anguishedlurker

[anguishedlurker]

So 47's big beautiful bill has advanced and let me tell you what it entails:

MAINLY the end of Medicaid, withdrawal from the paris Agreement, centralizing the White House to be above independent Federal Agencies, give tax cuts for billionaires and basically letting 47 treat the US Economy like his business.

You guys know what to do. Call your eps and PUT PRESSURE ON THEM!!!!!!!!

[anguishedlurker]

the symbiotic relationship between tumblr and AO3 should be studied in a lab

[anguishedlurker]

absolutely love abusing the power that comes with 3rd person limited pov and just ignoring things and being vague sometimes. does the character know all the details? no? then I don't have to either.

[anguishedlurker]

Fog Lit Revelation

Another fic hits the blog! This ones for @half-deadmagicperson for "Lancer was driving home one night when something caught his eye.". Rings in at 2501 words, now enjoy the show!

~

A fact about Lancer was that he lived in Elmerton, technically.

It wasn't a bad drive to work at all, the barest of empty space between suburbs otherwise biting at each other's ankles. By all accounts he lived somewhere beyond where one would intuitively draw the line for Amity Park.

Intuitively is the catch. City designers wouldn't know the word intuitive if Shakespeare flew down from the heavens to impart it upon them.

It was a drive despite everything, and there was a bit of deadspace mostly taken up by trees to stare at whenever he drove. Which was basically every day.

A different fact about Lancer was that he was terribly overworked even amongst other teachers.

He needed to quit, he knew that. But it was hard to leave with Elmerton's own schools being in a hiring freeze, and knowing nobody would step up for Amity if he was gone.

Late nights were a part of the overwork. He refused to bring work home with him, but that meant hours and hours hunched over his desk under the flickering lights as he graded and stressed over the work that, frankly, should've been Ishyama's circus to manage.

It was hard to blame her for shirking the work though, as she was usually busy trying to keep parents from blowing their lids over the ghosts and possible dangers.

So the day's worse than usual, and he's on his drive at a sweet 8:07pm. He's a literature teacher above all else, but he knows the drive like it's addition.

It's twenty one minutes if nothings happening, and twenty seven if the Fentons are the thing happening. Lancer didn't like any other formula changes, but who did?

Everything was routine, the stoplights were as annoyingly timed as always and the people were much too casual about trying to honk him into submission.

He was as repressed unbothered as always. He would get home to drop into the couch and then bed sometime in the zone of 9:15pm, and wake up at 5:01am to begin the finalization for the days classes, because rarely if ever did he have the time or desire on the day before, and at 6:30am he would be out the door to try and circumvent any morning going ons.

The drive past the edge of what qualifies as Amity is truly nothing special, day after day. Sue him for not being terribly appreciative of nature, but it was the same trees every morning and night.

Same fog lights past sunset, because his brights were honestly horrid and worse at illuminating ditches than his brights on a good day.

Not for the first time Lancer pondered the half built house a quarter of the way through the trees, contemplating what must've made them abandon the project well before the ghosts came.

Not for the first time he cringed thinking of how bad the accident at the now fallen and twisted trees must have been. He hadn't heard anything good about the victim's survival odds.

And, three quarters of the way through, he saw something new on the drive.

He was ready to expect anything; Amity had proven that expecting sanity was futile.

But Amity's anything tended to be loud, and bombastic. Lethal because of the flying debris, lethal again for the raw powers of the ghosts hellbent on tormenting them all.

This new thing was disquieting, and crept instead of shouted its presence.

The trees were disturbed, and Lancer had opted to believe that a ghost fight had gone wildly out of bounds before dissipating, for there was no noise in the area.

Then the trees were more disturbed, glowing flecks of green appearing on some of the downed trees. Despite the continued silence, Lancer was ready to throw his car in reverse at the first sign of trouble, resigned to attempt to sleep in his car at the school once he'd absconded.

And then, not very far to the strip you'd think would still be amity because of how the town stretched in the north and bit at Elmerton's space, there was a lot of green in the road and trees.

He slowed, trying to remember ectoplasm's effects on rubber tires.

His fog lights shifted with the car, inching forward as he approached the puddle with caution usually reserved for the risk of gravity changing on oneself.

Off in the ditch, to the right, his lights cast a shadow on something that was glowing in its own puddle.

