#but this particular WAD is... something else

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 12 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART TWELVE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help 2.9k+words

[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts -> [series masterlist]

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Johnny’s been off his game all week, he’s normally a sharp shooter. Says it how it is, not caring what he says if it’s important enough to make a difference. It’s no different than divulging intel, the Captain should know. This key piece of intel though could be similar to a ticking time bomb, he’s not sure if he wants to be on the receiving end of John’s rage or yours for that matter.

There’s only so many times the Captain can pull him aside and ask him what’s going on. He can’t lie to the man’s face and he’s beginning to crack. He’s fought off worse interrogations and never given anything away, but this is not his usual domain. Not when it comes to your safety. He gave you time and it doesn’t look like you’ve confessed to the Captain.

Johnny traces the gold cross on his chest, like a wee boy in confessional he’s trying to pluck up the courage to confess his sins. Kissing you. Another thing he has to tell the Captain before it gets too messy. He can’t even look him in the eye or string a sentence together when he’s asked once again what’s going on in his head, because it’s all bloody you.

Now Johnny ain’t the type to pick apart his interactions outside of work, but then you had to kiss him. No warning, no hesitation as your lips smashed into his. His teeth still feel the clash of your mouths meeting and he hasn’t worn his jacket hoping the crease of your hold stays in the fabric. A reminder that it happened. A sign maybe? To never do it again. He’s gone over and over again on the why? Can’t understand it, if he’s being honest.

Out of everyone you’ve spent the most time with Johnny. Since your stay in the hospital he’s fallen into the routine of walking round the base with you, not every day though. You’re a tough one to crack, a little open and honest with him when it’s flirty and fun, but he notices the flitting gaze when he aims too far. Digs too deep, there’s so many layers he’s yet to discover and figure out. He knows not to mention your mother or dad too much, instant withdrawal if he utters Lena’s name.

You’re also a tease, big time. It’s something Johnny likes the most about you, that even though you’ve been hurt many times before you feel safe enough around him to be playful. There’s still hesitant moments, silent pauses before some of your interactions and Johnny waits for you to take the lead. He can’t help but chase you when you pull him in. Should he be going after the Captain’s daughter? No, but you might have something to say about that.

The narrow corridor stretches further as Johnny squeezes past the bodies, its natural for the high traffic of people when they're so close to being back out in the field. Another thing for the sergeant to work over in his head and your little kiss doesn't help him focus. He's thinking about the money, your mother and his minds trying not to imagine the worse. If it were his family, he'd want to know. The Captain's door swings open before Johnny can lift his hand and knock against the worn wood. An analyst carrying a wad of brown files clutched to their chest, she slips past him and nods in thanks, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. Like everyone else running around this particular sector the Captain looked weathered. Deep rims carved under his eyes, thick beard and moustache scraggly and untrimmed. He's been sleeping in his office awaiting a call and the go ahead from Kate Laswell.

"Here to confess ya' sins, Son?" The Captain doesn't divert his focus from the computer monitor, brows furrowed and finger tapping the mouse. Now that Johnny’s really paying attention, he can see the exact frown that settles on your face sometimes, line not as prominent on you though.

“Soap?” The Captain snaps, none the wiser what the sergeant’s about to blurt out or that’s he sweating buckets.

Johnny stills, it's not every day the captain throws around a 'son' and he know's his focus has been divided. He doesn’t take a seat, the only possible outcome is the captain lunging at him and he’d prefer to be quick moving if that’s the case. Not that he’d blame John for going at him. Johnny would let him have one swing at least.

The Captain sighs and leans back in his creaky chair. "I warned ya' not to get involved," he says, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "You've been all over the place this week, it's unacceptable considering everything else that’s going on. This op is years worth of planning, no time to be messing around Soap." And he's right, Johnny know's he deserves the verbal lashing and maybe even a physical one if he mentions the kiss. He's never let a women get to him like he has you.

Messing around, because that's all it is? Right. It's not the kiss that's thrown him off balance, its the money and the way you spit out your mother's name. "She kissed me, but I’m not sure why exactly other than to distract me from the fact she told me she gave your money to her Mam,” Johnny rambles on, he doesn’t know why he’s worded it the way he has. As if the Captain would be interested in talking about his daughter’s liking to Johnny.

“You what?”

Captain, father…Johnny has no idea which one he’s facing now. He takes a step back as John rises from his seat and leans his hands on the desk. He’s overstepped a boundary, one foot hovering over the grave and as long as he doesn’t dig a deeper hole he might be able to walk away unscathed.

“Say that again?”

“Uh, she gave your money to her Mam,” Johnny says, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans. “One kiss, not tongues or anything. Won’t happen again.” Christ, he should not have said that. Why was he a babbling mess when it came to anything to do with you? He feels like a kid in the headmasters office waiting for a punishment.

The shrill phone ringing saves Johnny, but he doesn’t move until the Captain dismisses him with a flick of his hand. Laswell’s name falling from his lips as he held the phone up to his ear. The call they’ve all been waiting for. He releases a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding as his boots step out into the corridor again.

And like clockwork, Kyle’s texting him to meet at the pub and wind down before they get dumped in the next op. Johnny's hoping drinks with Kyle will clear his mind and absolve him from telling the Captain something you should have. The usual tradition of getting wasted before the serious stuff kicks in, the prep work and legal jargon they have to sit through in order to get the job done. Nine times out of ten the Captain makes an appearance towards the end of the night and Simon sits in a dingy corner nursing a whisky, but they aren't tonight. No, Simons gathering intel on foreign land and returning tomorrow, John’s buried under a mountain of paperwork that needs to be finalised before midnight. Leaving Kyle, thank God least he'd be able to have some fun. Take his mind off your kiss.

He doesn't expect to see you though, a glass of what he's guessing is white wine. You take a sip, placing it on the table and turning back to the man by the pool table. The usual dark hoody hangs on the back of your chair, a black lace top sticking to you like a second skin, not leaving much to his imagination. You've paired it with the same faded black jeans, torn at one knee and a pair of scuffed boots. It's not the tight fit that draws Johnny in though, its the off shoulder sleeves and the smooth planes of your back on display. The scabbed gash just below your neck in the centre peeking out from beneath the blunt cut of your hair. A smile pulls your lips and you glance down to the guys hands by his side. Always assessing others movements when they're distracted.

You’ve been to this pub a few times with the team and some of your work colleagues, but Johnny’s never seen you so relaxed. No furrowed brow or wedged between Kyle and the captain staring at your drink. Maybe it’s your dad’s absence, but it looks good on you.

Johnny leans against the sticky bar, watching the scene play out. Classic move, the blokes hand on your hip and the other helping you set up the cue stick, his front presses to your back. The red ball hits the edge of the pocket and rolls back to the centre. You stand, little pout on your face as the hand on your hip slips away. Missing on purpose.

"Might wanna get in there before he does," Kyle interrupts, elbowing Johnny and reaching over to take his pint. He takes a sip and returns it to the bar. "I'm going home with Tina," he says, searching the pub and waving to a leggy redhead across the room. "Keep an eye on the kid, yeah?" He doesn't wait for reply, knowing Johnny would have done it without being asked.

Downing the rest of his beer, he asks the barmaid for another and a white wine as well. Johnny waits till the mystery man disappears to the toilets and walks over to you. "You look nice," Johnny says, smirking as you gasp, unaware he was behind you.

Your eyes dart to his hands as he slides the drinks onto the table, rarely do you meet others gaze, but Johnny seems to be the only one who can hold your undivided attention. As if you're mesmerised by his restraint, because all he wants to do right now is lean in and kiss you. Maybe with tongues.

"So do you." You lean against the pool table, cue stick still in your grasp. “This where you tell me my times up?” You cock your head to the side and flutter those long lashes. And not even a minute in your presence, your brow furrows. Johnny would much rather see the sweet smile you’d flashed at the last guy, but he’s going to have to work for it.

Why are you straight to the point with him, but can’t pluck up the courage to talk to your dad? Johnny’s chest aches, dull throb pulsing and tightening at the fact that’s he’s beat you to it. Should he confess his third sin today? Maybe even make some more if he’s got the guts to.

“You know your Da’s a good guy,” he says, picking his beer up and observing the poorly served head of foam sitting on top. Too distracted by you and the guy earlier to notice the barmaids shoddy work.

You scoff, discarding the cue stick on the velvety green pool table. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?” You nudge an orange ball towards the corner pocket, watching it drop to the bottom and roll back into table waiting to be played again.

“Cos you’re the only one that chooses not to see it.” See he can be honest and straight with you. “What’s he done that tells you otherwise?” Sharp shooter, but he also causes destruction, hopefully never for you though.

He knows you’re the type to stand back and observe every interaction the Captain’s had. Doesn’t matter who’s approached him, you’re searching for a reason not to trust him. Pushing his buttons slightly to see if he slips up and shows you exactly what you’re afraid of.

Another man hurting you.

You shrug, “I don’t know what he’s supposed to act like.”

“That’s natural, you haven’t had a father figure around to compare him with.” There’s no other way of saying it, no sugar coating it to soften the blow as you wince at the thought. “Why don’t you just talk to him about your Mam? He’ll understand.”

“It’s complicated,” you mumbled, rolling another ball across the pool table. “You wouldn’t understand.” You shake your head, arms crossing over your chest and shoulders slumping forwards. Closing yourself off once again when he pushes too far.

The pub grows louder, bodies pushing past and you grab your hoody from the back of the chair shoving it over your head. Downing the white wine Johnny brought over, wiping your lips with the cuff of your sleeve. You’re walking through the crowd without another word, Johnny trailing after you.

“Help me understand?” Johnny says, hand slipping into yours as you stops you by the entrance. He doesn’t recognise his own voice, a softer tone reserved only for you. He’s used to snapping and snarling or talking too fast that he’s has to repeat himself, dull down his accent for others to understand him. You always understand him though.

You’re silent for a minute, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Fingers curling into fists under your crossed arms, no doubt weighing up how much you’re going to share. Little crumbs he keeps collecting as he tries to understand you more.

Johnny’s an open book, giving you anything you need to feel comfortable. He’s got nothing to hide, no shame holding him back. Hoping that you might take a leaf out of his book and do the same. He wants you to make the first move, tell him what you want. The captain’s an after thought now, someone he can deal with later if this goes any further. Again, it’s all down to you and if you’re willing to take him.

You sigh, gaze connecting with his “Ugh I preferred it when you were over there,” you say, pointing to the bar. “Not talking to me.” Flirting with him, your own form of self defence. Anything to dodge the serious conversation and chase a lighter one. Did you like him as much he liked you though?

A fine drizzle hits Johnny as he stumbles after you outside. He guides you under the shelter whilst you sort out a cab. You’re talking to him about the waiting time till next pick up, but he’s still wondering if he should just say what he’s thinking. He spends the fifteen minute drive to the house silent and you’re stealing glances at him, talking to the driver and thanking him when you exit the car.

You’re muttering under your breath, shouldering the front door open and tugging Johnny indoors with you. Johnny doesn’t think as he walks past you and heads upstairs, opening his bedroom door as if it’s still his.

“Johnny,” you snap, blinking up at him as he doesn’t answer whatever question you just threw at him. “Oh right, now you don’t talk?”

“That why you kissed me?” Johnny leans in, daring you to meet him halfway. He doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol spurring you on, but you don’t shrink nor do you break eye contact with him.

You shrug, stepping forward and tapping the cross he forgot to tuck under his shirt. “Maybe, you do talk an awful lot.”

“Then shut me up.”

“Ohh, don’t think the Captain will like that,” you say, clicking your tongue. He mirrors your smile, your eyes flitting to his lips.

"You do everything the Captain tells you?" Johnny asks, walking back as you enter the room and close the door. His heart thumping in his chest, the lock sliding into place. All, your doing.

“No, do you?” You grab the front of his shirt, but Johnny surges forward and presses his lips to yours. He doesn’t get a chance to reply, your fingers sinking into the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, he hooks an arm around your waist and lifts you up, walking to the bed and dropping you on the unmade sheets.

The bed frame creaks as Johnny’s knee sinks into the mattress, his elbows caging you in and he leans down, nose nudging your jaw. Your hands slipping under his shirt, cold fingers tracing his skin.

•

“Wait,” you whisper, pushing his chest lightly. “Gotta change quickly.” Johnny shifts to the side allowing you space to climb out of the bed.

You try not to overthink it, undressing and throwing on an oversized T-shirt, the same one you wear to bed most nights. A little worn and fraying at the edge. You wipe the smudged makeup under your eyes and spray some deodorant. There’s nothing to overthink though as you turn round, Johnny’s laid on his stomach, arm hanging off the edge of the bed. His soft snores filling the room and you clamber over him, tucking yourself under the duvet and covering him too.

“Of course you’re a loud sleeper too,” you whisper, moving closer to Johnny. His warmth drawing you in. “How am I supposed to shut you up now?”

You wonder if he’ll be there in the morning, if he’ll still feel the same. Is it too soon? Maybe, but everything with Johnny felt natural and easy. You shouldn’t feel this way, not after everything else that happened. Part of you checked out of the last relationship months before you left…well you’d tried to leave a few times, but it never stuck.

Shouldn’t it feel like this? You want it to. Johnny murmurs in his sleep, face turning to you and body shifting, his arm draping over you as he pulls you closer. His tight embrace calming your racing heart and you melt into his hold, closing your eyes.

I actually found Johnny's pov hard to write and I hope you enjoyed it. Ohhh John knows :O From this point on it's going to really angsty and hard…be prepared aahhh 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101 @bluebarrybubblez @shitaaba @muraaaaaa @vajjaa @rafaelacallinybbay @jeannieboys @poetoflawed @idleviewer @darling006

[lvmimis]

cw: something something about keepsakes and important items. selfship-coded. fluff with suggestive language at the end.

“Have you seen my bandana anywhere?”

Robin offers you a sympathetic look as she shakes her head no, offering you many hands to turn over the room you’re both in but soon you thank her for her efforts, heading out of the room and leaving her to her reading.

The pink, purple and gold scarf is a favorite of yours, and even if it doesn’t have a quarter of the sentimental value or symbolic gravitas as Luffy’s straw hat, it is still particularly important to you. You’d let it sit in the laundry hamper in the women’s quarters for a little too long instead of washing it yourself by hand and leaving it to dry in the shower and (perhaps serving you right for being lazy), now it was nowhere to be found.

Not under any of the beds, or on the living room couches and chairs; not somewhere in the kitchen or bathroom, or in any of the clotheslines with washed shirts and bedsheets hung out to dry.

You find yourself growing more frustrated by the moment as you search, until you find Luffy, sitting on the lawn in squatting position and watching intently as Usopp tinkers with a new invention, your bandana tied around his bicep.

Both relief and annoyance wash over you at once.

“Luffy!”

Luffy moves so fast you barely spot him until his face is right in front of you, grinning widely. The rest of him follows, the remainder of his body snapping back into place and you grimace, wishing he wouldn’t contort himself so easily into cartoonishly horrifying form when you weren’t expecting it.

“Eh?”

He pouts as he notices your displeased posture, arms crossed over your chest.

“What happened?” he asks. You uncross an arm and point to the bandana around his arm.

“I’ve been looking for that for almost an hour, Luffy.”

He looks towards the bandana on his arm, then back to you.

“It almost flew overboard, that’s why I have it,” he asks. Slipping it off his arm quickly, he hands it back to you partially wadded up but before you can snatch it, he maneuvers quickly around your grasp, and attempts to fasten it around your forehead.

It catches you by surprise, and he tightens it a little too tight, but his attempt is so earnest, biting his lower lip as he tries to adjust it just right, you find yourself standing still and letting him do it.

“Sorry,” he offers. “Just wanted to keep it safe.”

He pauses, then places his hands on his hips as he admires his own handiwork. You reach up to adjust it gently.

“Luffy I tie it in the back, not the front,” you remind him, but he’s surprised you by putting his own hat on your head.

“Here you can wear this for a few minutes as an apology, okay?” he says. “Take good care of it!”

He’s already walked off to return to bothering Usopp, who sighs at the loss of the temporary reprieve from questions he enjoyed while Luffy was distracted with you. 

Your hands gently clutch the brim of his hat, and wonder why he so easily trusts his possessions with you.

—

You don’t wear Luffy’s hat often after that, its significance more than you can bear, but there are some particular occasions where he makes sure you hold on to it and you oblige:

When he’s about to do something particularly dangerous but necessary, as a promise that he’ll be fine and right back in front of you to get it.

When you need reassurance that he’s always there for you.

When you need a reason to hide your face...

The last of those reasons is particularly lascivious, but possibly your favorite, the wide brim, shielding you from your own shame when you’re a little too exposed for your own liking, atop or below him, wearing the hat but nothing else. It emboldens you and reminds you that you are loved and treasured all the same.

He is just as fond of your favorite bandana, a playful blindfold when he’s staring at you just a little too much for comfort, or when you want him to know that you too, will be right back where you left him, when you separate, either to travel a new city, landscape or ruin and he must leave you to your devices.

Somewhat of a perfect exchange.

