#and not just in the sense of learning how to use his ghost tricks :)

[kismet-cat]

you ever think about how sissel spends three chapters of the game back to back trying to save two deeply depressed guys with zero self-esteem? how he sees right through jowd's insincere self-pitying apologies; and how he's so promptly over the justice minister's disguised negative self-talk, eventually trying to set him on a better path by telling him to not go so hard on himself?

with hindsight, i'm surprised sissel never comments on it all feeling... familiar.

[khioneee]

‘honey, i’m home.’

simon, presumed dead for the past five years, appears at your doorstep, very much alive.

the knock at the door cut through the quiet night like a knife, startling you from restless sleep. rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks. your heart pounded in your chest as you shuffled toward the door, dread curling deep in your stomach. no one visited at this hour. not anymore.

you hesitated at the door, hand trembling slightly on the knob. for a moment, you thought about ignoring it—letting whoever it was go unanswered. but something pulled you forward, a strange sense of familiarity, even though you couldn’t place it.

when you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

there, standing on your doorstep, was simon.

simon stood before you, drenched from the rain, looking like a ghost dragged back from the edge of the world. his hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his pale face, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. it had been five years since you’d gazed into those stormy eyes—five years of grief, heartache, and learning how to live without him. his familiar eyes, shadowed by exhaustion and pain, locked onto yours. his clothes were soaked, his body thinner than you remembered, like he had fought every step of the way just to stand on your doorstep.

your breath hitched painfully. ‘wake up,’ you said to yourself, heart racing. ‘please… wake up.’

but you didn’t.

‘lovie…’ simon whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. ‘i’m home.’

your mind swirled and shock paralyzing you. it felt like a cruel trick your mind had conjured. the world around you blurred, and your heart ached in your chest. it couldn’t be real. he couldn’t be here.

simon’s expression softened, and without a word, before you could react, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation, and the breath left your lungs. his grip was tight, desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. his cold, rain-soaked body pressed against yours, but you didn’t care.

he was here.

you froze for a moment, and then, slowly, your hands gripped the wet fabric of his jacket, your chest pressed against his. tears welled in your eyes, the disbelief crashing into a flood of emotions—relief, anger, and love. his familiar scent, rain-soaked, earthy, and undeniably him, flooded your senses, overwhelming you.

‘they told me you were dead,’ you sobbed against him, your fists clinging to his jacket as if that could keep him here. ‘they said your plane crashed. that you were gone.’

you clung to him, your heart shattering in your chest. he held you as if afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if his entire world depended on you being real.

simon buried his face into your hair, holding you tighter, his breath shaky. ‘every bloody day, i fought my way back for you,’ he said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he’d endured. ‘you were the only reason i stayed alive.’

you sobbed harder, burying your face into his chest, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. all the years of mourning him, the endless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the desperate ache of thinking you’d lost him forever—all of it shattered in his arms.

but then, simon’s grip on you faltered. something had shifted in the way he held you. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at your hand. his thumb brushing over the bare space where your wedding ring used to sit.

his body tensed. he pulled back slightly, just enough to glance down at your hand, and his breath hitched. the wedding ring you once wore was gone.

‘where’s your ring?’ he asked, voice quiet but edged with something fragile, as if the answer might break him.

your throat tightened, guilt and sorrow clawing at your chest. ‘simon…’ you started, voice cracking under the weight of it all.

his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked past you. that’s when he saw them—new photos hanging on the walls. the ones of you and him were gone, replaced by pictures of you and someone else.

it was like the air had been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenched, shoulders sagging under the realization. his face a mask of exhaustion and heartbreak as the weight of what he was seeing sank in.

you looked away, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. ‘i waited…’ you whispered. ‘even when they told me there wasn’t a chance you were alive, i tried.’

his face didn’t change, but the subtle pain and betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘i came back for you,’ he uttered softly, almost to himself. ‘i told you i’d come to you.’

‘i thought you were gone,’ you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. ‘i didn’t know how to keep waiting when they told me you’d never come back.’

simon’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. despite everything, his touch was tender, grounding. ‘i didn’t survive just to be a memory, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. ‘i fought every day to come back to you. and if i have to fight again… i will.’

you leaned into him, your heart breaking and mending all at once. the years apart, the lost moments—they still weighed heavy, but he was here. he had kept his promise, and that was all that mattered now.

‘i told you i’d come back,’ he said, voice low but steady. ‘and i’m not going anywhere. not ever again.’

[spookierdeer]

OL EUA YUGQ G XGOYOT OT MXGVK PAOIK, OZ ZAXTY OTZU G MXGVK. NGVVE NGRRUCKKT! 🎃⚠️

(costume talk and yapping under the cut)

starting from back to the front:

stan and ford are handing out candy this year, stan dressed in his vampire costume and planning to scare kids and ford is wearing a mabel (turtleneck!) pumpkin sweater, about as festive as he's willing to dress up this year. ford was originally planning to hole himself up in his lab and work on data analysis or whatever nerd shit he has going on but stan invites him to help scare the hell out of kids. ford declines initially, better things to do, but after checking to see how stan's doing (badly), ford decides to help by bursting out of the bushes with a glowing laser gun, face cloaked in shadow. it's more fun than he expects or admits and he eventually fully joins stan.

soos and melody are trick or treating in a couple costume, soos as zelda and melody as link. melody wanted to cosplay link for awhile and you cannot convince me soos wouldn't jump at the chance to dress up as a badass anime elf princess who can fire lasers.

mabel, pacifica, and waddles are dressed as utena, anthy, and chu chu respectively. i have a headcanon that post working at the diner and slowly getting used to normal kid things, pacifica discovers anime. specifically shojo princess anime. she finds utena and loses her mind over it in private, with mabel eventually breaking down her walls and getting her to admit to the sin of liking anime. mabel gets pacifica to show her her favorites and mabel immediately insists they need to cosplay as utena and anthy for halloween, pacifica is a princess after all! (said in jest, but baby gay panic ensues on pacifica's end. mabel is pretty oblivious to her plight and doesn't realize why being pacifica's knight makes her feel so giddy until later on.)

dipper sees pacifica joining mabel as an excuse to flake out on trick or treating without being a total jerk, especially since they'll be joined by candy and grenda later. i know he's working on not trying to grow up too fast by the end of the series, but kids and teens are full of anxiety and doubts and i figure he would be pretty awkward about a lot of things still, even after learning otherwise. wirt doesn't want to dress up since the previous halloween ended with him in the unknown then waking up in the hospital, but greg still wants to go trick or treating. dipper tags along to help babysit greg despite it not really being necessary, wirt's just glad to have someone to chat with while he takes greg, especially someone who doesn't leap to finding him strange. greg is going as a ghost elephant and wirt assumes it's just the weird kid tradition of layering costumes over the years, but greg's logic is that he "died" as an elephant last year so now the elephant is a ghost. if wirt heard this he would probably end up freaked out, but kids are often more aware of things than expected. dipper is wearing wendy's hat since she traded with him at the end of the series.

putting wirt and greg in there could feel a little random, but these are my two favorite shows to watch during autumn and i associate them with each other. plus, it's otgw's ten year anniversary and it's so perfectly halloween, i think it makes enough sense to put them together. idk i love joy and whimsy, i am cringe and i am free.

i initally wanted to include other characters, candy, grenda, and wendy for sure but i was also considering coraline, wybie, and norman. felt way too complicated so maybe i'll draw something with those characters some other time.

[ribbonmage]

RRRRRRIIIIBBBBBBBOOOOONNNN!!!!!

(MAY WE) PLEASE GIVE UD BUILDERMAN/HATRED FANS A BUILDERMAN(or hatred I really do not care) X GN!READER GENERAL HCS!!

AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSS

Also may I be ❌ anon ?

- ❌ anon

HATRED!BUILDERMAN X GN!READER general headcanons

BUILDERMAN DRNUYHKZEDUHKYAERDKUHYAEED YES i honestly love when people make requests like these its so silly

“KENDRICK! DROP ANOTHER DISS TRACK, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS” ahh request 💔/pos

ask and you shall receive ❌ anon 😋

BUILDERMAN

• when you first met builderman, you were surprised on how you got in the dreamscape in the first place.

• the ghost walker was about to be in your grasp and then poof, you got teleported into your mind.

• at first, you felt something off about builderman. but you didn’t know what it was, so you decided to brush it off, for now.

• to builderman, he felt a spiritual tug in his chest, like his soul was connected to yours.

• making a plan to try and escape the mind space together, their smile made you somewhat weary for some reason. even though it looked like they were trying to help with positive intent.

• builderman follows you around everywhere, and i mean everywhere.

• whenever you feel something watching you even if you were supposed to be alone, he’s there.

• they always brush off some of their actions and making it look like they have good intentions, so you believe them.

• they ‘open up’ to you a bit more, due to your familiarity and how you’ve gotten used to each other’s presence.

• you feel a bit weird whenever he calls you ‘creator’, a unique nickname, and it made you a bit weirded out.

• you’re still suspicious of them, but it’s lessened after time you’ve been stuck fighting your negative emotions.

• once you two get comfortable, builderman surprisingly likes holding hands with you while you walk through your dreamscape. he’s pretty clingy towards you, and him calling you ‘creator’ gets more prominent throughout.

• you think your mind is playing tricks with you when you see a glimpse of a long, red spiked tail in your peripheral vision, though when you try to turn towards from where you saw it, builderman is just there, smile on face as he asks you if anything was wrong.

• you seemed so weak, so vulnerable, so gullible to ever believe them. IT adored how you suspected nothing of them.

• IT feels a sense of possessiveness within ITSELF, a sense to keep you, ITS creator, encaged in ITS hold.

• whenever you get injured in fights, the corner of builderman’s mouth twitches upwards, seemingly enjoying your suffering. but never helping, only watching as a spectator.

• IT had watched you, counting every stumble, every form of hesitation coming from you, IT had watched your every move.

• you had made IT curious, eager to know, eager to learn, as the feeling of ITS claws ghosting upon your face, IT stares at you with a form of twisted interest.

“H O W … I N T E R E S T I N G .” you could feel ITS blank face smile from ITS tone, yet never truly showing it.

• ITS grip on your neck never falters, only tightening even further as you could feel your lungs collapse as your feet just hover above the ground, ITS spiked tail slithering around.

• “ Y O U … Y O U A R E T R U L Y D I F F E R E N T .” IT lets out a distorted chuckle, loosening ITS grip to make you collapse onto the solid, pitch black floor, the air TINGLING with a sense of DREAD.

• IT traps you within a cage between ITS body and the ground, ITS face inspecting you as IT was face to face with you, an inch too close.

• “ I ‘ L L K E E P Y O U H E R E , T O M A K E Y O U S U F F E R , T O M A K E Y O U F E E L T H E F U L L E X T E N T O F H A T R E D .

J U S T A S I H A V E . M Y C R E A T O R .”

—

hatred/builderman (and block tales as a whole) is quite underrated in terms of x readers if i do say so myself

[ducksido]

Hi! South Georgia yuu requester here! I did mean the U.S state! I meant like a country/southerner yuu, similar to like Epel or something! Like same accent. So like with sweet tea and such. Based on like Florida/georgia/Alabama as references! Sorry for the confusion

(florida person wrestles a gator)

Southerner!Yuu

Grim:

"What the heck is sweet tea, and why is it so sugary?! Wait—why do I like it?!"

Thinks hunting gators sounds badass. Wants to try. Immediately regrets it.

"You can drive a truck? Where did you even learn that?!"

The NRC Student Body:

"You mean to tell me you wrestled an ACTUAL alligator once?!"

Confused by Yuu calling everyone "sugar" or "darlin’."

Tries Southern food once. Never recovers. "THIS IS SO GOOD."

"Wait, y'all hunt for fun?!"

Crowley:

"Ah, Prefect! Your Southern hospitality is quite charming!"

Tries to make a speech about NRC’s grandeur. Yuu interrupts: “Bless your heart, but you’re talkin’ out both sides of your mouth.”

Now terrified of Yuu’s sharp tongue.

Crewel:

"Your fashion sense is… rustic."

Impressed by Yuu's ability to sew their own clothes.

Yuu: "Back home, we just slap some duct tape on it." Crewel: horrified.

Trein:

Mildly horrified by how casual Yuu is about dangerous wildlife.

Yuu: "Yeah, bobcats’ll come up on your porch sometimes. Just gotta stare 'em down." Trein: "I BEG YOUR PARDON?!"

Loves Yuu’s respect for their elders, though.

Vargas:

Loves Yuu’s stamina. "You ran how far just ‘cause you were bored?!"

Yuu: "Back home, we had to be fast ‘cause of wild hogs." Vargas: "...What?"

Sam:

"Now this one knows how to barter!"

Yuu casually gives him gator teeth and asks for a discount.

Has a whole Southern food section in the shop now.

Heartslabyul

Riddle:

"You put HOW MUCH sugar in your tea?!"

Southern manners impress him at first, but then Yuu says, "Rules are just guidelines, sugar," and he almost explodes.

Ace:

"Wait, so your idea of fun is sittin’ on a porch and tellin’ stories?"

Loves learning Southern slang just to annoy Riddle.

Deuce:

Respects Yuu deeply after hearing they fought a raccoon once.

Picks up a slight drawl without realizing.

Trey:

Obsessed with Southern baking. "What’s a pecan pie?" Takes a bite. "I need this recipe."

Low-key adopts Yuu as his baking apprentice.

Cater:

"Omg, your aesthetic is, like, cowboy core!"

Uses filters to make himself look tanner and says, "I’m basically Southern now, right?"

Savanaclaw

Leona:

"Hmph. You grew up around wild animals? Good. You won’t freak out around me."