He desired so badly to turn around there and then, and simply not find out if there was something in the ditch.

But it was quiet in the trees, and the shadow in the puddle wasn't moving.

Another inch forward, then. And another inch after that.

The light shifted to show white and black, in a familiar shape. One on the news every day.

He did not hastily launch out his car, or even blankly walk in a zombie state to be forgotten. He sat, staring, as if something other than him could flinch.

He sat, like Phantom would sit up and laugh like it was a horrid prank.

Phantom did no such thing, and it was even more seconds until Lancer shakily moved to open the door and stand.

The air blew, crisp and acidic from the ectoplasm. Lancer figured the source was a fair bit more pertinent now, but couldn't tell.

With numb movements he grabbed the flashlight from the backseat. The keys remained in the engine, the car ready to go if he were to run into the seat and floor it.

Phantom didn't move as the light shone, though his wounds were certainly better illuminated than the fog light could've ever done.

Lacerations and punctured, mostly going up the torso in defiance of what a boy that size should be able to withstand. Lancer was pretty sure that was a rib, the white in the shining green and black.

Lancer once again did not zone out of his own head and come to have done something or other. Lancer once again stood in the silence, and had to think.

He most certainly could drive, either through the puddle or back to the school. He could make it not his problem.

But there was an already long dead teenager, broken and battered in a ditch. And maybe he was giving the Fenton's anti-ghost rhetoric too much weight before, because as he held the flashlight another several inches over Phantom's face lit up and something in him twisted.

It wasn't the first time they'd come face to face, no, but it was the first where there wasn't something else going on to make Lancer not especially care for details.

Phantom looked like he could be right at home amongst Lancer's freshmen class, cuts and bruises obscuring the almost peaceful look on his face as he continued to not move in the ditch.

Lancer didn't quite know what to do, because suddenly he knew he'd never forgive himself if he just drove away.

Lancer promptly had the worst-best idea he could have, and found himself a lengthy stick.

It brought back memories of watching his brothers gather around a flattened possum, trying to freak each other out. Lancer had not especially wanted anything to do with the matter, just like now.

Phantom didn't move at any prodding, Lancer precariously stood on uncontaminated grass to do this with. The green around them both flashed to be twice as bright, then calmed.

And, well, for a certain definition of alive that was a confirmation Lancer quite needed. But he was left in the dimming night with a stick and a ghost's body in a ditch.

He couldn't just take Phantom to a hospital; the wards in Elmerton would promptly hand him over to Amity, who would hand him over to the Fenton's. Even if they didn't, either of them, Lancer couldn't imagine that they knew enough spiritual biology to do much more than put stitches in. Provided they were willing to touch ectoplasm, as well.

Though, he did have half an idea as to how to move Phantom regardless. Lancer's neighbor had been doing painting, and courteous enough to warn Lancer to tarp his car if he didn't want to pay for a new paint job.

Even if the tarp was paint ridden, it might save his car's interior somewhat.

And distantly he remembered some different articles about ectoplasm's acidic properties. The media had largely concluded it seemed to depend on the ghost it came from, Phantom's being the least harmful.

Lancer still did not check out of the situation as he considered these things, because above all else he wasn't certain what his own plan was.

Did he simply wrap Phantom up and take him home? It seemed like a bad idea for many reasons. Could he rely on his neighbors to mind their business?

He wasn't so sure about it. An older single man coming home with a glowing teenager was certain to solicit at least one question he had no appropriate response for.

Somewhere behind him, there was a flash of light to bring him to reality. He nearly jumped straight back out of the ditch to start running, before pausing to assess where the light had even come from.

Somewhere just beyond his range of vision it flashed again, and Lancer had the dawning sense he was about to have to decide the kind of man he was within a few minutes.

"Hello?" He asked to nothing.

Nothing replied.

"I mean no harm to him, I just... can't figure out what to do. No hospital would take him, and it's... bad."

There was a gasp from the trees, but nothing else after some abrupt hushing. Multiple people, then. He couldn't stop himself from turning to the noise, but nobody was there as he pointed the light.

"I swear on my copies of Shakespeare plays I don't want to hurt anyone, if you'll just come out."

There were hisses in the trees, but nothing stepped forward.

