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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

Text

Funerary Rites, Chapter 6

Words: 3334 Characters: Clockwork, Danny Warnings: None

For Ectoberhaunt 2023, Day 23 - Magic

Nothing happened.

Nothing Danny had feared, anyway.

The chill of the water was sweet on his tongue, soothing on its way down his throat. It felt like respite, like clarity, like lemonade on a hot summer day after too long outside.

Danny drank until the cup was empty, and then he refilled it and drank some more. He drank until the crystalline sweet of the water washed away the film on his tongue and in his thoughts.

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Or some of it, at least.

Finally, he set the cup back on the countertop with a clack. He hadn't realized how thirsty he'd been.

"Thank you," said Caretaker.

"I didn't do it as a favor to you," Danny said.

"Of course not," soothed Caretaker.

"I would never do you a favor," Danny said, bristling. "I would have to like you for that."

"I see."

"I don't. I hate you."

Caretaker said nothing.

The words should have had an impact. Danny expected them to. Caretaker had been terrifying as he swung seemingly at random between anger and sorrow, the only constant the way he reacted to Danny's fear.

And now, even that had vanished.

"I'm afraid of you," tried Danny again.

There was a minute flinch, but nothing more.

"Have you had enough water?" Caretaker asked.

Was Caretaker ignoring what Danny had said? Danny bristled, took a breath to snarl another insult–

and let it out in a sigh instead. Without responses, hurling insults at Caretaker just made him feel like a little kid.

"For now," he allowed.

Caretaker nodded. "There is still the matter of food."

"No," said Danny.

"No?"

"I mean–" Danny made a wordless sound of aggravation. "I mean, the bread."

"No bread?" Caretaker asked, brow furling.

"No, I. You said there were consequences."

"There always are."

"You just don't know them, sometimes," Danny said, tone acidic.

"Precisely. It is why–"

Danny interrupted him. "And let me guess, you also don't know the consequences for the bread. Conveniently."

"Baking is an art, child. Of course–"

"Of course you won't tell me? Of course you're just going to feed me platitudes until I don't know which way is–"

"Daniel," said Caretaker.

Danny stopped.

Caretaker sighed. "If you would let me finish?"

Tightly, Danny nodded.

"Baking does not produce precise results each time, even for humans. The yeast used, the humidity and temperature of the day and oven, the age of the flour: all of these and more shape the bread humans bake, and not all of them are easily accounted for."

Caretaker placed his hands flat on the table, staring down at the patch of wood still wet from the tea. "It is why skilled human bakers work by feel, as well as by weight. It is why we work by feel as well as by weight."

Caretaker thumbed a surviving scrap of dough, dyed darker by the tea. "But through technique, we can reach something consistent enough. Even in Faerie. Even with the additional complexities our food provides."

Danny fought back the “consistent enough for what?” that wanted to launch itself from his throat. With Caretaker's patience evidently thin, he didn't want to trample on it.

For now.

"So you can tell me what bread will do?" he asked.

"I can tell you what this bread should do, if we make it correctly."

"Not all bread?"

"Not all bread has the same ingredients, even in your world."

Danny had probably known that. He wished he'd gotten more sleep. His brain felt threadbare.

"Okay," he said.

"You wish for me to tell you what the bread might do?"

"Yes," said Danny.

"I will tell you, if you do not purposely disturb the kneading this time."

"Fine." There were other ways to ruin bread, after all. And he wouldn't have to eat it. He hadn’t promised that.

Caretaker's mood lifted considerably with the agreement, and before long he was back to hovering over Danny's shoulder as Danny worked the dough, offering tips.

"If you keep your touch light and quick, it will stick less to your hands," he said.

“Really?” Danny tried it.

It did not.

“Like this,” Caretaker said, and demonstrated.

“You’re cheating,” accused Danny.

“Skill is often mistaken for such.”

Danny huffed, but began kneading the dough again when Caretaker pushed it back towards him.

When, eventually, the dough stopped sticking quite so much to Danny’s hands. He suspected it was less skill and more the kneading being done. When he pulled his hand back it would eventually, reluctantly, peel away.

Danny pushed it a few more times, and then dropped the entire glob into a bowl Caretaker held out for him, which Caretaker then covered and placed near the fire.

Not too near, though. Caretaker fussed with the placement in a way that put Danny in mind of a little old grandma.

"Okay," Danny said after Caretaker had found a satisfactory spot. "You said you'd explain."

"So I did."

Danny waited.

"I did not say when," said Caretaker. He held up a hand before more than a snarl could form on Danny's face. "However, you could offer something in exchange for me telling you within the next five minutes."

"I don't want to give you anything more. I already filled my side of the bargain." Danny frowned. "Twice."

"Twice?"

"This was already in the contract, wasn't it?"

"Food served to me between my departure from and return to the human world must have any and all consequences of consumption explained, if I request it, to the best of your ability?" Caretaker quoted.

"How do you remember that?" Danny asked.

"It is a skill. But no, it is not in the agreement. Right now, it is only food in potential. I would not be forced to explain it to you until I served it, and then only if you asked."

"Okay, fine. Once, then."

"You didn't specify when," said Caretaker.

"I didn't think I needed to," Danny said, frustration building again.

"And with someone other than myself, such assumptions could seriously hurt or kill you."

Oh. Right.

Danny swallowed. There was…that was a lot to think about. Especially right now.

He shoved the idea to the side to deal with when he was home. Or never. Possibly never. Preferably, even.

"Okay, okay,” Danny said. “If I give you something, you have to tell me, starting when I give it to you."

"Acceptable."

Danny gave Caretaker his water cup.

Caretaker's countenance cracked into a grin. "The bread," he said, and stopped.

"What?" Danny asked, outraged.

"Has,"

"Wait," Danny said, eyes narrowed.

"Several," said Caretaker. His smile grew.

"You said 'within five minutes' when you were suggesting what I could give you to get the explanation now."

"Ingredients," said Caretaker, encouragingly.

"But I only said 'starting now,' didn't I?” Danny asked. ”I didn't put a time limit on the end."

"Which results in?"

"You're saying it super slow to mess with me."

"Several consequences."

Danny huffed, blowing some hair out of his face. "You want me to make another deal, right?"

"Wheat," agreed Caretaker.

Danny looked around the kitchen to the sound of Caretaker saying "brings," "an," "element," and "of." The fireplace was still lit, flames low and steady. The tables and counters were still mostly clean, the only mess from the previous ill-fated attempts at bread.

"The hearth," said Caretaker.

Danny went over to it, and knelt. So close, the warmth of the flame melted under his skin, chasing away the morning cool of the kitchen.

"Hospitality," said Caretaker.

The kettle was set to the side. It was heavy with water when Danny picked it up, weighing it in his hands and in his head.

"You would need to explain the tea, if you offered it and I asked," Danny said. "And, you want to give me the tea."

And tea was mostly water. Whatever consequences were in it, they'd probably be less than what was in the bread. Assuming the whole food…thing made sense.

Which it probably didn't.

"And companionship."

Danny ignored that. "I'm not going to promise to drink the tea. That would be dumb. But you're probably not going to let me just say you can make it."

Danny thought so, at least.

"Salt," and "intensifies" passed before he came to a conclusion. Caretaker could be trying to lead him down a path Danny didn't want. He probably was.

“Flame.”

Danny bit his lip. Trying to think of anything else was like trying to catch wind with his hands, though. Now that the idea of the tea was in his head, it was hard to think about other options.