Secretly loves how stubborn and blunt Yuu is.

Yuu: leans back in chair, arms crossed. "I ain’t movin’ ‘til I win this bet." Leona: grins. "I like you."

Ruggie:

“You make biscuits from scratch?! I gotta try ‘em.”

Team-up of chaotic country and street smarts. Unstoppable.

Jack:

Thinks it’s impressive Yuu grew up working outside.

“You used to run through swamps? For fun?!”

Gets competitive about physical labor.

Octavinelle

Azul:

"You grew up near the ocean? Excellent! Tell me more about these seafood dishes."

Tries to trick Yuu into a contract.

Yuu: sips sweet tea. "Now, sugar, I ain’t fallin’ for that." Azul: panics.

Jade:

"You’re comfortable around dangerous creatures? Fascinating."

Wants to hear all about gators and venomous snakes.

Probably takes Yuu mushroom hunting.

Floyd:

"GATORS?! I WANNA FIGHT ONE!"

Thinks Yuu is the funniest person alive.

Constantly steals their cowboy hat.

Scarabia

Kalim:

“You have huge family reunions too?!”

Loves Southern music and insists on dancing with Yuu.

Jamil:

"Your food is... surprisingly good."

Mildly horrified by deep-fried everything, but secretly enjoys it.

Pomefiore

Vil:

Judges Yuu’s fashion sense intensely.

"At least you have naturally good skin from all that fresh air."

Rook:

"AH, MON AMI! A CHILD OF THE WILDERNESS!"

Obsessed with Yuu’s hunting skills.

Epel:

Instantly best friends.

“FINALLY, someone who ain’t afraid to get their hands dirty!”

Ignihyde

Idia:

"Wait, you grew up in the middle of nowhere?! That’s terrifying!"

Intrigued by ghost stories from the South.

Ortho:

“You have a twang in your voice! That’s so cool!”

Loves hearing about country traditions.

Diasomnia

Malleus:

"Your people fear ghosts? Interesting. I would love to hear more."

Wants to visit the South to see the swamps.

Lilia:

"Ah, Southern food! I have tried it before! I think I made ‘gumbo.’"

Yuu: "How bad was it?" Lilia: "...Very."

Silver:

Enjoys hearing Southern folktales.

Confused when Yuu calls him "sugar" but doesn’t hate it.

Sebek:

"YOU HAVE STRONG FAMILY VALUES?! ADMIRABLE!"

Takes it way too seriously.

RSA & Noble Bell

Neige:

"Oh, Southern fashion is so cute! I want a hat like yours!"

Loves how friendly Yuu is.

Chenya:

Constantly steals Yuu’s hat.

Calls them “cowpoke” just to be annoying.

Rollo:

Disapproves of deep-fried butter.

Confused but intrigued by Southern Gothic ghost stories.

More Southern Yuu Chaos

"Ma’am/Sir" is an automatic response. No exceptions.

Owns at least one pair of cowboy boots.

Knows how to two-step, whether they admit it or not.

Thinks NRC needs a proper barbecue.

Calls people "darlin'," "sugar," and "honey" with both affection and passive aggression.

Will throw hands over bad sweet tea.

[notmorbid]

the reformatory.

dialogue prompts from the reformatory by tananarive due.

why'd you do a fool thing like that?

don't run barefoot.

school is holier than church.

everyone knowing your name isn't always a blessing.

i can speak for myself.

what's got into you?

you little shit.

you pushed me first.

what would ____ have done?

not all stories are suited for the ears of children.

you can only trust explosive secrets with three people, maybe four.

we should have run away when we had the chance.

you talk too damn much.

we'll get there faster if we cut through the woods.

sometimes life throws you a curveball, and you end up in places you never expected.

are the stories true?

i've never seen a more superstitious place.

there's no such thing as ghosts. that's an absolute fact.

evil is never plain to the eye.

stop fretting. just makes it worse.

sometimes the only justice is a hot meal and a bed to sleep in.

you know how to cook?

it could've been last week, for how well i remember it.

you think i don't know an evil eye when i see one?

if you're dead, stay dead.

you're scared of your shadow. always jumping.

who is it? who locked the door?

none of you can take a joke.

you seem more tired than usual.

you can talk sense when you want to.

men do evil every day and call it 'doing their job'.

i've heard all i can stand.

this is only a season, and it will pass. no matter what happens.

you don't bother me, i won't bother you.

you talk too damn much.

say you're sorry. put it behind you.

there's more ahead for you than this.

this isn't everything. there's more than this.

stories are dangerous.

if i needed you to, you'd cover for me?

no one stays nice. best to remember it.

go on. ask me what i know.

i wish i could say i had good news.

get a good cry out if you want.

you're not as smart about the world as you think you are.

no good talk starts at a bar.

mama used to say that unaired feelings ate you up inside.

i'm sorry. i've got no right to blame you.

don't tell your business on the phone.

hush that damn foolishness.

don't you be sick in my truck.

sometimes the worst thing happens. usually, in fact.

how do you believe in god, with all the bad things?

this whole world is a lie, the bad things and the good things.

you've got an answer for everything, don't you?

it's like you can see every thought in my head.

what did i ever do to you?

don't talk about my parents.

don't talk like you know anything about me.

everybody won't see. but you might.

telling the truth always breaks the peace.

one thing i've learned: everything seems fine, until it ain't. and then we come to see it wasn't ever fine.

i was never allowed to have nicknames.

____ made me feel like i mattered.

be strong. like _____. can you do that?

it'll be alright, as long as you tell the truth.

all a man has in the world is his name. your name outlives you.

i tried to tell you, didn't i?

you're so dumb. not the dumbest i've ever seen, but pretty damn close.

you don't get to ask about ____.

if you see me run, follow behind. no matter what.

please let me do something to help.

they wear you down one wrong at a time.

we should use a code to talk about it.

never give up a chance to laugh.

i'm beyond your help.

being dead isn't so bad.

you thought i didn't know?

does anyone remember you?

you need me, just like i need you.

constant worry steals everything from you.

i don't like strangers in my house.

you need a place to stay, and i have a spare room.

sometimes we say a thing to try to believe it.

i don't know what game you're playing, but it's a dangerous one.

the secret to war is the sacrifices friends make for each other.

we don't all sit around in a clubhouse. is that what you think?

let it out. but when you're done crying, we need to go over the plan.

wait a minute. just slow down.

we're no better than them.

some mistakes you don't come back from.

everything is a trick with you.

i don't want to kill anybody. not even ____.

[spiceywawa]

Kitty Fic

HybridAU~ Prev <- Current -> Next

Idk how to format my shite don't look too hard at it. Trigger warning mentions of unwanted "mounting" Nothing detailed.

Part:2

If there was one thing you have learned so far about your new mismatch family was that they were quite a group.

John was good, but a little too excited sometimes when you decided to participate in anything they did. You find it almost cute, except when he throws you into social interaction when you were more keen on being an observer. But the man was used to his canine companions and their go of things, so you'd let it go eventually. Maybe...

Simons behavior with you was not a normal occurrence. This you learned quickly, seeing Simon was a reluctant and barely tolerant being when with the other two hybrids. There was definitely fondness you could see. There was no mistaking that, and it was reciprocated, but it was often met with a snippy and short reaction more often than not. He was the oldest of the two, and you chalked it up to older age? You didn't know, but he was quite hands on with you.

He would often pick you up from wherever you happen to be resting and simply carry you around. You were snuggled in a blanket one moment napping the next you're tucked into simons sweater purring up a storm. He'll often take you wherever he goes. He calls you his little birdie

You would also be grouchy like Simon if you were stuck with sweet boy johnny 24/7 for the past several years. He's a bit of a nuisance but has caught on quickly that you aren't to be messed with, not roughly anyway. There are times he can be quite cuddly, and you'll allow it for a bit before he starts being a turd. You bet theres an ulterior motive, considering his attempts to mount you within the first few weeks of them being there. Johnny now has the scars to show that Kitty doesn't mess around and does indeed bite. John didn't scold you when you bit and scratched johnny after he did it. You sat behind john as he scolded him. It was justice, really.

But alas justice was rarely served these days when gaz started his antics. Just when you thought things would calm down when johnny wasn't on you as aggressively as before. But Gaz beat johnny at being an absolute knob-head as simon put it. He was very smart you had to give him that. A little evil if you were asked. Gaz loved to annoy you AND get you into trouble if he felt like it. You have a bit of a kink in your tail after gaz did his little tricks the first time.

You didn't wanna rough house with the beast, so he decided to knock over a vase and blamed it on you. "Kitty is the only one of us who likes to knock things off the counter." Gaz said to john with his ears down and tail tucked between his legs, good actor and a liar. John didn't miss a beat. That was a whole scene. Instead of just the lone vase, the entire counters were cleared when john went to grab you. Turns out barn cats are very good at evading people.

To be fair sitting on the counter, watching a spoon clatter and bounce on the tile floor was fun you didnt deny that and you would often watch john as you did it to watch his eye twitch in irritation. Getting his attention that way was fun because as soon as he got up, you were already way out of reach.

You still care about them to a degree. One might call it fondness. Johnny says, "You love us too bonnie just admit it." Maybe he's right. You won't be admitting it yet, you'll never hear the end of it from johnny and kyle.

(His name is Kyle, but they call him gaz? Kitty cannot comprehend this nickname. Simons nickname ghost makes sense. But don't get kitty started on Johnny's nickname, what kinda name is soap?!)

[cass-danny-weekend]

Cass/Danny Weekend - Fun Fact! Day 8

It's the final day of fun facts. Prompt releases are just around the corner. So let's wrap these posts up with a final word on Danny.

So the thing about Danny is that arguably he is really smart? In the traditional sense too. We talked about his Junior Space Cadet certificate in a previous post, and while I doubt it's anything like a true astronaut program, it's still a testament to his determination and ambition if nothing else. Yet we know from "Teacher of the Year" that Danny is something of a black sheep in his family because of his supposed intelligence. While Fentons only get A's and the occasional B (in the case of Jack), Danny struggles to keep up with his family's expectations. He's described as a C- student for a reason.

So… Danny's not smart. Or at least, we're not meant to think of him that way. But he has something else that works in his favor: his quick wit. And no, I don't just mean his quips and comebacks (although those are plenty fun too), it also means his adaptability and cleverness. For most of the show, and especially the first season, Danny is an underdog. He doesn't know how to fight, much less how to use all his powers. And he learns new powers all the time.

How has he survived this long? Because he knows how to play to his advantage. Think about it: Danny defeats Freakshow in "Reality Trip", not because he's more powerful, not because he suddenly wrestled the Reality Gauntlet away from him. No, he won because he used Freakshow's only greed and envy against him, tricked him into turning himself into a ghost and then souping him away into the thermos. Look at "One of a Kind", Danny found a way to communicate with Samson to come to his aid.

I could give more examples. "Maternal Instincts", he found a way to use the Plasmius Maximus against Vlad. "Pirate Radio", he rallied his classmates, many of which bullied or ignored him, to rescue their parents. "Frightmare", he's the first to figure out and break out of Nocturn's illusions.

The fandom might like to joke about how he's dense, but he's more observant than we give him credit for sometimes. Just like how Cass is observant--okay I'm laying it on a bit thick, but I think you get the idea.

Once again, thank you so much for joining us with these fun facts! I hope you've learned something new about these characters. And that it had your mind churning with some ideas as we head into May. We'll see you around for Cass/Danny Weekend!

- Mod Halfa

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Shadow and Paws

Chapter 2: Trust Issues

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 X hybrid reader

Warning: Mostly fluff, team building

Authors note: I hope yall enjoy this chapter, they aren’t together yet but they will be eventually. The reader’s nickname is Foxy

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist | Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The fire crackled softly, casting shifting shadows across the forest floor as the 141 team sat in a tense circle around the fox hybrid, who had introduced themselves as "Foxy." Their first meeting had been more of a standoff than an alliance, and while Price had given the signal to work together, trust was still tenuous. Foxy seemed to sense this, their eyes flickering from one face to the next, a knowing smile curling on their lips.

Captain Price leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Foxy. “We’ll give this a shot,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. That means learning to trust each other. No surprises, no games. If you’re keeping anything from us, now���s the time to say it.”

Foxy raised an eyebrow, their expression playfully defiant. “I told you—this is my territory. The rogues have been moving in, and I don’t plan on giving it up. If that’s not good enough for you, then maybe we’re wasting each other’s time.”

Ghost huffed, his eyes narrowing. “Your territory’s just woods. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than some fox’s backyard.”

Foxy’s gaze shifted to Ghost, meeting his glare head-on. “And maybe I have bigger things to worry about than trusting a bunch of outsiders with my life.” Their voice was light, but there was a bite to their words that made even Soap’s smirk falter.

Price sighed, the tension thickening between them. “Enough. We’re all here for a reason. Let’s see if you can back up your talk.” He rose to his feet, nodding toward the dark forest beyond their campfire. “You said this is your territory. Show us.”

Foxy’s eyes lit up, a playful glint sparking in their gaze. “All right, Captain. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

They moved through the forest at a brisk, Foxy leading the way with confident steps that barely disturbed the foliage underfoot. The team followed close behind, moving as a unit, each member quietly observing Foxy’s movements. Every few steps, Foxy would throw a glance over their shoulder, as if making sure they hadn’t lost anyone.

After a while, they came to a clearing with a small waterfall cascading into a narrow stream. Foxy crouched by the edge, motioning for the others to join. “Water here’s fresh,” they murmured, dipping a hand in and cupping some to their lips. “One of the few reliable sources around here.”

Soap crouched next to them, watching intently. “You know your stuff,” he admitted with a nod. “How long you been out here?”

