#i wrote this months ago
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vampire scar ch1 story wip-
The area around them is dangerous; the night is quickly drawing in and the darkness is beginning to wield claws and teeth, bloodlust seeping into the air in sharp howls and snarls. Yet even then, entering unknown structures could be as dooming as staying inside. Four walls could as easily trap as protect. It’s always a gamble.
With that in mind, Grian still leads Mumbo towards the mansion that looms eerie and quiet and foreboding in front of them. With a little bit of luck, it will be abandoned, covered in dust and silence and bones.
He should’ve known better. They haven’t had luck in a long time.
The hinges creak when they ram into the huge, ornate front door to convince it to open. That’s promising. The grating sound is a song of disuse, and Grian considers it a good sign as they tumble inside and quickly shut the door behind them.
For a little bit, they just breathe and try to get their bearings. The entrance hall is huge, sprawling, running off in all kinds of directions. It’s hard to make out the detail of the interior; the only light is the swiftly dimming light coming in through the windows.
Grian fails to notice that the windows aren’t covered in grime. He fails to notice that the place is not in disarray, covered in spiderwebs. He fails to notice that the air isn’t stale and dusty.
“I—I think this looks good?” Mumbo looks around cautiously, keeping close to Grian in this unfamiliar space.
Grian breathes out a huff of relief, even though the sound is still coated with tension; his body refuses to relax, too many unknown variables still spinning through his mind. Anything could lurk in the dark corners and dozens of rooms, and they’re aware only of one singular escape route—and even that is slow and uncertain, hanging on rusty, unwilling hinges.
If he would be easily swayed with any shreds of things that faintly resemble comfort, they wouldn’t have survived this long.
So he doesn’t give in. He looks around, and he wishes it would be as simple as it seems. There’s a desperate yearning in him for something uncomplicated, for one night not filled with threats and dread and fear for their lives. How he wishes to be able to close his eyes and maybe, maybe sink into a soft bed and just sleep without being terrified of the possibility of not waking up in the morning—
This place is bound to have some soft beds.
Grian’s stomach twists at the thought. No, he tells himself. He can’t be stupid here. He can’t give in. They need to remain alert; they know nothing about this place.
“We should look around,” he suggests, voice taut.
“Yes. Definitely,” Mumbo agrees immediately, his eyes roaming the area. “Do you want to split up?”
Grian swivels on his heels to face him, an indignant scoff on his lips. “Split—Split up?! Mumbo!” he chastises. “You know that—“
Mumbo lifts his hands up defensively. “Alright, alright! I’m just saying, it’s a big place. Lots of ground to cover.”
Grian’s gaze is drawn off to the side, to the doors that line only one side of the room. So many options. So many possible traps. So many places for danger to hide in. “Okay,” he says slowly, trying to swallow the trepidation that grows thick in his throat. “We could—Maybe we could check adjacent rooms, stay near but check multiple places at once?” he suggests, even though everything in him prickles, unease nauseatingly settling over him.
“Yeah, okay,” Mumbo doesn’t sound convinced, but it was his idea in the first place, so he relents. “That sounds reasonable.”
Grian glares at him. It doesn’t sound very reasonable to him. But they’re both tired and searching this place inch by inch is going to take ages as-is. They have to make compromises, Grian knows this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “Fine,” he sighs. “Which side do you want to start with?”
“It honestly makes no difference,” Mumbo remarks.
“Fine,” Grian repeats, a tad more irritably now. He’s tired, he’s tense, his danger-senses are tingling. He is high-strung, even though he tries to convince himself that they just found something safe, that they’re not out there without shelter, that this is good. “Here, then.” He walks to his left, towards the first set of rooms, and Mumbo immediately follows without a word.
They both fall into something familiar, something orchestrated and practiced. They move quietly, their steps soft, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand always hovering over a weapon in anticipation of a threat.
As soon as they reach the two sets of doors, they give each other a look and a small nod. Grian can see Mumbo bracing himself. He knows he’s doing the same thing.
And then he pushes the door open and steps over the threshold of a dark room.
At first, a feeling that he’s alone now sinks into him, even if Mumbo’s just a shout away. He thinks about how he’s going in blindly—they don’t even have torches or anything. Every shadow will make him jumpy, he fully expects this—
Except the room is not as dark as it should be.
And it certainly isn’t as empty as he’d hoped.
It’s the far end of the room that’s flickering with dim, warm light. There’s a candle burning up, its flame a weak, dying thing. Grian’s eyes snag at it at first, drawn by the light like a moth to a flame. There’s something reassuring in the gentle, hot glow of a fire, just for a split second, until he pushes that instinct down and reminds himself that a fire he himself didn’t set is bound to burn him—
That’s when his gaze swerves to the side.
There’s a person there.
There’s a person.
Grian’s mind short-circuits for three precious seconds, before he reboots. Immediately, he hunches up more. His fingertips find his daggers, a tool as ready for stabbing as for throwing. The other person didn’t notice him yet—clearly, because they start humming some silly, jaunty, way-too-content melody as they look over what seems to be an old leather journal. The hum is interrupted only by huffs of laughter.
This gives Grian enough time to take the stranger in.
He doesn’t like what he finds.
Even in the candlelight, their skin is pale, and there’s an old, dried spot of blood near the corner of their mouth. They’re dressed up a bit too well for the reality they’re living in.
The candlelight glimmers, catches on something shiny and sharp.
A canine tooth.
