#thoughts about a ghost simply coming into a young boy's life

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #43

(Here's my spin on the existing in another universe as a cartoon plot)

Danny stared at Clockwork with wide eyes as the ancient ghost told him the truth about the universe he had just visited.

He thought that it would've been another alternate universe that had a Dan that he needed to fight and stop from coming to his. But no. No, instead he landed into a universe of his favorite comic book series. DC Comics.

When he came through the portal, he instantly recognized the city that was known as Gotham and its dreary atmosphere that he's only seen in the various comics he kept on his bedroom shelf.

At first, he was excited. DC was real. That means that Batman and the Robins were real. Gasp. He could meet Martian Manhunter.

His fanboying was cut short when the sound of a grappling hook and light footsteps reached his ears caused him to look down and see who it was.

Batman. In the flesh, covered by his long cape and the darkness of the city around him. Honest to Ancients it was Batman! And Nightwing was there as well! Danny was going to die again!

Danny hesitated on approaching as he didn't know how they would react to him being in Gotham all of a sudden. Honestly, other than Deadman, Danny didn't know about anymore ghosts in DC.

What he didn't expect was for Nightwing-Nightwing!-to point to him and mention how he had a good Danny Phantom cosplay? Does that mean he was a hero in the DC world too and that he had fans? Awesome!

He didn't have time to question it as another portal opened and Danny was quick to take it, not wanting to be attacked by his favorite characters.

He definitely had to tell Clockwork about this.

-

"What do you mean I'm a cartoon in other universes?" The halfa asked the ancient of time, feeling as if his entire world was being flipped upside down for Ancient's know how many times already.

Clockwork gave the same smile that showed he knew something that he didn't. An expression that Danny knew all too well.

"Did you truly think that your universe was the only one out there, Daniel? There are

"But all you talk about are timelines

"There are many universes out there, Daniel. All of them have their own stories, their own people, and their own endings that they shall meet when the time is right. But, even then, other universes can exist in them as well. They are simply not physical."

Danny tilted his head at the last part, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

"Physical?" He repeated.

Clockwork nodded. His form shifting from his young looking self to that of his older version with the elongated beard.

"Physical, Daniel. Like how their universe, DC as you call it, your or a version of your universe exist in theirs as a cartoon. Many universes when clashed are too powerful for one universe to handle on their own if they were real, so they exist in forms of novels, shows, movies, even comic books, to allow their existence to prosper. They will be able to exist peacefully without causing any true harm to the universe and causing mass disasters that would happen if they existed on the same plane."

As he listened, his eyes widened in awe. Multiple universes that existed like that. That means there has to be a chance where there was a him that actually existed in the DC world other than being a cartoon.

While lost in thought, his eyes suddenly widened as a thought occurred to him. "Wait! If I'm a cartoon in their world that means that they just need to watch the show and find out all about me. My weaknesses, my past, the ghost zone, everything!" And boy, wasn't that a thought. He didn't want the Batfamily looking up his show and discovering how to beat him. Worse, how he died.

Clockwork simply raised a hand to stop his worrying tirade.

"Peace, Daniel. While your life may be a cartoon, it isn't all there. I've seen small glimpses, and it doesn't compare to your life. Various relationships, parts of your life, your powers, all of it could be underplayed or over exaggerated. While some could be true, they would still have to nitpick through it to find out the bits that are. Just like you would have to with those comic books to determine how much is real and fiction as well."

Hearing that, Danny did calm down some. Placing a hand on his chest with a sigh of relief.

"That is good then. i thought I was gonna die a second time."

The halfa floated closer to Clockwork as his old form turned back to his adult form, red eyes watching the young ghost as

"Though there's one more thing I gotta ask, Clockwork?"

"Yes, Daniel?"

"How many seasons did my show get?"

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom crossover #dc×dp prompt #dp crossover

[astxroiid]

new york private life // tasm! peter parker

❥ childhood crush, date nights, vigilantes, apprehension, sweet young love.

wc: 1.5k

navigation ✩ empire state of mind (II) ✩ manhattan longing (III)

"Hey, um... I'm Peter."

A familiar face stands in front of you, one you've known all your life.

"We went to high school together. I, uh, was wondering if maybe you'd want to maybe hang out sometime." The walls of the college cafeteria seem to be closing in around Peter. His hands twitching nervously as he shifted his feet uneasily.

"Oh!" you're caught a little off guard. "Well, I'm free tomorrow. Where will we be going?"

Peter smiles to himself a little. "There's this sushi place that just opened up a few blocks over... if you like sushi, that is."

The amount of anxiety radiating off this poor boy is so potent you can practically taste it.

"I love it," you grin up at the boy from your seat. "Pick me up at 5:30? we could be there by 6."

"Th-that sounds great!" His eyes light up as an excited smile spreads across his face. He's never gotten a this positive of a response before. This feels good.

"I'll pick you up at 5:30 then. Thank you," he says, trying not to be too happy about this, but he is. Very.

“Sounds like a date to me.” you smile, stand from your seat and kiss his cheek before walking away with a bounce in your step.

A date?! A kiss to his cheek! He's never felt so alive before! His cheeks burn red as you walk away. He can't believe that you said yes.

When 5:30 comes around the next day, you’re waiting by the entrance of your house, ready to meet up with Peter. You’re a bit nervous, but mostly excited. You felt a strange flutter in your stomach, your heart beating fast and body tingling.

When 5:45 comes, you start to worry. Where could Peter be?

5:50. Your heart begins to sink. Was this all a joke?

5:55. Is he... not coming?

6:00. You're officially distraught. Your mind immediately starts running to various conclusions. Is he busy? Did something happen to him? Or did he simply change his mind?

6:15. Maybe he forgot? Maybe he's late? Maybe he lost track of time?

6:30. Your eyes are puffy and red. Tears start to stream down your face as you realize he’s probably not coming.

7:00. Anger replaces sadness. Did he do this on purpose?! What the hell?! What was the point of even asking you out?

8:00. Sadness returns. After all your emotions drained your energy and tears blurred your eyes, you cant help but come back ton the thought: Why did he do this? He can't even have the courtesy to at least call you?

Just as the thought come to mind, your phone rings. It's Peter.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the phone. You desperately hope that this might just change things, but you also can't help and start to feel anxious, afraid of what he might have to say.

"Hey," Your voice cracks as you hold the phone to your ear.

Peter's heart sinks at your tone, immediately feeling at fault. "Hey," he echoes in a small tone. "I'm sorry I didn't show up today..." he says, almost inaudible for a moment. He sounds... shaky. Nervous. "Something came up..."

In what world is that a good excuse for leaving a girl waiting for you for two and a half hours? He mentally cringes, wishing he could explain better. How? 'Hey, sorry I basically ghosted you , I'm Spiderman and I had to stop a robbery?!' it almost sounds made up.

"oh..." the same, tearful tone etched into your voice from before. "it's okay, I guess."

He gulps at the sadness in your voice, feeling worse now, not sure how to handle this situation.

"My aunt called me. She had some things she needed help with," he said, trying his best to avoid giving details. "I lost track of time and only just realized how late it was. I was rushing as fast as I could but I know I missed our date. I'm sorry, I should have at least sent you a text."

“It’s okay.” you sound only slightly more cheerful. “How about you make it up to me come over with some takeout and we watch a movie?”

"Really?" he asks, sounding surprised. After the tense conversation you both just had, he didn't think the night - or relationship for that matter - would be salvageable. "I mean sure," he says, not being able to hide the joy in his voice or the smile on his face. "What kind food do you want?"

“You pick.” You smile “Come over as soon as you can.”

꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

About 20 minutes later Peter knocks on your door. You open it to reveal the sweetest looking boy with flowers an Thai food in hand, appearing a little guilty but still excited.

You couldn't resist smiling back at him, feeling much less mad about what happened earlier.

"Sorry for the wait," Peter apologizes as he hands you the bouquet of tulips. You gladly take them.

Walking over to the kitchen and filling a vase with water, you call out to Peter, who's still standing in the doorway.  

“You can come in Pete! You can set the food down over there," you gesture to the coffee table, covered in candles and books for your college classes.

Pete?! He smiles warmly as he enters into the living room and he watches you set the flowers in the vase. Peter glances around your apartment, your home is quite cozy.

Dark blue curtains hang around each window, soft lights from the New York night glowing through. Every surface in your home is decorated with mixtures of candles, lamps, books, or cute little trinkets.

The whole place smells like cherries and coffee. The soft music playing in the background bringing the whole mood together.

He goes ahead and sets the food down on the coffee table and he looks around the room. "Your place is nice," he says softly. He loves it. he could get used to spending more time here.

“Why thank you.” You blush, placing the flowers down “Oh! I was thinking about watching some of the Star Wars movies - is that okay?” You plop on the couch, patting next to you for Peter to sit.

"Star Wars is always okay with me," Peter replies, happy that you're not upset anymore. He sits down next to you and he can't help but notice how close you're both sitting next to each other. His heart flutters.

"The Empire Strikes Back is my favorite," Peter replies excitedly, happy to be sharing one of his interests with you.

He smiles, feeling very happy with the current state of things.

"That's my favorite too!" You smile brightly, looking into his eyes.

There was an odd and almost indescribable intimacy between you two, as if your shared love of Star Wars had brought you closer together in some unknown way.

“Really?” Peter asks, feeling thrilled by this coincidence.

You nod, giggling at Peter's excitement.

"What's your favorite character?" Peter asks. He's trying to watch the movie, although it's hard to take his eyes off of you for too long.

"Hmmm..." you place your finger on your chin, feigning deep thought. "Obi Wan, hands down the best in my opinion. What about you?"

"Definitely Han Solo," he replies, smiling. You notice how his cheeks are a bit red right now.

Is he blushing?

"He's cocky and always in the middle of trouble, but so charismatic and charming," Peter adds. He leans closer, getting a little more comfortable on the couch.

"Who's your least favorite?"

You notice him moving closer but don’t mind at all “Kylo Ren, I think. His character is just too underdone - they could’ve done better. What about you, Pete? Who’s your least favorite?” You lean in close to him, placing Your hand on his shoulder.

"Totally agree," Peter says quickly, gulping. "Kylo Ren sucks."

Chills take over Peter's body as your hand rests on his shoulder.

You're sitting awfully close, and the thought of it makes his head rush. He wishes he could take his eyes off of you.

Your heart begins to pound. He's getting so lost in the atmosphere.

You smile and turn your head back to the TV watching along as Han Solo grabs Leia, kissing her deeply. There's an ache in your chest for something similar.

Please kiss me. Peter's mind races and begs. Just go for it! He silently urges himself.

He's dying to turn his head towards you. The closeness is sending him into a spiral of emotion. If only he could find the courage to make a move. As he glances your way, he notices you're not looking at him; your attention is elsewhere. A wave of disappointment washes through him.

Peter looks to his fidgeting hands, now incredibly insecure.

Is he reading the signals wrong? His heart sinks. Does she not feel the same way?

His breath is shaky and he's afraid of ruining the evening.

Peter decides it's best to focus on the movie and not his growing, aching feelings.

I hope y'all enjoyed my first fic in a loooong time lmao, big thanks to character.ai for helping me come up with this!

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tasm #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #marvel #sony #marvel x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter imagine #parker

[questforgalas]

Now that I've played the MW campaign and am even more unhinged about the MW3 campaign, here are my completely unasked for thoughts on how Activision should've mapped out the games for an at least 6 game story arc

MW

Absolutely no changes. Kyle is a precious muffin. Price is a precious muffin. Alex is a precious muffin. Farah is a queen.

Interesting campaign. Diverse levels. Dynamic and well thought out storyline.