“Long enough to know how to survive,” Foxy replied, a hint of pride in their voice. They scanned the area, their nose twitching as they scented the air. “We’ll take a short rest here. But don’t get too comfortable. This place isn’t as safe as it looks.”

Price leaned against a nearby tree, watching as Foxy moved with a grace that even Ghost seemed to begrudgingly respect. They settled into a rhythm of scouting and teaching, the team following Foxy’s lead as they learned the tricks of survival in the wild. After a while, Foxy paused, their gaze flickering to Soap.

“You,” they said, smirking, “think you’re up for a little challenge?”

Soap grinned, his eyes gleaming. “Always.”

Foxy took a few steps back, gesturing toward the waterfall. “The stones leading across the water are slippery, and the current is stronger than it looks. But if you make it to the other side without slipping, I’ll take you all to one of my hidden lookout spots—a place even the rogues haven’t found.”

Soap’s grin widened, his tail giving a playful wag. “Watch and learn,” he said, launching himself forward, hopping from stone to stone with surprising agility. He made it halfway across, the team watching with bated breath, when his foot slipped. He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself on a nearby boulder, his expression a mix of frustration and laughter.

Foxy chuckled, crossing their arms. “Not bad. But try again, and this time… trust your instincts, not your strength.”

Soap tried again, this time adjusting his movements to match the rhythm of the water. He moved with a newfound grace, reaching the other side with a triumphant grin. “How’s that?”

Foxy gave him a nod of approval, their eyes sparking with admiration. “Not bad, soldier. You might survive out here yet.”

They returned to the group, the camaraderie between Soap and Foxy settling some of the initial tension. Next, Foxy turned to Ghost, a challenging gleam in their eye. “What about you? Think you can handle yourself in the dark?”

Ghost shrugged, his panther instincts attuned to shadowed places. “I am the dark,” he replied, his voice barely more than a growl.

Foxy led Ghost a few paces into the trees, stopping at the edge of a dense thicket. “There’s a hidden path through here,” they explained. “It’s nearly invisible, and only those with a sharp eye will notice it. You find it, you can lead us.”

Ghost examined the thicket, narrowing his eyes. His movements were measured, methodical, as he searched for any sign of a trail. After a few moments, he spotted a faint indentation in the ground—a nearly undetectable path winding through the shadows. Without a word, he gestured for the others to follow, leading them through the hidden trail with Foxy following closely behind, a hint of approval in their gaze.

As they continued, Gaz finally spoke up. “You’re good at this, Foxy,” he murmured. “How did you learn all this?”

Foxy shrugged, their gaze shifting to the treetops where Gaz often perched in falcon form. “You learn a lot when you don’t have anyone else to rely on. Out here, you either adapt, or you don’t last long.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully. “Fair enough. But out here… it’s better when you’re not alone.”

For a moment, Foxy’s gaze softened, their usual guarded expression faltering. “Maybe,” they murmured, looking away. “But trust is dangerous.”

Price watched this exchange in silence, his wolf instincts sensing the weight behind Foxy’s words. He stepped forward, meeting their gaze. “We’re all taking a risk here. But if we’re going to survive, we need to start acting like a pack.”

Foxy held his gaze, something shifting in their eyes. After a moment, they gave a single nod. “Then let’s make sure we all know our place in this pack. You’ve shown me your skills, but survival out here requires more than muscle.”

They turned, gesturing toward a rocky incline leading up to a high vantage point overlooking the forest. “Up there. I want to see how each of you handles an ambush scenario. You make it to the top without getting ‘caught,’ and maybe I’ll start believing you’re more than a bunch of brutes.”

Soap grinned, taking the lead, darting up the incline with surprising agility, his husky instincts guiding him. He made it halfway before Foxy, moving with fox-like stealth, appeared from behind a boulder, forcing him to retreat. Gaz went next, taking to the air and weaving through the branches, but Foxy anticipated his movements, cutting him off with quick, calculated moves.

Ghost and Price exchanged a look, understanding that this was as much about strategy as it was about skill. They worked together, moving in tandem to flank Foxy, keeping their movements quiet and coordinated. Foxy, caught off guard by their teamwork, tried to counter, but the combined effort was too much. Price and Ghost reached the top together, their breaths coming in quiet, controlled pants.

When they turned, Foxy was watching them, a new respect in their gaze. “Impressive,” they admitted. “Maybe you’re more than brutes after all.”

They returned to the campfire, where the mood had lightened, the initial tension beginning to ease. Soap clapped a hand on Foxy’s shoulder, grinning. “You’re not half-bad yourself, fox. Think you’re finally starting to warm up to us?”

Foxy smirked, their eyes gleaming with playful defiance. “Don’t get too comfortable, soldier. This is still my territory.”

Price chuckled, settling by the fire as he felt the faintest glimmer of trust begin to form between them. The fox hybrid might be an enigma, but they had earned a place among the team—for now. And as the firelight flickered, casting shadows across the forest, he couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

————————

End Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More of the Mecha AU-AU goop whilst I studiously ignore that I have to go back to work tomorrow when I have spent the last week doing fuck all. More Prowl!

Prowl didn’t notice it immediately, but once he did the pieces all snapped together very quickly.

He was very careful to not use ‘we’ when he spoke about his mech. He was very careful to not reveal any kind of deeper connection than pilot and AI. He spoke about Jazz like the other pilots spoke about their mechs - like he was his car.

First Aid did not.

First Aid always said ‘we’ without any hesitation or a second of thought - he didn’t even stop and correct himself after speaking. He spoke as if Vortex were a colleague, a friend, and he’d visit it daily doing god knows what in the cockpit - when asked, he said he was decompressing as the hangar was quieter and nobody came near. On the days he didn’t eat in the cafeteria, he was sat by his mech. Sometimes he’d see him eating whilst watching them scrub the gore of off his mech, seemingly unfazed at seeing alien innards being extracted from joints or at the smell of decomposing organs.

Something wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been that he wasn’t a trained pilot, so he was assigning emotions to it - even the other staff at the facility spoke about the mechs as if they were non-sentient beings. Shit, even the public did. They had trading cards like tanks did. They had merch. They weren’t seen as being alive, because they shouldn’t be.

Jazz hadn’t mentioned anyone else being subject to the same experiment that he had. As far as he knew, Jazz was the only one, or the only one to survive - maybe a prototype, maybe the culmination of decades of research. But the fact remained - if Jazz didn’t mention it, he didn’t know that anyone else like him existed.

And Vortex may have been more sentient than they realised.

They thought its AI was just faulty. The going theory in engineering was that it was misidentifying targets because it was being overzealous in its ‘protect the pilot’ objective, and the rumours on base said it was haunted. That it only killed people so it wouldn’t be alone. Prowl wasn’t convinced it was an issue with an AI any more.

Prowl felt his stomach tighten as fear gripped his chest when he saw First Aid happily grab his lunch to go and trapeze down to the hangar to eat with his mech. Did he know? Did he know that it wasn’t an AI, not quite a ghost? Was he in danger? Was the AI going to misidentify him as a target one day too?

All the weird things Vortex did, everything out of character for First Aid, suddenly made sense. It wasn’t the sweet medic with slightly-too-cold hands and the kind demeanour. That wasn’t anything he was capable of, it couldn’t be. No; it had to be Vortex.

So what the hell was he? Who the hell was he? What kind of person did he have to be to be capable of that? To even have those kinds of ideas, to trick the maintenance droids into giving him upgrades he wasn’t scheduled for, to give him internal limbs the mechs weren’t even supposed to have – for what means? What ends? And, worst of all, if he were human – how did he end up there?

Jazz didn’t know. He had never heard of anyone with that call-sign, he didn’t know anyone who fought like he did, he didn’t see or hear of anyone else whilst he was in the facility or whilst he was first being set up. If they were military, they never crossed paths.

He promised to look into it as much as he could.

Prowl promised that he would do the same.

The opportunity came in an unguarded laptop. Nobody was looking, and the area was devoid of cameras. Where the cameras came back in were so busy it was impossible to tell who had been where. Borrowing it on an extended term with assumed permission, it slipped neatly into his bag, and he walked with purpose back to his room.

Jazz had showed him how to cover his tracks before - he’d been very insistent that he had learned how. Prowl wasn’t very good at it, but it would be enough for now. Thinking back hard to his lessons and staring at the password protected screen, he got to work.

There was a name. Svastjan Vasylvych Lomachenko.

All documents and files relating to him were password protected - classified. Apparently he had caused them quite a headache back in the day - he looked to have been on a few payrolls that had them on edge. He couldn’t crack any of them – Jazz hadn’t quite gotten to teaching him any of that and he’d never had any reason at all to break into anywhere. Sleuthing and gathering intel was more Jazz’s speed – Prowl was much better secluded away filtering through it all for what they needed. He chewed his bottom lip and wondered if there was a way to make Jazz more portable. Maybe Wheeljack would do it without asking many questions…?

A little more digging, and spades of patience, earned him more information.

A number. 004. This one seemed to be attached to Svastjan. Another name: Combaticon. The numbers 001 through to 005 were pinned to the name.

Prowl drummed his fingers on the desk. What was the connection between Svastjan, 004, and Vortex? Training material? Had they captured his movements to programme them into the mech? Had he been bought out and loaned his services and expertise to them?

A photograph caught his eye. Five men looking directly at the camera, all crammed into a car. Prowl couldn’t tell what model - he could only see the cabin inside - but he saw the glass in the windows was shattered and the interior pockmarked by bullet holes.

Prowl felt like they were all poised to leap through at him and slash his throat if he looked away. The tallest man to the left was the only one who wasn’t smiling, too busy drawing from his cigarette and looking so above it all. His hand was bandaged and blood was starting to bloom around his knuckles, his dark hair smoothed back and light stubble speckled his jaw. He had his other hand on the steering wheel - he was driving. The man next to him was grinning widely, smeared with soot and missing a front tooth. His right arm was in a sling, his left out the window, probably grabbing the roof. His hair was cropped short and full of dust.

In the back seats, a tall man was having his cigarette lit by a shorter one in a gaudy golden jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist. His face was obscured by what looked like a smear on the lens. The taller man had broad shoulders, and seemed to have one hand on the back of the drivers seat.

There was another man in the photo, but Prowl didn’t notice them.

He was too busy looking at the watch.

Frowning, he zoomed in. That watch was familiar, he’d seen it before. Prowl was not the type to go for designer watches, he liked a good CASIO and that was about as far as his tastes went, so he knew he wasn’t staring at something he’d been browsing for himself. It was analogue, and Jazz had only worn digital.

Where had he seen that watch before?

He felt his eyes droop over breakfast the next morning. He’d been up way too late – and then the alarm had gone off in the middle of the night signalling an attack, and then he’d been deployed, and then he’d had to go to medical for treatment after a particularly harsh whack had him slamming his head on the cockpit and then the list of things he had to do just kept growing and growing until he'd given up on getting any sleep and had gone down to get breakfast.

All in all, he felt a bit shit. He held his coffee tightly in his hands, almost worshipping it. His stomach turned at the thought of eating anything, but he knew that he’d be suffering for it later if he didn’t get something in him. Two slices of bread topped with cheese stared up at him mockingly from his plate. He narrowed his eyes at it. If he had to eat, he wanted lohikeitto – something that would send him into the coma he so desperately wanted to be in.

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” A voice shouted. Prowl almost leaped out of his skin. A man in purple rimmed sunglasses marched over to him, leaning dramatically against the table. “I was worried I missed you, I heard you got injured and you weren’t in medical.”

“Swindle.” Prowl greeted him with an incline of his head. “What can I help you with?”

“You’re still a security guy, right?”

“I suppose so.” When he wasn’t busy piloting and assisting tactical, security pinched him. He had straddled tactical and security before - the two often went hand in hand so it helped to be on both sides.

“Perfect.” He slumped down into the chair opposite him and sighed with his head in his hand. “We’ve been having some weird traffic on our servers. It’s like something- or should I say someone- is managing to access places that should be under heavy locks and keys.”

“So there’s been a security breech?”

“If there were, it would trigger the correct procedure and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We’d be having a very different one. It’s like they’re just bypassing it all, or the protections aren’t there anymore.”

“Are you suggesting it’s me?” Prowl knitted his fingers together and leaned forwards. “That’s quite a steep accusation to make.”

“If anyone knew how to do it, it would be you.” Swindle snidely replied. “So forgive the caution. Unfortunately for us, the data that’s been accessed is something wildly unrelated to you or your known interests.”

“What data is it? Out of interest?”

“Files on a man called Svastjan.”

Prowl fought hard to school his expression. He knew this would be coming. Luckily, it didn’t take much effort for him to carefully maintain his blank expression.

“Ah. Yes. I see. Unfortunately I cannot help you there - the name means nothing to me, and so I cannot advise who would be best to go to.”

“We’ve already gone to the people of interest.” Swindle chewed his nails. “One’s a total dumbass who I’m amazed can tie his own shoelaces. Not a single bone in his body capable of using the intranet. We’re struggling to track the device that did it, too. Are you able to help?”

Prowl pursed his lips. “Aren’t you able to ask anyone else? Someone who’s actually in security?”

“The data is… sensitive. I need an individual who is already of a like mind, so to say.” Swindle was giving him a strange look. “Understand?”

Of a like mind? His brow knitted together in confusion. What on Earth did he have in common with Swindle? What-

Oh. Of course. His face dropped in realisation. Swindle knew about Jazz, and he knew that Prowl had found out too. They were both in on the same terrible secret. And he was revealing that the secret got bigger: there was another one.

“Are you sure you should be telling me this? I could be a whistleblower.”

