#( misguided ghost || ic )

[gilbirda]

DPxDC cheat sheet

So. I'm not a nitpicking person. I understand that mistakes can be made and typos are a thing and sometimes we are just not the kind of person that can make words work for a variety of reasons (dyslexia, for example).

This is not for that people.

This is for everyone who stumbled into this fandom by mistake and had learned things via osmosis and don't have the energy/time to check the source material for the "correct" thing.

Y'all are valid.

This is a cheat sheet of correct terms and fandom things that are not correct that I've seen in fics.

Disclaimer: while experimenting with canon is fun, this is just to lay down the rules of what's what so it can be the springboard of y'all's beautiful creations.

Given that some people just can't behave online: "If you don't have anything constructive to say, don't say anything." Did I say something wrong? You have resources better than this? You want to make a nitpick? Cool! More info to the mix — But come at me in a hurtful and insulting way and I'm blocking you on the spot.

[Will add more when I think more/have suggestions]

DP SIDE - Post "A Glitch in Time" Canon

Sam is Jewish

Sam is ultra-recyclo-vegetarian aka "doesn't eat anything with a face". Is not a real thing.

It's "Amity Park" not "Amity Ville".

Wes is fanon, same as Kyle. Info on Wes here

It's "Casper High", not "Caspar High".

Mr. Lancer doesn't have a canon name. Common fanon ones are William or Edward.

Ghost obsessions are canon. In AGIT, it's explained that ghosts have a purpose or drive. Danny's purpose is "protection" of both humans and ghosts.

Ghost cores are fanon-ish (there is a mention that Danny's ice powers come from his "core" temperature and is never addressed again, of course) (Episode is "Urban Jungle"). Then in the videogame Urban Jungle for the Nintendo DS, Undergrowth's "core" is an actual object called a "core".

Ghost speak is fanon. However, in AGIT, it's revealed that there's an ghost alphabet, and it's ancient form is based on sanskrit and tamil alphabets. Codex of Ghost alphabet.

Ghost Hunger is canon! In AGIT it's revealed that ghosts feed on emotions and thoughts to stay sapient. If they don't, they become feral with time. Halfas feed from their human side, remaining stable.

Danny is the bridge between the spirit world and living world - canon!

Danny beats the Ghost King Pariah Dark in combat, but faints and that fight is never addressed in the series again. Ghost King!Danny is fanon-ish so go ham with interpreting that. (Episode is "Reign Storm")

Tucker is the reincarnation?? (never stated in canon, but he does look alike) of a pharaoh named "Duul Aman" (Duulaman is also accepted as spelling). Said pharaoh never appears in the series as a ghost, just a picture. Who does appear is his (evil) right hand man, Hotep-Ra, who tries to manipulate Tucker (Episode is "King Tuck"). That Tucker gets cool magic from this event is fanon. But cool.

Sam gets possessed by Undergrowth via a vine straight into her spine (gross). Undergrowth calls her "his daughter" and she tries to lure Danny into "joining her to take over the world". (Episode is "Urban Jungle"). That Sam gets cool plant powers from this event is fanon. But cool.

The Fenton parents are never physically abusive - just comedically neglectful in the way parents are depicted in early 2000s cartoons. Incompetent, misguided, dumb... but they are shown to love their kids. The even accept Danny the 2 canon times they find out about him (Episodes "Reality Trip" and "Phantom Planet").

Jazz is never shown as "mature" in the sense that she had to parent Danny and be the responsible adult. She is comedically the "annoying and meddling older sister" from early 2000s cartoons. She wants to be considered an adult. She couldn't see Youngblood, who is a child ghost that cannot be seen by adults, and Danny had to push her into acting childish to make her see him.

Axiom labs is bought by Vlad's company "Vlad.co" not "DALV.co". DALV.co was the fake company that paid for Maddie and Danny to fly to a conference but stranded them in a forest where Vlad's cabin coincidentally was. (Episode "Maternal Instincts")

Dan is not older Danny. He is not called "Dan" in the series, just "Dark Danny". In The Ultimate Enemy videogame for GBA, he's called Dan Phantom. He is Danny's ghost half, who killed his human half, ate/merged with Vlad's ghost side and then tried to kill Vlad's human side. Was losing his humanity what made him evil? Was it merging with the Bad Guy(tm) of the series? 🤷‍♀️ Take it as you will. (Episode is "The Ultimate Enemy")

Freakshow is NOT a clown. He is the ringmaster of a goth circus (called Circus Gothica). Danny's headcanoned fear of clowns can be traced back to the "circus" and clown-related imagery surrounding Freakshow's performances, but not directly BY Freakshow. (Episodes "Control Freaks" and "Reality Trip")

DC SIDE

Damian (not Damien or Demian) had never confirmed his religion. Fanon has accepted he is Muslim.

Bruce is from a Jewish family (Martha Wayne was Jewish), but he considers himself an atheist. Same with Kate Kane (Batwoman).

It's "Selina" Kyle, not "Selena" or "Salina".

It's "Talia" Al Ghul, not "Thalia".

It's "Jason", not "Jayson".

Damian is vegetarian, not vegan. It means he doesn't eat meat, but eats animal produces like eggs, milk, etc. He went vegetarian after rescuing Batcow from a slaughterhouse, he didn't arrive at the manor already being vegetarian.

Duke is NOT adopted. Bruce is fostering him temporarily and is more of a mentor to him than a father. Duke considers the others his siblings, though. EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT DUKE: Part 1 | Part 2

Dick was not adopted as a kid, Dick was Bruce's ward. That term is not used anymore, though. Adoption happened later in Dick's adulthood.

It's Gotham, not "Gothem".

Cassandra IS adopted.

Cassandra's most common nickname is "Cass". Even if "Cassie" has been used in canon before, is more commonly used Cass in fandom. Cassie is used more to refer to Cassandra Sandsmark, Wondergirl.

"Baby bird" or "Baby bat" are fanon-ish(?). Little Wing, Dickie, Dickie-bird... Canon! Jaylad is not canon, but Jaybird is canon! A GREAT post with receipts about all nicknames. ("Replacement" isn't canon btw).

Stephanie Brown was the 4th Robin. She is not adopted, and was part of the batfamily because she was dating Tim. She is still considered batfamily even if they are not dating anymore.

In Hush, when Jason comes back to Gotham, Jason puts a knife on Tim's throat, but barely leaves a cut. Tim's throat wasn't injured during the Titans Tower attack.

Cass is selectively mute because she wasn't taught any language beyond what she needed to predict people's movements. She doesn't know sign language. She doesn't know how to read and write (more recent comics show her reading a bit). But she could learn, with difficulty. Very in depth analysis of Cass' disability.

Jason's "Pit Madness" is fanon. Canon offers Ra's saying "the Pit alters the mind - could happen for a few days or for years, you never know" or something like that, and that's it. There is reason to believe that the Lazarus Pit can cloud judgement for a while but there is no voice in the back of the head or the Pit taking over.

Tim never expressed special interest in photography or in it as a hobby. Nor he is a coffee addict more than the other bats, who pull all nighters on the reg. He is actually addicted to energy drinks.

There are 2 main Conner/Kon-El/Superboy I portrayed in fics: Young Justice cartoon one (grumpy, same age as Dick, kind of an asshole, has daddy issues, wears black shirt and jeans, has a space motorcycle and a pet wolf) and 90s comics one (leather jacket, piercings, punny guy, same age as Tim, has a #nohomo relationship with Tim, kind of a himbo).

There are a few Ghost superheroes - Greta Hayes (Secret), she was in Tim's run as Young Justice's leader; and Boston Brand (Deadman), who is a member of Justice League Dark (with Constantine and Zatanna and Swamp Thing!). So the DC heroes are familiar with ghosts and ghost powers.

It's "rogues" gallery, not "rouge". Rouge means "red" in french.

Clark is never abusive to Conner, he just doesn't know what to do with him and chooses to ignore the problem; which, yeah, is mean, but not to the levels that fanon has taken it. And this is in the Young Justice cartoons, not across all depictions. In comics, they consider each other family and that's why Conner took a kryptonian name (Kon-El - of house of El, Kal's family)

The whole "No metas in Gotham" is not true. Batman understands that Gotham is very Fucked Up and that if you add metahumans and heroes with powers trying to do good to the mix it could make things worse. Outsiders don't understand Gotham and if they get jokerized or mind controlled, it will get ugly real quick. That's why Signal is cool beans! Duke is a gothamite through and through.

While is interesting that no one in the Batfam knows about Tim's missing spleen, is very probable that Alfred knows - post about this

Constantine is more powerful than it looks like. A post about interesting abilities.

Damian has a metal spine. Yeah I don't know how it works either. They used it as way for Talia to control Damian for a bit :(

Interesting links:

What's fanon in DP

Fan project for Ghost Speak, written and spoken form, and a ghost speak generator - post AGIT canon

Transcripts of all the Danny Phantom episodes

The whole DP series + the complementary comics + A Glitch in Time comic (if you are able to buy the AGIT comic please do 🙇‍♀️)

How to pronounce Ra's Al Ghul

BatPham ship names (updated regularly).

What are the canon ages of the Batfam?

In depth guide to everything Batman in one place (be prepared to go down the rabbit hole)

Fanon vs Canon Batfam edition

Superfam family tree

Interactive map of Gotham (Gotham Knights videogame)

Timeline of events (Batfam adoption order and ages when those events happen)

Map of Gotham (made based on various sources, with annotations (check the reblogs for more info))

The Titans Tower attack: Fanon vs Canon and More thoughts on the Titans Tower Attack (with links to the comics online)(wear protection kids! before clicking the links have a solid adblocker and a vpn if possible)

This person has dedicated a lot of time to research receipts of Comic stuff so check out their masterlist

---

Suggestions are welcome! Please be kind with each other and remember to have fun with this fandom!

[moonfirerainbow]

Regarding the Watcher drama, it’s interesting that some people don’t seem to understand the outrage the horrible (now rectified) business decision caused. The attacks at the three of them and their circle of people are inexcusable, especially with racism playing a role in this. This is not a defense of the disgusting behavior some of the fandom displayed. I think it’s pretty short sighted to claim that people being genuinely hurt and critical of the decision, are being ridiculous. The fans are very attached to Ryan and Shane, for many reasons, and while it is a parasocial relationship, it doesn’t mean that it has any less value in someone’s life. Personally, I was a fan of Shane and Ryan because they seem to be normal dudes who aren’t assholes, and have some funny banter together. The apology is great, but the distrust is now there. The outrage is because Watcher has only succeeded because the fans have been providing the stats that result in the money they earn, outside of Patreon, merch and live show tickets. If less people watched, they’d have less paid ads and sponsorships. If we didn’t submit our stories, ghost evidence, ideas, questions, art etc, they wouldn’t have as much content to make. If we didn’t engage and tag and make them trend and like their videos to get the algorithm in their favor, they would sink into the abyss of search results. It’s not entitled to feel that the subscription was a slap in the face to the loyalty of the fans. I honestly think this is a misguided, mismanaged and misread derived situation. It’s not bad that they want to make more content, and had they started with announcing that they want to move in the direction of a streaming service so they aren’t dependent on or restricted by YouTube, reception would have been much different. Anyway, I’m happy about the apology, but honestly they are on thin ice for me.

[corvys-clover]

Your art style is phenomenal 💖

I also love coffee (it’s what keeps me awake on my writing/art benders). Favorite kind? ☕️✨

Also, what inspired you to be an illustrator? Your style is really unique and I wanna hear about your inspirations! 💫

Thank you so much!! <3

I think for coffee, I'd say my favorite might be an iced caramel macchiato (I got one with chocolate syrup the other day and it was hella good), it's just bitter enough that it's not over-sweetened and I like how it balances out. I also love any kind of mocha :>

A lot of my initial inspiration actually came from manga and anime! I drew a huge amount of Naruto fan art in my early teens, and I really aspired to be a manga artist myself for a good while there. Moving away from that style to develop my own has been important to me, but I learned a lot starting out from there. Watching anime also did a lot to shape my writing and storytelling (for better and worse), and I think it's what gave me a more cinematic mental approach to visualizing scenes. Sketching and storyboarding became an important part of my writing process, and over time that starting drawing me towards comics, along with inspiration from comic artists like Gerard Way, Gabriel Bá, and Gabriel Picolo.