[lunarriviera]

Hi! Hope you're doimg well! I wanted to ask, what do you do when you get stuck when writing? Like, I know I want to go from point A to point B, but I'm stuck at point A and not sure how to get to point B.

nonny i am busting in here all excitedly like the koolaid man at four in the god o’clock of the morning to answer this, because I ACTUALLY KNOW THIS ONE: 

the solution to this issue is, in fact, square brackets. like this: [???]

what? you say. how works this? you say. READ ON I WILL TELL YOU

so right now in the scene i’m trying to pull together/make into prose, from tattered drafts/sentences/allcaps/bullet points/etc., i have three things that need to happen: 1) police will search a suspect’s house, 2) one of them has to find something incriminating, 3) the suspect’s son has to burst in and cause a lot of trouble. those are my B points. but right now, i’m stuck at point A: shen yi and he rongyue are sitting in the car talking about feelings when they need to get out and go do their damn jobs. how do i get them to move. why aren’t they moving. why are they still sitting there talking, this isn’t brunch goddammit.

at this point as a writer, you get to make a decision: EITHER a) your idea about what needs to happen in this scene was all wrong, and the reason you’re “stuck” at point A is that maybe point A is actually a very interesting place for your characters to linger inside, and maybe they really need to be there a while longer, in case they have things to say or do. and point B maybe isn’t the point B you thought it was going to be, but it’s going to be something different (maybe shen yi and he rongyue realize they need backup, or they decide they’re going someplace else to do something different, instead).

OR: square brackets. it works like this. (and by the way i learned this from @seperis because she is literally a genius, thank you sep darling you should know saved my whole entire life.) here is some of my draft to illustrate:

[shen yi and he rongyue saying a bunch of words about feelings and things not related to the case they’re supposed to be investigating]

“I wonder,” said Shen Yi thoughtfully, “what would happen if you just asked her to go for a walk with you?”

[TK]

Shen Yi stopped in front of the painting and looked at it, at first out of habit, and then more closely, as he instinctively stepped back the correct distance to see both the whole canvas at once as well as its technique. From the other room, he could hear He Rongyue and [Name of Her Assistant] doing [something something something]. He still had on nitrile gloves, so he came closer again, to touch the varnish, feel along the grooves of the brushwork. He frowned. This wasn’t a reproduction—this was a genuine [name of painter redacted bc it’s a plot point and a surprise].

[TK]

“What the fuck are you people doing in my house?” came an aggrieved voice from the landing. Everyone turned to look up at the young man standing there, keys in one hand, a cup of iced coffee in the other. He was, Shen Yi realized, Huang Wei, and that was neither unexpected nor a particular problem, but the person with him was probably going to be a very particular problem indeed.

you can see how i gestured towards three different parts of this scene, even though i didn’t finish any of them here and have no idea what the connective tissue will be between them. and i did this by skipping huge wads of prose and just tossing in “[TK]” for now. ”TK” by the way is an abbreviation i learned while working for newspapers/magazines; journalists use it to mean “to come,” as in, “something important is missing here so i promise i will make a bunch of phone calls and get that detail/fact shoved in there before we go to press.” We use TK instead of TC because you can word-search TK and that letter combination isn’t in any english words (or at least very few; anyway i can’t think of any).

at some point, of course, you will have to fill in “[TK]” or rather, i will, here with all the stuff that’s missing—dialogue, action, and description, mostly; i tend not to summarize or use exposition much, but usually default to telling a story in-scene (a time-honored tradition in fanfic). but the beauty of TK and above all, the square brackets, is that you don’t bog down. you don’t go down a research rabbit hole because you can’t remember the name of He Rongyue’s assistant (Xiao something? Feng?) and you don’t wind yourself into knots figuring out how to get them out of the car and into the house. you keep moving, like a shark.

so if you’re stuck getting from A to B? stop trying to get from A to B. just SKIP there, skip to where you want to be. throw in “[something goes here]” so you remember to go back and add it later. if you have a general idea of what goes there, put that instead: “[somehow they get out of the car still talking and head inside. oh wait how do they break the door down. is jiang xue with them?]”—like that.

the trick with any piece of fic longer than, say, 7-8k, is NOT to get bogged down. anything with multiple scenes, really—even if you have, say, five scenes planned for your oneshot, you will find one really easy to write and then you’ll stare at the next one, which SHOULD be easy to write, for eleventy hours, sweating like that gif of jordan peele. don’t do that. just put “[this is the scene where chen fei throws a chair and ruan nanzhu says something cutting and walks out, and that’s the moment chen fei knows he actually likes the bastard.]” then skip! skip, skip. skip to the moment where you know the next thing that will happen! write that part instead! “it’s two years later and chen fei is furious, because he has to see that lovesick look on ruan nanzhu’s face whenever he thinks qiushi isn’t paying attention. the worst part is that lin qiushi is genuinely loveable, so chen fei can’t even hate him. he starts hiding in his room.” etc.

the thing about writing ANYTHING is not to lose momentum, not to get stuck in what novelist robert pirsig called “a gumption trap.” or, as alec baldwin’s character says in glengarry glen ross: always be closing. keep moving! don’t sit in one place too long or you really will get stuck. if you find yourself fussing with a paragraph, or adding more to a scene when you didn’t mean to add more instead of stopping and moving on, or pacing around the house irritated with yourself, drink a lot of very cold water and then SKIP.

skip to the part where you know what happens. if you don’t know what happens, either go for a long walk and think about what exactly Han Juwon or Naruto or Bob the Builder or Taylor Swift or Viktor Nikiforov or Wang Meng or whomstthefuckever would do/say in this situation. after about 15-20 minutes i’m usually either turning around to go home and write it down, or giving myself complicate mnemonics based on trees and street signs, so i have a chance of remembering what i just realized absolutely has to happen next in the story.

in conclusion:

1. [TK!] [square brackets are your friends!] [you can use them!] [to skip ahead!] [and leave a stuck spot BYYYYYEEEE hit da bricks] [and just go to a more pleasant spot where there’s a shady tree and some soft green grass to lie on]

2. …and then later when you take another pass through the document, on some day when you’re mentally fresher and maybe you haven’t read it for a couple days, you’ll find yourself adding a few sentences. or one sentence. or some words. it’s fine. it’s all fine. look we can’t all be out here writing a million words a year. some people do, sure. as writer annie dillard says, some people eat cars. but if you want to write something with some bite to it, some texture and grit and heft, you’re gonna endure some tortuous slowness and a lot of [TK]. so best start getting real comfortable with that now. if you wanted an easy hobby i have some difficult news for you, you picked the wrong fucking one.

3. the reward for your patience with yourself and your writing process will be all those times when you’re driving, showering, cooking, and/or DMing with bestie, and suddenly What's About To Happen Next will hit you like a bolt of lightning and nearly scalp you in the process. holy shit, you’ll say to yourself, stunned. i now know exactly who’s coming through the door with huang wei and it’s not at all who i thought it was. (this jolt of electricity is why people are pantsers, by the way. we suffer through our own cluelessness for an eternity, just to have that one shocking moment of godlike clarity. the crash usually sucks but the high is unbelievable.) (and i say this, but i always have an outline. i just usually mostly ignore it, because apparently my continued survival is predicated on the fact that imaginary people talk in my head and i just write down what they say.)

4. finally i have ABSOLUTELY written fics of every length just to get to One Particular Scene which i wrote first. i wrote the ending of my current long wip really early on, and everything leading up to it has just been me trying to figure out: okay, so what’s it going to take to get them there? in the words of george w. bush, whom i am not much given to quoting, you are the decider. you can decide to write your fic backwards if you want to! write C first and then go back and add B and at the very end A! no one will ever know, it’s between you and your drafts. then you can do what i do, and write an excessively long nervous a/n about it all, when you post.

this got long but tldr just remember: [tk]. love you have fun writing!!! <3 <3

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

Kiss Me ♡ Sam Winchester

Pairing: Sam winchester x reader

Warnings: no use of y/n, I'm very dyslexic so idk witch which is witch, not proof read, I wrote this in an hour? Help, kiss, idk what else to put, this may not make sense but I just needed to write something and all my wips bored me so ✨️tada✨️

Summary: a witch cursed Sam to only awake with a true loves kiss, so naturally Dean calls you, the only problem is you haven't seen the Winchesters in 5 years.

You swore that you would never see the Winchesters again.

That was the only thing that you promised yourself. The one rule you could never break.

As a hunter you don't get a lot of garentees in life, you get close to zero, but this was your one none negotiable rule and everyone knew that.

Which is why you were cursing yourself as you drove down the highway, going at a very illegal speed trying to get to the winchesters as fast as possible.

Or more accurately to one spefic Winchester in particular.

Sam Winchester.

Dean had called you not even an hour ago, you hadn't picked up the fist 5 times, but on the 6th ring you figured it must be important.

He wasn't making alot of sense, but one thing was clear, Sam was in trouble and he needed you.

The winchesters being in trouble wasn't anything new, in fact it was the norm, but this seemed diffrent, it had to be diffrent otherwise you wouldn't have been called. Dean never called you even when you worked together, it was always sam. You and Dean didn't realy get along, it's not that you hated eachother, but you were both weary of eachother. And both of your concerns arose form the same factor, Sam. It was a safe assumption to say that you both cared for Sam, but unfortunately that ment that you often clashed.

But that's all in the past. Because you hadn't spoken to them in years. You hadn't seen Dean or Sam in 5 years. Yet here you were knocking on the door to the address of a motel that Dean frantically gave you over the phone.

"Hi-" you awkwardly began to sat as Dean opened the door, but you were quickly cut off.

"This is going to sound insane but right now I don’t have time to explain." Dean began, as he basically dragged you inside to where Sam lay unconscious on one of the cheap motel beds.

"Can you just kiss him?" Dean bluntly asked looking you in the eyes.

You were completely taken back by the forwardness of his request.

"What?" You muttered, glancing quickly to Sam, laying almost lifeless on the bed. He looked bad. You wouldn't have known he was alive if his chest didn't fall up and down ever so slightly.

As if reading your mind dean began to speak again. "And quickly as he might actually die soon."

"Sorry I'm a bit confused, why-" you began but were quickly cut off again.

"A witch, obsessed with fairy tales, cursed him like sleeping beauty or some princess shit and I thought killing the bitch would end the curse I was wrong so you need to kiss him."

Your head wad spinning. If it was sleeping beauty then that ment that...

That couldn't be true, could it?

No that made no sense you hadn't seen the younger of the brothers in 5 years. He was probably so diffrent. He could have lost his boyish smile. Or his perfect hair. Or his humour. Or-

"That doesn't explain why I specifically-" you began, but just as before you were cut off by Dean.

"Cut the bullshit, and just kiss him. I can waste time explaining but sammy is dieing, please. I just know that this will work, it has to, you look at him like I look-" he stopped himself, sighing almost lost in thought. "It doesn't matter just kiss him goddammit!" He practically shouted.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "just hurry up, I'll be outside."

With that he turned his back and slayed the motel door behind him as he left.

He left you alone with Sam.

Sam.

He looked terrible. He looked dead. It broke your heart. You could have stopped this. If you had just been there. If you'd had stayed....

No. You couldn't have.

You and Sam said things to eachother that you should have never said, and it ended up with you waking up in his bed. And you couldn't do that. Neither of you could. So you had to leave. And that's exactly what you did.

And that's when your rule stared. You told Bobby to never put you on a hunt with them or you wouldn't show.

Your rule spread like wild fire and soon it was a common known fact that you didn't hunt with the winchesters. No one knew why, but no one questioned it, especially given the winchesters track record.

Yet here you are, 5 years down the line, breaking your one rule.

You walked over to the edge of the bed to where Sam lay.

"I'm so sorry." You whispered. You didn't know exactly what you apologising for. Kissing Sam or for everything before this moment.

Closing your eyes you tentatively leaned forward and gently pressed your lips to his for a brief second before pulling away.

He didn't move.

No, no, no no. This couldn't be happening.

You reached to grab his hand, waeving your fingers between his.

"Come on Sam, please wake up." You pleaded as tears began to fill your eyes. How could you be so stupid? You left hom for 5 years, he could have been dead for that whole time and you would have had no idea.

"Please..." you sobbed as you rested your head on his chest.

You felt numb. It felt like you had just been stabbed in the chest and someone kept twisting the knife.

Gently a hand started stroking your hair.

Your head jolted up.

There he was, eyes open, a small smile on his lips.

"Hi love," he bearly whispered, half confused half over joyed.

"Sam!" You cried and you flung your arms round his neck, "you scared me you son of a bitch."

"What are you...?" He began but trailed off.

"Dean called." You answered, quickly remembering the whole situation, pulling shyly away from Sam.

"You came?" He sounded shocked.

"You needed my help."

"I thought-"

"Yeah you made me break my one rule Sam so...?"

A silence fell over the pair of you. You couldn't look him in the eyes. God you felt awkward.

"It was a pretty crap rule." He mumbled, looking directly at you, a half smile playing on his lips.

"I had good reason for it I mean-" you began.

"You ran away beacsue you were scared." He said matter of fact way, his eyes showing his hurt.

"I hunt monsters for a living I doubt that I was scared of some feelings, they're hardly spooky." You laughed. It was painfully obviously forced.

"So why did you leave then?"

You couldn't answer his question. He was right. You were scared. Scared of what you felt for him. And back then it felt like a valid reason. But right now, you felt stupid.

"You know what the curse was don't you?" He asked.

"Sam I-"

"It was the cliche of a true loves kiss. The witch said it didn't exist so I was destined to die."

You stayed silent, you couldn't look at him. You knew what it ment. You both did.

"Yet here I am, here you are." He said as though he was proving evidence in court. You were evidence of true love. After 5 years of not seeing eachother, you both still were irrevocably in love with one another. It was true love.

"Here I am." You agreed, finally meeting his eyes. "So now what?" You asked tentatively.

You were both quiet then. His smile only grew as he leaned closer to you.

"I think it's time you got rid of your stupid rule." He whispered in your ear.

"Why should I do that?" You pulled away, a matching smile on your face.

His smile softened as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"So that way I can wake up with you beside me, instead of you just living inside my dreams. So I can hold on to you instead of just our memories. So you can kiss me all the time and not just beacsue I'm dieing."

"That does seem like a valid reason, you got anymore?"

"Because I know, even after 5 years, you still feel the same way I do"

"And what's that?"

"I love you."

You were only inches away from his face now. You could feel his breath on your skin. He leaned on closer pressing his lips to yours.

His lips felt so familiar it almost hurt. It felt right. This is where you needed to be, this is where you should have been for five whole years.

You let yourself sink into his embrace as his hands flattened against your spine, drawing you impossibly closer.

His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed as he deemed the kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair.

You didn't want to stop,you couldn't, and judging by Sam's reaction to your touch he couldn't either.

"Have you-?" Neither of you hear the door to the motel open as Dean basically ran in. "Oh jesus my eyes, sammy I'm glad you're okay but fucking hell!" He quickly truned on his heels, overdramtically covering his eyes. "Use protection!" He shouted just before he closed the door, muttering under his breath 'these darm kids' as though he were a middle aged man.

You and Sam just looked at eachother for a singular moment before bursting into laughter.

"I might ammend my rule slightly..." you said after a few deep breaths.

"How so?" He asked leaning in closer to you once more.

"I now swear that I'll see the winchesters everyday, or at least one spefic Winchester everyday."

[theworldofotps]

Stranger In The Crowd

Pairing: Hook x Reader Word Count: 1,196 Description: Y/n is a dancer and every night she's working her gaze is drawn to the same man, a stranger sat in the crowd.

Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @hotgirlgraps @madhatterbri @sjwrites22 @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @surdelcielo @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @alyyaana (I hope this is the right account) @elevennblom @melblacc @alliwant456 @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars @thatnerdwriter​

Hook fics: @wickedval If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. _________ Y/n twirled around the pole with effortless grace, her movements fluid and seductive under the hazy pink lights of the club. The thumping bass of the music pulsed through her body as she owned the stage, drawing every eye in the room. But one pair of eyes, in particular, stood out to her—those of Tyler Senerchia.

He was seated at his usual spot, just a few feet from the stage, nursing a drink that always seemed to last the entire night. Tyler wasn’t like the others, who ogled and threw wads of cash in a drunken stupor. No, his attention was intense but quiet, almost reverent. He came often, never missing a night when Y/n was dancing, and she noticed. She always noticed.

Her sharp gaze would look his way between spins and sways, a secret connection they’d never spoken about but both felt. Tyler’s eyes never strayed from her, and despite the sea of other customers, it was as if the whole club faded away when they locked eyes.

Tonight was no different. As she slid to the floor and arched her back, her eyes met his, holding him in place. A slow smile played on her lips as she teased her fingers through her hair. She could feel the heat of his stare like a spotlight, and for a brief moment, it felt like she was dancing just for him.

Tyler’s gaze was unwavering, intense as always, but there was something else tonight something a little deeper.

As Y/n continued her routine, she felt a shift in the air, a tension that crackled between them. Tyler leaned forward slightly, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, and Y/n’s heart picked up a beat. She rolled her hips slowly, letting the music guide her, but her mind was elsewhere, focused entirely on him. Just like it always was.

She had danced for countless people before wealthy regulars, celebrities passing through, and strangers who came and went. But Tyler was someone different. There was a draw about him that she couldn’t shake. Every time she danced, it was like a silent conversation, a game of push and pull, where neither had been brave enough to make the first move.

As she rose from the floor, she spun once more, allowing her eyes to linger on him, daring him to look away but he never did. The dark gleam in his eyes told her that he was just as captivated by her as she was by him.

Her dance came to an end, but her thoughts were still racing as she left the stage. The other dancers and customers faded into the background. She felt his gaze follow her all the way to the velvet curtain that led backstage. Y/n glanced over her shoulder one last time before disappearing behind it, her pulse quickening at the thought of him still watching her.

She slipped into the dressing room, her mind spinning. What was it about Tyler that pulled her in so completely? He was a mystery she couldn’t solve, but one she found herself wanting to do more with every passing night.