MW2

My baby. The love of my life. My most precious muffin. That campaign? That storyline? Chef's kiss. Ale and Rudy? The best additions. Valeria?? Fucking wonderful. That plot twist?? Grasping my pearls

No changes

MW3

More 141 levels, make the intro levels 141 as a well oiled machine, digging up the intel telling about the prison break. Give more background to what Farah is in the middle of instead of dropping right in especially with fucking Graves suddenly chilling on the comms, bridging that gap between MW2 and here. Take out a good chunk of the Makarov cut scenes and give more levels chasing intel, letting the player put together the pieces with every cold trail Makarov leaves behind, getting frustrated along with the team. Keep the flashback once the team reaches boiling point, but make Ghost less inclined towards Johnny to keep more inline with their reluctant start in MW2.

Shepherd and Graves go off the grid after they give their intel, they disappear. Makarov is making moves in Urzikstan so 141 goes to help ULF (did I mention more 141?). It was a distraction, they uncover Makarov's plans for London, scramble back, it plays out, Price ends up dead (it's a military game, people are going to die, and Price dying had the most potential impact. Come along, I'll explain), Makarov gets away.

Final cut scene is a funeral send off Price deserves, montage of the boys back on base dealing with the aftermath, and Laswell finding Ghost, explaining how he's the Lieutenant, he's the obvious next choice to take up the mantle and Ghost simply says "I'm not the obvious choice" and the final scene pans on Gaz, the Robin to Price's Batman.

The levels will be meatier, longer, and at least 5 more added to deepen the story. Diversity of the play style will be more than just standard campaign and online-layout. The Makarov plot will be discovered by the player, not told to them, adding more intrigue to the character. The final level will be multi tiered, hopping between the two pairs. Actually 8 hours of gameplay instead of the measly 3 they gave us (yes, the MW3 campaign is 3 hours of gameplay compared to MW and MW2s 8 hours each)

MW4

Open to 141 arriving on mission, Soap tapping Gaz on the shoulder and says "Ready when you are, Captain" with that cheeky smile. Makarov's gone dark, eerily quiet the past couple months, but they have a lead on Shepherd and Graves so they're going in. It all points back to Mexico, Graves accepting his military career is fucked after Las Almas and turning Shadow Company into full mercs instead of PMCs now, specializing in weapons dealings. He recognized the advantage a deal with Valeria could have and they've been working together.

CUT TO LOS VAQUEROS/141 REUNION. More Alejandro and Rudy background (just let Alain Mesa, the BAFTA Game Award Nominee for this freaking role, fucking shine). Dive into the Valeria background, make the raid mentioned during her interrogation a flashback level in Valeria's POV. The team has to go undercover to get close to the intel, Rudy gets picked, gathers the intel, but gets compromised. Now its a race to rescue Rudy. Ale and Gaz go after Rudy while Soap and Ghost follow the lead Rudy got them. Ale and Gaz raid a cartel base/prison, let Ale take Gaz under his wing recognizing the young captain's feeling the pressure, some banter, some advice, wholesome Ale and Gaz bonding.

Soap, on the other hand, is barely being contained by Ghost. He's in full attack dog mode with Graves scent nearby and Ghost has half a mind to let the demolition expert go completely feral, but the lieutenant part of him keeps his sergeant in check. Further their dynamic, more banter balancing right on the edge. They clear out the compound, find a gold mine of intel around the dealings, and Johnny gets to put the bullet right between Graves' eyes.

One line in the intel catches their eyes - Makarov

MW5/6

Make the Makrov storyline a 3 game storyline - MW3 intro and back-to-back MW 5 and 6. Now with ties in Mexico and ULF, all established teams and beloved characters can be brought in in some aspect throughout both games to take him down.

Ale and Rudy are cleaning up El Sin Nombre's ties in Las Almas, cutting each line of Valeria's arms dealings, trying to cut off the courier of Makarov's destruction.

Farah continues to lead ULF to free Urzikstan, Makarov taking advantage of the dissent and chaos and placing a foothold there, ultimately dividing forces and efforts from his background machinations.

With Makarov's trail warm again, the 141 are out for blood. Could take the plunge and make GhostSoap canon through subtle dialogue options or touch gestures in cut scenes. The end is possibly near, they're all allowing themselves to think about the future, why not take the plunge Activision? Or they stay vague/platonic and the dynamic is further developed. Dialogue options and cut scenes show further bond with Gaz as well who's stepped into being Captain a little more, easing into the shoes.

MW5 is cat and mouse. Makarov leaves little treats and traps and the team is chasing after their tails, always 3 steps behind him. Give Makarov more scenes, not telling the player his plan but let his character development fly. Let the unhingedness flourish.

Finally, they catch a break at the end of the game and MW6 is the final chase. 8 hours of them hunting down Makarov. Ale and Rudy cleaned up Las Almas and can join them, bringing the whole gang together internationally (bonus points to make one a cold weather mission and the two Mexicans are just bitching the whole time just for Soap and Ghost to tease them back about payback for having to deal with the Mexican desert for a whole week). Two characters would die (not in one game, over the course of the two) - Farah (she's been a fighter her whole life, it would be a full circle for her to heroically go out with a gun in her hand) and either Ghost or Soap.

Soap dying here would be so much more impactful. He'd be more established as a character, have deeper relationships with all members of the game, and it's highly possible to have a situation where a charge isn't going so he's the only one who can pull it off (reminiscent of Hevy in TCW). Going out in a blaze just like he's always imagined.

Ghost dying would be another full circle option with his canon (it would be a sacrificial choice, dying on his own terms as his own choice) and with his long career, it would be heartbreaking but understandable. This also leaves the 141 in the hands of the two youngest, the Captain and the new Lieutenant, tasked with bringing in the next generation of the best soldiers.

And if there just happens to be a cut scene where Johnny has an extra pair of dog tags and a modest ring dangling from his chain? Then you know I infiltrated the Activision writers' room.

Oh what happened to Shepherd you ask? End credits role on MW6 and another cut scene begins. A lone cabin in the middle of nowhere in the woods, smoke trailing out of the chimney. Cut interior, a haggard Shepherd bent over a desk, mumbling to himself, scribbling on something. He tacks the paper on the board in front of him, revealing Gaz and Soap's pictures amidst a mess of strings and maps and notes saying "Traitors". Then it cuts black

Boom, there you go Activision. Enjoy all of your awards and record breaking sales. It could've been that easy

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #farah karim #alex keller #ghostsoap

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

So so, amnesiac Soap who doesn’t remember a large chunk of his childhood. Maybe even up to his early teens. Doesn’t remember that he met Ghost when they were kids and that it was the best summer of his entire life.

As adults, Soap meets Ghost for the first time…as far as he knows. Ghost, of course, recognizes Soap immediately. He replays those memories of the cute little Scottish boy he’d met during the few occasions he allows himself to reminisce.

When Soap acts like he doesn’t know Ghost at all, it hurts just a little bit, but it’s been years, right? Maybe that summer wasn’t as memorable for Soap as it was for Ghost. That’s fine. Really. It’s /fine/.

Ghost tries to keep his distance the way he does with everyone he’s ever met but Soap worms his way in despite Ghost’s best efforts. It’s almost exactly the same as when they were younger, the way a young Johnny had seen a young Simon sitting alone in the park with bruises on his arms and instead of asking about them or poking fun, he simply tugged on Simon’s wrist gently and asked him to play.

Soap likes Ghost immediately. He’s an odd guy, definitely, and the way he stares is heavy on Soap’s skin, but there’s this itch in the back of his head that makes him feel like he’s known Ghost for a lot longer than he has. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, there’s been odd moments of deja vu ever since the incident that caused his memory loss, so he doesn’t think about it too deeply, just prefers to live in the moment and appreciate the relationship he has with Ghost.

Finally, while taking a break after returning from an assignment that took several months, they’re outside smoking together, trading w cigarette back and forth. Soap asks about Ghost’s childhood and it makes the bigger man freeze.

“Ah, sorry sorry. I know that’s a tough question. Shouldn’t have asked.” Soap backtracks, and Ghost is quite for a while. There’s slight tension between them but nothing to make either of them leave. Ghost breathes out a thick cloud of smoke.

“Not great. Abusive dad, a mom who couldn’t do anything to protect herself, and a younger brother who would do anything to not be the target so he shoved the attention onto me instead.”

It’s Soap’s turn to be quiet and Ghost doesn’t blame him. It’s probably not the answer he thought he’d get.

“I’m sorry, Si.”

Ghost shrugs. “It’s fine. They’re all dead now.” He blows out another lungful of smoke and turns to look at Soap. “What about you?”

Soap gives him a wry smile. “Wish I knew.”

Ghost’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Soap shrugs before turning to look up at the sky rather than meet Ghost’s eyes. “Was involved in a real bad accident in my teen years. Anything about my life just,” he waves his free hand in the air, “vanished into nothing. Forgot everything and not a single thing’s come back to me ever since.”

“Johnny…” Ghost chokes out. It makes sense, suddenly. Why Soap never joins in when the team gets into one of their reminiscing moods, why he always asks questions instead of sharing his own stories even when given any other opportunity to talk their ears off, he takes it without hesitation. It also makes sense why when he saw Ghost, he’d looked at him like he was a stranger. Ghost feels something heavy in his gut.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We’ve both had a rough time, LT. Just happy we’re both here in the present, yeah?” Ghost nods because he can’t do or say anything else. When Soap smiles, it’s genuine and warm. The sergeant pats him on his shoulder. “Glad you agree.”

#amnesiac soap is a headcanon I cling on to for dear fuckin life. I will do down with this headcanon I /swear/ #the childhood friends for a summer idea came from me picturing them having an argument and Soap screams that Ghost knows nothing about him #only for Ghost to tell back that he knows a lot more than Soap thinks he does #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod #my post

[elena-mayfair]

Consequences

Paring: Morpheus x f!reader, Sandman x f!reader Warnings: swearing, horror images, graphic violence, TW self-harm, adult themes, reader discretion is advised Summary: Everything in life has a price. You make one decision without thinking about the consequences. And yet, they always come. What consequences will the Witch who followed the Dream of the Endless to Hell have to face? Word count: 3.6k Note: Gifs are not mine, credit to the authors

Series Masterlist Part eight: Through darkness towards...

***

Y/N's could say a lot about her life, but to say it was ordinary would be an understatement. After all, her life was anything but ordinary. Ordinary people leading ordinary lives think about mundane things, health, sickness, careers, money, family, they think about where to go on vacation, what car to buy, whether to go to the movies or party with friends on the weekend. Yes, these were the things ordinary people thought about, these were their cares and worries. But these were not her thoughts. Once, long ago, she thought she would have a life like any other, normal, mundane, boring even. She used to think that she would go to college, get a degree and become a teacher, as this was how she had always imagined her job. She thought she would meet some normal guy, they would start dating, after time they would get married and conceive two happy boys, after all, there was a time she wanted sons. She thought that she will have normal, apple pie life. Yet such a life was not meant for her.

