#prompt answers

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday Shana! I would love a mew chapter of what they expect or anything for the untamed💜💜💜

continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

The strange Amestrian girl gets him a room at a motel with a worker that leers at him as she pays and he doesn't know why he's going along with this besides that he's lost enough blood that every time he tries to step away from her, black spots appear in his vision.

She lowers him onto the edge of the bed and disappears into the bathroom, coming back with a damp wash cloth. She grabs his face, tilting into the light of the weak yellow lamp. She frowns at him as she starts to clean his face, wiping away blood and dirt and sweat. "Do you have a change of clothes or something? How are you managing normally? I'd guess the other Ishvalans are sheltering you, but I think you're smart enough to know that's the first place they'll look, and I don't think you want to put them in danger. Do you?"

He tenses. Does she know who he is? What he's done? She's speaking as if she does, but then her actions make even less sense than before. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have a little brother," she says. "If anything happened to him, I'd do a lot worse than explode a few military dogs."

She does know who he is. She moves the washcloth down his neck, and so close and so bare with her touch on him it should be uncomfortable, tense, something, but instead it feels comfortable. His mother died when he was young, but he has vague memories of her wiping him down just like this. "I didn't have a little brother."

"Yeah," she says, golden eyes meeting his just for a moment. "You were one, right? You've got the look."

"What's the look?" he murmurs. He's so tired. Everything hurts.

"Lost," she says softly. He flinches. "Us older siblings, we've gotta keep it together, gotta have a plan, even if we don't. Fake it till you make it. My little brother is never lost because he always knows exactly where I am."

"He gave me his arm," he says, not knowing why he's telling her this. She's pretty and young and knows nothing of war -

She laughs, sharp and unexpected. When he manages to look back at her face, she's grinning, and there's something in her eyes that stops him from taking offense, something that makes him wonder if she really has escaped the war. "Come on, get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning. I have to make a phone call."

She pushes him onto the bed and he shouldn't leave himself so defenseless and unprotected in front of this Amestrian stranger, but his eyelids are heavy and he feels a blanket being spread over him as he falls into either sleep or unconsciousness.

[kai-dimir]

Hi! 6 or 13 for the de Riva ask game, if you want!

The years after the veilguard dispensed had been busy. Lucanis took his duties as First Talon seriously. The two men didn’t have much time during the day together. Rook tried to fill his days with contracts like before, but there was something pulling at him. He couldn’t focus like he needed to. The prison of regrets had brought a raw nerve back to the surface. One he’d been content to pretend didn’t exist until now. Lucanis had proposed a few months prior and it gave Rook the kick he needed to do what he felt needed to be done.

With Bellara’s and Davrin’s help, Rook started to build a good relationship with the Dalish clans in Antiva. He was able to find his mother’s clan, sort of. They’d been wiped out by mercenaries. Digging through old crow records from around his birth revealed a merchant prince had wanted the crows to do the same. The man refused to pay the asking price. He left complaining that mercenaries would be just as good.

Now here he sat with Viago. Papers with signatures spread around them. Lucanis was standing behind Rook. His hands on the younger’s shoulders. This was the first and hopefully last he’d take out a contract on anyone. The merchant prince was his father, and an old man now. Rook was born of what was most likely an affair, not an uncommon occurrence. He doubted his mother even knew. He doubted anyone would suspect a poisoning when the man was already standing at deaths door. No one would suspect a crow came knocking.

Viago held out his hand a smirked. “Considering this a favor for an old friend.” Rook took the Talon’s hand. He didn’t know if what he was doing was right, but he had to do something. He couldn’t just live with the knowledge and do nothing. Viago released his right hand and scrutinized his left. Rook was wearing a black engagement band with small purple stones.

“Does Teia know you haven’t picked a date yet? She’s ecstatic.” The future Dellamorte grimaced and sank back in his chair. “She’s already planning for us isn’t she?” Rook knew the answer. Teia was his best friend. Lucanis chuckled. A musical sound to Rook. “We should probably go talk to her next.”

[mistresslrigtar]

An entry for your 100 word drabble challenge!

Purah makes Zelda kiss a frog for *science,* except it turns into a boy.

Congrats on meeting your goal! 😁 I'm very excited to tag along on your pirate au!