“Purifies, refines, transmutes. Extracts.”

"What if I said I'd listen?" Danny asked.

Caretaker cocked his head, eyes glimmering with interest.

"And, um. If I had a problem with it, I'd tell you why?"

Caretaker tipped his head.

That was probably a yes.

"If you explain the consequences of eating the bread, and you do it at…" Danny frowned A normal pace? That could probably be misinterpreted.. "If you space your words like me, in this conversation…wait."

Caretaker waited.

"If you explain the likely consequences for me if I eat the specific loaf of bread that we're making, and you do it by timing your words like I'm doing now, and you start the explanation within a minute after I ask, then I'll listen to your explanation about the tea and explain to you what my problems are with it. If any exist."

Caretaker was silent. Expectant.

There was something Danny was missing.

"I won't refuse to drink it until after I've heard the explanation?"

"Finally," Caretaker said, shaking his head. Darn.

"I won't refuse to drink it before I've heard the explanation," said Danny.

"Yeast," Caretaker nodded, and held out a hand.

Danny shook it.

"Good job," Caretaker said. "There are still a few holes in that agreement, but it's much more tightly phrased."

Danny ignored the praise. "The explanation?" he asked.

The corners of Caretaker's eyes wrinkled in approval. "And good attention to detail. Very well, let me set the water on to boil, and I will explain."

The kettle was refilled, then hooked to hang over the fire. Caretaker gestured Danny over to a pair of chairs a little ways away, and when Danny sat he steepled his fingers.

"Bread," Caretaker said, "this bread, will reinforce the roles of host and guest between us, and the rules of hospitality."

"Didn't you say those were really complicated?"

Caretaker smiled. "They can be," he said. "It would be difficult indeed for you to fill the role of a guest correctly, without the required knowledge. But there are reasons for our traditions. It will help you to fulfill the correct actions for your role."

"Help?" asked Danny, trying to fill the word with the skepticism he felt.

"Yes, help."

"Define help."

"Very well done," Caretaker said, corners of his eyes wrinkling in pleasure again. "English is such a treacherous language. I could have hidden quite the trap within that word."

"But you didn't?" asked Danny.

"I did not. The help would be a nudge. You could ignore it, were it even strong enough to notice."

Danny frowned.

"There is another option," said Caretaker. "If we shared it, if we broke bread together, instead of me serving it to you, then it would build camaraderie between us."

"Which would…?"

"It would simply make our conversations less strained. I believe you have noticed the conflict."

Noticed? Danny had been fostering most of it.

Not that Caretaker didn't deserve it.

Danny was silent as he thought. He didn't really like either option. But if that was all they did, then they were what he'd asked for. Neither would bind him to Faerie.

"How long does it last?" asked Danny.

"It depends," said Caretaker, then at a sharp look from Danny, added, "but guest rights and responsibilities end when the guest departs. The bond of broken bread will linger longer, but even those who do so together for years will find its influence faded after only a decade or two."

Faded after a decade, but not gone. A decade or two.

Danny didn't want to feel companionship for Caretaker. He especially didn't want it to last.

"The host thing, then."

Caretaker raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

Danny paused. "Maybe?" he said.

The kettle chose then to begin whistling, and Caretaker stood. "Do not feel rushed to decide," he said. "You will be free to choose the one you prefer when we eat."

And with that, he attended to the tea.

"I was thinking we would garden while the bread rose," said Caretaker, still chipper. "The gardens are in disrepair, after all." With a fluid motion, he poured the tea into first one cup, and then the other.

"Sorry," said Danny. He even was, a little. He’d forgotten how Caretaker used to play with him when he was little and lost and scared.

Caretaker didn't respond. Instead, he set the teapot back down and turned away to fiddle with some herbs.

Danny wondered if Caretaker was pretending he hadn't heard. Was it a mistake to apologize to fae? He couldn't remember.

"Here," said Caretaker, and placed a sprig of…something on one of the saucers before pushing it in Danny's direction. The other two, he placed on his own saucer.

Danny pulled the tea closer and looked skeptically into his cup. The liquid inside tinted the inside with a warm brown, still transparent enough to see clear through to the bottom, and Danny was put in mind of the green tea they served at the Chinese place his parents would take them to as a celebration sometimes.

Gosh, he wanted egg rolls. Rice. Some orange chicken, or sweet and sour soup, or…

Danny swallowed. He really didn't need to think about food right now.

The tea was something he could focus on. So close to it, the vapor rising off the surface curled warm and thick under his nose. It was filled with a hodgepodge of aromas that combined into something herbal and sweet and tangy.

Danny opened his eyes again, and discovered that Caretaker was using the sprigs to stir his tea. The motion would have been fascinating to watch if it didn't evoke the image of the world's largest and most undesired spider doing the same.

"Why are you doing that?" Danny asked.

Caretaker looked up, the ghost of a smile still on his face. "Stirring my tea?" he asked.

"With the sticks, yeah."

"I didn't want to serve you the tea with them already infused," said Caretaker, as though that explained anything.

Danny felt irritation start to fizz under his skin again. "Fine," he said. "What does the tea do?"

"Oh," said Caretaker, and the smile melted away. "I had forgotten."

"You forgot what the tea does?"

"No! No, something else..." He trailed off. "I am able to tell you about the tea."

Danny wanted to ask what Caretaker had forgotten. How could it possibly be hard to remember Danny was out of his depth?

He didn't.

Instead, he turned the cup in its saucer as Caretaker explained.

"It should give you hope, and a little vitality–an infusion like this is weaker than the herb itself, but it also can extract some things better than others. The balance changes."

"Hope and vitality?" Danny asked.

"You are afraid. And you are tired. But, not much hope."

"Because it's an…infusion?"

"Among other reasons. Hope can be a heady thing indeed. I find I prefer a more moderate amount in my blends."

Danny leaned forward to take a deeper whiff, or perhaps a sip.

Caretaker's hand folded itself around his wrist, and Danny stopped.

"That is not everything."

"What else, then?" Danny asked. Confusion warred with revulsion in his head. He pulled his arm out of Caretaker's hand.

"The hope is given by snowdrops, the vitality by amaranth."

"And? Are they poisonous or something?" Danny didn't even know what those were.

"Not when properly prepared."

Danny did not want to be playing a game of 'poison or not.’ Unfortunately, the universe didn’t seem to care.

"Are they properly prepared?"

"Yes," said Caretaker. He managed to look almost offended at the suggestion. "I would not violate guest right so lightly."

"Okaay."

"There is also coltsfoot."

"Um."

“It should not be poisonous in the quantity present.”

“Um.”

"Yes?"

"Shouldn't be poisonous?"

"Most medicines are poisons, too," said Caretaker. "In sufficient dosages. This one I thought you'd like."

"But I'm not sick," protested Danny.

"And yet you seek a remedy for your parents' predicament."

"That's different," said Danny.

"Is it?" Caretaker took a sip of tea, and closed his eyes. "Ah. Coltsfoot brings justice."

Danny frowned. "You said it was poisonous, though."

"In sufficient quantities."

"Why would that be poisonous?"

"Justice? Poisonous? I suspect you have little wish to discuss such philosophical questions when you are so poorly rested."

Danny didn't even want to discuss philosophy things when he was well rested. “I don’t see what that has to do with poison, though.”

“If you drink only a cup, it will not poison you.”

“What about two?”

Caretaker smiled. “Even the whole pot should not poison you. I drink this daily. It is one of my preferred teas.”