She could not have possibly predicted that at a young age she would discover that she was a witch, a real witch. In her wildest dreams, she never envisioned that at the age of sixteen she would start seeing ghosts and demons walking among the living. In her darkest nightmares, she never imagined that they would start seeing her. In her life, there was suddenly no room for dreams of college, career, husband, children…. a sweet apple pie life. Her first boyfriend, ran away after he caught her one night talking to an invisible figure, he left behind only charming insults. Her second boyfriend found a grimoire collection left carelessly by her, he walked away the same day leaving behind only accusations of devil worshipping. Her third boyfriend had done the exact opposite. The one she wanted to see gone, the one she hated with burning hatred, the one she wanted to remove from her life once and for all, never left. The one she has been cursing with the worst curses she had ever known kept coming back, like the embodiment of her nightmares, like a demon she could not exorcise. Yes…there was no room for anything normal in her life. After the loss of her family, sorcery and her calling became her only purpose in life. The calling...she had decided, that was what it would be. A calling, she would repeat to herself. After all, there had to be a reason why her own life was a nightmare. So she chose to believe that it was so that the lives of others wouldn't have to be that way. So she focused everything that remained of her will to live on helping others, on using her gift to help those who could not help themselves. So she helped…the poor and the rich, the guilty and the innocent, the good and the evil, she helped anyone who needed help. She helped save innocent lives, she needed to, after all, she couldn't save the lives of those closest to her. After a while, she stopped seeing their faces, names, personalities, she judged them quickly and harshly, if the person was malicious in nature or with their stupidity brought problems on themselves - they paid, they paid a big fee, if they were an innocent victim - the help was free. She stopped thinking about life outside of work, she stopped wishing, dreaming, wanting, there was only work. She helped anyone who needed help, so when the Dream of the Endless entered her life, she didn't hesitate, she simply offered her help. After all, that was her whole life, helping others. Endless or not at that moment she decided that he could use her help, he seemed to her like someone who needed it. She could not foresee that the help she would offer him would end in a journey through Hell and the near death of the Dream. She certainly couldn't have predicted that her actions, driven by pure instinct and emotion, would lead to a confrontation with Lucifer himself. Now lying on the couch with her eyes wide open and slowly dragging on a cigarette, she couldn't help but think: "What now?

How does one continue to live after a trip to Hell and back? She thought she would sleep for a week after seeing what she saw, thought that after what she experienced her mind and body would shatter into millions of pieces, and she would spend the next few days putting the pieces back together. Yet that did not happen. Morpheus disappeared, "there are matters I need to attend to," he said, and although some part of her was angry that he had left her she understood, the King of Dreams had more important things on his mind than answering the questions of her shaken mind. What is one mind when compared to the dreaming consciousness of the entire universe. The thought of sleeping did not even cross her mind. Her body and mind were awakened, restless pulsing with life. It wasn't the adrenalin that had not yet faded away, it was something more, a newly awakened force that raged within her like a thunderstorm battering the restless ocean. "What's next?" she slowly took a puff on her cigarette in reverie. Smoke lingered in the air painting shapes and figures in her imagination, a wolf, a snake, a rider on a horse, an eagle, only to disappear into nothingness a moment later. Dawn was rising outside the window, a gray gloomy morning covered with rain and heavy clouds. The radio quietly played David Bowie's 'Space Oddity' in the background, only to be interrupted moments later by the arrival of the morning news. In disbelief, she got up and glanced at her phone as the presenter gave the current date. The phone was dead, as was the tablet. With a hasty movement, she reached for the charger only to discover that two weeks had passed. Two weeks since she and Morpheus were dragged to Hell. She hastily checked the date on the tablet and googled the same thing three times, only to receive the same result each time. Two weeks had passed. "How the fuck…" after all, they had only been in Hell for a few hours, or so she thought, and yet in Waking World, two weeks had passed. She rose from the couch, nervously turned on the coffee maker and started looking through the notifications. At least twenty missed calls from John, a dozen messages, a reminder to pay the bills, an email of gratitude from Father O'Malley, several messages from Missouri, she was scrolling through the notifications when suddenly her gaze froze on one, the coffee mug stopped in midway to her lips…. message was short "Where are you?" and it was from him, the living nightmare of her life. From her biggest mistake. Two weeks of her life evaporated into nothingness while she traversed Hell with the King of Dreams. Two weeks when she focused on helping one while the rest remained alone, defenseless, threatened. She knew she couldn't help everyone but at that moment she needed a new task, she needed a purpose. Not thinking much, she wrote a short email to a girl named Jessica. "I am on my way. I should be there today."

Her clothes, weapons, crystals and herbs still lay in the bag thrown in the corner of her bedroom, exactly where she had left them a few days ago, or rather a few weeks ago. She threw out the bloody clothes from the bag, the blood having long since dried blending into the material. "This will have to be burned when I get back, no cleaner is that good," she thought while replacing the clothes with fresh ones. She added a spare bullet case, herbal bags, and a bottle of whiskey, "just in case," and with little thought she left, closing the door behind her.

She needed a task on which she could focus, and she found it. Helping people, one thing she was good at, one thing she could do, one thing that could take her mind of the Morpheus.

Morpheus…the Dream Lord's name ran through her mind. Just a few hours ago, she stood at his side before Lucifer himself. Just a few hours ago, she wept over his dying body consumed by the infinite void of nothingness. "I wonder where he is now…. what is he doing…" she wondered while packing her bag in the trunk. She could not have known that at the same time Morpheus was lying unconscious on the warehouse floor. She could not have known that at the same moment his crow was desperately trying to wake him up. She could not have known that at the same moment a strange, unsuspecting man was walking past the knocked-out Morpheus holding his Dreamstone in his hand. If only she had clenched her hand for a moment on the vial of sand he had given her, she would have seen it all. If she had only clenched her hand on her amulet for a moment she might have felt it. But she didn't. She just turned up the volume and drove off tapping on the steering wheel along the Enter Sandman.

***

On her way out, Y/N left the apartment in complete chaos. Her favorite mug with the Batman logo stood on the kitchen counter with the remains of her undrunk coffee, an ashtray full of cigarette butts stood on the coffee table, dirty and bloody clothes lay scattered on the bedroom floor, and the bathroom was cluttered with wet towels tangled in her loose sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt.

"She was here," the man spoke into the phone that he held to his ear. He shuffled around the darkened apartment analyzing the clues she had left behind.

"You are in 'er fla'? listen ma'e, 'ha' is no' wha' we 'alked abou'!"

"What did you expect me to do Constantine? Stand and wait under her window like some fucking teenage pussy?" he moved through the apartment analyzing the burned-out candles, the cigarettes in the ashtray, the coffee cup.

"You sure it was her?"

"I don't suppose that Dream King is a smoker..." he put down the ashtray back on the table, "I can still smell her perfumes in the air..." he continued, "I'm not sure what she's up to," he trailed over the symbols painted on the floor, "it looks like she was performing summoning ritual."

"Makes sense, rumors on the street is that the Endless got his helm back."

"How do you know?"

"Demons 'alk…supposedly she killed one."

"It looks like they know what they are talking about," he picked up from the bedroom floor a bloody t-shirt and smelled it with deep inhale, "I've found bloody clothes"

"Bloody 'ell…i' is no' possible 'o kill 'he demon. Wha' 'he fuck is she doing? 'ah did she kill a bloody demon?"

"Whatever she's doing it must be his push, the fucking Endless..." he moved to the bathroom, "He did something to her. Fuck...she must have left like a few minutes ago..."

"Wha' ya goin 'o do?"

"I'll wait." he pressed the red icon on his phone and returned to the bedroom. "Oh Y/N..." he sat down on the bed and tenderly traced his fingers over black silk sheets, "You were always so fucking naive...I'll show you..."

***

"Oh for fuck sake!" you thought as you angrily swiped through your email for the third time. It's been a few hours since you sent an email to Jessica and you were expecting a reply by now. You drove up to her house and parked your car on the other side of the street. It was a good neighborhood, the kind you wished to grow up in as a child. The houses were all painted with white or gray paint and covered with anthracite or brown roofs. Lawns and perfectly trimmed trees adorned driveways where expensive cars were parked. It was peaceful and quiet, "Too quiet…". You watched the house for a good two hours. The girl was of school age and since the hour was approaching late afternoon she should have already been home. The research you made told you that the mother owned a chain of bakeries and the father was a banker, on Friday evening all three of them should have already gone home. The white BWM stood parked in the driveway, "the midlife crisis hit early," you thought, and looked over the windows again, there was not a shadow of movement in the house. You sighed in frustration, checked your gun and bullet chamber, and tucked it safely on your back under your black leather jacket.

You got out of the car and with a confidence that aroused no suspicion, you walked towards the house. You were supposed to look inconspicuous, like a colleague from work who dropped by for a visit on a Friday afternoon. Nothing that could draw any prying eyes from the neighbors.

You knocked gently on the door and waited. "Not good," you discreetly put your ear to the door and at the same time, you checked the cameras from the corner of your eye. They were there but the red light was not flashing, "not good at all."

"Miss Turner?!" you called and knocked more forcefully. The door swung open under your fingers, unlocked. A strong stench immediately hit your senses making images of Hell flash before your eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment forcing your heightened senses to focus and you slipped inside closing the door behind you.

"Miss Turner?! Mister Turner?!" you called even though every fiber of your body was telling you that you should not expect a reply. Dead silence echoed throughout the house, the only audible sounds you could here were made out from your cautious steps and quickened breath. You swept your eyes over the windows and entrances to the rooms and sadly noticed zero traces of salt. Despite the vast first floor, you headed upstairs, straight to the first floor. Deep down you wanted to be wrong, deep down you wanted to find a dead rat on the bedroom floor, rotten from decomposition. As you climbed the stairs, you hoped to find scattered clothes, remnants of hastily packed suitcases for a last-minute vacation. You hoped to find a rotten dinner left behind in a hurry. You opened the door to the master bedroom and for a faint moment, you felt relief which immediately disappeared replaced by dreaded sorrow. Two plates of rotten half-eaten dinner stood on a table in the corner of the room, above them hung a swarm of flies tired of feeding on the decaying bodies. They were lying on the bed, like two lovers taken too early by Death. It could have been a beautiful sight if it hadn't been distorted by the man's ripped open chest and the woman's headless corpse. You did not tremble, it was not the first time in your life that you had seen massacred human bodies. You walked a few steps to get a closer look at their bodies. Her head was torn off not severed, you analyzed, his heart was missing from his open rotting cage. Everything around them was drenched in stagnant blood, the bed, the floor, the beige wall behind the bed, everything tainted with unimaginable violence. "They were murdered in their sleep," you thought to yourself as you moved away from the bodies. As if this thought could bring any comfort to them as if it could bring comfort to you.

You walked a few heavy steps through the hallway and opened the door to the second bedroom. Once again hope crept into your heart when your eyes saw a wide-open window with a curtain blowing in the wind. As swiftly as it appeared, so quickly did it disappear. The body of a young girl lay lifelessly on the bed with her head leaning against the wall. Her mother's head rested on her legs, "she must have been cradling it before she died". Her father's heart lay on the bed next to her, it had fallen out of her dead hand. Both her hands were marked with deep long cuts, cuts of grief and despair, cuts through which her life flowed out.

"You stupid stupid girl!" you exhaled out loud, "Why couldn't you wait for me?! Why couldn't you do what I told you to do?!" and then you realized…almost three weeks had passed. Three long weeks during which this poor girl was tormented by a demon, three long weeks waiting for your help which never came.

***

Under the cover of the night, you sped down the highway with one hand clenched tightly on the steering wheel and the other alternating between grabbing a cigarette or coffee. "I should have been there, I should have helped them…" the thoughts were boiling in your head. You knew that the image of the girl holding her own mother's head on her lap was forever imprinted in your memory. An image of the purest despair, the despair you brought. "If I had been there, I should have helped them first…fuck…I should have helped them first." Exhaustion had completely left you, according to your body you hadn't slept in almost 48 hours, and you could no longer assess for yourself whether it was adrenaline that kept you awake or perhaps a newly awakened power, a power you had felt all the time since you returned from Hell, like burning embers flowing through your veins, lightning storms inside your body, igniting your senses. "I should have been there…I failed them…"

You rushed through the night and only the thought of your friend broke through the recurring images of despair. You barely noticed the cars passing by, you barely noticed the changing signs and cities. You couldn't notice the huddled man walking by the side of the road, you couldn't notice the glowing red ruby light coming out of his clenched hand. You couldn't notice Morpheus's loss which you passed in the blink of an eye, overwhelmed by overpowering despair and anger.