“Oh, Prowl, you sweetheart. Didn’t you know? The scum rises to the top. You’re not a whistleblower - you’re an accomplice. You’ve already been very quiet.”

The message was clear. If we go down, you’re coming with us.

He thought of Jazz. If the operation were to shut down, Jasper would be lost forever. His jaw tightened. God damn you, Swindle.

“If I’m sticking my neck out for you, I want two things.” Prowl raised two fingers. “One, I want a raise. A significant one. If I’m at this much risk I want a salary that reflects it. Two, you’re going to tell me which one Svastjan is.”

“Done.” Swindle slapped the table. “You’ll get a bigger room, too. Make the deal sweeter. Second is a bit harder.” He adjusted his collar, pulling away the silk shirt as he swallowed hard. “You see…” he glanced to the rest of the room.

On their own they were two rather unremarkable men. Nobody paid them too much mind unless they had any reason to - otherwise, they were left quite alone.

And people were starting to stare. Watching them closely, leaning in to whisper to friends as they speculated what they were talking about with such intensity.

Prowl leaned back.

“I’ll be on the bridge inspecting Jazz in two hours.” He picked up his abandoned spoon. His soup was probably arctic now. Swindle grinned at him.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

Jazz was almost vibrating when Prowl walked down the catwalk to him. Prowl couldn’t help but smile at him, the corners of his eyes creasing.

[I HEAR YOU CRACKED A BIG EGG, PROWLER <3]

“I got Swindles attention.” Prowl sighed as he sat down neatly in the pilots chair. “We’re blackmailing each other now. So much for a quiet life.”

[I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D BE CAPABLE OF ONE]

“I’m being punished.” Prowl leaned in. “Swindle’s coming to give me the last piece of info. I have a name, an id number, and the squad name. I’m fairly certain I know which mech they are, but I want to be absolutely certain before I make my next move.”

[YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD]

[DOES SWINDLE KNOW ABOUT ME?]

“I think he’s one of the people who orchestrated it.” Prowl pressed his lips together. “We can safely assume the entirety of high command are complicit, and a few other individuals also.”

[CAN I SQUISH HIM?]

“Once my raise comes through.” Prowl linked his fingers together, rubbing his thumbs against each other in a soothing motion. “Did you manage to find anything?”

[I DID, HOWEVER IT WILL HAVE TO WAIT - SWINDLE IS HERE]

“Shit, already?!”

Jazz trembled with a laugh, the sound of it mechanically melodious. [WHY THE STRESS? IT’S GONNA BE FINE]

“I wanted more time to debrief with you.” Prowl ran his hand through his hair. “By design, huh?”

[IT’S RUDE TO KEEP HIM WAITING, PROWLER <3 SEE YOU SOON]

Prowl hopped down out of the cockpit onto the catwalk, and walked over to Swindle. The man met him with a wave and a wink.

“Let’s get to it then, shall we? There’s no point to the pleasantries when we both know we’ve been naughty.” Swindle leaned against the railing and looked out over the hangar, beckoning Prowl forwards conspiratorially. Prowl stood next to him.

Swindle nodded forwards. “There’s your mech.”

Prowl glanced up at the hangar.

The mechs between his bay and bay 11 were empty – the mechs inside were off for repairs. In bay 11 stood Vortex, a red-headed man was stood next to it. They were too far to see both who it was and what they were doing, but Prowl could take a guess at the former.

“Vortex?” Prowl quietly said. Swindle nodded.

“Yup.” He popped the P.

“Thank you. That might help the investigation some.” He paused for a beat. “What makes you think it’s not him looking himself up?”

“Two reasons. One, he’s not that vain. Two, his style of infiltrating is… different. You can tell when it’s him.”

“I suppose it’s no guessing for you who’s messing with the morning memos, then.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to give that one away for free. It’s him.”

“I wonder why?”

“He’s really bored. Desperately hard to entertain.”

“You seem to know him quite well.”

“I was there from when he was admitted until he was interred into that metal machine.” Swindle quickly replied. “I saw enough to know.”

“Right.”

“Well, that’s everything then. I’ll pass on the details of your pay rise and your room transfer later today, after you’ve had a nap. You look terrible.” Swindle pushed himself back off the railing with a huff and held his hand out to him. His sleeve pulled back, revealing his watch.

A very, very familiar watch. Prowl felt his stomach hit the floor. Swindle had the same watch as the mystery man in the photograph.

Prowl took it and quickly shook it, keen to get him moving so he could process it and debrief Jazz.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Swindle smiled at him. Prowl mutely nodded. Swindle narrowed his eyes at him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Your watch, it’s very familiar. I’m trying to think of where I’ve seen it before.”

“Oh, this old thing? It was a gift from my Commander back in the day, you know. I’m sure it’s just some cheap thing off the shelf.”

“I didn’t take you for the type to wear cheap watches.”

“I’m a nostalgic guy.”

Stiffly, Prowl stepped back. “I wont keep you any longer, I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Extremely so! Thank you, Prowl, you’ve really saved my backside.”

“Thank me when I’ve found the culprit.”

Swindle grinned.

Back in Jazz, he paced.

“Swindle is the man in the photograph - I know it. His watch is very distinct. I checked - they’re very rare, they were made by one gentleman in London, - and Swindles watch is exactly the same. He knew Svastjan. What I don’t get is why he’d lie about its value, he’s not the type to be modest.”

[WHO KNOWS ABOUT THE WATCH – SWINDLE’S A MYSTERY. SO HE KNOWS VORTEX? NO WONDER HE WONT GO NEAR HIM]

“You’d think old friends would be keen for a reunion.”

[I’VE FOUND COMPELLING EVIDENCE THAT SWINDLE SOLD THEM OUT – KNOWING THAT HE KNEW VORTEX, I IMAGINE IT WAS TO SAVE HIMSELF]

“He sold them out?”

[THE COMBATICONS, TO BE PRECISE. RECORDS HAVE NUMBERS 001 THROUGH TO 005, BUT 005 IS MARKED AS REDUNDANT. THIS MUST HAVE BEEN SWINDLES NUMBER. VORTEX IS 004, AND HE SEEMS TO BE A PROTOTYPE - BUT THE WAY HE FIGHTS ISN’T A SIDE EFFECT, IT’S WHY HE WAS CHOSEN.] the text rolled across the screen, Prowls eyes darting as he raced to keep up with him. [I’VE FOUND FOOTAGE AND REPORTS ABOUT HIM WHILE HE WAS STILL ALIVE AND HE’S JUST AS BRUTAL. THE GROUP WAS CAPTURED ON AN ANONYMOUS TIP, WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE SWINDLE. HE KNEW THEIR JIG WAS UP, AND HE WANTED LENIENCY.]

“And leniency he got, fuck me. He sold them all out for this?” Prowl felt disgusted. “No wonder he steers well clear of Vortex.”

[EVEN WEIRDER THOUGH - 001 TO 003 HAVE NEVER BEEN ACTIVATED. THEY’RE STILL ON ICE]

“Maybe Vortex was too much? They thought the rest of the team would be like that?”

[WHO KNOWS? THE BIGGER QUESTION IS WHY THEY DIDN’T START AT 001.]

“Who is 001?”

[CALL-SIGN ONSLAUGHT. A MAN CALLED OSCAR DEN KONING, HE WAS THEIR COMMANDER. I MET HIM A FEW TIMES, ACTUALLY. STERN, SCARY, BUT FAIR.]

“Did you ever meet the others?” Prowl sat up straighter.

[NO - HE WAS QUITE CAREFUL TO KEEP ME AWAY FROM THEM, SO I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THEM. I WAS ONE OF HIS INFORMATION BROKERS, HE DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE ME GETTING ALL MIXED UP WITH HIS TEAM. SEEING VORTEX NOW, I DON’T BLAME HIM.]

“He sure chose his moments to be a gentleman.” Prowl grumbled. “So.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Vortex is Svastjan, and for whatever reason First Aid is the first person he hasn’t killed or mentally broken. Swindle is the reason he is in a mech. They were both previously colleagues working together under Onslaught – do we have names for the other two?”

[I’LL NEED A LITTLE MORE TIME]

“Thank you, love. You’ve done a lot already.”

[SO HAVE YOU! <3 WHAT’S THE PLAN?]

“I suppose we find out exactly what’s going on here.” Prowl pressed his fingers together. “I’m not letting this happen to anyone else.”

Swindle sure chose his moments to be a gentleman too.

Not long after their little chat, he received a placement notice. He was on loan to the American Shatterdome – apparently, they’d had a surge of new recruits following an uptick in funding after their extremely rough winter, and they were in need of a few extra teachers. Prowl had been put forwards as a candidate.

He was willing to bet that Swindle had a hand in that choice, bastard. He’d played him like a fucking fiddle, made him spill his guts without even realising that he’d done it. Prowl was notorious for his teaching methods – they didn’t like to show him off to their allies as he wasn’t the nicest, that often fell to people like Hot Rod and Arcee, when they still had her. So no, he hadn’t been chosen for his sunny disposition – he had been chosen because he was a liability and he was starting to get a bit too close to something.

Removing him from the sanctity of his home base and throwing him into the deep end of a task he hadn’t done since he’d started getting greys was certain to keep him much, much too busy to even think about trying to dig deeper.

Prowl stared out over the ocean, resting against the railing. Ice cold metal bit into his hands through his thin woollen gloves, the soft down in his sleeves protecting his arms. Spring hadn’t come in yet, and there was still a harsh bite to the air. His breath condensed in clouds around him, making him look like a dragon.

Jazz would have liked it.

The thought didn’t pull as hard at his chest as it used to.

[ct-cactus]

Demon Slayer AU where everything is the same except Yoriichi is a ghost.

He’s corporal/people can see him, he can change his appearance from when he was a kid to when he was old.

He follows Tanjiro around. They met sometime before the Hashira Training Arc for sure, but how early depends on what the writer decides. Has he been there since pre-canon? Or did he show up after the Entertainment District Arc (would honestly make most sense since Tanjiro didn’t know about Sun Breathing until after Mugen Train, but again this is an AU).

He meets Muichiro, and after it clicks that he’s Michikatsu’s descendant Yoriichi follows him around too, eager to be close with the family he could never have.

Depending on when they met, Yoriichi could help Muichiro recover is missing memories earlier than in canon.

Other things about/to include in the AU:

Kamaboko Squad centric (Tanjiro, Nezuko, Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kanao, Genya, AND Aoi and Senjuro)

each member gets a one-on-one interaction with him at some point, which will add to their own personal character growth

Whether or not Yoriichi can physically interact with others is up to the writer

making him able to fight demons seems kinda OP, so unless the writer can find a way to make it make sense about how he can maybe don’t do that

maybe he can exude enough strength to stun demons, but not fully kill them

can he pick things up, or do they just pass through him?

He helps train Tanjiro, making him more proficient in Sun Breathing

this can give Tanjiro more time to hone is Water Breathing. It always irked me that Tanjiro didn’t practice Water Breathing as much when he discovered Sun Breathing (don’t quote me on that, I get my info from TikToks and reaction videos. But why learn two breathing styles and not increase your skill in both?)

this can allow a Giyuu training session in the Hashira Training Arc that we didn’t get to see

Expanding on Yoriichi changing his age: I feel like the older he presents himself, the more power he would have. So when he’s fighting, he’s somewhere between his 20s and 80s. However, because this takes up a lot of energy, when he’s not fighting he’s typically in the form of himself as a child or in his teens

whether or not his mentality/maturity is affected when he’s at different ages is up to the writer so long as it’s not portrayed in an erotic/kinky way

Yoriichi can give tips to the Hashiras that those in the Sengoku Era used (information always has the potential to be forgotten, so maybe there were some tricks that were forgotten about?)

can provide more information about Muzan and his weaknesses, since he was the only swordsman who came close to killing the Demon King

Interactions with Lady Tamayo and Yushiro!

Fluffy moments! Slice of Life, Found Family, all the tropes! Let him be the father to the Kamaboko Squad that they never had/lost (let him have the chance to be the father he never got to be)

Lots of interactions with Genya (is my favoritism showing?)

bonding over being the younger brother

bonding over their endless love for their older brothers

bonding over their older brothers who do so much to hurt them, but they just can’t stop admiring them

Let Yoriichi give Sanemi a talking to

yes, I understand why Sanemi acted towards Genya the way he did. He wanted to protect him, keep him out of danger. However. Good intentions DO NOT give you a free pass on bad actions.

the way that Sanemi treated Genya was cruel and frankly unacceptable; he could’ve gone about it in a much more mature manner

Interactions with Giyuu and Yoriichi!!

mostly bc Giyuu is my fav Hashira, but I notice a lot of similarities between them

Maybe Yoriichi can provide information about Kokushibo/Uppermoon 1?

Yoriichi has the flute that Michikatsu gave him with him in his ghost form

Additional weaknesses up to the writer (this goes for powers too)

Kamaboko Squad showing Yoriichi present-day things

A mix of fluff, angst, etc.

rating is up to the author

ANY SHIP is welcome so long as it is:

legal

not a pro-ship

treated respectfully/with some level of understanding

^^continuing from this, it doesn’t matter if you include SaneKane, SaneGiyuu, ShinoGiyuu, ShinoMitsu, SaneMitsu, ObaGiyuu, UzuRen, or any other pairing, polyamorous included. It doesn’t matter if there’s no ships at all. Everyone has there own preferences, and it’s up to both the reader and the writer to be respectful about it

This is all I’ve come up with for now! I’ll most likely come back and add more at some point, but if you have any ideas or suggestions let me know too!

