#three kids and their pet ghost

[by-glass-and-waves]

Oh waow look at that I managed to do something

Doodling is nice no thoughts head empty

And I included my three kids and their pet ghost ocs in there hoo hoo they're silly

Also headcanon I have held close since like soon after the game released: Narinder loves fishing and no one can change my mind

he is just like us he loves fishing games and he is the reason we have a fishing ritual

he will empty the ocean to get all the fish much to Kallamar's protest

[lyingx3]

whimsigoth bitches when they rewatch Casper (1993)

[koboldest]

A non-exhaustive list of things that happen in Warframe out of context:

(Spoilers, if you can even tell what I'm talking about)

An ultracapitalist warlord is harrasing cyborg kids for a comic book. You can help the kids by pulling sick skateboard tricks. The reward is a playable magical girl (who also pulls sick skateboard tricks).

A megacorporation has made the stock exchange into a bloodsport.

Your grandad tries to corrupt a computer. The only way to stop him is by jumping into cyberspace and blasting orchestral dubstep at him.

A room on your ship has been taken over by talking cancer cells. This is entirely beneficial to you.

An autistic child figured out who the main antagonist of the universe is. Some people did a cult about it.

The Pope of Capitalism is hiding in his own pocket dimension. You fight him by throwing a disc at ghosts.

Some of the characters you play have built-in weaponry. One of them has a built-in cat.

The alternate reality version of you has been trapped in a storybook fighting a one-person rebellion against a mad child king.

Sometimes you get attacked by the pinnacle of edgelords who is also your grandad's boytoy. He is a pushover, but somehow his disciples aren't.

You gain the ability to own and pilot a big ship. For unexplained reasons the ship is powered by a mummified finger in a jar.

One time you pilot a robot ghost to fight soldiers in space while a ship captain sings a shanty at you.

Turns out your adoptive mother is really your adoptive mother masquerading as your adoptive mother. Her ex blames you for this.

The final objective of a climactic story mission involves you helping your mother fight her abusive ex and preventing the corpse of your grandmother from eating the sun.

The leading scientist of a now long-dead empire has gone missing. You need to help his husband and their three talking pets fight living mannequin arms using a spellbook.

Time travel exists, and its main purpose is to stop Y2K, which actually happened.

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part four.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part three. / return to part one. | masterlist

Night comes around.

You do not call.

In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.

As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.

Don't call.

Just don't call.

It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.

Going out is an option.

Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.

Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.

It was him.

Right there.

Right in front of you.

Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.

No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise. 

He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—

Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.

Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.

(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)

So you make a final decision:

You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.

(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)

Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too. 

Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.

Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.

He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.

The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.

Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.

He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.

They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.

Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.

Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.

Would he know?

That you’re Scarlet.

His, in some made-up world.

(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)

The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.

Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.

(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)

As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.

He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.

This is torture.

You miss him.

But you still refuse to call.

Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.

Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.

The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.

If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.

You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.

Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath. 

A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.

(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)

In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.

“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.

(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)

You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.

Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.

“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”

“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”

You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.

“And Connie?”

“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”

“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”

Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”

“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”

“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.

You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days. 

Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.

Damn it.

Enough wallowing.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”

From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.

Armin and Jean.

Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“Nope, I’m solid.”

“Good here.”

“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”

“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”

You don’t stick around for that aftermath.

Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.

You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.

Success.

You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface. 

Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.

Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself. 

It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.

An hour.

All you need to do is last one whole hour.

Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—

“Is this seat taken?”

A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.

The seat.

The one next to you, where your purse lay.

Way to go, dumbass.

You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.

“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.

“Hold on, let me just move—”

Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.

Wait.

Levi?!

His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.

The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.

The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.

Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.

“...my stuff.”

Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now. 

Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out. 

Maybe your drink will be poisoned. 

You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.

Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.

Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.

Silence.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.

Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own. 

It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.

You need to get up.

Excuse yourself out. 

Leave.

You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.

“How’s your phone?”

Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t. 

The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.

“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.

Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.

His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.

You have to apologize.

This is crossing a line.

You need to—

“So—”

“I’m canceling my subscription.”

You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.

When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.

From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.

“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.

“I— how come?”

You repeat his question in surprise.

Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.

“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”

He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.

“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“I’m actually here with friends—”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling. 

“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”

Why isn’t he freaking out?

Shouldn’t he be freaking out?

Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.

“What can I get you?”

You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks. 

“I—”

“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”

Then he has the audacity to glance your way.

“Pineapple, right?”

Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?

Is this a flex?

(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)

“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.

The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.

For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.

He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.

You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.

This is real life.

The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.

If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.

Why didn’t you say something?

“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.” 

When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.

“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”

His brows pinch with amusement. 

“On Mars, or…?”

Oh.

He’s joking.

He’s actually joking about this.

You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”

No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.

“So you’re not…”

“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”

Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.

Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.

“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”

You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.

He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.

“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.

“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.” 

Levi shrugs, sipping his drink. 

“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”

“I just…”

You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.

“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.” 

Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.

“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.

“Not like that!”

“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”

He’s not angry.

Hell, he’s conversational.

Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.

Might as well be honest.

“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”

The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.

The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.

“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”

At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.

“You don’t… want me to leave?”

Levi shakes his head.

You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.

It feels intimate.

Too intimate.

“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”

“Right.”

“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”

You blink, not following. “Huh?”

“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”

Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.

“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Levi… was sorry?

The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.

“I… just said I crossed the line?”

“When?”

“On the phone?”

“Okay, duh, but when?”

“Our last session.”

“So that was real.”

Levi actually got off to your voice.

If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.

He considers his next words very carefully. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Then he sips more before shaking his head.

“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”

You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”

He makes a noncommittal face.

“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”

“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.

“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."

Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.

“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."

He takes a pause.

"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”

You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.

"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."

Ten minutes.

That length of time strikes something in you.

“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.

Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder. 

“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”

Ten minutes away, is your implication.

His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.

His eyes narrow. 

“The complex on Junction Ave?”

“Yeah," you say.

“Right across from—”

“The Reiss deli.”

That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“You say the word shit a lot.”

“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.

“Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)

He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”

“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit.

You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”

Have been right above me this entire time.

Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought. 

Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?

Right.

You’re here with friends.

“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

You swipe the screen north and type a reply.

[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.

Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.

[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????

[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!

[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted

[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar

“Looks urgent.”

“Huh?” 

You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top. 

“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.

Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave. 

“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”

Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself. 

“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”

He nods once, setting his drink down. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”

Levi trails off, sighing heavily.

“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”

Something nestles itself between the lines of his words. 

Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.

“Do you really mean that, Levi?”

That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies. 

“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.

“So Levi’s your real name?”

He nods.

“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."

Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.

"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”

Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?

Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?

Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one: 

“Are you single?”

That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.

(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)

“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”

“Very,” you promise back.

“And my job doesn’t bother you?”

You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.

He isn't asking to marry you.

Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.

“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”

Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over. 

You smile in return, sipping your drink.

It's the truth.

He may not really know you, but he knows you.

Just as you're beginning to think you know him.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.

Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.

Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”

Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top. 

His skin is smooth. 

Heated. 

Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.

One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.

“—give me a call.”

Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.

You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.

A call.

Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.

Not the Scout Services Hotline.

No — his number.

Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.

Annie knows.

She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.

On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.

Zero through nine appear.

Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.

One ring.

Two.

By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

Levi Ackerman.

Knowing his full name warms your heart.

Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.

Searching for you.

You smile to yourself.

"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."

Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.

Be selfish.

"Are you free for some tea now?”

.

FIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.

