#this is a bit and i am committing to it

[starpirateee]

oh god. okayyy

so, after a rather lengthy conversation with @scripted-downfall, we came up with this self indulgent ass fic... Because we decided that Wilbur Cross could, in fact, cook, and old habits die hard :)

so.... pasta!

and i swear to god this was supposed to be a bit. a bit! you wouldn't believe that after it turned out to be... 3100 words and 90% of it didn't even involve pasta

Not many people had a second chance at life. PEIP had done enough investigating to be able to at least assume that, if there ever had been… Others. People who had been affected by the entities within the Black and White… Then they were no longer alive. Wilbur- Wiley- was enough of an exception in just that factor alone, but there was something else that set them apart from the potential endless number of others.

They had escaped.

John didn't know how it had happened. Apparently, his agents didn't know about them either. Not their escape or what had happened to them afterwards. He couldn't exactly do much better for himself, but Wiley had appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night- a mess of blood, erratic breath, and shot nerves -and he had to forge an explanation for himself.

It was close to three am when he opened the door, under the impression that nobody in their right mind would come to him at that time in the morning unless it was an emergency. And an emergency, it was. The moment he opened the door, his eyes darted over the mess that was once his mentor, his friend… Frankly, he couldn't help the grimace that followed.

"Jesus, Wil… What the- What the hell happened to you?"

He had been aware for years that Wilbur Cross was dead. It still took a level of restraint to remember that, especially on days like today, when there was such an obvious reminder that the truth was anything but. Not dead. Not at all. Changed. In appearance, they were almost exactly the same.

Almost being the operative word, of course.

The same tall, thin frame, the same dark hair that grazed their shoulders, just as it always had… But that was about where the similarities stopped. It was still hard to get used to the dead stare, the flicker of green that crackled like lightning, or the way that everything about them was just a little… Off.

Too bright. Too sharp. Too far gone. That was always the problem with them. Always just a little bit too far away from being human… Never quite close enough to pass.

At the moment, they were struggling to keep themself upright. They were shaking, forcing themself to stay in check, or to stay present.

They stumbled forwards, and John held out a hand to catch them. "Woah, shit-"

"Didn't know where else to go…" They muttered in a broken whisper, swiping the back of their hand over their face, and collecting a loose trickle of blood that was running down their cheek.

John frowned, looping his arm around their waist and leading them inside. "No, it's okay. It's okay…" The need to express his reluctance to let them go again felt redundant. Right now, there wasn't much of an option otherwise, he wasn't just going to let them try and find someplace else, no matter what they'd done in the past. "What happened?"

The two of them sat down on the couch. Wiley immediately sank into it, feeling the stiff leather underneath their hands, cool and unfamiliar and… and…

Safe.

They were… Safe here. It was way too quiet, and that was never good- not from their experience- but for once, they had no doubt that this quiet was different. They breathed, felt the way their chest heaved like this was the first time they'd ever done it.

"… Got out."

Why was it that something so simple as getting their mind to coordinate was such a hard task?

They stretched out their fingers, digging them into the fabric of their jeans, acknowledging and desperately appreciating the way their fingernails felt as they dug in just enough to make it noticeable. This- whatever coincidence had landed them on the doorstep of John McNamara of all people- was real. Some insane luck, or a game of chance that they didn't want to think about, had forced them into remembering directions, an address…

Maybe this wasn't chance. Maybe there was something left in the back of their mind that said this was what they had to do.

The thought of that made breathing a little easier. If this wasn't coincidence- if they had meant to find John all along- then maybe they were meant to break the cycle, to escape…

"You got out?" John echoed, making sure to keep his voice soft. Wiley just nodded, and John turned a little to face them. "Out of what? Out of the Black?"

Another nod. "It broke. It- it shattered. Like fuckin' glass, John! And I- I saw a way out, so I started runnin'. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I'm clear, John, it's quiet, it's so, so quiet…"

Saying his name felt good. It filled the quiet with something that wasn't that daunting static. Any second now, the voices would come back, carrying with them the painful sparks of colour that set fire to their mind… They'd be dragged back into the unknown, and then all this blood- the injuries they'd sustained from trying to force themself out- would get worse. They knew that much.