As she touched up her makeup, the room buzzed with the chatter of the other girls, but she hardly heard them. Her mind was on Tyler, the way his gaze burned into her, the way he seemed so different from the rest. She had seen men become obsessed with dancers before, but this wasn’t that. This felt mutual, something that they both wanted and craved.

Y/n took a deep breath, looking at her reflection in the mirror, her makeup once more was flawless, and her hair styled in her favorite way. But the look in her own eyes gave her pause. There was anticipation there, a spark of something she couldn’t quite put into words. It had been building for weeks now, every time she stepped on stage, every time Tyler watched her with that quiet intensity, the connection between them deepened.

She stood, adjusting her outfit and running a hand over her hips, smoothing the fabric. Glancing toward the door that led back to the main floor, she paused for a moment. She didn’t want to leave things unspoken any longer, the curiosity gnawing at her. She wanted to know what he was thinking when he looked at her like that, and she wanted to feel the tension break, one way or another.

When Y/n finally stepped out from the back, the club was still alive with energy. The music thumped in her chest, and the lights flashed in pinks and purples, casting everything in a sultry glow. She scanned the room for Tyler, her heart pounding harder now as she searched through the crowd. He was still in the same spot not having moved as he leaned back in his chair, his drink untouched as always. But something was different tonight. He wasn’t just watching her, waiting for her to come back into view. His eyes were searching for something, or someone.

That being her.

Y/n moved through the room with purpose, her eyes locked on him, she could feel the heat of his stare before she even reached him, that magnetic pull drawing her closer. Without hesitation, she slid into the chair next to him, her leg brushing his, and for a moment, the noise of the club seemed to dim, leaving just the two of them in their own world.

"Hey, stranger.”

She said softly, a teasing smile on her lips as she let her eyes wander over him.

Tyler turned his head to her slowly, his dark eyes meeting hers with that same intensity that always sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t smile, but there was something in his expression, something unreadable, yet familiar.

“Hey.”

He replied, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken in a while his gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before returning to her eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d finally come over.”

Y/n leaned in closer to him her heart racing now as their eyes held each other.

“You’ve been coming here for weeks now, always watching. What are you waiting for?"

She asked softly, her fingers tracing the rim of his glass a curious expression on her face. Tyler’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move."

Y/n felt a thrill shoot through her and there it was the game, the tension, the unspoken understanding between them. She leaned in a little closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered.

"Well, maybe tonight’s the night."

Tyler’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside their little bubble ceased to exist.

"Maybe it is."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her heart pounding in her chest. This was different, more intense than she had anticipated. It was no longer just a game of glances and silent challenges. Something had shifted between them, and Y/n could feel it in the way she knew that after tonight things would never be the same again.

[linomilkers]

Minho x Reader [Warnings: dry humping, a filthy blow job, probably some medical inaccuracies, Minho calls Felix Yongbok bc canon and that's his Yongbokkie]

Note: Helloooo, this is my first time writing in this style! Just trying something different for this particular piece. Also, I started writing this before we found out about Minho's hand, so I promise I wasn't making light of his injury! Just a coincidence!

Let me know if you like it!!

Minho who hurt both of his wrists somehow, maybe it was a misstep in dance practice that sent him to the floor, or a stumble at the airport. His wrists are sprained, he's in two clunky arm braces to keep them still, and he's not meant to participate in any strenuous exercise that would involve movement of them. It sucked, being hurt, and he was missing schedules, he would fall behind in learning the new choreography, and he was setting the comeback back by a couple of weeks -- but it wasn't the worst thing. He could use a small break, even if it's just a week or two, of resting and taking it easy after nonstop months of producing content.

Minho who enjoys the break for about a week before he started getting a little stir crazy. Eating was a chore, a true test to his patience instead of being something gratifying and he couldn't cook much. He could move his wrists a little so that the muscles wouldn't weaken from not using them, but barely enough to eat, let alone prepare a full meal. Everyone else in the dorm was so busy that nobody was really cooking, so living off take out has made his face swollen and a bit puffy. Which he wouldn't mind as much, if not for how annoying Seungmin's been with pinching his cheeks and cooing at him for it. He can't even properly exact revenge and the creatine is taking full advantage of that.

Minho who can't touch himself properly and is starting to go crazy because of that too. He doesn't have to do it every day like some (namely Jisung, the little pervert), but he does it often enough that a week and a half in he's starting to feel it. Every morning he's waking up with something stiff between his legs, and he's helpless to it. Minho believes he has enough mental fortitude to look past his horniness, because no orgasm would be satisfying if he couldn't properly use his hands. He could wait it out, the braces would be off within two more weeks, he'd be fine.

Minho who breaks the day after he'd made a pact with himself to hold out. In the daze of his morning wood and being two seconds from sleep again, he rolled onto his front on his bed. Minho bunches his blankets up into a wad, then presses into it, a reedy sound leaving his mouth, unfamiliar to his own ears. It feels good, really, really fucking good, but it isn't enough. Still, it doesn't stop him from trying. He ruts pitifully into the blankets, chasing after a release he knew he wouldn't find, leaking precum in his briefs. It's embarrassing, how badly he needs it, how desperately he's trying for it -- but there's nobody home. Everyone left early this morning, so he was safe to do this for a little while, until he gets frustrated and takes a cold shower instead.

Minho, who forgot Yongbok's friend had spent the night and had promised to wait around for him to get back from schedules so they could go shopping, or out to eat, or whatever. The friend who Yongbok had made promise she would bring Minho breakfast in the morning, so that he wasn't fumbling around the kitchen himself. Minho had told him that he didn't need that, that he wouldn't want his friend going out of her way for him, but he refused to listen, and so did she. Which was surprising, she's usually pretty quiet, but the sudden headstrong attitude started him into silence and acceptance. "No earlier than 7AM," he told her, "I'll at least try to sleep in."

Minho, who doesn't hear the perfunctory knock on the door before it opens at 7:05 (of course she is close with Yongbok, because he barely waits half a second before opening the door after a halfhearted knock as well -- he doesn't care what he sees when he ambles in, usually caught in his own head about whatever he'd come for in the first place), and only realizes that Y/N is standing there with a bowl steaming in her hands when she says, "Oh, shit, sorry," as if this wasn't embarrassing enough, Minho has to let go of the pillow he'd caught between his teeth, "I should've waited for you to reply."

Minho, who knocks his head against the mattress and gives a disbelieving laugh, because of course this would happen to him. He's at the edge of his rope, he just wants to cum, and he can't even do that without being caught humping the bed like a desperate dog. He's caught between wanting to apologize to her for seeing him like this and wanting to scold her for walking in, in the first place. He doesn't get a chance to do either because Y/N offers her help instead, gentle and not in the least bit suggestive sounding, despite what she was suggesting, "I can help you out, if you want," she told him, "Yongbokkie thinks my mouth is really good."

Minho, who really doesn't have a chance to consider what that means, because since when was Yongbok getting his dick wet? Is that why he's always so calm? How long had she been doing that? And would he be okay with her offering that to Minho? Wouldn't he be upset? Or were they not together like that? He makes a confused sound in his throat, nervous to turn around where he knew she'd be able to see how hard he was, but too mortified to stay in the position he's in. So he flipped onto his back, and tries not to wince when her gaze zeros in on his cock -- so fierce, he's sure that he could feel it burning him, "I told him to ask if you needed help, but he didn't listen to me," Y/N continued to say, "Swore up and down about how you don't like asking for help, that you'd have to really need it to accept it, and I think humping your blankets is really needing it, right?" It was a fair assessment, and he feels his ears get hot, "I'll help."

Minho, who agrees because. . .well, why shouldn't he? She's offering, and he's hard and horny and wet, and he probably isn't thinking the clearest. He'd never thought of Y/N in that way, she's always just been Yongbokkie's sweet friend and that's it, but now he can't get the image of her with his cock in his mouth (or Yongbok's cock, for that matter) out of his head. With great effort, he scoots himself up the bed, among his pillows with his back against the headboard while Y/N got herself comfortable between his spread legs. She doesn't bother to take his briefs off at first, burying her nose against the hard swell beneath the fabric and breathing in deep. His face feels like its on fire, because who just does that? And why is he so turned on by it?

Minho, whose mind is spinning because this sweet girl's mouth is made for more than gentle compliments and clunky sentences in a language Yongbok is working hard to help her with. It's made for wetting the thin fabric of his light colored briefs, sucking opened mouth kisses that add to the growing wet spot on him. He has a hard time figuring out what was from him and what was from her, but it hardly matters. He throbs and twitches with every suckle and lick while she saturates the cotton. And when he is about to start whining at her for teasing him, her fingers dip beneath the elastic and fish his cock out from the briefs. A small, contented sigh leaves her mouth, like she'd been waiting all day to get her mouth on him. The head is flushed ruddy and dripping, shiny with his own slick and she shows her tongue to wet her lips, and he's throbbing again.

Minho, who can only gasp when she says, "You really needed this, right? I would have helped sooner. I like drinking cum from pretty boys," because what is Yongbok teaching her? But before he can ask, she's swallowing his cock down in one go and he cries out like he'd never been touched in his life. It sure feels like that right now, and the tight, wet heat of her mouth makes his brain melt, and any hope for thoughts that surpass, this is good, this is good, this is good leave his head. His brain to mouth filter evaporates, he spreads his legs further, "Fuck," his eyes roll back, because if he looks at her then he'll cum and he wanted to enjoy this for a little while at least, "Who taught you to be this naughty?"

Minho, who wasn't really looking for an answer, but Y/N slips off to tongue at his slit any way, then drools a glob of spit on his shaft and fucks him with her hand, "Yongbokkie," she replied without thought, "He trained my throat really well, now I can take all of you pretty deep." All of them? He can't clarify because she's sucking his balls into her mouth and soaking them with her tongue and his mind fizzles out again. It's too much, all of it, and she does it with a practiced ease of someone who is taking a lot of cocks in her mouth and his mind is reeling with it. She slobbers and drools and sucks until she's licking back up to the tip, taking him down, down, down, until the head nudges at the back of her constricting throat.

Minho, who comes with barely a warning scraping away from his tongue but Y/N doesn't mind. She withdraws just enough so it fills up the pocket of her cheek, squeezing the base, working him through it. He thinks his vision whites out for a second, he's almost positive he might have momentarily blacked out from the intensity of it. It burns from his fingertips up through his chest, spiraling through his whole body like summer storm lightening. It's a lot, his muscles lock up, he thinks if there were any time to understand the universe it would be now after he just flooded her mouth.

Minho, who isn't sure what to expect exactly, but certainly didn't expect her to crawl back up his body, tilt his chin toward her mouth and fix their lips together. He didn't expect her to push his cum into his mouth either, in a kiss so filthy and gross he knows he's going to be touching himself to it for months to come. At least he doesn't taste all that bad, as she makes him share, and he moans pretty pitifully against her tongue.

Minho, who finally opens his eyes after some time and is greeted with a smile, "Good news is, we were quick about it so your food is still warm," she tells him, "Should I feed it to you? I don't mind." And who would have thought that, with his softening cock against his thigh, and his wrists in braces, that Y/N would offer him something like that too? She'd already done too much, hasn't she? More than she'd been requested to, should he really let her feed him? Or was she joking?

Minho, who quickly finds that she isn't joking at all actually. She doesn't wait for him to answer before she's offering him rice and a sliver of egg from his bowl, holding it out toward his mouth. Minho parts his lips, she presses it inside, then gives an even bigger, triumphant smile when he hums at the taste, "It's good, hm? I made it myself."

Minho, who decides that he needs to know more about her, needs to implant himself deeper into her life, needs to ask Yongbok where he found her and if he's willing to share.

[numbuh-7-knd]

Just finished watching season 1 of the apothecary diaries, it was really good. I'm shipping Maomao and Jinshi pretty hard, and Maomao in general is hilarious/adorable. Here are my rambling thoughts so far, in no particular order and with plenty of spoilers, so beware:

I keep having to Google things, such as what a eunuch is (I knew to some extent, but i wasn't sure if in the timeperiod a eunuch would just have his balls removed or the balls and the dick, and was trying to figure out how Jinshi was hiding his status), how blue roses were traditionally made, and various plants. I also had to look up the family tree a few times because I kept getting confused, and for a hot second when they were getting into the whole Ah-Dou thing I thought the reveal was going to be that Maomao was the daughter of Ah-Dou who for some reason had Luomen sneak her out of the palace and they were going to reveal that she was somehow the true Heir to the throne or something. I wad relieved when I realized that wasn't the case but was really confused about the whole family tree until I looked it up and realized that Ah-Dou was the concubine to the current emperor when he was just the prince, and the other baby born around the same time was the prince's brother, born to the now Dowager empress, so the 2 babies were nephew and uncle despite being born around the same time, which was confusing me since I kept thinking Ah-Dou was the concubine of both the current and past emporor, when the person with that unwanted role is Lishu.

I keep being scared that Maomao is going to get in trouble, mostly because of my own ptsd giving me second hand anxiety every time I see Maomao going places she shouldn't be. I keep reminding myself that if it comes down to it, Jinshi is the emperor's younger brother (and secret son) and he'll protect Maomao. And that if nothing else it seems like the emperor likes Maomao and appreciates her saving his daughter and the lives of a few of his consorts.

I also keep getting concubine, courtesan, and consort mixed up.

I started watching season 1 on friday while home alone and suffering period cramps, and have been watching pretty constantly, hence why I've finished all 48 episodes by Tuesday night. It's been a surprisingly good companion while feeling like shit and spending most of my time in fetal position.

I liked the whole thing with Maomao's mother and bio father, but for a little bit there I thought maybe she didn't know that Lakan was her biological father and that when he openly referred to her as his daughter in front of her she would be shocked. I was waiting for a reveal where she would be like, "wait, you're actually my biological father?! And here I thought you were a creep who's been trying to buy me as his child bride since I hit puberty." Kinda disappointed that didn't happen, if only for Lakan's reaction. I am glad that Fengxian at least gets too be with her lover in the end, even if she may not be aware of it, at least he can make sure she's not ever alone and has the best care available for her remaining time.

When she started singing her lullaby I wondered if after giving birth to Maomao and having her taken away after she cut Maomao's finger tip off, if she ever heard Maomao crying in the distance. Even for a mother clearly suffering from post pardum depression and other mental and physical issues, and sure that wouldn't be easy, hearing your child, your baby, crying in the distance and never being comforted. They took her away from her mother for her own good, and did their best, but they couldn't care for her the way she needed, but there's a special kind of irony in taking a baby away from it's mother for it's own safety, then not being able to properly take care of the baby and leaving it to cry for long periods of time where the mother can still hear the child, but is not or maybe even doesn't want to, go care for it. But still having to listen to it cry, and cry, until it stops one day and the mother wonders if the baby has been comforted or just died. And little Maomao trying to visit, maybe on some level knowing that's her mama, only to be chased off.

It's definitely very similar to snow white and the red hair, but I think the biggest difference, besides the obvious setting being that one is in a fictional version of China and the other is in a fictional version of Europe, is the protagonists personalities. Both Maomao and Shirayuki have a similar skill set but different backgrounds that cause them to go about life very differently, with Maomao going with the flow and not trying to control her life as much, whereas Shirayuki gives up the life she knew to avoid becoming a concubine. Honestly there is potential for a funny crossover there. And of course there's also the huge difference in the life interests, both second princes of their kingdom, and yet one (Jinshi) hides his status to live as a lesser official and serve his emperor while one (Zen) is openly a prince and has his princely duties while also wanting to be close to his love interest. There's also the fact that both Shirayuki and Zen are alot more... sane...? than Jinshi and Maomao are.

I now have a very silly fan theory/headcanon/au idea that Maomao is actually whatever the cat equivalent of a kitsune would be, and was just born/reincarnated into this life to cause chaos and solve mysterys. Maybe she was causing too much trouble in the spirit world and was sent to be a human and cause problems for them for a bit to give the other spirits a break. And that when she gets too excited her cat features come out but most people don't notice it because of whatever magic illusion trickery she has going on. Obviously this means whenever anyone else displays animalistic features this means they are also animal spirits given human form, which makes things pretty funny.

Now I'm debating putting on my pirate hat and fake parrot to watch season 2. 🏴‍☠️🦜

[avoskorm]

Fortune Favours the Grave

AKA a thing that came out of nowhere while I was working on something else lmao

Shoutout to @tastesoftamriel since I made a very brief reference to Talviel here. She's canon to me. The Gourmet who?

**********

There was a buzz of excitement among the wisps of the Lighthouse. The Fade was making something. Objects were appearing: in rooms, on ledges, up trees… on a plate? Didn't matter. It was different, it was exciting.

It was new.

Not new-new; they'd seen objects like these before. Great wads of dead trees or dead skin bound together in dead hide and dead bone. Dead. Dead, but living, in ink and charcoal and graphite and paint.

Like mortals, but different. Smelled different. Felt different. Was different.

The wisps chimed cheerily as they zoomed around to collect the new-things. One here, another there. It was a game. They were winning.

Neve's office usually seemed to be haunted by wisps; those that remained chittered excitedly at the ones playing outside. Neve raised a brow when a wisp flitted into the room carrying a book. Not wholly unusual, since the wisps were by now prolific thieves. She swatted half-heartedly at it from her seat; if she managed to grab the book, then great, but it wasn't a priority right now, absorbed as she was with her case notes. It floated just out of reach with the book, zigzagging through the air, trilling teasingly.

She shrugged and returned to her notes, and the wisp chimed; it almost sounded disappointed.