If you end up using this idea, credit me with my Tumblr, and if you want to as well my AO3 which can be found in my profile :)

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Emily by L. M. Montgomery

Emily Starr never knew what it was to be lonely—until her beloved father died. Now Emily's an orphan, and her mother's snobbish relatives are taking her to live with them at New Moon Farm. She's sure she won't be happy. Emily deals with stiff, stern Aunt Elizabeth and her malicious classmates by holding her head high and using her quick wit. Things begin to change when she makes friends: with Teddy, who does marvelous drawings; with Perry, who's sailed all over the world with his father yet has never been to school; and above all, with Ilse, a tomboy with a blazing temper. Amazingly, Emily finds New Moon beautiful and fascinating. With new friends and adventures, Emily might someday think of herself as Emily of New Moon.

Savvy by Ingrid Law

For generations, the Beaumont family has harbored a magical secret. They each possess a "savvy" -a special supernatural power that strikes when they turn thirteen. Grandpa Bomba moves mountains, her older brothers create hurricanes and spark electricity . . . and now it's the eve of Mibs's big day.

As if waiting weren't hard enough, the family gets scary news two days before Mibs's birthday: Poppa has been in a terrible accident. Mibs develops the singular mission to get to the hospital and prove that her new power can save her dad. So she sneaks onto a salesman's bus . . . only to find the bus heading in the opposite direction. Suddenly Mibs finds herself on an unforgettable odyssey that will force her to make sense of growing up-and of other people, who might also have a few secrets hidden just beneath the skin.

The Last Apprentice by Joseph Delaney

Thomas Ward is the seventh son of a seventh son and has been apprenticed to the local Spook. The job is hard, the Spook is distant and many apprentices have failed before Thomas. Somehow Thomas must learn how to exorcise ghosts, contain witches and bind boggarts. But when he is tricked into freeing Mother Malkin, the most evil witch in the County, the horror begins...

The View from Saturday by E. L. Konigsburg

How has Mrs. Olinski chosen her sixth-grade Academic Bowl team? She had a number of answers. But were any of them true? How had she really chosen Noah and Nadia and Ethan and Julian? And why did they make such a good team? It was a surprise to a lot of people when Mrs. Olinski's team won the sixth-grade Academic Bowl contest at Epiphany Middle School. It was an even bigger surprise when they beat the seventh grade and the eighth grade, too. And when they went on to even greater victories, everyone began to ask: How did it happen?

It happened at least partly because Noah had been the best man (quite by accident) at the wedding of Ethan's grandmother and Nadia's grandfather. It happened because Nadia discovered that she could not let a lot of baby turtles die. It happened when Ethan could not let Julian face disaster alone. And it happened because Julian valued something important in himself and saw in the other three something he also valued.

Mrs. Olinski, returning to teaching after having been injured in an automobile accident, found that her Academic Bowl team became her answer to finding confidence and success. What she did not know, at least at first, was that her team knew more than she did the answer to why they had been chosen.

The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor

When Alyss Heart, newly orphaned heir to the Wonderland throne, flees through the Pool of Tears to escape her murderous Aunt Redd, she finds herself lost and alone in Victorian London. Befriended by an aspiring author named Lewis Carrol, Alyss tells the violent, heartbreaking story of her young life. Alyss trusts this author to tell the truth so that someone, somewhere will find her and bring her home. But he gets the story all wrong. He even spells her name incorrectly!

Fortunately, Royal Bodyguard Hatter Madigan knows all too well the awful truth of Alyss' story - and he's searching every corner of our world to find the lost princess and return her to Wonderland, to battle Redd for her rightful place as the Queen of Hearts.

Misty by Marguerite Henry

"You'll never catch the Phantom," says Grandpa. "That horse is fast as the wind. She's escaped from every roundup on the island!" But Paul and Maureen want the beautiful wild mare for their very own. "I'm going to capture her myself," says Paul.

When Paul finally overtakes the Phantom, he makes a surprising discovery. Running at her side is a brand-new, silvery-gray colt - Misty!

East by Edith Pattou

Rose has always been different.

Since the day she was born, it was clear she had a special fate. Her superstitious mother keeps the unusual circumstances of Rose's birth a secret, hoping to prevent her adventurous daughter from leaving home... but she can't suppress Rose's true nature forever.

So when an enormous white bear shows up one cold autumn evening and asks teenage Rose to come away with it--in exchange for health and prosperity for her ailing family--she readily agrees.

Rose travels on the bear's broad back to a distant and empty castle, where she is nightly joined by a mysterious stranger. In discovering his identity, she loses her heart-- and finds her purpose--and realizes her journey has only just begun.

The Midwife's Apprentice by Karen Cushman

The girl known only as Brat has no family, no home, and no future until she meets Jane the Midwife and becomes her apprentice. As she helps the sharp-tempered Jane deliver babies, Brat--who renames herself Alyce--gains knowledge, confidence, and the courage to want something from life: "A full belly, a contented heart, and a place in this world." Medieval village life makes a lively backdrop for the funny, poignant story of how Alyce gets what she wants.

Circle of Magic by Tamora Pierce

With her gift of weaving silk thread and creating light, Sandry is brought to the Winding Circle community. There she meets Briar, a former thief who has a way with plants; Daja, an outcast gifted at metalcraft; and Tris, whose connection with the weather unsettles everyone, including herself. At Winding Circle, the four misfits are taught how to use their magic - and to trust one another. But then disaster strikes their new home. Can Sandry weave together four kinds of magical power and save herself, her friends, and the one place where they've ever been accepted?

Catherine, Called Birdy by Karen Cushman

Catherine feels trapped. Her father is determined to marry her off to a rich man--any rich man, no matter how awful.

But by wit, trickery, and luck, Catherine manages to send several would-be husbands packing. Then a shaggy-bearded suitor from the north comes to call--by far the oldest, ugliest, most revolting suitor of them all.

Unfortunately, he is also the richest.

Can a sharp-tongued, high-spirited, clever young maiden with a mind of her own actually lose the battle against an ill-mannered, piglike lord and an unimaginative, greedy toad of a father?

Deus! Not if Catherine has anything to say about it!

[five-rivers]

providence 8

[Prompts used are from @kinglazrus@lexiepiper and @ash-rabbit. Special thanks to @jackdaw-sprite @datawyrms and Lexie for beta and encouragement! You can read the full fic here. Just one more chapter after this!]

Danny wasn’t interested in another round of verbal sparring with the Observants.  Riling them up was fun, but interacting with people who looked down on him that much was exhausting.  It wasn’t like he had extended conversations with his parents while in ghost form, either.  

So, it was time to use Clockwork’s trick.  

Danny floated over the sands of the Great Desert of Time and closed his eyes, reaching for the feeling of falling between and beyond, the feeling of stepping back, past the moment of notice and recognition.  

He’d been practicing.  But he still couldn’t do more than touch that feeling.  He wasn’t going to be able to keep it up the whole way to the Observant’s headquarters.  

He flew away from the desert, then back through the Time Locked Lands.  He stopped by Dora’s island again to orient himself, and let her know he’d gotten what he needed.  Then, he angled himself in the direction of the Observants and shot off, fast as he could, pausing every so often to hide himself again.  

His work paid off when the Observant didn’t come out to intercept him when he neared the building.  The other Observants didn’t seem to see him, either, which was delightful.  Seeing stuff was their whole thing, and they couldn’t see him.  It made him want to giggle.  

He didn’t.  He didn’t think that this trick covered sound.  Although maybe it did.  Sound occurred in time as much as light.  But ghost stuff didn’t always follow what Danny considered logical sense.  

He reached the doors, waited for an Observant to fly through, opening it for him, and slipped in.  Now, where to drop it where the Observants could find it?  Should he stick a note on it?  Or, ooh, he could do some spying.  A bit of payback for how they’d been watching him literally all the time.  

The decor in the halls was eye themed, of course.  The doors had eye shaped windows and keyholes.  The moulding on the walls was sculpted to resemble eyes.  There were actual eyes set into the walls at regular intervals.  They moved, following the Observants as they flew up and down the corridor.  

He trailed after some of them, wanting to see what they were doing, but backed off when they went through doors.  The front door had enough traffic that he could be reasonably sure he could get out, but the smaller doors in the hallways were different.  He didn’t want to get stuck.  

But he did look, leaning around Observants to peer in.  Most of the rooms were quite boring.  Offices, basically.  A small library that Jazz or Ghost Writer probably would have been interested in.  

Other rooms were interesting, if not horrible.  A room full of faintly glowing green and red orbs floating in jars - that Danny only later realized had been solid-colored ghost eyes.  A sort of reverse waterfall.  A series of rectangular pools.  

Most interesting to Danny was a room with a pair of Observants taking notes in front of a time viewer.  The scene on the time viewer was frozen, but Danny could see Clockwork talking to a group of Observants on it.  But that’s all he could see before the door was closed.  

Then, Danny heard raised voices.  Curious, he followed them to a closed door.  

“Clearly not!  If you were, you would still have your eye on him!”  

There was a pause, and Danny wasn’t sure if the person who spoke next was one of the previous speakers or a new one.  Danny might be able to tell the Observants apart by sight, but they all sounded the same to him.  

“This– This idea was doomed to fail from the beginning.  Using the Phantom, the very thing that caused the damage in the first place, is absurd.”

“It is working.  We need only the sand, and there will be a new tool in our hand, one to rival the timekeeper!  And every error we made in making him, we can learn from!”

Danny frowned.  They made Clockwork.  Was he hearing that right?

“We can bind Phantom so thoroughly that he will never rebel as the timekeeper does, and considering the timekeeper’s attachment–  I see him!”

Danny had slipped, falling back into normal, visible, noticeable time, and in the second it took him to realize that the Observants had started converging.  

Naturally, Danny fought.  Dodging, punching, phasing, ice, ectoblast, shield push, swipe, punch, shield again, more ice, invisi– Didn’t work against these guys at all, drop that.  He used the thermos until it was full.  He wailed until he was on the brink of collapse.  He even threw the sand at them and phased through a bunch of walls in human form.  But there were just so many Observants.  

Danny’s head cracked against the hallway floor - which was, oddly enough, linoleum - as Observants piled on top of him.  He snarled and twisted, but he’d been fighting for forever and he couldn’t get free.  He was stuck.  

“How did he sneak past us?”

“How did he sneak past you?  It was your duty to watch him!”

Danny felt a clawed hand pull first at his hair, then his clothing, and he rolled his eyes back as far as he could to see the blurry outline of an Observant -  a new one - poking and prodding at him.  

“Time sand,” said the new Observant, “and the timekeeper’s meddling.  He teaches things he has no business dealing with at all.”

“Look,” said one of the Observants, louder than the others, “my fellows, Observe!  Will we really reject what has been delivered to us, with every component in our hands?”

There was an overwhelming chorus of nos and Danny was carried off.  

.

Danny was stupid.  This was a fact.  He was stupid.  The biggest, dumbest idiot in the entire universe.  Because only a complete moron would have missed that their own name was on the list of things to fetch for the Observants to make their tool.

Not that they’d actually needed anything to make Danny their tool or their fool.  

He twisted in their grip, trying to either break it or bite one of them.  “Let me go!”

“After you agreed to deliver yourself to us?” asked one of the Observants.  “There are few means by which we can affect the world.  We will not so easily give one up.  Especially not when we can remove a danger to the timeline at the same time.”

They entered a room that immediately pinged on Danny’s radar as a torture chamber.  Or, maybe, a vaguely medieval rendition of his parents’ lab.  There was a table in the center, made of stone, with a gutter around the edge that led to the floor and another gutter there, to deal with any liquids that might result from whatever was on the table.  One side of the room was taken up with a sort of forge.  On the walls were racks of implements: knives, scissors, tongs, hammers, saws, straps, wedges, bottles, hammers, and dozens of other things.  The jars Danny had gotten from Pandora rested on a table to the side, along with shining ingots of brass, and the coil of chain he’d put together.  Then, in the corner was something that looked like either a spinning wheel or a hand-crank generator…  With electrodes with hand grips.  

The Observants held Danny down on the table and wrapped the chain around him and the table, securing it through some mechanism Danny couldn’t see– Probably hooks.  He tried to dissolve the ice that held the different segments together, but it didn't respond. Not even when the Observants forced a length of chain between Danny's teeth. 

“A chain,” the Observants intoned, all together, “forged by your own hand, to hold you down.”  

Except, it wasn’t entirely forged by him.  It was mostly made by Clockwork, or if not by him, at least someone other than Danny.  Maybe he could use that.  He started to push the chain around with his tongue, trying to get a weaker link between his teeth.

As he thought that, one Observant flew forward, the box the Skeleton Key was in held in its arms.  Another one, this one with golden trim on their robes, opened the box and took out the key.  They held it in the air, the body of the key parallel to the ground.  

“They Key that can open any lock or door or chest, free any prisoner, pass any test,” intoned the Observant.  “Or close them.”  They twisted the key, and the chains shuddered, shifting, tightening, changing.  

The chain links in his mouth smoothed, flattened, curved, fitting to his teeth and mouth, holding them still.  A similar process occurred where the chains looped around his arms, legs, and neck.  A gag.  Cuffs.  And, although Danny couldn’t see from this angle, from the crunching sounds he suspected that the chains had anchored themselves more firmly in the table, too.  

Well!  This was bad.  

He squirmed and tried to yell, but the chains had much less give in them, now, and the gag meant that he couldn’t manage anything coherent.  

Meanwhile, the Observants were organizing themselves.  The gold-trimmed Observant caught the elbow of one.  Not a random one.  The Observant who had been assigned to Danny.  

“Fetch the viewer,” said the gold-trimmed Observant.  “We will need it for reference.”

“But I am needed here,” protested the first Observant.  

“You have done enough damage.”

“We would not have even had him if not for me!”