I was also really inspired by C.E. Thornton, a self-published author who wrote The Guardians of the Light trilogy. She's a wonderful person and a brilliant writer, and she really encouraged me to keep creating my own stories.

In the past few years, I've been really inspired by comic and Webtoon artists I've met online! Mat Jester (Para-Professional, Cryptozoology), SodaWizard (Artificial Blood), Indiigocats (Misguided Ghosts), A.Berg (After Dark), and Wulvert (Paperteeth!) in particular are wonderful artists I admire. Seeing them work so hard to bring such beautiful characters and stories to life inspires and motivates me to work toward the same.

Thank you so much for the ask! I'm excited to check out your work :>

[georgiapeach30513]

Misguided Ghosts, Part 7

Summary:  It’s time for little Rosewyn Penelope Jensen

Pairings:  Jake Jensen X Reader, Jake Jensen X Charles Blackwood

Rating:  mature

Warnings:  language, childbirth, mentions of going mad, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.5K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Strawberries.  It’s all your little Rosewyn wanted to eat.  Strawberry anything.  Jake had made sure that there was a fresh stock of strawberry ice cream, strawberry yogurt, strawberry lollipops, strawberry wafers, strawberry Kit Kats, strawberry jam, strawberry preserves, and of course all the strawberries you could want.  Varying different sizes, and colors, and something called pine berries that definitely looked like pink strawberries to you.  Rosewyn Penelope loved those the most.

You stop your cutting of the pine berries to rub over your belly, “You better quit it,” you warn her.  “I know you want a bite to eat, but if you don’t stop hurting mommy, you’re not getting anything,” your little angel quits kicking for a moment, and you pop one of the pink berries into your mouth.

“I’m making a strawberry, er, pine berry pie for us for tonight’s dessert.  We’ll have some whipped cream, and…oh,” you grab at your stomach again, “Rosewyn, darling, please, the oven is nearly preheated.”

She won’t talk to you, ya know? Charles rolls his eyes, but still watches you curiously.  There was a beauty to the way you moved around with just you and your bump.  You loved the thought of being pregnant.  Adored her already.  I just don’t understand why you do the things you do.  Even when she comes out of you, she’ll be dumb.

Your head perks up, and you turn to look behind you, staring directly at Charles who freezes.  Did you hear me?  Rosewyn, I apologize, but babies are dumb.

Taking a deep breath, because you felt yourself going crazy in this house.  You swore you heard something.  You start humming Brahms lullaby, ignoring whatever it was you heard.  You have heard more voices since being pregnant.  More reason to think you and Jake weren’t alone.  That portrait had to go.  You didn’t care if it was burned or taken to a museum, he had to go.  

“Ugh,” you squeeze at your stomach again, slamming the knife on the counter, “Little lady if you don’t…oh shit,” trickles of liquid start drifting down your leg, and your lip starts to tremble.  “J-J-Jake,” you squeak out, knowing that there was no way that he heard that.  “Shit, ahh!” Crumpling up from the pain that lights up your body.

Charles stares at you dumbfounded for a moment, about to curse you for peeing on the floor.  Oh shit! Your water broke.

“I’m seriously going crazy.  Ahh!” You scream, starting to sink to the floor.

Jake!  Jacob Jensen! Charles jumps from the counter, ready to find your boyfriend who was still sleeping away.

“I wanted to surprise, daddy!” You cry out, getting upset that the pie was most definitely put on hold.  “Rosewyn, you love the pink strawberries.”

“Jake!” Charles materializes, starting to shake Jake awake.  “Jacob!”

“Only my mother calls me that,” he mumbles, flopping over on the other side.  “Go away.  I’m mad at you.”

“Be mad, but,” he didn’t have to say anything when you scream again, and Jake jolts awake on the bed.  “Yeah, she’s in labor.”

“You could have said something.  Damn…how long?”

“That mucus plug you two were talking about is in my kitchen.”

“Really?  You’re going to complain about something like that?” Jake asks, grabbing at his glasses.  “These are dirty.”

“Jake!  Jake, I think the baby is coming!”

“Damn.  Shit!  Fuck!  Asshole,” he points a finger at Charles.  “I’m putting clothes on!  Uh,” Jake didn’t have time to think as he grabs up what he wore yesterday, and Charles turns up his nose, “I’ve got clothes in the bag beside the door…did I put it beside the door?  Is it in the car?  In the closet?”

“That monstrosity of yours, hers, and my daughter’s clothes is beside the door.  You tripped over it, remember?  Because it’s too big.  Why do you need so many things?” Jake nods his head, slipping on some boots, without tying them.  “Wait?”

“A baby is going to be coming out of my girlfriend, and you’re asking me to wait?  Seriously?  Timing, dude.”

“I’m not your dude.  I just…” Jake’s eyes go wide, urging Charles to hurry with whatever he was wanting to ask, “Can I try and enter your body, and leave?  There is a strong possibility she’s mine or at least both of ours.  I want to be there.”

“Huh?”

“I know I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, threatening us.  That’s my girlfriend, and my daughter, and you…you’re a meanie.”

“Jake!  Hurry!”

“But I did help you land your girl, I should be there.  I want to be there, and it might not even work,” staring with an irritated face, Jake holds his hands open wide, lifting his head to the ceiling.  “Is this an invitation?”

“Are you a vampire?  You have my permission to enter my body.”

“Jake!” You growl as Charles steps into Jake’s body, and Jake runs down the stairs, and into the kitchen where you were doubled over, trying to breathe steadily.  “What.  The.  Hell.  Took you so long?”

“I was…breathing?” You look up at him, and if looks could kill, Jake would be as dead as Charles.  “I’m sorry, I’m kind of a…new man right now, and…wow, honey, you were making us a pine berry pie?  Rosewyn would have been so happy.”

“Rosewyn is clawing her way out of my vagina.”

“Really?” He quips; his voice going up an octave.

“No, not really.  But your daughter is also…ugh…” your eyes roll into the back of your head, as you grunt through the contraction.  “She’s impatient Jake…can we?”

“Yeah, right.  Right…oh can I look?” Your head jerks up to look at him so fast, and you curl your lip up at him.  “Like, am I allowed to look when she’s playing peek-a-boo with your vagina?”

“Are you going to fuck me again?” You ask, directing Jake to walk you out the door.

Why would you want to see that?

“I like seeing your cunt stretched out,” he shrugs.

I worry about you.  This is weird.

“It’s not weird.  It’s beautiful.  Sometimes it’s sexual, but this is beautiful.  Our daughter is going to be squeezing out of your vagina.  Yes, I’ll continue to have sex with you, Giggles, I’ve wanted this since we became friends.”

“You have?” You sweetly ask, stopping just to look up at him.  He nods, smiling and gives you a kiss, “Jake, we’re about to be….ah!  We gotta go.  Let’s go.”

“Wish us luck,” Jake mumbles, hoping that he doesn’t feel Charles get jerked out of his body after he walks out of the house.  Or leaves the property.  Or…Jake wasn’t exactly sure where Charles was going to be cut off.  He was thankful that for once Charles was quiet.  Letting Jake fully be present with you.

He tries to flip his eyes to the back of his head, wondering if he could spy Charles.  Would he know if he was still even with him?  Would Rosewyn pop out of your body, and she glowed like how Charles sometimes did?  He was starting to worry.  He had too many questions.

“Yes!” Charles screams through Jake’s voice, and both you and Jake jolt at the scream.  You turn to look at him confused, as he straightens the car back out.

Sorry.  Just thought I’d let you know, I’m still very much present.  And I wasn’t poofed back into my chair.  Is it because that really is my daughter and I’m able to be with her.

Could you enter into the baby?

What?

“Well, wouldn’t it be neat to feel birth as a baby, but you were conscious as an adult,” trying to breathe through another contraction, you glare at Jake.  “I mean, imagine seeing the vagina from the inside out.”

“Our baby is not interested in my vagina, Jake!”

“Oh,” he sheepishly says, apologizing to you.  “I’m going to drive a bit faster.”

You’re an idiot.  I’m not going to enter into the baby.  It’s gross.  The only part of me I want in her pussy is my fingers, my tongue, or my fat cock.

Or just use me to fuck her while she’s awake.

Are you ever going to tell her?

Are you?

Both men sit quietly, and Jake offers his hand over to you, and you grab it immediately.  Squeezing the life out of his hand, while he grimaces.  He didn’t even know what pain was.  Didn’t know that you were enduring this for your precious angel.

Is she going to glow?

Who?

The baby.  Let’s say the baby is in fact yours or at least a mix of us, will she glow?

I have no clue.  I’ve never done this or even know if it’s possible.  I saw her looking like a fucking goddess and she was flirting with my portrait, and I wanted to fuck her.  Mid fuck I got the bright idea of knocking her up, and then YOU came into the picture.  You were never meant to be there.

But…you have no idea what you’re doing?  What if there’s like ghost STIs or…

I don’t have a disease!  My cock is clean.

But…you just…you don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re testing out a theory.

That’s how all good scientists do their research.

Are you a scientist?

No.

I hate you.

I abhor you as well.

“Jake!  Slow down, there’s the entrance to the damn hospital!  Jake, are you freaking out because you’re about to be a dad?” You were starting to get worried.  He was so distracted.  It was weird, and made you nervous.

No, he’s just having a conversation with me in his head.  Maybe I’m not even really here.  Maybe you have descended into madness, and this is all a figment of your imagination.

“I’m so happy about being parents, and more happy because it’s with you.  Our Rosewyn Penelope Jensen is going to be so spoiled,” and I hate you!

Ehh, I do think you really have gone mad.

“Oh, she’s…she’s giving birth right now,” the doctor lifts up your blanket, giving an awkward laugh up to you and Jake.  “You weren’t lying dad.  Look,” he smiles back at a nurse pointing towards you, “Hair.”

“Could you maybe fucking deliver our baby?”

“No need to cuss dad.  We gotta wait on a contraction.  Yep.  There it is,” you hated this place.  The doctor was a fucking weirdo.  The nurses even looked at him like he was a pariah in his own hospital.  They were disgusted by the way he was acting.  “Dad, you want to watch?”

You give him a head nod as he steps down to you.  His eyebrows go to the top of his head, and he looks back up with an awkward grin, “You feel that?”

“I feel everything,” you groan, pushing again.  “Is she out yet?” You pant, getting a moment of rest while you wait.  And here comes another one.

“She’s…uh, that’s my baby’s head.  Oh!  Giggles, keep going, baby.  Keep…oh,” he looks up at you confused.  And then back down to the doctor fully pulling Rosewyn out of you.

“She’s not crying.  Jake, why isn’t crying?  Is there something wrong with my baby,” the tears of pain were now worried cries, but then you see her fingers start to bend, “Why isn’t she crying?”

“She’s breathing,” Charles makes Jake turn to glare at the doctor.  He had kept his eyes closed inside of Jake.  He didn’t need to see you pushing out a baby.  But then the doctor brought up the fact she was breathing.  She looked a little blue to him.  Blue meant ghostling.  He was sure of that.  “She’s just…she’s very calm.  Rosewyn.”

“Don’t you pinch my baby!” Jake screams at him, ready to grab the baby and hold her close to his chest.

“I squeezed her arm,” he gives Jake a shrug, and looks over at you, “Overprotective dad, am I right?  So…you guys live at Blackwood Manor?”

“It’s a castle!” Charles shouts through Jake, and Jake retches.  

Man stop doing that.  It’s making me sick.

“Yeah…so is that where you two live?”

“Can you give me my baby!” What was wrong with this man?  You just wanted to hold your daughter, and he was asking about where you lived.  “Once I have her, then we can discuss my place of living.”

“Doctor, the baby, she needs her mom,” a nurse looks between you and the doctor.  “The mother and baby need each other.”

“Oh, yeah.  Won’t have to pinch her anymore.  You got a, um,” he stops talking long enough for the nurse to get you situated.  “Yeah, uh…my mom always told me that my dad was the illegitimate son of Charles Blackwood.”