A wisp flew past the window, clinging to a book.

Another flew in through the door. Then another.

Neve frowned, dropping her notebook with an irritated sigh. She put it in a drawer, out of the wisps' reach; she wasn't making that mistake again.

What was going on? Who were they stealing from this time?

A fourth wisp flitted in through the door, and Emmrich jogged into the room behind it, his bangles jangling softly with each step. He ducked when yet another thieving wisp came in through the door, and tried to grab the book it carried as it zoomed past. The wisps danced a circle around the room, and they could swear they were laughing at them.

"I take it those books are yours?" Neve asked, bewildered. Her brows rose as she watched the wisps' delighted display; she didn't think anything could surprise her at this point, but the Fade somehow still managed it.

Emmrich shook his head. "Mercifully, no. I'm not sure these books existed at all before today; I certainly don't recognise them. Except, perhaps, for that one." He followed one of the wisps with his finger. "That, I believe, is one of Jovus' journals."

"Of course it is," Neve sighed.

Emmrich clapped his hands together, getting the wisps' attention, and their dance slowed. "Alright, friends, we've had our fun. May we please have the books back?"

The wisps stopped in midair and chattered amongst themselves, twinkling gently like teal stars. They quickly seemed to reach a consensus, and whizzed around the room, stopping only to deposit the books on Neve's desk one by one. Emmrich beamed and waved them on as they whirled out the door once more, chirping happily, off to search for some new and exciting mischief.

"Thank you, friends!"

Neve pinched the bridge of her nose; it was always something around here. "They're worse than Rook. And that's saying something."

"They are merely sating their curiosity," Emmrich tutted. An ongoing argument with the mortal residents of the Lighthouse, Neve in particular. "They're playing to their nature, and they don't mean any harm." He crossed to her desk and started thumbing through one of the books: a thick, handsomely bound volume in vibrant red leather.

"We've talked about this before," Neve said, wryly. "And we probably will again. Doesn't make it less of a hassle." She slid over the first book she put her hand on, and opened it to a random page. She glanced quizzically at Emmrich, who frowned at the book in his hands.

Emmrich took another book from the pile and flicked through it. He grabbed the journal and opened it to the first few pages to compare the text, and his frown deepened. "I don't suppose you can read this?" He asked.

"A little, but not the whole thing," Neve said, with a non-committal shrug. "Joe and I would sometimes use the odd word for a coded message, but otherwise? Even he said none of us would ever need it."

Very likely, since the ritual used to bring him to Thedas required an inordinate amount of blood magic, and it would probably require the same if not more to send him back, let alone anyone else of a mind to make the attempt. Who else would need to learn? Disappointing, nevertheless.

Emmrich studied the book and the journal further for a few moments, trying to translate a word or two from general context. His frown slowly turned as a theory took root in his mind.

"The Fade created these books, in his native language!" He turned to Neve and beamed, gesticulating wildly. "It must have sensed a desire for home, or something similar, and reacted accordingly. But to create something in a language from another world, known only by a single person, is remarkable! Oh, I must show him these and discuss it with him! Would you mind if I took these books?"

"I have enough mysteries here as it is, so go right ahead." Neve chuckled, and waved a hand dismissively. "If you find anything interesting, I'm sure you'll let me know."

**********

The Fade was a fascinating place.

Functionally infinite, worlds and dimensions as countless as the stars in the sky hiding at the fringes, full of mysteries to unravel. The sort of puzzle one could spend years on, find something completely new and exciting every single day, and yet get no closer to ever solving the problem overall.

But that's its glory! With every step, a new marvel, a new question to ponder, perhaps even a new friend or colleague! What could be more thrilling?

The Lighthouse's newest mystery came in a rather mundane form: several books, found in the oddest of places. A few more were helpfully added to the pile by some passing wisps, apparently having grown tired of their latest game.

It seemed as though only one person would be able to read these books, and he wasn't where he normally was, in his usual haunt in the music room.

Emmrich hummed disappointedly when he knocked the door and no one answered, so wandered back to the library with the small, but steadily growing stack of books. He placed them carefully on the table, took the topmost book and the journal, and settled himself on the sofa.

Propping the journal open across his knees, he inspected the book in his hands: a blue and grey striped hardcover, scored in one corner to mimic the bite of a shark. He gently flipped it open and frowned when he saw that the first few pages had been cut out. Which seemed odd, since the Fade had newly created these books. Either the Fade had removed the pages itself for some reason, or the wisps were getting proficient with knives. That was… a concerning train of thought.

He wasn't sure what -- if anything -- he was going to accomplish, since he knew very few words in Cyrodiilic, and the endeavour was made even more confusing once he realised that Jovus would occasionally write backwards.

At least it's pleasing to look at, he mused, heaving a frustrated sigh.

With the hopelessness of the situation finally dawning on him, he put aside the journal, and instead opted to flip through the shark-bitten book and just look at the pictures.

The book was full of colourful illustrations depicting a tall, grey-skinned pirate with the head of a hammerhead shark, leading Emmrich to believe that this was likely a children's story. The pirate-shark sailed with a motley crew of humans and elves, and was often posed heroically wielding a cutlass.

Emmrich chuckled to himself, finding himself wondering if this was the sort of grand adventure Jovus wanted to be a part of when he was a child. He smoothed the pages out with his hand, and leisurely flicked through the illustrations.

As he flipped through the pages, he slowly became aware of a presence behind him. So engrossed with his "reading," he didn't notice when the door to the courtyard creaked open. Nor did he notice when Jovus sauntered into the library, picking from a bowl of olives.

He glanced over his shoulder to find Jovus hovering behind the sofa, staring in quiet delight at the book in his hands. Emmrich smiled politely, and shuffled along the sofa to make room, inviting Jovus to join him.

Jovus set the bowl down on the table, and flopped onto the sofa. He laughed, eyes sparkling with glee, when Emmrich handed him the book. "'The Saga of Captain Wereshark.' Gods, I haven't read this in years." He opened the book and tutted, disappointed, at the missing few pages. "I have never been able to find the first chapter. At this point, I'm willing to bet it doesn't exist."

"Aha! That explains it. The Fade created these books, but I suspect it didn't have enough information about the first chapter to draw from, so it simply removed the pages instead." Emmrich suggested. He raised a brow, chuckling gently. "Wereshark?"

"What, did you think that werewolves are the only were-creatures that exist?" Jovus grinned, waving a hand dramatically for emphasis. "There's a whole were-menagerie out there."

"I genuinely cannot tell whether or not you're joking." Emmrich frowned, which only made Jovus laugh. He offered no further explanation.

Jovus inspected the pile of books on the table, idly running his finger down their spines. "So, the Fade made these? Why? How?"

Emmrich beamed, clapping his hands together, clearly delighted to be talking about his field of study. "Isn't it fascinating? I believe that the Fade sensed a desire for home, and did its best to recreate what it could from what it has learned of you. One might say that a book is a gateway to another world, so the Fade may have created these books as substitute for different 'places' for you to visit. The fact it also managed to draw from your native language is remarkable -- it's as though the Lighthouse itself is truly trying to make you feel welcome. As for the how, well, the simple answer, Jovus, is magic."

"I suppose that makes some sense. As much as anything in the Fade makes sense, at least," Jovus said, considering. He closed the book and put it on the table, away from the rest. "So you can't read them." It wasn't a question.

"Ah. No," Emmrich flushed, shaking his head. "I did attempt a translation using one of your journals as a reference -- one of the wisps took it -- but that was perhaps slightly ambitious on my part." He laughed lightly, a trifle embarrassed. "The illustrations are lovely, at least."

Jovus slid the bowl of olives closer to Emmrich; an invitation to share. He picked up each book in turn and thumbed through them, giving a brief summary of each:

The thick red volume was a book of poetry, mostly romantic tragedies. He promised to try and translate them properly for Emmrich to read through later, but warned that they'd probably lose something in translation, and almost certainly wouldn't rhyme when they should. Emmrich nodded; he expected as much.

There was a woefully bound, plain leather notebook, whose heavily annotated hand written pages looked like they were barely holding in place; that turned out to be a rather eclectic collection of delicious sounding recipes written by a remarkably well-traveled young woman.

Jovus picked up a thick black book with a stylised silver dragon affixed to the front. He laughed lightly as he flicked through it; a heavily embellished tale about a destined hero saving the world from being eaten by dragons. Said hero was apparently one of his cousins. Once again, Emmrich couldn't decide whether or not he was joking.

He continued through the stack, and a few of the books Jovus wrote the titles out letter for letter in Common; there was absolutely no way those words existed in any language. "Nchunak?" "Nchuleft?" Nonsense. Jovus snickered, and congratulated Emmrich on his valiant attempt to pronounce these nonsense words.

Next in the pile were two thin black books with a dull white skull embossed on the front. He hesitated; his hand hovered over them briefly, and he set them aside, reluctant to say anything about them at all.

"Oh, no." Jovus picked up a rather non-descript looking leather folio, and bit his lip, trying to suppress a laugh. "I dread to think what the Fade thinks of me if it believes that I wanted to read this."

Emmrich's brows raised, and he glanced over at him curiously. "Why? What is it?"

An impish grin spread slowly across Jovus' face, and he flipped to a page midway through the book. His eyes quickly skimmed over a passage, and he cleared his throat dramatically. He read aloud from the book, taking extra care to portray the voices. He watched Emmrich intently for his reaction, the grin never slipping from his face.

Oh no, indeed.

"I must finish my cleaning, sir. The mistress will have my head if I do not! "Cleaning, eh? I have something for you. Here, polish my spear. "But it is huge! It could take me all night! "Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time."

Emmrich covered his face with his hands and groaned, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "Oh, dear."

"It gets worse," Jovus said, eyes bright.

"I'm not sure I believe that."

"Well, it definitely doesn't get better." Jovus barked a laugh. "There's an honest-to-gods stage play version of this." He tapped the book. "I highly recommend it to anyone, it's terrible."

Emmrich and Jovus laughed together, and Jovus continued to work his way through the book stack:

Another book of poetry; this one Jovus insisted was awful and shouldn't be read by anyone. A bold claim, given the passage he'd acted out not moments prior.

Some romance stories, one of which was incomplete, but words were slowly being added to the pages over time, as if the Fade itself were writing it. Emmrich seemed particularly intrigued by that one. Jovus closed the book and set it aside, promising he'd check it again later.

A sickly green book whose name Jovus repeatedly tried and frustratedly failed to translate to Common, contained incredibly detailed diagrams of werewolf anatomy, inside and out. Jovus shrugged non-committally when Emmrich asked how they managed to get the information, perhaps naively.

"Drugging, capture, vivisection, forcing them to turn repeatedly until their bodies gave out," Jovus counted on his fingers as he spoke. "We aren't people, so it's fine." He waved a hand nonchalantly.

"My word. That's… barbaric." Emmrich stared at the book, horrified. "Perhaps I will look at that one… later." Much later.

Jovus shrugged again. "The information is still good, despite how it was obtained. Everyone involved in that book is long dead. I'll try to translate it, if you're that interested. Or you could always ask me questions, if you'd like. I am right here, after all." He gestured up and down himself, for emphasis.

Emmrich hesitated. "I will… consider it." He hummed thoughtfully, after a moment. "Perhaps you would permit me to examine you, sometime? Purely for the sake of furthering knowledge, of course." He added, hurriedly.

It's true he wished to study his beast form -- werewolf anatomy wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but given Jovus' presence on the team, it might have been prudent to learn. But books could only take one so far; practical knowledge and experimentation was far more productive.

"Of course." Jovus smirked, lounging back against the sofa. "Let me read your notes afterwards, I'll let you do whatever you like."

"Certainly! Knowledge is meant to be shared." Emmrich beamed. "I do so appreciate an experimental spirit." He propped himself up against the back of the sofa with his elbow, his hand resting on his temple, and he gave Jovus a considering look. "You know, you have a most curious way with words."

Jovus smiled innocently, fighting to keep his expression even, but the mischief clear in his eyes was betraying him. "What makes you say that?"

"'I'll let you do whatever you like'? Please," Emmrich smirked, and a low chuckle crackled in his throat. "If I may say, my dear, I certainly expected better lines from you."

Jovus' face split into a grin. Oh, this was going to be fun. "Perhaps it was just lost in translation? A slip of the tongue?"

"You and I both know better than that."

Jovus clicked his tongue, making a show of thinking deeply. "Hmm. Perhaps I should read you another passage from that book? Would that be better?"

"Gods have mercy, anything but that," Emmrich laughed, splaying his hands in mock surrender.

"Well," Jovus drawled out the word; he leaned forward, edging closer to Emmrich. "You claim to 'appreciate an experimental spirit.' May we put that to the test?"

"I admit, you've piqued my curiosity. There has been a particular experiment I've wished to share with you for some time." Emmrich smiled placidly as he gazed at Jovus' face, lingering on his lips.

"Might it have something to do with my werewolf anatomy?" Jovus asked, playfully. He slid closer still to Emmrich; their knees were barely touching. It was exhilarating. It was maddening.

Emmrich met Jovus' gaze, his eyes sparkling. "Your human anatomy will do just fine, thank you."

The echo of a heartbeat thrumming in his ears, Jovus closed what little distance remained between them. Finally, the gentle sparks of weeks of teasing back and forth had caught, and a flame was flickering to life.

He cupped Emmrich's cheek, and they closed their eyes as their lips brushed against each other's. He pressed a slow, tender kiss to his lips; perhaps softer than either of them were expecting, as if he was waiting for reality to catch up with him, and Emmrich would leave.

But Emmrich didn't pull away; instead he returned the kiss enthusiastically, which was more than Jovus had hoped for.

They smiled into the kiss, a serene smile which lingered even after they broke away and opened their eyes. Jovus traced the outline of Emmrich's jaw with his thumb, and he leaned into his touch.

Jovus laughed breathlessly, not entirely convinced that it was truly real. "We can't really call that an experiment. Only one result? Shameful," he tutted teasingly, and pulled his hand away.

"You are absolutely right," Emmrich said soberly, a spark in his eye and flush creeping across his face betraying the serious tone of his voice. "We ought to try again, and see if we can replicate the result."

He combed his fingers through the waves of Jovus' hair, and pulled him closer. They closed their eyes once more as they shared another kiss, hungrier and more certain than the first. Their lips parted, their tongues gently exploring as they each tasted the other, like they were sampling the finest of wines. Exquisite, and to be savoured.

Jovus slid his hand through Emmrich's hair, mussing the carefully applied pomade, but neither of them cared; nothing in that moment mattered more than the man in front of them. A moment they didn't want to end.

"Oh!"

They opened their eyes, and broke away from each other, slightly alarmed. Their faces were flushed, and Jovus beamed as he sank back against the sofa. They exchanged fond glances; disappointed as they were it had to end, they were happy to have shared that moment at all.

Bellara and Neve stood at the door to the courtyard; Bellara tried to cover her face with her notebook, as if that would make the interruption less awkward. Neve opened her mouth to say something, but instead opted to close it again and smile at them knowingly. It's about time.

"You may as well come in," Jovus laughed lightly, and gestured towards the chairs at the table. Neve and Bellara shuffled in and took the offered seats. Bellara patted herself down, looking for a quill.

Jovus picked himself up off the sofa and collected the red book of poetry, and stacked what remained of his bowl of olives on top. He sighed, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "Oh no, we forgot to note down our findings. Looks like we'll have to try the experiment again sometime."

Emmrich nearly choked on a laugh. "Once again, you are absolutely right. I look forward to it."

Fizzing with restless energy, Jovus slipped behind the sofa towards the music room door, but Emmrich stopped him.

"Jovus? There is a ritual I must perform at the Necropolis -- not yet, but soon. You would be most welcome company, should you wish to join me." He smiled at him hopefully.

"Just let me know when," Jovus replied, barely able to contain his giddiness. He paused for a moment, then padded back to kiss Emmrich on the temple. With a wink towards the women, he gave the room a parting bow, and sauntered towards the music room. He glanced briefly back over his shoulder, as if to assure himself that it was real, then disappeared inside, grinning widely.

Emmrich smiled to himself, and slowly remembered that he wasn't alone in the library. He turned back towards Neve and Bellara, to find Neve pouring wine for the three of them.

Bellara bit her lip to suppress a delighted squeal, quill and notebook at the ready. "Tell us everything!"

Emmrich glanced behind him at the music room's stone door, and couldn't help but shake his head and laugh. Jovus had left him with the two women, and made his dramatic escape; exit, stage right.

[callmehere-iwillappear]

So @remedyturtles wrote a crossover ficlet for cmh and death wish and. well. i accidentally wrote like 900 words of followup. thinking about them so so much

-

After the longest and best (and, okay, only) hug of Leon's afterlife, they end up sitting against the tree. Leon's in the middle, the other two leaning up against him, Sensei's arm around him. He didn't even have to ask. He might cry, if it wouldn't mean he could never show his face here again.

They talk about nothing in particular, joke around in the way only Leos can. Leon makes exactly six jokes about being a ghost, and no one gets mad at him for it. It's the best.

At some point, the other two realize that they've been here a while, and after some discussion, Sensei ends up leaving to go take the front. Which leaves the younger two sitting there in silence, staring up at the stars peeking through the branches of the tree.

"Soooo," Leo says eventually, fidgeting, and Leon tenses up automatically at the tone. "How'd it happen?"

Ah. The elephant in the room. It's not like he hadn't known it was gonna come up eventually. And Leo would've known that he'd known, of course. And he knew that, and Leo knew that he knew that, and – whatever, okay, they both knew everything 'cause they were the same damn person.

