#wake the dead fics

[izzystizzys]

As High Marshall Commander, a title foisted on him by the Galaxy’s fakest bitch aka Chancellor Palpatine, Fox theoretically has privileges and authorities like no other clone. In practice, he has a headache and gets ignored more obviously than before.

What he also has is a fancy new function on his personal comm unit modified to broadcast GAR-wide to all commanding officers, up to and including Jedi. It gathers dust next to his own modified button that sees much better use - a private channel to Stone, the only vod that will let Fox bitch at him to his heart’s content without hanging up (Thire) or bitching right back (Thorn).

It’s been a long shift of 72 hours, the maximum Stabby allows him to do without a well-placed hypo to the neck, when Fox finally collapses on his rickety cot in the Command quarters and hits the private comm connection to Stone without looking. He’s already rolling his eyes so hard it tweaks at the migraine that’s been building since hour 18 and heaving a put-upon sigh.

“Everyone is stupid, Stone, and asking to be thrown face-first from the Dome balustrades”, he begins, settling into a low, dead tone of voice to warm to the building monologue. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. “I swear to haran I’m going to wring Amedda’s stringy neck one of these days. I don’t know what magical Force gods his mother pissed off, but they made sure to punish her and the Galaxy at large a hundred times over. He sucks the joy and competence out of every room like a black hole of stupid. I’d call him a has-been, but I trust in the power of nepotism and also just don’t believe he ever was. I swear he’s doing it on purpose and - oh, kriffing Sith-damned hells, you know who’s definitely doing it on purpose?! The kriffing Chancellor, that wrinkly ass-faced ballsack!”

Taking a deep breath, Fox lets that sit in his chest for a moment, indulging in the feeling of bright weightlessness. “I swear he’s trying to keep the war going - no one man can be that incompetent and still draw breath, not even Amedda or Taa. Goddamn Taa - but anyways, kriffing hell, Stone, either the senility isn’t an act or he’s a bad cartoon villain from Dooby Scoo. Yes Sir, sending Senator Amidala to a Seppie-infested planet for negotiations is a great idea after her fourth bomb threat of the week. No Sir, I can’t hear you cackling evilly with Count Dooku under your lame two-credit robe as you’re definitely not colluding with the Republic’s enemies. What, you have a red lightsaber?! Oh, of course I don’t know what that means, I was dropped on the head as a tubie!”

Barely pulling in a harsh breath, Fox continues, palms pressing into his eyeballs hard enough to cause sparks. “And speaking of lightsabers and senile fucks, haran smite my ass off but who the kriff thought it’d be a good idea to give absolute tactical and military authority to the kriffing eldritch space monks! The Force didn’t bless them with the collective good sense it gave to a kriffing rock, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise! Has anyone kriffing read the Theed Convention of Sentient Rights in Wartimes?! NO?!! Well, color me UNSURPRISED, because war crimes ARE NOT! GOOD! BATTLE! TACTICS!!”

“They run around in crop tops, Stone, in crop tops! Oh, the Force provides - WELL I’M GOING TO PROVIDE MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS, AND IT’S GOING TO HURT BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT WEARING KRIFFING ARMOUR!”

“Sure, let’s send the preteens into active warzones under heavy artillery in kriffing party wear! Surely nothing will ever go wrong! And give them commanding positions equivalent to CC-clones, WHO WERE LITERALLY GENETICALLY CREATED FOR IT! WITH A DECADE OF INTENSE TRAINING! LET’S DO THAT, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL KRIFFING STUPID!”

He’s gesturing wildly at the ceiling now, face heating up as his blood boils beneath the surface. “And you know what really gets my lowers in a twist, apart from the preteen commanding officers and blatant kriffing high treason and war profiteering?! Is it the complete lack of recognition? Gratitude? Basic sentient rights?! No, Stone, no, I would take all that in stride if it meant I never had to see Skywalker and Amidala kriffing canoodle right in front of me again, and pretend like it isn’t the galaxy’s worst conflict of interest case in the making!”

“By all levels of Sith-hell, what the kriff is wrong with that woman? You have it all, you could have anyone, and you choose that twatwaffle?! And then they have the gall to lock themselves in a broom closet for twenty minutes straight and have me guard it! ‘Oh yes, Senator, naturally we all go rattling brooms with our good friends! Nothing dodgy happening at all! I definitely believe you were looking for detergent and have used a washing machine before!’ The absolute nerve on those two! And then last week - you’ll never believe this - High General Windu passed by, and I swear he looked like he wanted to throw himself off the roof! I’ve never been less impressed by anyone in my life, and I’m batch-mates with Bly!”