What did he just say?

“For real?  Like, you’ve got Blackwood blood in you?  That creepy…handsome portrait of Charles is in our formal living room,” you couldn’t stop staring at this precious baby.  Her eyes blink up at you, and you can't stop your tears.  She was perfect.  So soft, so beautiful, and she was yours and Jake’s.

“That’s the rumor.  Oh, here comes the after birth.”

Please, don’t watch that.

I’m going to watch my baby.

“Jake,” you whine, picking up your daughter who was wide eyed and sight looking around the room.  “She never cries.  Have you heard her cry?”

“No.”

Because she’s a ghostling.  You see a bit of blue in her skin color?  Haunting blue.

“She’s fine,” he squeaks, reaching out to hold her.  “Are you sleeping?”

“No,” you admit.  You couldn’t relax.  “I’m afraid that she’ll starve to death.  Am I nursing her too much?  And then I think she’s always got a dirty diaper, but she just doesn’t cry.  She doesn’t whine, doesn’t make a peep.  And…something is wrong.  Rosewyn, won’t you cry for mommy?”

Oh, my god, Charles rolls his eyes.  He walks over to Jake, leaning over Rosewyn, and she sneezes.  Looking directly at him, before her mouth turns up into a smile.  Most parents would kill to be in your position.  A baby that never cries sounds like a walk in the park.  And she smiles at me.

“I just feel that there’s something wrong with her.”

“She doesn't look blue,” Jake says too loudly.  “She’s perfect.  Look at her.  She’s a little princess.  No!  A little angel.”

A little ghost.

“A perfect little angel,” he repeats, pulling you over onto his arms.  “And I got the best girls in the world.”

And you're the best delusional step father I’ve ever met.  Have you figured out if I’m a ghost or if you’re just going crazy?  It’s kinda funny to get into your thoughts, replying to everything.  Maybe Jakey Jakey is a bit crazy?  Haha…you don’t even know what is real.

“She’s real, Giggles.  And she’s really ours.”

You’re going to pretend I don’t exist now aren’t you?  Have me in your thoughts for the rest of your life.  But ignore me.  Ignore my every word as you sink further into your darkness.  Your little blue tinted baby that’s really mine, saw me.  Do you even know what’s real anymore?  Are you even here?  Is she even here?  Have you created this reality because you couldn’t face the real one?  Weren’t you captured in war?  Can you be sure what’s real?

“I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted.  Right in my arms.”

Live in denial.  You and I both know what’s really going on here, don’t we?  

Don’t we?

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Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @sstan-hoe​ @infatuatedharleys​ @peaches1958​ @pono-pura-vida​ @feyfantome​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @seitmai​ @stronginawayjbb​ @smile1318​ @avengersalways​ @toozmanykids​ @elrw24​ @lavender-annd-lilac​ @xcaptain-winterx​ @redbloodedgurl​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @bambamwolf87​ @cjand10​

[vinnymauro]

username tag game

rules: spell your username with song titles and then tag as many people as there are letters

i was tagged by @girlbutcherwife ty cleo!!

v - vampires will never hurt you - my chemical romance i - immaculate misconception - my chemical romance n - nowhere to go - bad omens m - misguided ghosts - paramore a - a grave mistake - ice nine kills u - unstoppable - motionless in white r - renegade - styx o - one day the only butterflies left - bring me the horizon (i'm not writing out that whole song title)

i was like "i could do this all with miw if i wanted" then found out, sadly, they do not have a song that starts with O.

tagging: @rejectofsociety, @jonathanbiers, @iero, @miwtual, @sherifftillman, @keerysquinn, @ricky-olson, @userjohndeacon these are NO PRESSURE tags, seriously you don't have to bc i just realized a lot of you have long urls and this can be hard. anyway if you see this and you wanna do it and you haven't been tagged, feel free to stay that i tagged you<3

[lady-grace-pens]

FOAD Excerpt [9]

Holy shit it’s been 3 months since I shared a raw excerpt. I just hit 70k and it’s my birthday so here y’all go. Where I’m at right now is spoiler station so it was rather challenging deciphering what to post, but luckily my current scene provides for excellent material!

Emily and the gang travel to her childhood home for Secret Plot Reasons, which stirs up a ton of conflicting emotions and leads her to talk with her terrible mother.

Enjoy!

Taglist: @isabellebissonrouthier @wordwizards @flowerprose @serafyyn

I stand before the mausoleum of my childhood: a quaint, unassuming Victorian mano more humble on the outside than in. Hell, the guts may as well be decked out in a string of pearls.

Cal and the rest skip up the stairs with a merry gaiety I can’t understand. My eyes strain themselves at the base of this skyscraper. What little sun we’ve been given is blotted out by the roof. The severity of the task I’ve asked myself to do robs something of my spirit that I can’t identify, let alone pray for a chance of getting it back.

The porch groans from the weight of my first step. The floorboards stick to my feet. As punishment, as I breathe in that familiar scent of potting soil and paint, my first dose of memories is injected into my bloodstream. Cal and sweating glasses of fresh lemonade, MawMaw, hot biscuits dripping with butter and honey. Midnight longings. Fear, heartache, failed efforts, rage both misguided and justified.

I haven’t been here since college. Not even to visit. If we require something here, Cal is our faithful carrier pigeon. Frankly, I believe Mother is able to stand her more. It’s just a theory, but I’d understand if it’s true. Her face, her presence, her voice, Cal is nothing short of round edges. That being said, Mother is distant to us both. It’s no wonder why I was so eager to escape into university the summer following my graduation.

Cal’s hand melts off my back. Ilya’s well-meaning smile is blurred in my vision. Pierre stops at my side. He steals my hand with his own weighty grasp. Only he refuses to budge until I step through the threshold before us: an imposing black portal teeming with ghosts of events I can’t exercise.

Holy intent or not, his expectant eyes grate my shoulder. My legs are porcelain as are my lungs. If Matthieu wants a doll, he’s earned one. Pierre must force me through.

From there, they settle into the living room. Cal fetches iced tea, Ilya analyzes each detail of the decor, and Pierre flings himself onto the emerald loveseat, channeling the blasé sophistication of Amory Blane.

Cal returns sooner than she left. One could count it as a blessing, but it means so little to me. I’ve been stricken dumb. I don’t know what to do with myself. The glass she hands me slips from my fingers yet somehow ends up on the coffee table flawlessly intact. Their muttering conversation evidently sparks an agreement, for Cal and Ilya scatter upstairs, leaving Pierre and I to fend for ourselves.

He contents himself on the loveseat, his feet thumping softly against the wooden frame. It’s a vintage reproduction, following the style of the rest of the house. Dark wood, blackened hallways, soulless false grandeur hindering the value of each object.

Potted plants somehow thrive in the cheap yellow lighting of dingy chandeliers. Ravenna handles this aspect infinitely greater. Hideous carpet whispers secrets from the bedrooms and the wallpaper glistens. It seems absolutely everything has some sprawling floral pattern, no matter how subtle.

I skim the edge of a dresser that never housed anything save for untouched sewing supplies, bills, and crayons. Family portraits—mostly distant relatives—leer in their tacky golden frames. Chipping paint and a cocktail of judgment. The funny thing is, I can’t recall having a single conversation with any of these people. Still, their portraits hang…

A hand touches my shoulder. I turn. Pierre’s grin glitters through the shade of his rich brown curls and beard. His presence is a tether to my consciousness, drawing me out of whatever daze I was plagued with. The warmth of his presence bleeds through his laughter.

“Hey. There you are. I’m gonna go raid the pantry for snacks, do you want any?”

“No, just—um… Mother always kept these chocolate oranges in the door of the fridge—”

“Up up up,” Pierre brings a finger to my lips. “Say no more.”

With this, he waltzes into the other room.

The air in this house has always been stale, but without Pierre, I recognize it for what it truly is. Loneliness. The sort that groans and becomes indistinguishable from a twice broken limb. Thumps and creaks beyond those made by Cal and Ilya are simple extensions of that. Houses are built to become homes. This one has failed in its purpose.

As I ascend the stairs to the second floor hallway, I question whether or not this is true. The deep plum walls are barely visible due to the massive array of photographs spanning across four generations, stopping at my great grandparents. Goofy spells, birthdays, weddings, obituaries stashed in corners. Clear evidence of the love that once held these floorboards together.

Is it possible to feel such a strange connection to a place? A mixture so rich with nostalgia, yet equal parts loathing?

I stop by one in particular. My mother in the 60s, posing with her first car. My grandmother narrates the tale associated with that picture, as she told it many times before.

Momma never wanted to be a farmer’s daughter, but she was one anyway. She tried to escape to Vegas after high school, but it wasn’t too long before some bum from Arkansas dragged her back home on his way to Mississippi. Her hair and clothes were a ragged mess. To this day, the thought of her trying something that desperate is… obscene.

The light to her bedroom is a beacon at the end of the hallway. Think not of a sailor’s homecoming, but a Lovcradftian divinity indifferent to her power.

Suppose I should say hello. She is my mother. It’s been a while since either of us shared a glance, god forbid a conversation.

This idea directs my every step. It strings me further and further along until I’m breathing in the rotten grains of the door.

“Come in, Emily,” she calls, expectant. “That is you, isn’t it?

“Yes Mother.”

My acknowledgement came out closer to a raspy breath than a firm declaration. This will likely bite me in the ass later.

I open the door. Stepping beyond the entrance feels like an invasion, so I glue myself to the paneling at my hip. As our eyes connect, I’m reduced to a husk awaiting the slightest hint of an impression. Mother, with her silver curls, sharp features, and eyes of bullets, spares me a laconic glance over the brim of her latest bodice-ripper novel. That's more than enough time for her to formulate an opinion.

“God, you look like me.”

The simplest of sentences, yet it casts my gaze down to the floor in burning shame. I wrap my arms around my torso.

[snixx]

which song do you specifically relate to each of your mutuals ?

HOW DO I EVEN ANSWER THIS THERE ARE ARE SO MANY

okay i will start with the most obvious. @augustbehindthemall little cellist by bears in trees (but also teenage dream gcv and two best friends by bb bean)

@kadalakari alai payudhey

@kira i can't remember her url 😭 udi udi jaye

@souplover13 short skirt/long jacket by cake (i am obsessed with that song why)

@moonrosesinapril maroon by taylor swift or stay or the happiest girl by blackpink or to be alive by rina sawayama

@rinezha hold the girl by rina sawayama or crush by tessa violet

@friggin-tired27 blackout from in the heights, come what may gcv, astronomy by conan gray

@sapphic-squid misguided ghosts and crave by paramore and also anything by faouzia

@thomas-the-goat-of-satan anything after the first three tracks from the dancing with the devil the art of starting over album and also anything by 5sos and doja cat. also (don't kill me) firework gcv because you hate it so much

@twinskeletxns so many i can't choose. but i will go with comeback by bleachers and crj

@kuiinncedes mary's song by taylor swift or the jatp soundtrack

@danisdreaming alfie gcv <3 and a bunch of joshua bassett songs

@chilled-ice-cubes anything from the wings album by bts a thousand years by christina perri angel with a shotgun I'm so sorry first english song i listened to and it was because of her

@peachyycutee quarter life crisis by taylor...something

okay that's off the top of my head these things give me mild anxiety because im scared i missed someone but fuck that this was just what i thought of right now send me any other mutual i didn't mention lmao!

[stitchcave]

pizzaplex system / cornflower collective .

◜collective info◞ ∿ 18 y/o ⬫ dex ⬫ they&/them&. partial-DID system. white american, perisex, transmasc/pangender/genderfluid. ∿ we struggle with functional neurological disorder, autism & adhd, and some kind of issues with words and reading. ∿ we are medically recognized/diagnosed for all of these things, but i do not owe the specifics of that information to anybody and it does not validate me any more otherwise.