“And…it wouldn’t be more poisonous to me than you?”

“You’re smaller,” pointed out Caretaker. “That, among other things, would affect it. But I can see no reason it might harm you. If I could, I would not be serving it to you.”

Danny nodded. That…made sense. There was the contract.

Then he frowned, recounting. "So it’s…vitality, and hope, and justice?"

"And morning."

"Morning," said Danny. That was odd, but…it was morning, right then. It was probably some kind of fae breakfast tea thing. He was pretty sure Jazz had kept some kind of breakfast tea in the kitchen at one point.

"Yes," said Caretaker. He'd closed his eyes again as he took another sip. "Mostly morning, in fact."

"Okay," said Danny. "And what does that do to me?"

"It helps you morn. Encourages it. Waters it, like a vine."

"Which iiiissss…. It's not anything weird, is it?"

"Humans morn. Most humans morn."

"....Huh."

"And I have morned for a long time."

Danny made a polite little noise of comprehension, not sure how to tell Caretaker that he didn't think he was the best measure of normal.

"And that's all?" he asked.

"It should ease thirst, and perhaps wet your lips. And clothes, should you make a mess. And it will warm you where it touches you."

"It will?"

"It is warm." Caretaker indicated the steam still rising from Danny’s cup.

"Oh."

Danny contemplated the tea for a moment more. But it really didn't seem like there was anything terrible in it. And Caretaker was drinking it, so it couldn't be too poisonous. And of the things he'd listed, only the morning seemed odd.

Danny probably could just eat bread for his whole stay here, and drink water. But if he was going to eat bread, something like this was a lot less…substantial, probably. There was a lot less plant in it, at least. It might be a good way to figure out what eating the bread would be like, when he eventually did.

So.

Danny brought the cup to his lips, and it was bright and floral.

He took a sip, and another.

He set the cup back down, and thought, trying to feel at the hope, or the justice, or the–

There was a void in his chest. There was a void in the world, great and desolate and terrible. Danny brought a hand to his chest, only peripherally aware of the ragged gasps he was taking as he looked up at Caretaker through suddenly wet and stinging eyes.

Caretaker looked back, a faint and rueful smile on his face. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"As I said, it is mostly mourning," Caretaker said. "It is a stronger blend than most prefer. But one, I think, well suited to a funeral."

#ectoberhaunt #23 day 23 #23 prompt magic #23 calendar magic #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #jackdraw-spwrite

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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Funerary Rites, Chapter 5

Words: 3435

Characters: Danny, Clockwork

Warnings: None

For Ectoberhaunt 2023, Day 18 - Unravel

The kitchens were on the ground floor of the house, or the basement depending on how one looked at it; one side emerged from the hillside into a small garden, while the other was buried deep in the earth. The house itself was pale in the early morning light but accented with dark shutters. It sprawled along the hillside, larger by far than the kitchens below.

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They entered the little garden together, and then the cool shadows of the kitchen.

Caretaker gestured to a bench near one of the doorways. "Take a seat there."

Danny did.

Like most things in the kitchen, it was made of stone, and cool enough to bring a chill to Danny's arms. Somewhere, Danny could hear water running.

He watched as Caretaker ventured deeper into the shadows and re-emerged with a glass he offered to Danny.

Danny took it. The weight of it played in his hands as though full.

"It's water?" he asked.

"Yes," said Caretaker.

Danny frowned into the glass. Sniffed. The fluid inside was clear.

It smelled cool and sweet, though perhaps that was the kitchen. The room smelled chill and earthy, but sweet air wafted in from outside the open door in a perfect complement that brought to mind fresh streams and warm days.

Unlike his tongue. His tongue felt sticky and stagnant in his mouth, and he remembered that he hadn't brushed his teeth last night. Or this morning.

Ick.

Danny stuck out his tongue a little, and swirled the water in the glass again.

It almost sparkled, clear and sweet and tempting. Suddenly, it was difficult to think of anything but the sweet chill of fresh water on his tongue.

Danny didn't like sudden urges to indulge in things. He pulled the glass away and looked up.

Caretaker was fiddling with the doors.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked.

"I am opening the kitchen up," said Caretaker.

With a thunk and a rolling noise, an entire part of the wall moved sideways, exposing the archway that was on the outside of the house. Light swept in, though with the early hour the kitchen's furthest corners were scarcely more lit than before.

"Isn't there magic to do that?" Danny asked.

"There is a certain satisfaction," Caretaker said, pausing to repeat the action on another arch, "in working with one's hands. It is why I enjoy baking, and the creation of food."

"Oh," said Danny, looking back down at the glass in his hands. Even in much brighter light, the liquid inside was still clear and colorless.

"And gardening," added Caretaker, more softly.

Danny looked back up, and Caretaker was staring at him.

"Um." said Danny.

"Yes?"

Danny mentally fumbled for a question. Why are you staring at me was too hostile to use if he was going to keep pretending that he wanted to do this. As was is this really water? Did you poison this? and how much poison would need to be in here for you to say it wasn't water?

"Why is everything a mess if you like gardening?"

Caretaker looked as though he'd been slapped.

Internally, Danny winced.

"That–I," Caretaker said.

It was the first time Danny had ever heard him stumble for words. He almost stumbled physically, too; his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight as Caretaker slumped, steadying himself against a table.

His head bowed.

"I suppose," Caretaker said. "That question is only to be expected. Especially from you."

Caretaker’s eyes were hidden beneath his hood. Even so, Danny felt their weight.

For a breathless moment, he froze.

Whatever Caretaker meant about the question being expected, Danny hadn't expected this reaction when he'd asked it.

He hadn't expected anything, too busy flailing for a question that wasn't as loaded as are you poisoning me that he’d blundered directly into a worse one.

Quietly, carefully, Danny set the glass to the side. At the faint click of it against the stone, Caretaker's head snapped up enough to meet Danny’s eyes.

They didn’t move away.

With the doors open, it was bright enough to see their garnet red. Bright enough to see them burn.

The chill of the stone crept up Danny's spine.

"It has been difficult," said Caretaker, slow, "to manage, alone."

He didn't blink.

Danny broke first. He looked away, to the brightening landscape outside. In the little garden just outside the kitchen, the plants had resolved into distinct shapes and leaves; there was a large mound he thought might be sage, and another that seemed a bit like lavender. There were smaller plants, but his family had always emphasized defensive herbs over the culinary.

"How is your water?" asked Caretaker, drawing Danny's attention back to the kitchen. He’d drawn himself back up, as though the moment had never happened.

"I haven't had any," Danny said, and picked it back up.

"Why not?"

Danny paused. He still didn't know how to ask if it was poisoned. And that was assuming Caretaker really couldn't lie. The glass was cool and inviting in his hand. The light gathered in its depths rippled with the water.

"I got distracted, I guess," he said.

Caretaker had promised not to allow harm to come to Danny while he was here. He couldn't have poisoned it. Equally, he couldn't have given Danny something he hadn't poisoned but knew was dangerous.

The water should be fine.

Danny tilted the glass.

It still made him nervous. Like there was something…

"You said we could make a pie?" he asked.

"I did."

"Not some kind of witch of the woods baking me into a pie, right?"

"No. Child, your water…"

Danny set it to the side again, a new plan forming in his head. "I changed my mind," he said. "I don't want water."

"What do you want?"

To go home, offered the part of him that lacked self preservation instincts. He ignored it.

"Um," said Danny.

"What about tea?"

"Okay," said Danny.