“Speaking of Bly, that little bitchtit - if I have to edit one more, one more kriffing propaganda piece of him staring at General Secura’s bits, I’m going to stab my eye out! And if I have to edit one more of Secura staring at his bits, I’m going to stab the other one out! The only good thing I have to say about them is they’re more subtle than Skywalker and Amidala, which means nothing really. I will never understand that woman - but then she’s worked with Jar Jar Binks for a decade and not had a nervous breakdown, so she either has nerves of steel or is on some good-ass drugs.”

“Girl, your choices. And you know what else is a choice? Kote kriffing roundhouse-kicking heads off droids when he has a perfectly good blaster right there! I don’t know what the Longnecks put in his tube, but I hope to kriff it’s not contagious. I’d say I’m glad he has Kenobi to keep him in check, but that man wouldn’t know common sense if it punched his nose clean off his face. Flirting with General Grievous, ugh. I’d say he can do better, but honestly, they deserve each other.”

“And Wolffe - “, panting, Fox pauses, considering. “Well, Wolffe is an asshole and stupid, and I hate him because he’s stupid and has a stupid face. Also he keeps drunkenly submitting adoption paperwork on General Koon’s behalf - I wish I could say something mean about that, but honestly, his existence is roast enough. Anyways, bitches are trying me today, and by bitches I mean everyone. Commander Fox signing off to go not commit treason, unfortunately.”

Thoroughly powered out, Fox sinks into his hard mattress with a deep sigh. Several seconds of silence reign, and then his comm unit starts blaring in alarm.

Somewhere in the Jedi Temple, Mace Windu is knocked flat on his ass by a gargantuan shatterpoint exploding.

[justaz]

a spell is cast on camelot that thins the veil enough for ghosts to appear. the catch? the ghosts that appear are spirits of people that were killed by the person they’re haunting. the knights have a good amount of bandits/raiders/whatever that they took down in battle, maybe a few shady knights have genuinely innocent people that they murdered and got away with. the executioner’s killings are transferred to the king since he was simply acting out the king’s commands. arthur has quite a few. uther has hundreds of sorcerers in various states of gore and horror. those who were hanged have perpetually bent necks, those who were beheaded have either no head or just a head floating a bit above their body, and those who were burnt are more charred remains (the most grisly of them all). merlin has more than anyone expected (which was zero) and all of them keep calling out for arthur/uther’s death and camelot’s downfall while also turning to merlin and calling him a traitor.

[dilfhos]

WALKING ON GLASS.

#!WHO; SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS x fem!reader

#!CC: power play, o.sex (receiving), implications of demonic entities

NETWORKS @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @planetonet

The sound of dishes smashing against the floors was deafening as it carried throughout the manor. The splintering shatter of an expensive set caused the three three other house aids to grimace. In the upper room of Ciel Phantomhive, his eyes closed and he sighed, for regret was starting to cloud his mind in hiring you— the new maid. The help to what he’d already deemed, ‘A full house.’

Sebastian bowed gracefully, his head cocked slightly as he smiled.

“I will see to it that the mess will be cleaned young master.”

“Make sure that you do. I have very little patience left.” Phantomhive waved off. Sebastian then walked out shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He pulled at his pristine gloves as he walked down the hallways, a devilish grin splitting his face.

When he’d arrived at the kitchen door he’d picked up on quips of complaints from you and Mei-Ren.

“I’m going to be done for sure this time...” You whined, brushing glass pieces onto a dustpan.

“I’m sure you won’t. The young master is lenient. During my recent years I was such a klutz and Sebastian had to—”

The butler opened the door and the conversation halted with unease in the air. Mei-Ren stood nervously and you kept your head low as your fingers trembled to pick up the rest of the glass. The heat of eyes boring into the side of your head didn’t go unnoticed as they clinked softly together in the pile.

“You may go. I shall handle this.” Sebastian’s velvety voice remained low, his eyes glued on your crouched form. Mei-Ren gave a reassuring glance towards you and bowed quickly. After the haste retreating footsteps, the room was quiet except for the soft sound of tinkling glass shards.

“Stand please,” Sebastian hummed, his red eyes trailing your straned movements; your chest rose and fell slightly and he could hear the quickening tapping of your beating heart. Your eyes looked everywhere but at him, which he found a bit rude but another lesson to be made at a later date.

You clasped your hands in front of your body, ready to endure whatever verbal penalty was sure to be made. This wasn’t your first offense.