◜please dni◞ ∿ endogenic systems or supporters, dream stans or likers. dsmp fanatics are on thin ice. basic dni criteria otherwise. zionists, proshippers, etc, special acronym for you that starts with k. ∿ we are 18, and would rather not have children interacting due to personal discomfort. (14 or under) ∿ fnaf mimic dislikers GO TO HELL!!! (joke)

◜views?◞ ∿ we do not engage in syscourse, but would prefer those who label themselves as endogenic systems to not interact w/ us. we believe most endogenic systems are misguided or misinformed. ∿ we believe in educated self diagnosis, people against it aren't welcome on this page. individuals do not need to prove their disorders to you by receiving a professional diagnosis. ∿ we will not tolerate open hate anywhere, no matter what your beliefs are. ∿ 0 tolerance for freaks and ppl who are here to cause issues. i block freely because its my account.

◜blog content◞ ∿ we post system related junk, fnd related junk, oc related junk, interest related junk... you get the idea. whatever we want.

◜system information◞ ∿ introject heavy (you know, due to the neurodivergency thing...) ∿ hosts include sylvester (many names, all neos + he/she), bailey (he/she/neos), and dipper (he/they). ∿ if you need PK/SP info for any reason, message and ask for it. not totally sure if i'll give it to anyone but the offer is there i guess. sdfhjsdfkl

◜misc◞ ∿ we will tag triggers. please dm me what you need tagged and i will make sure to add it to a list somewhere. ∿ special interests currently include ocs, fnaf, computer viruses and a bunch of other fun stuff. if i do it right, the full interest list will be under the read more thingy. ∿ critical consumption of all interests. ∿ bad with tonetags. you'll know if im actually upset with you, but if you need one feel free to ask. i talk funny online and my tone could come off as rude, just know it's not my intention. ∿ speaking of tone stuff, our communication may be weird because of the whole... system thing. signoffs are in the tags and everyone will try to remember I Think.

◜special interests◞ ∿ FNAF!!!!, mp100, petscop, ts6, my ocs, omori, sam and max, bolt, pkmn, bbu, cybersecurity, storytelling, warrior cats, the lego movie, sonic, music, gravity falls, stray, minecraft, petz catz/dogz, lmk, toh, hermits/trafficsmp, rainworld, httyd, poetry, args, the bad guys, aggretsuko, puss in boots, lackadaisy, backwoods, portal, doors

◜content creators i like◞ danny gonzalez, drew gooden, kurtis conner, markiplier, jerma, astralspiff, hermits, cody co, rtgame, sinjin drowning

◜music artists i like◞ taylor swift, the crane wives, cinders, dheusta, tlt, ricky montgomery, roland faunte, radical face, will wood, sleeping at last, the oh hellos, kimya dawson, sufjan stevens, paramore, the arcadian wild, doglantic, ajj, moon walker, autoheart, bear ghost, icon for hire, flatsound, mumford & sons, cheekface

thanks for stopping by. grin.

[chaosprinceundivided]

He appeared in the gales of aetheric winds. A mockery of his former devotions. Backed by leathered wings and crowned by black horns twisted in their malicious nature, eyes burning through the spiralling snow.

The Byar tried to hold back the storm, his witch screaming as her power was turned against her by one dismissive flick of the traitor's wrist. Her fingers to arms solidifying into ice before the rest of her, hellish fire burning into her veins.

"Traitor! Fiend!" He screamed out at the approaching daemon in manflesh. His kossar charged in the name of Ursun and their god's inflicter ended them by dismissive cleaves of his daemonic blade. Armour sundered like parchment, flesh and bones taken like a meal and blood flowed as copper wine.

And He said not a word, striding forward with his aura of evil melting the snow and twisting the earth underfoot.

The blade drank on its fill and glown with its darkness oozing as umbral smoke. "A Traitor to Lies. A Fiend to the Misguided." He said. The byar dared not to let those words curl into his mind. With a click of hammer, he lifted his pistol and fired. The report rang and the daemon's head barely recoiled as the bullet slammed at his skull. A spark and blackened mark dead-center.

"Do you know...that is how I ended your god?"

The Kislevite warrior gawked a moment, looking at his pistol and saw it seething of ruinous markings and weeping the distant sound of a mournful bear. Unconsciously, he recoiled in horror and looked back to see a monster looming over him.

That draconic face twisted with a sadistic grin. In his hand was a practical cannon, shaped in the same pistol that became a whisper upon survivors' lips and hateful hisses of forsaken ghosts.

Ursun's Bane.

"One bullet."

And the report exploded through the mountainside.

[that1randomnerd]

"Why did you bring me here?" Tim asked, eyeing Phantom.

"It's too dangerous in Gotham, my love. You are safe here."

"Stop calling me 'my love' I'm not your lover!"

Phantom's face twisted into a frown. "But- we're meant to be!" He rolled up his sleeve to reveal glittery constellations and the words 'Stop trying to contact me.' Tim held back a sob. He'd messed up. Big time. Phantom has been doing this, all of this, because of his misguided attempts at keeping his soulmate safe. "You were my last hope," Phantom whispered, "I thought there was finally someone who would care about me and accept me who wasn't my older sister. Then you took that hope away from me. Twice." Tim really messed up. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. I'll just keep you safe and, one day, you'll love me! Please, love me! I just want to be loved!"

"You've got it all wrong. I wrote that when I first became a vigilante. I covered the drawings with foundation so if I lost my gloves or my sleeves got torn, nobody would see any identifying marks for me or my soulmate, but I still couldn't take any chances. I'm sorry," Tim apologized. He'd broke Phantom. For the first time he isn't seeing Phantom as some weird member of their rogue gallery, but as a broken teenager. That's what they both are, broken teenagers.

The cave was filled with a stranger sound. The sound, best described as the sound of glass breaking being played in reverse, reverberated throughout the cave. Phantom looked up at him, eyes a more vibrant green than before. "I'm... so sorry. What was I thinking?!" The ghost got to quick work removing the ice barrier, and then walked up to Tim. "The fastest way to get you back to the portal would be for me to overshadow you. I'd understand if you wouldn't want me to, since that's how I brought you here in the first place." Tim was shocked, it was like Phantom had done a whole 180 personality wise.

Even before, when Phantom was stealing jewels and trinkets, he never acted like this. Was this the version of Phantom that he'd killed when he rejected him?

Phantom cupped one of his hands, and a large, cracked, blue marble appeared in it. The marble looked like it had seen worse days, as there looked to be the equivalent of scarring around the cracks. "This is my core- basically my ghost soul." Ghost? That means Phantom's dead... did he- "No. I can tell what you're thinking by the look on your face. I didn't do that. I'm only half dead, and that happened thanks to one of my parents' experiments." Tim thinks that was worse.

"Oh, Ancients! I haven't even told you my real name," Phantom said suddenly. "My name's Danny. So, do you want me to overshadow you to bring you to the portal, or do you want me to carry you?"

"Carry," Tim mumbled. Being overshadowed is not a pleasant experience. Danny grabbed his arms and flew him through the Lazarus green dimension, soon bringing Tim to the portal that they entered the dimension through. Tim grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him through the portal with him before the half dead teen could leave.

Danny wasn't in the right state of mind when he kidnapped Tim- maybe when he robbed those museums as well, he deserved a second chance. After all, he just wanted to be accepted for who he was, and now he can be.

@gilbirda Ok, so you made a snippet of on of your AUs a while back (braindead rejected! soulmate i think) and I haven't been able to think of much else since. So my brain made a little thingy for you!

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

1. Tim takes a risk one day by writing back to whoever was doodling on his body, with a glittery purple gel pen, asking them to stop trying to contacting him.

All the person asked was, "Why?"

Tim never answers.

2. Danny faces constant rejection from his peers, authority figures, his parents and sister neglect him and now his own soulmate doesn't want him. They hadn't even met before he was rejected. Jazz finds out about Dannys powers and tries to reach out but Danny rejects her pretty violently due to his own pain. Then the episode where Sam and Tucker ditch him for Gregor happens and he gives up.

The two people in his life that has had pretty much complete control over his life and trajectory just abandoned him and he does not take it well. He ripped the symbol off his chest, disappeared and never came back.

3. Danny zooms into a new dimension/universe/whatever to avoid his former friends and family from being able to track him only to land in a place called Central City and immediately getting roped into helping Captain Cold who gives him a normal domino mask and they end up working together for a while.

4. Danny somehow overhears one of the speedster talking on the phone about his friends brothers soulmate issue at some point and they perfectly describe the interaction that happened between Danny and his soulmate all those years ago, down to the glittery purple gel pen and the types of doodles Danny had made as a kid and the things he said.

Danny learned one of his soulmates belonged to a group of detective vigilantes in a place called Gotham. Unfortunately he was spotted by the speedster and Danny had to bounce.

5. The Flash made reports to the Justice League about a meta teen who hes been having trouble with for a while and can't seem to pin down. He only asked for tips though as he "could handle it himself."

6. Danny leaves for Gotham and learned about Catwoman and Batmans weird Master Thief and Greatest Detective dynamic and decided that's what he wants to do. He was going to make his soulmate chase after him one way or another. Someone was going to want him even if they were wanting him behind bars.

He begins robbing bank vaults and museums, leaving no trace or clue as to what happened until he starts leaving a calling card of sorts.

7. Jason, who's been on the outs with his family lately meets this spunky white haired meta kid running around with a sci-fi mask/visor thing and giving supplies to homeless encampments and keeping the less fortunate alive and befriends him. He learns that this is the guy everyone has been searching for and just...tells no one. Jason is all for a Robin Hood vigilante, and really, its kinda funny to see his family squirm.

8. Phantom and Catwoman rob the same museum at the same time but for different things. They stare at eachother from where they're both still crouched from thier respective landings until Danny breaks the tension with "I didn't see you if you didn't see me?"

Catwoman laughs, amused. "Sure."

9. Danny finally narrowed down which of the batfam is his soulmate and introduced himself to them as Phantom.

The first thing Danny did was hit on Tim. Tim is flustered but otherwise doesn't really respond to it and tries to fight Phantom into submission, so of course Danny ghosts him by disappearing through a roof mid fight. Danny made a big show of his intangibility in that fight and made it seem like it was the only power he had but he was very skilled with it and he wanted to impress him.

10. Phantom becomes well known to the underbelly of Gotham. Mostly the homeless and nightworkers. But Danny was open and friendly. Never judging and always ready to lend a helping hand. Even better. He never came to collect on favors.

Over time, they became loyal to him.

11. Danny gets framed for a series of murders and the whole gang (minus Hood) are trying to capture him, thus, motorcycle chase scene. They use the white of his tires to tell when he's gone intangible due to all the dirt falling off the wheels. Nightwing jumps onto the bike and shocks Danny with his encrizma sticks right before Danny grits out "bye bye birdy~" and makes a big show of taking in a deep breath and holding it.

Nightwing is forced to jump off the bike as Danny runs through the concrete abutment of the overpass and coming out the other side

12. Danny meets Tim and Duke in his civilian form while he was at a Wayne tech conference. Danny had been asked about one of his inventions and was trying to show off the blueprints and explain things and thats why he was there in the first place. Duke of course, was internally screaming because that's the guy thats the guy they've been hunting for nearly a year but can find nothing on.

Red Robin confronts Phantom that night on a rooftop and Phantom laughs at him, "Thats why I was avoiding Signal for so long. He'd see my magical girl form and know instantly."

RR holds out a pair of handcuffs and says "Its over Danny." Phantom smirks and says, "I don't think it is, Tim" before jumping off onto a different roof and disappearing into the night. Tim is shook.

13. Danny over hears Robin berating RR at an old clocktower and intervenes, "Little Wayne, you do realize you were the first person I figured out, right?"

Damian proceeds to lose his mind.

14. Tim accidentally finds a material that Phantom can't phase through and quickly gets to work making things he can use against Danny. What he doesn't know is that Danny can phase through it he just pretended he couldn't because he wanted to see what would happen/what Tim would do.

Danny can sense the material and it feels really wierd to him, but doesn't harm him at all.

15. RR manages to knock Phantoms visor off his face and realizing it was made of tech he swipes it and brings it back to the cave for study.

He wasn't ready for all the information on the computer. Not only was his nemesis(?) from another plain of reality (he thinks Danny is from the ghost zone) but he was once a superhero with his own Rogues Gallery and human city to protect. Which begs the question, why did he become a Phantom thief?