For now, though… For this very second in this very location… They were a little safer than they could ever remember being.

John tried to wrap his head around that. What they'd said didn't make a whole lot of sense, sure, but there was something in there that did. Maybe it wouldn't explain why they were so afraid, or what they were running from, but maybe it explained that they'd been nothing but a prisoner for all this time.

He had to forgive himself for not being able to think this through. It was barely three in the morning, he'd never had to be this alert this early before…

"And the blood?" The tesselation of scratches leaving jagged lines in their skin; their face, the back of their hands…

"They weren't gonna make it easy,"

"What d'you mean?"

"I hadta fight." The brown in their eyes that John didn't even notice was there started to shine through. They heaved a sigh, the most sturdy they'd sounded since they'd gotten here. "Doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Wil, you're bleeding on my couch, you can't say that…"

"I'm fine." They insisted. And that was true, for the time being. They were fine here. Fine with John. All of that would change when they had to leave, and it was extremely late, so that was going to be sooner than they thought… What then? What happened when they exposed themself again, made it known exactly where they were?

John nodded. He wasn't certain that he believed them, but it was a start, he supposed. If they thought they were going to be fine, then there was no reason why he shouldn't believe them. "You said it was… Quiet. Can I take it that's a good thing?"

"I dunno. Never been this quiet before. I dunno what to make of it."

"Why's it so quiet?"

"I can't hear 'em in my head."

That needed no explanation, of course. John knew exactly what they were referring to, and that they knew more about those entities than he or anyone at PEIP ever would. He found he had nothing to say- perhaps a direct result of that gaping hole in his knowledge. Nobody knew anything about the Black and White for sure, and the one who did refused to elaborate. Not like he could blame them in the slightest for any of that…

Wiley forced a sigh. "That won't last long. They'll be back… Always are."

Whether it was his tiredness talking, or that hopeful part of him that had never believed in Wilbur's death, John didn't know. But he briefly let his impulses take over the cloud of thoughts in his mind, and spoke the first words that settled.

"You can stay, if you want."

"Huh?"

"Look, it's some ungodly hour of the morning, and sure, you might be fine in a couple hours, but you're not now…"

Right.

Now…

The passage of time was so fast here, but that was only because it worked in the first place. They still hadn't so much as comprehended that yet. There was a ‘now’, the present moment. Exactly as things stood in this second, this moment. And in that now, John was making them an offer.

But offers didn't exist. They weren't real. It was always a bargain, something both parties could benefit from, or a deal, where they would have to exchange something. What was he getting from this?

Did that even matter? There must've been a reason why they'd gone to him first, and they doubted it was because he was the only person they knew…

Their eyes met his. They were searching for something, any kind of indication that he was going to say something else- the other half of the deal. Nothing came. John's gaze was soft, almost expectant. He was waiting for them.

"I'd be gone before you can think about it." Was that a promise? If it was, they certainly meant it. Either in that they were going to make sure of it themself, or that they were going to get found out.

John hummed. "I know… I'm not offering for my benefit."

This wasn't a bargain at all. John was seriously just offering his hospitality for as long as it lasted. They faltered, then nodded slowly "… Th- thank you, John."

John seemed rather satisfied that they'd decided to take him up on the offer. That, or… Relieved, maybe? Either way, he only lasted another half hour or so before he bade Wiley goodnight and turned in, leaving them alone with the strange tangibility of the world.

The silence of the night settled in fast. Wiley decided the immediate course of action was to take care of that which John was so concerned about. All things considered, it wasn't so bad. They could definitely remember being in more pain, that was for sure.

They closed one hand over the top of the other, pressing down a little. They were about as real as anything else that belonged in the Black, and the rules of this dimension applied to them just as little. That seemed especially true when they were in it, and that made this particular job a lot easier.

When they lifted their hand again, the scratch was just another jagged white line to add to the others that already littered their skin. It was a little raised, and red around the edges, but such were the messes associated with fresh scars.

Though, getting rid of the feeling of their own freezing cold blood running down their face was always a relief, they had to admit. One by one they sorted he remaining remnants of their escape, until there was nothing left but the old ghosts of what once was, and the memory associated with them.