"I failed…"

***

~~In the Dreaming~~

"Is something the matter My Lord?" Lucienne asked upon seeing Morpheus seating in silence. "You seemed troubled."

"I am," he replied with a stern quiet voice, "I had found my ruby. It no longer recognizes its source. Someone altered it."

"What will you now?"

"I have my helm, I can see the ruby even as week speak, I must retrieve it. My tools were not meant to be wielded by mortals."

"My Lord, you just got back from Hell, " she sounded concerned, "you hadn't had a moment of rest since you had freed yourself. Perhaps just this once you could ask one of your siblings for help." she suggested, "Destiny would certainly know where your tools are, or Desire..." she attempted to persuade him.

"My siblings have their own realms to attend to, I have mine," he interjected, "We do not interfere with each other affairs."

"You may not," she argued gently, "but they've certainly been known to."

Morpheus only averted his eyes back to the floor. After all, it wasn't only the ruby that troubled him at that moment.

"Perhaps just this once you could tell them what happened to you," Lucienne insisted, she cared deeply for him and wanted to help. She could not bear the sight of him in such a state.

"I am quite sure they know what happened to me," he replied and she could clearly hear sadness and disappointment in his husky voice, "and not one of them came to my aid."

Lucienne lowered her head sadly and gazed at the floor herself. She knew that Morpheus was right, she knew that everyone had abandoned him, had allowed him to be imprisoned for over a hundred years. But still, he was not alone. There was someone who did not hesitate for a single moment to help him.

"What about the Witch?" she asked quietly, "If Dreamstone was altered by magic perhaps she could help you to restore it?" she continued carefully upon seeing Morpheus's gaze.

"I cannot ask that of her," he replied yet she could hear brief hesitation in his voice, noticeable only by someone who had spent millennia by his side.

"My Lord, she walked into Hell with you..."

"No." he cut her off, "I must do this myself."

***

The doors of deep green color opened wide before you had a chance to knock at them. A worried woman's face appeared to your eyes and smiled at you.

"My child..." she reached out her hands to embrace you, "you look like you've returned from Hell." tears sparkled in her brown eyes.

You embraced her, like a daughter who hugs her mother. That's what Missouri was to you, a mother, the only one you had left.

"You have no idea," you smiled weakly through tears.

"Oh I do!" she gently smacked you on a side of your head and you frowned like a scolded child, "What were you thinking! Going to Hell with one of the Endless?!"

"How do you..." you began asking with a surprised face.

"My dear, you might be a Witch, but I am a Psychic here! The thoughts in your head...I don't have to read them, they flow!"

"I'm sorry..."

"And you damn should be!" she scolded you again, "Well come on in! Don't just stand there like a sad cat in the rain! First, you eat, then you sleep, and then we will talk! And don't you even think about that bottle of whisky that you have in your bag!"

"No sleep,"

"We'll see about that."

Part ten: Raging storm

~~***~~

Authors note: It's getting dark in here. But to me, it has to be dark. Dark fantasy with horror elements, where hopes and dreams are crushed against violence and nightmares. It cannot be always hand-holding and deep gazes. Even though I love it as much as you do, there has to be consequences. After all, even the brightest light would not be welcomed if it wouldn’t be because of the darkness. I hope you will stick for a ride ahead. As always, Dear Reader, thank you for reading :)

~~***~~

Tag list: @mycrazyfandom @unavoidabledirewolf @calicoevening72 @mata0-0mata @uzumaki-mj @thegreatestsandwich @parabatai-winchester @munsonmunster @consistentreader578 @jupiterclipse @fangirlmary @clown-princesa @witchxlove @galaxypox @dilfsandtherapy @hjalmarofrivia @kc-265 @midnxghtblue @sallysal9 @0shippingtrashaway0 @lu123sworld @world-of-idea @octo-octopie @asmallhobbitruinedmylifebitruinedmylife @starsleeping-m @xxbeckybeexx-blogxx-blog @jesllianaquilesrolon @dollfaceyourfearourfear @shaewithyou @heavenmaycare @moon-enthusiasthusiast @home-of-disaster @xmxrfx @sara345ss @missnightingale1971 @lilfoxyqueensworld@fate-huntress @bionic-donut @kaifloof @panic100 @mischiefmanaged71 @beakami @mm2305 @redbircl @floatingintheupsidedown

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman #Morpheus imagines #the sandman imagine #Morpheus x you #Morpheus fanfiction #Morpheus fic

[mageofseven]

When Heat Cools: A MephistoMC Love Story

Chapter 8

Taglist: @astroseuss @fcxyviixen @jar-of-moondust @marvelous-maniac @ghost-mint @darkflowerav @missloserqueen

"I know you are going through a lot, my friend."

Mephisto shook his head.

"It's MC who is going through a lot; in comparison, I am simply along for the ride."

"Still, you are undoubtedly stressed."

The nobleman gave a small nod.

"However," Dia continued. "I would still appreciate it if you would answer a certain question of mine."

Just when Mephisto thought he feeling his worst, the prince's words made his body tense.

Somehow, he could just sense he wasn't going to like this question of his.

"What is it, my lord?"

Dia pursed his lips.

"Is...your leg getting worse or has MC simply helped you put less focus on your act?"

Mephisto freezed. He knows?? Has he truly made it that obvious? The nobleman knows he was stumbling earlier but surely that was not enough for his old friend to know his secret?

"This is not some new discovery for me, I assure you." The prince explained, knowing well what his friend must be thinking. "I...In truth, I've known since we were barely adolescents, back when you first received your cane. You always put so much effort into concealing your leg issue so I did my best to respect your feelings and hoped you would confide in me about it some day."

Mephisto was physically about thirteen when he had to start using his cane. Diavolo has literally known about his disability for hundreds of years and never spoke about a word about it simply because he could see how hard his friend was trying to hide it and wanted the other boy to confide in him about it instead of prying into what was obviously a sensitive issue.

That never happened though and here the two men are, hundreds of years later, finally addressing it.

The nobleman turned away from the prince.

"My lord, I'd rather not talk about this."

"You have always been so protective when it comes to others knowing about your leg's weakness." Dia frowned, worried. "What is it about your injury that that makes you so determined to hide it?"

Some would probably think it was a pride issue, but that couldn't be further from the truth. With the way Mephisto acts now of days, such a theory would be believable, but this has truly gone on since they were young, since before Mephisto adopted such an attitude.

Diavolo knew his old friend, knew that their must be an important reason why he did not want others knowing about his disability.

The nobleman's heart was pounding in his chest.

"Forgive me, but I have already said that I will not speak of it." He repeated.

This was a topic that no one could know, that Mephisto himself must take to his grave. Even in their closer days, he could not tell his friend about the incident and nothing has changed since then.

The prince released a sigh.

"I suppose some aspects of you still have not changed." He gave a sad smile. "Will you at least let me know if I or Barbatos can do anything to help?"

The nobleman shook his head.

"Nothing can help it, but I do appreciate the thought, my lord."

Dia stared at his old friend in worry. There really wasn't much in his life that the prince could help with, was there?

Eventually, MC was done with her medicinal bath and was ready to go home. The phantom cold was now gone, but the poor woman was now left mentally exhausted.

The tired human even fell asleep with her head in her boyfriend's lap on the way back to House of Lamentation. She slept hard and poor Mephisto couldn't wake her up.

Luckily, Beel had just come home from somewhere (Mep got so lucky it was a kind brother who showed up lol) and had the big guy take his sweet corazón inside to her room.

Of course, Beely did it without a fuss and was very gentle with the sleeping human.

...Okay, so one of the brothers is alright, he has decided. The Avatar of Gluttony has unknowingly passed a test even Mephisto didn't realize he made.

It only took two days after that for Diavolo's message hit Mephisto's parents and hit them hard. Whatever form it took, the son was unsure, but his parents knew it was his doing.

His mother slapped him across the face with enough force to make him stumble back.

"I raised you better than this!" His mother shrieked. "Do you even know what you've done? Do you have a single brain cell that thick head of yours?"

Mephisto steadied himself and avoided his mother's gaze. Yes, by doing this he betrayed his family, something that was he was taught to be incredibly taboo.

He did it to protect MC therefore he did not regret it--however, that didn't mean it didn't hurt to do so. His loyalty towards his family has always been a defining pillar of who this man was as a person; one he was willing to feel the pain of cracking it for the sake of his corazón and children though.

His father step between the two of them--not out of protection, but to take hold of the situation.

"Listen, we need to remedy this situation and quickly." The older man spoke coolly. "I need you to bring your human pet in to--"

"MC is coming no where near here." Mephisto raised his head and met his father's matching green eyes.

"You--"

The husband simply raised his hand towards his wife.

"Lamia, you wanted me to handle this so I'm handling it." He scolded her before looking back to his son. "Your prince has already made it very clear the lives of that human and her child are off limits; you have turned our threat idle."

"Then what to do you want with her?"

"For the time being? A conversation, one that you shall be present for too." The older man explained. "The rest will be explained then."

Mephisto went silent.

"I expect you both in this house tomorrow afternoon. I will have the butler give you the details in the morning."

And with that, his parents left him standing there, fists at his sides.

What the hell are they planning? And worse, what do they have planned if he doesn't comply?

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me mc #obey me mephistopheles #obey me mephistopheles x mc #obey me mephisto x mc #mephistopheles x mc #obey me diavolo

[mins-fins]

INTRODUCING sogno ⤷ meaning "dream".

──── ⭒ WITH A DESTINY that seems to be written by the stars, these seven friends, or, as they are often referred to as, the dreamies are exactly what the name entails, boys with dreams that seem to extend for miles. i mean— it doesn't get any simpler than that. dreams are a very important part of life, some of them should never cross into reality, though. besides that, these seven seem to going on about their normal, debt full, uni student lives, it's no surprise that they aren't exactly expecting to be crossing paths with a team of agents, and becoming much closer to those team of agents than they ever thought.

mark. known for being naturally good at everything he tries and usually saying things without thinking, pretty boy mark lee just seems to be everywhere. whether it's being an avid member of the dance team, playing basketball on the team he isn't even apart of, working part time as a dance instructor for young kids, or rejecting advances from crazy admirers, he just always has his hands full. though his entertainment and broadcasting studies seem to stress him out, he always has time for new hobbies!

renjun. with a smile that could seemingly cure all world issues and a voice sent down from the heavens, angel face huang renjun seems to be the dream boy. he's beautiful, good at singing, tells great jokes (occasionally), and is simply too convincing to deny. he never gets why so many people rally around him, somehow oblivious to the obvious beauty he displays, maybe he's much too busy with his music technology studies, or maybe he's being clueless on purpose, we shall never know.

jeno. class crush lee jeno seems to only have two interests, his major and running away from a certain na who won't stop dragging him into crazy shenanigans. he loves his friends, really, but sometimes they're all a little too much for him, he constantly has to get them out of crazy shut they do, at least once a week he has to make sure one of them doesn't get themselves punched in the face. he is also much too busy rejecting advances from admirers, but a lot of them think he's dating one of his friends already, so it doesn't matter anyway.

haechan. star student lee donghyuck is an interesting character, though admired by everyone he can be cold and intimidating on some occasions. he's smart, and he knows it. he has no problem putting people in their place for absolutely no reason, his usual sarcastic humor might scare people away sometimes, but he genuinely has good intentions! (unless it comes to renjun, he's gonna terrorize him till the day he dies). no one knows how he can be such a gifted scholar, vocalist, dancer, AND so beautiful all in one go! what are his secrets? we shall never know.