Thanks for the prompt @sparklyhyperbole! Glad you’re enjoying Captain Araki and I hope you like this. This was fun to write. ☺️

“Truff or dare?” Zelda sipped from her glass of wine, sloshing half over her hand.

“Truth.” Rhoam would have Purah’s hide if he knew Zelda was tipsy.

“Where did chu get this frog?” Zelda, eyes slightly crossed, tapped the glass. The blue-eyed teal and brown frog responded, scrabbling against its enclosure.

“Kiss it and I’ll tell.” Purah grinned mischievously when the amphibian began croaking. Rhoam be damned.

“Fine.” Lifting the frog, Zelda pressed puckered lips to his.

“Princess? Why are you kissing a frog?” A bemused Link stood in the lab doorway.

Zelda froze, smiling sheepishly at her appointed knight.

[irradiatedvulture]

for the outfit meme: 🐰 + Landon

He’s just a little deer guy! Just a little dude!

[pupculture]

The darkness had become my companion, the silence my solace. For centuries, I had lain here beneath the weight of stone and ash, the crushed remnants of a once-thriving city. The earth above had healed itself, I assumed, growing forests, rivers, perhaps new life. Humanity had long since vanished, consumed by their own hubris and the wrath of the planet. I had stopped keeping track of the years.

Time lost meaning when you could not die.

I had given up hope long ago. No one would ever come. The last cries for help I’d heard had been distant, fading into silence as the world grew cold and still. The rubble became my tomb, and I resigned myself to it. No more struggles, no more prayers. Only waiting. Endless, mind-numbing waiting.

But then—after thousands of years, a sound.

At first, I thought it was a trick of my imagination, a desperate echo conjured by my fractured mind. A scratching, faint and persistent, like claws against stone. Then, the vibration came, subtle but undeniable, shaking loose the dust that had gathered in layers around me. My heart—long unused, long forgotten—stirred.

The scratching grew louder, more frantic. There was life above. Something alive, digging. Hope was a cruel thing, I reminded myself, but I couldn’t stop the ember from sparking to life within me.

Light. A crack of it. Faint but blinding after so many centuries. Through the sliver of stone, I saw it: a face. A dog.

It was not like the ones I remembered, though its form was familiar. Leaner, wild-eyed, but unmistakable. A creature of survival, of determination. It barked once, sharp and eager, and then redoubled its efforts, tearing at the debris with claws and teeth. Dirt and stone rained down on me as it dug, and I was too stunned to speak, to move.

Another face appeared beside it, and then another. A pack. They worked together, pawing and biting at the rubble with a single-minded purpose. I realized then what they were doing—not scavenging, not hunting. Searching. They were searching for me.

Memories flooded back, unbidden. The old world, the disasters, the first wave of rescue dogs trained to find survivors. How they’d never stopped, even when there was no one left to teach them. Generation after generation, passing down the instinct, the purpose, the hope.

I felt the weight above me shift, and suddenly the rubble gave way. Light poured in, golden and warm, and the dogs surged forward, their tongues lolling, their tails wagging furiously. One nuzzled against me, another licked my face, and I couldn’t help the sound that escaped my throat—a laugh, raw and broken.

"You didn’t forget," I whispered, my voice cracking from disuse. "You never stopped looking."

They had saved me. Not humanity, but their legacy. Their love, their loyalty, their persistence.

The world above was alien and unrecognizable, but as I climbed free with the pack surrounding me, I felt something I had not felt in thousands of years.

Hope.

You're an immortal being who has been trapped deep under the rubble of a destroyed city for thousands of years after a series of natural disasters wiped out all of humanity. You've given up hope of ever being freed from this nightmare. One day, the rubble begins to shift…

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Do you think people who are virgin should write smut? I feel like most of them don’t even know what they’re writing and just write what they think sex is

the implication this ask suggests that people who write about murders, cannibalism, politics, magic, royalty au, sci-fi, wars, supernatural, time travel, medieval era, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins must be murderers, cannibals, presidents, wizards, royalties, astronauts, ghost hunters, soldiers, time travelers, knights, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins in real life is so funny to me

[blackberry-command-cap]

very late to this party but oh well

"Imagine your SWTOR oc getting absolutely soaked in the cold rain of a Kaas thunderstorm, wind whipping the drops into them like needles, drenching them..."