Countless of glassware had been destroyed by your hand, not to mention the mistakes you’ve made since you were hired by the young master. From nearly burning down the manor due to attempted meals, to using the wrong chemicals in the garden. All resulting in Sebastian’s stern dispraises. Phantomhive pegged you to be just as bad as his other servants put together.

Sebastian began to snake towards you, his movements precise and elegant. With ease, he’s stepped through the shards of remaining glass, not even trailing it behind him. As he got closer, you subconsciously shrunk back until you hit the far wall with a small gasp.

Sabastian brought his hand to his mouth, swiftly biting the fingertip of his glove and pulling it off, all the while his gaze never left yours. Leaving the glove on his left hand, he pressed both palms against the wall on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. He picked out the accelerated beating in your chest as his face lowered towards yours.

Sebastian was never going to admit this to any mortal, but he a part of him was looking forward to another slip up from you. Ever since the young lord hired you, your entire essence intrigued him. On more accounts than one, the need for self restraint became nearly intangible whenever you were around. He knew humans were creatures who could not reject temptation. Never had he thought he’d be acting just like them.

His eyes held a dark glint in them as his lips stretched into a grin.

“That set was a favorite of the young lord,”

“I’m sorry! I slipped and I really tried to catch my fall, but I only ended up making things worse.”

“Yes, the ordeal is quite unfortunate,” He continued. “The entire glass set was a precious family heirloom.” The demon lied, which was proven to be effective given the horror stricken look on your face. You were on the verge of tears and your lips parted to let out a soft sigh.

Sebastian brought a finger under your chin, pulling your head up in his direction. For the first time, you were made to look into his piercing eyes and you gulped.

“I’m sure I can come up with a reason for the destruction of the valuables.” His eyes shone mischievously and a second later, it hit you. And he knew that you were not going to reject the offer. In return, his knee slid upwards, dragging out a gasp from you at the sudden movement and the friction against your core. He smirked and lowered his sight to the rise and fall of your chest, zeroing in on your breasts.

“Lift your uniform and turn around.” His order was low and straight to the point, sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped back, allowing you to do so and once you were facing the wall, your cheeks heated up in how vulnerable you were now before the butler. A second or so later, you felt cool air hitting your heat and you whimpered, turning your head slightly. You then felt strong hands taking hold on your hips, gripping them in a way that sent dull pain throughout your legs.

“Face the wall.”

Sebastian moved closer, licking his lips at the scent of your femininity. It was different and he was intrigued. His finger hooked through the side of your panties, pulling them taut and exposing your glistening lower lips. He leaned forward, giving you a quick and experimental lick, causing you to release a not-so-quiet cry.

“I would strongly suggest keeping your voice down, yes? We wouldn’t want an audience.” He chuckled before returning his mouth to your pussy. You quickly clenched your uniform dress in one hand as the other covered your mouth, muffling your moans in your gloved hand.

His tongue flattened against you, teasing your clit before trailing back until it disappeared inside of you, writhing and thrusting against your gummy walls. Your body was growing flush as he worked his mouth against you, drawing more and more of your slick.

Sebastian’s movements started off as sensual and graceful, much like his surface personality. But each second his senses spent engulfed in your heat ignited something primal in him. His refined technique was abandoned and replaced with one less coordinated but more enthusiastic nonetheless.

Subconsciously, his fingers dug deeper into your hips releasing more added pleasure than pain. Obscene wet noises arose, synchronizing with your low moans. A hand left your hip to push past your folds and curled upwards, effectively sending a shock through your body resulting in a cry this time.

Sebastian hummed, taking the action into memory and his ministrations seemingly went lazy. At this point, it wouldn’t take much more for you to come and he knew this, doing it again.

His face pushed deeper against you, his tongue nudging your clit and at the same time curling his finger and this is what sent you over the edge.

The noise that escaped wasn’t suppressed behind your palm this time. Your thighs quivered as you calmed down, whimpering as the butler gave you a final few laps before standing. Now more than before, you wanted to feel him, see him, touch him as he ravaged you with what he had to offer.

Turning around slightly, you caught a glimpse of darkness, the air around you suddenly cold. Murkiness surrounded you, as you only caught a flash of his twisted face in a snarl—a stark contrast to his typical refined features. A shiver ran down your spine, his grip returning but tighter than the last.

“You still refuse to listen.” His breath was ticking your ear, tone menacing but the same velvet that compelled your limbs to relax.