16. The Joker hears about Phantom giving the bats the run around and comes to a misunderstanding about which bat he's been messing with which ultimately ends with Joker saying that he is Batmans ultimate nemesis and Phantom asking what that had to do with him? The misunderstanding is cleared up when Phantom complained about Joker even thinking that he was flirting with Batman because "Ew! He's an old man!"

Joker still got a few shots in for the heck of it but so did our ghost boy but they were no longer enemies.

17. The whole batfam had been freaking out about finally capturing Phantom and celebrating and plotting on how they were gonna get him to keep his mouth shut about thier identities until Jason came in,

Jason: Need help?

Phantom: Please?

Jason: *escapes with Danny*

Batfam: What?! No!!! Why?!

18. The batfam have only a vague idea of the Robin Hood thing going on. They know he's doing it just not to the extent its gone to. They find out later on that Phantom had been working with RH and his gang to sell off the items and most of the profits go to helping people. Other times he strait up gives jewelry and whatnot to children and working girls because "Everyone deserves something pretty, and even if its not your style you can keep it for a rainy day"

Phantom quickly gains a following and Danny doesn't even know about it. Clueless indeed.

19. Dannys main motivation in this is essentially just playing Cops and Robbers with Red Robin. Nothing else really matters to him. Not the robberies, not the fact he's working with a crime lord, not even his own safety matters much to him anymore. Hes readily zooming down the path of self destruction and Hood starts telling his family stuff, but only because he was genuinely worried about "Casper" crashing and burning.

20. No one knows why Phantom is fixated on Red Robin. He refuses to tell them. Red thinks its just because he's the smartest of the bats and he's not entirely wrong.

21. Danny legit started scheduling his heists with Tim to ensure they're both free after one couldn't make it too many times which blew the birds mind. Phantom must have been just that confident that he would always win. The bats eventually think Danny will stop stealing if RR isn't in the city for a long period of time. Danny more or less followed him and stole stuff from whatever city Tim was in. If there wasn't any museums or banks then Danny would steal a local landmark. Tim still wasn't sure how Phantom stole an entire building that one time but it had never been seen since.

22. Hood grows to be very protective of our favorite ghost boy. They bond and are actually really close. Danny admits he always wanted an older brother.

23. Tim goes off world for a while to see how Danny would react and Danny just...drops off the radar. No one knows where he is and after a week or two they start getting worried.

Tim returns after three months and Danny reappears two weeks after him with a tan and keepsakes from the places he visited on his vacation. Tim later screams into his pillow.

24. Tim has made it his personal mission to figure out who Danny really is, why he's fixated on him, where he came from, ect. Hes trying so hard but can't find anything. Its almost like he didn't exist before. Tim suddenly got an idea after Phantom accidentally got hit in the face and got a nosebleed. Tim saw green blood and immediately realized Danny might not even be human. Fortunately for our little ghost, he thinks he's an alien. A Martian specifically. Tim manages to snag a good sample from treating Phantoms wounds. Ghostboy was so focus on his core thrumming and mentally comparing it to his heart racing that he didn't even notice.

25. Tim later freaks out because the meta is freaking made out of Lazarus water.

The entire batfam was not happy to discover this and decided to work together to pressure Phantom into telling them what he was and what exactly he wanted.

[ectoplasmiic]

All of the sudden, you hear the sound of a massive tiger, snarling and roaring just a few feet from where you stand! Oh, but this is strange, there's no sign of a tiger anywhere! If your eyesight is keen enough, you might spy a strange, origami bird perched up in a nearby tree. It opens its beak to roar again before flying off! That's weird, since when do paper birds actually fly? ( origcmibird )

the unexpected was a daily occurrence for the young traveler. she seemed to be a magnet for the paranormal and the strange. or maybe it’s simply when you travel far enough, the ordinary stops catching your attention, leaving only the odd to be noticed. 

that didn’t stop her from nearly jumping out of her skin at the sudden noise. her fists flared with green fire as she whirled around to face whatever had snuck up on her. but there was nothing - nothing but a flicker of movement that caught her eye as she looked around in panic. she watched in bemusement as the bird - or, paper airplane? - flew off.

then, as the adrenaline started to fade, the corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. she wasn’t sure what kind of magic or poltergeist this was, but she could appreciate a good prank. whoever was responsible had gotten her good.

[yostresswritinggirl]

Antinomy

Part 2; things are brewing. VIBE

“Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You’ll find it quite intriguing, funny even… until it starts making sense.” You’ve witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 5217

Themes -> Friends to admirers, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 1

Warning -> Blood and injury

Maybe it was stubbornness, his unhinged desire for the thrill of a fight, or you mistaken misguidance. Many possibilities, really, but Childe knows it had nothing to do with all of those. You're not to blame for his mistakes, but he sure as hell would have to pay for the mess he just created.

vi. fontaine

The show felt like a dance made to lure and trance such audience, and despite his resolve and difference in agendas, the strong Harbinger had been victim to the beauty of the show. Of swaying thin clothes and alluring flicks of the hips.

“We’re not co-workers, we don’t know each other, remember that.”

Tambourines and lyres synced through the performance as men and women alike cheered and stumbled to the songs. The Snezhnayan dancers set the bar high in terms of beauty as the Fatui disguised as performers indulged the crowd in symphony and dance, as if the whole nation was under a mania, no one saw and no one heard. They just followed lead as the agents lulled their own targets into a sense of security and joy.

In the middle of the crowd you lead the choreography as the main dancer, distinguished by the colors of your garb and its grandiosity, yet still respectably covered compared to the other performers. Your main objective was to catch the havoc of a man that left the headquarters of your organization in flames at his wake; and yet, it was instead Childe that was allured to your spell.

An intoxicated man had been eyeing your behind with drooling eyes for a while now, and with the assistance of liquid courage, he reached his hand out to get a feel- when it landed on gray pants of firmness. “Oh my, I didn’t know you swing that way, citizen,” you whipped around to see Childe directly behind you, who was also has his head angled to look behind him where a Fontaine man stumbled back in disgust. His hand clutched to his chest as if it were burned. “Sad news tho, I’m off the table, try someone else maybe.”

Before you can register the edge in his voice, he was already guiding you by the hand back to your dancing stride. You were momentarily stunned but devolved into a glare at his current recklessness, “Come now, Lady Viscaria.” He addressed you by your dancer name. “The whole world is high in the clouds around us, this would be a moment no one will remember.” You didn’t even need to look to know he was right, and you succumbed with a sigh.

Childe didn’t realize just how small your hands are compare to his, the softness of it in contrast to the rough texture of his gloves. If he knew, if only he knew, he would have removed them before you had entertained the idea. Your steps were lithe and your turns were grace manifested, eyes closed yet a gentle smile equipped on your face, the ones you had been wearing ever since you started the performance. “So this is how you fight.” He mumbled with his own grin when he had spun you back against his form, your feet glides against the pavement yet barely touching it as you seemingly floated to place. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought you were an Anemo Vision wielder.

Soon enough the square dissipated to give way to the ferocious dance you two had eased into. Steps became more pointed, arms tensed and strong, and the turns was almost reminiscent of martial arts as you seemingly evade each other’s swings. Suddenly a kick aimed to hit his chest forced him to jump back, and at the other side you dropped your foot, a taunting smirk and a condescending gaze set upon him. His blue eyes widened.

And the elegance of the tango from earlier turned into a vicious round of capoeira, powerful kicks and jumps yet not made to touch each other. Your figure leaped into a crescent kick when he had made a sweep to hit your ankles, him immediately rolling to the side to evade the blow. Dropping to the ground with your ankles and knees bent, a leg outstretched you gasped, and went into a running start towards him, “Lift!” A single command yet he knew what he needed to do.

Gripping your hips upon your leap his strong arms easily eased you high up, your legs were kicked high up and one bent farther back and you steadied yourself by gripping on to his shoulders. The atmosphere turned tense and the only sound you can hear were the ragged breaths you heave up close. And the crowd around then explodes into a round of applause.

Childe seemed to have snapped out of a trance from the foreign noise, breaking the eye contact you both held as he slowly placed you down. There was a sudden bashfulness to him then. But was once again pulled away from his reverie when you quite literally pulled him out of the square into a dark alley, eyes glinting dangerously as a toothy smirk donned your lips, “I saw him, the redhead.”

...

The chains felt sentient. As it flies forward to try and capture him, Childe conjured a wave to sweep it away only for it to change angles to strike at him again. It pierced through the pavement he was once on before it moved to retract back to the owner. At the other side, Childe had a glimpse of your more successful fight with the fugitive as your polearm easily deflected the advances of the chains, even if it gets caught sometimes. Your Cryo Vision would always make quick work of freezing and breaking the chains.

None of you expected a non-elemental fight, and this seemed more complicated of a battle than you would have thought. The man carried with him the aura you feel when you use your delusion, you grimly thought as you ducked out of another barrage, sensing the frustration and desperation of the enemy. You were barely breaking a sweat, you’d see his red eyes take notice, and you weren’t even using both of your hands to fight. With another smirk, your Vision then glowed by your side as you raised your arm. The hooded man braced for impact, but instead he felt a force hit his lower half- water current from Childe, and suddenly it solidified to ice upon your avalanche. His hand where the strange device were also covered to render him useless.

An arrow and a spear’s tip was now aimed to his heart. “Well, well, that was a nice fight, Ragnvindr,” you leaned down close enough to see the finer details of his hawk mask, you saw his eyes squint into a glare. He knows he lost. By your side Childe relaxed his arms and dematerialized his bow, the next part should be yours to work on. “Thank you for your dedication, but this atrocity ends now.” You straightened your back and took a step back, angling your spear to his throat. As his eyes close to succumb to death, your head would angle itself slightly to see Childe’s reaction

when a golden flicker appeared past his shoulder.

“CHILDE!” The devil himself felt the air leave his lungs at the force that punched at his chest, enough to immobilize him as he was punted to the ground. Before he could even recover, the pavement around shifted and crumbled to create a wall between him and the frozen Diluc. He heard the ice breaking and two pairs of feet scrambling away. “Fuck, he had an accomplice,” he breathed as he took his stand, about to give chase to the escapees. That is until he registered his mentor-

barely standing with a stalagmite pierced through her stomach.

“Chi...lde.” You gripped the pointed tip of the structure to keep yourself up as your legs started to lose feeling. He was there hovering over you, unsure where to touch or how to assist. Fuck. Fuck. This was his fault. “Go... chase, I’ll be- I’ll be fine...”

And then you blacked out.

vii. seven correspondence

There were multiple parchment of the same color littering his office desk filled with different lengths of paragraphs. Childe's quarters in the palace was cozy and wide, and nothing could be heard but the sound of his fountain pen scratching the surface of the paper with ease.

"Letters are important in Snezhnaya," you perked up from your unfocused gaze from his window, where you silently watched the brewing blizzard manifesting outside. Your eyes made contact with his genuinely gentle ones that still lingered at the task at hand, "why not write one?"

"Letters are commonplace in Snezhnaya," you corrected as you made your way to his side to snoop in his letters. He did not seem to mind. After all you'd pretty much already the whole of his family that one awkward encounter. He was working on the seventh letter and your eyes lingered around the six finished ones: there was one for each younger siblings, one meant for the two older brothers, another for the older sister, and one for his parents. "It's not necessary for me to write, I don't have an address in mind to begin with."

Is that so, he mumbled under his breath before the conversation died down once again to little scratches. A lot of his words had tales to tell about his stay in Fontaine, you realized the most details were poured into the contents for his parents. At the mention of this nation, your hand ghosts over your stomach.

The bandages from long ago had already been dispatched. And yet the stiffness of it has still affected your composure as well as the weird pull of the skin from the stitches. Only a nasty scar was left in its wake to remind you of the failed encounter and it forced you to make drastic wardrobe changes to your performing attire.

You saw Childe's shoulders slightly tense at your action.

"Childe," his grip on the pen tightened yet he kept his head down. You didn't mind. His mind was going overdrive again, probably. "Who are you writing that last letter for?"

