Human bodies are unforgiving, that way.”

Danny paused halfway through a mouthful, thought about this, and swallowed. “How do ghosts get more energy, anyway? I mean, it’s gotta come from somewhere, right? Or doesn’t anyone know?”

The Ghostwriter had picked up the knife to go and wash it, but slowly put it back down as his curiosity about this question piqued. “We absorb ambient ectoplasm from the air. Obviously it’s not so plentiful in the Real World, but that’s one of the reasons I revisit the Ghost Zone every so often. Doesn’t your ghost half require some similar type of nutrition?”

A shrug. “… Not really, I just eat and sleep, then I’m fine.”

Writer found himself frowning. “Isn’t that curious?”

“Is it really?”

“Mm. It’s just another impossibility about you, really.”

In the absence of any further comment he went back to dealing with the dishes — much as he disliked them he didn’t really want to leave them all to Jazz, not when she’d had such a busy week and this was her only day off.

“I gotta get out of here before Jazz gets back,” said Danny, suddenly, having finished the sandwich. In a surprising gesture of politeness he brought the empty plate to the kitchen and placed it neatly by the sink. “She’ll start, y’know… fussing.”

The ghost gave a sagely nod in reply. “If being coddled after injury isn’t your thing, then I can’t imagine this will be a fun place for you very soon.”

The Ghostwriter washed the plate as Danny gathered his things together. And if Writer hadn’t been listening for them, the words would have been so quiet that he’d have missed them: “Hey… thanks,” said Danny, as he slipped out the door.

After a few seconds of it sinking into his mind, the Ghostwriter laughed. It was in a way that was perhaps a little self-satisfied. And then he drained the water and sat in wait for The Great Fusser of Things to arrive home.