In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)

The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[lundenloves]

dad!simon headcannons part 2

Oh we all have issues don’t we? The fact this whole dad!simon series is doing so well makes me sit back and grin. We’re all damaged together. Now now, no one go off wandering we must stick together troops. The mystical path of paternal issues is highly dangerous.

These are my 1am thoughts. i need this man biblically.

dad!simon masterlist | hc 1

This man has the strongest genes of all time. Like his kids look the spit of him, absolute 1:1 replicas. Except they’re little girls like that’s so fucking cute stop i’m putting my weapons down. Head in my fucking hands. FUCK.

His kids colour in his tattoos. And he’ll go to work the next day with like a big fuck off red and blue sleeve, and 141 are all like new ink Lt? Met with a sarcastic narrowed eye nod. Obviously.

You best believe he’s mad sensitive about his girls. Like anytime someone brings them up, he’s straight onto that shit like staring. And it’ll literally be Price saying how sweet they are or smth 💀

When his eldest daughter is like I wanna do the forces too he’s all like absolutely not.

It’s probably like the one thing he’s stubborn on. He loves his job, for him. Not for his daughters. He could talk for days on why it’s not happening.

“Don’t care. Not happening, pet.”

His youngest could not be less interested in the forces. Probably wants to be a singer or something completely unrelated. Simon has no idea how that happened but he’s thankful to whoever is up there in the sky.

The kids be asking him for robux or some dumb asf online money and he’s all like: what i’m spending real money to give you virtual money? No.

Dad Is A Climbing Frame™️

This man could hang like four kids off his arms. Let’s say he has three. One would be hugging around his neck, the other two hung onto his arms by their small hands and legs joined around his biceps. Koala style mf.

You walk in and ignore it.

Usual antics in the Riley household.

Also definitely does push-ups with the kids on his back. They’re roaring laughing at how funny it is to be moved up and down while sitting. just like me fr. All three of them sat on his back when you walk into the living room one morning. “Mornin’.”

School parent nights. Stop. i’ll have to do a whole thing ab this. someone remind me. I just know this man would rather be anywhere else on the planet than at one of those. You however do not let him slip.

“I’m not sleeping, just resting my eyes.”

The kids draw family pictures of him with the mask on. Always a place on the fridge for one of them, slap a magnet on top. Bosh. This also kickstarts an obsession with skeleton things, inspiring many a poorly made halloween costume.

“If they ask you what you’re supposed to be just say a skeleton or summat.”

“But i’m Ghost.”

“You’re a skeleton, kid.”

“Then so are you.” Said with a frown.

Getting told off by his daughters for doing things wrong 25/8. This man cannot cut tomatoes the way they approve of to save his life. “That’s not how mum does it.”

“I’m not mum.”

taglist? fill out this form.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley Taglist: @sketchscientist @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @liishook @abbsaura @takeomisbitch

if you would like to be removed from a taglist, pm me.

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

[dcxdpdabbles]

Freelance Inventor Part 2

Dedicated to @jimmysorsprinkles Thank you for enjoying my random dabbles. I saw that you wanted more Dads, Danny/Bruce, who are unknowingly co-parenting, so here it is! (set during the first prompt through the years of Danny just being a dad whenever he's home)

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce admits, watching Dick stomp about in tiny angry circles, muttering in his native tongue under his breath. He's been out there for about a half hour, doing laps in the yard. Danny knows he deliberately chose to do so under the window leading to Bruce's office.

The kid definitely wanted his guardian to know he was mad at him .

It was the fact Dick was unconsciously hunching his shoulders, curling his fist, and even raising his knee slightly higher than he needed for his stomps that were a nod to Bruce whenever the man was upset.

It seemed like Dick had picked up habits from Bruce during his short time here. If anything, Danny thought it rather cute if it weren't for the fact Dick was so upset.

"What happened?" He asked, standing beside Bruce, overlooking the pre-teen throwing a fit.

Bruce's frown is sharp and hinted with just the edge of uncertainty that anyone who didn't know him well would have dismissed. "He was being reckless in one of our extreme sports, and when I rightfully scolded him for it, he took it as me not trusting him."

Danny tilts his head, considering. It's been over three years since he became acquainted with the Waynes, and in that time- between his travels, his inventing, and his general desire to learn all he could in any way he could- he noticed that Dick was very quick to anger as a defensive mechanism.

This clashed horribly with Bruce's own mechanism- which was shutting down or at least emotionally wise. While Dick sneered and raged against the world, Bruce tried his best to forget he was human and detached himself from the situation.

Which wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feed into Dick's insecurities or Bruce's anxiety when they both reacted to adverse situations.

He has spoken to Jazz about it, and his sister has given him some advice that has helped him smooth things over with the young boy. Empathizing and paraphrasing the boy's issues was a big step in letting him feel heard and his feelings acknowledged.

For Bruce, he treated him like a ghost who had never seen a human. Plenty of ghosts were never human, were born in the ghost zone, or had been there for so long that they had forgotten what humans were like. Danny took time to explain why someone reacted the way they did- at least, why he thought so- and never made Bruce feel less for needing the help.

It was fun, in a way, to see Bruce's eyes lighten up with understanding and get him to talk about his rooted issues, but having to do so on carefully balanced tones and word choice. Phantom had so much practice de-escalating ghosts that it was a walk in the park with Bruce.

"I'll talk to him," Danny promised, leaning over to rest his hand on Bruce's shoulder and not batting an eye when the taller man landed down to rest his forehead on Danny's shoulder.

Where Bruce couldn't say in words, he yelled in his actions. It reminded him a bit of Wulf.

Bruce took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

Danny hummed, reaching up to pet Bruce's hair like he would soothe Wulf, on days the werewolf would twitch too much at the door slamming, and suddenly his friend was mentally back in Walker's prison. "No problem. But, I will also be speaking to you later, and you are going to listen to Dick's side of the story without interrupting at dinner."

"Yes, Danny"

Alfred threw him an approving smile as he marched outside to meet Dick's rage-filled eyes and nervous hand twitching. He could catch the ending bits of whatever rant the boy was muttering.

"You're right. Bruce is an idiot sometimes." He starts grinning as the boy's eyes narrow further.

"You don't speak Romani."

"I may not understand what you're saying, but trust me, I feel it." Danny chirps, watching Dick's shoulder relax a little. " What did he do this time?"

"You won't even believe it!" Dick snaps, and then he's off, Danny keeping pace with him step by step as the boy works himself into another frenzy.

Later that night, Dick explained that he hated how Bruce made him feel so belittled and unimportant, his voice tight with a itch to fight, and Bruce carefully- with significant prompting from Danny- explained how he didn't mean it that way. He was only worried that he was about to watch Dick die in front of him, and he couldn't live through losing his family again.

Dick looked shocked to be considered family, and Danny swore he helped the boy sneak into Bruce's office, which so happened to have the adoption papers Bruce was hiding. Alfred gave him a large sample of pudding for dessert.

______________________________________________

"Hey, kid," Danny whispered, watching Jason tense up momentarily. It's not overly noticeable, but Danny has grown used to seeing little ghost blobs show emotions by how they twisted and twirled over the years, so he could tell what the slight tightening of the fingers around the book meant.

Anxious.

It would be understandable if Jason had been present for another one of Dick's and Bruce's explosive arguments. He came from a household that had an older male figure beat him whenever Willis got in a mood, so while he knew that Bruce or Dick would never hit him, Jason still tried to make himself scarce.

Jazz was the one to point out Jason's usage of escapism in the form of books to comfort himself, and so Danny took whatever time he could manage to read the same books as Jason while on his travels.