“But we do have him.  And so, that part of the task is done.  Go, fetch our reference, so that we can do our work.”

The first Observant grumbled, but left in a swirl of robes.  

There was a burst of heat from near the forge area, and Danny rolled his eyes back to see that the Observants there had poured the water from the Phlegethon into the forge, lighting it.  The jar with the water from the Styx was nearby, the lid still closed.  

As Danny watched, the Observants fed small pieces of wood into the fire with tongs, then, when they were burnt into charcoal, pulled them out to lay them on a nearby table.  Then, he flinched as another Observant started to spin the hand generator, the contraption making a terrible whirring noise.  

After that, though, his attention was taken by Observants closer to him.  They had picked up scissors from the rack of tools, and they started to cut away Danny’s clothes.  He fought this, too, of course he did, flickering from ghost form to human form and back to try and stymie them, but that just prolonged the process.  Eventually, he was left naked on the stone slab, the scar across the center of his chest, the starburst Lichtenberg figure he’d gotten from the Accident, easily visible.  

Then, the first Observant wheeled in the time viewer Danny had seen earlier, still fixed on the scene of Clockwork speaking to a group of Observants, and everyone in the room paused, looking at it.  The gold-trimmed Observant flew over to it and made a few adjustments, making the scene move, then fast-forward, until it was flying by faster than Danny could process.  It slowed again to show Danny a room not unlike the one he was in, with one important difference.  

It was Clockwork on the table.  

It was Clockwork, a past Clockwork, one who didn’t have a clock in his chest or a scar over his eye.

As Danny - and the Observants - watched, the Observants in the time viewer took the charcoal from their fires, crushed it, and mixed it with a little of the water from the Styx before using it to paint symbols on Clockwork’s skin.  The Observants in the room - the real, current Observants - started to do the same thing.  

Except, of course, that after they dipped their brushes in the simple ink, they painted the symbols on Danny’s skin.  He shivered away from their touch.  The better portion of the ink had just been in a fire.  It shouldn’t be so cold.  

He kept an eye on the viewer.  It only gave him a few minutes of warning, but that was better than nothing.  

Or, maybe it wasn’t, as he saw the Observants put the electrodes from the hand crank generator on the top of Clockwork’s head and on the corner of his jaw, and shock him again, and again, and again, until the fractal scar across his face and through his eye was etched deep and black.

 An Observant moved into his line of sight, jar of time sand in hand, and sprinkled a pinch of it into each of his eyes.  They rubbed it in with their thumbs, despite Danny's thrashing.

“Across the chest for this one, I think,” said the gold-trimmed Observant.  

“But–” started the first Observant.  

“It is not traditional,” said the gold-trimmed Observant, “but it will intersect his death scar, and the mechanism.  We will have more control.”  He gestured to someone behind Danny, all the other Observants stepped away, and that was all the warning he got before one cold electrode touched his shoulder, and the other touched his hip.  

Danny was no stranger to being electrocuted. The blast that had half-killed him in the portal had been mostly electricity.  Vlad, Skulker, and Technus all liked using electrical attacks.  For that matter, so did Valerie.  Getting strapped into an electric torture machine by your ex was sure an experience. 

But all of those experiences, bad as they were,  had the advantage of being short.  This wasn't. It went on, and on, forcing Danny's back to arch and jaw to clench until he was almost glad for the gag, because it meant that instead of his teeth cracking, the metal did. 

He lay on the stone table, panting, not seeing, not hearing.  Observants rushed around him, painting lines and symbols on his skin.  

The metal had cracked. 

Surreptitiously, hoping the Observants wouldn't notice, Danny rotated his wrist, feeling for the nearest chain.  Yes, here, too, a weaker link was beginning to separate under the strain.  

If he could pull harder–

He flinched at the sound of a hammer coming down behind him, and the world rushed back in.  The Observants were talking to one another, and while their voices still sounded distant and muffled, he was able to catch snippets.  They were starting to melt the sand into glass and make gears from the metal Danny had provided.  He could hear the hissing steam of the individual gears being quenched and the roar of the fire.  

Danny tried not to think about it.  He had to focus on getting away, because with the cracks in the metal, Danny could get away.  He had a plan.  He'd pull the chains until they snapped, lunge for the time viewer, turn the dial that changed the time - he was pretty sure it was set to follow Clockwork, so he wouldn't change that - and then jump through.  

(It wasn't a very good plan.)

The Observant holding the now mostly-empty jar of sand returned, and sprinkled the remnants all over Danny's body, where the grains stuck in his sweat and tears.  Another followed behind them, making precise measurements of Danny's chest.  The hammering continued, rhythmic, steady. 

Danny bit at the gag and pulled at the chains.  He had no idea how much progress he was making, and could only hope that the Observants wouldn't notice. 

The hammering stopped.  Danny glanced up at the viewer to see that Clockwork's chest had been opened, and the past Observants were busy filling him with gears. 

He wasn't anywhere near ready to break away yet.  The chains still held strong.  He still tried.  The Observants didn’t even notice.  

Danny wondered, which of the knives would they use to cut him open?  There were so many options, and he hadn’t seen what they used on Clockwork.  

The gold-trimmed Observant held the Skeleton Key again.  But he wasn’t holding it steady in the air.  No, he had it perpendicular to the ground and over Danny’s chest, centered on his scar.  

His scar, which was now struck through by a new lightning bolt, which had been painted with strange lines and what looked troublingly like a keyhole.  

The key touched ink and charred flesh, then sunk in.  There was resistance.  His bone and muscle moved oddly as the key passed through, as if his body were trying to provide a real, functional lock for the key to open.  A white line of pain crawled along his skin, describing a rectangle, then pierced deep into his flesh.  The sound that came out of Danny's throat wasn't human, but that was honestly the most normal thing about the situation. 

The Observant turned the key, and bone tumblers fell into place.  Danny's chest opened.  

(This was only a few steps removed from Danny's worst nightmare.  If the people involved were only a little different–)

(Small mercies.)

He needed to–  He needed–  He needed to keep pulling on the chains, needed to break them, so he could get away, but opened like this, he’d gone limp, his muscles refusing to clench.  

But he had to.  He had to.  

(They were doing something inside his chest.  Moving things.  Putting things in.  Cold things.)

(He couldn’t pay attention to that now.)

He needed to bite, to pull, to hide those movements as general arching away from pain, and there was certainly a lot of that.  

He needed, he needed–

The metal of the gag creaked, and then gave, all at once, the snap loud enough to be heard over the murmuring conversation of the Observants.  

The room went silent.  

Danny, operating on instinct and suppressed panic, swung his hand up, and that weakened link broke with a tiny tink.  The– the door the Skeleton Key had turned the front of his chest into flapped sickeningly as he rolled to pull his other arm free.  Before he could get his feet loose, the Observants pushed him back to the table, but a gear, heavy, metal, and about an inch wider than his spread hand, fell out of his chest, and Danny grabbed it, cracking the nearest Observant across the face.  

The Observant screamed, clutching their eye, and Danny could somehow feel their time unraveling, unwinding.  It wasn’t a good feeling.  

Danny brought the gear down on the chains at his feet, and they snapped with a shower of sparks.  He threw himself at the time viewer, and smacked another Observant with the gear (should he be touching it, if it was doing something like that to them?) when it got in his way.  

Something struck him against the back of his head, and he started to slump, before rallying.  He wouldn’t have another chance.  He knew that.  He grabbed the edge of the time viewer with one hand and pulled himself through.  

(He’d forgotten something in his plan, he was sure.  He just wasn’t sure what.)

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, May 4, 2025

My posts

I am still struggling with the fifth Silent Hill 2 commentary; the video I recorded last week (4/30) also isn't usable. Like, maybe I'll post it on Patreon as an extra at some point, but it is not the level of excellence we strive for here at Cleolinda Industries. Within hours of that, April's parting shot was to knock me down with another head cold, BUT, now that I have escaped its grip (April's, not the cold's. I'm still sick), I may have solved my OBS problems. I DON'T KNOW. WE LIVE IN HOPE. 

Meanwhile, Ian's off in fuckin' Brookhaven Hospital. IT'S. FINE. (I'm in the chat, we figure out some good stuff about the lore, it's a good time.) Also, at the top of his stream, he had sound engineer Andy Sudol on to talk about the differences between the 2001 and 2024 soundtracks. 

Signal boost while we're talking about games: I'm doing really well on light combat in SH2, except for when my neuropathy acts up and my fingers just decide they don't want to participate anymore (it's a good bet this has happened if I start screaming "JAMES WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"), so these mods and resources for disabled gamers caught my eye.  

Reblogs of interest

@mamoru looking out for us on the food safety front

Y'all, I don't know what's going on with Pinterest, but don't breathe too hard right now. An update from Reddit: More news outlets are reporting the sudden mass ban wave these last two weeks

My personal question: how does it actually BENEFIT companies to make their product unusable, though? I understand the answer, and yet, as a person who can think more than five seconds ahead into the future, I completely do not understand the answer.  

This question was also partly inspired by Polygon getting sold/gutted, in the sense of this Reddit reply.

Oh, I wasn't even thinking of Duolingo asserting itself as an "AI-first" company even as people complain that the quality of the app has plunged, so fuck them too I guess

PSA about some scam call techniques

I had to tell my therapist that I was facetiously done with life and everything in it, so I get this post

Good (and cute) news: "you can sponsor your own big beautiful TB- or landmine-detecting rat through APOPO HeroRATS"; "First-of-its-kind lab breeds bumblebee babies to save species from extinction"

Zines: I Am Not Your Asian American Doll

Speaking of Silent Hill 2: "this is how tag searches feel"

"askjeeves how to smuggle 30 naked prisoners (assorted genders) out of vampire mansion time sensitive."

"no, you’re thinking of fusion and fission. Bisexuals result in two nuclei that are identical to the original nucleus. Pansexuals result in four nuclei with half the number of chromosomes of the original cell"

"oh to be the black blob of a cat in vanessa stockard's paintings"

In tough times, there is one thing thou must always remember

All of these are horses

"Goblin learns they have a racist sword": some fantasy ideas

Flip the Frog gets restored

I'm particularly amused by these Vanillary reviews because I have it as a solid perfume and it's fine. 

I agree with all of these expletive/accent pairings.

A feline boo ghost to go with last week's ghost dog photoshoot

"The tribes of Tumblr appeared to worship Apollo as their primary patron deity, most often under the epithet Apollo Spairahemon ('Apollo the Ball-Thrower')"

Video

Wet beast Wednesday: "MOVE IDIOT"

Blumineck has a new approach to the three-arrow trick shot

"i know this is a predator. like a hardened killing machine. tempered by hundreds of years of evolutionary prowess to fine tune him into a living weapon. but"

Finsync

Good guy who talks like a bad guy

I honestly was not prepared for anything in this anecdote about buying a printer

The sacred texts

The iconic "girl… what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament 👀"

Personal tags of the week

I will be adding to "with mama" as often as possible. (You know what? I also need to add to dragons.)

[bewarethewolfarmy]

Music To Bring Us Together

(This one was on my mind for a while (yes a certain fic of mine has a twin of sorts to this...) sooo yeah it just took a while to write it actually up.

If anyone wants a steamy followup to this particular chapter then say so and maybe i'll gather my spoons Oh and I've decided to call this kind of series The Phantom and his Songbird so enjoy:

A Celebration for Two

Things Better Left Unshared )

If asked separately both Erik's and your answer to what your favorite time of the week was, it would be the same: it was when you had the chance to get away from everything at the opera and had time to go spend the night with the lonely ghost that lived below the operahouse. He lived for those times, unable to stand the fact that he still could not simply always be with his beloved, to hold and shower you in affection and attention constantly, but he had even in small bits learned his lesson from before and he would not dare do anything that could even possibly make him lose you. He would wait, impatiently, and watch and admire you from afar despite wanting to do so far more personally, and when the time came he'd appear and whisk you away and the smile you'd wear on your face would send his heart a flutter to think that there really was someone who enjoyed his company and didn't fear his face. Could he truly believe it? Of course not, he still expected some trick, some lie or deceit of how this was not real, could not be real, and that you truly did fear and hate him for all he was, had done and could be. The gentleness of your tone and kiss to try and reassure him calmed the voices within for a time but never enough; he needed you by his side always and how you wished you could be but you did love the Opera Populaire for what it was and could be, almost as much as you loved it's resident Phantom.

Today was one such day; a break in rehearsals and you slipped away to that small side room, knowing that any second the secret passage would open and Erik would appear. You could always go down yourself, how many times had you walked it to the being able to do so in your sleep if necessary, but you knew how much the man loved to be able to whisk you away and who were you to ruin that for him? The Phantom, still spoken of in terrified whispers and hunted by those who knew and remembered, had so few joys as far as you could tell, things that truly could bring him happiness and peace in his admittedly lonely existence; to take this one away was far too cruel to you and thus you would not. Part of you wished instead that you could do more.

You had only been waiting for a fraction of time when there came the familiar sound of the hidden doorway opening and familiar touch upon your hand. Some days he grabbed you so fast and hard you could practically taste his desperation and need for closeness but this was not one of those days. His touch was light, almost hesitant, and you knew exactly what to do: you smiled and moved your hand to entwine your fingers in his, your tone soft and happy as you spoke, “Erik.”

“Songbird,” he responded and you were pulled close into a tight hug; you were surrounded by the scent of roses and old paper, ivory and water and wood.

And yarn; you could feel a familiar scarf against your face and could not help but smile brighter. Since you'd given it to him for your shared birthday he become stuck between wanting to constantly wear it and treating it like some precious treasure bestowed upon him by a god. Which you supposed made some sense considering his feelings about you. You of course were happiest seeing him wear it, able to see him enjoying your little present and know you had done well in making it for him. It added a little color to his darkness, a light for the man sometimes lost to the shadows but a man who nevertheless you loved dearly.