Before you could come up with some half thought out apology, he sheathed his dick into you, grunting softly when he was flush against your ass. Not knowing when he had the time to release himself, you keened at the sudden intrusion as you shifted and tightened around him.

He sighed, strumming his fingers on your hips before pulling out and pushing into you firmly. His movements formed a rhythm as you were rocked against the wall. By now, your hand had fallen from your mouth and was instead placed on the surface in front of you. Movements increasing in speed as well as forcefulness, moans poured from you, wafting through the kitchen and you could only hope that’s where they’ll remain.

Sebastian grunted before yanking your hands behind you, wrists gripped under his one hand with precision at the small of your back. He’s reverted to fucking you with reckless abandon, his own breathing just barely ragged.

You, however were a mess, your vision blurred with wetness, voice producing a low mantra of the butler’s name as a desired pressure began to build up within you. Over and over, his thrusts hit that sweet spot within you that pushed you closer and closer to that moment of bliss.

“What do you think of this lesson?” It was a strange question, at the even most strangest time. It barely processed in your ears and you’re only half inclined to answer in the state you’re in. However, his hand reaches to tilt your head back, face ethereally perfect as golden pools stare into your soul.

“Hnn..?” You couldn’t think, much less articulate any response he was looking but that was alright. He just wanted to drink in the gloss in your eyes as your mouth moves, no words escaping. Your cunt pulsated around him, each stroke drawing more and more of your essence from your body. Perhaps, he thought, it would be wrong to indulge in a bit of the human soul. Not when you were so vulnerable and pliant under his mere gaze. You didn’t see him now. You didn’t see what he’d become again, as the only thing you that surrounded you was the grip of the cold and your cunt being stretched out.

Only when he released you with a low chuckle did the static disipitate and the pressure snaps, his hand quick to hold your cries.

Delicious aftershocks took hold of you, controlling your convulsions as you clenched repeatedly around Sebastian’s cock. You couldn’t see the subtle twist of his features as he approached euphoria as well, his grip icy as he held you against the wall. Following suit soon after, his hot come spilled into you in copious amounts, filling you until it trickled down your thighs.

He pulled out and your legs buckled slightly beneath you before he chuckled and you were spun around.

“Hey now,”

Sebastian was altogether neat. His uniform remained as immaculate as they were when he walked in, white gloves on and pristine. His face retained its usual fair skinned complexion, void of sweat or any indication of vigorous activity.

Meanwhile, you knew you looked a complete mess if it wasn’t obvious. Sebastian cocked his head and smiled warmly, a bright expression that contrasted the devil in his eye.

“Despite how pleasurable this lesson has been, I implore you to exercise caution and heighten your awareness. The young master would not appreciate any more recklessness from you and neither will I.” As he spoke his teeth gleamed only adding to the weight of his words engraved in your mind.

Still you straightened, your hands clasping tightly over your uniform as you nodded curtly.

“Yes Sebastian!”

After that encounter in the kitchen, your mistakes and slip-ups had been reduced to very little occurrences to absolutely none.

“See I knew you’d get the hang of things!” Mei-Ren beamed.

“Maybe I’ll let you cook something small again. Seeing how much you improved and all.” Baldroy had praised, fanning a smoking pot.

Each of the house aids were ultimately pleased you were doing better than you had been before.

Even Phantomhive seemed content, but not at all surprised knowing Sebastian had a hand in it. The butler was delighted as well, rewarding your improvements with favorable pleasures every now and again.

He still needed to teach you a lesson about listening after all.

DILFOS. do not plagiarize my content— current or archival.

[lotus-pear]

guys stop asking me for bsd fic recs, i will tell u to go read the light novels

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[greenfinchwriter]

Tempted to add an extra tag of "Armand de Romanus" to any post including Armand just to enjoy witnessing certain people clutching their pearls so hard they could fit right in at a 50s Utah potluck.

I'm a petty person,what can I say.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Climb

@jegulus-microfic August 14, Word count 810

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Regulus was hot, over hot, nearly sweating. The cause of the climb in his temperature was currently curled around him, locking him into his body so he couldn’t escape. He was in James’s bed with James. His heart did an odd little flutter at the idea. Teenage Regulus would be having a stroke if he knew this was in his future. 

He kept as still as possible. Cataloguing the way it felt to be touching James, the way his skin was smooth on his chest but scratching with unshaved bristles on his chin and neck, the steady thump of his heartbeat and his slow, even sleep-filled breaths. James stirred, he wrapped his arms tighter around Regulus, nuzzling his hair. 

“Mmm, lavender,” He sighed as he slowly woke up. 