"You can't be a ghost because none of them would be afraid of me, but I don't know what you or I can do as living humans." He reasoned, refusing to turn as footsteps walked away from his light beam.

Phantom remained silent in the ditch the whole while, and Lancer made the deliberate decision to completely turn from him as he scanned the road towards Amity.

"I can... take him home, I suppose. Let him heal on my couch. But I don't know what else I can do."

Someone darted across the road, and Lancer refused to turn. There was a very loud gasp, and a stifled retch noise. Lancer refused to turn, even as something in the back of his mind nagged he could probably identify who it was.

"I've got nothing otherwise. I can't imagine you have anything, either."

The clearly synthesized voice of one google text to speech started behind him.

"Go. Home."

Lancer examined his car as he considered.

"Home's past the puddle."

There was the furious clicking of buttons behind him, whoever it was desperate to respond with speed.

He should turn, but he was obviously on the cusp of a well kept secret.

"We. Can. Hide. Again. Leave. Now."

He should turn, but whatever he found out he wouldn't be able to take back.

... He turned without continuing the hiding game, because he had to know.

Tucker Foley stood, looking haunted in the light. Samantha Manson was clearly working on not having a panic attack, and one Jasmine Fenton was working on crossing the road.

"By Poe's The Raven I don't know what to say this time." He hummed, dull toned as Jasmine started also working on not having a panic attack.

"Nothing! Not a thing Mr. Lancer! Just- just drive on and you didn't see us!" Jasmine wheezed.

"Is he going to be safe with you three?" He asked, refusing to engage with the panicked nonsense.

Make no mistake, Lancer was in his own form of shock. He simply had the emergency response training and years of teaching to help with staying down to earth in a crisis.

"B-better than with you...! "Cause we can...! Uh... we're gonna have to call Vlad for this one."

Manson's voice was soft and quavering even with the bite behind the first half, the scene before her taking its toll as her eyes darted from Lancer to Phantom over and over.

Despite that, Lancer could only dimly register the Mayor's name.

"Do you uh. Need a ride? To..."

Lancer generally waved to his car, even as all three of them tensed.

"Nope! Leave!" Jasmine exclaimed, waving him away.

"I don't believe that." Lancer challenged.

"It's not about us, it's about you having your name attached to this." Foley grit out, finally speaking.

The boy stood firm in the light, his jovial humor entirely replaced with the attitude of someone who's been through this rodeo. Lancer didn't want to imagine it, but stood in silence anyways. Waiting.

"He's right." Manson spoke. "Mr. and Ms. Fenton won't be happy, Vlad loves new targets, so do the rest of the ghosts... Just don't."

"Yes, thank you Sam! Involvement is bad and you need to leave!" Jasmine hissed, stepping uncomfortably close as she continued to flail.

Lancer quietly considered the situation before him as he took a step back. And another.

And a third.

He knew, distantly, that this was probably the bad option. The one that made him a coward and a bad person. But he could see it, the cusp of a secret kept for a reason.

The cusp of a secret they were trying to say would get him killed.

The car had never been turned off, and both Foley and Jasmine darted out of the road to let him through.

In the mirrors, they clearly started arguing. Lancer could venture a guess it was about Vlad, though possibly not the one he knows of.

At 8:39pm he arrives home. He washes his hands and pretends he doesn't see his tires glowing from his window.

By 8:44pm he sits on his couch, and it's one of the few times he's conceded to himself it might be a good night to drink up old wine bottles he hadn't asked for from his mom.

Not much, never much. Enough for his head to buzz with something else and crawl into his bed.

At 5:01am he woke up, and could pretend for all of ten minutes he hadn't seen anything. A blissful period where he'd forgotten, and nothing happened the night before.

The rest of the morning was a haze, and not one he was inclined to make sense of. He was almost certainly better off forgetting the night before, and he could almost manage it as he marked the younger Fenton and Kwan as absent for the day while Manson and Foley refused to look at him.

[anguishedlurker]

A gift, for you.

Phic Phight be upon ye! 2461 words for @jackdaw-sprite, filling in for the prompt; "Finally; a scale, one of Clockworks own. Daniel would not accept such a fine gift without questions. So Clockwork slipped it beneath his skin as he slept."

Clockwork had to wait diligently for the scale to finally appear. Few would understand what they meant when they spoke of the wait, and ask blankly if they couldn't have simply plucked it from the future.