jaemin. campus celebrity na jaemin always seems to be moving, where exactly is he going? who is he running from? we shall never know! with a knack for pretty much every sport and annoying jeno as if he's getting paid for it, he's just constantly energetic. he always finds himself landing in not-so-pleasing situations, but it's not because he's troubled, he's just naturally adventurous! he is genuinely just curious about everything, somehow he hasn't gotten punched in the face yet, all thanks to the lovely lee jeno.

chenle. anybody who attends this titular university can tell you that zhong chenle does not play. he can usually be seen yelling, rolling his eyes, or giggling at stupid things jaemin does. he's definitely spontaneous, one moment he's absolutely pissed off and the next he's absolutely dying because of a mediocre joke one of his friends made. many people ask; "does he even study?", "does he even go to school?", and the answer is, we truly have no idea! he might be a ghost or something..

jisung. local iron man fan and dance enthusiast park jisung always seems to have heads turning even when he isn't doing anything profoundly interesting. in his words, he will never understand what makes him so attractive (he and renjun share that i guess..), in his own eyes, he just goes on doing his thing! he often finds himself getting dragged into shit by chenle, but he's often just a silent bystander, he's truly a goody two shoes by heart.

previous masterlist next

#[ 🎬 ] SIGNED AGENT ZERO ! #nct dream #nct dream au #nct dream x oc #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream series #mark lee #huang renjun #lee jeno #lee donghyuck #na jaemin #zhong chenle #park jisung #original characters #male oc #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

[gaytotaldrama]

duncney week day 5: movie scene

court is elizabeth swann. dunc is will turner. 'nuff said.

duncney song of the day: 'hounds of love,' kate bush

also on my ao3!

There was a time when Courtney Reyes was afraid of the ocean.

Ironic, for the daughter of the governor of an island port, but her mother had been lost at sea when Courtney was only seven. The thought of the mammoth waves, the unfathomable deep, the vicious pirates - it all terrified her. When she was forced to travel by ship, she would cling to the rigging for dear life, knuckles whitening even in the calmest of waters. Her father would look on and sigh, but what could he do?

At thirteen, Courtney wised up. With a good slap or two to the face and a very stern talking to herself, her fear of the water vanished practically overnight. If anything, she now yearned to explore the ocean, sail around it with a ship and a crew of her own.

But young ladies weren't pirates. They couldn't even be sea captains. Courtney would marry a rich man - most likely, Captain Justin - and birth him many, many children. And that would be that, she knew, as she'd known all her life.

Until she found the boy in the water, and the golden chain around his neck, and the secrets that came with it. Until they hauled a nearly-drowned Duncan Russo aboard their ship, and his blue eyes flew open with a gasp and a cough, and Courtney grasped his hand, tightly, and told him he was safe now, and the ink-dark ghost of the dreaded Black Pearl sailed away as softly as a whisper.

Silent as a shadow.

It's her wedding day today.

She is anything but happy about it.

After finally getting to sail the high seas (though mostly at swordpoint from a group of undead pirates) and have a crew of her own, after surviving the Ship of Hell and her first sea battle and being marooned on a rum-soaked island with the most infuriating buccaneer known to history, it had all slipped away from her. She'd had it, and then she'd lost it, back to the port life, back to the corsets and parasols and upstanding Commodores. The only reason Duncan isn't being hanged for piracy is because Courtney had literally begged on her hands and knees for her father to show mercy to the man who'd saved her life more times than she could count.

And today, she is marrying the Commodore. Who - supposedly - loves her. For her eyes. For her smile. The freckles on the bridge of her nose.

All Courtney sees when she looks in her mirror is the face of a coward, pale and peaky and unhappy.

"That Commodore Justin is simply gorgeous," gushes her maid Sadie as she pulls the laces on Courtney's corset tighter than a vice. "Pardon my saying so, ma'am, but I wish I were the one marrying him!"

Courtney smiles, forces a laugh. Inside, she's thinking, Me too.

An outdoor wedding - damn the Caribbean climate, dictating every ceremony be performed outside. It's humid. She's already begun to sweat beneath her underarms. But, she supposes, a chapel would be far too stuffy.

She keeps imagining that he'll come for her. Leave the blacksmithing behind and sweep her off her feet at the last moment, commandeer a ship and sail them out of here. But the guards will be on the lookout for him, Courtney knows. She may have spared him from death, but his offenses (of which there are many) have not been overlooked. 

Her father beams proudly, offering his arm. The music plays. At the end of the courtyard, there he stands, skin perfect, medals gleaming on his chest. The walk down the aisle isn't short, but it feels even longer now, slow-going like she's being led through molasses. Anything, Courtney prays, as the eyes of every nobleman and lady on the island follow her queasy bridal procession. A hurricane, cannon-fire, the return of the skeletal crew of the Black Pearl, so long as it will save me from a housewife's existence.

It's almost like she blinks, and she's there, up at the altar, the Commodore lifting her veil to smile his too-even smile at her. The priest is beginning the ceremony, but Courtney can't hear a word. She's trapped, frozen in time. Somewhere nearby, she thinks she hears a parrot's squawk.

"Ms. Reyes?"

Oh, God, Justin's already said his vows and now it's my turn. "Yes, Father. Sorry, Father."

"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, under the eyes of the Lord in Heaven, faithful and true so long as you both shall live?"

Courtney swallows. This is it, then. "I - I d - "

Then, quite a few things happen all at once. The parrot swoops down and flaps its wings in the priest's face, causing the old man to splutter and flail. The shouts of soldiers sound from the parapets, confused and alarmed. Someone, somewhere in the crowd, screams bloody murder. And from out of nowhere, a man appears, wrenches Courtney behind him, and draws his sword. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt the ceremony," says Duncan, brandishing his weapon. "But I can't let this go on."

"Cutting it kind of close, don't you think?" Courtney mutters, but God, she's never felt more relieved.

"What - What is - " Justin pulls his own sword from his belt, waving it about foppishly. "You keep away from my wife, Russo!"

"She's not your wife yet." Duncan glances over his shoulder at her, blue eyes sparkling. "Princess? What do you say?"

Courtney straightens her spine. She looks to her father. To the sea of faces in front of her. To the Commodore.

Finally, she looks toward the back, where the parrot lights on DJ's shoulder, the rest of the crew standing ready behind him.

"Commodore Justin," she says, loudly, so everyone can hear. "You have been...You have been good to me."

She steps forward, slipping her hand into Duncan's. "But I won't deny myself my happiness any longer."

"You - !" Justin fumes. "You can't be serious! With a respectable man, I would understand, but him? He's nothing but a bloody blacksmith!"

"No," Courtney says, and she looks at him. "He's a pirate."

"Governor Reyes, do something!" Justin demands. Courtney's father blanches, clears his throat. And asks,

"So...This is where your heart truly lies?"

She holds her chin high. "Yes."

"Then..." Her father swallows, lips twisted in a cross between a grimace and a smile. "Then I suppose I give you my blessing."

"Governor - "

"I won't hear another word, Commodore," he says, and Courtney's chest soars.

She turns to the man beside her. "What's your plan of action, then?"

Duncan grins. Jerks his head in the direction of the harbor. "What do you think, Princess?"

"How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that?" she asks, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"Once more, darling," he tells her, that same look in his eyes from way back when, when he'd awoken to Courtney standing above him on the deck. "One more time."

She kisses him, instead, irritated and wanting, for the first time in almost a decade of knowing one another. As his arms wrap around her and he lifts her into the air, she tastes the sea.

#duncney week 2023 #duncney #td fanfiction #my writing

[realityandrebirth]

Summary: Morro encounters a ghost with the power of a djinn.

Warnings: …none, probably? Morro goes through some pain ig.

@morrotober

Morrotober: Day Eight

Morro was thrown to the ground with not even a greeting. "Ow!" He rolled on his back. "What the hell, Nya!"

The woman slammed her boot on his chest. "My name is Delara," she said while Morro squirmed to free himself. "You would do well to remember that."

Once he had calmed own enough to think, Morro tried to put together what had happened. The woman was clearly Nya, wearing the same clothes he had just seen Nya in earlier, except that she had a different voice and was claiming to be someone else. Another ghost, he thought to himself. If the ninja hadn't insisted on putting him in vengestone cuffs, he might have had a chance of fighting her, but when did he have any luck?

"Sure," he said. "I don't think the ninja are going to take kindly to another ghost possessing another one of their friends."

Delara scoffed. "I am simply reclaiming what should have been mine from the beginning," she said.

"I did that, too. Didn't work out."

She smiled. "Your name is Morro, correct? First student of Master Wu, a general of the Cursed Realm… my, she doesn't have nice things to think about you."

"No shit," said Morro. "What do you want?"

"Dear Morro, what do you want?"

"Excuse me?"

Delara stepped off him and watched him get to his feet. "You are an ambitious young man," she said, "and you want for a life you never got to have. With the power of a djinn, I can grant your heart's desire."

Morro glared at her. "You're not serious," he said. "You're just a ghost, bound by the same laws I am."

"And you could break those laws, should you wish it so. What will it be?"

Morro rolled his eyes. "Sure, I'll play your game. How do I wish for something?"

Delara laughed and held out her hand. "Come with me, Master of Wind."

He only hesitated for a moment before he went with her.

--

"This is a teapot," Morro said. "You're telling me a teapot can grant wishes? Maybe that would explain Wu's whole deal, but–"

"Inside this teapot is a djinn prince," Delara said, holding the gold item close to her body. "He is the source of my power, and he is who will grant your wishes."

Outside the wooden hut, the waves crashed against the ruins of Stiix. Morro grimaced. "Sure, whatever," he said. "How many wishes do I get?"

Delara smiled. "Three. There are rules, of course. You may not wish for more wishes, you may not wish for death, and you may not wish for love."

He tilted his head. "I cannot wish for death. Can I wish for life?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Do you, Morro?"

Morro knew better than to trust a ghost or a djinn, and especially not a ghost with the power of a djinn–but if Delara had the power to bring him back to life, then he would be a fool to pass up that chance.

"Then I wish to be my own, healthy, living self."

Each word was chosen carefully. His own self, so the wish couldn't stick him in someone else's body and claim it fulfilled his desire. Healthy, so he wouldn't be resurrected and immediately succumb to the same poison that killed him before. And, of course, alive, with the ability to grow up and have a future and everything else he never got to have.

"Your wish is yours to keep," Delara said.

Morro thought he was pretty damn clever until the pain hit.

He gasped, a sensation he had forgotten, and doubled over, wrapping his arms around his newly-corporeal body. "Stop!" he shouted. "This isn't what I wished for!"

"Oh, I'm sorry,," Delara said. "Did you not know? It is very, very painful to return to life. She crouched down next to him. "I could make it stop, though. Do you wish it away?"

Morro clenched his teeth hard. Stupid, stupid boy. He had been tricked again, like he should have known would happen. "Fuck you," he gasped. "I wish you would get out and stay out of Nya's body."

Delara's face fell into a scowl. "Very well," she said–and Nya's body toppled over, unconscious, while Delara got to her feet as a ghost.

Morro would have checked on her, but he already knew Nya didn't like him, and the pain worsened by the moment. He could feel every vein growing anew, every organ, every molecule, and it hurt. It took all his strength not to scream.

"You have one more wish, Morro," Delara said. "You never have to be hurt again, if that is your desire. What do you wish for?"

Dammit, he had been through worse than this. The cave, the Cursed Realm, the sea–Morro could barely move, but he reached for the communicator on Nya's wrist.