Caretaker nodded.

Shortly afterwards the kitchen was lit by a fire, crackling away beneath a kettle. Caretaker busied himself opening cabinets and pulling things out, wiping off surfaces so industriously that Danny began feeling awkward just sitting there.

Danny pulled at his pant leg. He wanted to get it out of the way, but he also didn't want to take Caretaker's help. After some fiddling, he knotted it into his sash so it at least wouldn't trip him. But with that taken care of, silence descended once more.

…

He was trying to act cooperative.

"Caretaker," Danny asked. "Is there something I can do?"

"Just mix until it's roughly combined," said Caretaker. "No more dry flour left, and no more water.”

Danny had his hands buried in a mass of flour, water, and weird-smelling goo in a large bowl. Bits of it had stuck fast to his hands, and he stuck out his tongue at the sensation.

And the looks. He squished his hands closed and watched things squelch in the bowl. He did it again, and the goo oozed through the gaps in his fingers in neat little streams.

"Ewww," Danny breathed, delighted. He hadn't realized making bread was like this.

He mushed it again.

Soon, the mass was rough, and Caretaker looked over his shoulder before pronouncing that Danny should dump it out onto the counter and knead it properly.

And then demonstrated, when Danny said he didn't know how.

Once Danny got the hang of it he found it was soothing, in a weird way. He could press the dough with his hands and pull at it and roll it together and squish it, over and over again. When, slowly, it started resisting more and sticking to his hands less, it was satisfying. Even if it was still sticky.

There were a bunch of clinks and clatters and other noises from the rest of the kitchen, but it didn't seem too dangerous or important, so Danny let himself be drawn into the rhythm of kneading the dough. With each squish and pull, some of the tension woven through him faded.

He was still trapped. He was still stuck with a dangerous fae he knew far less than he thought he had, and for most of a week, all to save his parents’ lives. He hadn’t forgotten that. It was impossible to forget that.

But…if all he was expected to do was stuff like this…

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Clink.

Danny looked up. There was a small ceramic cup on the counter. Above it, Caretaker looked at him from where he'd set it down.

"Um," said Danny, and looked down at the dough.

"For when you're done with that. You're getting close."

That didn’t help the knot of dread that had reappeared in his stomach. Thoughts of his earlier plan resurfaced. How did you mess up dough? He didn't know. He knew you could burn bread. His parents were many things but 'distractible' was one of them and 'good at baking' was not.

…throwing it on the ground would probably work.

Splat.

"Oh no," said Danny, failing utterly to sound concerned.

On the floor, the dough lingered flatly for a defeated moment before slowly pulling back in on itself, like an alien creature.

Caretaker was silent.

Danny looked up at him.

His eyes were wide, still pointed at the space where the dough had been. Then he visibly shook himself.

"That should be cleaned up, and another loaf started."

Danny looked after his back in disbelief as Caretaker bustled off in the direction of the flour. That was it? That was all?

It couldn't be.

Danny hadn't even managed to sound convincingly sorry to himself. His Mom or Dad would have sent him to his room. Caretaker had been surprised, sure, but.

But he’d also been calm.

Danny stared down at the dough. It had flattened on impact, but now it was peeling its edges from the floor, drawing itself inwards and back to a rounded shape.

Danny's throat felt drier than before.

"Come," said Caretaker from behind him.

Danny startled.

Caretaker didn't comment. There was a clunk as he set the bowl back on the work table before speaking again. "The dough will stick to the floor if we leave it there, and it is difficult to clean."

Danny didn’t move.

"I will show you where to dispose of it, if you pick it up."

Still confused, Danny did, and followed Caretaker outside to the compost bins. The sun was well up now, though the little herb garden still lay in shadow. Danny lingered, tracing his eyes over the paths he could see through the untended fields that lay below the house.

Caretaker had said it was hard to do it alone.

Danny could see why. He didn't know much about gardening but that was probably a lot of space to use. But it was confusing, too.

Wasn't Caretaker a lord of some sort? Even if the title was stupid and pretentious and Danny hated it on principle, it was still a title. Why would a lord be gardening alone instead of getting other people to help? Why do it at all, if he had trouble with it?

Was it shameful to get gardening help, or something?

…Was Caretaker even telling the truth about being a lord? Danny hadn't seen any servants around, except maybe the weird fae in the night. Lords were supposed to have plenty, right?

And the weird one had been in the garden, too. Did Caretaker's servants only come out at night? Did he only allow them to?

Something clinked in the kitchens, and Danny headed back in. He didn't want Caretaker coming to check on him.

"You didn't have your tea," said Caretaker.

"Oops," said Danny, and reached for it, knocking it over and spilling the tea over the floured table.

"Oops," said Danny again, unconvincingly.

In the ensuing silence, the cup rolled towards the table’s edge. Caretaker stopped it with a touch. He was frowning.

"Child," he asked, "Is something the matter?"

Is something the matter?

Danny’s facade shattered like the cup hadn’t.

"Is something the matter?" Danny repeated, slightly hysterical. "I didn't sleep last night, and the only food or drink I can get is probably drugged. And you're asking me if something is the matter?!? There was a fae in the garden last night and you're asking me if something is the matter?!?"

Danny stared at Caretaker, chest heaving.

Caretaker looked back, eyes widened before narrowing dangerously. "What was in the garden last night?" he asked, voice soft.

"A, um. A fae," Danny said, abruptly concerned for the maybe-servant. What if they were just trying to get some flowers? Danny would look at people, too, if he realized they were watching. Especially if he wasn't supposed to be there. "Don't you have servants? I, um. Maybe it was one of them?"

"I have no servants, child."

Danny's veins turned to ice.

"What was the appearance?" asked Caretaker.

Danny swallowed. "They had a white cloak.” He no longer felt as bad for the servant that wasn't.

"A white–how long?"

"What?"

"How long was it?"

"Really long," said Danny. "Um. They were in the bushes so I couldn't see, like, their feet. But it went out of sight."

Caretaker relaxed. Danny couldn't see why.

And then he pulled down his hood, and Danny could.

"Oh," said Danny.

"Yes, 'oh.'" agreed Caretaker. Without the shadows of the hood, Danny could see the way his eyes were wrinkled in amusement. Danny could also see his long, white hair. "I think, perhaps, I should hang this up," he said, tapping the little gear clip that kept his cloak closed.

He pulled it from his shoulders and moved to the entryway to hang it on a hook.

With his back to him, Danny could see that Caretaker's hair reached to his calves. Unlike the night before, it was tied back instead of loose, held at the nape of Caretaker's neck with a scrunchie. Probably not a scrunchie, Danny amended mentally. He was pretty sure those had plastic, and Caretaker had made his opinion on that abundantly clear.

Danny looked down to the spilled cup of tea. The puddle had spread all the way to the dough, where he could see the pale amber staining it on the bottom. Some of the puddle had gone the other direction, too, and was now dripping onto the floor in a parade of tiny splashes.

Danny felt a twinge of guilt.

"Why do you refuse to drink?" asked Caretaker.

The guilt vanished. "I'm not refusing to drink," said Danny.

"Child," Caretaker warned.

Danny plunged onwards. "If you gave me water, normal water, I'd drink it."

"I did, and you did not."

"You gave me drugged water," said Danny.

"I did no such thing," said Caretaker, and circled the table so he was across from Danny, frowning down at him.

"Fine," said Danny, even though it was nowhere close to fine. "If I had drunk that stuff, what would it have done to me?"