A'la'zena hates DK for precisely this reason. It's not the cold or the physical unpleasantness of it all - she ignores that as easily as she ignores any other physical pain, she learned to do that from her agent training trauma. No, the issue is that she prides herself on looking, being pitch perfect at all times. . Her first time, the rain smeared her makeup and ruined her leather trenchcoat and she's never forgiven the planet since.

The next time she comes to Dromand Kaas, she's more prepared. She wears water resistant makeup, and an Imperial uniform that's already so rigid the rain doesn't ruin the lines. She blends in well with all the other officers and commoners around the square, trying their best to ignore the rain. They have a job to do, and she does too.

"When they get where they're going, the door opens for them revealing their friend (/comrade/love interest/whatever the heck the Agent and Hunter have going on/pissed off medic/mother-hen companion/etc)."

Later this question might have a better answer, but this time she's still a baby Cipher and her mission takes her to the Nexus Room. Kaliyo meets her in the lobby, says something to the effect of "really rocking the drowned, brainwashed, Imp trash look, Agent. You buying?" and A'la can tell that as usual, her companion has already run up a sizable tab hoping Intelligence will cover it.

A'la also knows that as usual, she will end up paying it. Maybe she sees her younger self in the Rattataki anarchist. Or maybe she just doesn't have anyone else. Either way, her mark is waiting and she looks passable enough.

[10holmes]

1 - Xue Yang is a blanket hogger. No questions asked. Xiao Xingchen can't be mad about it, smiling when he wakes up and notices and just wraps around Xue Yang on top the blanket cocoon.

2. Xiao Xingchen is the selfie-taker. Xue Yang is annoyed by it but rather than close his eyes he rolls them (affectionately).

3. XXC is the responsible one. XY even close to death would not call an ambulance, thinking he can deal with everything alone.

4. XXC forgets the food in the oven. XY gets home to the smell of smoke and burning and bars XXC from the kitchen forevermore.

5. XXC feels the need to have a change of clothes with the seasons. XY can't be bothered. He learned to get by with what he has. Also he's often to busy doing stuff, getting stuck in some project or other, to care for what clothes he wears.

6. Don't know why but XXC strikes me as the one who will get all kinds of office supplies and XY being the creative guy, going crazy in the art supply shop.

7. This one would actually only refer to XXC. He's the one to openly talk about and lable his emotions. XY doesn't do emotional awareness. Though maybe due to being forced by XXC into taking therapy sessions he might be ordered to start a journal and half-heartedly write it, if only to make XXC happy.

8. XY arranges the food ( hello? apple bunnies?) and XXC secretly watches him and can't suppress the smile of fondness and the skipping of his heart. XY once he feels safe with somebody will rediscover his inner child and let it out.

WHICH ONE IN YOUR OTP…

Steals the blankets to create a blanket cocoon, and which one spends the night trying to tug out a corner of it to sleep under?

Takes spontaneous selfies everywhere, and which one always has their eyes closed in them?

Calls and makes appointments like a responsible adult, and which one would rather eat dirt than make a phone call?

Forgets what’s in the oven because their favorite song came on, and which one smells the smoke?

Changes their wardrobe with the seasons, and which one has been wearing the same three shirts in rotation for six months?

Goes wild in the art supply store, and which one goes wild in the office supply store?

Journals about their feelings every night before bed, and which one would describe their feelings at any given moment as “mad,” “sad,” or “glad”?

Arranges their food to look like a happy face, and which one secretly thinks it’s adorable?

[duraxxor]

❝ what’s it like? being alone because of what you are? ❞

Question was loaded with flavor. A pulp in this bittersweet beverage, much like a grapefruit. It spoke of loneliness, something he was well aware of being all throughout life. And much like the drink that came to mind, Duraxxor found himself sipping delicately not to take in the flavor of crimson liquid in his wine glass too swiftly. After all, what better way to enjoy such thoughts than to take them in... slowly.

A gaze beyond a hood was watching, perhaps even considering. Pursed lips now releasing the edges of the crystalline glass as it was set upon the table. A faint hum given as if to contemplate further on what he must say about such a subject. " That's quite the freighted question one may ask such as myself. Let's pretend that this is about myself as a whole rather than what it is you may be referring to as me. " The glass was sent to his right side to await his next partake, laying his palms upon his lap in preparations of a lamentations.