“Shall we go down to the lair now?” As much as you loved being in his arms, and you truly did, the secrecy of his hideaway under the operahouse gave you both the space and ability to do more than this small room ever could.

The fact you would ask brought a shiver of delight to him and a smile to those ruined lips of his. It was like a puppy being offered a walk in the park by it's master, an apt enough comparison considering how he reacted to you. Luckily you liked that in him, the excitement he seemed to get from the acceptance you gave and the lack of fear you had for him.

He moved with the swiftness and ease of exactly what he was and the two of you were soon off, practically gliding over steps to go down, down, down deep below, into catacombs, into an abyss lit only by candlelight, past traps that were sent not to harm you but to prevent any from following, to an all too familiar lake. You settled into your seat upon the boat and watched him, unable to resist a smile at how he looked as he rowed you both across.

Once, near the beginning of this love you had found yourself in, you had offered to help only to see the strangest look of shock to cross his face. He had refused so verehemently you at first had been hurt before it had come out that rather he couldn't imagine making you do such a thing, that it was in his mind only right he do so for you and that you need only relax. The fact you had been hurt by his refusal even for a second had left him devestated in such a way that required quite a bit of cuddling and hair stroking and reassurance. It was one of those things you found both funny and adorable about Erik: he, the Phantom, terror of the Opera Populaire, murderer and genius, could be so full of confidence and self-importance yet so easily fall to the deeps of despair and terror with the simplicity of love. The complexity of his character was fascinating and endearing, making you unable to tear your eyes away at times when the layers started to show.

The trip across was like that, full of you watching him, adoring his figure as again he looked more the imposing Phantom than the lovesick puppy, though every time he caught you staring with your adoring gaze, his face turned red behind his mask and you only continued to smile knowing it. His eyes would widen, it was hard to miss as someone who so often looked at him, watched him. He brought you to shore without a word though you were sure his mind had a thousand and one things he wished to say to you, sing to you, beg of you.

Erik stepped out first and like the gentleman he really was he offered his hand to help you step out of the boat. This too was something you could do on your own, as easily remembered as every other step of this trip, and again it was something you would never try to take from your phantom. You placed your hand in his and saw him smile so brightly and happily; you stepped off the boat and into his arms once more. Any chance he had he seemed to take in hugging you, holding you, as if afraid that if he didn't keep doing it you might prove to be an illusion, a dream he conjured up from nothing to replace the dark and painful memories of his love for Christine Daae. You of course were indeed real and warm and loved him even knowing what had happened, what he had done. Because behind the rumors and stories and fears, you had found a man who was desperate for love yet never knew how quite to get it or give it healthily.

After he seemed convinced for the moment that you did care and would be going nowhere, Erik led you into the house proper and you sat in the sitting room, watching as he went back to being the adorable Erik that you knew and adored. His fluttering around, muttering about how best to please you, what he would do for you, what kind of food he should make, what kind of music he should play. Part of you was half tempted to tell him to just sit down with you so you could cuddle for a while; he always seemed to like that as did you, though if it went on for too long he would start to cry and weep about how he was not worthy of such softness, of how he was a monster and you were a sweet songbird, that he was something even his own mother could not love so how could you? You did not mind reassuring him of course, it was normal enough for you both at this point and being able to give your sweet traumatized Erik some love and reassurance was something you were happy to be able to do. But tonight, tonight you wished for something different.

You smiled as he made another pass across your path and you spoke up, making sure to be heard, “Erik, I do have a request.”

This immediately stopped him in his tracks and he turned to you, wide eyed, before falling to his knees before you. Requests from you were rather rare; you did not often ask much of him, because he always had hundreds of ideas and plans, because you knew he liked having some control in his life and this was an easy one, because you did not like to impose or possibly trouble him. But he jumped at any request you did make and fumbled to take your hands in his, staring right into your soul it seemed.

“Your Erik is listening, anything my songbird wants, I will give you; just ask and it will be done.” He didn't slip entirely into third person which was a good thing in your book; his emotions sometimes got so overwhelming he couldn't help it and you didn't mind but you didn't want to overwhelm him today.

You squeezed his hands with another smile. “I wish for you to teach me to play something”

He seemed taken aback, blinking a few times and staring at you in confusion. But of course, you were a songbird, a singer, and that was all you truly really ever asked to be; you liked to be part of the choir, to let the music fill your lungs and fill the air. You'd never before expressed an interest in learning more than that but you had listened to him play so many instruments, he loved to show off to you like a peacock shows off it's feathers to a potential mate, and you found yourself curious to try. No, you were more curious to be able to try to play alongside him one day; you may never reach the level of a natural talent like his but you wanted to at least try.

“You...you wish to learn an instrument?” He asked his words slow and measured.

You nodded and he let go of you so quick you felt you might get whiplash. Especially as he quickly ran from the room like his cloak was on fire. The speed with which he moved, grabbing case after case from another room and placing them all on the coffee table before you was honestly both a bit shocking and very amusing. You had a pile of them soon enough, of slightly different sizes and shapes, but you recognized them all as instrument cases; you tried not to giggle or laugh as he continued this until you had so many to choose from it was a bit silly. And finally he stood still, breathing hard and looking at you expectedly, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement and energy.

“Which would you like, songbird? Your Erik can you teach any instrument, Erik is very good at all of them, Erik is a master of them and Erik would love to be able to teach you, just please tell Erik which you want please please please?” Oh no now he was completely into third person.

You stood up and gently took his face in his hands, careful not to upset his mask since it would help him ground a bit better. “Breathe, my angel, please. I already know which instrument I want to play but if you're going to teach me then I need you to breathe and not panic so, alright?”

He whimpered, a good whimper, maybe too good of one; he shuffled on his feet and closed his eyes at your touch before nodding. You would take it and smiled before kissing him lightly upon the lips. It was hard to resist such a good boy.

“Which...which one does...do you want Er...me to teach you?” he asked, trying his hardest to pull himself together, you could see it; he bit his lip and looked at you with such expectation and love it made your heart flutter. How could one man be so precious and so adorable and so dangerous all at once?

You smiled again and pulled away from him, the whine he gave was not a happy one but he did not hold you back; you leaned down to the table and gently pulled from it one case in particular, opening it to reveal a beautifully crafted violin. His eyes widened at your choice and you did not need to ask to know why; you had heard all the stories, all the legends. Knew that Christine Daae's father was a known violinist, that Erik had once used that knowledge and that violin to try to entrance her in the graveyard after the disasters before. And thus there was a shadow that clung to it, so much so that while you knew he had it, you had never heard him play it; you supposed it held too much of a memory of his failures, of his darker side, that he had been too afraid.

You were not though. Gently, reverently, you removed the instrument from it's casing and took up the bow with one hand. It felt cold in your hands and heavier than you expected but you refused to back down now from your choice. You turned your gaze back to him, still smiling, still hopeful as you spoke, “I wish you to teach me this one, Erik.”

“I...” he seemed to be in some shock but at least he stayed in first person; he opened his mouth only to shut it again, emotions running across his face at incredible speeds.

He cleared his throat, tried to collect himself, and attempted to speak again, “Are you sure? There are better ones I can teach you.”

You both knew that was a lie. Few were as beautiful as a violin when played right; only the piano and organ were more precious and close to his soul as that violin. But memories were a terrible thing and there were things Erik still never did that you suspected were from that terrible, terrible experience.

You were resilent though and stubborn, shaking your head. “I really wish to learn the violin, please Erik? I couldn't imagine learning from anyone else, for who else could possibly be as good as you are at playing it. And I have heard such beautiful things when a violin and piano play together by those whose skill are no doubt less than your own and so surely with your instruction...” You were not playing fair with him. He could be fluttery and excitable and oh so absolutely adorable and lovable with you but you knew there was a pride there and a part of him that did wish so terribly to be able to teach you. And here you were, tantalizing him on both regards, drawing on those parts of him in hopes of getting what you wanted. You could see in his expression the fight between doing so, allowing his pride to win out or his fear.

“But,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper, a fearful small thing and you were reminded how sensitive your phantom truly could be.

It hurt you and you lowered the instrument, approaching him. “Oh Erik, sweet angel, I truly wish to learn but I don't wish to cause you actual distress, I promise.”

He looked up at you and your eyes met; you smiled gently at him, lovingly, and he bit a ruined lip. You wanted this, you truly did and you wanted it to be the violin but if it really was so hard on him to teach you, if pushing it would only hurt him more, you supposed you would need to let it be. Because it wasn't worth harming the man you loved so much.

Finally a sigh left him and he shook his head. “No, my wonderful songbird, I...I will teach you. Your Erik will do anything my songbird wishes of me.”

A smile formed on his face and you felt your heart swell with how cute it made him. Any expression of happiness was always a good one to you and you nodded, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, mon ange.”

Erik's heart fluttered at the kiss and his smile grew before he cleared his throat again. “Now let's see about your stance.”

You did not expect so much touching yet one he took a deep breath to compose himself his hands moved along your body, adjusting it, moving your arm, your head, the instrument so that it was cradled just right, that your fingers were in the right positions. Your skin heated up as he placed his hands on your waist and commanded, not asked, you to play. “A few notes, just to start.”

You did as instructed and only got in a few before he clicked his tongue and stopped you, readjusting you slightly. “No no no, relax, let the music fill you like when you sing. But instead you make the violin sing for you; caress it, feel it, the bow is an extension of your body, not simply a tool. Now again.”

Again you tried and felt his hands on you. They were warm, even through your dress, and your heart pounded hearing his breathing in your ear. You knew you were far from perfect, this being your first time, but it was better than you expected, because he had made sure of it. But it was strange to you; learning was something you had asked for, wanted, and you knew he could be passionate about teaching, something you always had been able to gently dissauage in him when it came to your singing. But perhaps the closeness, the actual physical contact, made this feel all the different, and you couldn't help but think as well how warm his breath was and strong his grip and how you wished to obey that smooth, alluring, commanding voice. So different than your Erik, your sweet and often self conscious angel, your excitable and loveable man, who slipped into third person at the smallest embarrassment or flustering, who smiled so geniunely and clung and loved with such intensity but not like this. His intensity was normally of desperation and love; this was passion of a different nature and it made heat build up within your heart like a fire you were not sure you wished to have extinguished. It felt both wonderous and a bit strange.

He nodded behind you, making pleased noises that only made it worse inside you. “Good good, much better. Though you still are far too tense.”

He placed a hand over yours holding the bow and closed his eyes. “You know how it feels to become one with the music, I know you do, songbird, just translate that to this.”

You certainly tried. You tried to take a deep breath, to forget he was there, that he was touching you, that he was so close. To focus on the notes, the violin, the music; get a feel for each note, what it was like, what it felt like, which was which and how they sounded together and in sequence. But Erik was a horrible distraction and you could not focus with his hands on you.

“Erik,” you muttered and this seemed to be to no avail; perhaps he was too far into his own mind, the Angel of Music he once was creeping out and overtaking.

“Focus, my songbird.” His voice was so exact, how could you possibly disobey?

“Erik,” you repeated and felt your heart ready to pound out of your chest.

“Give into the music.” His grip tightened both over your hand and at your side and you had to work very hard not to shake and play incorrectly. Even with all this you did not want to do that.

He was not listening and you were not sure you could take much more of this. But you being the smart songbird you were, knew of one thing that your angel could never resist no matter what happened, a thing that was guaranteed to break him of anything and return him to his sweet blubbering self.

It took all of your strength to pull it off, gripped as you were by his strong callused hands, but you managed by some miracle to turn enough to press your lips to his. Erik's eyes widened behind his mask and you knew that his whole face was turning red, could feel his hands lighten their grip, his body start to stiffen as it often did when you kissed him only to relax again. And move to grab your arms and pull you ever closer; Erik was a master of music but he was a slave to your love and desperate as always for every bit of it he could get. To be kissed by you was something he seemed always to want more and normally you delighted in giving it to him, everything you could. All the love you could muster for this sweet broken man. But the fire inside you was still burning and the aching that grew from the way he had spoken, the power of the Angel of Music, and there was plenty of desperation of your own as you leaned into the kiss, into him, only to have to break away for the all too human need of air. You both panted and you could see how blown out his pupils seemed to be as he looked at you.

“Songbird,” he said in a low voice.

“No fair,” you muttered in response and bit your lip, “All too unfair.” How did this man, this phantom in the dark, have such power yet seem so delicate and sensitive so much of the time? You did not know the answer to it but you knew it was unfair, that such a beautiful soul had to feel and be trapped by the past, by insecurities, by others.

“What is unfair?” he asked and there was still an edge, a trace of the angel within the man.

“Everything,” you stated and looked back at him, into those eyes that roiled with such emotion and thought, at your Erik, “But especially that you only seem able to have confidence in yourself and your place in the world when it comes to music.”

That seemed to fluster him but you took the opportunity to kiss him again, no little light thing as the flame inside continued to burn. If not for the violin and bow in your hands you would have grabbed hold of him but you did not dare drop the precious instrument, for him and for yourself, thus you could only lean into him and want more while getting only that. You heard him whine behind the kiss but Erik did not resist it and that grip he had on you loosened only so he could wrap his arms around you. How he delighted in holding you, it burned you more because here was his soft side showing again and you felt a tear hit your face. Not your own, his; the kiss broke again and he was looking at you with that sad expression he would get when things started to overwhelm the man, filling him up and demanding to be let out.

“Songbird,” he repeated with the essence of the whine woven in.