"It would not have bound you to this place."

"That's not answering the question."

Caretaker stiffened. For a moment that felt far longer than it probably was, he stared Danny down with his head back, anger scrabbling for purchase on his face.

Danny drew back, and the anger evaporated from Caretaker's face, replaced again with sorrow.

"You are afraid," he murmured. "I keep forgetting that."

Gently, he worked the dough loose from the countertop, and it was only then that Danny noticed how deeply Caretaker's too-long fingers had sunk into it.

When he returned from disposing of the dough, Caretaker picked up a little rectangle of wood and began scraping at the paste left behind. As he did, he spoke.

"The rules of food and drink are complex and many-layered, here. I cannot tell you the precise mechanics of water here, just as you could not tell me the precise mechanics of electricity in your world."

Danny frowned at the reminder of his parents.

"It is a scholar's topic, child. And a topic of debate, at that."

Here, Caretaker paused to look at Danny, considering.

"But I can tell you this much: the waters of this world will not bind you."

But…there was more than just binding, wasn't there? Danny wracked his brain, trying to put a name to his unease. But catching the thought was like grabbing smoke; every time he tried it slipped away, dispersed all the more by the effort.

"I don't know," Danny said, finally.

"What don't you know?"

Danny blinked. He'd forgotten the thread of conversation.

"I don't…" Danny bit his lip. Why hadn't he slept?

But he knew why.

"What were you doing in the garden last night?" he asked.

"Gathering flowers," said Caretaker.

“You weren’t spying on me?”

"No."

"Then why did you look up?"

Caretaker stared at him. "I imagine it is a common reaction to being stared at, even among humans. Would you do differently?"

Danny looked back down at the empty cup, feeling embarrassment flush his face. That was a more than reasonable explanation. He’d even thought of it, earlier.

Caretaker sighed. There was the scuffing of feet on stone, and then Danny heard him kneel beside him.

He looked up.

"Daniel," Caretaker said. "I know that you are fearful. I know that this has been…hard, for you. But please, do not make me force you to drink."

"You would," said Danny, dread pooling in his bones.

"My hand would be forced," said Caretaker. "By the terms of our agreement. Dehydration, severe dehydration, is unambiguously harm."

"You could break it," said Danny.

"Break–" Caretaker hissed. "I would do no such thing."

"But you could," said Danny.

"You don't know what you're suggesting."

"I think I do."

"Then do tell.” Caretaker said. He stood. ”What happens when a fae breaks their word?"

"I–" Danny broke off. His parents had mentioned it once or twice, surely. At some point over the years they must have. They talked about the fae so much.

But Danny had always tuned them out.

"You are lucky that you suggested that to me," said Caretaker. "Almost anyone else would find a way to bestow upon you an equivalent harm to the one you so casually suggested."

"What–"

"Think," and Caretaker’s voice was dark like thunder, "if I could break the bindings of my word so easily, why should you trust our agreement to keep you safe from me? Am I a cruel monster, kept at bay by chains of ink?" Caretaker's snarl crawled up his face. "Or am I going to save you despite them? No matter what it costs me? Do you want me to save you by endangering you, even as you act as though I will keep you safe from myself in doing it? Which am I? Decide."

Danny shook his head angrily. "No, you decide. You're the one who keeps switching between awful and, and–" Danny frowned, reaching for a word that danced beyond his grasp.

“Understanding?”

“No.”

“Kind?”

“No! Stop forcing words on me!”

“Safe?” Caretaker asked, and his voice was deadly soft.

“N–” Danny choked. “No,” he said, quiet, and drew his arms around himself.

Caretaker’s answering silence was louder than words alone could be.

Some time later, Danny looked up at the click of ceramic on stone as Caretaker set a cup on the table before him.

He looked back down.

“It is only water,” said Caretaker, voice still soft.

“I don’t want it.”

“By now, that matters little. You need it.”

“I don’t want it,” said Danny again, glaring up.

“Are you a child?”

“You seem to think so.”

Caretaker made a noise of aggravation. “It’s difficult to treat you otherwise when you act like this.”

“You mean, not doing whatever you want?”

“I’m trying to avoid forcing you to drink.”

“It seems pretty forceful to me!”

“Are you so certain that you have a good grasp of the situation? You’re dehydrated and exhausted.”

“It’s good enough to grasp this,” said Danny, and upended the cup on the floor.

“You–” Caretaker visibly calmed himself down. “Daniel–”

The use of his name was like dumping water on him–if he were a grease fire.

"You want me to drink?" Danny exploded. He was furious. "You want me to drink?"

"Yes!"

"Okay!" Danny snarled, and seized the cup. He marched over to the spring of water that trickled down into a basin and shoved his cup beneath the stream just long enough to fill it.

Then, fury still bubbling beneath his skin, he tossed it back into his mouth, and swallowed.

#ectoberhaunt #23 day 18 #23 prompt unravel #23 calendar science #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #jackdraw-spwrite

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

Text

Funerary Rites, Chapter 4

Words: 3367

Characters: Danny, Clockwork

Warnings: None

For Ectoberhaunt 2023, Day 11 - Dread

It was almost sunrise when Danny gave up on sleep.

The brightening sky swelled the racket of birdsong already outside his window, and Danny dragged his hands over his eyes with a groan. He wanted his bed. He wanted his room and whatever normalcy could be said to live in the Fenton household.

He wanted sleep.

Read the rest on AO3, or below the readmore:

He did not want this. He did not want these strange blankets, these strange rafters under a strange sky, and he wanted to confront the day less than that. In the hollow hours between dusk and dawn, dread had taken root in his belly and now it tangled itself there and slithered up to gnaw at his sternum.

But it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

Resentfully, he rolled himself out of bed, feet landing on the cold floor. Danny grimaced, and fought the urge to pull them back into bed, to curl up and delay the day.

And Caretaker.

Danny grimaced. Maybe that one could wait.

He padded to the window, and found the trees were still monumental shadows in the pre-dawn light. He turned–and his stomach constricted.

There was something dark at the door.

There was something dark on the inside of the door. Inside the threshold.

He'd thought himself safe.

He'd thought, he'd hoped that no one could get inside as long as he was treating it like a bedroom. He'd assumed that with how poorly he'd slept, he would at least get a warning, hear something, even if he didn’t see.

He hadn't.

Caretaker could have opened his door at any time.

He had.

The roots of dread in Danny's gut grew thicker.

If it even was Caretaker. There was the other fae, after all. The one he'd seen with the white cloak in the garden.

He thought he'd been awake. But he hadn't noticed the door opening. If it even had been the door. What if the dark shape was alive? What if it had crawled in through the window?

One step, two. The thing didn’t move. Three, four, shut the door.

The door was already shut.

Fix, six, pick up–

And Danny’s hand touched cloth.

It was cloth.

It was clothes.

Danny found himself back on the bed again, one leg pulled close. He rested his chin on his knee, eyes still locked on the patch of dark on the floor.

It was just new clothes.

Danny waited until his heart calmed and the room brightened enough to make out details before he evaluated the clothes that had appeared in the night. In the long minutes he waited, his mind whirled between the revelation that his room wasn’t secure, wasn’t safe, and wondering how he hadn’t heard or seen the door open when he’d barely slept.

But eventually, the room brightened enough to see.

The floor this time was no less cold, but at least it matched the cold in his gut and and his fingers. Danny pulled the pile apart into shapes, and the cloth slid easily across itself, smooth like water in his hands.