Grian takes in a sharp breath. He straightens up, grabs a proper hold of one of the daggers, and he thinks in alarm of Mumbo in the other room—and sure, Mumbo didn’t call out yet, but if there’s one of these guys, there might be more, and—
And Grian needs to warn him right now, even at the cost of blowing his own stealth.
“Mumbo!” he calls out, and he belatedly wonders if this will just call more trouble to them than they can handle. “There’s a monster here!”
There’s a frightened gasp then, a jump and a thud of a journal that was sent flying and hit the floor.
“What?! Where?” An alarmed yelp that sounds across the space isn’t Mumbo’s voice. It’s the stranger’s voice—startled, deep, but oddly soft.
For a second, Grian thinks maybe he made a mistake. Maybe this person isn’t a monster, if this is their reaction?
The stranger spins around and his eyes land on Grian’s, their gaze locking. He holds a hand to his chest and he heaves a big breath, before he chuckles quietly, a tense and unsteady sound. “Gosh, you scared me.”
“I—what?” Grian stares uncomprehendingly at the reaction.
The man’s lips curl into a cherubic smile, then—innocent and bright and—
Definitely not harmless, given by the two sharp canines and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
This drives it in for Grian, erasing all doubts: this person is a vampire.
“Well hello there,” the man says, seamlessly slipping more confidence and charm into his voice, even if the edges of it still echo startled unease. “I didn’t realise I have guests!” His gaze jumps to somewhere past Grian’s shoulder. “How rude of me. Welcome!”
Something touches Grian’s back and he almost jumps out of his skin, shrieking at the touch.
“No! It’s just me!” Mumbo immediately tries to fix his mistake.
“God,” Grian breathes out deeply, everything in him ready to snap as he turns back towards the enigma of a vampire they’re now facing. At least he’s no longer alone in this. “He’s a vampire,” he murmurs to Mumbo, even though he’s fully aware his voice carries all the way across the room.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Mumbo notes, signs of distress colouring his voice.
“Now, now,” the man in front of them—the monster, the vampire—lifts his hands amicably. “There’s no need for alarm. I’m a vegetarian!” he offers cheerily.
Even though he says that, his gaze lingers on Grian in a way that makes a chill run down his spine.
“A vegetarian,” Grian repeats flatly. He isn’t sure why he’s even entertaining the idea; it’s completely absurd.
“Yes!” the man nods fervently, his smile spreading, all toothy and sharp. “I don’t eat anything with a face!”
The blood stain at the corner of his mouth says otherwise.
“I didn’t know that’s possible,” Mumbo exclaims from behind Grian, a little bit too naively for Grian’s comfort.
“Mumbo, there’s no way he’s telling the truth,” he grumbles at him, annoyed.
“No! No, I am!” the man insists. “I usually tear the face off first.”
He says it so simply, chuckling a little, it completely flabbergasts Grian.
“A—You what?” the words fall past his lips before he can think better of it.
“I tear the face off,” the man repeats with an unbothered shrug of his shoulder. It seems to take him another moment to register the apprehension of the other two people in the room, because he only belatedly hastily adds: “There’s nothing to worry about, really! I haven’t had guests in ages, I’m so happy to have you over!”
“We’re—“ Grian’s mind spins as he tries to process this. “Guests? Over? What? No!”
“Oh.” The man’s shoulders slump in immense sadness—it reeks of solitude, of disappointment, of such sheer unhappiness that it stabs at Grian’s heart.
He knows this is wrong. He knows vampires are charming and manipulative. He knows they have their ways of pulling in their prey, before they inevitably sink their teeth into flesh and bleed them dry. And yet—
And yet.
Something in his heart can’t bear the look of this stranger looking so small and abandoned. Maybe because he himself knows what it feels like, first-hand. Maybe because he knows that if it wasn’t for Mumbo, he’d be completely lost. He can’t begin to imagine staying in a big, empty, dark place all alone for—how long?
His feelings keep snagging on something hot, like that flickering flame of a candle. Something that burns through his veins, singes his heart. Something unsteady and dangerous.
He didn’t know vampires could look lonely.
He hates himself for that swell of empathy. He hates the momentary loss of control. He knows they’re being played now.
“Look, pal,” he starts, and it’s cautious. He takes a step back, meets Mumbo’s chest and hopes the man realises this is their cue to retreat. “I appreciate the offer, but we’re not staying. Sorry to intrude, we’ll—uh, we’ll leave you to it.” Whatever the it was.
The man is still looking directly at him. There’s something yearning in his eyes. Something heartbroken. He seems to shrink further as he tears his gaze away. “Okay,” he says in a small voice.
Mumbo makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat. He’s still blocking Grian’s retreat.
“Mumbo,” Grian hisses at him.
“Yeah, right, I just—“ Mumbo stammers, indecision wild in his veins. He takes a tentative half-step away, feeling Grian immediately crowd his space again, pressing against him to retreat further.
The man—no, not man, the vampire—looks towards the window contemplatively, before his gaze flicks back to them. “You want to leave?”
“Yes,” Grian confirms immediately. “We’re just gonna go—“
“Where?” the vampire asks, an odd, unreadable inflection in his voice as he takes a singular step forward.
Grian twitches. “Out,” he replies, his voice strained. He presses further against Mumbo, and thankfully Mumbo moves, takes three steps, enough to get them out of the room, but not too many to still be able to catch and steady Grian at the unexpected loss of security.
The vampire’s eyebrows pull to a concerned scowl. “But it’s dangerous.”
He says it so simply. So staggeringly simply.
The worst thing about it is, he’s not wrong.