Suddenly they were so much more bothered about the time. Being here had never done that to them before, but they'd gained a certain vigilance to it out of nowhere. With the time they'd spent getting to John, and with the conversation that followed, they'd already been out of the Black for well over an hour.

Those hours just kept multiplying, adding onto each other until they started to doubt that they would ever be found. John came and went at some point in the early morning, surprised to see them still there, but arguably even more surprised to see that they'd made a full recovery since he'd last seen them.

Seven and a half hours, and nothing. This was by far the best of their luck, which had never been so bountiful before today. They had a sneaking suspicion that they couldn't be this lucky forever.

Nine hours, ten, eleven… They were still startlingly alone. With the need to keep that particular string of thoughts out of their mind, they started to zone out, loosening their grip on the world a little. Frankly, they couldn't remember the last time this was a safe bet, but it had been so long already… Surely if they wanted to chase them down or reappear from the confines of their mind, then they would've done so already.

Unless they were waiting until they thought for certain that they were alone to strike.

Before that could settle, before they started to believe that as a possibility, they faded out. John's space- the four walls they'd been getting used to for the last stretch of time- started to blur off into the vast expanse of nothing.

There was something in the back of their mind that told them they needed to move, to get away from this scene. This was becoming too familiar. They needed to move and they needed to do so quickly.

Feeling the weight of unknowable dread settling in their chest, they rose from their position on the couch and started to wander.

Their footsteps were completely silent against the hardwood floor. That would never do… Something needed to pull them out of this ever changing void, and remind them that they could be so lucky, that they weren't going to have their luck run out on them.

They'd passed into another room. The silence was washed out by the sound of a tiny clock, and several things humming to preserve the life in them. At once, they recalled purposes, a multitude of functions for a multitude of things. Their vision started to clear ever so slightly. This felt blissful. Their singular track mind felt a little more at ease here.

I know what I'm doing here. A purpose. Everything else has one, and so do I. What?

They felt themself reach out. In that moment, clarity was restored. Static faded out, the thoughts subsided, and they had drawn themself back enough to see what was going on.

Their hand was about three inches from John's knife block.

Eyes widened, they flinched violently and forced themself back until they hit the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Falling out of touch with the world was a bad call and always had been a bad call. There was danger in fading out, in becoming what they feared.

Don't let it take over.

Once, they had remembered a name. It used to be theirs, it was the one John remembered. Even if they could never reclaim it, bits of their past were locked in that name, no more than magazine cutouts, worn and faded with age. Those cutouts were often the only thing keeping them from cracking once and for all. The first passage of a song, or the way someone's voice used to sound. With that came instinct. It was never enough, the broken pieces, but they pretty much knew how to keep themself alive.

Boredom and a desperate need to drown out the silence were not… Always included in that instinct, but at the moment they had tools at their disposal, and at least enough in their memory to find something to do.

The knives were an immediate no. It didn't matter what they did, that was going to be readily avoided, if they could help it. Too close to slipping… Way too much of a dangerous call in this situation.

John had ingredients. Funny, there was some passing flicker in the back of their mind that recalled him admitting to not being a particularly strong cook…

They let their conscience take a backseat while those strange instincts took over. Sure, they knew what they were doing- they were fully aware- but there was something telling them they'd only ruin it if they had full control. Everything they touched was destroyed in some way. This was no different.

If they were fully in control right now, the way this instinct was slowly building some old dish they clearly knew would be destroyed too. The worst part of them had a habit of rearing it's head when it wasn't wanted, who knew how far they'd be able to send the ingredients into a state of rot and disrepair?

So, they made themself relax. The constant repetition and apparently ingrained knowledge of these steps made that a little easier. It was almost… Therapeutic. And the longer they stayed at it, the more they found themself capable of neglecting the thought that they'd put a huge target on their back.

There was something about this freedom that was almost blissful, in it's own way.

That's why they were so shaken when that bliss was interrupted from an outside source. The door. Footsteps that stopped all too rapidly. A voice, quiet and confused. A familiar voice.

"… What the hell?"

John.

