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landwriter · 5 hours

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Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

#asks #the sandman #dead boy detectives #fic #crossover? fusion? i guess? who is to say! not me!#dreamling #perhaps some notes of chedwin #(a fabulous ship name btw. i may not get cob but i WILL get chedwin)#author wrote this while sick as dog so please excuse errors :')#might put on ao3 later if i have a chance to clean it up and expand on it a little!#my writing #me yesterday: 'i really don't see the appeal of blending both stories beyond doing it for the sake of it'#me today: 'no you don't understand they NEED each other here is my chart of the interpersonal dynamics and a list of all the ways hob can h #accidentally writing the new inn reunion scene i'd always dreamed of oops

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luxaofhesperides · 5 months

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Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship.

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself.

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement.

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight.

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone.

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It��s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers.

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him.

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell.

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor.

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance.

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm.

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death.

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are.

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack.

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets.

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by.

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger.

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk.

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall.

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost.

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse.

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces.

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street.

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.”

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away.

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life.

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed.

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes.

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either.

Something cold lodges itself in his chest.

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up.

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window.

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal.

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him.

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder.

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor.

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero.

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen.

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge.

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner.

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dpxdc fanfic #my writing #prompt fill #3.6k.... still counting this as short. i have not failed yet at my goal of keeping these fics below 5k!!#i love this prompt so much it even got me making ocs... i love making ocs this is such a treat for me #will 100% be revisiting this prompt in the future to turn into a longer fic bc i have SO MUCH to write for this #had to cut it off here to have just one scene that shows them as roommates w secrets #truly a struggle to keep this short. this could easily be 30k. the amount of identity shenanigans i can write....#also playing around with the cursed gotham thing by making it affect ghosts :) perfect excuse to make my own gotham lore :)#btw duke 100% got injured chasing down criminals and thats how he got hit by a car. he wasnt fully lying abt it #he also tried to come in through the window of his bedroom. saw danny. quickly left and went up the stairs like a normal person #duke has his suspicions. danny is trying so hard to mind his business when duke acts strange and secretive #disaster in the making :)#thanks for the prompt!!

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

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i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part 0 - first meeting ]

synopsis; the gradual blossoming of a youth shared with three strange classmates, at the weird, isolated boarding school you all attend. as the seasons of your first year together pass, the relationship between you changes into something you don’t need to put into words to understand.

word count; 1.6k

contents; sashisu/reader (but can be read as either platonic or romantic, or something inbetween!! i wrote it with the latter in mind), gn!reader, no curses au (dw they’re all still a little bit insane and damaged), very shoujo manga-esque, reader is a little bit in love with all their friends, just wholesome comfy vibes :), characters may be ooc but pls bear with me </3

a/n; this is the shorter opening piece of a sashisu/reader series i’m writing and the first out of six planned parts!! :> the rest will be much longer this is just me setting the tone. sorta. i’m extremely normal about sashisu and i wanted to write something summery and sweet so <3

you first meet them in a sun-soaked classroom, with blue-tinted windows.

the room in question, clearly not having been of use for some time, is just a little dusty. enough that you notice it, nose scrunching up as your gaze trails over the space.

tiny specks of light dance around, meeting and intersecting between the gaps where streaks of sunlight fall and illuminate the floorboards. they’re oddly mesmerizing, a little hard to forget. the flicker of their movement begins to etch itself into your retinas; for some reason, you can’t quite take your eyes off them.

eventually, your attention is caught by something else, coaxing you into moving your gaze towards the translucent windows. they glimmer softly, tantalizingly in the sunlight, reflecting the blue of the sky. through the glass, it’s all you can see at first — a sky so blue that it’s a little irritating. big, white clouds are scattered like splotches of paint across a blue canvas, treading gently over the boundary of your vision.

in a similar fashion, the ground of the schoolyard is littered with dots of white. for just a second, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s snow; it’s not until you spot the skeletal trees and their pale blossoms that you see them for what they are. soft petals flutter down to the ground eagerly, covering everything in a pure white.

it really is eerily reminiscent of a snowy landscape, ephemeral in its beauty. it gives you the impression of having stepped over some sort of threshold, into another realm, another world entirely. coated in apricot blossoms, soaked in sunlight.