Such an assumption of ease grated, though was not new.

Clockwork had waited, because to reach to the future was a complication. It had many impossibilities layered onto itself, for the future was rarely so set in stone as to reliably pluck from.

Clockwork had waited, because to set up the future they'd had to realign with the snake first. To confirm the path with labor by their own hands.

While many ghosts had no animal association, those more representative than human (or post-human as it were) were liable to have at least one. They are not entirely sure where the belief came from- and they are most certainly lying when they say it- but nonetheless the master of time could rather well embody the concept of a snake.

Provided they so desired, and it was required so it was desired.

Clockwork had waited, because even if they had not Daniel would not have been ready. The scale could have sat in storage, losing desirable properties and gaining undesirable ones as it collected the Dust That Never Left within the tower.

Days, weeks, months. Passing kept or unkept, hardly mattered, wrapped in waxed cloth with the finest (or not) wards. Wasted in solitude, as its moment came, went, and then postponed again someway or another.

Clockwork had waited, because Daniel was still not ready in a sense. Not in the emotional way, nuances of the somewhat-human mind largely lost on them. Time's arrow had no interest in the mechanics of the waving winds holding influence over its flight, simply that it continued moving, and Clockwork was an extension beholden to the same flaw. Humans looked an awful lot like math problems when viewed through the looking glasses strewn throughout the tower.

Such musing is getting lost in the reeds though, and after Clockwork was done waiting for some pieces, others remained slowly inching forward towards the chosen destiny. The welded patches on their bare arms had shifted to scale sometime ago, and the natural course of shedding had quietly started in the background some time after, all in the silence of a plan that could be ruined.

The Observants so loved unlocking their doors on a whim, but refusing to take off their cloak was far from new. Their gloves remained firmly fixed on their hands, and nothing was seen because for it to spread to visible areas Clockwork must let the scales do so.

The Observants' loss of a specific regulatory pin on how frequently they were allowed to reset a timeline was not incidental, though far more unpleasant than expected going in. Clockwork would not let the scales spread to undesirable spots as they waited, and they would do it forever if that is what it took.

Daniel was of more concern, pressing when the front of their cloak closed to stop showing their glass and gear interior.

Clockwork had hardly needed to lie, yet the blooming threads of futures were clear about the necessity of omitting various details.

Multiple times, even.

That darn pin, no? They were sure the Observants would like it back, though of the councils toys that may or may not be necessary Clockwork would not shed tears when its fate was executed.

So they'd waited, explained away the changing form with reassuring but insubstantial platitudes, and the first shed was unsuitable for their goals. Powerful magical ingredients in the objects own right, but not the correct sort. They knew it would happen though, and it was not of worry.

The second waiting period was to hold onto the snake while drifting back to mechanical.

To embody two things was far from unreasonable, and was far from being particularly insane. Especially as the category of animal and object were separate, and could very well co-exist.

Most people would press them for an explanation as to how they didn't contradict, but the true answer was tedious and over-long for what people truthfully wanted from them.

As such Clockwork wasn't inclined to humor the questions in the threads that posed them, so much more concerned as to if the combination of snake and mechanical was the correct choice.

Snake was certainly an idea of convenience, in Clockworks' mind. If they could shed the scales, it simplified quite a bit. No profound mutilation or significant harm to frighten Daniel with. Just a scale that comes off in its own time.

Yet Daniel seemed ambivalent about the snake in ways that didn't particularly bode well. Future complications from the gift seemed to stem from the snake as opposed to the machine, and trying to parse out why was going to finally drive them mad.

Cat seemed the most flawless choice, but even assuming Clockwork could maintain the connection, then what? Pulling out fur was rather unhelpful, and attempting to gift a claw with a bandaged hand would solicit questions Clockwork didn't want.

Even if the gift was subtly given, Clockwork would have to weather the questions of what precisely happened to his hand from both Daniel and the Observants. And wait for it to heal on top of it

Most other animals ran into the same two categories of issues, the third unrelated question of if Clockwork can achieve a connection rarely coming into the calculation. If it could work, it would be done. But little was perfect.

And then the metals, the machines. Daniel could utilize them perfectly well. The cold and unalive, freezing to touch yet always moving with precision... It bordered on his domain already.