Delara stomped on his hand and he could no longer stay silent. "Foolish child," she said while Morro howled in pain. "The girl cares not for you. Do you think you will be welcomed back to your master with open arms? Wish it away, and you never have to face your failure again."

He couldn't endure it. "I wish," he said, hot tears pouring down his cheeks, "I wish–"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because the door was kicked in. "What the hell?" Ronin said, pointing a water gun at Delara. "Nya? Morro? Holy shit–"

Delara glared down at him. "Another time," she said, and fled. She phased through the wall and vanished before Ronin could shoot water at her.

Nya woke when Ronin roused her. Morro managed to calm down enough to weep silently, trembling in pain. He barely noticed when the rest of the ninja arrived, barely understood Wu's attempts to soothe him–scalding hot tea was pressed to his lips, and as he drank it, his senses dulled until the world, mercifully, went dark.

#morrotober #morrotober2022 #wojira duo #ninjago morro #ninjago nya #ninjago delara #lego ninjago #ninjago #delara ninjago #morro ninjago #nya ninjago

[dantheserialkillerman]

Can you please make Dan X male reader who keeps being abused by his own family for being "weak"?

Sure! I did take some liberties in the prompt (as I usually do ngl). This is more of a basic premise, and introducing of characters. However, I hope this fulfills your Danny needs ;))

Dan Hiroki x M!English Reader

TW: mentions of suicide and abuse

Everyone has or claims to have a first memory. Maybe it’s being placed in a pram, falling out of a pram, or being pushed around in a pram. Perhaps it is something nonsensical you’ve convinced yourself was a past life, like running on a battlefield and being shot in the head. It could be a smell, taste, or a feeling. Yet, for you, it was none of these things. Your first memory was only a single word. Weak.

You were the firstborn son of a noble family who still owned an estate. Your father came from old money and was a well-regarded businessman who dabbled in the stock market. Your mother was a former television actress. A mary-go-round of nannies and butlers raised you.

Your mother wandered the corridors like a ghost, passing through doors aimlessly and seemingly avoiding you at all cost. A doctor would come in occasionally, and a maid would bring you in to say hello. The last time you saw her was a rainy Monday afternoon, the raindrops incessantly tapping against the windowsill in an uneven tune. She hugged you for the first time in months, claimed she would be going away soon, and wished she could miss you.

Your mother killed herself the next day.

You were young enough not to understand what it truly meant to die but not young enough that you wouldn’t remember her. You had thought of her passing like a cassette tape, and even if you didn’t like the ending, you could simply ask a maid to rewind it to the part before everything went awry. But she couldn’t, and your father didn’t seem to care one way or the next.

A month passed, and he quickly remarried your latest nanny—a pretty young twenty-something who had just graduated from college.

At first, she was sweet, if not overbearing, but when you had refused to call her mother, she had quickly changed.

The abuse started small. Snarky remarks about how you were little for your age. How helpless and pitiful you looked. How you didn’t compare to your father, and maybe he should get a test to ensure legitimacy. Then it exalted to the occasional slap and pretending you didn’t exist. You become a nobody within your own home.

When you turned thirteen, you were one of the only children happy to be told they were attending boarding school. During the summer before you left, you had packed your bag on the first day of June and silently stared at the suitcase during those hot nights, reminding yourself you would be freed soon.

Despite your stepmother’s claims that you were a failure, the academy was a rebirth. You became a house captain and were an active member of the rowing team. A star pupil. The poster boy of “What to be and how to be it.” Your teachers adored you. The students looked up to you and regarded you as someone worth your name. You were not that broken-down actor forced to play the role of the leftover child. You were someone better. Someone not weak. Someone worth being alive.

Yet, you always dreaded the rolling in of summer when you were forced to leave the tall ivy walls and the midnight study sessions in the library. Your father was conveniently always away on business.

You would try to hide in your room during most of your visits, but your stepmother would always corner you, the servants turning a blind eye in fear. She would whisper, “Y/N, your father tells me your mother killed herself because of you. She couldn’t stand having such a weak, pathetic child. A parasite. Even the rope that bitch hung herself with was stronger than you.”

Sometimes, the servants would find you during the early hours, as the sun forced its way upon the red sky, staring at the giant oak tree that haunted the estate. You would grip the branches and hang there like your mother did years ago, seeing how much strength it took to snap a branch. The wood would sink into your skin, and over time scars developed upon your palms. It took an entire night for anyone to notice her dead, and one day you would also try to hang from that tree for the same amount of time. You would not be weak.

Year 10 was when everything changed. You were fifteen, studying for your A levels in preparation for Cambridge when you saw him.

A Japanese boy was sprawled across the grass with no shoes and a dirty rumpled uniform. In his right hand, he held a novel called The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty. His left pushed back black hair that continuously fell into his lovely face. What he was doing was unrefined, improper, and completely captivating. He looked like wildness contained and modelled into flesh, barely attached to the world, with only the pages of his book saving him from drifting away.

A professor had caught you gaping, and in humiliation, you quickly left before anyone else could notice.

You remained restless with the thought of him. That was until you were summoned to the headmaster’s office the next day.

All that glitters is not gold, and all that shines is not divine. No, it can be something much more valuable and rare, like the dark rhodium of the wild boy’s eyes watching you as you entered the meeting.

You learned he was named Dan Hiroki, a transfer student who was only here for a couple of months and the son of a high-ranking politician in Toyko, apparently sent away after some unknown scandal until everything calmed down.

“Y/N, you took Japanse for langues, didn’t you?” The headmaster asked you.

“I have rudimentary understanding, sir.”

“But enough to get by?”

“I could hold a conversation if needed.”

He smiled and adjusted his glasses, “Good lad, as head boy, I would like you to help Mr. Hiroki feel welcomed to our campus. Show him some English spirit. Sound good?”

You looked to Dan, his eyes pinning you down and your hands sweating. You would not be weak.

“I would be honoured.”

Dan smiled softly, and for the first time, you heard his voice. “I look forward to getting to know you, Y/N.”

As if being plunged into a pool of dark water, ready to drown at any minute, you couldn’t help but sink. Maybe your family was right. Perhaps you were pathetic. But it wasn’t until summer you would learn the price you would pay for any good deed.

#hiroki dan #brutal: confessions of a homicide investigator #brutal manga #sorry I have been away #exams are killing me #brutal: satsujin kansatsukan no kokuhaku #manga #horror #brutal hiroki dan #brutal: hiroki dan #hiroki dan x reader #x male reader #dan hiroki x reader #dark acadamia aesthetic #dark academia #England #English gothic #gothic #TW: sucide and abuse #x reader #fanfic #brutal satsujin kansatsukan no kokuhaku

[freedomarrow]

Succession [drabble]

There was a time when the banner of Daein fluttered in the winds, carried both by the harsh, unforgiving gales that called his homeland their own, and the proud wings of Daein’s Dracoknights as they looked to the horizon from on high, while the cavalry and infantry below marched in perfect synchronization and harmony — ready for battle, for glory, for victory and death, all in service of their country.

Leonardo only ever saw it once; when he was nine, his father took him to show him his destiny. He was a noble, after all — one obligated and expected to give it his all for the good of the motherland, and he was being prepared for this role since his earliest days. He saw it all… The flags and banners, carrying the name and pride of his country. The black armor on every knight, glistening in the sun. The swords and spears prepared, sharpened, polished, ready to fight for that which must be defended. The majestic wyverns, floating in the air above him, as though the wind itself, too, was at Daein’s command. Father’s horse, Goldmane, with whom he loved to play and with whom he learned to ride already as a little boy, dressed in the beautiful garments befitting the mount of His Majesty’s handpicked paladin.

Only once did he have a chance to witness it, but on an impressionable boy, aware that this was his future, it left a mark never to be forgotten.

Four years later, the Mad King summoned his army to war. A year still passed and it was gone.

Scattered on the winds, lost in the fields of Crimea’s righteous blades as they protected the freedom they deserved. Lost in the name of, as he would later learn, nothing, for they and their valiance were used in the name of madness and greed, little more. Swords broken, shields shattered, his father and Goldmane, too, lost on some battlefield or other, no longer important and relevant to anyone. It was as though they never mattered to begin with.

History would only ever remember them as villains, invaders, those who trampled upon the rights of others. Yes, they too left behind grieving wives, orphaned children and a shattered nation — but those do not matter, do they. Who cares about the bad guys, after all. And it was a reality that Leonardo found he had simply resigned himself to.

It is not as though he ever expected or demanded apologies, sympathy and compassion from others, but perhaps somewhere deep down, it hurt to know that he did not even have the right. He never allowed himself to think even that much, though. It was not until after the Dawn Brigade became a cornerstone of the newly reborn Daein army and he truly began to reclaim the value of his life that he forgot existed, that he finally began to let his thoughts give voice to his grievances and frustrations — and questions on what comes next, now that he knows the “next” will, indeed, have a chance to happen.

What is the point of glory if it only brings ruin? What is the point of reaching for the skies if it only leads you to crash to the ground?

Today, a decorative dagger with the family crest on its hilt rests in a drawer in his dorm room, seen by few, but never forgotten. It is the main keepsake he still owns - Leonardo has preserved little else of his past life. Family riches and belongings were, naturally, stolen by the Begnion army, and though some of it — as well as the family mansion — was regained via reparations, he donated a lot of the former to the Daein army reconstruction effort and the latter… is still a little difficult to think about. Perhaps he will sell it and settle down elsewhere, where ghosts of the past will not plague his thoughts. Or maybe he will eventually find it in him to return to them like a good son, a good brother, a good young master.

When he is certain no one would come to visit or bother him, he will sometimes take the dagger out of the drawer and simply look at it for a while in silence, wishing his father would answer his questions. His fingers will gently rub against the high quality silver blade, and he will close his eyes and listen, hoping to hear his voice, heed his advice — only to then realize that he was deluding himself, and whatever words he heard were actually his own.

In the end, however, he had no right to expect anything else. Many perished, young and old alike,

but it is especially many of the former who remain. The nobility, experience, tradition, foundations — all of that, first and foremost, was swept away during those years of tragedy. (And it makes sense, from the war point of view. That, too, is how you kill a nation.) 

(This is what they deserved.)

(Is this what they deserved?)

What remains are those who had seen either too many winters to be called to arms, or too few — provided they made it through said winters to begin with, which especially during the occupation was not a given — and who escaped the work camps, the fate of collateral damage, and the malice of a bored enemy soldier to whom the people of Daein were equal to livestock. As well as a couple lucky people like himself, who fought and made it out. It is their task, now — these children, ready or not, are the people who will shape Daein’s future.

The thought that this is up to the likes of him is sobering and terrifying — and refreshing, too, in a way. They get to decide, now. They can choose what they do, how they fight and who they hate.

Today, he studies and trains for the future in a foreign land far away from home, a land where the fields were not burned, schools were not destroyed, and a place where the less fortunate can come to still continue hoping for a future. Fate saw it fit to place him here and fill his new world with adventures, missions and new companions; one of whom happens to be a gentle, serene mare, reminiscent of the one that accompanied his happiest days - the main difference being the moonlit color of her mane and tail, rather than the suntouched tone that Goldmane sported. In her honor, Leonardo named his new friend Silvermane.

She was somewhat neglected and not in the best of conditions when he first brought her to the monastery. Small wonder, what with her having been wrestled from the hands of brigands, who cared nothing about her health and well-being and treated her as little more than another trophy. When no owner came forward, Leonardo volunteered to take care of her, having sensed the first thread of connection forming between him and the horse from the start. He has taken care of her ever since — feeding her properly once again, turning her shaggy coat beautiful and glistening, and healing her emotional wounds that she could not speak of, but sustained nevertheless. He restored her glory and pride by reminding her that she matters, and made it so that she once again walked with her head held high.