He felt like he'd dodged an arrow over the way he had relaxed, slumped down even when he met eyes with better resolution within it. "It's for a special someone," his signature smile was back, "I've met her long ago and I've always made sure to send her a letter yearly as thanks."

Thanks? "Thanks?" The letter (it was short, you realized) was already folded before you could peek at the words within. You knew Childe was good-looking, but for him to have a girlfriend waiting for years as he drowns in his work, quite irrational and yet painful. Painful... to you?

"I've met a girl back when I was 14," he was suddenly up and bustling as he bundled up his letters. Urgent you followed to listen to his tale as best as you can with his long legs. "I never knew her name or her face, but she saved me from the wolves back in Morepesok. I never properly gave her my thanks, so yearly I would leave letters at the woods where she'd gone, and hope that she'll be able to read them and know that I lived because of her." You already halted your advances to chase after him as you stood before the doors of the Palace. He didn't seem to mind, he kept going until he was gone.

...Morepesok was a seaside fishing village with a vast white forest by the edges in which ferocious wolves and bears usually haunt. After your promotion to the Palace, you had never once set foot in the village, much less the woodland. Where you are right now.

You held a steady hand against your stomach as you retraced the familiar route you'd gone, something so far away you would have expected to forget it by now. That was six years ago, you counted as you reached the clearing in horror of its emptiness, there should be six letters here by now.

A snapping twig had you whirling to look behind you. "So, it really was you." His gentle blue orbs had met your widened ones, breathless you both were, but for different reasons.

"So you lied about the letters," the mocking pout on your lips had made him laugh. A sprinkle of red dusts his cheeks, and he was quick to hide it with the familiar letter on his hand.

"I didn't lie about this one," your upturned palms received the crispy envelope, carefully opening the seal and unfolding its contents, "I wanted to make sure I was right."

'Your sacrifice had given me a new chance, a new life, a new beginning. I wish I was there to thank you for protecting me, but this time, I will get stronger and make sure-'

"I'll be the one protecting you from now on." He finished, and the red dust over your own cheeks felt like torches made to melt the mightiest icicles.

viii. fleeting glances

Signora had always been the type of person to only make appearances when necessary, but most of her dirty work were done by her subordinates, her own little army. She's the coordinator and observer at the back as things were weaved into place for her. Like a flower on the wall, the Fair Lady knows and notices details.

The first one was by the entrance, the second was by the veranda. The third, fourth and fifth were by the hallways. The sixth was by the throne room. The seventh was outside. And the eight was that in front of her—

Childe disliked being in the same area or even breathing space as her, this much Signora knew. He was a kid still under training over the ways of the Fatui, but there was nothing more he hated than the way the Fair Lady handles her work, her soldiers. But it came with the aesthetic, and he had no other means to pry until he had finally grasped the way the cogs turn in this organization known as the Fatui.

The youngest Harbinger never looked her directly in the eye or even dare spare her the glance when it was not needed. And in all honesty, it was quite bothersome the first few times. After all, Tartaglia carried with him a certain charm.

His eyes would either narrow or be guarded for any other Harbinger that comes his way, respectful or dismissive, the options fleet through those whenever. But there was one humane and warm look he gives at special occasions, for a special someone, and Signora finally witnessed it in full view and detail—

The crease between his eyebrows would immediately ease as his eyes break free from its squinted, slanted form. The dark depths at the middle would dilate as his expression quirks up, teeth usually visible through parted lips as he dons an easy smile. And Signora would be taken aback by the immediate change as she follows the trail of his stare.

The gold was the first to strike with the way the trinkets hang by the waist, and the warm and mellow colors so contrary to the Fatui colors draws away the unease of onlookers. It was to make sure that no association with the Fatui would be made, that was your calculated explanation was upon your choice of 'uniform.' You've just came from a short trip to Natlan to gather all data to be reported to the Tsaritsa, and during that time the 11th had been under no one's particular care.

You passed by their forms (pass is a strong word, they were off to the far side, honestly) with your report in hand, humming to yourself as you continued your way to the throne room. That demeanor only means that you had good news to tell, good news for everyone.

The glance was gone fast as the moment ended, and his hard look came albeit much lighter this time. But the way Signora smirked signified she'd noticed, and his look only grew stiffer.

"Come now, pretty boy, show that look often."

The Fair Lady's laugh echoed inside the Palace walls as Tartaglia stomps off to where you had gone, to wait after the dusk convention respectfully.

ix. years of employment

Of the many milestones that could have been celebrated, it was done in an odd number at the most peculiar time. Yes, it is no surprise for everyone to know that you had been working for the Fatui for nine whole years now. And honestly, you shouldn't have been surprised that your younger colleague with the weird ways of his Abyss-induced brains, decided that it was time your anniversary be celebrated instead of waiting another year for the double digits mark.

"Please tell me we're not going to your house again," you softly pleaded as Childe continued to guide you through the paths in the main city of Snezhnaya. "As much as I appreciate their caring atmosphere, I'm not too keen on the idea of pretending to be the head honcho of the toy-selling company of Snezhnaya."

To this, Childe guffawed to a boisterous laugh, pulling his hand away from your back to clutch at his convulsing stomach. You pursed your lips in distaste of his reaction, but then it would loosen up to a smile as you watched him still try to catch his breathe.

After that, the trip had continued with only small chatter in between as you descended further to the edges of the city. You haven't been to this area, simply because of the fact that there were no patrols needed around the cityless wasteland where you are headed, and the glint of surprise had fixed a knot at Childe's back. Relief painted his face.

And you found yourself in front of a frozen lake, with hanging lights decorating the leafless trees by it, and a small table filled to the brim with food. "Lady toyseller!" You shot a glare at your student who averted his gaze away easily to focus on his other siblings. This heretic lied—

"Big brother said it's a special occasion! To commemorate your anniversaries for being in the toyselling business!" Your glare died down to a look of confusion, and the family gathered back into a homely atmosphere. So it seems that Childe coincidentally joined the Fatui the same day as you, two years apart. And he said nothing about it.

"We've been celebrating since the last three years, if we had known, you could have been with us!" And with that you were pulled in by Tonia to the table where her mother was, congratulating you for your hardwork and patience as she offers you to taste some of the food they had brought for the picnic.

"I know you've been helping my son ever since he became a Harbinger," you looked up to Childe's mother in wonder as your mouth was currently stuffed with her delicious homemade Pelmeni. She gave a light laugh at the sight of your wide, curious eyes paired with stuffed cheeks. "Childe mentioned how you saved him when he ran away from him..." and the mother continued to spill the details you were never given the chance to hear from the man himself.

You suppose this was the cause of your perfectly crafted aura of trust, to lure in your targets and make them spill to their heart's contents as you indulge them. In the end, Childe's mother's true intention was to thank you for all that you had done for her son, and to help him cultivate into the best person he could be among the ranks of the Harbinger. You gulped the last bits of the dumpling, a shy smile placated on your cheek, "It is my honor to take him under my wing."

"Hey, master, I sure hope mum didn't say anything embarrassing about me while I was gone!" A hand holding a tissue softly wiped the cream at the edge of your lips as Childe- Ajax finally made his way over to your table.

"It's okay, really, it's normal for children to pee their bed." You mused as Childe's mother laughed at the way her son choked over his own spit. Ah, you were right.

The rest of the day was filled with ice-skating, something you have forgotten, clumsily held up by the three younger siblings as they expertly excelled in the field. And right after was a session of ice fishing with their father, who was greatly impressed by your strength upon reeling the 50-centimeter long tuna. Flopping on to the ice platform as if to chase the children on land.

"Don't want to stay? There's a spare room here, you can borrow my big sister's clothes for the night. It's a long way back to the Palace," he stood next to you outside the entrance of his home while you face the other direction.

You sighed. "Tartaglia, I'm your mentor. And as the 10th Harbinger, your ascension should be my priority." You didn't see the way his jaw clenched at the intonations of your words. "If it were a different circumstance-"

"Next week," the snow caught on to your lashes as you closed your eyes, basking at the cold that bites at your cheeks. "Will be my last try. And after that, please see me as your equal."

"Alright." Your hands trembled.

x. final spar

Fatuus lined the veranda surrounding the quadrangle in quiet anticipation, skirmishers and agents alike that had yet to be assigned under Harbinger supervision and even those who just had nothing better to do.

Childe had anticipated the spotlight, but it was a greater scale he was not comfortable on. He was lucky a Harbinger had yet to watch the spar, the last spar as he had promised, and it seemed the gossip had spread enough to alert the whole organization. The Delusion mask sat by the side of his hair as he watched you at the other end of the field.

Your eyes held no emotion as they stared through his soul. A different kind of emotion he'd have wanted to see. He thinks to himself at the thought of you once being in the same predicament as him, did you feel the same fear and worry as he did? Did it take you ten tries? Maybe more, maybe less?

Tartaglia said this will be the last spar, and the final chance for both sides to make it a fair fight (to give it their all). But when you suddenly disappeared and materialized above him with your spear ready to strike, he thought, maybe not this time either.

The spear collided with the dirt floor as blades of winds seem to have exploded from it, a series of gasps resounding through the crowd as they stepped away from the edge. Tartaglia softly landed back on his feet after the successful somersault, materializing his water polearm to strike his elemental slash from the distance. But you stood still, unscathed as the wave that was meant to slice you turned into ice before it could come any closer. Fuck, Tartaglia knew his Vision was weak to yours.

You charged at him once again with the boost of your Anemo delusion, your polearms clashing painfully as you both tried to get hits on each other. There was a nick at this cheek to draw the first blood, your dominant hand twirling the spear easily Tartaglia retreats back to avoid the wildly spinning blade.

Soon enough he dons his own mask and the real fight begins. Electric currents ran through the field as an icy fog starts to envelop the floor, superconduct reaction running the parameter of the field as the Fatuus back away further. The next time your blades meet, a crackle of lightning resounded through the whole palace. Smacking his blades upward, your spear quickly sweeps down to swipe at this ankles, forcing him to leap as the fog obscures the reach of your polearm. Mid-air, he was kicked on the chest as your acrobatic arms held you up and over.

Soon enough his hunger for victory begins to manifest, and his biggest advantage comes into play: overwhelming strength.

Tartaglia felt huge triumph when you finally used both of your hands to parry his blows, your feet sometimes sinking into the dirt floor under the pressure of his attack. For the first time in the fight, your facade cracked with a grimace as you held your polearm up against his dual blades. Quickly leaning away, you brought your foot up and pushed at the spear's shaft, enough to force him back as you leaped out of his range. There was sweat trickling at the back of your neck now, feeling the sizzle of the current on the slight moisture. You swiped your spear in a crescent motion as a snow avalanche bombarded Tartaglia's side when he tried to approach, giving you just enough time to breathe as he tries to free himself under the snow.

By the time he's set himself free, you were already running forwards with your hands gripping your spear at your right for a swiping motion. He fashions his dual blades as he too sprinted in the middle to clash, weapons encased with frost and electricity. In a split second, his arms raised to your left, knowing this was your non-dominant side would make it easy to send you flying at the angle of approach. A powerful blow against another was about to shake the whole Palace—

"Columbina!" The vagrant's voice pierced through the crackle of elements, and Tartaglia's eyes widened when he had noticed your foot slip at the distraction. The inertia of his arms unable to stop the course of action; superconduct and electro-charged reactions creating a powerful explosion as the iced fog seem to have imploded from the force.

Childe's moist hands trembled as his vision tries to refocus. There's a ringing in his ears as he tries to grip at his hands, the electricity coursing through his nerves to make it numb. He desperately closed and opened his fists, and when he finally settled his sights straight, the dripping red liquid had splattered all the way to his mask and arms. With hesitation his sights followed the trail of blood and frost splayed across the field barely visible as the mist still covered the floor with a thin veil, his steps halted at the sound of glass crunching underneath his shoes, and he didn't need to look to know what it was.

"GET THE MEDIC NOW, PREPARE THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT!" Pedrelino's voice reverbed through the field as the few agents that finally recovered from the shock went into emergency actions, some running off and some running to the direction of where the blood trail ends.