Grian pauses and contemplates this for a moment, then. The outside poses a million potential unknown threats. Here, they’re facing a vampire, but they know how to handle vampires. They could handle one of them. They could— This could still be their best option.
“Are you alone?” he ventures tentatively.
The vampire gives him a look that says it all. “Yes,” he admits, and it’s not charming, it’s not confident. It’s shaky and it’s open and it’s wounded. Maybe a little bit afraid. “I—Is it so bad I don’t want to be, for a little bit? I promise I’m not dangerous,” he slides straight to bargaining. “You can sleep here! I could, I probably have some food you could eat. I won’t do anything to you, I just—I—“
He looks so, so lost.
“Grian?” Mumbo says quietly, and it comes out a bit wobbly and emotional.
That’s the thing that breaks Grian’s own dangerous tilt of judgement. He looks over his shoulder sharply, frowning. “You can’t be serious.”
“W—well, I mean—“ Mumbo fumbles for words, trying to get some rationality out of his heart. “It’s better than the outside?”
Grian side-eyes the vampire. “We should just kill him.”
“Kill?” the vampire repeats in alarm; the word is laced with false laughter, as if he tried to spin it into a joke. It rings hollow, anxious, untrue. “Noooo, no, there’s no need for that! I like living thank-you-very-much!”
“Living,” Grian repeats flatly, challengingly. “You’re not alive.”
“I am!” the vampire protests vehemently. “I breathe and I bleed and I can die.” He pauses, ponders briefly if making that one point in particular was smart. “I—Well. I can starve and all that and, and, I have feelings!”
Grian stares at him blankly. Something in him is unconvinced, but his heart bashes itself against his ribcage in attempted empathy anyway. “This can't be happening,” he mutters dismally.
“Look, I can, I can show you around! You can decide then! It’s just me here, all alone, there’s plenty of space for you even if you want me to stay away! I can go to a different wing or—or something. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement?” he proposes, his voice hasty and desperate. “I just. You don’t have to leave.”
Something about the way he says it chips away at Grian’s resolve, strips his caution, leaves him feeling incredibly human in arguably the worst way possible when confronted with a charming monster. Still, he hears himself say, “Okay.”
The vampire perks up immediately. “Okay!” he echoes.
“Okay?” Mumbo repeats with more alarm and unsteadiness.
Grian shoots him a look. “I thought you wanted to do this?”
“W—Well, yes, I just. I didn’t expect you to agree?” he admits sheepishly.
“Mumbo.” Grian is looking at him with a deep frown. “Do you want to stay or do you want to leave?”
“I—I don’t know!” Mumbo cries, indecisiveness rushing wildly through his veins. More than anything, he doesn’t want to be culpable for this decision and its repercussions.
Grian sighs and lets his gaze slide away. If Mumbo can’t bear the weight of this decision, it now falls back on Grian. It’s a familiar weight. It’s something he needs to shoulder, their fate, their pitfalls. The inevitable guilt of it all. The feeling that whatever he decides might just guide Mumbo to his demise.
He meets the gaze of the vampire, as steadily as he can manage. “Give us the tour.”
Without hesitation, the vampire moves forward, towards the door, towards the room’s exit, towards the rest of the mansion—
Grian flinches at the sudden approach and stumbles a couple of steps back, pulling Mumbo with him, keeping the taller man protectively behind him.
It makes the vampire pause. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I think we need to lay some ground rules. First of all, introductions. That always helps! I’m Scar!”
Grian blinks, his throat dry with the abruptness of his panic reaction. With the preposterousness of this situation.
“And you are?” the vampire—Scar—prompts.
“I—I’m Mumbo, and this is Grian,” Mumbo stammers for both of them.
Scar’s eyes spark up and he gives a big smile. “Wonderful! I’m happy to meet you!” The words are silky, charming in a way that lets them easily burrow underneath skin without notice. They’re honest, too, and maybe that’s where they draw their power from—because Scar truly is lonely, in such a deep, raw way, and there’s nothing if not pure relief that his new guests decided to not immediately leave.
He’s tired of feeling like a monster. He’s tired of being alone, unloved, unwanted.
He’s tired of feeling like these old, cracked, dusty walls—empty and abandoned.
His heart beats in his chest in a wild waltz as he approaches the strangers-no-more again, this time careful about where he steps and how close he gets. He maintains a safe distance, giving a tight smile as he passes them, before taking big steps into the open space.
He spins there, buzzing with theatrics and more than a smidge of showmanship, spreading his arms wide. “This is my mansion.”
It’s very easy, Grian finds, to give in. To let Scar reel him in and pull him along. His body follows unquestioningly, taking in room after room after room, dizzyingly trying to slot the information and not get lost amidst it all—his survival instincts scream at him, but the rest of him is just plain tired and, honestly, a little bit lulled after he watches Scar for a while.
Because Scar isn’t lithe and agile, strong and immovable. He isn’t as charming as one would expect of a vampire, either, even if he’s rambly and his tongue is undeniably tinged with silver. He’s cheerful and he’s giggly and he’s, for the lack of a better word, endearing. But more than that, he’s clumsy and forgetful and edging just on the side of nervous.
It puts Grian ill-at-ease, because this isn't what a vampire should be, and that means Grian can't predict him, doesn't know what to expect.
And yet he keeps following him, watching him, listening to him.
He should try to pay more attention to the mansion tour and less to the man, maybe. The layout is important. He needs to know exit routes, and the possible sources of danger.
But isn’t Scar a source of danger? Living—or so he claims—and moving and very much capable of harm?
So what if Grian’s gaze lingers on him a little bit too much? What if he focuses on his body language and his tone more than the walls that surround them?