Because of that, he knows Leo will drop it if he brushes it off. But it'll still sit there between them until it's finally addressed, or he figures it out through context clues, so. Might as well get it out of the way now.

"Got up close and personal with a kaiju-size wad of overchewed bubblegum," he says with as casual a tone as he can manage. He's not looking Leo in the eyes, but he doesn't have to be to feel the full-body flinch, and.

Yeah.

Considering Sensei is here, Leon had kind of figured the whole almost-apocalypse thing had already happened, but it's… good? It's something. To know for sure. And… judging by Leo's reaction, he'd had a pretty similar experience to Leon. Or. At least partially. From his limited multiverse experience, he's pretty sure most Leos get pulled out after just a few minutes.

… Lucky.

"Sorry," Leo says quietly, thickly, like there's something caught in his throat. "That that happened."

Leon shrugs, because like, what else can you do? Literally nobody would buy it if he tried to say it was okay, so he doesn't say anything and they sit in silence for a while.

"I didn't think –" Leo says finally, choked. Leon can feel how tense he is, how he's practically trembling, and presses up against his side a bit more. It barely seems to help, but Leon's not gonna take offense. Especially considering the conversation topic. He's probably just as tense.

"I didn't think he'd ever actually –" is how Leo eventually finishes the sentence. Kill us is left unsaid, and if Leon wasn't tense before he sure is now.

The phrasing is – what does Leo mean ever? If he was only in there for a few minutes – his head snaps up to stare at Leo, who's unfocused, looking off into the distance like he's somewhere else entirely.

Leon knows from experience that he probably is. He can't get any closer than he has already, but he at least hopes the physical contact can help ground the other him.

"... How long?" he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. There's a half-hearted shrug from Leo and silence in response, and Leon is starting to think he's not going to answer when –

"I don't know." Leo's voice is haunted. And while Leon could make a joke about how duh, of course it is, he's here… yeah, really not the time. "It was only five minutes for them. I…"

And suddenly Sensei's there, probably having felt the distress from Leo and abandoned the front. Leon thinks. He's still not 100% sure how all this works.

"You want me to tell him?" the older turtle asks gently, and Leo gives a jerky nod.

"You don't have to," Leon says, because like, he gets it. He's an asshole sometimes, but not enough of one to force someone to talk about (or hear about, if Sensei says it) their trauma. Especially when it's so similar to his.

"S'okay," Leo says, nudging his shoulder with his own. He means it, and Leon relaxes, just barely.

"Time was weird there," Sensei says. Carefully, evenly. Like he's reciting something. Like he's had to do this before.

He probably has.

"Leo described it as 'clinging to him'. He… estimated anywhere from two to four weeks, when he first talked about it, but…"

Sensei glances at Leo again. Gets another nod in return.

"It could've been months," he finishes softly.

Oh.

Leon sits there in that knowledge, quietly horrified. He'd known, objectively, that while most Leos had gotten out right away... some hadn't. Just like him. And he'd also known, just by virtue of the multiverse existing, that there'd be other Leos who were in there for months too. Maybe even years.

But it's different to actually hear it.

"Four months," he blurts out suddenly, then winces. "I mean. For me. So. I get it, kind of. And I – I'm sorry you went through that too."

He hesitates, then decides – fuck it, they're already here. It's just the three of them, no one else can see them. So what if he gets a little soft? He knocks his head gently against Leo's, voice quiet.

"... You're not alone."

And if there’s a barely-audible sniffle from beside him, if the other Leo presses just a bit closer like he’s attempting to absorb Leon’s nonexistent warmth – Leon won’t tell anyone.

[steddieyes]

Chapter Two: We fucked up.

Part 1

My ao3

That same scenario runs through his head over and over on repeat the entire walk home, and it was bad enough that he was out of cigs or else he'd be turning to crying or something.

It's all he's thinking.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘴 𝘥𝘰, 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘈𝘭𝘳𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴? 𝘈 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵?

Sighing, he drags his feet over and over to get home with a deep pout and frown on his lips. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want this lifestyle anymore. Not the fame or… not the fame it brings. He's not happy. It's doesn't feel right to be here, controlling and being supposed to look after people when he can't even look after himself. Twenty eight years old and he can't even do that: take care of himself. It's pathetic.

__

Opening the door to he and Manjusha's shared.. apartment(?), he drags himself inside with slumped shoulders and a pout. Making the smart decision to at least close the door before slowly trudging his way to the kitchen after stopping by the couch and grabbing a blanket to tightly wrap around himself like his mom used to - But it's /his/ blanket, his worn to softness, rocket blanket that nobody else can touch, not even Manny- before trudding all the way to the fridge. Cool-aid seems like the only thing Manjusha will let him drink these days, after what happened.. he doesn’t think the scar will fade. But at least it wasn’t all that bad.. right? Right-?

But a loud clatter coming from his bedroom tears him out of his thought, already in a bad enough mood given today, not to mention that he's all out of red cool aid.

Taking in a sharp and shakey breath -don’t fucking cry, you pussy- he waddles a little closer to where the sound had come from. His upset pout quickly gone when hearing the commotion, just to be replaced by a scared kid. Arlo may be an odd 6ft something, but helped by the day he's had with all the sounds, bright coulors and lights, he though it was safe enough for him to put his gaurd down even just for a little bit. But he was wrong. He's always wrong.

So instead of walking closer, he quietly whimpers to himself. Stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen with a kids blanket wrapped tight around him and unshed tears in his eyes, he watches as what made the loud sound walks out of his room.. he can't move from the spot he's in, there's so many monsters it could be..

𝘧𝘶- 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘔𝘴. 𝘉𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘪��𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘥-

And oh.

It's…. Dave.

"Ah- shit. I /seriously/ need to ask Arlo what the hell that is-"

Oh.

Of all people, It's Dave who has to see a scared, younger looking Arlo stood terrified in his kitchen. Eyes glasses over with what could be tears, or just that childlike way his eyes get when seeing something particular. Not that he'd know exactly, but he's seen it first hand, and yep- okay. He's crying.

"Uh, shit, hey man. It's- hey, it's okay. I wasn't trying to rob you guys-" and, okay. Internally he's cursing himself for not parking his car out front, but he didn't know this would happen, okay??? He wad just trying to do something kind, and..

"I am NOT doing that, are you kidding me??? Look, Sasha-"

"No, Dave, shut UP. /You/ are going to fix this, and /you/ are going to cheer him up if it costs you fucking everything just because I can’t be there for him. You're basically like an older brother to Arlo" Sasha exclaims while looking at Dave through her glammed out mirror, trying to get 'these damn lashes on-'

"I have known him for two MONTHS! How does that make me- I'm just not. That guy fucking hates me and I'm not going to go babysit him because he can't take care of himself"

And oh did that hit something in Sacha.

Tightening the grip on her tweazers, Sasha visibly shakes in anger with a glare as she turns in her stool. Trying and failing to fully control herself as she stands up, dropping her prized tweazers and poking Dave hard in the chest when face to face.

"Arlo is, /NOT/ a fucking child" she grits, voice thinly avoiding the tone of pure murder before continuing.

"That boy has been through so fucking much just to be here, and don't think for a /second/ that he's keeping you here out of pity and not because he's the sweetest fucking person you'll ever meet. That 'Manchild' is who's giving you a fucking job and you're going to help him when I can't. Say no one more fucking time and you can see what it's like being in a coma for twenty years. Got it?" she says lowly through gritted teeth as she looks Dave dead in the eye. Shit she's gotten closer-

"Yes. Yeah- I- I've got it. Got it." He says with shaken breath and a stiff nod acompanied with a tight smile to sell that he knows Sasha's being seriously, and that he much appreciates being alive once she mentioned it.

And with that, she nods and steps back enough for Dave to realise he needs to breath. Not realising he'd been holding his breath.

"Good. You better make sure he's okay, I'm not fucking kidding /Dave/." Sasha spits as she backs up, putting on a fake smile after checking her hair in the mirror and throwing the thin strap of her bag over he shoulder. Spitting out his name like it was some sort of poison she didn't want on her breath anymore.

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job #45: “Crows” | March 29, 2010 - 12:30AM | S05E05

Lotta chatter in the discord about this season of Tim & Eric. Most of my friends were Tim and Eric devotees to some degree, and we are all having a great time communally reshaping our opinions on a shared like of something. It’s special. I like it! They’ve been selectively watching along with my watch along, and a lotta them are making a point to dig into a Tim & Eric rewatch. You bet they are. Lotta them said they hated this one especially, but lord help me, I think I love this one. 

When I give a contrarian opinion–you better believe it–people talk. So, let the conversation begin: I got very high before watching this episode, and that is probably the only reason I liked it so much. So, I am going to make the mistake of letting this stand as my definitive opinion on the episode. When one embarks on something so audacious as an adultswim.com branded blog, when one uses their mind for a higher purpose (discussing Meatwad, Brak, etc), they must occasionally reflect on their lives and conclude: I am the only person who is right about anything, so much so that it’s especially true when I am high as hell. 

Okay: Quall sings the Car of the Future, not that good but I like that there’s a crazy guy on TV. This was Tim & Eric’s intent all along, and sometimes it’s just nice.

Then there’s the Paynus Bros. This doesn’t go anywhere, really, but I laughed a bit and I can’t deny that. Is it weird that a guy in this once yelled at my wife over some seriously pedantic bullshit regarding some forgotten stand-up comedy-related scandal? Yes, it’s weird. But guess what? I don’t even HAVE a wife anymore, dickhead. I do like the part where the host of the entertainment news show interviews his friend’s parents. LOL who DOES that. A lot of this is a little time-wastey though and it doesn’t really have much of a point. But some of it works for me, which isn't bad for being the worst sketch in the episode. 

The Cinco Sleep Watching Chair is a classic. I love this sketch so much. Doug Foster (aka Doug Prish-Preed) cracks me up, and the bit where they give him age-inappropriate frat boy dialogue (saying his romantic partners just need to be hot, and nothing else matters- IMAGINE!). Michael Gross plays his sleep-watching friend, a strange sinister-seeming relationship. It’s almost as if he’s the man’s feeder, but for sleep. One of my favorites, I love the little smile at the end. It makes me do a huge one. 

The wraparound is that Tim has his eyes pecked out by crows, which eventually leads to Eric getting his eyes also pecked out. This is because, inexplicably, they can’t not simply avoid one particular alleyway where foreboding crows attempt murder on those who pass one too many times. This is all connected to a “Dark Man” who, I learned only recently, is famous rapist Marilyn Manson. I thought he was just some bad actor they got. Oh well, fooled me. I am sorry for not taking a stand against him. I promise I don't like the guy.

The reviled Rainn Wilson plays a menacing character who crackles and warns Tim & Eric of the crow storm coming. It’s all meant to evoke tropes of supernatural horror films. I hate Rainn even more than Manson, but even his presence doesn’t bug me in this. This is a good role for a wad like him.

Another interesting thing about this sequence is that it results in a sketch that works both as a standalone bit of weirdness AND as a narrative bridge that introduces the referenced "dark man". A circle of chanting people all say mildly absurd things like “Be provocative, be organized”, which is a phrase that I think is poetry, and I think about it often. A shadowy figure swoops in and takes one of the men's sons. I love this, and consider it art.

The Dark Man shows up in the spooky alley to turn Tim & Eric into a pair of porcelain birds because of their past crimes against birds. The little bit of footage of Eric smugly shooting a bird at point blank range is so funny to me. I consider moments like this to be gifts, and I appreciate the wonderful one I have received here. He also turns Rainn Wilson into a toilet, like he deserves. It becomes apparent that this is a reference to the Tom Goes to the Mayor episode Porcelain Birds; so much so that John Ennis reprises his role as the guy at the bronzing plant. Then he morphs into the Tom Goes art-style and we cut to Tom Goes to the Mayor style credits. Wonderful! Simply wonderful!

I like Crows, everyone!

[the-era-of-shadow]

Whispers in The Dark

Written by Ash Rose

Summary:

Even a few days after the battle in Starlight City, Whisper can’t keep her mind off of its events and how they might continue to affect her long afterwards. So she decided to leave the Sky Patrol for a bit and get some fresh air back in Spiral Hill. This plan seems to be going well for her in terms of alleviating her stress - that is, until she’s confronted by a familiar, yet unknown person, who seems to know what Whisper’s been through. Whether or not the person liked the outcome of Whisper’s version of events, however, is a beast onto its own.

THIS STORY CONTAINS: Swearing, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death, victim blaming

Author's Note: So I??? Wrote a whole fic in a single day??? Like it's 2020 all over again??? And like yeah it was basically In A Day because last night as I was going to bed was when the idea for this story came to me - then it immediately begged me to write it this morning, and then I was already planning to have our beta reader over so yeah. I'm honestly as shocked as you probably are.

It had been a couple of days since the fight that had occurred in Starlight City, right in front of the now destroyed Doctor Clysdale’s Wisp Care Clinic. Despite that, however, Whisper’s mind felt like it had been frozen in time, still standing in front of that awful clinic, ready to fight to get her wisps back.

But she never did.

The other Freedom Trainees and the Freedom Fighters that had been there with her that morning were able to verify through witness that her wisps had fortunately not been crushed when the clinic was destroyed. But they were still in the hands of those alien scum. 

From the information given to them by Knuckles and Amy, Whisper gleaned some sort of understanding as to just how dangerous the person she had briefly known as “Doctor Ezrieal Clysdale” really was, and with it, she had come to an understanding that she would have no success in trying to retrieve her wisps on her own. The Freedom Fighters were trying their best to track down the Black Arms, but wherever it was that they were hiding now, it was quite hard to find. 

On this particular October morning, it had all just become too much for Whisper. She wanted so badly to step away from it all and have a day where she didn’t have to be constantly thinking about these things.

“Being here on the Sky Patrol probably doesn’t help things much.” Lux figured.

“Yeah. I mean, I feel so honored to be waking up each morning in this place with all the people I admire, but I get how the same couldn’t really be said for you.” Tangle added. Jewel gave Tangle a bit of a stink eye for the way that she worded her point, which Whisper noticed.

“I get it, I really do… You dreamed of this for so long… And I wanna have that mindset too… It’s just… The wisps…” Whisper replied, lying down on the bed of the room the Freedom Trainees had congregated in - maybe it was Jewel’s? Or maybe it was Amy’s? Whisper honestly couldn’t remember, with everything else going on in her head and all.

“Well yeah, of course, but what we went through back there was rather traumatic, especially for you.” Jewel pointed out, to which the others agreed to.

“And that shit sticks to you like a wad of gum on the bottom side of your shoe.” Amy remarked.

“Trust me, I’ve done this song and dance before… Well, not exactly one to one, but you get what I mean…” Whisper assured. 

“Well if that’s the case, what do ya usually do when life hits ya like a semi truck?” Lux inquired in between sips of a can of wild cherry Chaos Cola.

“Something that you don’t need the wisps with you to do.” Jewel added softly.

“Well… I usually go out for a walk and listen to the songs I have on my MP3 player…” Whisper answered, sitting back upwards.

“No way! That’s what I do when life gets me down too!” Tangle exclaimed loudly.

“I know you do, you’ve told me so quite a few times over the two years we’ve known each other…” Whisper remarked with a soft loving smile.

“I’d say that’s a pretty good idea, actually! You’d be able to step out of the Sky Patrol, which could be symbolic of you stepping out of the situation, and you could just be alone with your music instead of having to overhear us constantly remind you of what happened as we try to find the Black Arms!” Amy said, getting up from the chair she had been sitting in. “I’ll ask Sally to drop you off somewhere for a bit and when you’re ready to come back you can give one of us a call!” She continued as she made her way to the door.

“Can it be Spiral Hill? I’m the most familiar with being there…” Whisper interjected just as Amy was about to leave.

“Oh, of course!” Amy replied.

Whisper could immediately feel a bit of relief as she stepped off of the Sky Patrol and stepped into the streets of Spiral Hill. It felt nice to be back home, even for a little bit. It felt like a proper conclusion to the conflict in a sense. But she knew how she could make herself feel even better.

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♪Now Playing: The Middle by Jimmy Eat World♪

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There was a time before she had her wisps that she had gone through an event of turmoil. In fact, Whisper’s life had always had something negative going on in it, like she had been cursed from birth. But things used to not be so grand.

The first time Whisper ever went through something upsetting was rather trivial in fact, especially compared to what the future had in store for her. Back before the Robotnik Empire had nearly the amount of power that it came to have, back when Whisper was still in public school, she had been a victim of bullying. She was singled out as a mobian in a school mostly populated by humans. It made her feel isolated and alone, and made her not want to go to school anymore. So of course, she told her parents, since this was also while her parents were still around.

Specifically, she had told her dad when he had picked her up from school one day. Of course, her dad was saddened to hear that his merely six year old daughter was being made fun of so badly. 

“You know, I heard this song recently on the radio and thought it was pretty good, so I found it online and downloaded it. I think it might speak to you.”

He had said to her as he connected his MP3 player to the car’s radio, he was good at technology like that. At first Whisper thought it’d be silly to think that a song could be the answer to her problems, but as the song played on as he drove them home, it inspired her. From that moment onward she no longer cared about what other people had to say about her, only worrying about doing her best at life. Of course, it’s hard to do her best when only a few weeks after that moment, her parents had been captured by the Robotnik Empire during an ambush, leaving her orphaned, and then a few years later being recruited into a vigilante group similar to the Freedom Fighters then imploded when one of its members sold them out to the Empire, once again leaving her the sole survivor, and then of course losing her wisps a few days ago. But she tried her best to at least keep the mindset, and listening to that very same song that her dad had played on the ride home ten years ago helped remind her of that. 