(it shouldn’t be possible from where you’re standing, behind the windows — but the scent reaches you all the same. everything smells of apricots.)

it’s springtime, and you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to share with three other kids, all standing in front of you and wearing mildly indifferent expressions as you give each other a brief glance.

you try not to stare too hard, but it’s difficult to resist the temptation. three new classmates, mysterious and just slightly intimidating; two guys, and one girl. the tiny glances you steal at them aren’t very sneaky, but you doubt they’d care, when they’re all doing the same.

you study their appearances, eager to sate the curiosity clawing at your heart.

the girl is pretty.

the expression on her face is laid-back, almost bored, and she looks a little like she doesn’t quite want to be here. her hair reaches down to her chin, just barely, brown and smooth and silky. estimating her exact height is a little tough; you can tell she’s fairly short, but you don’t know how much of it is exaggerated, courtesy of her placement between the other two. their lanky legs and broad shoulders only make her look smaller in comparison.

her eyes are chestnut-coloured, a little dim, somewhat hazy. there’s a mole under one of her eyes, too, and you’re acutely aware of how charming you find it. you’re relieved to have at least one girl in your class, anyhow. you hope she’s nice.

the boy on her right is pretty, too.

he’s much taller, and wearing a somewhat serious expression, but something about him feels almost comforting all the same. he seems relaxed, but also sharp, as his eyes trail across the room. his hair is black and silky, and it’s long — or so you assume, judging by the fact that he’s got it in a bun. two things about him stand out in particular; one, the black gauges on his ears, and two, a single lock of hair framing his face. his hair is tied up and neat, prim and proper, with the exception of his bangs. you don’t think it looks bad, exactly, but it’s an odd choice.

at first glance, you think his eyes are black, but when a ray of sunlight falls across his face you realize that they’re brown. a deep colour, oddly soothing, warm. little sparks of amber glitter in the depths of his irises, illuminated only by the sun. it gives you the impression that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

then there’s the other boy.

he’s the most intimidating out of the three, without a doubt, though you still can’t pinpoint exactly why. he strikes you as particularly unnerving; maybe it’s the expression on his face, that you can’t seem to identify. he’s also tall, very tall, even taller than the other guy — though only by a smidge. he towers over you slightly, and that unnerves you even further. there’s something in the way he’s standing that almost seems a little menacing. his hair is white, and soft, and just a tad messy. and he’s wearing a pair of round sunglasses, even though you’re indoors.

you can’t see his eyes well, behind the black glass, but you get the vague impression that they’re blue when sunlight cascades down the contours of his face and reflects in them.

you take another moment to simply look at them, observing them, as if trying to reach some sort of conclusion about what they’re like. it doesn’t really work, but you do get some semblance of an impression.

finally, your teacher clears his throat, breaking the silence of the classroom — urging you to hurry up and get the introductions done and over with. the impatient reminder snaps all four of you out of your collective trance.

the first person to speak up is the boy with the weird bangs. that alone gives you a sense of his personality; polite, proper, the first to do the thing no one really wants to do.

”my name is suguru geto,” he begins, well mannered. ”it’s nice to meet you.” his voice is pleasant, somehow. nice to listen to. there’s something comforting about it, that you can’t quite place; it sounds almost familiar, like you’ve heard it all your life.

then, the cute girl chimes in, casual and unbothered as she fiddles with something in her pocket. ”shoko ieiri. just call me shoko,” she says, short and sweet.

she really is pretty, you muse, bathed in the streaks of sunlight falling haphazardly across the room. and she seems nice, not uptight or obnoxious; the kind of person that’s easy to talk to, easy to be friends with. you think you like her already. but she notices your lingering stare, and so you look away, gaze falling to the floorboards.

finally, after a slight pause, the boy with the sunglasses speaks up. you still can’t get a good read on his expression. ”… satoru gojo,” is all he says, and you can’t seem to grasp his tone of voice, either.

it irks you, though. you’re not sure why. you almost get the sense that he thinks he’s appeasing you, by introducing himself, like hearing his name is a priviliege. that, and you feel a little like you’re being dissected when his gaze falls on you — like he’s weighing your value, deciding your worth. you think you almost catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the black tint of his glasses, and they strike you as acutely menacing, bright blue and uncanny. you decide that you don’t like him, and that his sunglasses are kinda ugly.

their gazes fall on you, at last.

you’re the only one whose name they don’t know, now. it’s a kind of power, in a way, the power of mystery. intrigue. their stares feel heavy on your skin, and you feel more than a little nervous; but you’re intent on following the silent cue, all the same.

and you do so, dutifully, raising your hand up in a silent hello before tentatively saying your name. then, in a voice you hope doesn’t come across as bored or unpleasant:

”— it’s nice to meet you.”

some of them hum in affirmation, as if to say it’s nice to meet you too — others remain silent. even when the introductions are finished, you continue to look at each other, vaguely and discreetly, as if trying to look inside each other’s heads.