" I have known loneliness since I was but a young lad. Death has a strong way of claiming people you are closest to when you least expect it. Some you may not even gain the chance to know. I'll spare you the sob story though. After all, I am well past what may have once been a family. " There was a pause in his own mind as he fast forwarded through his mental database. " It's funny, looking at myself a throughout my own history, even when there are those that claim they gave a damn, there was still this pit of darkness that held on tight, placing a chokehold even when I had everything, I ever thought I could have. A wife, children, family, and even people that I thought I could call friends. When you look at it on paper though, it almost feels like conveniences though. Even when I thought I had lost all memory of who I was... that nagging feeling remains. "

There's was another reprieve of silence was only negated by the fact that now, those ashen lips were twisting into a wry grin. " It makes one wonder, even amongst my own constitution... What am I?"

[ @nixalegos ]

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthdaymonth Shana! Hope you have awesome birthday 🎂🥳 Would love some Psych, either Lassie (Shassie) centred or a contiuation of the abduction one!

a continuation of 1 2 3

He lost his son five years ago.

Henry tries support groups at Karen's urging, the warning about what's likely to happen to him if he doesn't get the drinking under control unspoken but clear. He wonders if Fenich said something to her and tries not to feel too resentful about it. The groups don't do shit, just push him into a rage that reminds him too much of his grandfather. He cuts back on the drinking enough that no one can smell it on him anymore and that appears to be enough, thank god.

His job is all that he has left. And he still would have lost that if it weren't for Gus.

It was only a few months after Shawn went missing. Maddy was off on some work trip, saying the break would be good for them. Henry had mostly resigned himself to the divorce. He'd drank too much that night like he always did and when the doorbell had pierced through his pounding head he'd groaned and rolled off the couch. He stumbled to his feet and lurched over to the door, yanking it open in a desperation to make the doorbell stop. He looks down with bleary eyes and sees Gus standing in front of him, wide eyed. "You here for Shawn?" he yawns, already nudging the door open out of habit before he remembers.

Shawn's gone.

Gus swallows then nods. He'd stopped talking. The Gusters have already gone through two therapists. His sister insists he still talks to her, but it's possible she's just covering for him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, expecting Gus to take out the pen and notebook he's always carrying around with him. He needs to call his parents since they definitely don't know he's here. Ever since Shawn went missing, the Gusters haven't let Gus out of their sight. Henry can't blame them.

Except Gus swallows and says, "I overheard my parents talking. They say you're not doing good. I mean, well. Not doing well."

Henry looks down at him in shock. The last time he heard Gus's voice was when he'd told him they were calling off the search for Shawn, that they couldn't find him and he wasn't coming back. Gus had sobbed in his arms then, hit his chest, begged and yelled and been more out of sorts than any of them had ever seen him.

"Shawn loved you," he says and Henry doesn't even flinch at the past tense. "He was really proud of you and he'd want you to be okay."

If he had anything like pride left, he'd probably feel something about the hot tears on his cheeks. "He loved you too, Gus. He'd want you to be okay too."

Gus swallows and holds out his hand. "I'll try if you will."

"Alright," he says, because what the hell else is he supposed to say to that, to his son's best friend who has snuck away from his parents and broken his silence and is looking up at him with such earnest pleading. He shakes his hand. "Deal."

The Gusters are in hysterics when he gets them on the phone. But Gus starts talking again after that and Henry drinks a little less and it doesn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would.

Gus is a senior this year. Shawn would be too if he was alive.

The both of them have good days and bad ones.

"Henry!" He looks up. "Martha wants you in the interrogation room. She's got her anonymous tipper on the line."

He bites back a sigh. Martha's a good officer. She's also a recent transfer and is convinced that some guy who calls in with the occasional tip is the same one who used to call into her precinct in Boston and she's woven a whole conspiracy theory around it. She's been trying to get him interested for weeks, but frankly the whole thing sounds insane.

Karen nudges him in the side. "Come on, it'll at least get her off your back."

Or encourage her. "Fine."

They head down, peeking around the door. Martha's face lights up and she waves him and Karen in eagerly. He's just shut the door behind him when she puts down the receiver and switches it to speaker. "Can you repeat what you told me?"

"Again?" huffs an aggrieved, young male voice. "Aren't you supposed to be taking notes or something?"

Henry can't feel his knees.