“We will have to continue the lesson later.” When you can explain better, when you can tell him gently how much it made your heart race to feel his touch, your skin burn to feel his breath against your neck, your body yearn because of the power of the Angel's voice and the love for the man. But right now you could not, need was too strong and he nodded all too quickly, sidetracked so easily by you.

He let you go long enough for you to be able to put the violin and bow safely away and close the case but not a second longer. His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close and picked you up, burying his face in your neck. “Your Erik wishes to be loved by you, please.”

“I wish to be loved by you as well, mon ange,” you whispered to him.

That's all you needed to say. The instruments and music were left behind as he carried you off to his room, to make music with you of a different type.

[pompomqt]

Journey to the West Chapter 61

Me when Princess Iron Fan begins her journey of self cultivation:

Welcome back to this week's chapter of Journey to the West with @journeythroughjourneytothewest. This week we have a boss fight of such epic proportions that I can't believe it's not the final battle of the book and that we are actually only 3/5 the way through the story! So let's get into it shall we?

So the Bull Demon King catches up to Sun Wukong, but rather then fighting him head on, and getting consequentially blown away by the giant fan that Wukong is lugging over his shoulder, he decides to give Wukong a taste of his own medicine. Turns out that the Bull Demon King already knows that the Tang Monk has two other guards, Sandy and Pigsy, who he had apparently previously met when they were still demons. So the Bull Demon King, who also possesses the power of seventy two transformations, changes into the appearance of Pigsy and goes up to greet Monkey.

And Monkey I guess just isn't paying enough attention and doesn't bother using his his fiery eyes, or common sense to realize this isn't Pigsy. So when 'Pigsy' says he was sent by their master to see how things are going, Monkey gladly brags about his latest triumph over the Demon Bull King and his wife. And when 'Pigsy' very uncharacteristically offers to carry the fan for Monkey, Monkey doesn't think twice before handing it over. After which, the Demon Bull King promptly, returns the fan to it's mini form before swallowing it and revealing his true form to Monkey. Upon realizing he's been tricked, Monkey immediately resorts to violence and tries to smack the Demon Bull King with his staff, which the Demon Bull King dodges before using the fan on Wukong. However, Monkey, had ended up swallowing the Wind Resisting Elixir back when he had entered Princess Iron Fan's stomach, upgrading his power from 'Wind Resistance' to 'Wind Immunity'. Seeing that the fan can't get rid of his 'enraged monkey problem' for him, the two resort to dueling with their normal weapons.

Meanwhile Tripitaka really is starting to get worried about whats taking Monkey so long, especially when he learns from the local mountain god that the Demon Bull King is Sun Wukong's equal in battle. Tripitaka figures that if he was just traveling he would be back by now, so he must be fighting the Demon Bull King. So he decides to send Pigsy or Sandy to help Monkey tip the scales. Pigsy volunteers but doesn't know the way, so the Mountain God volunteers to go with him to show him the way.

So Pigsy and the Mountain God arrive and see's Monkey fighting the Bull Demon King. Pigsy calls out that he's here to help, but Monkey just snaps at him that he ruined everything. Pigsy assumes he's mad that he's late or something and tries to explain- before Monkey finally says that it's not really him he's mad at, it's the Bull Demon King who disguised himself as Pigsy to steal the fan back. Pigsy is enraged to discover that he was impersonated, and starts attacking the Demon Bull King in a frenzy, which really does actually manage to turn the tide of battle. The Demon Bull King tries to retreat only for his way to be barred by the local Mountain spirit and an army of ghosts. The Spirit tells the Demon Bull King, that Tripitaka's pilgrimage is sanctioned by literally every important force in the universe, so he'd better stop making a nuisance of himself and just hand over the fan.

The Bull Demon King isn't willing to give up the fan however, after all it's not even about the fan, it's about the fact that he hates Sun Wukong. Since his escape route is cut off, the battle against Monkey and Pigsy continues until they fight their way back to the mistresses house. When the fox demoness, Princess Jade Countenance, hears the commotion she sends one of her maids to investigate. When the maid reports to her that the Bull Demon King is fighting Sun Wukong and some pig demon, and an army of ghosts, Princess Jade sends out her own army to assist him. This army of reinforcements is able to overwhelm Pigsy and Wukong enough to let the Bull Demon King retreat into the cave, after which he calls back the army and there is a momentary lull in the fighting.

Wukong and company decides to use this break to have a quick strategy meeting, where Monkey fills everyone in on his adventures over the last few chapters. Pigsy asks if the fan is really necessary, can't they just find another way around the mountain or something? But I guess shortcuts aren't allowed on self cultivation journeys like this, so they are stuck fighting the Demon Bull King. So they decide to just break down his door to start fighting him again.

Meanwhile the Demon Bull King has just finished telling the Fox Princess his own story about the last few chapters when Pigsy and Monkey come barging in. The three of them start fighting again, until once again the Demon Bull King starts getting overwhelmed and tries to make a brake for the cave entrance, only to have his way blocked by the ghost army. So instead the Demon Bull King abandons his weapons and armor and transforms into a swan to escape unnoticed into the air. This manages to fool Pigsy and the ghosts, but now that Monkey is actually paying attention, he's able to spot the demon for what he is. So Monkey tells Pigsy and the ghosts to exterminate all the demons in the cave, while Monkey has a shapeshifting battle with the Demon Bull King.

So Monkey turns into a vulture to give chase to the Bull King, before dive bombing him, which the Bull King responds to by turning into an eagle, so Monkey transforms into an phoenix and so on. After transforming into all manner of beasts, the Demon Bull King finally responds by pulling out his kaiju form, a massive white bull. Monkey of course responds by whipping out his own massive war form, and the battle continues. Soon enough, Monkey is joined by some gods, including some of the gods that are usually just on Tripitaka babysitting duty, who help him overwhelm the Bull Demon. This causes the Bull Demon King to once again back to his wife's cave.

When Monkey arrives having chased the Bull Demon King back here, he is joined by Pigsy who informs him that he succeeded in killing Princess Jade and the rest of her entourage. Which... does anyone else feel a little sorry for Princess Jade? I mean- I know she stole her husband from Princess Iron Fan, but she seemed to have really only wanted him for his protection. And it's not like she tried to eat Tripitaka or anything, and she doesn't even have anything to do with this whole fan situation. Anyways, I just think that getting killed by Pigsy off screen is a bad way to go. Anyways, Monkey congratulates Pigsy on his victory, and informs him that he managed to chase the Demon Bull King back to Palm-Leaf Cave.

So Pigsy once again kicks down the Bull Demon King's door, who is currently telling Princess Iron Fan about the situation. When he hears that his home is once again being invaded, he hands Princess Iron Fan the fan for safe keeping. Princess Iron Fan begs him to just give Monkey the fan so he'll leave him alone, but the Demon Bull King isn't willing to let go of his grudge, and armors up again to meet him. Pigsy lures him out into the open, where he is joined by Sun Wukong, the ghost army, and the various deities. The fight quickly wares on the Demon Bull King, but this time when he tries to flee, all four cardinal directions are blocked, the Buddhist guardians of the cardinal directions, sent by Buddha himself to help apprehend him with the help of some cosmic nets. So the Demon Bull King tries to take to the skies, only for his way to now be blocked by Prince Nezha and his father, who are here to arrest him in the name of the Jade Emperor.

Now surrounded on all sides, the Demon Bull King once again transforms into his enormous true form. Prince Nezha- who is always game to show off his own giant three headed war form, chooses this opportunity to do exactly that, and jumps onto the demons back, before cutting off the demon's head. However as should be expected, anyone who can claim to be equal to the Great Sage Equal to heaven can't be killed that easily, and indeed, just like Wukong has been known to do, the Demon Bull King regrows his head. Even when Prince Nezha chops it off ten more times. So when that fails to work, Prince Nezha takes his fiery wheel and loops it around the Bull Demon Kings horns. The Demon Bull King tries to transform to escape this, however Nezha's dad is prepared with an Imp-reflecting mirror that cancels out the demon's attempts at transforming.

All of this is finally enough to make the Bull Demon King surrender as he begs for his life. Nezha demands the fan, and the Bull Demon King responds that his wife currently has it. So the whole gang rolls up to Princess Iron Fan's cave, and when the Demon Bull King calls to her to bring out the fan, she does so, while being remarkably composed and dressed as a true Buddhist. She presents the fan to them, and just asks that they spare their lives.

Fan now in hand, Monkey makes his way back to Tripitaka, with the entire heavenly entourage they've picked up during the course of this fight in tow. Tripitaka is of course surprised to see so many important people, and asks what brings them here. One of the four Buddhist guardians of the four directions tells Tripitaka that they were sent by Buddha to assist him, and congratulate him saying his merit is nearly achieved, they also tell him to continue cultivating with all due diligence.

Sun Wukong now takes the opportunity to finally use the real fan to subdue the flames on the mountain, and this time it works exactly as advertised. Now that the flames of the mountain are gone, the various deities begin to go their separate ways, with Prince Nezha leading the Bull Demon King to go pay a little visit to Buddha, hopefully he doesn't end up pinned under a mountain like a certain brother of his. Soon only the pilgrims, the local spirit, and Princess Iron Fan remains.

Princess Iron Fan requests her fan back, saying she wants to use it in her new life dedicated to self-cultivation. And Monkey is inclined to believe her, since she has already achieved a human form. The local spirit however suggests that Monkey ask her the way to remove the flames from the mountain permanently before returning the fan. So Monkey asks her how he can extinguish the fire on the mountain for good, and Princess Iron Fan replies that fanning it forty-nine times should do the trick.

So Monkey fans the mountain forty-nine times as instructed, and causes a torrential rain storm that douses the fire completely. After this he returns the fan to Princess Iron Fan, like he originally promised. Princess Iron Fan takes the fan back, and reverts it to his travel size before going on her path, of self cultivation. Which she eventually succeeds in- good for her. And with that, the pilgrims finally part ways with the local spirit to continue on their Journey to the West.

Current Sun Wukong Stats: Names/Titles: Monkey, The Stone Monkey, The Handsome Monkey King, Sun Wukong (Monkey awakened to the void), Bimawen (Banhorseplague), The Great Sage Equal To Heaven and Pilgrim Sun. Immortality: 5 + 94,000 years Weapon: The Compliant Golden Hooped Rod Abilities: 72 Transformations, Cloud-Somersault, Ability to transform his individual hairs, super strength, Ability to Summon Wind, Water restriction charm, and the ability to change into a huge war form, ability to duplicate his staff, ability to immobilize others, the ability to put others to sleep, and the Fiery eyes and Diamond Pupils, intimidating horses, churning large bodies of water, sleeplessness, seizing the wind, enhanced smell, discerning good and evil within a thousand miles, Spirit Summoning, lock picking, object transformation, distance reduction, vanishing in a flash of light, super healing, transforming others, Invisibility, and Wind Immunity Demon Kill Count: 10 + Unknown Number of Minions Human Kill Count: 1039 God's Defeated: 23 + Unknown number Defeats: 7 Crime List: Robbery, Murder, Mass Murder, Arson, Theft, Coercion, Threatening a Government Official, Resisting Arrest, Assault, Forgery, Employee Theft, False Imprisonment, Impersonating a Government Official, Treason, attempted murder, failure to control or report a dangerous fire, desecrating a corpse, breaking and entering, trespassing, violating Tree Law, looting corpses, trading counterfeit goods, criminal threat, animal abuse, Assisting or Instigating Escape, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Disorderly Conduct and Joyriding Cry Count: 9 + 3 fake cries Mountains Trapped Under: 4

Current Tang Sanzang stats: Names/Titles: River Float, Xuanzang, Tang Sanzang, Tripitaka and the Tang Monk Abilities: Curing Blindness, making branches point a certain direction (allegedly), reciting sutras, pretty privilege, memorization, Heart Sutra, Meditation, and Being Heaven's Specialist Little Guy Cry Count: 31 Tight Fillet Spell Uses: 63 Paralyzed by fear: 6 Bandit Problems: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 9 Falling Off Horses: 10

Current Bai Long Ma Stats: Names/Titles: Bai Long Ma (White Dragon Horse), Prince of the Western Ocean, and third prince jade dragon of the dragon king Aorun Abilities: Transforming into a human, a water snake, and a horse, eating a horse in one bite, flight, Magic of Water Restriction, Singing, and Sword Dancing. Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Arson, and Grave Disobedience. Contributions to the plot: 3 Kidnapped by demons: 1

Current Zhu Wuneng Stats: Names/Titles: The Marshal of the Heavenly Reeds, Zhu Wuneng (Pig who is aware of ability), Zhu Ganglie, Pigsy, Idiot and Eight Rules. Weapon: Rake Abilities: 36 Transformations, parting water, fighting underwater, cloud soaring, size enhancement and CPR Demon Kill Count/Kill steals: 6 + Unknown number of minions Kidnapped by Demons: 4 Human Kill Count: 1 Failed Flirtation/romances Attempts: 4 Cry Count: 2 Crime List: Sexual Harassment, Murder, Kidnapping, arson, defamation, Damage to Religious Property, contaminating a substance for human consumption, Identity Fraud, Theft and Forcible entry

Current Sha Wujing Stats: Names/Titles: The Curtain-Raising General, Sha Wujing (Sand Aware of Purity), Sandy and Sha Monk Weapon: Monster Taming Staff Abilities: Fighting underwater, Cloud soaring, and fetching water from a well. Demon Kill Count: 1 + Unknown number of minions. Kidnapped by Demons: 3 Human Kill Count: 1 Cry Count: 1 Crime List: Breaking a Crystal Cup, murder, desecration of a human corpse, Damage to Religious Property and contaminating a substance for human consumption

Previous - Masterpost - Next