But the song was relatively short, only two minutes and forty-five seconds long, so soon enough, she had to move on to another song. 

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♪Now Playing: I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace♪

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“Seriously? This song?” Whisper wondered to herself.

It wasn’t like she disliked this song. No, she loved it. She loved Three Days Grace, and nu metal in general. She even remembered Tangle playfully teasing her for it when Whisper first brought it up. 

“Wow! You really are as much of an angsty teenager as you look!” She had said. Whisper knew even back then that she had meant no harm from it - that’s just how Tangle is. She says things in not the most tactful of ways, but she always means well by it.

But with this song playing right after the last one was just. Such an odd coincidence. It was like her shuffle was trying to paint the story of her life thus far. Because of course, this song reminded her of the time she had spent with her first team of vigilante heroes, the Diamond Cutters. Not all of them, of course. Most of them were great people. It specifically reminded her of one person in particular - the one who had sold the rest out just so he could “guarantee” that he’d be the victorious one in the end.

Mimic.

It was true, she really did hate everything about him. Honestly, even back then she kinda did. Whisper never really trusted Mimic all too much, always having a bad feeling about him. But she was only around ten years old at the time, while everyone else was a late teenager or young adult, or even more or less just a regular adult with Mimic himself being twenty five back then, so no one took her suspicions seriously. Honestly, looking back, it was kinda insane how she ended up in a team like that. 

But the important part was that Mimic was playing double agent at that time, secretly being an employee of the Robotnik Empire. He had led the rest of the team to certain death - all except for Whisper, and the wisps that the Diamond Cutters had used as the source of their abilities. That’s when her hatred of him had truly been cemented. That’s when she wondered why she had ever even loved him in the first place - why she used to look up to him.

… Dammit, now she’s thinking about the wisps again.

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♪Now Playing: Gone Forever by Three Days Grace♪

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After the Diamond Cutters had been dissolved, so to speak, Whisper lived out on the streets with the wisps. It wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t much of anything really. But even though her life seemed pretty miserable at that point, at least Mimic was out of it - though he certainly tried to track her down and kill her many times. 

She grew to distrust most people, to just rely on herself and the wisps - she knew that she could at least trust that. She also put a lot of trust into the Freedom Fighters, who only grew stronger by the day, fighting off the very Empire that had ruined her life. She never really liked to admit it, but she did very much admire them, even to the level that Tangle did. They were saviors in her eyes.

Sometimes she’d wonder if she would one day come across one of the Freedom Fighters and they would take her in, kind of like how the Diamond Cutters did, but better. It was honestly a fantasy of hers - one that she never imagined would actually happen to her - she was just too unlucky for that.

And yet, she got taken in by them, eventually. Even if she did lose the wisps in the process.

There’s always a catch, isn’t there?

But before that ever happened, she did manage to find somewhere to call home. She had met Tangle and Jewel.

Whisper looked down at the shirt she was wearing, a dark blue graphic t-shirt that read “H.I.T - Heroes in Training 2009”. 

“Guess my playlist isn’t the only coincidence going on today…” She remarked in her head.

It was the shirt she had gotten the same day she had met the two of them, from a yearly competition that was held by the Freedom Fighters. Whisper had entered the competition every year since the one in 2005 - her prowess with the wisp’s abilities and the wispon she had kept with her always secured at least a top five placement for her - which made it a good way to get some money to sustain herself with, since the competition came with cash rewards. She usually didn’t talk much to the other competitors, given her distrust of people. But that year was different.

Tangle had been another one of the competitors that year, and she instantly began to faun over Whisper, fascinated by her wisps and wispon from the very first time that Whisper was on stage that year. At first it made Whisper uncomfortable with just how excitable and in her face Tangle was, hell, she had become paranoid that Tangle was just Mimic in disguise trying to get Whisper into a vulnerable position. But relatively early on into the competition, Whisper let Tangle know about her concerns - to an extent, and to her surprise, Tangle apologized for her behavior and gave Whisper the space that she had asked for. As the competition went on, she opened herself up more to Tangle and her friend Jewel, taken aback by Tangle’s kindness.

When the competition ended, and Tangle and Whisper were the gold and silver winners, Tangle gave Whisper her prize money, saying that Whisper needed it far more than she did, which moved Whisper to tears that night, and just before Jewel’s parents were going to take Jewel and Tangle back home, Whisper found them and asked if she could crash at their place - feeling that she didn’t want to lose the first real people she had come to trust in so long.

And then Whisper never left their place. She had found a new home and family in Tangle and Jewel.

At least she still had them. That was a relief.

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♪Now Playing: Whispers in The Dark by Skillet♪

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But she still wished that she had the wisps still with her. She still felt ashamed that she lost them in the first place. After so long of not trusting anybody thanks to the damage that Mimic had done to her, she had learned to trust again thanks to Jewel and Tangle. She didn’t blame them, she really tried not to, but she still felt angry that she had let her trust be taken advantage of again. It’s not like it was their fault, though. Their trust was taken advantage of just as much as hers was.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Whisper heard a voice say despite the music she had on. 

Whisper looked around for where the voice could have come from, but she didn’t see anyone around, so she just chalked it up to her imagination and kept walking.

“I know how it feels to lose someone like that, I really do.” The voice spoke again.

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♪Now Playing: N/A♪

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“Hello…?” Whisper called out, pausing her music to be able to hear the voice more clearly.

“Hi! You’re Whisper, right?” The voice greeted her, the source of it being revealed to be a jade green fox-like cat mobian that looked to be around the same age as Whisper. She had pastel pink eyes that partially hid behind silver-rimmed glasses, and wore an off the shoulders sweater and a skirt that were various shades of purple-ish pink, the sweater having a graphic of a gear on the chest and sleeves. She had in her hands a hot pink rhythm wispon, likely corresponding to the magenta rhythm wisp by her side.

“Uhm… yeah.” It took her a minute to realize it, but Whisper had seen this girl before. During her walk to the Clysdale Clinic a few days ago, back before the fight, she had seen the girl among a group of friends that all had wisps with them. She remembered how she had been weirdly reminded of the Diamond Cutters by the sight of them, in a way she absolutely hated. Still, she should probably not hold that against the girl.

“Oh, good! Doctor Clysdale had told me about you!” The girl then responded, immediately causing Whisper’s defenses to go up again just as she had started to lower them.

“D-Doctor Clysdale??” Whisper questioned in a panic, instinctively pointing her wispon at the girl.

“Oh, yeah, you two aren’t on the best of terms. I remember that now.” The girl sneered, casually lowering the muzzle of Whisper’s wispon without even a bit of hesitation. The only emotion on her face at that moment, in fact, was annoyance. “Why don’t we forget about them for now? The name’s Gear. I’m the leader of the Starlight City Militia.” She then said, her face returning to the same smile she had before so quickly that it came off as uncanny of her.

“The… Starlight City Militia?” Whisper echoed, a flurry of emotions filling her as she had said them. Concern, confusion and fear, to be exact. “As in.. part of the Mobotropolis Militia Organization established by Sally Acorn and the Acorn Royal Family after the Phantom Ruby War??” 

“That’s the one!” Gear replied. “You have something like that with your friends, don’t you? I don’t think you’re the official Spiral Hill Militia, but something else, right?” 

“The Freedom Trainees. Why are you asking?” Whisper responded, unnerved by how Gear was prying into her life so blatantly after their rocky introduction.

“Just a bit curious, was all.” Gear answered, completely looking past the aggravated and yet shaky tone of Whisper’s voice. “How’d you find yourself in the possession of wisps if you’re not a Militia member?” She then asked.

“You don’t get to know…” Whisper hissed, her concern fading and her fear took over - convinced that this girl must be working for the Black Arms in some way.

“Excuse me?” Gear reacted, her smile disappearing again as a look of utter disdain replaced it. “Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to someone you just met like that?” She said, chastising her.

“Whisper Lycriah. I’m Whisper Lycriah and I’ll talk to you however I damn well fucking please.” Whisper replied, completely done with acting nice.

“All I did was ask you a simple question. That’s all I did. No wonder you refused Doctor Clysdale’s guidance, you ungrateful bitch.” Gear snapped. Yeah, that’s it. Whisper was certain that this chick was bad news.

“I don’t think I’d call myself “ungrateful”, personally. I actually consider myself lucky that I escaped the clinic before they could do to me whatever it is that they did to you…” Whisper argued, preparing to have a fight with Gear.

“I see. I’m sure your wisps would love to hear that you said that.” Gear remarked snidely, causing Whisper to become enraged.

“I’LL GET THEM BACK, JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE! THEY'RE JUST AS UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ALL THIS AS I AM!!” Whisper hollered, lunging at Gear to attack her.

But before she could reach her, Gear knocked her back with a sonic blast from her wispon. Though the blast tossed Whisper to the ground, she quickly got back up and was ready to face Gear again.

Except she wasn’t there anymore.

Gear and her wisp had completely disappeared, and no matter how hard Whisper looked for them, she couldn’t find where they had gone.

Once Whisper realized that her odds of finding Gear were next to none, she decided to retrieve the communicator that Tails had given her on her way out of the Sky Patrol and called Amy with it.

“Hey Whisper, feeling any better?” Amy asked right after picking up.

“Not particularly, no…” Whisper admitted.

“Oh? Then what are you calling for, girlie?” Amy inquired, sounding concerned.

“There’s something that I think you guys need to know about…” Whisper answered vaguely.

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

Cornbread's Music Fixer Devlog v1.3.0 - Volume Tweak Update 2 April 5th, 2024

so, last week i held a poll to determine how loud swamp music should be in my resource pack, Cornbread's Music Fixer. unfortunately for everyone involved, i managed to make up my mind immediately after the poll went up, and what i decided should happen goes completely against the poll's results. apologies to all two participants. your generous donations of 0 dollars and -4 chewed up wads of gum will be refunded in 104 to one 118 business days.

but in all seriousness (okay, maybe not that much seriousness), i've finally made up my mind and decided that swamp music should play at 10% volume, and that underwater music should also be lowered to 10% volume. this is for two reasons:

even though underwater music is already at a lowered volume on bedrock compared to java edition, it technically wasn't added until 1.16, the rest of the music of which i've already fucked with.

underwater music is just really fucking loud. even at its vanilla 20% volume, you'd think it was 1.20 music with how loud it swells.

and so, i've decided both swamp and underwater music should adhere to the guidelines i've set out for this pack and be lowered to 10% volume.

this is not the most interesting thing about this update though.

Cornbread's Music Fixer will no longer be split into separate releases for bedrock and java edition. the pack will now be compatible with both, instead being split into two different variants: Bedrock Style and Java Style.

for those unaware, prior to 1.16, bedrock edition didn’t play any of its music at full volume, instead playing it at 10 to 30% volume, depending on the track, so that all the music is at around the perfect amount of audibility. unfortunately, most of the music since 1.16 hasn’t had this treatment, instead ranging from 40% to 100% volume like on java edition, without any care for how it meshes with the existing music.

obviously, a full 900% jump in volume is about the most jarring thing you could ever listen to, and so i needed to fix it.

Bedrock Style will fix this volume issue by lowering the volumes of all new music to match the old music, while Java Style will raise the volumes of old music to match the new music. this is the only feature difference between the two styles. both styles will be compatible with both editions.

the creative mode tracklist currently still differs between editions, just for no reason other than i'm not sure how i want to tackle this particular discrepancy. just to clarify this means it will play survival mode music as well as creative mode music on java edition, regardless of the style chosen, while it will only play creative mode music on bedrock.

also, 'one more day' plays on frozen peaks in both styles in both editions.

anyway, unless i come up with something else i wanna change, 1.3.0 is done and will be releasing sometime in the next 20 to 48 weeks, or longer, depending on how much i procrastinate. *raises wineglass* here's to wondering how much mojang'll fuck up 1.21's music, and to hoping ancestry isn't too ear-splittingly loud because i have not listened to it yet.

[dragonprincess18]

Learning

Life in the South Blue, at least on this particular island, was rough.

Without Government help, the gangs had taken over, dividing the various towns and villages into rough sections they ruled over with an uneasy truce between them.

At least until they pissed each other off or started jockeying for power amongst themselves.

That left almost everyone else in a state of perpetual poverty, fathers toiling away in the coal mines or in the fields and motherless children running wild, dumpster diving for scraps and pickpocketing from what shop owners and outsiders walked around.

With what vague memories I had, and what I remembered from the anime, I suspected that our mother had been killed as a result of the sweep looking for Ace, and our father ended up a drunk that died in a mining accident not long after.

It was just Kid, Killer and me, or at least that was all I could remember with any clarity, living in an abandoned shack near the dump.

We got by, mostly because Killer knew how to survive and made sure we learned too, and getting Devil’s Fruit powers ended up being a net positive.

You know, after we figured out how to use them on purpose.

========================================================================

“SHIT!”

Nearly slipping off the edge of a half-broken box, four paws scrabbling for purchase, I turned around with alert ears to see Kid flat on her back, swearing up a storm as a metal pipe was thrown off her chest.

I would have laughed, but every metal piece of scrap was vibrating and shifting within a good twenty-yard radius, so that seemed like a bad idea.

“Find something good?”

I ended up toppling backwards to avoid getting brained by a flying wad of aluminum, skidding down the back of a trash heap before catching myself.

“You could’ve just said no!”

“Fuck you!”

“KILLER!”

[luxaofhesperides]

[got inspired by this prompt, changed a few things so he just works at a local coffee shop, and started thinking about how he would first interact with the bats. this was meant to be short. it's almost 6k lmao. lol. whoops.]

"Can you really talk to ghosts?" his latest customer asks in a hushed whisper, leaning over the counter.

Danny sighs, taking care not to make eye contact with the ghost frowning at him from behind his customer. He's been getting this question a lot more lately, and he's sure it's because the old ladies who come in every Thursday morning are huge gossips. In his defense, he didn't know that one of them was dead and just hanging around because they had promised to all move on together after they died. She was the first to go, just a year before, and the empty chair the group always pulled up to their table was for her.

So naturally, she sat in it, and when Danny set out their order, he looked directly at her and asked if she was going to order anything.

The women were clearly caught off guard, confused, glancing at the empty chair and Danny. He realized it too late before the old woman asked, "You can see me, my dear? Now, that's a surprise."

He had closed his eyes, wondering if this was his last day working in this particular coffee shop, and valiantly stopped himself from groaning loudly and unprofessionally.

"Sorry," he had said, turning his attention back to the group. "I thought I saw a moth on the chair, is all. So? Will this be all for now or is there something else I can get you?"

One of them, a woman with dark purple curls, easily one of the coolest senior citizens Danny's ever seen, waves him off with a smile. "Oh, we're all right for now. Thank you, dear."

Danny beat a quick retreat and hoped it would end there.

It didn't.

They stayed for hours, chatting and laughing. Danny had to refill their drinks three times and serve them some pastries while trying to ignore their surprisingly sharp gazes and the very chatty ghost trying to get him to respond.

They waved him over before they left, pushing their empty cups and plates together.

"We want to give you a tip," Purple Haired Grandma had said, "But only if you answer this question honestly: was there someone else sitting with us? Someone with long hair and perhaps a chain of daisies on her glasses?"

Danny blinked, looked down at the wad of tens in her hand, and decided that he is, indeed, a sell out because he would give up his secrets for a hefty tip.

He looked at the ghost, who matches the description, and nodded. "I can see her," he said.

The ghost brightened "Tell them my name! It's Lucinda!"

"Lucinda, right?" he confirmed with the group, who gasped and clutched each other, tears welling up in their eyes.

"My," Purple Haired Grandma had said, a hand over her heart. "So she kept her promise after all. Thank you, dear. Here, take all of it." She shoved the wad of cash into his hands, wiped a tear from her eye, and ushered her two other friends out the door, all of them calling out promises to be back in a week.

And they were. For the past month, this group of old women have been regularly visiting and always speak only to Danny. His coworkers have started teasing him about being grandma-bait, saying his Midwestern charm is like catnip to old people. He just laughs awkwardly and goes out to do his job, because no matter how weird it is, talking to a ghost in front of a trio of delighted senior citizens, they tip so well and Danny does like having some spending money left over after paying rent.

What he didn't account for was other people picking up on this and coming in with their own ghosts.

However, until the Grandma Group, they don't offer good tips, so Danny looks them straight in the eye and lies to them without remorse.

"Why would I be able to see ghosts?" he asks his latest customer. They sigh, then lean back and give him his personal space back.

"Really?"

"Really," he says. "Is this all for your order?"

"I guess." They walk off to get out of line and find a seat, shoulders slumped. He'd feel a little bad about bringing down their mood, but they didn't tip at all so he doesn't care, actually.

Listen, he's a 20-something year old trying to make a living for himself. He doesn't have time to care about other people's feelings when he's still trying to figure out how to be an independent adult (and isn't that crazy? He kind of thought he'd be a teenager forever).

He passes on the order to Riko, the coworker he's been sharing a shift with all month, who gets to work at the espresso machine. She sets a clean mug down, ready to fill to the top, and gets started on frothing the milk to make some latte art. She's their resident expert at it and always finds some way to make some insanely detailed foam art that delights the customers. She allowed the owner of the coffee shop to use it for promotion on the condition that she doesn't have to take foam art requests and can make whatever she wants.

The owner is chill, so she allowed it, and Riko gets free reign to show off her skills as she pleases.

"How many is that now?" she asks, pitching her voice over the hum of the frother, "Four today?"