but then your teacher begins to speak, in an authorative voice, and you’re snapped out of the trance, once more.

he babbles on and on, about something you’re sure is important, something about the school and the classes you’ll be having and the dorms and so on. you try to listen, you really do, but it’s tough — you vaguely get the gist, but all you can really think about is your classmates, still so mysterious and intimidating.

you try to repeat their names, inside your mind, trying to ingrain them into your memory.

suguru geto, shoko ieiri, and satoru gojo.

you still don’t really know what to think about them. shoko will probably be fairly easy for you to warm up to, but the other two are a different story. all three of them seem to have strong personalities, reflected in their eyes; a dim hazel, a deep umber, and a stark azure. you don’t know what’s hidden in them, but you have a strange inkling that you will, in due time.

that’s how the four of you meet. and in this moment, as you look into their eyes for the first time, you have no idea how much your life has changed — how much they’ll change it for the better.

you only know that it’s springtime, and that you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to spend with these three kids in front of you, who you know nothing about. some part of your soul urges you to find out, for yourself.

maybe you will.

(outside the sun-soaked classroom, through the blue-tinted windows, the world observes your meeting with bated breath and barely contained excitement.)

part i

#title is taken from the lyrics of yorushika’s ’spring thief’ btw i listened to it while writing this n cried <3 its sooo sashisu.#anyway!!! this series ended up kinda reader-centric but the focus is meant to be on the relationship between all 4 of them #its just… really easy to analyze the characters from a third party pov. and im a shameless self inserter so. x reader it is!#this series is also my excuse to (attempt to) analyze sashisu as a trio/individually but idk if my own interpretation will align w/ canon #in my defense theyre a lot less traumatized in a no curses au #but i still wanted to try and explore their high school selves + their issues w/ intimacy and trust n all that. im obsessed with them.#so i hope i did a decent job :’) anyway thats enough ranting in the tags if u read this far i am in Love With You #sashisu x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #sashisu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #…. i think thats all #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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pepperpixel · 1 month

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“put me on a pedestal and i’ll only disappoint you

tell me i’m exceptional, and i promise to exploit you

gimme all your money, and i’ll make some origami honey!

i think you’re a joke!!! …but i don’t find you very

fuuuuuuu~nyyy”

More tagr art!!! Assorted stuff this time! Featuring some cute chibi stuff. Some solo gaz’s, a lil uhhh. Comic of an altercation.. and a very belated Halloween pic I started drawing last Halloween and didnt finish lol. Also featuring lyrics from pedestrian at best cuz that song rllly rlly fits my ver of tak lol.

#invader zim #gaz membrane #invader tak #tagr #iz tak #iz gaz #tak #doodles #there toxic yuri!!! they’re all over the place!!! tak is tsundere insane alien who fueled by revenge it’s gonna be rough!#I think. there relationship would slowly grow and develop as gaz is helping tak w all her injuries #but I think they’d end up having a true true falling out sometime after take fully healed and gets her ship back.#and they’d be split up for a few years maybe? idk how long I’d want it to be. but! yeah.#absence makes the heart grow fonder and makes u realize how fucking stupid u are #and eventually they’d reunite and shit would be better lol #I don’t want them to be at each others throats forever that’d suck lol #theyre just definitely are moments where there at each others throats in the beginning #but they r also moments.. where they both feel true belonging and acceptance. like they never have before… and it blows there lil minds…#I also dO want gaz to go into space at some point w tak cuz that’d be fucking awesome #after they reunite again they can go explore the universe a bit #these r all very half baked ideas btw and also my brains mush cuz ive been drawing all day #so please excuse if said ideas suck. also please excuse all the typos lol #I might change my mind on the them separating idk… or maybe make it a shorter amount of time… idk!! I havent thought thru all this shit lol #it’s not like I’m gonna write a story or actually make a comic I’m just drawing random fanart #I don’t need to have all these thoughts all solidified lol

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wicked-west-cats · 3 months

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"Your visions are nothing to fear Shadowpaw, you need not be afraid of what you see. You have a gift from our ancestors, do not be ungrateful for what they have bestowed upon you." - Troutleap, Shadowbelly's mentor and the former Apothecary

Shadowpaw was trembling, his claws digging deep into the damp earth beneath him. His fur stood on end, wired and electric as he witnessed the visions before him.

The sun was ablaze in an ever changing mosaic display. It's beams sharpened like the tips of a claw or shards of glass in the sky. It was pulsating and hot. Lapping like flames. Billowing as if smoke. Waves of heat, distorting the world in its glow.