It was…similar, to the previous day’s.

When he finally fumbled the tie on the sash into a knot minutes later, it was after considerable difficulty. The fabric had slipped through his fingers a number of times, and even with the building dawn, the clothes themselves were still dark and hard to see.

Now that they were on, the sensation like water hadn’t faded. They were smooth as silk against his skin. One of his pant legs slithered down a little, and Danny hiked it back up and tightened the knot on the sash. He could figure out what he’d done wrong when he could see better.

And then–

Then, there was only the door.

Caretaker was older, in the morning light.

It was in his stoop, in his cheeks drawn thin. And it was in the wrinkles that had smeared across his face in the night. In places, they folded into deep creases like a crumpled cloth as he looked down at Danny.

But still, none were as dark as his scar.

However deep his wrinkles were, his scar was deeper. However dark, it was darker. It still tore down his face in a jagged line, and his sagging skin only made it longer, though longer still was the stare he gave Danny.

Caught in the doorway, Danny shifted on his feet.

It was barely dawn. The sky was still brightening, and the night's blacks lingered in pockets. They coiled in the overgrown mess of plants and swam in the shadows of Caretaker's hood.

In Danny’s head, they writhed, spelling out the shape of the previous night’s refrain: What did Caretaker want?

Danny wanted to ask.

Danny needed to ask.

But it was as though his tongue were frozen in place, like the dread rooted in his stomach had grown up through his neck and fastened his tongue to the floor of his mouth with tendrils of ice.

What did Caretaker want?

“Greetings,” Caretaker said. His voice hadn’t changed with his age. But then, It never had.

“Morning,” returned Danny.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Caretaker.

“No.”

“No?” The creases in Caretaker's forehead deepened. "Did you find your accommodations uncomfortable?"

Uncomfortable.

Danny stared at him. Incredulity sparked through his mind.

“You snuck into my room.”

“Snuck–the clothes?”

“Yes, the clothes!” Danny pulled at his shirt.

“I just placed them inside the door so you would find them,” said Caretaker. “I would be a poor host if I didn’t provide you with clean clothing.”

“I–” Danny cut himself off, throat working.

The thing was–it made a certain degree of sense. Fae were concerned with manners, and with being good hosts. Even his parents would admit that. And if Caretaker had just placed them inside…

“You just placed them inside?” Danny asked. “You didn’t go in? Didn’t do anything else?”

Caretaker tilted his head. “I opened the door, and I closed it. I saw inside the room, and made sure that you were safe.”

The ice that had been banished from Danny’s mouth crept along his arms instead.

“You made sure I was safe?” he asked.

"I agreed that no grave harm would come to you for the duration of our agreement. I expect you remember that," Caretaker said, frowning.

“How did you make sure I was safe?”

“Would you like a list?”

“Yes.”

“I made sure to keep others from realizing your presence here, on our journey. This hut is well within the lands that I control, and well-protected. You saw the hedge, and the gate.”

“I don’t mean those,” said Danny. “I mean when you opened the door.”

“I checked that you were present and unharmed,” Caretaker said. His face was even, grave.

“But you didn’t go inside,” Danny said.

Caretaker paused a moment before answering, and Danny began wondering if this was it, if that had happened, if he’d woken up at just the wrong time if he’d have seen Caretaker looming over him in the night–

“I did not set foot inside when I was placing your clothes there last night,” said Caretaker.

Danny swallowed. “While I was asleep, you mean.”

“You seemed relaxed. I did not verify that you were asleep.”

“Relaxed,” Danny laughed a little hysterically under his breath.

He found that hard to believe. He didn’t feel relaxed at all now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be relaxed again, at this rate.

“You feel unsafe?”

“Of course I feel unsafe!”

Danny stopped himself. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Manners. Fae cared about manners. “Sorry.”

Caretaker inclined his head.

The moment passed, and it was then that Caretaker spoke.

“That you feel unsafe–do you doubt my ability to protect you here?”

"I–" Danny hesitated. He thought of the bells in the study, the silvered gate, and the ease with which Caretaker had ignored his parents’ best efforts at resistance in their own home.

He thought of the fae in the night.

He thought of the shelter of Caretaker’s cloak.

Neither yes nor no felt right in his mouth. Danny swallowed. "I don't know."

A sigh escaped Caretaker. "That you do not feel safe is–" he stopped himself. "It is a matter to address later. You must be hungry."

"I'm not," said Danny. The hunger pangs had faded in the night.

"Even if your worries have eaten your appetite, you should eat something for your health." Caretaker said, and stepped from the cover of the entryway onto the path.

"I don't want to," said Danny.

"The journey yesterday was long, child. And you have not eaten since before it."

"Because of you.”

"Because of me?” Caretaker asked. “You refused dinner yesterday. That was not my choice."

He turned and began walking. His boots tapped against the paving stones.

Danny trailed after him. "I only needed dinner in the first place because you stole the food I brought," he said.

"You needed it?" Caretaker's voice was sly. "You were hungry?"

Danny’s stomach lurched.

"No,” Danny said, quickly. "I meant that I didn't have what I needed in order to have dinner. If I needed it. Which I didn't. Because you stole it."

Caretaker stopped, turned. "I will not let you poison yourself while you are in my care. And you know how I feel–"

"Poison?"

"They are coated in the plastics that are poisoning the human realm."

Danny filed away the stilted phrasing for later–seriously? 'The plastics?'--and homed in on "Are? You still have them? Give them back."

"No."

"You don't even eat 'the plastics,'" Danny said, imitating Caretaker's weird way of saying it.

"I certainly do not."

"You know what I mean!"

"And what is wrong with fresh food? You haven't even seen it."

"You said it came with consequences."

"So does the ‘Hill’n’Dale P.B. n’Choco D-Lite. With added iron’."

"Why did you say it like that."

"It is its name."

"You don't say mine," said Danny.

Caretaker gave him a sharp look.

Right. Caretaker didn't even like exaggerations.

"You don't say it often," corrected Danny with a roll of his eyes.

"That," said Caretaker, pausing at the top of a small stair, "is because your name is important. I would not give it freely. Not everyone listening cares to make themselves known, even in the human world."

Danny took the stairs after him. "So you don't hate my–"

There was unexpected cloth beneath his foot, an unexpected tug at his waist, and then a very unwanted trip in the direction of the paving stones.

Caretaker caught him before his hands could.

"Get off me!" Danny snarled.

Caretaker did, retreating until he was barely in arms' reach.

Danny ignored the expression on his face in favor of looking down with a scowl. "It's these stupid pants," he said. "They won't! Stay! Up!"

He tugged at them with each word for emphasis, fabric audibly snapping taut with the last.

"They are not meant to trip you."

Danny whipped his head up to glare at Caretaker. "Well they're pretty good at it! You know what's not? My pants."

"You know why you do not have them."

"I don't, actually. I just know what you told me."

"I do not lie, child."

"You keep saying that."

"Regardless," said Caretaker. "Your belief or disbelief in questions of my nature does not resolve the problem."

"The problem of you stealing my clothes? And food?"

"The problem," said Caretaker, "of your clothes impeding your movement. Worn properly, they would not."

"I'm sorry I'm not wearing your stupid clothes up to your standards," snarled Danny. "It's just that I've never worn them before and they didn't come with an instruction manual, you see."

Caretaker tilted his head. "Would it be so odious for me to show you?"

"What," said Danny, who was running on far less sleep than he wanted and was nowhere close to taking the SATs.