"I'm very sorry, sir, but you if you wouldn't mind," Martha insists.

"Fine. You're wasting your time going after the family in the Robertson case, their performative grief is weird, I'll give you that, but they're just attention seekers. You need to talk to the maid, the jumpy one that's in the background of the newsclips. Look under her nails."

It's different, older, more mature, slower.

He stumbles over to the table, knocking over a pencil cup as he grabs a pen with a shaking hand. He writes over Martha's notes, who's looking at him like he's lost his mind, but he's never cared about anything less.

"How many hats?" she reads aloud dubiously.

"What's that going to help?" he asks, like always, intonation and whining just the same.

"Uh," Martha looks at him but has to hold onto the edge of the table to keep from passing out. "You never know what will help. How many hats are in the clip that you first noticed her nails?"

There's a moment of silence, then faint humming, and Henry can see Shawn closing his eyes and lifting his hand to his head like he always did when he was trying to remember something. "Red baseball cap, weird little outdated doilie looking thing on the maid, and the Mom had a black veil. Which isn't technically a hat," he adds, almost as soon as Henry thinks it. "But it she only wore it in two clips, it should narrow it down. Or you could stop wasting time and just call her in for questioning. You should take better notes."

The dial tone is a shock, snapping him out of it. "No! Shawn? Shawn!"

Martha is new, she doesn't know, he's sure someone told her about his dead son but probably not his name. Karen puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Henry, don't do this-"

"It was him," he insists. "I have to - I've got," he stops, runs a hand over his face, and says to Martha, "Get me everything you have on this. Everything."

"Okay?" she says, bewildered, and Karen is shaking her head and Henry doesn't waste time convincing her.

He makes it out to the car before he breaks, trying to control his breathing as he takes out his phone with shaking hands and dials a number that he only calls on Christmas and Shawn's birthday.

"Henry?" Maddy greets, voice understandably concerned. He hasn't talked to her sober in years. "What's wrong?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a sob. It's as much of a surprise to him as it is to her. He raises a hand to his face and finds that he's crying.

"Oh god," she whispers and he hears her voice break. "Is this about - it's about Shawn, isn't it? Did you find - was he," she takes a deep, steadying breath. "Tell me it was quick, Henry, please."

He forces out, "You were right."

There's silence on the other end.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he should have listened to her, he should have looked harder, he doesn't know how this happened or what exactly is going on. "I'm so sorry, Mads, you were right."

She swallows. "Henry. Are you saying-"

"He's alive," he says, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Our son's alive."

[kai-dimir]

6 or 20 for the Rook story time ask game?

Kai De Riva was never know for having the best balance. He'd fallen several times. Previous falls only resulted in in scrapes and bruises. This time was worse though. He was 15 years old. The crows had slowly been increasing the intensity of their training. The day in question was knife dueling.

"don't fall again," viago chuckled. Rook stuck his tongue out. "It's bad luck to talk like that." Viago smirked. "Only for you. I'll be fine." Viago was just watching. He was a few years older and further along in this training. The two had formed a sibling relationship in their early years. Viago had gotten used to rook hanging around and now it was a habit for them to be together.

Rook climbed onto the railing with one of his peers. They were around 20 ft from the ground. He swallowed a heavy breath. He knew he was bad at this. Both fledglings took out small blades. The pair started the dance others had done before. A step forward followed by a thrusted blade. One of them retreats.

Rook was the one retreating, On the back step, he held his weight wrong and slipped. He attempted to roll, but caught sight of viago's face. He awake to Viago rolling him over. "Idiot!" the older boy grumbled. "Your hand looks awful."

The healer pronounced him with a broken wrist and minor concussion. The worst part was he didn't get a pass on training.

[mistresslrigtar]

Link and Zelda having a conversation at a campfire

TYSM for the prompt @hurricane105. I really hope you like this.

Zelda chewed her bottom lip and observed Link stoking the campfire. They hadn’t exchanged many words since he’d rescued her from the Yiga. If he disliked her before, he must despise her recklessness now.

“Link? How’d you know I was in distress?”

Looking up from his task, Link’s blue eyes glittered in the firelight. “I followed you.” 

She shook her head, puzzled by his response. “Then why didn’t you intervene immediately?”

“To give you a chance to handle it yourself.” His expression softened. “We’re a team, Princess.”