"What?" The boy grunted, voice soft but weary.

Danny sits across from him, making sure to stay in Jason's eyesight at all times. He had realized in only his second visit after meeting Jason that the boy did not like having someone too close in his space.

He grew up on the streets where being weary of older men kept him alive- Danny would never fault him for what he had to do to survive.

Unlike Dick, who was always down to talk about why he was upset if only to rant, Jason preferred to have a distraction. So he offers him a smile that he hopes projects You're safe with me and pulls out a book from his bag.

Jason's eyes light up at the cover. "I had some theories on Mr. Darcy being in love with Mr.Bingley before he met Elizabeth, and Bruce won't agree with me. Help me find citations as proof?"

"It's so obvious that he was, how can the old man not see that!" Jason snorts, tilting his head in a cute habit that he picked up from Dick. He really looks up to his big brother no matter how tense things can get.

Danny is glad he's gotten Dick to explain to Jason that he didn't hate him, but he was going through a lot, and Jason as a street kid, understood on some level.

"The old just hate listening to other people's suggestions even when we're right!." Jason leans over to read the book Danny places between them, considering Jane Austin's work while Danny files away the real reason he's upset with Bruce.

Later, after Jason and he present a bemused Bruce with a report on why Mr.Darcy is bi and had feelings for his best friend before meeting his wife, he tells Bruce to explain why he didn't consider Jason's suggestion in their extreme sport.

Jason goes to bed that night with a better answer than "because I said so," and Danny forces Bruce to go up to his room and re-read Pride and Prejudice to connect with his youngest.

Alfred offers them extra blankets and pillows since the two get so caught up reading to each other that Danny just decides sleeping in Bruce's bed is easier than walking down two wings to the guest rooms.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm not going to bed," Tim snapped when Danny knocked on his door. His fingers are flying over the keyboard of his computer, his little face glowing from the computer screen, and Danny is almost reminded of himself whenever he gets caught up in his work.

It may worry Bruce and Alfred, but Danny is a Fenton. He knows what it's like to have his brain run over time and sacrifice sleep or meals to get his ideas into the world.

His mother is the same, his father is the same, his sister is the same, and even Danny's clone is the same. It's fitting that the little boy he caught following Batmam around with a camera is the same since he all but forced Bruce to adopt him.

He hadn't meant to.

He had been testing an air purifier when he returned to Gotham since Bruce and the kids were out of state, and his ghost hearing picked up the sound of a camera click.

Imagine his surprise that when he turned to the roof opposite him, he found the tiny little face of an eleven-year-old staring back, holding a camera, and Batman swinging away in the distance. Danny became attached to Tim that night, even after he chased the boy down to ask if he was safe.

He did not like the implications of his parents always "working" while Tim ran amok in Gotham.

It took almost two weeks of following Tim around Gotham to help him with his photos before the boy allowed him to take him to Wayne Manor. It took three more before Bruce realized that Danny wouldn't allow Tim's parents to win him back, and together, they took the Drakes to court.

Danny has never been more grateful that Bruce was loaded with money and that his inventions gained him contacts in high places that wouldn't mind taking the Drakes down.

Tim was a lot like Bruce- where he shut down- but he needed people to be around him more. Sometimes just sitting in the same room- where Tim could glance up and see him- was enough for the boy to be at ease.

This was great for Bruce, who thought he didn't need to do much to make Tim happy- until Danny reminded him that Tim was a poor boy who was gutted for any form of parental approval.

He had to almost punch Bruce after overhearing him tell Tim he was proud of him, but there was room for improvement. Bruce meant it as helpful, constructive criticism, but Tim- whose parents all but drilled how useless he was- only heard criticism.

Only heard, he was not enough.

So now Tim was going, who knew how many hours without sleep, trying to fix whatever issue he thought he had caused. How a fourteen-year-old could have caused issues at his adoptive dad's multimillion-dollar company was beyond Danny, but it meant a lot to Tim, so he didn't need to understand it.

He just needed to respect it.

"Don't want you to," Danny grunts, throwing himself on Tim's queen-sized bed. "I just wanted to know if I could crash here. Bruce pissed me off."

Tim's fingers pause. "What did he do?"

"He tried to tell me how to handle my inventions' payment. I'm a freelancer! I know how to do that." Danny complains while twisting under the covers. Tim slowly turns around to look at him, but he acts like he doesn't notice. "I know he'll try to talk to me in the guest rooms, but he won't find me here. I just don't want to listen to another "I can do it better" lecture."

After a moment's pause, Tim admits. "He did the same to me and my team."

He means Cassie, Bart, and Conner. The little team of photography buddies Bruce introduced Tim back when they started homeschooling him. Dani suggested pulling Tim out of school is one of the best advice his clone ever gave him.

Tim took the pictures, Cassie and Conner modeled, and Bart made the clothes. Their work was slowly gaining traction online, and Tim seemed to glow whenever the Team was mentioned.

"Course he did." Danny sigh. He leans back into the pillow. "Know why he did it, too. Bruce doesn't want me to be taken advantage of, but it's hard not to hear him think I can't keep up, especially when my family is doing the same thing."

"Yeah," Tim's voice is soft. "It's frustrating that all your hard work is overshadowed or that everything you've done so far doesn't prove that you know you can."

Bingo. Danny discovered Tim's issue; now he just needs to bring it home.

"I know I'm great at what I do. You said so yourself- my past proves I am crazy good at work. I leave other people breathless in awe all the time. I can adapt and overcome so much faster than others. Bruce can see that, but he forgets to praise it." Danny huffs like he's trying not to be forgiving, and it causes a smile to unwillingly appear on Tim's face.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow but today I'm being petty and hiding. Thanks for letting me sleep here"

"You're welcome, Danny." Tim goes back to his typing, but only after a minute or two of Danny asking if he can turn off the light does the boy save his work and shut his computer down.

The room is plunged into darkness but Danny doesn't need the light to see how Tim sinks into his mattress. Tim is smart- crazy smart that every part of him that's Fenton crows with pride- and he can easily see through Danny.

"Thank you Danny" He doesn't say what for but he doesn't need to.

Danny reaches over, grabs the blankets, and makes sure they cover the small shoulder, tucking Tim in properly. "Any time kid"

The next morning, Bruce wakes them up with a powerpoint of all the things he thought were impressive about Tim and his team's last photo session. A powerpoint for Pete's sake.

But it makes Tim smile so much that Danny lets it slide. At least he listened when Danny chewed him out for forgetting to praise Tim.

Alfred offers Danny some of his private tea jars, which according to Dick, means Danny is in for life as Tim, Jason, and Bruce go over the PowerPoint again. Jason has begone to heal for his bitch of a mother's betrayal a few months ago.

Thankfully, Danny was in the area when he called and reminded the lady why she should not mess with Bruce's kids. Dani paying her a visit in her jail cell was just the Fentons' sending their regards.

(His dad gave Dani the ani-creep stick, and his mom hacked the cameras to loop. Jazz just watched hours of her to realize what made the woman scream and cry before sending the clone on her way. It was a good family bonding moment)

No one believed the woman claiming to be haunted that her son was Robin. Honestly, where on earth she got that idea Danny would never know.

His Jason, the sweet school-loving boy who graduated as valedictorian, running around punching criminals? Honestly, what was she going to claim next?

Bruce being Batman?!

Please.

[rboooks]

The bakery is a front!...right? Part 3

Danny carefully finished the last details on a special order cake done by his newest and likely most crucial customer should the man like his pastries.