He tells himself it’s only because he’s being wary.
“You can sleep here,” Scar finally says in a room that has two huge beds, at the very end of the mansion. The hallway that leads to the room ends with a backdoor exit, an easy way out if they feel trapped or—Scar very much wants to not think about it, even if it’s an option he offers freely—if they decide to sneak out.
Scar walks towards the fireplace and he fiddles for a while, struggling to get it lit.
“Here, I can help,” Mumbo offers, moving forward. He produces flint and steel, reaching for the fireplace.
Grian watches Scar flinch away.
His lips purse, taking in the scene. The beds are a comfort they weren’t able to indulge in for a long time. So is the fire, deep at night. A source of light and warmth. There’s a clear exit. Nobody else is in the building. Nothing about this screams it’s a trap.
And they know how to kill vampires, if push comes to shove.
But they can’t do it if they’re asleep.
He stares at Scar, his gaze prickling the vampire until he turns around and their gazes meet.
Scar offers a tentative, shy smile.
“If there’s anything else you guys need, just let me know,” Scar says then, the words easy on his tongue, unhesitatingly willing to provide for them.
Grian frowns. “What do you need?” he questions instead. “What do you want from us?”
“Nothing!” Scar says immediately.
Grian dismally thinks that’s the first lie he’s heard from him. It’s so easy to identify, it makes everything else startlingly slot in as truth. The awareness of it makes him feel destabilised at his core. He sways a little in his spot, reaches out for the bed frame for support. “That’s—No,” he says weakly, too aware of the green eyes boring into him. “You definitely want something.”
There it is. That heartbreak.
He didn’t know vampires could project heartbreak so well.
Project? Or feel?
Grian finds with increasing panic that he can no longer tell the difference. None of this makes sense. None of this should be happening.
The fire crackles, strong and alive, lapping at the air and throwing a warm, flickering glow over the room as Mumbo takes a step away from it.
“Oh, you did it!” Scar perks up, his eyes squinting in a smile he throws Mumbo’s way. “That’s wonderful, thank you for your help!”
“Well, I mean, it’s for us, right?” Mumbo sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “And it was easy enough.”
“It always gives me trouble,” Scar admits freely, “dealing with fire. A bit scary, if you ask me.”
“You’re a vampire,” Grian notes flatly. It comes out blank and rough, his suspicions warring with his emotions. “Fire harms you.”
“Yes, well,” Scar meets his gaze. “I like how it glows. I like the warmth.”
Grian continues to stare at him, because he isn’t sure how to actually process all of that. Instead, he takes a breath and presses: “You didn’t answer the question.”
Scar blinks. “What question?”
Grian frowns, but doesn’t relent. “What do you want from us?”
Scar’s gaze shifts to the fireplace. “The fire harms you, too,” he says, and it’s soft and contemplative, but makes everything in Grian prickle with a warning. “You also get hungry,” Scar continues. “And you need rest, and you need—“ he falls quiet.
“We need?” Mumbo prompts, and he sounds so gentle, so careful.
It makes Scar lift his gaze to him, meet his eyes. There’s hesitation in him, some unknown emotions swirling up, raw and threatening. He swallows hard, before prying his gaze away. “You need safety,” Scar continues, even though his voice is clearly strained, “and I can give you that.”
“What for,” Grian insists. “What do you want for it.”
Green eyes shift to him, and somehow Grian’s heart picks up speed, feeling irrationally guilty at having asked.
“I don’t want anything,” Scar repeats, his voice wavering and quiet.
“Surely you must want something out of this,” Grian insists, even though there’s a lump in his throat and he feels terrible.
Scar looks away, then. He severs their connection, making Grian reel at the sudden lack of it.
“I just,” Scar says, and it’s a half-sigh, it’s a half-whisper, it’s a quiet, tentative, cracked confession. “I thought it might be nice to have some company for a little bit.”
It’s so soft, so vulnerable that it makes Grian feel like the ground was pulled from underneath him. Emotions sway him at the sight of the man—the vampire, he reminds himself futilely—so hunched over and sad.
He knows how feeling alone in a world that no longer wants you feels like.
He just didn’t count on monsters having actual feelings.
He didn’t count on monsters looking so human.
His heart clogs his throat and he finds himself speechless.
“Were you—“ Mumbo tries to say something, but his voice falters as soon as Scar’s gaze lands on him. There’s a moment of silence, before Mumbo regathers his courage and finishes: “Were you alone for long?”
Scar’s shoulders sag at that. He seems to be crushed underneath some invisible weight. “Yeah,” he says, and the word barely manages to make it past his lips, daunted and small.
Grian feels his heart slam sharply against his ribs at the confession.
“W—well,” Mumbo looks over at Grian, catching his gaze. He’s hesitant and unsure, but clearly willing and wanting to offer something.
Grian’s eyebrows pull into a frown. His emotions scream one thing at him, but every remaining shred of rationality screams something else. It’s an overwhelming cacophony and he knows he’s the one who’s expected to make the decisions—and then bear the weight of them going wrong—yet he finds himself feeling lost and adrift at this.
Mumbo holds his gaze for a moment longer, before he lets it swivel back to Scar. “We’ve actually never really talked to a vampire before.”
“No,” Scar shakes his head in immediate sympathy. “I wouldn’t imagine you would. They’re not a friendly bunch.”
Something about that statement stabs at Grian’s heart, his eyes still locked on Scar. “Then… Why are you talking to us?”
Scar’s gaze meets his and, again, it makes Grian's heart trip over itself.