John had had a weird few hours since Wiley showed up at his doorstep. First, he'd woken up that morning to find they'd made a full recovery from the number of scratches drawing their blood, and then he came home a little early, and had been immediately struck with the unmistakeable smell of cooking.

Domestic bliss wasn't on the cards for him. At a job like that, coming home to someone else- forcing himself into secrecy for the sake of something bigger than himself- didn't seem like his scene at all.

Of course, he hadn't forgotten about Wiley, but he certainly hadn't been expecting… That.

"What the hell?"

Vaguely amused and very confused, he followed the scent down to its source, and found the result to be even more surprising than the idea alone.

"Uh, Wil?"

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. A single moment had taken him back some eleven or twelve years. The two of them shared a space, then. For convenience, Wilbur had said, and John agreed. It had been convenient, and had definitely saved them many a midnight phonecall over the ideas they just couldn't shake.

And the only thing that made it even more worthwhile was the fact that Wilbur just casually demonstrated in the early days that he was a fantastic cook. John found the thought of it amusing, but Wilbur had proven as much, and after that, he stopped ever doubting his friend's talents.

Now it was happening again. There were spice pots haphazardly collected on the countertop, and the air was filled with the fresh aroma of tomato sauce. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

Wiley glanced at the tiny clock their lost mind had picked up on earlier, and then dared to turn around momentarily. "John… Didn't expect ya…"

Wiley huffed a breath of laughter that curled back their lips and brought about just another reminder that this wasn't the past it once had been. Too white. Too sharp. Too many.

John wanted to follow that with some comment about being early, but he was completely fixated on the fact that the thing closest to being Wilbur was back in his kitchen making fucking pasta of all things. He blinked, trying to ignore how nostalgic that all felt. "I… Wasn't exactly expecting you to be in my kitchen making pasta… What's going on there?"

Not human.

Not Wilbur.

"Got restless. This was… Instinct, I guess."

"Instinct?"

They shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

[wrightandco]

the confetti for a not guilty verdict is actually the funniest fucking thing about ace attorney

it’s like they inherently know their system is fucked to the to the extent that they’ve got the celebration confetti at the ready when they don’t wrongfully incarcerate someone

edgeworth never lost a trial until he faced phoenix wright so the confetti goes off and he’s probably like what the fuck ppfthh pffth phhh that last bit is him spitting the confetti out of his mouth

[626stupidavenue]

andrew and neil are absolutely posted up at the club for the sole purpose of sitting in silence and having cryptic emotional conversations. strategically ripped mesh tops, arms crossed, frowns, yeah by usher feat lil jon & ludacris playing in the background. smoke breaks. NO dancing.

[scattered-winter]

finally made rwby meme slides. after like a literal fucking decade

[hughmanbean]

Loving Threats

Inspired by a song and its remake. But I am trash at syncing lyrics to storybeats.

Danny and Jason met in the ghost zone when Jason was dead, but he forgot it all coming back to life. When the two of them were together, they went through the entire song and dance (literally) of asking each other out.

I'm serious. There were like 10 different musical scenes with varying themes. It was Fenton Romance at its finest. And Jason's old school romance heart was certainly played a large part too.

It was their love language. Dramatic acts, vague threats and all.

Post revival and reconnection with the Batfam, Jason spots a familiar face. A flood of memories wash through him, and with it a bout of giddiness. Though he's currently dressed as Red Hood, Danny'll be able to tell who he is and keep quiet. Just have to greet him in a way that he'll recognize.

---

Danny is out taking the kids for a walk. Dan was grumpy since he wasn't allowed any ecto chips, for both his health and as punishment for severely beating a guy who tried to mug Danny without permission yesterday. Ellie is quite cheerful, since she's going to visit the Crocodile and Zombie sewer-dudes when Danny's not looking.

All of a sudden, Red Hood, casually wielding a gun, approaches Danny. He makes an overly familiar gesture, wrapping an arm sideways around Danny's waist. He whistles under the hood, a faint green glow from the white eyespaces.

"Well who do we have here? You look half dead, honey."

Danny looked at him. Horrible pick up line? Check? Thin veneer of confidence? Check. Zero self control around Danny? Check.

Jason. The rancid ecto signature is new, though. Honestly, not surprised he's a crime lord now.