Bruce Wayne's butler was to arrive in twenty minutes for his youngest son's birthday cake. It was a staking tower and three smaller stacks, each depicting a cow on a farm, and a cat sleeping with a dog in the middle of a leap. Damian had asked for a cake that showed all his pets but was vegan.

It was an honestly fun order even if he didn't quite understand the special instructions.

"Damian's school friends mention a fun new "suger energy" coming from this bakery. I want him not to be seen as someone out of touch, so please make sure to add that in," Bruce Wayne said over the phone to a shocked Danny a week prior. If he got Wayne's attention, then soon his bakery would be the newest hot spot in Gotham!

It would be the perfect cover for bringing over more funds from his Ghost Vault and expanding. He could help many more people with employment without bringing the pesky IRS on his head for having unexplainable cash.

Sometimes doing everything by the book was a headache and a half, but if there was one thing Fentons knew how to do, was make their business significantly legal. How else would his parents file taxes for "ghost hunting?"

Handsome possible mate is near. Phantom purred in his mind while Danny spun the cake one last time to ensure everything was in order.

Sure enough Alvin appears at the kitchen door, not quite within the room, staring

. Danny has no problems with who is in his kitchen, but Andres insisted only kitchen staff needed to be back here. Apparently, they didn't have enough legroom to add more people, taking up unnecessary space.

And Andres had a strange urge to keep all their recipes a secret. It was not uncommon in Gotham for big corporations to send in spies and cause small businesses to go bankrupt when selling their secerts.

Danny, knows he's a good baker, has since he was a child. Even before his move, he could convince other ghosts Rogues to stop mid-fight for a snack break because his creations were tasty. While his original recipes falling into the hands of greedy rich men made him squirm, it was primarily due to someone taking credit for his work rather than any funds lost to them.

So after a while, he agreed to Andres' demands and promoted him to store manager. It was easier to have someone from Gotham run a Gotham shop. It left Danny with more time to bake and keep a eye on the community's recovery.

He was so happy to see that overdoses had gone down by nearly sixty percent since he opened. The homeless population had decreased by forty percent, and overall crime in his area had been a good twenty percent.

It was good to see how he was protecting his haunt.

"Danny" Alvin called after a moment. "Do you need help?"

Now, Alvin is a great guy, cute too but he couldn't decorate a cupcake to save his life. His bother was a better hand in the kitchen.

Bring him to our nessssstttt Phantom urged with a shocking wave of want, almost having Danny tumble over. Ugh, his mating season is getting out of hand.

He had seen Frostbite last week about it, but the yeti told him it was perfectly natural for ecto-beings. He would start to stabilize soon, and hopefully, Phantom would no longer be tripping over its tail to get a significant other and start a family.

His nesting problem only grew recently. Now Danny owned every building on the block- primarily due to the facilities being old businesses that went bankrupt years ago and made it super cheap after sitting there for years collecting dust. He had realized that kids didn't feel safe with adults, so a new building went up for homeless adults on his other side. Then he realized that they could benefit from a laundry place which happened to be one of the businesses that went under.

He got that remodeled and threw more goons into it. Scarecrow's old goons had gotten the word out that Danny paid well, gave excellent benefits, and working for him had the less likely chance of getting their face smashed in. Then a homeless kid asked Danny if he could borrow his bathroom because the temporary ones in the side buildings were small and cold, and the kid really missed splashing around in a tub instead of a shower. He realized he also needed to offer that. So one of the buildings was turned into a bathhouse, with rentable personal spa rooms for regular citizens. Now a community laundromat and bathhouse were open at all hours, helping stop the spread of diseases with good hygiene.

Of course, Danny had to make it seem like the money for all of this came from somewhere. He contacted Vlad, whose status as a billionaire made it easy to wire him the funds. When asked, Vlad would only mention trying to get into his step-kids good side.

He still had plenty of street kids doing bakery deliveries for him, but now he had more space to give them a actually apartment. He of course never ask for commitment and they never gave it to him.

He had a few families approach him to rest out the other buildings for business and he was excited to see different restaurants and cafes blooming to life around him. This whole street, once a dead sad thing, was becoming colorful because of him.

'I'm fine thank you Alvin" Danny says shooting the younger man a grin. Alvin face heats up and Phantom is practically beating its head against a wall. Screaming, crying as Alvin plays with bit of his hair at the bottom of his neck.

Danny swallows down the urge run his fingers through it, focusing on his human side as hard as he could.

"Is that the cake with the special ingredient? The one you send the street kids on deliverieswith?" Alvin asks after a moment pause.

"Sure is. Hopefully, we can get the Wayne's hooked on it. It'll be great for business." Danny smiles. There is a split second where Alvin's face tightens around the mouth like he's angry before it's gone.

"Yeah, I bet. Though with the help of Masters, we won't have to worry about funds for a while, right?"

Putting his tools in the sink to soak, the baker shrugs. "Vlad will help but only after he sees potential in something. The set up I have going got his attention cause of our special ingredient. He's dabbled with it before, you know? That's how he got rich"

Alvin jerks his head in his direction. "So he's an expert?"

"More than an expert. He's the main reason we have so much of this stuff to push. I wouldn't be able to get it on my own without his help," Danny says, absent minded. He's busy trying to beat Phantom back with a stick as his ghost side whines for a child of their own.

He's not going to date any of his employees. That's a weird power imbalance that Jazz would never approve of.

Maybe he should take some time away from the bakery for a while. Danny couldn't find true love if he was always working. He'll ask Tucker and Sam to come to some clubs or something. It could be fun.

I want a baby! Phantom sneered outrage that his demands have been ignored.

Soon Danny promised I'd eat two whole bagels later in the meantime.

"Masters is our leading supplier, and he just lets us manage his goods without instruction? Isn't that a bit unorthodox?

Danny blinks " I guess? Vlad's always done some unorthodox deals. His giving me complete control will likely keep him out of the picture once someone catches on. Gosh, sometimes I wish I got out of the family business as my sisters did, but one of us had done this, or our parents would be unbearable."

Alvin Draper looks sadden "Your parents pushed you into this life?"

"Raised me in it," Danny corrects "My dad and I made his special Fruge for the first time when I was three. Been hooked ever since."

Just then Peter is there looking horror stuck "Your old man got you hooked at age three?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep doing it then?"

"The baking? Well, it's ugh part of me now. I'll die of I stop- er die completely. "

Alvin snatched his hand to tug him close, and wow, he was stronger than he looked for a nineteen-year-old. Phantom woofs as the man practically lefts him off the floor to set him on the counter and stare into his eyes. "You don't have to live like this anymore. Let me help you. Let me protect you"

Both Danny and Phantom chock on their shared spit at the best flirting method anyone could use against a protective spirit.

The promise of protection was like someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear during love making.

"I got to go!" He screams jumping away from the brothers to run out of his own bakery in a panic.

Goodness. I need a vacation. Maybe my sisters would be down for some ectoplasm collecting in the Ghost Zone?

(Jason and Tim take the cake for Damian back to the cave, swearing when the test come back as a regular vegan cake. Had Tim stepped in too early and stop Danny from adding the drug?

Jason was angry that Danny was just another kid the adult around him failed. But now Danny was one of those adults, and it's killed him to admit it, but he would still shoot Danny in order to stop the cycle.

Bruce, after confirming the cake was delicate, shared a slice with his youngest, who adored the flavor. It was the best cake he's ever had. Such a waste of talent on crime.