What kind of metal mattered, though. Iron was common for a reason, tough and unyielding. Both weapons and building materials alike loved it, or at least had at one point or another.

But there was this tendency to be unkind, which he would reject. Even the metal for work had little care to what it cut, an iron scythe plenty happy to reap misplaced hands as it was happy to reap hay. Nails, even, if placed and forced were a cruel tactic.

Copper was pleasing to the eye, and so very hard to contaminate, yet so easy as to corrode. A shining brown reduced to blue with time, constant maintenance needed to keep its beauty. Strength, perhaps it had plenty enough, but its uses lay elsewhere in the modern world.

Brass and bronze, older metals and yet perfect. Bronze especially, in the right ratio of tin to copper would never corrode or decay. Stronger than copper would be without losing much beauty, the metal empires were built on the back of.

Silver and gold had been a consideration, in the feeling fantasy type of way. Beautiful, and sought after. Royalty coming into its own. But such weight of expectation could also be rejected, and the flaw of tarnish and the flaw of weakness in its purity would not be kind.

So Clockwork waited, and the scales turned to metal. They would shed far less frequently, and be notably harder to shed once the time came. The difficulty was of no concern, but the possibility of the problems getting noticed was added to the plan.

They pondered the process of the non metals in waiting, though not as extensively. To gift Daniel glass would be profound until it cut him, as whether the glass was cut or shattered it would not hide the materials nature. Gems had the same issue as the snake; ambivalence, stacked twice, would most certainly make the gift worse.

Daniel was always welcome in the waiting's meantime, as the glass on Clockwork's torso grew brittle and the welded metal grew tender and raw. The boy laid across a couch, obtained just for him, on the day Clockwork changed their cloak for one that hid their interior, and peeled the last layers of metal off their arms.

Much of it happened as they did their job, the waiting. Timelines teased and untangled as Daniel lay paused in the background, and the first papery layer of scales lifted in their own time despite the itch.

Clockwork, in the meantime, tried to entertain and guide. Gift what they could to the young boy.

But the oddity of it was how things must be given. Clockwork hardly minded the game of expectations, but it was truly strange. The couch was never mentioned, and the food they did not need for themself never questioned by him.

Objects were so much worse to try giving, though. Once, well before this attempt, they'd thought to fish a pendant out the Lost River for him. The poor object stuck somewhere in a strand circling the eighteen nineties, and was otherwise worthless in its situation. Yet holding it in front of their mirrors, they could see the outright rejection of a direct gift. Explanations as to how it would help  stabilize and soothe wounds, and heal them easier, only barely guilted Daniel into accepting, only to drop it into a bedside stand and refuse to touch it unless deemed necessary. It was far more frequently palmed off to his mortal friends than used to heal himself those timelines, however infuriating it was to Clockwork.

So instead of explaining the pendant, it entered his pocket one day without  any statement. Daniel got a pleased hum and attention for obviously wearing it, and as such the pendant did its job silently and the gift was received.

Sometime after, Clockwork made a decision about a much different gift. And sometime after that, Daniel was on the couch again when Clockwork Knew the waiting was done.

Daniel stayed to his heart's content, as the difference of a few hours had no meaning to Clockwork's timeline. And once alone, in their chambers, the cloak was shouldered off just far enough to access the most promising patch of scales.

To work a nail underneath the scale was easy enough, and with an admittedly very felt pop one came loose and began its tumble to the floor.

Obviously snatched before it could hit the ground, the underside had only the barest of still glowing green sticking to it. Easily washed off, and suddenly pure. One scale, about the size of a man's thumbnail.

Ritualistically, Clockwork floated before the mirrors and glasses and Looked again at the future paths.

To gift Daniel a scale with no further statement, slipped into a pocket and no more, begged for him to lose it. While Clockwork could certainly work in the background to return it, the losing would harm the scale and any power regardless.

To explain would beget questions Clockwork found irrelevant and Daniel found disturbing. What came first, and then how, and for, and Daniel seemed to not like any true answers. Yet, lies would most certainly be caught.

There was an easy answer to Clockwork, even if doing so would shield their vision somewhat and make Daniel more unpredictable than before.

It was easy, perfectly executable next time Daniel slept on the couch. His time in the tower had already begun to condition him to time powers, the amulet nowhere near as the world was stopped and Daniel breathed and slept at a rate where five seconds was closer to one. A creature moving through syrup, but nonetheless moving.