At any moment it felt like he was going to be burned alive. Scorched into the earth, nothing but the shadow he casted as evidence he was ever witness to such a spectacle. But it never came. What did was the world spinning and then everything turning black.

If he had been more resilient, more accepting of these gifts, perhaps he would have been able to make sense of it in time.

It was easier to think that way and take the blame than accept that sometimes you just don't know the answers. A mercy he would not allow himself as his paws gently grazed the ash blanketed cats lying amongst faintly crackling embers.

art is a collaboration between myself and my roommate kazideus on twitter - i did the sketch and they painted

#tw// implied cat death #shadowbelly #moorclan #he wasnt always so accurate #hidden lore #excuse my spur of the moment kinda cringy writing and ramblings #this is my phone lockscreen now btw #also hehe i like shadowbelly #warrior cats #warriors oc #warrior cats art #erin hunter warriors

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zorishy · 2 months

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villain au???

I decided to redesign my angsty villain version of Casper

I made him back in 2021 out of spite because I was upset that Ghostbur was suffering in limbo and now he has sort of grown into my own DSMP oc

#Zorishy art #Burs reclaimed #Bursonas #tropesonas #Ghostbur #VengeOc #Look at my angsty son #He has long hair btw :3 #Excuse my bad hand writing

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sesamenom · 1 month

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dear british silm people: where approximately would be a good place for the Dagorath final battle to happen?

#silm #silmarillion #geography #britain #i'm working on writing/drawing the maglorath #and at least in my hc/maglorathverse modern british isles = tol himling #and i want the battle to happen there as a symbolic thing #but i am very much not british and have no clue where to put it #and i don't really want to invent an entirely new place? like im fine changing something where theres just a parking lot or ikea irl #but i don't want to just tape a fake peninsula onto your country #btw if you have a good semi-secluded suburban area to tentatively place maglors neighborhood in that would be great too #but that one's easier to excuse bc his presence does weird things to the area anyways #so it could easily be somewhere not visible/accessible to humans

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crowlore · 7 months

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i remember it used to be a bit of a fandom pet peeve of mine that some people would forget that the gung ho guns and eye of michael were two separate groups with some membership overlap but then stampede came along and made the eom into a project of conrad’s backed by knives. another example of how the reboot feels like bad fanfiction.

#the eom worked best as a predominantly shadowy unknown group most closely tied to wolfwood and LR’s stories #i LIKED that we didn’t know who ran it or what their broader goals were outside of what contact they had with knives/the ghg #extradiagetically nightow just didn’t need to explore the eom in detail. they served their narrative purpose.#but i also find stories that try too hard to ask you bonus questions with overexplained answers to be very lame #so while prestampede it was kinda annoying but ultimately excusable to see ghg/eom used interchangeably #the new show cemented it them as interlinked in a way that actually made the story structure much weaker in an attempt to get ahead of you #this is all very much a critique of mine from the perspective of a writer not just a viewer btw #bad writing isn’t always enough to kill something yk. but plot holes are harder to excuse when your themes and structure are lacking #the manga’s Foundations were just much stronger than the reboot’s if you will #you can turn your brain off with this show and just watch the pretty colors if you want. absolutely no shame in that. we need that stuff #i guess i just struggle to accept a no brainer show like this as being another core leg of the story in the way trimax/98 are bc of it #pretentious of me i know.#stampede critical #for my followers that filter it

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shibaraki · 5 months

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idkidk it’s hard for me to sufficiently emphasise just how deeply plagiarism has affected me and the way I post. I think for anyone who has dealt with plagiarism or had their ideas lifted, there is a bit of a bruise that never really goes away? it can totally sap the joy out of not only writing but engaging in the community—having similar concepts is not a crime and can be a great way to connect with others. now it just makes me extremely wary and stirs up a lot of unpleasant feelings. I know it’s nice to have two cakes and you’ll all eat it happily but if the other person has used the exact same recipe I’m going to feel a bit shit. hell the other person might feel shit about it too idk 💀 this is poorly articulated ksksks

#obviously it’s clear when it’s actual plagiarism #but some people do and will still use ‘coincidence’ to excuse it #it makes you feel like you’re insane for even considering it #it isn’t that I have no confidence in my writing. I know my writing will be different. I know my cake tastes brilliant on its own #and of course it’s not always nicked. but the fact that the other cake is there at all is going to bother me for eternity #I guess I’m kinda like a hit dog except with fanfic LMAO #btw I’m talking very specific similarities. you and another person both doing the ‘shared a bed’ trope is not what I’m talking about #turning reblogs off because this is mostly a vent and not worded right and I’m sure someone will try come for my neck anyway #please don’t wilfully misunderstand what I’m saying #I know what plagiarism is believe me. as mentioned I am speaking on my own personal and specific experience #however you feel about it and how you handle it is valid and fine

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dipplinduo · 16 days

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If there's anything you could change about your writing setup what would it be?