And yet, for a long time, he failed to realize just why and how it was so important for him as well, until Silvermane himself explained to him in her own, wordless way, that she was not the only one being healed through this process. For it was when she first placed her forehead against his chest in a silent request for an embrace, that he made the realization — 

he looked in her eyes, and he saw himself, with his father and brother standing behind him, their hands on his shoulders, smiling with pride and faith.

And today, months later, it is as he sits atop her back, with Lughnasadh in one hand and the reins in the other, that he finds himself looking up to the sky while the gentle wind of Fódlan’s plains ruffles his hair, and he smiles lightly.

I will keep going, always and forever, and so will Daein along with me.

———

Leonardo has mastered: Bow Knight.

#【 i have my orders ⁎ ic 】 #【 i am no stranger to loneliness ⁎ drabble 】 #((yes I know Bow Knight does not require a drabble but I still wanted to ramble about it)) #((because I HC that his father and brother were Bow Paladins who perished in Ashnard's final battle)) #((so Leonardo has some Feelings here)) #((anyway wahoo enjoy whatever this is))

[channajen]

Chapter 5 is Live!

Chapter 5 of “Batman, Meet Team Phantom” is LIVE on a03!

Chapter one is HERE; Series Link is HERE; Story One is HERE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: In which Batman and Jasmine have a long talk, and Batman discovers quite a bit of information that he did not previously know about Amity Park, ghosts, and about certain people's feelings...

Teaser: After briefly outlining the situation to Oracle, Batman decided it was time to talk to Jasmine. He needed more personalized information to add to what he was going to present to the League. He quietly entered into the Medbay, walked over to the corner of the room, and simply took time to watch the two siblings as they slept. Jasmine woke within a minute of his arrival, and almost instantly zeroed in on his location. Bruce raised an eyebrow. These kids must have a highly honed sense of danger to be so hyper-aware of their surroundings. He thought.

Jazz stared at the Bat in the corner for a long moment before acknowledging him with a nod. He mirrored her movement, while walking to her bedside. “Do you think you could spare a few minutes of your time? I am putting a presentation together for the League before we send a retrieval team for the Fenton adults. I would really appreciate your input.”

The young woman’s eyes got hard. “Oh, I have the time, Batman. Just give me a minute to grab my bag. I’ve got something in there for you.”

Curious, the Bat watched the girl move silently around the medical area. Her steps were as quiet as any one of his children’s. Whoever trained her should be proud. He couldn’t help but wonder how she had developed such skills—even in a highly infested town like Amity Park, those types of skills weren’t going to come naturally. Someone had trained her, and done it well. He secretly hoped it hadn’t been Madeline Fenton.

It only took Jazz a couple of minutes to gather the things she thought were important. Batman curiously noted that she held a Bat-communicator in her hand like it was a life-line. He realized with a shock that it was a literal life-line for the girl and her brother. Had Jason not given it to her, Danny would have died long before they made it to Gotham. That realization shook the nearly unflappable Bat. No more children were going to die on his watch if he could prevent it. He motioned for Jasmine to follow him to a consultation room just outside of the main medical bay, where there was a window that would allow her to keep an eye on her brother while they talked. He guessed correctly that it would help put the young woman more at ease and enable her to talk more freely without as much worry...

....The Bat looked at the drive in his hand. “I’m going to give this to the people I trust and see what they can do with the production of the deflectors. They have worked with alien technology, so human tech shouldn’t be that difficult to reproduce.”

Jazz’s chuckle echoed in the room, surprising Bruce. “I don’t know how well experience with ‘alien technology’ will transfer to ‘ecto-technology’, but if they fail, or need guidance, Danny can build everything on that drive.

That took Batman by surprise. “Your brother is a hunted ghost, a protector of an entire town, and an also an engineer?” He had seen the boy’s grades. He knew that they were impacted by ghost fighting, but for him to have engineering skills on-par with or better than his parents was incredible. Although, once Bruce thought about it, the only way the boy could have handled everything he did and stay in school with any kind of passing grades at all would require an extremely high intelligence. It did make sense. Although he did wonder what other secrets the teen carried. The Bat gave a mental shrug and moved on.

“I’ll get clearance for the Red Hood to come to the Watchtower. He can bring up whatever devices and supplies you need.” He didn’t quite expect the blinding smile that lit up Jasmine’s face.

“Jason’s coming?” Batman sighed. “Please keep our civilian names to yourself. Very few people here know our real identities.”

Jazz looked horrified. “Oh no! I am so sorry! Nobody’s listening, are they??”

Bruce sent Jasmine a small smile. “No one listens in on Batman.” He held up a small device on his belt. “An audio scrambler. I keep it on me at all times. You’ll need to be careful to refer to Jason as ‘Hood’ or “Red Hood’ when he is here, though.” The young woman’s face fell. Bruce felt a weird sense of guilt in his gut; it caused him to make an offer he wouldn’t usually make. “I’ll let you two catch up in my office, where you can talk privately. I’ll disable internal sensors and cameras in that section so no one can connect you two in anything other than a ‘professional’ manner.” His lips slipped into a small smirk at the blush on her face.

“That would be…really kind of you, Batman.” Jazz looked down and put her face in her hands. She looked back up after a long moment with a smile on her face. “Thank you, sir.” Her blush was less noticeable, but still there.

***Read the whole chapter on A03***

#danny phantom #batman #jason todd #dp x dc #wayne family adventures #ghost king danny #justice league #jazz fenton #anger management - relationship

[narrators-journal]

How about creepy child Pharos with Minato? Not Ship-wise, more Platonic/Brotherly.

Like theres Minato and then theres Minato’s Creepy Little brother that most think is actually a Demon but Mint loves his Cute baby bro.

This is a tad rough, but I went for a kinda unclear misunderstood kinda 'brother' vibe. So, pharos isn't really his brother, but Minato assumes he is.

After...the crash, Minato Arisato truly only had his little brother in his life. Sure, Pharos was insanely odd, being almost phobic of even the few aunts, uncles, or older cousins who bothered to take them in over the ten years they bounced around homes and wards, but his odd, clingy behavior didn't mean he wasn't the only forms of substantial connection Minato had left. So, the seventeen-year-old wasn't about to abandon him.

Of course, that didn't mean they didn't make for a mismatched pair. Looking to the seat beside him on the train, the midnight-haired teen was reminded of that fact. Because, while Pharos was small for his age in both weight and height, he also had short, inky black hair, permanently pale skin, and impossibly blue eyes. In contrast, Minato's hair was blue, and his eyes were the color of storm clouds instead of the sunny ocean or anything like that.

Maybe we're not brothers? Some part of Minato whispered in the back of his head while he sat in the near-empty car train watching the little boy hum along with the song that played through his half of the headphones. But, the suggestion had the teen shaking his head and chiding himself, Don't be stupid. He's been around since I can remember. What else would he be? With that thought, their train hissed to a halt, so the teen got up and picked up his younger sibling so they didn't get lost on the walk to his new school.

Of course, Pharos wasn't technically supposed to go with him to Goukkuken, he was far too young, but when the seventeen-year-old had left him with one of their aunts, he'd still somehow managed to show up on the train when he'd boarded. So, he decided to smuggle him into the dorms for the night and enroll him in class. But, for now, Minato had to worry about seeing the simplified map on the school brochure in the shockingly dark train station, not the scrawny child he carried on one arm.           "Mina, does this place feel like a ghost town to you?" Pharos asked as they made their way through the dark, green-tinged, silent station.             "Why? Are you scared?"             "No." The reply was so sure, that it would've been weird coming from any other child. The same likely to be said about the addition he gave. "This place just has ghosts in it." But, Minato just gave a hum of acknowledgment and readjusted the child on his arm so he didn't fall as he walked. Content to let that small interaction be the only acknowledgment of the oddly empty, green-skied environment.

At least, until Pharos spoke once again,           "Do you think you're so unphased by these coffins because you're broken on some psychological level?" Though, that question made the teen blink a bit. Pausing his music as if that would help him see his baby brother better in the watery light from the too-big moon.           "Excuse me?"           "Do you not get scared of the coffins because of how broken you are?"

He asked it so simply. As if asking why Minato's hair was blue. At times like that, where the blue-eyed little boy asked or said such insanely blunt things, that Minato couldn't help but contemplate their connection again.           "Pharos, I don't care about the coffins because..." Well shit, why doesn't this stuff freak me out? It's not like it's normal. He acknowledged, but even then, his stomach didn't churn and his heart didn't race at all. The most unnerving thing about the still, windless night in that moment was Pharos' vibrant cerulean eyes dissecting him as he thought. "...Look, it's just none of my business, alright? If I don't fuck with them, nothing will fuck with me. Easy." Minato explained, but the boy simply continued to stare at him with eyes that knew too damned much until he just had to look back to his map and push on down the road.

Pharos was his brother, but that didn't mean he was entirely immune to his eerie behavior.

#Persona 3 #Persona #Pharos #Persona 3 protagonist #platonic #ask #Pharos and Minato are kinda brothers #not a ship #creepy child

[thesparkthatlightsthemoe]

Little take aways from the novel version.

I finally read the entire novel “Demon King” that the drama series “Love Between Fairy and Devil” is based on. This post is to share some of the insights I came away with after experiencing both the drama and the novel.

XLH’s struggles are certainly a bit different in the novel. DFQC is constantly deceiving her, but he rarely outright lies to her. It’s usually some twist of words to make her perceive something differently from what he’s intending. Or simply refusing to tell her what he’s up to. She really hangs in there though. I love how much of a fighting spirit she has. And tbh, she learns a lot of it from DFQC lol. He only has himself to blame for her newfound cunning and ruthless behavior toward him (and maybe a little of Chidi Woman giving some useful DFQC insights once in a while).

I liked that Chidi Woman seems to have a much more involved role in the novel. For a long time she’s the only one who truly cares about helping XLH. It often feels more like a story of survival than love lol. The romance does eventually happen after DFQC takes things so far that he almost can’t undo his mistakes if not for Chidi Woman being so prepared for his dumbassery XD. Despite being an old immortal, he is really like a boy who needed to mature before he could think about anything like love. In the novel he’s not even loyal to the demon realm. Only to his own passions. For all his life his goal was only to find strong people/beings to fight against and conquer. Anything outside of that obsession just wasn’t in his eyes. You can see XLH making an impact on him from early on, but he himself doesn’t even realize it until he essentially kills her. Then notices it doesn’t feel all that good to get what he wants when she had to be the sacrifice. So maybe what he wanted isn’t what he really wanted?

It was very sweet when he does everything to get XLH back and lets her share his body until he can get her another body. Throughout most of the books he was unwilling to ever let her do that again (cuz unlike the drama, she went for a long time after Hao Tian tower without a body).

And in the epilogue it was hilarious to see him trying to thwart his youngest son from ruining his sexy times with XLH but ultimately failing because his son was scared of ghosts in his bedroom and needed his mom and dad lol.

His oldest son wants to fight the young god of war. Like father, like son XD. And his daughter has the hots for said “young god of war” which is a total stain on the family, but what can DFQC do?

On another note, I don’t know if Rong Hao was the full name the author originally thought up because in the novel he’s only referred to as “A hao” or as the “owner of the demon market”. Or at least in the translation I read. But I was glad that he didn’t seem to be quite as murderous in the book. He certainly could kill, but there was no evil ancient god like in the drama series to really screw him up. His biggest problem was his obsession with Chidi Woman, which I felt was explained a little better in the novel. When XLH asks if he loves Chidi Woman, he can’t call it that. He never says he loves Chidi Woman. Instead he shows a lot of self awareness by expressing that his feelings are a twisted obsessive and possessive desire. While I think that kind of comes across in the drama, it was nice to hear the character describe it himself.