"Your clothes," said Caretaker. "I could show you how to wear them, so that they do not impede you. It was not my intent for you to trip."

“Well they did. Trip me, I mean.”

“And if I showed you how to wear them, they would not,” said Caretaker.

Danny barely heard him.

Behind Caretaker, the sun was lining the ridgeline of a roof in honey.

It was atop one of the square buildings through the trees from yesterday, and, abruptly, Danny realized the path they were on led there.

Now that they were closer, it looked like a house.

Caretaker's house?

For a moment Danny was arrested by the thought of what might wait for him there. If he might get chucked into a big pot of stew because of some loophole he hadn't spotted. If Caretaker would turn him into bread, or whatever the nursery rhyme was.

"May I fix them?" asked Caretaker, and Danny remembered they were having a conversation.

"What's wrong with the way I put them on?" asked Danny in lieu of answering.

"A number of things," said Caretaker. "May I?" He knelt.

Danny didn't move, except to bite his lip. "Why can't I just fix this myself?"

"Because the knots require a certain skill to tie."

"I can't just use regular ones?"

"And," added Caretaker, "the folds you must make also require some measure of skill."

"You gave me clothes that are hard to wear?"

"Not by our standards. But for a human–yes."

"Why?"

Caretaker's face contorted again, too quickly there and gone to see properly, much less interpret. "A good question," he said. "You could say I had forgotten that you would not know."

"Why would I know? I'm not a fae."

"Do you recall me claiming otherwise? But there is a certain expectation which I did not account for. I apologize."

"You apologize? Does this mean I can get my clothes back?"

"It means what I have already offered–that I would be happy to show you how to wear them."

"That's a no, then." Danny sighed, and sat on one of the steps, out of the range of Caretaker’s hands. One of the legs of his pants had fallen enough that it covered a foot, and Danny frowned at it. That explained tripping, at least.

There was a rustle, and Caretaker arranged himself beside him in a flutter of cloth. Several minute arrangements of the folds later, he stilled.

Danny pointedly scooted a few more inches away from him.

"Becoming familiar with them today will aid you tomorrow," Caretaker offered, seemingly ignoring the slight.

"And what am I doing tomorrow?" asked Danny. "You never said last night. Actually, what am I doing today?"

"There is a forest path," said Caretaker. "We will be following it elsewhere."

"Where elsewhere?"

"As for today, I thought we might start with preparing food."

"Preparing–what?"

Caretaker didn't respond immediately, instead looking out at the trees. Dawn had reached their trunks, and when he followed Caretaker's gaze Danny could see scattered patches of golden light in the forest floor they guarded.

"What food?" Danny tried again.

Caretaker hummed. But it was only after the gold had crawled some distance further down the trunks that he spoke.

"Your mistrust confuses me," Caretaker said. "But I will attempt to accommodate it even so. Even food you make here will have consequences that food from the human world will not. But you will be able to take part in its making, and humans have a talent for thresholds."

He finally looked away from the forest edge and back to Danny. There was a slight frown creasing his face, but the deep lines that had etched it earlier were starting to fade in the morning light.

Danny waited for him to elaborate.

"I don't know what that means," he said after it became apparent that Caretaker would not.

"You don't?" Caretaker's frown deepened again. "Your parents are hunters. Did they not teach you this?"

"The only thing they told me about your food was not to eat it."

"But they did teach you of thresholds."

"Yeah," said Danny. Belatedly, he realized actually admitting that might not be the best idea. "Maybe," he amended.

If Caretaker thought anything of the correction, he did not voice it. His eyes returned to the light on the trees, and for a time the only thing between them was birdsong and the soft breeze of a summer morning.

Danny took the time to think.

Regardless of whether Caretaker's claims about being unable to lie were true, Danny's parents had been careful to teach him that there was more than one way to lie. Even if a fae couldn't lie with words, actions could deceive in other ways.

But…that meant he could do it, too, couldn't he? He could lie with his actions, and whatever weird thing Caretaker had with lying…

Maybe he wouldn't care. Maybe…maybe he wouldn't even know.

It couldn't be obvious.

But maybe it didn't have to be subtle, either. Whatever was going on with Caretaker, it was at least clear that he was dedicated to the appearance of caring about Danny. If Danny played into that, instead of fighting it…

Maybe he could pretend.

"If," Danny wet his lips. "I helped make food, what would it be?"

Just because he helped make it didn't mean he would have to eat it. He could throw it away. He could mess up and burn the food and pretend it was an accident.

All he had to do was play along.

Caretaker looked at him with an expression that was uncomfortably like relief. When he spoke his voice was soft and full of longing.

"Bread," he said. "I would have us make bread together. Syrups, from the flowers and fruits which will not bind you. There are petals that I have candied that would only give you a certain lightness in your step, and could be made to leave you with the moon's last light.

"We could make a pie, if you wished. The milk and the eggs of faerie are laden with enough memories and sense of home that you would be tied here, if we used them. But we could make do with other things. There are nuts, and grains, and the plants do not remember as the hares do. The trees can be convinced to give freely of their fruits, and there are a great many things in the garden. We could fold its meats into dumplings and steam them so that they would burst with sweet flavor on your tongue."

Caretaker's hand lifted in a fluttering, half-aborted motion.

"It is not much. I wish to give you more. So much more. There are heartier things, toothsome ones which could give you strength and cheer and surety. You would love them, I am sure. The cream–But it is light fare that meets your demands. And the work could be light together, and glad. And you could be reassured."

"Oh," said Danny, off balance again.

Caretaker wasn’t done.

"Or we could make rolls. I know how to make them as soft on the inside as cotton down, and we could have them with tea. Some of the blossoms in the garden are sweet. You've not had drink since yesterday, I know."

That was true.

"I've never had flower tea before," Danny said.

Caretaker tilted his head. "You could try it."

He didn't really want to.

"Can I have water?" Danny asked.

Caretaker brightened. "Yes." He stood in a single, fluid motion, and held his hand out for Danny to take.

He didn't want to. But if he were going to play at being cooperative, he probably should.

Danny reached up, and took it.

Caretaker's hands were still ungloved, still uncanny, more like too-large harvestmen than anything human. But his skin was dry and cool to Danny's touch, and his brass nails pressed lightly into the back of Danny's hand as he stood, and then Danny was up.

The trees across the meadow were almost fully lit, now, and the light had shifted from the molten orange of daybreak to a cooler yellow.

"There will be water in the kitchens," said Caretaker. "It is only a short distance more."

Danny nodded, lifted the cloth of his pant leg off the ground, and followed Caretaker in.

#ectoberhaunt #23 day 11 #23 prompt dread #23 calendar science #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #jackdraw-spwrite

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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I'm finally starting to post my Ectoberhaunt fic x'D

This story got a Lot longer than anticipated. It's currently over 23k words and isn't done yet, so... Expect quite a few chapters lmao.

#23 day 2 #23 prompt botanomancy #23 day 3 #23 prompt black cat #23 day 4 #23 prompt zombies #23 calendar magic #23 day 5 #23 prompt hunt #23 calendar science #23 day 6 #23 prompt tabletop #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #TourettesDog

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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They're having two different conversations.