Probably not at ALL what you're expecting me to answer with but I'd want better air circulation and more humidity in my current room LOL. I have dry eye syndrome and it gets bad sometimes. Literally my biggest obstacle to writing if not my regular life schedule, which is often obstacle #2.

I already do a bunch of things to protect my eyes and I'd honestly advise anyone to do the same if they notice any issues with their own/these are just good things to do for your eyes in general, as needed:

- Sleep enough. No like really, try to get 8 - 8 1/2 hours as often as you can. Sleep is no joke.

- Adjust the night light on your screen so it filters out a good chunk of the blue light.

- Lower the brightness and use dark modes on literally everything. Get extensions for things that don't have them, especially if you're using them a lot (e.g. I use google docs for fic writing)

- Use a humidifier (in drier environments; this literally ensures that I don't wake up with reddened eyes)

- Use a warm compress on your eyes for 5 mins or so (emphasis on warm, not hot. Be verryyyyy careful not to burn yourself, the skin around your eyes is sensitive).

- Eye gellllllll & eyedrops omg. I'd be dead without them.

- Oh and since I decided to unsolicitedly run in this direction with the ask pls wear sunglasses and sunscreen!!! Even in the winter!!

All of the above is legit a godsent for me and it's been my default for everything since before fic writing because yes I do need all that maintenance for my sensitive lil blue orbs. And they still give me problems anyways. 🙄

The orb part was a joke btw

#i am particularly shot down today from dry eye syndrome so excuse the health lecture LMAO #it just SUCKS and I want y'all to protect your eyes!!#especially important to think about if youre in front of a screen a lot #i was fine until like a few years ago #but it may also be the climate of where i am atm influencing stuff too #I will move soon back near AGUA and HUMIDITY so hopefully that fixes things~ LMFAO #asks #fun questions #oh i should say otherwise #my “writing setup” is my tiny lil laptop on a laptop stand and a dream #WHICH BTW USE LAPTOP STANDS TO HELP W UR POSTURE & NECK PAIN TRUST ME BRO #laptop stands are elite and i use mine everywhere #but yeah #my n key broke again and i think thats funny #this 👌 close to typing up fics on my phone while lying down #i can do it (no really i can)#that was a taylor pun btw #okay im done with the rambling now #can you tell im procrastinating?

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oneprotagonistshort · 4 months

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also a Dirk Gently WIP whenever just for kicks. from the ongoing Forces Unseen sequel

“Holy shit,” Todd said, hearing Dirk come in through the door he’d left propped open. “Did you know we can see the Washington Monument from here?”

Dirk joined him at the window and wrapped an arm around his middle from behind. He was suddenly feeling a bit clingy, like he was going to need to front load all the cuddles he could get, which was abjectly ridiculous. Todd had never shied away from that, if anything it was Dirk who’d been jumpy lately about tender little moments like this. Still, Dirk couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be wanting more of this later but might not be able to get it. He hooked his chin over Todd’s shoulder and squinted out the window, not sure what Todd was referring to.

“The bloke on the penny’s house?” he asked, not seeing it. “I don’t think he lives in DC anymore, Todd.”

“What?” Todd asked, pulling back a little to look at him before pointing at a large lit-up obelisk surrounded by illuminated American flags. “No, that. I’ve only ever seen it in movies, National Treasure didn’t prepare me for the real thing.”

“Ohhh,” Dirk said, comprehension dawning as he held Todd close to his front. “You mean the giant pencil statue.”

“The giant—Dirk, that’s the Washington Monument. As in George Washington? It doesn’t even look like a pencil.”

“Doesn’t look much like George Washington either,” Dirk mused, and whatever retort Todd had been about to fire back was interrupted by the sharp trill of Dirk’s phone.

#dghda fic #dghda #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #if anyone wants to come be the hype squad for this fic I would appreciate it lol #it's been sitting at 25% complete for like six months #I got the initial idea in December 2021 and started writing it in earnest in May 2022 #I still have 2.5 parts and an epilogue to go #this is why I don't post WIPs btw lmao #it has never taken me this long to write something I care about so much #it's a proposal fic and I LITERALLY GOT ENGAGED in the time it's taking to write #we're thinking of setting the date for fall 2025 and so help me god I will finish this fic before then #I set this fic in DC because I'd just moved here and wanted to use it as an excuse to explore and do cool shit like write on-location #and I'm literally leaving DC next month #I can see the giant pencil statue from where I walk my dog BUT NOT FOR LONG #get it together Briana

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watatsumiis · 8 months

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hey! ty for liking my tsaritsa so much!!! i'd love to hear more of your thoughts on her, if there are any!

omg of course, she's absolutely stunning, your art style does her so much justice (and honestly is just an awesome gorgeous style in general!!) and tbh your design is how I picture her in my head now !!