At least the Bats had a new lead. Vlad Masters and his mysterious rise to wealth. They would get him and Danny off the streets.

Danny is miles away, fanning his blushing face as his sister demands more information of the cute baker boy that knew how to flirt with protection ghosts. )

( Part 1) (Part 2), (Part 4)

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC: If You Take A Ghost Dog to The Dog Park

Cujo was what Sam called a 'Hound of Hell' and she meant it literally. After Danny became the King of Ghosts at the mature age of 15 and 2 days old, Cujo - his "dog" - became a listed Ghost Zone Hound which had multiple other names which included 'Hell Hound'. With Cujo's new found ability he was able to find Danny wherever he went and get him out of any potentially dangerous situation he found himself, as well as carry out orders given to him by Frostbite, Clockwork, Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Elle, Valerie and of course - Danny.

But Cujo was still a dog.

A very excited dog who dragged him all the way to a corner of the Ghost Zone and through a natural portal into an city Danny hadn't visited in person before. Gotham City. Specifically Cujo took him to the Gotham City dog park where he proceeded to try to play with the other dogs in the park.

Most of the dogs seemed hesitant at first until a great dane puppy jogged over and the two started to play together. It was nice to watch considering how little Hell Hounds there were in the Ghost Zone, but on the other hand Danny was in his human form and having a glowing green dog was quickly gaining attention, specifically from the owner of the great dane, a 9-year-old kid with black hair and green eyes.

"What kind of dog is that?" The kid asked.

"Honestly? No idea, he's a rescue." Danny said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "His names Cujo. What's your dogs name?"

"Titus."

"Like the Roman Emperor?" Danny questioned, seeing the surprise on the boys face.

"Exactly. Cujo is the name of a horror movie dog, correct?"

Danny nodded, "Yeah."

"Why is he green?"

Danny shrugged, "Dunno, he came that way." Danny said, then facepalmed when Cujo suddenly took on his huge form and began running through the park with Titus right on his heels.

It wasn't just Titus anymore either.

Suddenly more and more dogs were chasing Cujo through the dogpark as Cujo howled, barked, then turned and bowed occasionally at the other dogs before he finally turned and made a mad dash at Danny.

The kid took a step back as Danny just sighed, bracing himself as Cujo got closer and closer. Then, when he was close enough Danny held out his hand.

"Cujo, stop!"

Cujo slid to a stop, ending up less than three feet from Danny, his tail swishing excitedly.

"Cujo, sit."

Cujo sat down, his tail now thumping on the ground.

"Good. Now, Cujo, shrink."

Cujo popped into his small figure and jumped into Danny's arms as he pet him then looked at the kid and other very concerned and confused people.

"Uh... bye." He said, walking away leaving everybody concerned and confused.

---

Damian sat at the Bat-Computer curled up slightly as he tried to find information on what he'd seen when Drake walked in. Drake approached, looking at the computer with a tilt of his head.

"Is that a giant green dog?"

"Indeed. It was able to shift size, was glowing, and is seemingly well trained."

"So.. what you're doing research so you can get one of your own?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm trying to find the boy was who had it."

"Why?"

"Because the boy whom was with the dog had rings of glowing green around his eyes. Lazarus green specifically. I suspect a Lazarus pit has opened up within the Gotham Limits and that this boy and his dog are playing in it. If a Lazarus Pit has opened within Gotham we must get the boy into custody and get both he and his dog some help, then we must seal the pit."

"What if you can't find them?"

"Then they'll find us. That green dog and Titus enjoyed playing together and dogs thrive on patterns. The dog - Cujo - had fun at the park so it's only a matter of time before they return to it."

"Huh... if you take a dog to the dog park, he'll want to play again."

Damian looked at Drake with a raised brow.

"I was referencing a childrens book about a mouse and a cookie."

"Leave such things for Todd." Damian said simply, looking at the computer again.

[bluerosefox]

Gothamites Never Really Rest

Small warning in this: very light swearing, light mentions of deaths, and tw light touching on the subject of abuse, like very light. But still an fyi.

Danny was used to his main Rogues (Boxy, Ember, Skulker, etc etc, you know those guys) showing up randomly and at odd hours, causing some chaos around town due to their own boredom or just wanting some fun (the more deadly ones were rare to show up and his main Rogues do at least respect him enough to give him the rest of the day off when they sense a ‘big bad’ fight), he fights them, wins, before he send them back to the portal. Then they rinse and repeat this for the next day.

So as he really wasn’t expecting, especially since he had just sent his ghostly quota for the day back to the portal a few hours ago (Boxy of course, and Youngblood (dressed as a Firefighter this time, though the ending for their fight actually ended on a good note. YB had been asking Danny about space, Danny kinda hoped YB will be an Astronaut next time cause that would be fun)), Johnny 13 (and Shadow) to phase into his room as he was heading to bed.

Honestly (he groaned when he realized who it was, dealing with Johnny, Kitty (and Shadow) during a ‘break up’ or ‘lovers spat’ always was a pain) he was expecting Johnny to just start attacking but before Danny could demanded to know what he was doing in his room Johnny hesitatingly asked if they could talk.

Now Danny, talking to his main Rogues, like legit talking was a very rare thing. But it has happened a few times.

With Johnny asking if they could talk, his face nervous but not in a 'I pissed off Kitty and idk where she ran off to again', Danny nodded and agreed.

"Hey, so like I know we all kinda agreed not to go roaming too far from Amity because of the whole government suits guys and bringing unwanted attention to us ghosts in the names of the Super Dorks but is it alright if Kitty and I head across the state for a few days? I promise we'll be back and stay under the radar..."

"What?! Why would you guys need to something like that?!"

"....."

"Johnny, look dude I know Amity can get boring sometimes but-"

"Someone killed Kitty's abusive waste of space father three weeks ago, you know that fucker that killed us in cold blood when he found out Kitty and I were enloping. Yeah him. We felt it, we felt him die and... kid I can tell you how our cores SANG about it when he croaked. Whoever ended him, they did so for us. It was a revenge kill... It felt amazing. Its why you havent seen us too, we... we needed time to process that." Johnny quickly explained and that shut any protest Danny had up, he knew a bit of the story how Johnny and Kitty died, and it was respectful to allow one's fellow ghost to talk about their deaths should they talk of it.

With a melancholy smile and a hand petting a chirping Shadow who sprung up to comfort his other half, Johnny then said "Kitty's been avoiding returning to Gotham for ages since we woke up in the Realms and whenever we found a natural portal back to it. She's always been terrified of running into him and even being a ghost she's still can't. But he's gone now, we felt his life end and he isn't a ghost either! Like legit, if he became a ghost we'd still be able to sense our murderer you know!... Anyways she wants to visits her old haunts and maybe see if we can find some old friends, see how they're doing you know. We won't mess with them or anything, just a small pop in..."

"We... We also kinda wanna find the guy who did it too... We could feel his emotions when he ended Kitty's old man and firstly let me tell you, rage. Like a lot of it. But also we felt his need for justice and... he felt familiar... like someone we knew and he knew us. That's how we know it's a revenge kill. Someone did that for us and well.... Kitty and I wanna thank him you know."

-x-x-

Meanwhile in Gotham about three week prior.

A budding Crime Lord had crossed out the face of a older man from a photograph pinned onto a corkboard, below and connected by red strings was two other papers as well. One held the newspaper clipping of two bodies being found in a ditch with the remains of a busted up motorcycle, a young male and female were reportedly found halfway buried in it. The male was reported to be a trouble maker from Crime Alley, knowen for stealing tires while the female was the daughter of a suspected mob boss.