All it needed was some more pressure though, Daniel not getting the time to curl further into the blankets as the threads grew tighter around them both.

He had to be moved from his side, but when the world cannot enact its gravity for it has no time to do so, caution and care in their actions means something different. 

Positioning things as desired was hardly a problem. It wasn't their first time carefully applying time to free and move a mortals joints, nor a ghosts.

It was all very easy. The same nail that pried the scale off was sharp enough to cut skin on his mid back, right under the start of a lower rib, flesh peeling off from fat in a perfect line.

Clockwork thought better of not going a bit deeper than the subcutaneous layer a second after, watching it peel to the yellowish layer and just barely bleed with a fascination rarely known to them.

Their goal and task was straight forward, the scale placed close to Daniels spine but notably under the rib, safe from being found as he writhed in sleep. Waking up generally contained getting up too fast to notice, and for the most part Daniel only slept on his stomach or side.

The layer of fat was just as entrancing nonetheless, blood beading far faster as they cut once more. Blood beginning to pool and drip as the flap was lifted and carefully held to accept the gift.

Blood just barely dripping onto an otherwise stainless floor as the flap of skin was laid back down, and left frozen in time as Clockwork brought out the bandages, cleaning the red and applying adhesive and a bit of gauze. It would be a bit before it stopped bleeding, but the pendant hung in mid-drop to gravity's claim from his neck as if to reassure it would be fast.

Clockwork wondered its opinion of Daniel, truthfully. It seemed to enjoy its new life, if nothing else positive could be said.

The shifted shirt was replaced to where it had been before, and Daniel was lowered back onto the couch with care.

Declaring time in and time out had always been for the benefit of others, not infrequently those others being the Observants. Daniel woke with a start as Clockwork pondered what they could see of the happenings.

Likely very little, or possibly quite a bit with much more bombastic going-ons to view. Either way, the event was certain to remain unnoticed even as he groaned.

"Relax. I don't foresee it lasting." They assured, floating above Daniel with a hand reaching down to ruffle hair.

"Feels like something stabbed me." He whined, already putting his head back to the pillow.

"I would let no such thing occur in my territory."

Daniel’s nose crinkled as the words processed.

"I know that, but you'd think a random pain would be politer."

"I don't think most pain is polite."

With one last huff, Daniel was already going silent. He was much too tired from Technus giving him the runaround to not drift straight back to sleep.

In the morning, after allowed proper rest, Daniel would begin to Become. It was the rare occasion Clockwork was glad the scale obscured the future in this way; Finding out the future between stolen snapshots could very well be the best part.

[anguishedlurker]

So, let me guess– you just started a new book, right? And you’re stumped. You have no idea how much an AK47 goes for nowadays. I get ya, cousin. Tough world we live in. A writer’s gotta know, but them NSA hounds are after ya 24/7. I know, cousin, I know. If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…

You’re in luck, cousin. I have just the thing for ya.

It’s called Havocscope. It’s got information and prices for all sorts of edgy information. Ever wondered how much cocaine costs by the gram, or how much a kidney sells for, or (worst of all) how much it costs to hire an assassin?

I got your back, cousin. Just head over to Havocscope.

((PS: In case you’re wondering, Havocscope is a database full of information regarding the criminal underworld. The information you will find there has been taken from newspapers and police reports. It’s perfectly legal, no need to worry about the NSA hounds, cousin ;p))

Want more writerly content? Follow maxkirin.tumblr.com!

[anguishedlurker]

Ok guys consider this: DP fic where Danny and Wes run away together

Make no mistake, they still absolutely HATE each other. Wes has been trying to expose Danny’s identity since the beginning, and that hasn’t changed a bit since the GiW appeared.

Now, though, it makes a little bit more sense to Danny.

Wes is at his window, panting and shaking, and he is bleeding. The GiW, he explains, had been harassing him since the beginning. An hour ago, they got the warrant needed to take him into custody, and they went after him immediately. To add to that, they got the papers to go after one other person as well. Danny.

So now, they’re on the world’s worst road trip to Florida or Alaska or some other, equally far away state because Wes has an uncle there who he knows has a deep enough grudge against the government that he won’t sell them out for anything.