I have a lot of thoughts and ideas about the Tsaritsa, a lot of them are just kind of ~vibe~ based and hard to convey, but i'll toss them beneath the cut!

I really like the theory that her 'ideal' is love, like it's such a fun and interesting concept

like, to begin with i imagine she was a very kind deity, not in a familiar way, but in a general sort of .. benevolent to her subjects and open to those that sought an audience with her. Not exactly 'warm', but not entirely shutting them out either

though i imagine that sort of hollowed out as time wore on and she realised that even being an actual deity didn't give her the power she needed to be able to make any real tangible changes to things or help those who were doomed from the start (which is probably a big part of why shes so anti-celestia or whatever)

despite her despair and attitude towards romantic love sort of withering, she places a heavy emphasis on familial love (including found family) and on forming bonds that will stand the test of toil and time

she comes off very aloof, especially to those beneath her, and will actively try to avoid being around others if she can help it. She dislikes forming close attachments

this isnt to mean that she doesn't care. she just cares so much that the only way she can deal with it is by distancing herself, or else she's just setting herself up for repeated heartbreak when her loved ones inevitably die.

the exception to this ? pierro.

pierro is cursed with undeath, and even before that he was someone with a fiercely loyal (and stubborn) streak.

they both told themselves theyd never allow themselves to become attached to someone else after all the losses theyd been through, but in making this pact alongside one another they basically sealed their own fate

there are no simple words for the kind of intertwined, codependent, epic-spanning love-hate they have for one another.

their bond was one forged in the fires of loss and hardened by the ice of grief. despite what they both may say, they're in it for the long haul. Tsaritsa has slowly become accustomed to this idea. Pierro has not and will still vehemently deny it.

i guess to really shave it down id call it a queerplatonic relationship. something unholy and gorgeous. two flowers holding onto a cliffside by the tips of their roots and growing around one another.

the second 'exception' is columbina. i imagine she's like a weird nibling to the tsaritsa. she was picked to be amongst the harbingers because of her ability to light up any room she's in (i imagine tsaritsa secretly has a nickname for her that's somewhere along the lines of 'songbird' because of her voice ngl)

outside of this, the tsaritsa is cool and aloof and works very hard to maintain her composure, especially when under scrutiny. she is brilliant at keeping this facade in place.

until she's no longer in the public gaze, that is.

i like to think she's a tiny bit of a goofball, she has a soft spot for 'dad jokes' that make pierro roll his eyes and rub his temples, and she quite enjoys wine (im sorry but if she were a facebook mom her page would be minion memes and posts talking about how its wine o-clock)

she also rather enjoys slapstick humour - there are a few dottore clones running around who have perfected it enough so that she has to cover her mouth with a hand to stop her subjects from seeing the way her lips twitch upwards as she holds back her laughter

she's also really, really petty. not that she'd ever do anything about it, but more than once pierro has found himself in her chambers late at night, watching as she paces back and forth, her sixth glass of wine in hand, and complains about how that 'brick-brained geo archon just won't sign the damn contract! isn't that his entire shtick?!'

she also has a soft spot for kids, or people who have a youthful energy about them. it reminds her that maybe not all is bad in the world, and that she's going to change it for the better for their sake.

I like to think she's extremely good at various sports - i love the idea featured on the asker's blog about her having an elk instead of a horse. that's so cool and lives in my brain rent free and forever tbh. her and pierro on their steeds racing through a snowy forest on a rare free afternoon

i think she would've once been the type to enjoy prosey, flowery words, long poems, romantic tales of star-crossed lovers, that kind of thing. she read a lot and even wrote some. not any more though.

she has a very stern and strict air about her and won't hesitate to play into that if she feels like she needs to, but honestly she's got a good sense of humour on her. things that pierro scolds the other harbingers and such for are often things that she secretly finds really funny

though ALSO she's a stickler for good manners. i like to think that has extended to the snezhnayans , who are, when dealing with those outside of their immediate familial circles, are super duper polite (even if their tones may come off as abrupt). there's also a very heavily laid-on vibe of 'respect your elders' in snezhnaya.