“Because I want friends?” he says, and it’s so open and vulnerable and his voice is thick with emotions, cracking and failing him at the end of his miserable sentence.
Grian takes a sharp breath, fumblingly attempting to remind himself that vampires are dangerous and they’re charmers and they’re manipulators and—
“You can’t mean that,” he says in the end, the words a little bit hoarse.
Scar blinks, confused. “What?”
Grian shakes his head vehemently. “You’re a vampire. We’re just food for you.”
Scar’s eyebrows twitch into a frown, before they smooth out and his face stretches into a smirk. “You do have faces, don’t you? I told you I don’t eat anything with a face.”
“But you could, you know,” Mumbo steps in, “rip the face off or something, as you said.”
Scar’s gaze anchors into his, a displeased curl to his mouth. “I don’t eat my friends.”
“But we’re not friends,” Grian chimes in.
“We could be,” Scar suggests easily, unaware of how threatening that sounds.
(... tbc?)
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as the title states, this is a wip of a potential story that was put on the backburner because my hands are full. if you want to know more about what kind of things are meant to happen in this au (atm it's just a collection of ideas, rather than any specific outline), or are curious about anything else, feel free to ask! and let me know what you think about it so far <3
if you're curious where this au came from, i recommend you to watch random encounter's "resident enis" videos (there are two). i'm sure you'll see my vision. (the line about not eating anything with a face is there kjxnbkj.)
this was written on a whim and for the longest time, i kept calling it "silly vampire scar au" (in the spirits of resident enis), even though i know the au devolves—as per usual—into heavier topics and angst. it's set in a world riddled with monsters, it's a survival story, pretty much.
fun fact: the working title of this au is called "Silly Vampire Mr GoodTimes"
i need a better name for it though, "vampire scar au" is so generic, and sure it does have a vampire scar in it, but it's not exclusively about him... but i have no idea what else to call it/how to title it (rip) (pls help-)
#ange writes#i saw the votes#you guys wanted this#well here it is#i wrote this months ago#but the au still lives in my head#i just have too many projects#but hopefully one day this will be something!#let me know how you like it :3#vampire scar#vampire scar au#oh also#speaking of where inspiration was yoinked from#the idea that vampires are weak to fire was borrowed from carry on
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i took the concept of ghosts in ninjago, applied some basic knowledge from middle school science class, and came out with this. this also discusses some headcanons about master yang and the ninjago lore in general.
So basically, we know that Ninjago as a realm has a strong connection to the departed realm. The departed realm is fundamentally different than Ninjago, therefore it would have elements unknown to other realms. When the departed realm was created and the connection was forged, a certain element started seeping into Ninjago. It went unnoticed for centuries until it finally reached a high enough concentration for certain powerful spirits to possess the molecules (two of the element’s atoms) of it and freely control it to their will. The state of the ghosts you see in the show is somewhere in between gas and liquid, which allows them to be somewhat visible. In this state, they are able to take any shape they please. but they aren’t dense enough to affect solids. That’s where the concept of concentration comes in. In Possession, we saw how Cole had to concentrate in order to touch anything. What’s happening here is that the spirit is able to completely change certain elements found in the air, mainly oxygen and carbon. They can temporarily transform the atoms into the element and increase their own density to the point where they basically become solid. However, as I said before, the transformation is temporary and also causes great strain on the spirit. Something similar occurs when they possess an object. Usually, when a ghost possesses something or someone, the appearance changes. This is because atoms of the ghost element are latching on the the molecules and basically acting as puppeteers; not transforming, simply controlling. But there’s a huge problem. The ghost element (or the GE) can transform oxygen, carbon, and other various gases as I mentioned earlier- but only as gases. Any denser than that and the GE is overwhelmed and begins to break apart, causing the spirit to lose control over it. You may notice that I seem to be describing the GE as a living thing, but it’s just an element. Just a very strange element from a very strange realm. The GE only shows some of the seven characteristics required to be classified as a living thing.
But that’s enough about that; let’s discuss a couple canon events (and a character who’s associated with both of them); That of course being Sensei Yang. He was able to harness the power of the connection between the realms and permanently make more GE out of anything he wishes. But why? Well, I have an idea. And it has to do with the whole yin yang thing in Day of the Departed and the Yin Blade. I haven’t watched DOTD in like a year, so I apologize if I remembered something incorrectly. Ninjago as a show is constantly talking about balance, so wouldn’t it make sense for two deeply connected realms to have agents to maintain that balance? That’s where I present to you: a spirit named Yin, a child of the Departed Realm, and a mortal named Yang, a citizen of Ninjago. They didn’t know they were connected, seeing as they were unaware of the other’s existence, but always thought that there was something missing. But eventually, they found out. How they found out was lost to time. But Yang wanted to reach his brother, and so did Yin. Yang spent years studying the world of Ninjago, which lead him to discovering Spinjitsu and making his own variant of the art. He learned the secrets of the GE, and using that knowledge, created an artificial vessel for Yin to cross over into Ninjago (any guesses as to what that might have been? It's kind of obvious). But he was disturbing the balance. Destiny cursed him by turning him immortal, and by making sure that he and Yin could never be united in their immortal lives. It bound him to the temple, and separated him from the blade and his brother. But that’s all kinda unrelated. Sensei Yang was an agent of balance, and was gifted tremendous power in order to carry out his duty. By the time Destiny realized his misuse of this power, it was too late to take them away from the former mortal.
this is kinda badly written and its from a couple months ago but i still stand by this concept as one of the best ideas to come out of my brain (at least compared to all the bad ideas).