They hate each other, and desperately wish they could ditch each other, but Danny’s the only one who can actually keep their rustbucket bike (originally Wes’ brother’s, gifted to him after it started breaking down) working without dropping at least 2 grand on repairs, and Wes is the only one with a driver’s license.

Danny’s honestly surprised that Wes didn’t just sell him out. Wes told him that, quite frankly, he probably would have, had the GiW not attacked him as viciously as they did. He still hated Danny, of course, but he couldn’t live with himself if he just…left someone to get tortured like that.

Danny snaps that he knew the GiW would do that since the beginning, and if Wes had just listened to him—

In truth, he’s surprisingly touched. He’s never gonna tell Wes that, but still.

Basically just roadtrip of hell where Danny and Wes slowly get closer and start to understand each other, while simultaneously Jazz and Sam are working together to politically destroy the GiW, Tucker is running digital interference as much as possible (Danny, please stop showing your full face in front of security cameras, are you trying to give him a seizure), and the parents Fenton are beginning to think that they might’ve, just maybe, made a slight mistake in their understanding of Phantom.

[anguishedlurker]

Problem with making sci fi dungeons is coming up with places that aren't just military tech bases, research facilities, mines or abandoned space stations.

I have the entirety of modern life to pull from and I come up blank somehow.

[anguishedlurker]

Put down the hammer, he's not a nail

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62028544

Crawling out my hole for a thought that struck me at 3am <3

ao3 server crash attempted to kill it but I live regardless.

[anguishedlurker]

Put down the hammer, he's not a nail

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62028544

Crawling out my hole for a thought that struck me at 3am <3

ao3 server crash attempted to kill it but I live regardless.

[anguishedlurker]

Put down the hammer, he's not a nail

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62028544

Crawling out my hole for a thought that struck me at 3am <3

ao3 server crash attempted to kill it but I live regardless.

[anguishedlurker]

Put down the hammer, he's not a nail

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62028544

Crawling out my hole for a thought that struck me at 3am <3

ao3 server crash attempted to kill it but I live regardless.

[anguishedlurker]

We're looking into some server hiccups, please stand by!

Posted: 21:19 UTC January 6, 2025

[anguishedlurker]

REC: Powered_By_Spite - Powered_By_Spite - I can't seem to run fast enough

URL: https://ift.tt/yo82AVE He got careless, just a little sloppy. Skulker screaming in the thermos probably did him in. And now he's gotta run. It's his only chance. (Words: 10,144) !!!fandom, !!fic, |site:ao3, +fandom:danny.phantom, ::rating:teen.and.up.audiences, ~author:powered_by_spite, character:danny.fenton, character:jack.fenton.(danny.phantom), character:maddie.fenton, character:jazz.fenton, character:sam.manson, character:tucker.foley, character:ida.manson, character:vlad.masters, relationship:none, ::category:no.category, \creator.chose.not.to.use.archive.warnings, ~ao3:mild.gore, ~ao3:fanon.typical.violence, ~ao3:dissection.(almost), ~ao3:(we.don't.quite.get.there), ~ao3:being.hunted, ~ao3:threats.of.violence, ~ao3:ambiguous/open.ending, ~ao3:blood.and.injury, ~ao3:angst, ~ao3:danny.fenton.needs.a.hug, ~ao3:danny.fenton.needs.a.break, #ambiguous.ending, #unhappy.ending

[anguishedlurker]

the blog is still in a WIP state right now and I'll work on it more later, but for now i want to announce i officially created @commissions-shop ! this is gonna be a blog with the goal of sharing commissions posts from artists as a way to give them visibility + work as a marketplace for people seeking to buy art! i strongly recommend following because I'd be really glad if this project worked out!

[anguishedlurker]

Um, hiya! I'm currently in the need of some help!

I've been assigned to create a mini ethnography website for a fandom of my choosing as a final project and I decided to do the Danny Phantom fandom!!! I need some help though,

I've linked a google form above, it has 15 questions with 7 multiple choice questions and 8 written response questions. Answers will be kept anonymous and I won't be collecting emails. I admit, a few of the written questions may get more personable/involved so yeah...

I want to present the fandom in the best way possible so yeah!! Please reblog this to hopefully get more responses in qwq I'll leave it open for a week but thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to respond!!!! <3

[anguishedlurker]

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you're welcome