“I’ll remember that.” Zelda’s affirmation was met with a warm smile from Link.

[savanir]

You shouldn't summon a Ghost King

Danny had felt the weird tug to the entirety of himself and instantly knew he was finally actually getting summoned for the first time. 

He'd winced through the whole process, knowing he should have listened to Clockwork and changed the requirements now that he was Ghost King... but even though Clockwork had seemed pretty serious about it, it just... kept slipping Danny's mind.  Listen, it's not that he didn't want to! executive dysfunction is a bitch alright, and it sounded like boring ghost paper work.

And it's been like... months now, maybe even a full year, maybe even longer. People don't really summon the Ghost King apparently, and Danny has been busy! He has school, he's trying really hard to get his grades back up. At some point he just completely forgot about it. 

He's really regretting not taking it as seriously as he probably should have now that he's randomly on top of a skyscraper in some massive city he doesn't recognise. And the city is... for a lack of better words, on fire. 

He can feel the suffering he can hear the screams, there is pain, chaos and fear all around him. Like a physical force pressing down on him.

The sickening part of it all is that he feels stronger than ever like someone injected him with 50 energy drinks directly into his veins but at the same time his stomach is recoiling violently, extreme jitters but not in a good way, absolutely nauseous. 

He's not really listening to whatever is going on directly around him on that roof, that's all far in the distance somehow, maybe he's disociating, maybe something else other ghost thing is going on, but Danny is just floating there in full king regalia. 

All he cares about it is snatching the weird creepy looking grimoire and getting some answers. 

And answers he gets because its very clearly stated in there that the Ghost King (Pariah Dark) wants a tribute to himself. Whomever deigns to summon him must prove willingness to his cause. Aka the whole conquering and genocide and tyranny thing. 

Over five hundred deaths would probably do but over a thousand was preferred, even more was obviously even better. That would show dedication and earn favour and- blah blah blah. 

Danny thinks he's going to throw up. 

It doesn't help that that's when the heroes show up and Danny is very clearly the big bad in this scenario even if it was completely unintentional.

Maybe they'll let him explain? Oh shit, that one looks so upset they're crying- maybe he can just go invisible instead...

This might be the worst night of his life. 

[blueboybot]

I want a fic where Danny is adopted but not by the JL but a villain. BUT! It is a very minor villain to the point where people are absolutely gobsmacked when he calls the villain dad, like everyone just stops what they're doing and watches the interaction. Bonus points if they find out that Danny is an absolute powerhouse monster and wonder what entity away from God's light did they fuck to have him.

"That's your son?"

"Yes."

"The glowing white haired teen?"

"Yes."

"The same glowing white haired teen that just froze a star and then ate it?..."

"Yes! And?"

"THE FUCK YOU MEAN "AND?", HE JUST ATE A STAR!!"

___________

Danny in a less than human form: *screeching*

"Scream all you want but you still have school tomorrow and you're going."

Danny: *leaves taking the cold and weirdness with him*

"Sorry about that, he gets a bit cranky when he has to take a nap."

The rest of the villains in the meeting terrified: Oh...

___________

"It would much easier if you got your son to help with your task."

"Absolutely fucking not! He's not going to do ANY vigilante/villain bullshit if I have any say in it."

"You have the ultimate weapon at your side and you-"

"My son is blessing not a weapon, I advise you to NEVER speak about him like that ever again."

____________

Villain, threatening JL Hero: Tell your kid stay away from my son, he doesn't need any of that shit yall bring into his life.

JL Hero: What?

____________

Personally I like to imagine this somebody as Kite-Man but that's just me, use whoever yall like.

[sakuravalelp]

Phantom letters - DPXDC PROMPT

The bats wake up one day to the internet going crazy; people around the world were getting letters from they're diseased loved ones. The reactions are mixed, from people being outraged for the "prank" to people crying in melancholy at getting closure.

All the letters have something in common: They're closed with a green sealing wax that had an stylize DP and the name Phantom beneath it. Posts about the cards were using the # Phantom Letters.

The bats are discussing the viral posts in the cave when Alfred comes holding a basket filled with letters, announcing they were left at the doors. The letters had the sealing wax that they recognize from the posts. Checking the cameras they can see how they glitch before the basket appears.