There was an obvious pool of blood forming under you, as your whole torso was littered with the same redness. Your left ribcage was angled inwards in an anomalous way as the dual blades had logged itself in between the ribs. You were already unconscious as blood dripped from the side of your lips;

how unfortunate, Childe collapsed to his knees in front of you. You didn't get to congratulate him.

xi. eleventh of the fatui harbinger

His mission had been explained to him concisely and accurately alongside Signora's assignment right after he had been acknowledged as officially part of the Fatui. The throne room had itself full of the Harbingers (with a glaring absence of one) as the Tsaritsa empowered him with her will and concise plan, the gravity of the law and order of the universe and its incoming divine war finally weighing on his shoulders. It was, after all, his wish to end the ministrations of being under someone's supervision and finally walk his path of conquering.

A month after the fight had him standing by the piers of the Snezhnayan ocean. Here he will finally depart to Liyue where his true mission lays, as well as the franchise of the Northland Bank he'd have to oversee. The influx of information for both his and the other's works had his head reeling, pleading silently at the hope that you'd be there to reassure and clarify what exactly he needs to do.

But you're not. In fact, Childe hasn't seen you in the whole month after that fight. He was prohibited from approaching your ward as you were still unstable and fragile to risk; no, everyone was not allowed to enter, he assured himself. He had not seen nor heard you throughout the grieving process of a moment he should have been proud to boast.

During that time, Childe had also adamantly avoided Scaramouche.

He heaved a tired sigh as the consequences weighed his resolve once again, were you still unconscious? Are you still in critical condition or are you recovering? If things ended ever so differently, would you be there next to him to wave him off to his first major assignment? "Liyue, huh, that's a pretty nice nation."

Childe produced a strangled noise when he turned to his right, where you stood, watching the ocean horizon. Your hair was slightly disheveled yet framed your face naturally. There were bandages wrapped all over your torso, peeking out from the sleeves of your unusually covered attire, and your left arm settled on a sling meant to lessen the constraints of your side instead of sporting an actual broken limb. When Childe's calculating gaze settled on your face, you had a calm expression.

"Congratulations, you're finally on your way to your first mission."

"Thank you, although I heard it's quite different from what I'm used to. Besides seafood, too many new customs."

You produced a soft gasp as your eyes widened slightly. Childe stood guard, waiting for you to tell him what was wrong. "I'm a failure of a mentor," what. His eyes watched as you turned to face him (as he did) with an amused glint in your eyes paired by a light smirk. "I didn't get to teach you how to use chopsticks."

His face dropped into a deadpan, before you two harmonized into bouts of varying laughter. Your other hand placed itself on your chest to minimize the vibrations of your giggles, not wanting to put pain into yourself. A flash of hurt recognition passed through his eyes.

"Master, I'm so-"

"(Y/N)." You immediately interjected as you gazed at him past your eyelashes. His breath hitches.

"Ah, (Y/N)," you nodded at his experimental taste of your name and urged him to continue. He opens his mouth before closing it again, a silent debate within the depths of his brain, before his lips parted with a different thought. "Teach me when I come back, please?"

Your eyes widen in surprise and amusement, "I'm sure you'd pick it up easily."

You're not wrong, but he's adamant. "Nah, I'm sure I wouldn't, I heard they're really a handful. I'd rather wait for you."

Giggling again, you raised your mobile hand as he did own, exchanging the most genuine smile. "Okay, pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

I wrote this for two hours straight to the point that my left arm doesn't work anymore....

@moaa @kookieyachi @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

[daltonacademia]

There’s A Time For Daring - 1

charlie dalton x fem!reader [post events of the movie]

word count: 1.7k

warning: allusions to sex / slight sexual harrassment? drinking, mentions of neil’s suicide, horrible parents 

Charlie couldn’t help but emit a low growl as his vomit-inducing, picture-perfect, high-society mother and father, whom he despised, prodded him towards the expansive front entrance of Nealson Preparatory School located in southern Vermont. His fuschia-lipped, cakey-faced mother, Cynthia Dalton, was a well-dressed, dignified housewife by day and charming socialite by night; she was particularly harsh as she trampled his pen-stained oxfords with her spearish kitten heels. His eyes shot daggers at the snow-strewn path below, a familiar fire burning in his core.

There were many things Charlie was tempted to furiously spit out at his parents, but instead, he managed to keep his jaw clamped shut, his pearly whites digging into the light pink of his lips hard enough to draw blood. No matter what he shouted, cried, pleaded, they wouldn’t budge. They never would. And it was infuriating.

“Charles! Being expelled from such a prestigious school is no laughing matter, young man. That school cost us quite the pretty penny! How dare you defy the rules to the extent of expulsion. It’s disgraceful, and I will tolerate it no longer!” Charlie’s mother shrieked, furious tears smudging the thick mascara that coated her eyelashes.

“You’ll be shipped off to Nealson Preparatory School in February, and if I hear so much as a single mention of your name not followed with overwhelming compliments, you can expect nasty, nasty consequences! Go pack your things, you’ll be staying with Aunt Barbara until the first of February finally arrives!” The rims of Charlie’s brown eyes stung with anger, frustration, and furthest down, sadness. He was diminished to nothing but an image-ruiner to his mother. The person who was supposed to love him, protect him, save him from the horrors of this hell called Earth.

Mr. Dalton silently observed the boisterous outburst from his expensive leather armchair across the den, a glass of strong, half-drunk whiskey in his palm. Charlie couldn’t bear to see their despicable faces any longer, and as his body felt no longer under his control, stomped up the stairs in a huff, rapidly swiping away the glassy tears spilling from his eyes. Thoughts of running away, escaping it all, flooded his unstable mind. ‘I get why you did it, Neil. I really do. But did you have to go so soon?’ 

But instead of lingering on the image of Neil any longer, he hastily threw his bare necessities into his suitcase, which was still covered in an array of Welton Academy stickers.

The grounds of Nealson were unsurprisingly well-maintained; it reminded him a lot of Welton. The impeccably manicured lawns, gleaming, icy blue lake, the gothic stone arches and pillars. It was eerily similar to Hellton, even down to the ice-cold blanket of snow coating the distant rolling hills. It’s beautiful, Charlie thought, surveying the slow sprinkling of snow, No, it’s hideous. 

Before he could fully vomit at the vile grounds of his new school, his parents fiercely shoved him inside the Headmaster’s dingy office, politely taking the vacant mahogany seats beside him. Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen to a word his parents said with pearly white smiles, which were no doubt tooth-rotting, sugar-coated lies about the real reason he was expelled over a month prior. 

He knew that they couldn’t just be transparent and tell the Headmaster that he had socked the utterly vile Richard Cameron’s face in (rightfully so, in his opinion), or that he was a star member of the infamous Dead Poets Society, or that he had gone to the extreme lengths to stage a phone call from none other than God himself. It didn’t work like that. 

His mother’s cheeky, artificial voice sounded precisely the same as it always had: carefully rehearsed and slathered with naivety. Seemingly without hesitation, the catty woman could deflect any less-than-pleasant questions or insinuations about her “golden role-model” son, who’s admittedly “a little misguided at times”. 

The new headmaster seated across from him appeared to be around the same age as Mr. Nolan, which, as far as Charlie was concerned, was older than the Cretaceous period at least. His pale-as-a-ghost skin was wrinkled and paper-thin; his patchy, gelled side-swept hair was (very obviously) dyed a deep, midnight black, reminiscent of an off-brand Elvis. 

Charlie’s ears continued to mute the awkward conversation happening amongst him, his focus instead shifting around to the various awards and certificates lining the ivory walls. They all seemed so phony; ‘Best Headmaster- 1947-1959’, ‘Nealson Academy: Exceeds Expectations’. The Headmaster had even framed his high school superlative: ‘Voted Most Likely to Succeed’. What a pathetic-

In a swift blur, his parents rose from their seats, his mother clutching her magenta purse with matching pursed lips. Charlie was handed a hefty, stapled packet packed full of school rules and guidelines with a denture-toothed smile from Headmaster ‘Campbell’. This’d make some decent kindling, he thought as he yanked the packet from his clammy clutches, leafing through its pages with a smirk, this garbage’s almost laughable.

A syncopated rhythm of raps on the door, followed by a gravelly, ‘come in', presented his new dorm escort. His chauffeur just so happened to be you, the accomplished and universally admired student body president in the same grade as the newcomer. You were dutifully donning Nealson’s horrendous uniform: a crisp, white button-up accented with a blue and silver tie was topped with a depressing grey sweater vest. An equally loathsome pleated skirt concealed your thighs, and your ankles were shielded from the chilly February air with black crew socks. 

You extended your perfectly manicured, soft hand out to your brand-new peer with a yearbook-worthy smile, introducing, “Hi. Welcome to Nealson, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You swore you heard the brunette mutter something disrespectful under his breath, but nonetheless, he, rather unprofessionally, shook your hand with an eye roll. Things between the two of you were not starting off the way you hoped, but you were determined to make a good impression. The best impression possible.

“Charlie Dalton,” he replied with a mischievous smirk. The brunette standing in front of you reeked of cigarettes, and there was the slightest smell of cheap beer clinging to his clothes. His brown hair was messy, springing out in every direction, despite the water furiously combed through it. His eyes glinted with rebellion, a look so alluring yet dangerous.

“I’ll be showing you to your dorm, which you’ll sleep in for the remainder of the year.” Since Dalton was starting in February, he only had five months of studying before long-awaited senior year. Mr. Campbell waved the two of you off, and with that, you trekked towards the Boys’ wing, Dalton sauntering at your side. 

The walk through the main corridor was silent and awkward. You had tried to enchant him with fun facts about Nealson and its (extensively selective) history, much to his obvious boredom and dismay. His umber eyes glazed the walls, uninterested in the decor. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but for all you knew, it could be on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. 

After a while of treading through the high-ceilinged corridors illuminated with fleeting pale rays of sunlight, the boy next to you made no attempt to hide him drawing designs up and down your body. 

“I’ve never been to a school with both boys and girls,” he drawled with a smirk. “Do things ever get exciting around here?”

You shook your head no while indiscreetly tugging down the hem of your skirt uncomfortably, and he said, “Do you think you’d maybe wanna spend the night with me in my dorm? Make sure I’m all settled in?”

Your whole body, from head to toe, froze. The audacity of this… creep! Your tongue poked, nearly stabbed, the back of your teeth, wanting to unleash a select few words to the disgusting Dalton beside you. But alas, if he were to tell anyone of your fiery wrath, you’d be demoted from class president faster than you could explain what really happened. It’s a corrupt system, sure, but even with the power that comes with such a title, there was no way to mend it.

Eventually, while you were wrapped up in the furies of your mind, Dalton revealed a small, autographed golf ball from his trousers pocket and began throwing it up and down above his head casually with every step. 

“Can you not?” you snapped at the chestnut-haired boy after he tossed the sphere up and down again in an arch. “Don’t wanna get in trouble on your first day, do you?”  

“You think this’ll get me in trouble? Have a little fun, it won’t kill you. I promise.” Dalton turned his gaze towards you, an annoyed but smug grin painted on his lips. He slowly tossed the golf ball to your hands, intending for you to catch it. However, the small ball evaded your grasp, instead bouncing around the hardwood floors below you, creating a series of loud, reverberating thunks.

“You were supposed to catch it, you know,” Dalton teased, nonchalantly watching you chase after the rogue orb. After it was finally safe in your clutches, you stomped over to the no-good newbie, irritated. 

“Nealson’s strict. They don’t let stuff like creating an awful lot of racket go unreprimanded.” You were seething; red-hot blood pumped through your veins. Dalton didn’t look anything but utterly amused.

“Wow, you’re just about one of the biggest suck-ups I’ve seen in a while.”

“A what?” you growled.

“A suck-up. A rule-following poster child of excellence? A bratty, know-it-all? Anything along those lines?” He sputtered insults so nonchalantly, it made your blood boil and eyes sting.

“You better watch it, Dalton. I don’t know who you think you are-”

“I’m the best thing that’s happened to this school, by the looks of it.” 