she has such motherly vibes, but in a really standoffish way. she wont tell someone directly that she cares about them or what happens to them, but it'll be rerouted through like three other people like a game of telephone. like, yeah, that one person she caught shivering while on guard is gonna get a nice new pair of gloves but it will be from an anonymous donor (or just shoved into their hands by pierro with an annoyed grunt)

honestly now ive started im kind of finding it hard to stop but i just adore the tsaritsa so much and i love love love how you draw her so much, she's just so amazing and feels so like.. real, y'know? thank you so much for this ask, i really enjoyed rambling and thinking about the tsaritsa some more. i think your design and ideas should be canon actually

#asks #general barks #(uses this ask as an excuse to go look at the milfy tsaritsa art on your blog for like 40 minutes)#SHE GIVES ME VIBES OF. THAT FROST QUEEN FROM NARNIA.#SHE TOTALLY LIKES TURKISH DELIGHTS I THINK #the tsaritsa #headcanons #my writing #tsaritsa #gosh golly gee darn tootin Arden (is it ok if i call u that. its a banger name btw) i think your take on the tsaritsa is simply swell (/ge

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 month

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Priest getou and nun reader or villager reader....(anything other than the word both isnt acceptable...😡😡😡 /j) -🪄

🪄 ANON I SEE YOU AND YOU RAISE A VALID POINT but please consider…… priest!geto and non-believer!reader.

like… imagine. you just happen to waltz into a church one day. you don’t believe in god, you aren’t interested in praying, but you’re exploring a new town and the church is pretty and you figure it could be a nice way to burn time.

you enter the building to find that a sermon is taking place. a priest is speaking to the few rows of people listening; it’s a fairly small church, but paintings and sculptures and beautiful cathedral glass give it a sense of mystique that you’re drawn to. so you take a seat and halfheartedly listen, not praying like the rest, not singing along to the hymns… you stick out like a sore thumb, but hey, it’s not as if anyone is paying attention.

except someone is, and it happens to be the priest that was holding the sermon just a second ago. the same one you spent most of your time oogling once the paintings started to bore you, because he’s so pretty for a priest. beautiful long black hair, amber eyes, sharp facial features, pretty hands — and the smoothest, silkiest voice you’ve heard in your life. like a sun-soaked bundle of lillies.

… also, his cassock is just a little too tight of a fit to tear your eyes away from.

you stick around a little longer once most people have left, just scrolling on your phone and basking in the quiet, and that’s when he approaches you. he jokingly tells you that it’s always obvious when a non-believer enters a place of worship, but he’s not mad; only amused. you end up chatting a bit about your beliefs, he’s a lot more chill than you expected, and…. well. he’s just really, really charming.

so maybe you end up coming back the week after. maybe his smile is a bit like a spider’s web. maybe it becomes a kind of routine to speak to him after his sermons; you still don’t sing along to the hymns or spend any time on prayers, and he still finds it funny. maybe once in a while you end up liking a paragraph from the scripture he’s reciting, and he’s always more than happy to discuss it with you. but mostly you’re there for him. for your chats, for standing outside and badgering him about how contradictory the old testament is while he smokes and listens with an amused grin.

rain hits the ground with a steady rhythm, earthy tobacco floods your veins, spiders by the ceiling weave a web of dew, and his presence is a little more intoxicating than you think is appropriate.

suguru just… isn’t a very orthodox priest. he only believes about a tenth of what the bible says, he has his own view of god, his own thoughts on worship. he smokes. he may or may not occasionally manipulate church-goers into donating money so he can invest in another overpriced painting. you once ask him if there are any bodies in the basement you should know about, and he answers that any self-respecting priest wouldn’t conduct their blood rituals in the basement of their own church. he knows how to pick locks. he tells you once, very quietly, that he doesn’t believe man was created in god’s image. there’s a look in his eyes that you don’t comment on.

he’s funny. charming. pleasantly suspicious. your conversations are enjoyable for the both of you, and eventually the edges of his cedar eyes begin to crinkle the slightest bit whenever you walk into his field of vision. sometimes he eyes your lips for a little too long, and a honeyed irony seeps into his grin when you call him out on it. he asks you if you’re tempting him on purpose, and you shrug. whatever exists between you remains unspoken.

one day, he tells you that he believes it was god who sent you to him. you furrow your brows and protest with a mutter reminding him of your beliefs, how you believe in free will, how you waltzed into his church out of your own volition. no one else’s.

he only smiles, and flicks the butt of his cigarette. you think he remains unconvinced.