"Well, you know how it is. The kids have been running me ragged. And you sure haven't been any help."

Danny puts on an innocent smile. Jason sidles closer. A few bystanders watch them with varied expressions.

"Well you don't need to worry about that now. How about you and I go somewhere more private?"

---

"A crime boss, huh?"

Dan is raiding the fridge. Ellie is watching a fight on TV.

"It was a... necessary step. I promise I would've visited you sooner if I had known."

"It's fine. What else happened while you were gone?"

"Well..."

[shepscapades]

[dbhc flavored] Hermit a Day May: Day 31 — Ren!

[wantonlywindswept]

excellent: the clones/guard slowly putting together evidence to find the sith hidden in the senate, allowing for tension and other storylines to run parallel to their search

infinitely funnier: when you're looking for something, you see it everywhere.

mas amedda? asshole. totally a sith.

orn free taa? could be a sith, certainly has the lack of morals for it. 

senator amidala? probably not. but skywalker could DEF be a sith, so maybe sith-sympathetic?

that aide on the senate floor that always burns the caf? ABSOLUTELY a sith. 

chancellor palpatine? 100% a sith, no question no notes.

palpatine starts getting paranoid that someone's found out what he is but it's just the guard and the other poor bastards working at the senate talking shit about their bosses

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)

[filibusterfrog]

anyway

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[koyodraws]

wip preview

[fuctacles]

That deal with the devil/fae post where they want the summoner's first born in exchange, and the summoner goes "ok when do we start" BUT STEDDIE WITH STEVIE

She hasn't given up on that 6 nuggets dream but it's became quadruple hard now that she's transitioning, both because of dating and the technical stuff. So she figures, I'll ask a magical being for the right plumbing and it'll all be smooth(er) sailing from there.

Eddie the Banished is the demon, and he's like "of course sweetheart, but I get dibs on the first off spring".

And Stevie gets all red and stuttery at first but she is desperate and she figures, the sooner the better, and since he's already here and offering, she asks "Would you want to do all six?"

[devi1sange1]

The Wicked King Chapter 19

Cardan: The other night—

Jude: I did it for the same reason that you did. To get it out of my system.

Cardan: And is it? Out of your system?

Jude: Yes.

Cardan *gives a thin-lipped nod and departs*

The next day: My spies tell me Cardan spent the night alone—no riotous parties, no drunken revels, no contests for lyres. I do not know how to interpret that.

Cardan Greenbriar, probably:

Why did I draw this.

[mossy-paws]

Sword PHIGHTING! period cramps moodboard

Gods mightiest warrior…….

Og image:

ANYWAYS EXTRA BITS!!!! So. Yeah. I wasted exactly 27 hours and 29 minutes of my life making this over a period of like. ~a week and a half LMAO????? I THINK IT WAS LONGER?? Yeah all of these are completely redrawn from the Og “panels”, replicating the dungeon meshi style is. MISERABLE I don’t know why I did this to myself holy fucking shit, all of you blame @squiffer-salad for this monstrosity she’s the reason why this exists in the first place /silly

anyways, I highly recommend looking at the panels individually because I put a lot of fun extra bits in them and just. A LOT of effort in general, any likes, reblog’s, or comments are insanely appreciated since this did take such a long time :’DDD, everything in these minus the backgrounds are completely redrawn/shaded/and colored by hand, this includes mid/screen tones as I used specific layers for those! anyways thank you for coming to my period cramp projection ted-talk I’m going back into my Everglade hole.

[dear-ao3]

life is so much more fun when you suspend your disbelief

[captainofthetidesbreath]

This rendering of readerly empathy outlined here seems to describe how fiction is received today. If something horrible acts upon a character, the reader can sometimes feel as though the author is punishing some innocent little doll baby with whom the reader has overidentified. The character has become a de facto stand-in for the reader, so the character carries this burden of readerly expectation. Thus, for a character to feel real, we shave down the contours of their lives and their interiority until they match what readers know of their own flow of thoughts and life events. I believe that this accounts for what feels to me like a decline in character in contemporary fiction.

— Brandon Taylor, "False Light: Moral Worldbuilding and the Virtues of Evil"