#ninjago headcanons#lego ninjago#ninjago#ninjago season 5#ninjago dotd#ninjago yang#ninjago cole#i wrote this months ago
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Honor the Fallen
Summary: The missing scene after the Venator crashed into the moon, leaving Ahsoka and Rex to uncover their fallen brothers.
Warnings: Canon deaths, I cried writing this-
Ahsoka bit the inside of her lip as she pulled yet another body out the wreckage. The orange paint that decorated the helmet stared back at her. She had given up holding the tears back after pulling the second body out hours ago.
A choked sob from behind her had her turning towards her captain. He was holding another body in his arms, the Republic cog painted distinctly on the front of the helmet.
Jesse.
The ARC's armor was now painted with dirt and grime, but the 501st blue stuck out against the wreckage around them. His chest plate was cracked right over where his heart used to beat.
Rex looked up from his best friend, locking eyes with the young Togruta. Tears were spilling down the blonde clone's cheeks, following the same track as the previous ones.
Ahsoka picked up the body she had found as Rex picked up Jesse's unmoving one. They both walked them out of the wreckage, laying them beside their brothers. Their vode.
The two continued to pull body after body out of the wreckage, laying them gently outside what was left of the ship until only Ahoska went back in. Rex began to dig into the dirt, giving his fallen vode a final resting place that wasn't the trampled dirt of a battlefield.
When Ahsoka returned, cradling another one of his vode, he had only finished digging the first grave. Ahsoka carried the fallen soldier to the grave, gently laying him down in the ground. Rex reached up, removing his vod's helmet revealing the face he'd seen a thousand times.
Ahsoka rested her hand on Rex's shoulder, looking down at her Captain. "Rex," he looked up to meet her eyes, "Let us give them all the burial they all deserve."
Rex looked back to his vod once more before setting the helmet carefully beside him. He grabbed the shovel again, hesitating before pouring the dirt over the grave.
They both repeated the process over and over again, removing each helmet carefully, setting it utop a rifle dug into the dirt of every grave.
Ahsoka stood back, looking over the sea of now empty helmets, knowing all too well what lay beneath each one. Her lightsaber was held tightly in her hand, the blue blade never to be ignited by her again. She watched it roll out of her hand, landing with a soft thud in the dirt by her feet.
Rex appeared beside her, taking a last look across the field of graves, setting his hand gently on her shoulder. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la."
Ahsoka looked over to him, a slight questioning look on her face. Rex met her gaze, a saddened smile spread across his lips. "That was Mando'a." It wasn't a question. She knew enough of the language to recognize when it was spoken.
"Yes," Rex looked out once more, "It means 'Not gone, merely marching far away'. It… it only seemed right."
Ahsoka felt a small smile work its way onto her face. "It does." She took a shaky breath. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la, ori’vode. Rest well."
#i wrote this months ago#but if i have to suffer#so do you#ahsoka tcw#ahsoka tano#tcw ahsoka#rex#captain rex#tcw rex#rex tcw#fan fic#star wars fan fic#short story#missing scene#tcw jesse#jesse tcw#arc trooper jesse
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I lay awake with my tears seeping from my eyes. Creating a pond around my bed. Wishing that I could be drowned in the makeshift pond of my tears. As I sat and realized. I don't know romantic love. I don't know what it is, I don't know who it will be. The man I loved was simply an outline of what I desired or now that I think about it. What I thought I desired. I don't know why I find it hard to fall in love with people now. I'm too scared, I don't feel worthy, and even when I'm told im pretty. I don't feel that I'm pretty enough to be loved from a man's perspective. What if I never love anyone again? The same way I did before which was, of course, a lie to begin with. And what if no one sees me as someone they want to get to know and settle down with? What do I do then? How do I live then? And I know we're in a day and age where love is. Especially romantic love is not needed to live a sustainable life. However I desire it, I want it and I want to be seeped into it in its entirety when I find the right person..... If I find the right person.
#writing#heartbreak#i wrote this months ago#female gaze#love?#in my#the tourtured poets department#era#ttpd era#taylor swift#angst
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Tomarry
Dark Harry or at least Morally Dubious
Harry went to Slytherin a little darker but the house don't particularly like boy wonder, think they can humiliate him but he doesn't really care and has a secret that fucks them over.
The Dark Lords Saviour
Harry strolled into the common room, green eyes blazing, glares following him as he sat down in the armchair closest to the fire, to a corner of the wall.
"Do you know how incredibly boring, it has been waiting, pretending?" They didn't know who he was speaking to so they certainly didn't expect an answer, not at all and not in the form that bled from the shadows. Harry tilted his head back against the arm chair, his throat exposed, weak.
"But you did so well, my love." Harry snarled as he grabbed the collar of the man that had stilled the room, slamming his lips to his. The Dark Lord smiling into the violent kiss, their teeth colliding.
"They're a waste, I don't understand why you insisted on snakes." He turned and stood up in the arm chair. Taller than the dark lord now, where Harry grabbed his hair to force his head back into another violent kiss, the Dark Lord's arm snaking around his waist to keep him steady.
"You know why, I let you have your Badgers and Ravens, even Lions. The Snakes are to appease me, and you know how good you are at that." Harry swung his legs over now, so he was sitting on the back of the arm chair.
"I'm good at everything." Harry paused the Dark Lord snorting quietly. "They may have their uses I suppose." The Slytherin's, almost all of whom had humiliated, or attempted to humiliate, Harry paled. Fear icing their veins, burning their faces because that was the moment they'd realised they had fucked up.
