𝙸𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝙸𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜, 𝚁𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬

— i'm a ghost! —

— now you see me now you don't —

i have an ao3 with some never seen before content on it ::eyes:: ::eyes:: maybe consider checking it out? it's pecann if you're interested <3

im literally improvising this entire story and making it up as i go please when did we get past ten chapters ,,, i don't take myself seriously

anyhow, stan niki nihachu, and vote please <3 

tw for blood, death, and maybe hallucinations? im not sure, stay safe loves!! 

Skeppy didn't want to fight anyone. They didn't exactly have all that much time, and being a hero was exhausting enough, even without the additional stress of friends being villains and his heart deciding it would be a good idea for a super old crush to resurface. Today was a shit day. He missed high school, late nights where they were supposed to be studying but ended up talking for hours on end before sleeping on call, making fun of the teachers behind their backs at lunch period, endless ecstasy of being together. It was fun being a dumb kid with a dumb crush. He always wished he had taken his chance to confess then.

Wonder how life would be now if he had done that then... crazy how one choice can affect your life so much, how nerves getting the best of you would be your biggest regret.

The person considered Skeppy's words in silence, sunglasses covering their eyes and mouth absolutely still. Bad's head was starting to hurt from the blood rushing to it. They eyed him, seeming to decide whether or not they were worth the fight, finally landing on not. "Eh, no thanks. I'm looking for someone. Tall. Smiley mask. Says he's got blonde hair, but it's almost brown. Kind of an idiot." 

Skeppy facepalmed. "Dream? You're looking for Dream?" He asked, letting his hand go limp in front of him, leaning forward into the most sassy pose he had ever made, and would ever make again. They nodded warily, letting Bad down slowly. "Why, may I ask?"

"He called in a favour. Well, this is more of a debt, I guess, but it conveniently works with my self-interest, so I'm here to settle it. I just need to know what the fuck he wants me to do." They shrugged. Bad started to say language! but the person held their ground, shushing him without missing a beat. "Don't language me, babe. I say what I want." 

Skeppy stared at them in wonder. They looked like they took no shit— a quality he wished he had. "Who are you? How did you- you know- make him go all upside down?" They giggled, looking at Skeppy with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm Eret, the baddest bitch you'll ever meet, and I can do spells." They wiggled their fingers at him, sunglasses shining in the sun. Bad covered his ears. "Oh yeah!" They snapped their fingers, then Bad fell down very ungracefully. "Sorry, forgot you were up there."

They had a deep voice. It was nice to listen to, way better when it wasn't threatening them.

Bad dusted himself off, slightly irritated his bomber jacket had gotten dirty, and shot a pointed look at Skeppy. "Well, Eret, we should really be going. We have some issues of our own to figure out. You're not the only one, it seems, that Dream has a plan for."

And with that, they were on their way once more.

☆:.｡.🤍🖤.｡.:☆

Good sighed, trying to resist a grin as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Due to the terms Maia had made, he could not leave this room, he could not speak, yet, and he could not include her name in any form, should someone come and make pleasantries with him. Fine by him, it was perfectly embarrassing this had happened, he didn't want to tell anyone he had been bested by her. The thought was aggravating enough. It would be terrifically poisonous out loud.

He was maniacally happy, a sick and cruel sort of happy, cold but burning at his chest as he let his laughter fill the empty room. He didn't need to try to contain himself anymore, only he would hear his voice, so he could say whatever he wanted. Insults without more blood on his already dripping hands.

He paused, stalking around the room as if he was peering around for prey. It was so silent he could hear his harsh breathing, the whispers of cussing and threats he could never fulfill like smoke in the air, footsteps seeming to echo even though he knew they didn't.

Good turned around, facing the door. It was the same as it had always been: deep chocolate brown, golden handle shaped like a teardrop, scuffed at the top corner from when he got angry once. That had been recently— a couple hours ago, in fact. He walked closer, almost cautiously, warily. The world felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

"Good day." He said to the door, deciding to stand safely a couple strides away. Nothing made a move as response: not even a flicker of change, not a speck of dust changed. Good sighed. "You can pretend you're not there— I know that you are." Slowly, he snapped his fingers like he had finally remembered something vital, then spun on his heel to meet eyes with a cloaked figure. "Been a long time, lovely."

They did not respond, but raised their head coldly, eyeing him with disgust. Good winced theatrically, putting his hands up in surrender.

Too late was the motion; Good was dead before he hit the ground, body falling into the desk with a loud crash. Red mixed with the deep purple of his spilt wine, and the person looked down at where Good laid. A curl of long, chocolate coloured hair fell out of its bun, cloak dragging on the floor as it came undone.

And their shirt had a dark purple star with thorns around it.

ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ🍄 ·˚ ༘

The park was empty. It was not quiet; though people were coming out of their trances thanks to Maia and her reunion with Aya (yes, their names rhymed, funny, huh?) some people were using the mask of being mind control to go apeshit. They could not be caught: it reminded Maia of that movie, the Purge or whatever, where for a couple of hours everything was legal. Really, a horrible idea.

Aya clutched her hand, stumbling along and tripping over their own feet. Maia cast them a concerned glance which they pointedly ignored, keeping their eyes glued to the sidewalk. Some of it was broken, which honestly was impressive for people without powers or real weapons— how did they manage to break concrete?

She stopped. In the centre of the park was town central, as they called it, a vast space surrounded by grass and what remained of the park, enough space to fit half the population of the town. It remained surprisingly untouched compared to the rest of the world, only some broken cobble steps leading to the middle and a couple cracks. The cement statues of men who made the town (and were probably horrible people, honestly) stood perfect, watching with their carved eyes as they stood on pedestals, blissful and absolutely fine.

Cruel metaphor. She'd bet her life that's what they did when they were alive, too: watch as work was done for them, letting people die without a single care.

Maia flipped out her phone, helping Aya sit down as it began to ring. A small "hello?" rang from the other end, crackled and soft. "Hey, Dream," she said, eying the park. "I'm here, with Aya. Everything is ready— they're here too."