Also there is no love rivalry in this novel. There is no Chang Heng. And as much as I have nothing against Chang Heng in the drama, I’m not big into love triangles, so it wasn’t a major loss to me. DFQC has enough issues to carry the novel lol.

There is also a character named Shang Que in the novel, but he’s got little relation to the drama version. He’s not loyal to the demon king but he is the prime minister of the demon realm who serves a character named Kong Que. I don’t think Kong Que really had an equivalent in the drama, though may have had some distant influence over the character of DFQC’s little brother in the drama. And although there is no loyal dragon, Shang Que, DFQC does have a servant who plays a very similar role. It’s a giant flying white snake called Da Yu. Stupidly loyal to his master and protective of XLH. He actually seems more like the character who influenced the Shang Que of the drama.

Siming, Sansheng, and Chidi Woman are all bosses in the novel and have my mad respect. I loved them all. Most of the female characters were so down to earth and didn’t tolerate any crap. I loved it. Even a demon king can’t talk smack to these women. They’re also the ones who often see that DFQC is capable of growing as a person and don’t just think trying to kill him or imprison him is the answer.

There were a lot of other differences, but I don’t want to give it all away for anyone who thinks they might also want to read the novel.

#love between fairy and devil #cang lan jue

[maytheoddshq]

Saffron Bellshire (she/her). Bar back. D11. Twenty-four. Geraldine Viswanathan.

Saffron Bellshire was four years old when her brother Cyrus won the Hunger Games. He was sixteen, an underdog, but the Careers were divided that year and the Arena itself was fierce. He’d won by biding his time. Then the Bellshires moved into a mansion, and Saffron got to live an easy life with parents who adored her and who gave her ghost of a brother down the hall the space he claimed to need. Saffron had been so young, though, that she’d adapted quickly to her brother’s moods, and learned to love the haunted boy. He was the one whose room she ran to when she had nightmares, and even sometimes when she didn’t, because she knew that he did, and they’d sleep better next to each other.

It was strange for Saffron to grow up surrounded and yet untouchable by the poverty that ran rampant throughout the District. It was years before she learned to recognize it, but even once she did she had no idea what to do with that information. She couldn’t take her brother’s money. It felt like there was nothing that she could do to help. As a result, she ended up isolating herself from the other kids - they probably thought that it was because she thought she was too good for them, and she knew that, but she never figured out how to break away from her cycle of discomfort. Instead, she spent quiet evenings in her family’s mansion, reading books and updating her stoic, silent brother on what she’d learned that week.

Once Saffron got to high school, things became easier in that regard. Her class size was small, made up of less than a handful of kids who had the means to not have to drop out to help support their families. She never made friends, per se, but she got used to being friendly, and she felt less alone. 

After high school, Saffron didn’t really know what to do with herself. Her parents didn’t seem to have a clue, either. They never had to go through this with Cyrus, and it wasn’t as though there was a wealth of parents of District Eleven victors and victors’ siblings to give advice. There was a shame that began to settle in Saffron, a desire to retreat into herself and never come out. But as content as Cyrus was to lock himself away in his room for years, he wasn’t about to let Saffron suffer a similar fate. To the shock of their parents, Cyrus took Saffron traveling. He made a deal with the Capitol, agreed to be somewhat of a diplomat, going to speak to leaders in communities and remind them of the good of Panem, or simply of his existence, of the experience of a Victor seemingly better for his Games. Cyrus visited all of the Districts, only depositing his sister back home for the two weeks of each Games season. They saw all of Panem - the good, the bad, the ugly, and even an amusement park that managed to be all three of those things at once - and Saffron was fascinated. 

They never stayed in Victor’s Villages. Saffron had initially suggested it, but Cyrus immediately shut it down. He wouldn’t borrow someone else’s misery for his own gain, he said. So instead, they’d both have to learn how to make friends. Saffron and Cyrus sought out and spoke to as many people who weren’t in leadership as they could as they went between Districts over the next few years. Saffron watched her brother open up until he was no longer a ghost and he looked forward to nearly every day. He loved planning their adventures. He loved meeting people and getting them to tell their stories, and Saffron would listen and follow along with awe and pride and admiration for her brother.

In getting to learn truly just how many different lives existed in the world, Saffron discovered where her passion lay. Surprising herself, just as such a passion surprised her brother, Saffron’s passion was in people. She’d collect the stories they’d tell, filing details away for later to add to journals that she never showed a soul. She and Cyrus would spend hours afterwards discussing ideas of how to assist without anyone thinking it was out of pity, and Cyrus would use his Victor’s earnings to make small donations, appreciated without raising any flags, anywhere he could.

When the Vox Populi took over District Eleven, Saffron and Cyrus returned home just briefly, long enough to ensure that their parents were safe and protected in what was now being called Free Eleven. But Cyrus was adamant that Saffron not stay there, not even for the Games. Instead, he had Saffron stay with another Victor’s family in a different District. She kept her head down until Mason Brick was declared to have won and Cyrus came back to collect her. 

They kept traveling, but this time with a different purpose. Cyrus spoke to crowds and promoted the glory of Panem. He condemned the Vox to the cheering masses, and Saffron said nothing. They stuck to the Career Districts, to the Capitol, and to areas where you’d be hard pressed to find any rebels, which was why Saffron was shocked when Cyrus suggested a quiet visit to District Ten in the spring. No promotion, no hand shaking, no fake smiles. He was adamant that he could use a break from the cities after nearly an entire year of nothing but, and he knew Saffron had always loved horses - all animals, really. So the two of them headed over to the ranch of some friends they’d made along their travels a few years back, and offered to help them around their home for a few weeks in exchange for use of their guest room. Saffron spent most of her time with the horses, and tried not to worry too much about her brother. He, meanwhile, spent most of his time cooking for the family, teaching the youngest kids how to flip pancakes and even indulging them with the purchase of dessert. Their hosts chided Cyrus, but were clearly very pleased.

One night, Saffron was woken up by the sound of Cyrus sneaking through the window - she hadn’t heard him leave the guest room they were sharing, but here he was, smelling of smoke and covered in mud. She’d have assumed he’d been by a fireside with a lover if he’d ever shown any interest in that sort of thing before, but he hadn’t, so instead of sitting up to tease him, Saffron kept her breath as even as possible, feigning sleep. The next morning, when reports crossed Panem of burning crops, of fields and even entire farms going up in flames, Saffron had the two of them packed up and ready to leave the District before Cyrus had finished washing the breakfast dishes.

Saffron had never told Cyrus that her sympathies were with the Vox, but he had far more than sympathies he’d been keeping from her. It was a rough argument between the two of them, and both of them cried, but the takeaway was clear - Cyrus was part of the Vox Populi, and Saffron wanted in.

It had taken some finagling on both their parts, and Saffron had to learn her way around a clandestine meeting. They were told no several times, that it was too risky for the both of them to be a part of the movement when Cyrus was, on purpose, so high profile these days. But then Cyrus had shown them her journals, filled with the details she’d written from memory. The journals that she’d never breathed a word of. The journals that Saffron hadn’t even known that Cyrus knew about. And suddenly, Saffron was useful.

Cyrus, on the orders of the Vox, got Saffron a job in the Tower. It couldn’t be flashy or even all that enjoyable, because no one would trust a girl from Free Eleven, especially a new one, even if she was a victor’s sister. It would take time, but the Vox were in this for the long haul, so Saffron agreed to the long con. She took a position as a bar back. For now, she would do nothing. She’d do her job and make friends. She would gain trust from the ground up. Eventually, maybe by the 135th or 136th Games, voices would stop instinctively quieting around her. With trust came access, and with access came information, information which she would memorize, write down later, and pass onto the Vox. 

It was a waiting game, ultimately, but luckily, Saffron had grown up with a ghost of a brother, a far cry from the man she had seen him become over the past few years. She knew what it was to be patient, to gain trust before she could be let in. She could play a waiting game. And if it worked, she would finally be able to make a difference.

+ dedicated, generous, thoughtful

- naive, self-conscious, reserved

PENNED BY: GRETA

#hunger games rpg #hunger games rp #thg rpg #thg rp #oc rpg #saffron

[jedidiahxowens]

jed's main biographical-ish playlist:

listen to the full playlisit here: (spotif.y)

"Tell That Mick He Just Made My List Of Things To Do Today" by Fall Out Boy; Jed has always been a fighty kinda guy. This song speaks to the young kid in him that never grew up and never truly stopped wanting to fight at the drop of a hat. He's the guy who holds a grudge, too, so Let's play this game/called when you catch fire/I wouldn't p!ss to put you out.

"Father of Mine" by Everclear; Daddy gave me a name/and then he walked away. Since his biological father dipped and then the step father was shit, it fits.

"WILD" by Troye Sivan; he first met Rick in school and the pair, while complete opposites, hit it off, while neither of them would admit to feeling anything other than friendship for years, it was the start of something that would haunt his life.

"Bob Dylan" by Fall Out Boy; One of the recurring lines that one would find in Jed's poetry is a line from this song: Sometimes the only way out is through.

"Lean" by The National; this song speaks to the part of Jed that is tired, and how he knows what everyone needs and like the song, it's kind of exhausting... but love is a relief.

"1979" by The Smashing Pumpkins; nostalgia, 1979 is the year he was born, it reminds him of the days when he didn't care so much. It was carefree, but he was missing so many things. He knows that now and he wouldn't want to go back, but sometimes it's nice to just sit in the nostalgic feelings the song brings back to him.

"Ocean Avenue" by Yellowcard; thinking again about Rick, the summers they spent together where they were inseperable, and prior to him stepping into the role of man of the house, Rick was his voice of reason and the ONLY reason why he never got into more trouble than he did.

"Head Like A Hole" by Nine Inch Nails; just before Jed took on major responsibilities, he was defiant, especially when it came to orders from his step dad. I'd rather die than give you control.

"Ringfinger" by Nine Inch Nails; Jed definitely sees himself as a martyr for what he did for his family. Not in a pompous way, but in that he felt like he let go of everything he wanted to be to be what his family needed. A sacrifice.

"Full Moon" by The Black Ghosts; this encompasses his desire for freedom that he thought he so desperately wanted when he left home finally when the youngest brother was old enough to leave the house. He spent time wandering, living a nomadic life and seeing the United States. He couch surfed and hitchhiked all over and finally, ended up here at Cape May.

"The Only Time" by Nine Inch Nails; when he began traveling, he let go of a lot of inhibitions and simply did as he pleased.

"Boys of Summer" by The Ataris; what he didn't expect, though, was to be missing Rick so badly. When he traveled, he left Rick behind, back in Texas.

"Electric Touch" by Taylor Swift ft. Fall Out Boy; nostalgic for Rick again, realizing that he was The One with the Electric Touch, Jed traveled back home to Texas and found Rick in a relationship with a woman, expecting a child.

"Tomorrow Never Came" by Lana Del Rey ft. Sean Ono Lennon; ultimatum given to Rick, they agreed to meet up and go to Cape May until they could figure everything out tomorrow, but... tomorrow never came. Rick never showed up and never returned his calls or texts.

"Heat Waves" by Glass Animals; sometimes he gets too nostalgic okay.

"Far Too Young To Die" by Panic! At The Disco; I want to complicate you/Don't let me do this to myself/I'm chasing rollercoasters. The Aesthetic TM.

"Take It As It Comes" by The Doors; and finally, how Jed has learned to live his life, rolling with the punches instead of always throwing them. Take it easy baby/Take it as it comes.

#cape.task:001 #cape.task #ft. jed