"Of course they will. I'm never wrong." Harry snorted pressing one last, significantly gentler, kiss to Lord Voldemort's lips before hopping down to his feet and spinning to address the room.
~~{ Wixafix [Wixabear] }~~
#the dark lord#voldemort#lord voldemort#harry potter#dark harry#hp universe#alternative universe#slytherin#dark harry potter#tomarry#harrymort#tom riddle x harry potter#i wrote this months ago#im only a little bit sorry
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Rating: E
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Chapter: 1/5
Tags: Alternate Universe / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting / Campin / Getting Together / Smut / Oral Sex / Rimming / Masturbation / Mutual Masturbation / Intercrural Sex / Tent Sex / Outdoor Sex / Falling In Love / Bears/ literal bears but also maybe the gay kind too / Depending on how you view Obi-Wan
Summary: In a bid to get away from the stressors of his job and the rigours of city life, Obi-Wan books a camping holiday in the mountains. Keen to get away from everything and everyone, Obi-Wan is disappointed to find that the universe has other plans when he finds his camping spot has been taken over by a very intense - and very handsome - young man.
Written for @ragnarlothcat
#obikin#lemon fanfiction#gift fic#I wrote this months ago#I am so sorry for how long it takes me to post fics#star wars
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pov: you have a praise kink but I'm scottish
good lass, yur doin a bonnie job
#humor#rowan thinks they're funny#scottish accents#scottish humour#scotland#praise#pov#bad jokes#jokes#i wrote this months ago#not really funny#lol
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Lament of the Invisible
I dreamt of a kiss,
and I don’t remember the details.
Sweet and warm like the honeyed breeze,
these memories don’t belong to me.
What I remember
is waking up from that dream to another dream—
I dreamt of climbing an old maple tree
and writing a poem as I climbed
and it went:
“I dreamt of kissing a girl,
I dreamt of climbing a tree”—
The longing is what I know.
In the garden I pick an orange blossom.
In the car I open the window and breathe in the late May bloom.
On the stoop is a scattering of pink peony petals,
from flowers that spill over with beauty,
absolutely shedding with softness—
I lie in bed and think out a poem for nobody.
Nobody hears it, nobody reads it.
The flower between my legs
is a hard, brittle thorn,
and the rain in my throat’s
only saltwater.
I want to be me, all of me, none of me, some of me,
hidden me, tart and scooped from my center like the inside of a passionfruit—
and to kiss, and be kissed,
to press the floral scent like oil from our bodies
‘til our perfumes sing,
with somebody, with somebody—
How do trees make love? I’ll do it like that—
seeds dancing around me in the wind,
my roots buried in fertile dirt,
lapping up sunlight, wet with rain—
I want it to be a poem,
but it’s never gonna be a poem, is it?
At best a dirge,
a shattering,
an empty winter frost, a haunting.
She lives in me,
like rot,
eating at the sugar in my stomach,
an algal bloom of nightmares
where I dream of a kiss
and wake up
and wake up.
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Time Spool
As time runs it’s course
A documenting thread flows.
When times are rough,
The thread starts feathering.
When times are golden,
The thread strengthens
How much thread is left in the spool?
As you tug the thread,
And nothing comes,
There’s nothing left.
At the end of the spool,
No sturdy wood,
No guiding seamstress,
Just an indispensable plastic spool.
Just like every life,
Indispensable and
Non-biodegradable.
It takes years to forget.
-A
#original poem#original text post#poetry#my writing#poets on tumblr#i wrote this months ago#i love it
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i don’t like to pick strawberries
they’re small and tart, never able to satisfy my appetite. millions of them are grown, but none seem to be near me, taste sweet, or be worth to pick.
i don’t like to eat strawberries
they have a weird texture. seedy and bumpy. they make me feel weird every time my tongue brushes the skin. it stains my fingers red like artificial blood, the cold sink of my teeth makes me nauseous, i can never get the aftertaste away.
i don’t want strawberries
the individual seeds aren’t planted. they’re tossed down your throat and die in your stomach. the feeling of their juice slithers down my throat, gross and sour.
#flojouno#text#flo ing thoughts#poetry#it’s a bit hazy what this is about#i wrote this MONTHS ago#so who knows anymore
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Rex: Whose lost child is this
#I drew this a month ago but the anniversary of the clone wars movie seems like a good time to post it#captain rex#ahsoka tano#the clone wars#art#drew ahsoka in the wrong outfit but I like her totj outfit better anyway#I didn’t realise k*ren tr*viss wrote this oof
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me, hearing that we are getting two new seasons of PnF almost a year late:
#phineas and ferb#candace flynn#perry the platypus#pnf#across the second dimension#atsd#2nd dimension candace flynn#and as soon as i realized its true i wanted to draw my favorite high strung girlie#its been so long since i drew her QoQ cant believe i even wrote so many ficlets about her#ye in this house we love our mars queen candace flynn! deal with it#man i started this fanart almost a month ago lol#also. its been over a decade and i just realized that 2nd d Candace is wearing tigh-high boots. ?????/
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random p*rn star nanami thot
i feel like he wouldn’t be much of a talker, which is funny cuz his deep and sexy sultry voice would be enough to get both his viewers and fans and whoever he’s fucking off. it’ll come out out of the blue, when no ones expecting it and probably make even the director and the photographers close their thighs together. he could say something like “that’s it that’s it, just like that” or “come on, you can do it. do it like that, just for me” and everyone within earshot would be drooling and creaming their pants.