“Sorry did I wake you?” Regulus’s voice was slightly muffled against James’s chest. 

“No, you’re alright. Did you sleep?” James asked, yawning and rolling his shoulders. 

“Yes, thank you,” Regulus whispered. He didn’t want this moment to end. 

James shuffled him but only so he could roll onto his back and drag Regulus back under his arm. Regulus almost purred when James’s hand stroked up his arm and into his curls. He carded his fingers through Regulus’s hair and gently scratched at his scalp. He’d never had anybody touch him like that. Not that he hadn’t fantasised about it. It was peaceful. He sighed contentedly and allowed himself the luxury of stretching his arm out across James’s chest and leaving it there. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, but their little bubble was abruptly broken by a loud pop and the arrival of Flitsy. 

“Breakfast,” She barked at them before popping back out of the room again. 

“She’s unnerving,” Regulus shuddered. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the odd little elf. James chuckled and pushed the hair off Regulus’s face so he could press a kiss on his forehead. It had been so natural, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Regulus had no idea where they stood now after he’d thrown himself at James yesterday in the library, but James seemed more than happy to continue whatever it was.

“Come on, love, or she’ll come back, and she won’t be as nice.” Regulus jumped out of James’s bed and went in search of his clothes. They were clean and mended on his bed, ready for him to put on. 

He met James on the landing, and they went down to breakfast together, James taking his hand in his again as he led him back to the dining room. 

Huge bowls of steaming porridge waited for them. Regulus wolfed his down, feeling warm and full afterwards. They thanked Flitsy for the meal and wandered to the library to look up parselmouths. 

The search wasn’t nearly as fruitful as yesterday had been. It turned out that at some point a few Potters had the ability to speak the snake language, but it hadn’t been seen for five generations. 

“Gah, this is useless!” Regulus whined as he threw James’s great great great great uncle’s diary, telling the story about how he’d charmed a snake to curl up on his head like a circlet crown and that Morag Potter had called him a daft old goat. Apparently, he’d asked that same snake to sleep on Morag’s pillow and been severely punished by his mother for it, across the desk. 

“Well, then we need to think of a different solution.” James said, closing his own book, ‘Know your Serpents’. "What other parselmouths do we know of apart from Voldemort?” Regulus shoved his hands into his hair and tugged hard. 

“No one. The only ones I’ve ever heard of are Voldemort himself, Salazar Slytherin and now your four times great uncle Malcolm! It’s useless!” He let his head drop onto the desk, trying to get his brain to think of anything that could help. 

“Regulus?” James asked thoughtfully. 

“I know, I know, it’s never hopeless, blah, blah, blah, good always wins, blah, blah, blah, we can do it,” He said defeatedly, raising his fist in mock cheer.

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say,” James was grinning. Regulus could hear it in his voice.

“Go on then, what were you going to say?” Regulus said into the table. 

“Is it true there’s a portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Slytherin Common room?”

“Yes, he’s above the fireplace. He’s a bit of a pain really always talking to the snake they painted him with. Sometimes the hissing gave me headaches—Oh Merlin’s beard!!!” His head snapped up. “There’s a portrait of Salazar in the Slytherin Common room!” He gawped at James, mouth wide open in an O. 

“There’s a portrait of Salazar in the Slytherin Common room,” James repeated, grinning from ear to ear. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

Next part

[gothsuguru]

gojo writers i now Formally understand the joy you all feel when writing about him

[choicesficwriterscreations]

We Want Your Opinions!

Hello! With the PB Choices fandom shrinking/changing, we thought it would be a good time to do some reassessment. Your answers will help the mods decide how to manage the blog going forward. This survey will be open from Sunday, March 17th through Saturday, March 30th. We thank you in advance for participating!

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Signal boosts appreciated

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Fanfic idea: Nocturna, after disappearing during the crisis, wakes up to find herself in the current universe, where she spots the Red Hood, and can't help but compare him to the blood night sky she last saw, and oddly, the young Robin whom she had tried to adopt

[mirabel-on-a-bicycle]

hey maybe I'll just stop watching shows from now on :) maybe that's an idea. never love anything and all that

[veikkoalen]

fuck marry kill but it's alex and casey and aleksi

[final-milf-ratchet]

I think there's a big untapped market for shockwave/female autobots. Mainly cause I wanna see shockwave destroyed by like 6 different spikes.