#don’t know if i made it clear enough but he is in fact . a bit slimey #a little ill. a little too good at hiding it. plagued by thoughts that only calm down when he’s praying or speaking to you <3 #(he’s really insane abt you btw i don’t think he knows how to love normally this goes for any sugu but ESPECIALLY priest!sugu)#but yeahhhhh priest!geto is very fleabag coded to me :3 he’s a chill priest <3 a cool priest <33 #i’m imagining reader pointing out a homophobic passage from the bible and him just chuckling #(he isn’t homophobic just very gay and very used to hearing that particular passage)#literally all of this is taken straight out of the outlines for my priest!geto fic btw 🙏 one day i’ll write it all out… one day……#ty for giving me an excuse to talk abt him 🪄 anon…. pls pls feel free to elaborate on nun!reader 👀👀 bc i am Looking.#ask tag ✩#🪄 anon !! ✩

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starrystevie · 1 year

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steve’s angry. he’s so goddamn angry all the time. his town is split right down the middle, his parents up and left to whatever safety vermont could offer and his kid won’t smile anymore because he’s seen too much and lost even more. this whole upside down bullshit just takes and takes and takes until there’s nothing left of hawkins, nothing left of steve himself. so he fights and takes his aggression out on people that don’t matter, on brick walls that have no say, on pillows and windows and cheeks he’s never seen before.

he thinks he’s seeing things, hearing things, when there’s whispers of his name in the darkness of an alleyway or bandages placed just so on his countertop when he gets home. it’s always after a fight that he feels whatever is following him, so he’s able to make himself believe it’s just from one too many blows to the head. he’s going crazy, he’s sure of it, when he thinks he sees eddie munson lurking outside his home as he limps up to his door and leaves a bloody handprint on the house siding.

so yeah, he’s angry. but when his knuckles are cracked and his muscles are screaming and there’s blood running down the side of his face and his eyes are swelling shut, he feels alive in a way that he thought was stolen from him.

but then there’s eyes looking at him. steve’s in his bathroom, too much blood staining his mom’s left behind fluffy white bath towels in a rusty brown, bandages wrapped tightly around the deep cuts on his forearm when he notices it. he gets those chills on the back of his neck and fights the urge to think maybe he’s cursed like will before turning to look around his always empty house. the air is still and he almost convinces himself that he’s imagining things like usual but then he spots the eyes looking in through his window.

steve knows those eyes. they’re hidden behind curls and in the darkness that night provides and they’re burning a bright red but he knows them none the less. he doesn’t think about, knows he probably should but doesn’t, and heads over to the window. it’s easy enough to unlock normally but steve can’t pull his eyes away from the ones looking right back at him so he fumbles with the lock until it clicks.

the next thing he knows, the sticky june air is seeping in through the open window and he’s laying flat on his back with strong arms and wild red eyes pinning him to his bedroom floor. eddie’s mouth is wide, eyes even wider, long teeth glinting in the glow of the lamp on steve’s nightstand.

“you’re here,” he breathes out causing the curls tickling steve’s cheeks to flutter. “how are you here? why now?”

eddie growls and it’s a sound steve would have never expected but knows he’ll never forget, locking it in a safe place in his memory to replay over and over. there’s a hand trailing down the side of his face, cold fingers running over the drips of blood from a cut in his forehead, red eyes following their path.

“i could smell you.” his voice is low, it rumbles through his chest and straight into steve’s veins. maybe he could smell the effect of that on him, too. “you got too hurt this time.”

it breaks steve. he laughs harder than he has in months and it’s this harsh, broken thing that’s a mockery of real laughter. he feels like a demon, cackling in the face of danger just to cause pain and fear. maybe he is a demon at this point.

‘that’s all it took?” he’s angry again, but this is a different anger. it’s mean and cruel, spreading down through his bones into his very being, and it’s cold. has steve shivering on his bedroom floor but that could also be from the hand still petting over his face. has him smiling with a busted lip that forces warm blood to seep into his mouth.

eddie sighs. it’s a head rush to see a creature such as him do such a human thing. “you can’t keep hurting yourself just to see me, steve. it’ll end-” he pauses like he’s trying to think of the best word to use, eyes focused on the red spilling over his own fingertips, over steve’s lips. “-badly.”

steve feels himself push up into eddie, revels in the intake of breath he gets in return. he can feel the blood from his cracked lip staining his teeth so he opens his mouth, licks it off slowly to make a show of it. his smile feels wild and he wants to push that onto eddie too. he feels alive.

“good.”

#hi i have literally no excuse for this #but this is probably going to become a whole fic btw #cause BOY do i have a lot of thoughts about it #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrignton #eddie munson #tw: fighting #tw: blood #this is technically my first dabble into monster fucker steve harrington which is a v fun topic #steddie drabble #my writing #stranger things #steddie ficlet #kas!eddie

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