Ectoberhaunt Day 21: Isekai: Past Prompt (2021 Day 15: Curse, Day 21: Relic, Day 22: Theft ), 22: Isekai: Portal Shenanigans, 24: Science

I made Danny a North American Badger becaue it's fitting

originally gonna be a fic and art, ran out of time so i'll be posting the fic later here on tumblr and on ao3

#23 day 21 #23 prompt isekai past prompts #23 day 22 #23 prompt isekai portal shenanigans #ectoberhaunt #23 day 24 #23 prompt science #23 calendar science #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #sheepheadfred

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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HELLO. Have a VERY late Ectoberhaunt fic:

A Familiar Taste of Poison

Prompts: Day 3, black cat and white crow

This month just SHOT by so this is what y'all get lmao.

#ectoberhaunt #23 day 3 #23 prompt black cat #23 prompt white crow #23 calendar science #23 calendar magic #eh23 #reblogs #mod sam #Akela-nakamura

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Valerie Gray & Star Characters: Star (Danny Phantom), Valerie Gray Additional Tags: Ectober Week 2023 (Danny Phantom), Guys in White Organization (Danny Phantom), Injury, needles mention, Valerie Gray and Star are friends, Light Angst, Post Human Experimentation, Post-Episode: s03e11 D-Stabilized Summary:

Ectoberweek Day 26: Students start to go missing. At the same time, the Guys in White go quiet. CW: Injury, Needle Mention

Star is rescued by Valerie after spending weeks in the Guys in White lab.

#ew23 #reblogs #mod jackdaw #assorted-candy #cw needles #cw injury

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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Happy 33rd Day of October! Didn't manage to keep up with ectoberhaunt month but did do a full page of drawings for ectober week. Enjoy! Close up shots of each day's prompt below the cut.

Also couldn't think of anything for the 31st's prompt, so I just filled in the empty space with a few doodles from @five-rivers fantastic and long-ass fic Mortified, which I recently reread because that's what I do when I lack the brainspace to do anything else.

#ew23 #reblogs #mod jackdaw #notoverjoyed

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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[ID: digital drawing of Danielle in her human form leaping through the air with both hands engulfed in ectoplasmic energy. She's younger, around nine, with her front teeth missing. One eye is heavily bruised, and the other is obscured by the hair falling in front of her face, which is melting into ectoplasm at its ends. She's littered with scratches, scars, band-aids, and bruses. She's wearing a red ballcap backwards, a shirt like Danny's but with a tear through the red circle icon, overall shorts with one shoulder strap undone, and mismatched, untied red and blue sneakers. She is smiling brightly.]

Ectoberweek 2023 - Ten years later

Sequel to this post, au where in the TUE timeline, Vlad still makes Danielle in a last ditch effort to fight Dan, but doesn't totally have means to stabilize her, so she's a scrappy apocalypse kid

#ew23 #reblogs #mod jackdaw #this-is-z-art-blog

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ectoberhaunt · 6 months

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[Image ID: An artwork featuring Danny Phantom, full green excluding his hair and white accents, transparent, sitting on a pile of rubble head tilted slightly upwards with his eyes closed. His hair is wispy, he’s got pointed ears and he’s much more identifiable as a ghost. The rubble includes the F of the Fenton Works sign, a satellite dish of some kind, pipes and concrete. The rubble, and Danny, is surrounded by yellow-black striped caution tape. Above Danny’s head is a conversation, in white, “It’s been ten years,” has been written, and in green, “It’s only been 10 years,” is written. /End ID]

Day 31: “It had been a decade since anyone last lived at Fenton Works. Or so people thought.”

tbh this took like. Less than half an hour to make haha. I may have forgotten to do this yesterday lmaooo. To make up for it, here’s a continuation of this prompt by @cryinginthevoid that i filled, wherein Danny has been stuck haunting the rubble of a ruined Fenton Works after his permanent death, only to later be approached by a very much alive Damian, who is the first person to See Danny in over 10 years. So yep, bonus challenge post 2 under the read more :D

Damian had visited. He’d promised and he’d followed through on it, Danny sitting still and watching as Damian approached, day after day, even after Danny had no more words to say, no more information to give. To quote, he was “a tolerable friend despite your intolerance for proper respect.” Danny had no idea if that was a good or bad thing, if he were to be honest.

But still! It’d been 10 years since he’d to spoken to someone, something other than the air. Damian said his brothers wouldn’t follow him, despite saying he’d bring them to meet Danny during one their tentative hangouts, and Danny supposed that was a good thing. He didn’t want Damian to sound crazy or look crazy for talking to thin air, especially not by his family.

Though, what was interesting was the weird amount of black-haired blue-eyed outsiders hanging around town. The FentonWorks rubble had a pretty good view of most of town, despite it’s slow erosion into dust, so Danny was able to see the several strangers in town whenever he went looking.

Damian said his family was looking into ectoplasm due to it’s relation with the dead, and trying to find if anyone around town knew how to access their information databases. They needed to know if there was a way to relieve “Jason’s” burden of the “Lazarus Rage,” and prepare in the case someone else in the family acquires it. And that ‘Lazarus Pits’ are classified information, but who did Danny have to share it to, no one could talk to him except Damian, anyway.

And truthfully, those Lazarus Pits Damian mentioned sounded like pools of ectoplasm that Maddie and Jack would’ve killed for. Danny could only suggest looking into ‘ecto-acne’ treatments, as from one of the stories of Vlad Masters Danny’d heard, it sounded like the short-term effects of ectoplasm exposure.

—

Damian didn’t know why he was sharing so much confidential with Daniel, but he didn’t seem to mind, and didn’t seem to talk to anyone else. He figured it’d be fine. Daniel needed to know as much context as possible in order to help Damian.

Daniel was strange, he spoke in large amounts, but quieted as though he doesn’t expect someone would respond to him. He rarely moved, and there was something unnatural about him. Perhaps the lack of a rise and fall of his chest, or the way his eyes shined.

Damian couldn’t help but make comparisons to the dead he’d seen. Lightless glossy eyes, pale skin, sallow flesh. Daniel was built like a dying or dead person.

Damian… worried. He’d grown close to the other boy, Daniel’s snark to Damian’s sharp tongue and his acceptance of Damian’s veganism, multiple other factors about Damian never drove Daniel away from him. It was nice, being accepted by someone outside of his family. Daniel’s health was concerning, malnutritioned and Daniel’s reaction time was slow. Multiple things were off-kilter about him, and Damian wanted to know why. So he could help.

Because Danny was his friend.

—

Dick observed Damian. He’d taken to pacing the length of the hotel room, and he seemed worried about his new friend (!!! Dami has a friend!!!! And he’s worried about him!!!), muttering about bringing food to the next time he visited. Dick kinda felt bad about what he was about to tell Dami.

“Richard, why are you looking at me?” Dami asked, stopping his pacing to look up at Dick, a soft half-hearted glare on his face.

“Uh well, Tim…” (fuck! He wasn’t supposed to mention Tim!)

“What did Drake do?”

“Tim told me to tell you that we’d gotten enough information and that we were leaving in two days, just in case something new crops up!” Dick rushed, knowing that Dami would loathe the information, but despise Dick more for not telling him.

Dami needed to say goodbye to his new friend, after all, but from what Dick could tell, they couldn’t even have long-distance communication, because “Daniel Who Liked Being Called Danny” didn’t even have a phone!

Dami’s click of his tongue was expected, and his expression had worsened too. Dick had messed up, but he didn’t think there was anyway to break it gently that Damian would have to leave his newfound friend.

The boy stormed off, leaving the room with a door slam. Dick felt bad, man. Well… Dick did have a spare phone he was free to gibe to someone… Perhaps Danny would like it?

#ew23 #reblogs #mod jackdaw #therandomartmaker

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