he’s been in the business long enough and usually isn’t trying to try new things or join up in new trends, which is sad cuz he’d dominate anything he would try. he doesn’t really have to put in much effort; with his great stamina and strength he can go on for hours and hours and fuck hard like a wild animal in a rut. one time he did try a new position and put a fellow actress in a full nelson, the poor girl could barely walk for a whole day. he was talked into trying some BDSM films, but was scared off when his costar came unscripted and untouched when he spoke deeply in her ear with that dangerous voice of his “now be a good girl and listen to your master” with his tie around her throat.
he’s very well known in the biz but isn’t overly arrogant or conceited. before every film when his costar is introducing themselves and greeting him with high energy and saying how much of a fan they are, he simply nods his head and shakes their hand with a warm and polite smile, “hello nice to meet you”, like a business man meeting a client. he’s very cordial and a bit stoic at first, and then bending them over and fucking their lights out two minutes later. he’s very caring, checking on his costars after every scene. he’ll even bring water and food to them after he asks if they’re okay and they’re only able to give a thumbs up since their legs are still numb from having their insides rearranged.
#y’all i wrote this months ago and forgot to post this#i’m still very much feelin it tho#nanami kento#jjk nanami#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#kento nanami#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#nanami kento x black reader#jjk x black reader#anime#anime smut#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami
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The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.
#also idk how to tell you this but even if it were true. wealthy children potentially sacrificing their educational careers to protest is#a good thing actually. idk how to tell you that caring about people from other nations is good#personal#“this war has nothing to do with most students cuz nobody's getting drafted” idk how to explain to you that we should be angry#that our tuitions of 10s of thousands of dollars that we pay every year for an education is being used to fund a genocidal campaign#also the implication that if you go to a uni institution you are automatically privileged by participation no matter your bg#i didn't /want/ to go to this school. i was supposed to go to a school with an art/animation program. but i realized my immigrant#parents have been working their whole lives to get me here. and turning the opportunity down would be a disservice to their sacrifice#this is getting into convos of “what 2nd gen kids owe their parents” which is different for everyone but. yeah#i just get pissed off at seeing people misrepresenting student bodies as “wealthy” and “privileged” and “elite” when it's such a blatant li#i remember a year ago a friend told me they can't fly home to hong kong for winter break because the plane tickets are too expensive#so they have to find temporary housing around the area#last quarter for a film doc class my film partner made a doc on a small group of marxist grad students from india discussing praxis#during a rally a few months ago in response to police presence the coalition invited palestinian students to speak about their experiences#and lead songs and read poems they wrote. these are STUDENTS. are they elitist too?#this is not to disregard my own personal privilege either.#this whole narrative's just to rationalize a lack of empathy to me. seeing a 19yo student get shot by a rubber bullet and your first#reaction is “HAW! HAW! bet richy rich didn't see THAT coming when she put on her terrorist hood!”#newsflash. these big uni campuses are HAUNTED by the violence of past protests and revolutions and police brutality. we know.#why do you think these coalitions have been making reinforced barricades at record speed
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I can excuse Dazai not trying to nullify Shibusawa's fog because Fyodor was there, and they really could have just incapacitated Dazai and gone right back to their nefarious plan
but the facts are that Shibusawa was unknowingly keeping himself alive as a singularity and Dazai can nullify singularities, so there was a much less convoluted way to stop him.
#edit: now with bonus in the notes#dazai had no way of knowing shibusawa died because of atsushi years ago AND he was already out when fyodor made the big twist reveal#so he can only learn the facts from atsushi after it already ended#this is filed under my 'dazai fucks up big time' category#i wrote a post about it on my main some months ago and i watched dead apple again recently so i decided to illustrate this ksjfdhkjgh#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bsd fanart#bsd dead apple#dead apple#bsd atsushi#bsd dazai#bsd nakajima atsushi#bsd dazai osamu#nawy's comics#i decided i'm impatient tonight i'm posting it now
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can you imagine being thirteen and having the world at your fingertips. everyone loves you - why shouldn’t they? you’re the epitome of a good girl, the ideal, the popular cheerleader type who gets The Guy. you giggle and you flirt with the football players and you have sleepovers with your friends (who don’t really feel like your friends but you’re all popular so you have to like each other, right?). you do your makeup and you bat your eyelashes and everything is perfect.
and then you start growing horns. you start looking like the devil - and you might as well be, the way everyone turns on you, starts looking at you as if you’re a freak, a monster. and, well, if everyone’s going to treat you as such, you might as well play the part, right?
so you rebel against your parents (if they’re not lying about that, too). you go out and you buy a bass guitar and you pluck at the strings until your fingers bleed. it’s better than listening to the arguments downstairs. you transform into people you’re not to pretend you could really be someone instead of the shell you are now. you flirt with guys twice your age to pretend you still have it in you, even if it feels hollow. you grin and you bear it but it’s hollow, in the end.
if you can’t be perfection anymore, why bother being anything?
(and then you meet the most wonderful people in your life. and they accept you as you are and don’t ask you to change. but you find yourself changing anyway, because they make you feel like you can be something. like maybe it’s worth it again. and you finally get The Girl. and maybe life isn’t perfection anymore, but maybe perfection is overrated, anyway.)
#hiiii i’m insane about fig All The Time actually#no it’s not bc i relate to her way too much why would you say that#no im not projecting here wdym. i would never#(yes it is and yes i am btw. but like. lowkey)#also it’s 1am when i’m writing this so if it’s incomprehensible that’s why !!#dimension 20#fantasy high#fig faeth#figueroth faeth#wrote this almost two months ago b4 junior year came out so if there’s any inaccuracies that’s why <3
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