The other string however, lead to a small, yellowed from age and tiny bit damaged photo of three people. The photo held two older, nearly out of their teens, male and female both looking like rough city street kids. A motorcycle could be seen behind them an it was missing a wheel. The young man with blonde hair was kneeling on the ground, his hands holding onto a tire iron and he looked rather proud, the young female was wearing red and had some dye in her hair and was smiling as she held the camera taking the picture in a selfie as best as she could.

In between the two was a young kid, blue eyes and black hair, a beaming smile on his face as his own hands were on top of a tire wheel. A wheel he had finally learned how to take off in record speed thanks to Johnny teaching him.

Green eyes that shifted for a second to teal stared at the photo for a moment before saying

"Hope you both are resting easily now. Kitty, Johnny."

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work. 

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had. 

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road. 

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate. 

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive. 

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion. 

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left. 

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look. 

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another. 

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything. 

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction. 

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John. 

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

[by-glass-and-waves]

Intro post time :o

Hi I'm Glass, 29F (she/her). I spend way too much time with worldbuilding or story ideas or exploring themes SIGH. I'd enjoy building/upgrading my computers if I had the money and space for it >:( I also find driving (without traffic or a ton of stoplights) while listening to music super relaxing (eg my story playlists)

I really like to draw/write about Narinder/The One Who Waits 🙃

I've got four Cult of the Lamb AUs/storylines on a sliding scale of dark to lighthearted:

Depression Quest (fic, cw: abuse, self harm, depression)

The Courtship of the God of Death (fic, cw: unhealthy/toxic relationship, obsession, jealousy, manipulation, violence, gore, emotional/psychological abuse)

Restart (cw: violence, gore)

19th Century AU

More on the AUs below the cut

Interests: Dragon's Dogma, Cult of the Lamb, Final Fantasy IX, Neon Genesis Evangelion, No Man's Sky, Rune Factory 4/5, Skyrim, Fallout New Vegas/4, Nier Replicant/Automata, pre-Destiny Bungie lore + Destiny's Book of Sorrows and a few other bits + Halo's Forerunner Trilogy

My name comes from something I wrote for my oc worldbuilding project:

He pressed against the glass of time, feeling it crack beneath his fingers. He stepped into the tides of space, seeing the water part for his feet. … He broke through the glass, looked down at them again. … He swam through the rising tides to a new world.

Depression Quest:

My very First Idea™ for Cult of the Lamb. It follows the canon ending of Lamb conquering The One Who Waits. Essentially, the Lamb turns Narinder into a trophy husband, and Narinder does not have a good time.

This is my darkest au and includes things such as abuse, self harm, depression, etc. My favorite thing is the fact that Ratoo and Narinder eventually become friends. I've written a chapter but the fic won't be updated often. Tag: #cotl depression quest

The Courtship of the God of Death:

This is the fic I've published on AO3. Follows the alternate ending of The One Who Waits regaining the Red Crown and his freedom, but instead of sacrificing the Lamb, he accepts their proposal to become his Consort and rule over the Cult by his side. He enjoys his victory, deals with the Lamb's affection for him, and processes what happened between he and his siblings.

It starts out lighthearted, then becomes a descent into darker themes such as obsession, jealousy, manipulation, emotional/psychological abuse, and the toxic relationship between the Lamb and Narinder. It also includes some violence and gore. It borrows some stuff from Depression Quest, and involves the majority of my headcanons/worldbuilding. Tags: #cotl courtship, #cotl the courtship of the god of death, #the courtship of the god of death, #cult of the lamb the courtship of the god of death

Restart:

Follows the alternate ending of The One Who Waits sacrificing the Lamb and regaining the Red Crown. He gets bored and decides to time/worldjump to another version of The Lands of the Old Faith, replacing Ratau/the Lamb as the crusader against the Bishops. Too bad he's a thousand years out of practice.

This is more slice of life and includes Narinder and Lamb arguing like a married couple but there's some drama in there. It does include violence and gore since Narinder does have to go on his Crusades and fight his siblings. This one does not have a fic written, it's more ideas I've doodled. Well, I did have a chapter written, but it may be posted as a separate piece instead.

tl;dr Narinder goes New Game+ and becomes the player character (but he really sucks at it). Tag: #cotl restart

19th Century AU:

Created after watching of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Emma. It follows Prince Narinder of the Kingdom of the Old Faith Amenthes, investor of Ratau and Ratoo Trading Company, who has just moved into Acheron Estate. He bumps into the Lamb by chance while meeting with Ratau, and hires her as his servant after being intrigued by her fiery personality.

It's a slice of life and is a silly, self-indulgent AU written as if it was a screenplay. Maybe I'll post the scenes on AO3 even though they're out of order. Tag: #cotl 19th century AU

Also made a concept playlist (ask box post with song list, WIP) on the AUs because I'm absolutely nuts

I've also written mad ideas and wrote a few bits on an OC worldbuilding thing I've had since like 2010 or something no idea if people might be interested in it and it's as convoluted as the Kingdom Hearts series soooo Tag: #three kids and their pet ghost

[babyleostuff]

౨ৎ voicemails joshua hong leaves you while he’s on tour - fluff (with a pinch of angst), established relationship, gn!reader (pet names used: darling) warnings: one slightly dirty joke

...one: i saw you called me, sorry i didn’t pick up darling, we were busy shooting some stuff. wait (pause) it’s past midnight at home, what aren’t you sleeping? get your ass to bed right now

...two: now i see why you’re always so pissed when i ghost you, call me back now! or text me. or send me a picture, i don’t care

...three: how mad would you be if i shaved my head? i think i'm going through an existential crisis or something. but that’s because you’re not here with me. (pause) anyway, dino and seungkwan were arguing again and i wanted to record it for you, but i left my phone somewhere

...four: i went for a walk today and it was so beautiful, you wouldn’t believe how nice it was there! but then, for the rest of the walk, all i could think about was how wonderful it would be if you were here with me

...five: i miss you so much today. how are you? how was your day. call me back as soon as you can darling

...six: my mum just called and the first thing she asked for was you. not going to lie, i felt a bit offended. you're lucky i love you though. she also said something about coming to korea but now i'm not so sure if i want her to come here because i feel like she'll be all over you and forget about me. her son. stop stealing my mum from me

...seven: did you like the accessories i put on for the encore today? i took some photos for you, but i'm not sure how they turned out since i was in such a hurry, i literally almost forgot about putting shoes back on, so if they're blurry i'm sorry

...eight: it sucks sleeping alone. wish you were here

...nine: make sure to dress warmly today, and i mean it! if i hear even a single sneeze when i come home I'm going to tie you to the bed and not in the way you like

...ten: just a week left. we can do it darling

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @soul-is-a-strange-kid @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111

[takes1]

p. 4 bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

thank you so much @v15aexe for giving me that suggestion! i tried my best to honor it and make it feel as organic as possible! and thanks to everyone who's supported this little series :) next part should be heavy nsfw. lmk if ya'll want any other series/characters in my requests

warnings. sfw somehow again idk how this keeps happening to me. minors DNI

details. sfw? / build-up to nsfw / PDA / during: training camp arc / first kiss / jealous!tsukki / stupidshima / needyshima / suggestive petting / kuroo rizz / hand holding / unspoken feelings / communication / obsessed tanaka/nishinoya / 2k words

🤍 kei series. part one / part two / part three / final part / reply and get added to the taglist to get notifs for the last part!

more links. my ao3, my other stuff. request box. haikyuu collection

Tsukishima couldn't believe that it was so dark outside when he left the gym. This training camp would be the death of him.