"Six," Danny responds flatly.

She cackles a little, then grabs the mug now full of coffee and gets to work making his disappointed customer their drink. "At this rate, you'll be turning into our latest attraction."

"Not like we need anything else to draw people in," he mutters. For a local coffee shop, it does really well even with competition from the chain stores just a street over. The place is always busy, filled with people quietly reading or working on their laptops. They certainly don't need to know about his ability to speak to Gotham's ghosts in order to be enticed into stopping by.

"What are we doing to draw people in?" asks the owner, Sheridan, popping out of the back, trying her apron around herself.

"Offering Danny's alleged ghost speaking abilities as a treat for buying from us," Riko answers before Danny can try to move the conversation into a new direction.

Sheridan's eyes glimmer, always excited at the prospect of a new way to get the coffee shop some publicity. "October is coming up," she says thoughtfully, and Danny considers how unprofessional it would be if he slammed his head into the counter right then and there so he could get sent home for his concussion. Would it get him fired? Possibly. Sheridan is a cool boss, but customer service is brutal and he doesn't want to risk it when pay day is coming up.

Better not then.

Danny sighs instead of enacting violence on himself and wishes that a customer would come up to put an end to this conversation.

"Maybe we could do something spooky," Riko says, "Like 'Scones and Séances' or 'Espresso and Exorcism'."

Sheridan claps her hands together in delight. "Oh, I love it! Scones and Séances. That's just perfect."

Riko steps away for a moment to call out the customer's name, setting the cup down on the pick up counter. When Danny glances at it, she's made a foam ghost.

Maybe he should get a new job.

"Of course, only if you're okay with it," Sheridan continues, turning to face Danny. "Even if you can't talk to ghosts, it would be fun to pretend, you know? We could just talk about spirits and I could finally use that good tea set that's been collecting dust in the back. We can even do a once a week after hours event to make it extra spooky!"

"I don't know..."

"You'd be paid for overtime, of course."

"Should we do Friday nights throughout the month?"

Riko coughs, pressing a hand against her mouth. She's clearly trying not to laugh but Danny doesn't have more than a moment to glare at her before Sheridan is grabbing his hands in delight. "That sounds great! We'll make it RSVP only so we can limit the number of people each week, make it real exclusive. Riko, would you mind making the flyer for this? I can take over back here for you."

"Sure thing, boss." Riko salutes Sheridan and wastes no time in disappearing into the back, no doubt heading straight for their surprisingly large and well kept break room to pull out her laptop and get to work. Danny looks longingly at the door through which she disappeared, wishing he had an excuse to hide back there as well.

He doesn't get his break for another two hours. Life is cruel.

The bell above the door jingles cheerfully as a new customer enters. Danny pastes on his customer service smile. "Hi! What can I get for you?"

"Caramel mocha and two chocolate chip cookies, please," they say. "Also, not to like, sound weird or anything, but I heard rumors about someone hear who can talk to ghosts."

I need the paycheck, Danny tells himself sternly. Do not pretend to drop dead and traumatize the customer.

"I'm afraid I can't say much about that," he replies cheerfully. "Will that be all for today?"

Kill me now, he doesn't say, but he really, really wants to.

. . .

Danny thought he left the mess of Amity Park behind when he moved to Gotham after graduating from college. Admittedly, he graduated from the local community college and is saving up to finish his bachelor's degree at the moment, but he still finished some higher education!

This was supposed to be a new start to his life, his chance to reinvent himself, to become something more than a Fenton, a freak, a halfa.

Gotham was like a breath of fresh air (despite all the pollution) and Danny loves it. Honestly. He does.

Sure there's crime and rogues and constant danger, but there are heroes around to take care of that so he doesn't need to worry about it. He can just focus on getting his life together.

"Found you, Fenton," Agent K snarls, kicking the door to the coffee shop open.

Apparently, the GIW also want to continue focusing on his life.

"Hi," he sighs, "What can I get for you today?"

Agent K marches up to the counter and slams something down. Danny blinks at the man, seething with rage, and looks down at the flyer for their upcoming Scones & Séances event.

"I always knew you were trouble," Agent K spits, "I should have expected that you would try to make a profit from your nonsense. A séance? Promising to speak to dead relatives when the only dead boy around is you? I never thought ghosts would go so low as to make money from people's grief. I'll enjoy taking you in for this."

Danny is tired. He's so tired, okay?

He can't do anything but sigh.

Riko shoulders him aside roughly, and suddenly he doesn't have to do anything.

"Hi!" she greets so cheerfully is borders aggression. Her smile is knife-sharp, bloodthirsty, her eyes dark and dangerous. "Are you a paying customer? No? Then why don't you get our special today of Get The Fuck Out paired with a nice Go Fuck Yourself? I'll make it for you myself."

"Do not interfere, girl," Agent K says, turning his attention back onto Danny. "This is official business."

"And this is officially your last warning to move your sorry ass out of the premises."

Agent K draws himself up, no doubt trying to intimidate her. Riko stares him down, unimpressed, and Danny has never loved her more than he does in that moment.

"I have orders to apprehend Fenton, passed down from the head of the GIW himself. Step aside and do not interfere any further."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Riko grins. "You're excused."

Agent K stares at her, eyebrows raised high enough that they're fully visible above his sunglasses. He goes to open his mouth and someone else from a nearby table yells, "Get the clue and get outta here already!"

A few other people call out agreements, using their Gotham charm to insult the agent into leaving faster.

Danny watches, awed and more than a little touched, as Agent K turns an unattractive red. He points a finger at Danny and says, "Don't think this is over, Fenton. I'll get you one of these days." And then he turn son his heel and stomps out the coffee shop.

"You're my hero," he tells Riko.

She grins, bashful, and pats his shoulder. "It was nothing. If that asshole comes by again, let me know and I'll drag him outside for a fist fight, alright?"

"I don't think you'll ever need to, but thanks."

A few customers come up to check in on them, make sure they're alright, and offer their own threats. He's especially fond of the offer to run the agent over with a car.

It does, unfortunately, bring more interest into the Scones & Séances event and before he knows it, the limited seats are filled up for the first three weeks of the month.

Sheridan is ecstatic when she comes in to let Riko take her lunch, crowing about how the event is sure to be such a success. She's decidedly less happy about their confrontation with Agent K, but that's mostly because she wanted to be there as well to defend Danny. 

Customer service may suck, but Danny's scored the lottery for best boss and coworkers. They definitely make all the pains of this job worth it.

And when Agent K comes in the next day to try again, Sheridan is quick to shove Danny beneath the counter so she can square up with the GIW agent and let the world remember that before she started up this coffee shop, she was one of the best street fighters on this side of Gotham.

. . .

When Danny steps out for his full hour of a lunch break on the day of the first Scones & Séances event, the Signal is waiting for him.

"Hi," he greets, surprised into autopilot, "How can I help you?"

The Signal smiles. "No need for the customer service voice. I'm here to help you, not the other way around."

"Uh..." Danny wracks his brain for anything he might need a vigilantes help with. Rude customers? The crushing weight of existence? The inherent loneliness of adulthood in a post-capitalist landscape? Really, it could be anything.

"Heard you've been being harassed by some guy in white," the Signal prompts.

"Oh, the Guys In White," Danny nods. "They're not a problem."

"Are you sure? It sounds like a big enough problem that I've been flagged down by multiple people this week who are concerned that you're a target for harassment by some gang member. One of your coworkers even made me agree to be your bodyguard today before you do some spirit talking."

Riko went out of her way to get the Signal to look out for Danny? That's so kind. Also a little annoying.

Is there something about Danny that screams 'defenseless innocent, please protect'? He's never had this problem before. Usually he gets people squaring up to kick his ass just because they felt like it.

"That's really not necessary."

"Are you turning me away after I put in all the work to close up my active cases so I could be here today?"

Ah, damn. The guilt trip is so effective on Danny. He folds so fast it's embarrassing. "You really don't have to," he mumbles, averting his gaze. "I'm just going to get lunch, then come back to finish my usual shift. And I doubt you'd wanna stick around until midnight when we end the event."

"I've already called in a few favors to make sure someone's around during your séance, so no need to worry about that."

How many people have to be involved in this? It's just a work event. If he knew it would have gotten this troublesome, he would have shut it down when it was first brought up.  Overtime pay isn't enough to make him think it's a good idea to have literal heroes waste their time sitting outside while he pretends to be a proper medium. 

"Great," Danny says weakly. "You hungry? I can buy you lunch if you're going to be hanging around."

"You don't need to."

"Please let me, I'll feel bad otherwise."

The Signal laughs. "Sure! I'm not going to turn down free food if you're offering. Where to?"

Danny leads them to his current favorite lunch spot: a small restaurant two blocks over serving the best Indian food he's had on the East Coast. They get their orders to-go and the Signal grapples them up to a rooftop to eat. It's both surreal and familiar: he's eating lunch with one of Gotham's vigilante, but it feels just like when he shared snacks with his friends back in Amity Park on top of the Ops Center. They spend the time chatting about nothing in particular, carefully steering away from topics that have to do with powers, ghosts, and the Signal's day to day life.

The lunch hour flies by and Danny hates to see that he has to go back soon. They've finished eating ages ago, but neither made any move to leave the roof, content to keep talking as the day carried on.

He lets the Signal grapple him back down because he figures he owes the guy more courtesy than giving him a heart attack by just jumping down to the street. Instead of parting ways there, the Signal insists on walking Danny back to the coffee shop, which he accepts with more ease after their hour together.

They turn the corner and run directly into Agent K because the universe hates him.

"You!" Agent K shouts. "I'll be taking you in today no matter what!"

He pulls out a gun, and suddenly it's not a situation where Danny can safely roll his eyes. His first instinct is to move in front of the Signal, blocking him with his body. The armor he has on will probably keep him safe from the blaster, but Danny knows any weapon modeled after what his parents made can pack a hell of a punch on both humans and ghosts.

Danny raises his hands, palms out, ready to shoot out some ice to disarm him. "I really think this is unnecessary."

"I will not let you go through with this séance to allow ghosts to possess people!"

"Woah, when was that ever a concern?"

"I can see through your lies, Phantom!" Agent K jabs the gun closer and Danny holds himself carefully still, all too aware of the Signal behind him. "Your reign of terror ends here!"

"I think you need a nap," the Signal interrupts. "Good night."

And a giant shadow swells up behind him and slams down on Agent K's head like a cartoon anvil. The agent drops like a brick, white suit gaining some dirt scruffs from the dirty sidewalk.

Danny blinks down at the unconscious body of Agent K. "Wow."

"I'm starting to think that you downplayed these guys a bit," the Signal says lightly. "Like, just a little bit."

"Yeah, this was a surprise. He's usually more put together than this. Less unhinged."

"Riko was right about you needing a bodyguard, though. That could have ended badly. You alright?"

Danny puts on a reflexive smile. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dude, he just waves a gun around in your face."

"He didn't do anything else though, so it's fine."

The Signal gives him a long look, then sighs. "Sure. If you say so. I'll take care of this guy. Try not to get jumped going back to the coffee shop."

"You got it!" Danny gives him a two-fingered salute, then continues on his way. At least Agent K is dealt with, so there shouldn't be any more problems popping up today. All he has to do is get through the rest of his shift, take a nap, do some shopping, then head right back to do his little séance scene with Sheridan.

That sounds easy enough.

He says as much to Riko, who is apparently buddies with the Signal and had been making him text her updates while he was off for lunch.

"Are you sure you don't want me there?" she asks again as she gets ready to clock out. "I could totally get Sheri to approve some overtime for me so I can be here and kick out anyone who causes problems for you."

"It'll be fine," Danny says, shoving her towards the back, "Quit worrying so much. I thought you were a native Gothamite? Aren't y'all supposed to be used to these things?"

"Yeah, we're used to this. You're a Midwest transplant who still smiles at people on the streets. You can't blame me for being worried about you."

Danny rolls his eyes. "I promise you I'll survive the night. Now get out of here, I know you got a thing going on later."

"Alright, alright, I'm going! But seriously, if you need me here, just text me. Okay, take care, bye!" Riko throws the last few words out from over her shoulder, rushing away so she can get to her monthly book club meeting on time. Apparently they've been going through translated webnovels and she has a whole lot of opinions she can't wait to share, hence the rush. She tried to talk to Danny about it a while back, but none of it made much sense to him and she patted his back for being a good sport and went back to their game of making up opera-worthy dramatic stories about the customers in the shop.

Despite her worries, the rest of his shift is calm and normal, if not al little lonely. Sheridan popped in from time to time to make sure there wasn't a rush she needed to help with, but was otherwise busy preparing for the séance.

This is fine, he tells himself every hour as the day marched on into evening.

This is fine, he tells himself, lying on his couch staring up at the ceiling in despair. He can see ghosts, yes, but beyond that, what is he supposed to do for a séance? Sam would probably know, but there's also a 50/50 chance that she would mix it up with a summoning ritual for dead souls, which would cause a whole lot of new problems.

This is fine, he tells himself as Sheridan gleefully presents him with a rented tux for him to wear, to really 'bring the vibe together', as she said.

Everything is so totally fine, Danny lies to himself, sitting at the round table rolled into the middle of the coffee shop. Sheridan had come in a few hours earlier to rearrange the space and set things up, leaving a large area surrounded by plants for the séance to take place at.

She really went all out: velvet tablecloth, crystal ball just for display, her fancy tea set finally in use complete with a tower of small cakes and the promised scones, purple and black beaded strings draped artfully across the windows. She even ran the fog machine to make the shop a bit misty for ambience.

"It's almost time to open our doors!" she says, fluttering around to straighten things up. She's a walking bundle of nerves, both excited and apprehensive. "We're not forgetting anything, right?"

"Even if we are, I think we can manage without it," Danny says, pulling at the dark red bowtie fit snug around his throat. 

The suit isn't the most comfortable and the pants are a little short, but it wouldn't be all that bad if he didn't have the bowtie on. It does pull the look together, but it's uncomfortable and he's not sure he can pretend to be the mysterious, all-known medium leading the séance before he rips the wretched thing off of himself and tosses it away without thinking. Danny knows himself. He knows he'll do it. It's a matter of when not if.

The clock in the back chimes as it hits the hour. Sheridan shuts off the lights by the counter to make the coffee shop look spookier, then hurries to the door.

Most of tonight's group is already gathered, waiting to be let in.

Danny tunes out Sheridan's bright, bubbly voice welcoming everyone in. He takes a deep breath from his seat at the table, preparing himself for the next hour of talking to ghosts and being weird and spooky for other people's entertainment. And then he'll have to do it again for the second group coming in at eleven.

Sheridan leads the customers through a little ceremony to light tea candles, each one held in the cupped hands of the customers. She lowers her voice into a low whisper, drawing them all into this ghostly atmosphere she's done her best to create. Danny keeps his eyes closed, trying to get into character. Plus, if it looks like he's meditating, that'll make him look extra mysterious. He stays statue-still, breathing slowly and deeply, listening to the group approach the table.

Only once he hears everyone is seated does he open his eyes, ready to begin, and--

Is that the Grandma Group?

It is. It is indeed the Grandma Group smiling at him, excited, as Lucinda circles around the table be next to him as there are no extra chairs.

"Hello again dear," Purple Grandma greets, "I can't even begin to tell you how excited I was to see that you would be doing this! It's certainly much better than pulling you away from your work for a few words."

"It's nice to see you too," he replies, slipping back into customer service voice. "Hey, Boss, can we pull up another chair?"

"Sure. What for?"

"For Lucinda. She should get to sit." Danny gestures at the space next to him, where, to him, Lucinda is standing and waving to the rest of the group, but is empty air to everyone else.

"How sweet," Lucinda coos, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Two of the grandmas gasp, watching his hair fluff up and move on its own. "If only my own granddaughter had been as thoughtful. Then I might have sent her more than a few hundred dollars for Christmas."

Danny starts wondering if he could ethically be adopted by this dead grandmother to get her money. Like a platonic sugar baby situation. It's not like she needs the money anymore, assuming it hasn't gone to the rest of her family.

Sheridan drags a chair over and plops it down by Danny. Lucinda sits with a relieved sigh and adjusts her glasses.

"I suppose we'll be talking to Lucinda tonight," he says to the rest of the group. Between the dim lights and the tea lights on the table in front of everyone, throwing flickering light dancing across the planes of their face, they all look strange, almost like beings from a dream. There are two people here who aren't part of the grandma group, a blond girl just a few years older than him, if he had to guess, and a guy with black hair and blue eyes, a strangely familiar face--

That's fucking Tim Drake.

Danny hates his life.

And his job. But mostly his life.

Whatever, he decides, Tim Drake is none of his business. If the guy wants to come to a silly séance in a coffee shop, that's on him. Who is Danny to judge him? He's the one leading the séance. Stones and glass houses, he's keeping his mouth shut.

Looking away from Tim Drake and taking in the rest of the table, he opens the séance. "This is not going to be a traditional, old style séance. Mostly because I don't know how to do those. This is just a time to eat some snacks and talk to a willing ghost, and you're all in luck tonight because one of our regular ghosts is here with us now. Lucinda, if I could have your hand?"

The thing about ghosts is that Danny's spent most of his high school and early college career dealing with ectoplasmic ghosts. Dead people fueled by ectoplasm, a physical substance that can be studied and interacted with. Ectoplasm is what gave them form, let them retain their hearts and minds and personalities after death. Ectoplasm molds itself into the shape of its host, sinking into every piece of them, making them different from the usual ghosts found in horror stories who can only wail and slam doors shut.