Alfred starts to distribute the letters that had only one destinatary. Letters from each Thomas and Martha to both Bruce and Alfred. Letters from each John and Mary to Dick. A letter from Catherine to Jason. A letter from the Drake's to Tim, and another one to Bruce.

Once they had calmed down enough from the shock, Alfred proceeded to read the shared recipients. From Thomas and Martha to "The grandchildren we never got to meet." From John and Mary to "the family that took our little Robin in." Letters from Catherine to "My little boys family." The letters were directed to people the deceased didn't get to meet.

As much as the mere existence of the letters tugged at their hearts, they decided to not read them until they verified that the handwriting actually belong to the ones it claimed. They checked each letter, and in the end confirmed the letters were in fact from they're lost love ones.

After much discussion, each person makes the decision to read they're own letters later in private, and they proceed to read the ones that shared recipients out loud. The letter mentioned specifics like names and events that the deceased shouldn't have been able to know, including they're vigilante abilities, which had them pause each time to panic a bit. But what was more interested were certain pieces of the letters that mentioned a Prince Phantom.

"Prince Phantom said to don't mention things past our death, but it wasn't a command, so we're hoping this won't be much of a problem." - John and Mary

"I still can't believe Prince Phantom is letting us do this, but I'm so glad." - Catherine

It finally paints the mystery in a more concerning light when at the end of Thomas and Martha's letter there is a call for help.

"We're sorry for ending the letter on a serious tone, but seeing the kind of job you all get involved in, we wanted to ask: Could you please help Prince Phantom? Phantom had asked us to not give information about this, but he's so young, and has already been hurt so much. Please, check on Amity Park, Illinois."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, team Phantom has decided that they needed to get the news about the GIW out of Amity and ask for help. Two problems:

the GIW blocks any technological attempt made.

People might be afraid to learn that ghosts exist and side with the GIW.

As a way to deal with the public image, Phantom opens a possibility that the death have never had:

"All afterlives are open to write letters to their love ones that are still alive today. Nothing that includes threats, and don't go talking about the anti-ecto acts or Amity Park yet, we're trying to ease people into our existence first. Also, I know you all check on your love ones when the veil is thin, but please keep the things you shouldn't know out of the letters if possible. If you want your letter to be sent in the first batch, make sure to deliver your letter before the week ends."

Letters are a good way to reconnect people with the death, they aren't digital, and the GIW won't be able to intercept letters if they're send through inter-dimensional portals. Two birds in one shot.

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Okay you can’t tell me that Vlad doesn’t have an organ somewhere in his mansion. Upon learning of this, Danny would teach himself how to play the Haunted Mansion theme on the organ and play it at 2am.

Vlad Masters is away on business in Gotham, and the Fentons are coincidentally there for a symposium on ecto-activity. So it’s perfect! Except he goes to the wrong house, er mansion.

Honestly, Danny thought it was one of Vlad’s many mansions. Scaring the old man is his favorite activity after all. There’s a higher amount of ectoplasm here, so it has to be Vlad’s place right?

When Bruce comes out (on one of his few nights off) and sees his carbon copy playing the organ, all thoughts fly out of his head. Danny finally looks up and also blue screens. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity until Danny’s cell phone rings (the ghostbusters theme??) and he panics. He jumps up and makes a break for the other door rushing through apologies “SorryWronghousegottagobye!” And runs out of the room. “Wait! Who are you?”Bruce exclaims as he rushes after him. They’re on the second story in one of the rooms he rarely uses. How did he know where the organ was? No matter. He’ll catch the kid on the stairs.

Except the kid is already almost at the bottom. How did he get down so effortlessly? The kid practically floated down the stairs.

Bruce gets to the foyer just in time to see the kid realize the door was dead-bolted in multiple spots. He won’t be able to undo them all before Bruce catches up to him.

He slows down and stands behind a pillar, assessing his next move. He needs to be careful here. This is a child after all, no need to spook him any more than he already has. He needs to slowly approach, and ask his questions.

But then the kid does the unexpected. After looking around frantically, he takes a deep breath. Two rings form around his middle and travel up and down his body. His black hair turns ghostly white. He looks back, almost directly at Bruce. His eyes widen as if he realizes he’s being watched. He whispers, barely loud enough to hear, “I’m so sorry, please don’t follow me.” Then, he backs through the locked door and vanishes.