Dreary and a bit dehydrated, he stepped to the doorway and looked at the surrounding gym-trailers, envious of all the ones that were dark and unoccupied.

His eyes naturally landed on one that was still in-use, though.

Kuroo, who had left early for unspecified reasons, was chatting you up with an unmistakable rizz charisma at the entrance.

You (the now-specified reason) looked downright delighted to be talking to him.

Tsukishima bit the inside of his cheek, heart racing, and barely noticed Bokuto's heavy shoulder slap on the way out of their gym.

"Yeah," He gave a half-cocked, hardly engaged smile and it fell right away.

Bokuto looked over his shoulder for a moment with a confused look- he said nothing to warrant a 'yeah,' but the thousand-yard stare across the kid's face was enough for even him to understand it was out of his paygrade to pry. He continued walking back to his own lodging, quickly becoming absentminded once more.

His immediate reaction at this discomfort was to roll his eyes, put his shoes on, and step out onto the concrete, facing the way back.

Your sweet laugh rang in his ears as he did this.

He looked back, and the older, better in now every way version of himself was brimming with pride that you found him funny.

His dignity couldn't take another beating today. He'd never be able to look you in the eye if he let this one go.

A newfound swiftness in his legs carried him three trailers down to where the light was pouring out into the dark night, blocked only by now: three shadows.

"-that was real sexy-- U-hum, admirable when you told your team off like that today," His fake 'slip-up' had you blushing from ear to ear, hands folded neatly in front of you.

The sly way he lowered his voice to just above a mutter was reminiscent of pillow-talk. He was undeniably smooth and radiated confidence. Even the successfully casual manner in which he leaned against the doorway to both get closer to you and to come across as more conversational.

You corrected him, pushing down his hand; he was about move some of your hair, so you moved it yourself.

You were keeping a polite distance both physically and verbally, "If this is your way of getting intel, you'd be barking up the wrong tree."

Unfazed, he took your hand in his effortlessly, "The only intel I need is your number."

When you took a breath to deny him that for the fourth time, you jumped at Tsukishima's haunted appearance just coming into the light.

Kuroo looked back and nearly jumped out of his skin with an uncool yelp- he quickly covered it with a, "Fuck--! Four-Eyes! You scared the absolute shit out of me."

He caught his breath, holding his chest, "You look like a damn ghost."

You laughed, sharing an entertained glance with Tsukishima, but saw that he was much less delighted to be standing there.

He crafted something on the spot, monotone and sounding just as disinterested as usual, "Coach needs you back at the dorm. It's getting late."

"Oh," You threw a look back to Hinata and Kageyama, who were still practicing, "I was just making sure these two got back in one piece. And- at a decent... time."

You checked your watch and realized it wasn't exactly a decent time anymore.

As you called out to the two still inside, Tsukishima and Kuroo stood in front of each other and crossed their arms with identical scowls.

Kuroo knew that face well. He'd seen it many times with other guys. The 'Go Away, Stop Talking to Her' stare. But he'd place good money on the fact that Tsukishima didn't even know it was a thing.

Even though he was just a freshman, and even though you were too damn good-looking to be Karasuno's manager, and even though he scared him- he took pity on him.

So he let up, but not without one last punch.

"I hope Bokuto grilled you enough while I was gone," He smirked, "You'll need to step it up for tomorrow's match, Tsukki."

There was a slight drop from the gym to the concrete. Tsukishima held his hand out for you to hop down with, and with a look he didn't return, you decided to take it and fixed your shoes.

"I plan to."

You felt a chill between them and had zero desire to intervene. Kuroo seemed to give a subtle, proud smile.

"Good."

The walk back was dead silent. It was slowly suffocating you, nagging at you like flies to just say something about what happened between you.

The pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow. And the accommodated lodging wasn't too far off from the lined-up gyms, so you both felt the opportunity growing smaller and smaller.

"It's nice seeing you stay for solo practice."

He said nothing.

"And- you've been getting better."

He scoffed, "Tell me that when we're not hitting penalty sprints after every match."

You smiled. It was quiet again.

"I will."

He looked down at you, brows raised, softer now. He realized how mean he sounded and couldn't take it back. There were a lot of things he couldn't take back.

That feeling helped him not shut down your candid question.

"So, what was that? Back there?"

His response was careful and slow. You were waiting on your toes for each following word.

"I guess-... I'm- surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"That you'd-- entertain that. You're not the type."

"You should be more careful putting girls in boxes, Tsukki-" The nickname just slipped out. You felt your face get warmer.

He stayed silent, though. You couldn't read him no matter how hard you tried.

You continued, treading lightly, "I... I don't know, it is nice being fawned over. It's flattering, at least."

The "Yeah," he choked out sounded like he'd gotten stabbed through the middle with a serrated knife- and you just twisted it.

"Much easier than having to deal with some jackass that doesn't know how to talk to me."

A surprised half-laugh, half-scoff left his lips at your brash comment.

"Really." He rolled his eyes, heart sinking, and regretting just about every moment between you. Especially that out-of-body shit he pulled back there.

"But," You leaned to look at him and found it nearly impossible.

He was staring at the sky. He really did look in pain.

"I wouldn't say I prefer it," A smile crept over your lips, a small laugh at how absurd your own words sounded, "It's not interesting enough."

His Adam's apple bobbed and his jaw worked. He was already at rock-bottom, so there was nothing to hide.

Another sigh-laced response, "What... would you prefer?"

The shared dormitories were approaching closer. You began to mosey, your footfalls with more time between them, smaller distance, in the hopes that you could steal more time alone. It was such a warm night and you were craving to get under a fan, but sweating out in this muggy, paved path had steady-growing appeal.

"Tall," You started to list, struggling to keep a nervous, yet amused grin down, "Blond,"

He finally looked down at you.

His eyes were glossy under his glasses. There was no such smile on his face, but his chest rose and fell faster.

"Intelligent, but-," You stopped and he followed your lead without a moment's hesitation. The pause felt right because now, the street light next to your housing was setting between you in a warm, flickering glow, "Somehow incredibly stupid."

An unfiltered laugh broke his melancholic silence and it was the most beautiful sound you could've asked for.

"Mean," You felt inclined to include through his bout of relieved laughter, "But- secretly really thoughtful, and sweet. And a really cute laugh."

You giggled with him, giddy and incredibly apprehensive as you took his hand. He laced his fingers through yours and your tummy started to dance with a billion butterflies.

Another tentative, gentle hand found its rightful place on your waist.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, "About... everything."

Crystal clear feelings of guilt flashed across his face, despite holding you, your admission, and his reparations today. His insecurities really did manage to worm their way back in.

"I thought it was pretty clear that I forgave you," You grinned, squinting up at him, "But since you're so stupid-,"

He smiled and looked away, shy.

"I guess I have to tell you directly that," You grabbed his chin to force him look at you, "I forgive you."

Those eyes were beyond complex. His charged, but needy stare sent a shiver down your spine and made your knees so weak that you were appreciative he pulled you closer to his chest.

You knew he didn't know how to kiss.

So you made the first move- a soft hand to the side of his face to guide him down, and a gentle, barely-there, slow peck. He started to kiss back, but it was over before he got the proper chance to try.

"One more," He breathed, the tiniest smirk covering a bottomless desire for you.

He could hardly form a kiss through his smiling, you weren't sure if he was really even trying on the second time he asked for another.