Danny is used to ectoplasmic ghosts. He's half of one himself.

But Amity Park is really the only place to have ectoplasmic ghosts.

Gotham's ghosts are fueled by magic. He doesn't know why, or how this difference came to be, but it's a very clear difference. No longer can Danny tell someone is a ghost by their glowing eyes or blue skin, but solely based on a carefully developed gut feeling and the weak ping of his ghost sense. Gotham's ghosts look like anyone else so long as they're not left in the shape they were when they died in a terrible man-made catastrophe. It's easy to tell someone's a ghost when they walk around with half their intestines spilling out of their gut. It's harder when they look like anyone else. 

Amity Park and Gotham ghosts may be made from different things, but that doesn't mean they're incompatible.

With just a quick boost from his ecto, Lucina becomes visible to the rest of the table.

 The blond girl startles, knees jerking up to hit the bottom of the table, making the cake stand wobble. Tim Drake goes very, very still, staring hard at Lucinda.

The Grandma Group, on the other hand, are overjoyed, clapping their hands together in delight, speaking over each other to get their old friend's attention. Lucinda laughs, leaning over the table to take hold of their hands. She glows in the dim coffee shop, ethereal and otherwordly. Danny discretely shakes some leftover ecto off his hand and leans back in his chair, resisting the urge to yank his bowtie off.

Lucinda seems content to just chat with her friends, which leaves Danny, Tim Drake, and blonde girl to sit off to the side by themselves awkwardly.

Sheridan, thankfully, saves the night by popping in by their half of the table with plates of snacks Danny's never seen served here before.

"Here," she says, "We're not just here for the séance, right? I was also hoping to use tonight as a test run for some new seasonal treats I've been working on. Give them a try and let me know what you think!"

Tim Drake thanks her politely while blonde girl yanks her plate closer to her, inspecting it.

"Ooh, look!" she says, smacking Tim Drake's arm. Are they friends? They must be. "It's got strawberry jam blood!"

On her plate is a cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting and strawberry jam on it, dripping down in a way that's reminiscent of blood. A small knife, likely made from a cookie, is stabbed into the top. Tim Drake got the zombie cookie; a mix of black cookie down and green, with white chocolate chips, to look zombie-fied. And the treat Sheridan's put down in front of him is a cupcake with white frosting that looks like a ghost.

"Really?" he asks her.

She grins and pats his shoulder. "I thought it was fitting. And funny."

"Why do I still work here..."

"Because you love me!"

"This is so good!" blonde girl interrupts, holding up a hand to cover her mouthful of cinnamon roll. "I'm definitely coming back for this."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Sheridan replies. "The frosting isn't too strong, right?"

"No, no, it goes perfectly with the strawberry. Best cinnamon roll I've ever eaten in my life."

"Yeah? I've got another new one in the kitchen if you wanna try it out for me."

Blonde girl lights up. "In what world would I say no? Hand it over, I'll eat anything you make."

Sheridan laughs and takes one step away from the table when the front door is kicked open.

"Ghost!" shouts Operative O, and Danny groans, pushing himself up to stand. "We knew you were up to no good, Fenton!" And then he pulls out a blaster gun and Danny is moving away from the table a whole lot faster. He means to put himself between the agent and the others, shielding them with his body, but he doesn't get far before Tim Drake and blonde girl are flinging their empty plates at Agent O. Their cheeks bulge from the food they just stuffed in their mouths, puffed out like chipmunks, but their glare is all danger.

Lucinda glows even brighter, standing from her chair enraged. "You," she intones, pointing at Agent O who lowers his hand from his face, shielding himself against the plates, "You and the others in your stupid white suits. How dare you cause trouble for Danny?!"

"I've got this, Luci," Purple Grandma says, pulling a handgun out of her purse.

"What," Danny says. He stops the question there because he's not sure he wants to know, actually.

Even Agent O has blanched, blaster lowered like he forgot he had it in the face of one angry senior citizen with purple hair.

Not how Danny was envisioning this night to go. Apparently, it's no longer Scones & Séances but GIW vs. Grandmas and Danny knows who he's putting his bets on.

"You should probably leave now," Danny tells Agent O helpfully. "Before they decide to escalate."

Agent O looks at each person around the table, glaring at him. Tim Drake and Blonde girl have their fists up, ready to physically throw themselves into a fight. Sheridan has a hand on her hip, looking more intimidating than he's ever seen her before. Behind Purple Grandma and her handgun are the other two grandmas, holding their purses up as makeshift weapons. Even Lucinda looks ready to pick up her chair and to turn this into a brawl.

Agent O puts his blaster away and wisely decides to cut his losses. "This isn't over, Fenton!" he shouts, "I'll get you one of these days!"

"Scram!" Sheridan shouts back. "You and the other white suits aren't welcome here."

Agent O scowls, but turns and leaves without trying to get the last word in.

Huh.

That was... easy? Is this what it's like to have a community backing him up? He can't help but be touched; he's not particularly close to anyone here except Sheridan, but no one hesitated from getting ready to throw down for him. Gotham's best feature really is her people.

"You good?" Tim Drake asks.

Danny nods. "All good. Thanks, everyone. You didn't need to get involved." Everyone starts voicing their protests at once, so he raises his hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay, sorry, I won't say that again. Thank you, seriously. Why don't we get back to what we came here for?"

After a few wary glances at the door, now shut, everyone sits back down and settles in.

Danny spreads his hands flat on the table and leans in with a mischievous grin. Now that the worst part of the night is past, he doesn't have to worry about how this event can go wrong. He can finally have some fun with it.

"What do y'all really know about ghosts?"

Danny is a coffee shop owner in Gotham and is repeatedly attacked by the GIW. Danny can (mostly) handle his own but he’s in the Bats’ city.

The help is greatly appreciated. The vigilantes have incorporated his small business into their patrol path. They even stop in to grab some coffee or a pastry. He thought he’d get to know this cities heroes as Phantom but instead they become friends with Fenton

[gazetotheabyss]

Johnny Striker

     Johnny Striker was a biker.      Johnny Striker killed a hiker.     Bashed his head in with a brick     Cuz he called him a stupid prick. Never had Johnny been the sharpest tool in God's shed  Didn't matter when any who crossed him wound up dead. Ran round in '64, But now he doesn't bike no more.

    The blood lingered still so warmly on Johnny's fingers. Absently with a soulless stare he listened to the only sound that lingered in those long forgotten trails he liked to explore.

Drip

        Drip.

                    Drip......

    Followed each moment punctually by the splattering of each drop across the blacktop. Still he feels nothing. Not even satisfaction from killing the poor man whose only crime was yelling at a drunk biker who almost ran him down. Always did he feel so ungodly empty. No matter of drug, murder, or mindless fucking seemed to ever satisfy that deep seated desire that hung within him. Bearded face would wrinkle as he inhales sharply through his nose, and spat out a particular thick wad before turning his attention elsewhere.

    The poor man was already dead, so Johnny saw a number of goodies that he wouldn't need to be carried with him across the rainbow bridge. Errant swipes of bloodied palms across his leather vest do all they can to clean them off-- Not that he'd been particularly clean before mind you. Hands growing brown from thickening ichor start to pilfer anything shiny or valuable he can glean from the man's personage. Fancy gold watch, wedding band probably worth something, wallet empty of cash, anything else weren't worth dick. It was strange though. Digging around for hidden treasures, hand fully immersed in the man's front pocket. Not something you'd typically expect from a man running on the roadside.

    Rough as it was, Johnny just thought it was pretty. Like fogged red glass, uneven twists and edges. Maybe it was a ruby? Uncut? It's a shape Johnny didn't know the name of, and didn't particularly care to learn. If he couldn't sell it maybe he'd keep it. Put it on a necklace. Whatever it had been, didn't mean much anymore, with its former owners skull caved into nothing more than a bloodied mess of fragments and viscera.

    Out here in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, he didn't have any fear of the law being on his tail. After fencing whatever he managed to pick up that day he winds up in his room back at he clubhouse. Asshole at the Pawn Shop said his pretty rock was useless.

    "Not a real gemstone. Probably just some cut up glass or something. Bottom of a beer bottle maybe."

    No, that wasn't true. It was plenty beautiful, and it wasn't just a piece of glass. Even just looking at it, Johnny felt an air of purpose. Like looking upon something divine! It wasn't a feeling he had the words in his vocabulary to describe. Even as he sat on his bed in the dark, with it setting off an ephemeral glow that had been entirely lost upon him, he could almost feel as if he were special for once in his miserable life. Like the hole inside him could finally be filled.

    He went to sleep easy that night. But staying so was much harder. Before that night he'd never dreamed all that much, and if he did, it was never something he retained. But early in the morning hour the following day, he awoke in a cold sweat. His body had nearly felt frozen to the bone in spite of the summer heat. Nightmares plagued his unconscious night. Sights of horrible monsters, beings once shaped like humans but now nearly unrecognizable. Twisting, agonizingly writhing in a screaming mass of suffering. Clawing for their lives, but begging for death. Suffering. Life as suffering. And nothing more. It was just a dream, he told himself over and over. Despite how clearly the distorted faces clawed at his mind so clearly, just as their fingers seemed to at reality itself.

    In clear defiance of his dark dreams, he dragged himself free from his bed and thin coverings, and dressed for the day. He'd kill someone else if he missed out on Ma Maxine's, the beloved matriarch of their club and wife of the late founder, delicious breakfast. He could almost smell the sausage sizzling as it were, and he could feel his stomach grumble in reply to the thought. Far be it from him to forget snatching his new precious stone to take with him too.

    Much of his day drew much the same as the one previous. Riding around the canyon on his hog after breakfast, beer, lunch, darts with Pauly, crashing the drive-in movies with the rest of the guys. Threatening the owner after everyone got all up in arms over a club of good ol' boys hootin' and hollerin' at Two Thousand Maniacs goin' wild on the screen. Spent some time with Arno, fuckin' around with the rock and eventually embedding it in a ring, poorly enough that they had to secure it with glue. Then dinner comes and goes, and he's locked away in his room again. The rock, that he'd affectionately started calling 'Lucy', feels like it's gotten bigger. Something that had only affirmed in his mind that it had been extra special.

    So why did he feel empty again? All of that good feeling that had come about that first night? Swept away in a wash of despair and sadness that he'd never felt before. All he could do was think about those faces. No matter what he did or whom he did it with, the nightmare forced itself through the veil of distraction to the forefront of his mind.

    Johnny didn't sleep that night. He laid awake under his dirty covers in his ramshackle room, staring at the ceiling without blinking. Sweating away all his nightmarish thoughts.

    When morning broke, his eyes had been as dry as they were heavy. But the murderous simpleton was finally starting to forget the sight of those faces. When he stretched his palm to his end table, to gather up the ring he'd fashioned out of 'Lucy', his face drops. When he'd found it, it had been no larger than a pebble. Maybe an inch in diameter. The night previous it had gotten a little bigger, enough to have filled out its presence in the ring. Turning it from a cheap bauble to one of those fancy school rings the boys who actually finished school got. Now? Now it was near the size of a table tennis ball at its greatest width, breaking free of the thin nickel bindings it had been wound in.

    You know. He'd slept pretty calmly before he'd found this thing, hadn't he? Eyes were frantic, heavy as they looked at it. Like the way it had shone back at him no longer made him feel special... Maybe Russ was right, he was dumb. So now he was just being dumb. Just forgot how big the rock was-- Or someone was pulling a fast one on him.

    Either way, when he left for the day, he decided to not bring it along this time. For all it was worth for a miserable nasty man like Johnny, his day had gotten a little better. Having put the thought of weird rocks from his mind. Things were turnin' 'round for him. Least for a few hours.

    On his daily game of darts with his blood brother and bestest friend in the world, Pauly, he could hear the man behind him. Distinctly it had been his voice. Whispering. Muttering. It was Pauly's fault, after all, wasn't it? All those insults he'd supposedly hurled at Johnny that night under his breath. Fat. Stupid. Coward. Weak. All of them acted as the strength behind Johnny's arm as he swung it down, dart in hand, into theface of the other man. Again. Again. And again.

    Until Pauly was gone. Johnny a panting mess above his bloody corpse. The bar silent as the trail that first night. All eyes had been on him, until he proudly proclaimed why he did it. No one said a damned thing to him that night. Not as he climbed the stairs to his room, huffing angrily at Pauly who was most certainly not alive to hear.

    When his thin plywood door is pushed open, the darkness of the room practically engulfed him. Like an Octopus, he'd thought, feeling the many arms of that abyss ensnaring him, leading him forward. Eyes locked onto the far side of his once safe space, he sees it, not any bigger, but certainly a little brighter. A deep sickly amber. 'Like burnt snot and maple syrup', he'd not so elegantly thought. It was like an eye. Burning him from the inside out, tearing away at his sanity. Johnny made it maybe ten steps, five of which into his room, before he stopped. Trembling.

    Johnny slept outside in the cold with the dogs that night. They were always nicer to him anyway.

    Yet the dream still had not been. Twisting landscapes of horrible incomprehensible shapes. Skies of unnatural colors, beasts of unsightly origin. They were all things of intrigue lost upon a simple mind such as his. Instead he felt only terror about that he did not understand. The dream was cut short, when he was attacked. A crushing strength that had felt so real. From a figure so much bigger than even him, wings like a bats stretched, claws inches long, and no face. Yet still it shrieked. A horrible sound. Johnny had to defend himself. Thick portly fingers wrapped tight around its throat, fist ramming into the place its face would have been.

    But when he woke, he felt cold flesh beneath his hand. Congealed blood hung from his knuckles. Battered, beaten, dead as Pauly... That one almost made him cry, Ma Maxine. Musta been coming to check on him in the middle of the night. Having never known his real ma, she was close as he'd ever come. Made it worse when he had to hide her. Throw her in the grinder, feed her to the dogs. No one would forgive him for that one like they did Pauly.

    "Lucy", he thought aloud in his dark room. "Lucy-fer." What had once been a loving tribute to his first wank, had turned against him so coldly. What did he do? What could he do? He wrung his hands together, having found a calmness to his fidgeting in the dark. All the smashing he tried had done nothing. Not even a fracture at the corners. This thing had been the work of the devil. Was he being punished? Was it takin' from him all the good things he had on purpose? Whatever it was doing, he felt it around him. The whispering of old tongues, the primal fear of darkness wisping about in the night air. Sweat poured down his thick features, passing over his furled brow.

    Unsure of what to do, of how to handle this fucked up situation that he'd only rotted worse with his own brashness-- He acted without thinking. Digits like sausages wrapped around the girth of the crystalline object, shoving down his throat without another consideration. Through it all he gagged, he choked, and for it he almost couldn't breathe. But eventually it went down. All those dark feelings along with it.

    When the rest of the gang wakes the disappointment that hung in the air had been palpable. No eggs. No bacon. No sausage. An empty kitchen and dining hall met their expectations. But their dogs slobbered good by the sound of it.

Unfortunately it wasn't the first time Ma Maxine had gone AWOL, so no one thought too much of it. Usually she packed a bag and rode north to sit at the street corner she'd met Ol' Pa Henry. A conclusion that elated Johnny. Thinking through all measure he'd gotten away with it again. But swallowing that stone turned his guts something fierce. He tried to continue his day as if it were normal. Had a mighty breakfast of moonshine and twinkie, went out for his ride out in the canyon--

    But his stomach gurgled. An uncomfortable feeling, like his healthy breakfast didn't quite agree with him. He groaned, he moaned, pausing on the side of the dirt trail and clutching his gut. After some moments of patience and angry screaming though, he set back out.

    Darts by himself were so much more fun. Pauly always beat him, now that asshole weren't gonna rub it in his face no more.

    It itched. A tickle in the deepest parts of his stomach. Cold. Wet. Sweaty. Stomach hurt.

    He skipped lunch. Dinner too. And when the guys had wanted to go out for a movie, he weren't invited. Since Pauly, no one wanted to hang around him anymore. With how strange he was acting that morning, anyone else who had even considered him had written him off as well.

    Fine with him. He didn't need 'em anyway. Buncha assholes always ruined his fun anyway, he was more than content to sit back at the club alone in the main hall. He laughed, he poured himself beers, watched re-runs of Lucy. But midway through the third episode of his marathon, it had felt like clawing. Miserable slashing at the inside of his gut. Doubled over the wood of the bar, blood and bile merged in some unholy union of smell and visual was expelled onto the surface. He felt full. Too full.

    Johnny, with gloved mitts clutched at his stomach, thought angrily to himself, 

            "Maybe I shouldn't have ea--"

    But that was a thought the Earth would never know in its totality. An explosion of meat and blood showered the bar. The mangled upper half of Johnny Striker hanging from the 'shoulders' of some unholy aberration. Shape far from normal or of this Earth, like mangled road kill glued together. Misshapen and undulating, it stumbled forward. With a sickening thud, Johnny fell to the ground at the monster's hind. It turned 'round to face him, or at least that's what it had felt like. Looking upon those twisted horrified faces. The thing of his dream had grown inside him, and stared at him with the faces of the three lives he'd destroyed. Johnny faded fast, all that blood pouring from his open body.

Life quickly left his eyes, the final thought to ever go through his mind the simple words. "Are them my legs?" As his head lay less than a foot from his dismembered thigh.

No odd or unearthly creature was found upon the return of the gang from their day gallivanting. 

Just Johnny laying on the floor. Half ripped apart, head gone, mostly eaten, with the dogs off their leashes runnin' about outside with blood soaked muzzles.

Most made their assumptions.

Met himself a terrible fate

Maybe it were somethin' he ate.