Remember girls! He can't do evil science if he's too full of spike to move! 😇

[jerzwriter]

Thank you, Anon for this ask from this list! I kept it under 1,000 words and I'm SO proud of myself! :)

Story: Wake the Dead Trope: There's only one bed... Characters: Troy Hasan & Eli Sipes Rating: Teen Words: 790 Summary: When Troy delays their return to Olympus, Eli finds them a place to spend the night, but not without some mishaps.

Participating in @julychallenge - Friendship and Fun. This is also based on @creativepromptsforwriting's "There's one bed" prompts. The prompt requests are bolded below.

Great!” Eli threw his hands up in disgust. “Just freaking great.”

Troy, running about five meters behind, panted as he neared the top of the hill. Peering over his friend's shoulder, he shrugged. “Yep, there was a bridge there. Was.”

Eli tried to control his temper. He had promised Zoe he would be ‘good’, though she never made him define what good meant. “The bridge might still be there if we had gotten here before high tide,” Eli growled. “But no... you just had to waste our time going back to that store that I told you had already been picked over.”

“Watch your mouth!” Troy defended. “Are you saying this isn’t a treasure?” He held up a small plastic replica of Rocket Raccoon.

An impish grin came to Troy's lips, but Eli didn’t miss the gulp or the fear in Troy’s eyes. “It’s OK,” Troy smirked. “Rocket will protect us.”

Eli shook his head. “That’s nice, we’ll write that on your grave.”

“So... how do we survive a night of camping out in the woods?” Troy asked nervously.

Eli’s eyes locked on his, his expression flat. “We don’t.” He pulled out a compass and pointed to a clearing in the woods. “Fortunately for you, an old trading partner of mine lives not far from here. If we can get to his place before nightfall, I’m sure he’d put us up for the night.”

“Well, then I say we get walking.”

They arrived at the nondescript storefront that served as home for Eli’s acquaintance, Horace, just before sunset. Though he didn’t have much to offer, he was happy to share what he had.

“There’s a room upstairs, it’s not much and hasn't been used in ages, but you’re welcome to it,” the toothless old man offered.

“As long as no drones are waiting to make us dinner, we’ll take it,” Troy grinned.

“Ah, you’re safe from them here,” Horace said with confidence.

“That’s a fact,” Eli confirmed. “Horace taught me all about setting traps. Just make sure you relieve yourself for the night before going to sleep. If you get up to pee during the night, the zombies won’t get you – but one of his booby traps might.”

“For some reason, that makes me feel better already!”

The two men climbed the rickety old staircase that led to a small room that was once used for storage. When the door creaked open, a layer of dust fell from its rim, distracting Troy momentarily as Eli mumbled under his breath.

“Well, it’s not the Ritz-Carlton,” Troy joked. “But it will do.”

“Sure,” Eli shrugged, pointing to a weathered mattress on the floor. “Look, one bed is one thing, but only one pillow and one blanket?”

Troy playfully tossed his arm over Eli’s shoulder. “Aw, now I can honestly tell Zoe I kept you safe and warm all night.”

Eli pushed him off with a reluctant chuckle, and the two of them did their best to find comfortable positions to sleep in.

“Maybe we should just take turns sleeping,” Troy suggested.

“Fine, you want first shift? Because I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“On second thought...”

“That’s what I figured,” Eli smiled, quickly drifting off to sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, Troy was seated on a chair looking out the window, an unusual look of disdain. Eli yawned through a stretch and rose to his feet. “What’s the matter with you? Didn’t get enough rest, Sleeping Beauty?”

“How could I?” Troy insisted. “I don’t know how Zoe sleeps with you! You snore, you pushed me off the mattress at least twice, and then you stole my blanket and fought me for it!”

“Your blanket?” Eli asked with a raised brow. “Last night, that was our blanket, sweetheart.”

“I hate you right now,” Troy groaned. But his mood lifted when a delicious aroma wafted up through the floorboards. “What’s that?”

“Horace said he’d be making breakfast. Did I mention he was a gourmet chef before the outbreak? Prepare to eat well before we head out.”

“Nice,” Troy grinned.

“So, not only did I keep your ass safe last night, I’m giving you a post-apocalyptic bed and breakfast experience to boot. Do you still hate me?”

“Of course not,” Troy winked. “And when we get back to Olympus, I'm telling Zoe, we're officially engaged!”

@choicesficwriterscreations

Tagging others separately.

[star4daisy]

just posted my first porn with no plot I'm so proud (not) lol

mind the tags they're there for a reason heheh

but also it's almost 2 am and I have classes tomorrow so I should not be allowed to post this

[notedchampagne]

hi. what if wake survived the fall?