You leaned up for a third, hand at last unlacing from his, and slid to the base of his neck for a subtle pull for control. A deeper, much better kiss ensued as the result of this direction.

That unsure hand on your waist gripped harder with growing certainty- his thumb wrapped forward around your hip and squeezed, sending a shock throughout your body that left you tugging at the roots of his hair.

"Mmn," You buzzed against him and, a bit breathless, sucked a small, red spot to his jaw when you couldn't keep kissing him anymore.

"Ye-ah-" You seethed, brow knotted, "We can't do this here."

He was panting at the loss of your touch and your pretty voice. He nodded dumbly but didn't move.

You carefully guided his hand off of yours, holding it for a moment, and smiled at his dazed expression for all it was worth.

Your timing couldn't have been better. Just as you climbed the first steps to get into the building, Tanaka burst through the door in a fury.

"(Y/N)!! Where were you?! I'vebeenworriedsick!" He cried, only just barely drowning out the rapid, thundering of footsteps (interrupted only briefly with a crash and resulting shout) from your other personal fan, Nishinoya, who burst through the door in an identical fashion-- "Thank GOD!"

They both collapsed against you, not even giving you the chance to register their incessant noise.

"Jesus," You wheezed at the absurd weight of them both.

Tsukishima went completely unseen for the second time that night.

"Get off, both of you!" Daichi's disembodied, reprimanding voice called from upstairs. He certainly couldn't see them, so he must've just known.

With great, exaggerated labor, they did as told, but didn't drop the subject.

"You've never been out so late before!" Nishinoya exclaimed, taking both of your hands in his with big, dinner-plate eyes. It was only 9:30.

"Well, you have Tsukki to thank for getting me back safely," You joked, much quieter than them, heart light on the heels of a good kiss and in the company of good friends.

They looked around before spotting him, generating an amused smile on your face, and shook both of his hands at the same time, thanking him many times for his service.

"He saved me from Kuroo," You added with a playful glance back to Tsukishima, now free to walk in with them out of the way.

Now he was the one bombarded with questions as you slipped your shoes off in the doorway.

taglist:

this has been so nice writing! thank ya'll for the support! drop any suggestions for other characters or series you'd want to see in my requests!

@hotvinimon @cyzvx @aloveablechaos @kozumesphone

@beaniedoodz @idiotboys @djmoyolehuani @ilovemymomscooking

@imiqz @vierciale

[spacedace]

Continuation/blurb/snippet from this writing prompt.

It took less than a week to get custody of the Fenton children.

Oswald expected that it wouldn’t take long with his connections, but even that turn around is faster than what he expected. He'd anticipated pulling strings, greasing palms, maybe making some threats, but before he can even think of getting things moving to do so the paperwork is signed and a social worker is calling him to sort out the travel arrangements for the kids.

It's all done local, the judge, CPS, the witnesses and lawyers, each and every one calling the town home. Each and every one pushing the case through at a speed that Oswald didn't think was possible even in the most crooked of situations. He smelled conspiracy, but not - surprisingly - a malicious one.

Amity wasn't the smallest place in the world, but it was small enough. And the Fentons were public figures, though not in the way that Jack and Maddie Fenton obviously thought they were. How long had the people of Amity been watching things go wrong for the kids? How long had they been trying - in their own, limited ability - to help? Long enough to get desperate, seemed to be the answer.

The only resistance Oswald can find as he reviewed all the information he could get ahold of, was from the Mayor - Jazz and Danny's godfather, somehow more crooked than even Gotham's elected officials as far as Oswald could tell - and the Dr's. Fenton themselves.

The Mayor was summarily denied any influence of the case by the judge on the grounds of the long standing and publicly recorded ugliness of Master's relationship with Danny - which was something else Oswald was going to have to figure out. Along with all the…ghost stuff.

Oswald wasn't sure what to make of the ghost stuff.

Honestly he was leaving it for his people to figure out and wrangle into a reasonable explanation to report to him later. It was…something, a big something, and not - as he'd originally suspected upon initial cursory research into the town - a tourist gimmick or an overly high meta population. A later problem, provided he had to co tend with it at all once the children were officially in his custody in Gotham.

The biggest issue had been the kid's parents. Or really, the biggest issue had been the shady government agency backing the kids' parents.

The Fentons were the Ghost Investigation Ward's pet mad scientists. Creating weapons and genocidal plans - against ghosts - and generally tormenting the towns' living inhabitants just as much as the undead ones. The GIW had been protecting Jack and Maddie from any repercussions of their recklessness, and were willing to butt in on an unexpected custody battle in order to keep their maniacal golden geese happily working away.

From what Oswald had heard, a representative of the GIW had shown up to convince the judge to dismiss the case, but the judge had been faster. By the time the men in all white appeared - garish and tacky in their ill fitted, bulky suits - it had been too late of course. The judge had apparently anticipated their impending appearance and had made their ruling and had everything filed tidily late the night before. Courts did not typically stay running til three in the morning, but apparently an exception had been made.

There were a great many things wrong with Amity Park - wrong in a lot of ways they were in Gotham, wrong in ways they weren't - but the people that called the place home seemed to have come to a decision on one thing: the Fenton children were not safe, and unknown or not they were trusting Oswald to get them out of there.

It was strange and a little overwhelming, for an entire population that did not know him to see him as some kind of hope. Some kind of hero.

There were many, many things wrong in Amity Park.

He tried to assure himself when everything was said and done and the kids were packed and on their way that it wasn't his problem. He was officially Jazz and Danny's guardian, in a city half a country away that even with his - nominally- cleaned up act he held a great deal of power over. He was nearly untouchable within Gotham's shadow, and no one from some half-mad town was going to be able to do anything to change that.

He made preparations though, just in case. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being stupid. The Bat could use something to chew on that wasn't one of Oswald's entirely legitimate business ventures anyway. An ethically suspect government agency that was likely to come sticking their noses in Gotham's business sooner than later would do just nicely for that, and might even earn him some kind of grace from Gotham's brooding knight without getting him in hot water with any of the city's criminal element.

All that was left at that point was actually meeting the kids in person.

His kids.

He ignored the strange, bittersweet ache that touched his heart at that. It was, after all, entirely a means of improving his reputation in the city. The kids mean an end. He'd take care of him the same he did all his people, but not any more than that.

It was just business.

If he reminded himself enough, it might even be true one day.

He suspected though, as he laid eyes on them for the first time - shadow eyed and leery, haunted in a way that ghosts couldn't manage and looking not much at all like Oswald outside the fear and the pain he did his best to forget from his own upbringing - that the point of not caring had been passed the minute he'd gotten that first call.

*

Apologies if Penguin is out of character, all I know about him is what I vaguely remember from TAS, what I’ve absorbed from fandom and what I tried to put together from a wiki lol.

I did this instead of sleeping last night because I couldn’t get the initial idea out of my head (which slightly defeats the purpose of making it a writing prompt so that I could just read everyone else’s wonderful thoughts and writings on the idea instead of getting side tracked from my other writing projects - again lol - but oh well).

I don’t know if I’ll write anymore, and as with everything else I post this is open for anyone who is interested to run with.

Tag time!

@phoenixdemonqueen @justgray15777 @gin2212 @blankliferain @meira-3919 @lexdamo @hallowsden @derpygirl64 @thewondersoflebanon @amercurio @vythika96 @my-perfect-storybook-love @apointlessbox

[millenianthemums]

hyperspecific life experience poll for fun, i know the trend’s over but i just learned a new fun fact about my childhood that i didn’t remember