You had nothing left to say to this conceited shuck of a boy who really thought that he was all that and a side of fries. Well he wasn’t! Not in the slightest! And if his first day of classes wouldn’t drill it into him, you would.

The rest of the walk was pin-drop silent and tense. No more fun facts about Nealson escaped your downturned lips, just the light patting of his beat-up oxfords and your pristine mary-janes on the polished wood floor. The hallways seemed more depressing than usual, their framed portraits and condensated windows didn’t fill you with the motivation that you came to expect.

After finally arriving at the boys’ dormitories, you grumbled, “well, this is it. Have a swell life, Dalton.”

“Right back at ya, Y/L/N. Let’s hope this isn’t the last time we meet.” He gave you a cheeky wink before slamming the door in your face.

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, fifteen

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

Based on the prompt:

Brushing each other’s hair

“Aelin.”

Aelin heard the voice calling out to her, but she felt no need to respond. Lorcan had been pestering her all damn day. To be fair, he was doing it out of the kindness of his weird, misguided crusty heart. But it didn’t make her feel any better. He couldn’t annoy her into forgetting what today was.

“Aelin!” he repeated, his voice getting louder with his growing annoyance. “Aeeeelinnn,” he sang, finally pushing her over the edge.

“What?!” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he shrugged, pulling out a frozen Snickers bar and biting into it with a smug smile.

“You’re really irritating, you know that?”

“No more irritating than you,” he said through his large bite of ice cream.

“How am I being irritating?”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. “You’ve been pouting since you got here this morning.”

She crossed her arms across her uniformed chest. “I’m not pouting.”

Lorcan stared her down, and she huffed. She knew he was right. She had been pouting. A lot. Since she officially learned of Rowan’s intentions to probably date Lyria, she’d been an emotional mess. Not that Rowan would know. No, she kept her face in a carefully constructed smile each time he mentioned her name, all the while her insides twisted. At least he was no longer keeping it a secret from her, though. And for that she was grateful.

“You are the Poutiest McPouterson of Pout Town,” Lorcan laughed, handing her the second half of his frozen snickers. Aelin frowned but resentfully accepted the half-eaten chocolate.

“And it’s been going on for days.”

Aelin ignored him and kept scrolling through her phone, ignoring him.

“What are you even doing right now?” Lorcan grabbed her phone and rolled his eyes. “Teenage Dream, I Want You To Want Me, Someone Like You, Stay, Summertime Sadness, I Touch Myself...? Oh, wow. This is so much worse than I even thought. This is sad. Like. Really fucking sad. I can’t allow this.” Aelin snatched her phone back and huffed. She didn’t need to be judged right now. She was fragile, and putting together a pining playlist was the only thing making her feel better. The only thing taking her mind off the fact that Lyria had returned from cheer camp and Rowan was officially taking her out tonight. It did make Aelin feel slightly better that Rowan had told her Lyria asked him to hang out, not the other way around. But. It didn’t make it hurt any less. Meanwhile, her big Friday night plans involved listening to her new playlist on repeat until she cried herself to sleep.

Lorcan raised a dark brow, waiting for Aelin to say something, and she finally broke. “Lyria’s back, and she and Rowan are ‘hanging out’ tonight.” She took a large bite of the ice cream, letting the sugar soothe her frayed nerves.  Lorcan frowned, looking her over intently and sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but—” Lorcan paused dramatically. “Come to my party tonight.” Aelin’s eyes narrowed at the hulking brunette, tugging at his long strands of hair, which had grown past his shoulder. “If Rowan is going to date a cheerleader, we’ll find you a football player.”

“I don’t want a football player,” Aelin said with a frown. “I want Rowan.”

Lorcan barked out a laugh. “Yes, I’m fully aware. But, get yourself a distraction, at the very least. Or, just come for a night of drinking. I don’t care.”

“You’re serious,” Aelin said slowly.

Despite their budding friendship, Lorcan hadn’t invited Aelin back to a party at his house since the fateful night she blacked out and socked him in the cheek. Not that she blamed him.

“Just, stick to beer this time.” Aelin couldn’t help but smile. “What?” Lorcan asked, causing Aelin to smile wider. She knew it was a pity invite, but she’d take it.

“You’re a good friend, Lorcan.”

“We’re not friends,” he said too quickly, causing Aelin to laugh. “I just feel bad for you.”

“We’re totally friends.”  

“I admit nothing,” he said, rolling his eyes again, but Aelin could see the smile behind them as he got back to work. It was bizarre. If someone had told her three months ago that she’d be friends with Lorcan Salvaterre, she would have laughed at them in the face, but she guessed this summer had changed quite a few things.

. . .

“So, you and Lorcan, huh?”

Aelin poked her head out of her closet to glare at the boy stretched out across her comforter. His phone rested on his stomach, and with his hands resting behind his head, Aelin could see just the smallest sliver of tan skin above his jeans. Taunting her.

Despite Lorcan’s mission to help her move on from Rowan, Aelin had asked him to come help her get ready for Lorcan’s party. She just wanted to see him before he went off with Lyria. Just… one more time. Just the two of them. Before everything changed.

“What?” She shook her head as she threw another pair of jeans across the room and onto Rowan’s feet. “No. We’re barely even friends.”

“Then, why are you freaking out?” he asked, watching her frustration with slight amusement.

“I am not freaking out,” Aelin huffed, locking herself back into her closet. She could hear Rowan’s snort through the door and could practically see his bright eyes rolling at her. She groaned loudly.

“Because I’m going to a party alone!” Aelin huffed. She’d asked Elide to join her, but she had plans with Manon, of course. And apparently Manon would rather cut her own arm off before going to a party at Lorcan’s. So, Aelin was flying solo tonight. And yes, she was nervous about it. “I’m only going to know Lorcan, and it’s going to be weird.”

“You make friends faster than any other human I know, Ace,” Rowan quipped, launching into what she assumed was a supportive manifesto, but he was speaking too low for her to really hear him. Which was fine with her, honestly.

Not wanting to think about how few people she’d know at this thing, she threw herself back into finding the perfect outfit. She wanted to look cute, but not be uncomfortable. Her eyes swept back and forth across the shelves, finally spotting her favorite pair of jean shorts. She tugged them on and grabbed an oversized band tee she’d cut up months ago. It wasn’t great, but it’d do.

She flung the door open in a big reveal, but Rowan had closed his eyes. Naturally. She didn’t know why she tried. This boy did not care what she looked like. Aelin’s nerves gathered in her stomach as she took in her reflection. She frowned. Something was missing.

“Necklace?” she asked the boy who was dozing off on her bed, and he shrugged with little interest. She didn’t know why she’d even asked him.

At her vanity, she pulled out a choker she’d borrowed from Lysandra months ago – and forgot to return – and attempted to put it on, but the chain quickly got tangled in the back of her long hair.

“Owwww,” she complained as she struggled to free the necklace from the knot forming around the chain, but it only served to make things worse. “Ro! A little help?” she asked over her shoulder. “Rowan!”

Rowan opened his eyes slowly and she stared, begging for help. He smiled as he slung his legs over the side of the bed, lumbering his way to her. He lifted up her hair gently and placed it over her shoulder with deft hands, leaving only the tangled part down her back. She stood straighter as she felt his rough fingers brush against the back of her neck, fiddling with the necklace.

She could hear his soft chuckle behind her. “I closed my eyes for three seconds. How did you even do this?” he asked. “You have so much hair,” he laughed, and Aelin could feel his breath against her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how close his mouth was to her skin, and it broke into goosebumps as a shiver ran up her spine.

“I know,” she replied softly. “I can’t remember the last time it was this long.”

Rowan hummed, his movements deceivingly gentle as he worked his way through the long strands, trying not to tug too hard. “I think it was this long when I met you.”

“Oh gods,” Aelin laughed. “It was even longer then.” She suppressed another shiver as Rowan’s fingers ghosted against the back of her neck, holding the hair in place as he pulled at the necklace. “I looked like a troll doll.”

“I like your hair long,” Rowan said, releasing the tangle she hadn’t quite been able to reach at the nape of her neck.

It was so rare that Rowan expressed any kind of preference on the way she looked, Aelin kind of couldn’t believe it. She’d always had fairly long hair, but for him to say he liked it filled her stomach with a swarm of butterflies. She swallowed thickly as he pulled the last twisted piece of hair from the necklace and clasped the chain with practiced ease.

“Thanks.”

“Done,” he said, and she turned around, surprised to see how close he still was to her. His face hovered just an inch away from hers, and she could feel a current of electricity run through her at his proximity.

“Your turn,” she said, breaking the strange tension between them and running her fingers across the top of his shaggy hair.

He pushed her hands away, laughing.

“You need a haircut,” Aelin laughed as Rowan finally gave up trying to push her away and let her brush his hair, which now fell just above his jaw. Aelin reached for the brush on her vanity and smiled as Rowan admit defeat, sitting on the edge of her bed and tilting his head back to let her work. Aelin pushed the long strands back, and, she watched as Rowan’s eyes fluttered close as he took a deep breath. His lips curled up slightly, and she could have sworn she heard his throat rumbling with a contented purr.

“So,” Aelin cleared her throat, trying not to stare at Rowan’s lips as she brushed through his long strands. “Odds I punch Lorcan again tonight?”

Rowan barked out a laugh, his smile widening as he pretended to think about it. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I say it’s fifty-fifty.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” she sassed, sticking her tongue out at him. He grinned in return, but he was quickly distracted by his beeping phone. His brow furrowed as he replied to whatever text and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Aelin watched with a tugging at her chest as he smiled apologetically and stood from her bed.

“Lyria’s on her way to Maeve’s, so I should…” He made a motion with his head, and Aelin waved him off.

“Right,” she replied quickly. “I’ll let you get to it.”

He nodded and hunched his shoulders, awkwardly fiddling with the beltloops of his jeans. “I’ll talk to you later?” he asked, and Aelin used all her effort to force a smile onto her face.

“Yup,” she said, hoping her smile concealed her sudden feeling of nausea. “You can tell me all about your date.”

He smiled in return. “If you need me to pull you off Lorcan later, let me know.” His smile disappeared as Aelin cracked a smile. “That’s… not that you’ll be on him. That sounded wrong. You know what I meant,” he stuttered.

“Oh, I know.”

Aelin held up her fists and jabbed in the air toward Rowan. He shifted to the side, avoiding her feigned punch and laughed. She jabbed again and he blocked her fist by wrapping his large hand around her knuckles, and her hand went limp in his, falling between them.

He squeezed her hand gently, leaving a tingling sensation that lasted well after he took a step back.

“See ya, slugger,” he said, taking off with a wave.

Aelin laid back onto her bed and breathed in his scent from where he’d just been lounging. She inhaled deeply and let it comfort her. She could do this. She could get through one night without Rowan.

. . .

Aelin was a fool. She didn’t know how she thought she could distract herself by going out tonight. Every few seconds, she desperately pulled her phone from her pocket and checked to see if Rowan had texted her. But of course, he hadn’t.

He was on a date. With another girl.

She belatedly wished she’d asked him what their plans were, because now her mind was left to imagine the absolute worst. She pictured them sharing food and going on a romantic drive down to the pier where they could watch the water and make out to a playlist of Rowan’s choosing. Oh gods, they were going to make out.

Aelin was going to be sick.

“Babe, you’re bringing the whole vibe down,” Lorcan said, plopping onto the couch next to her.

“Don’t call me babe, babe,” she frowned, poking his arm.

“Babe,” he repeated, a goofy smirk across his face.

“Babe.” Aelin blinked twice, hoping to get rid of him, but Lorcan seemed unfazed by her attitude.

“You are having zero fun, and it’s making everyone sad,” Lorcan sighed. “You weren’t into Finn or Cormac?”

Her hand twisted around her beer can as she shrugged. Lorcan had been a surprise, introducing her around as soon as she made it there. She’d been so nervous about not knowing anyone, but she hadn’t thought that Lorcan would bother taking the time to make sure that wasn’t the case for long. But despite his best wingmanning efforts, Aelin couldn’t enjoy herself. She could barely talk to the two football players, completely and utterly distracted by thoughts of Rowan.

“Come with me,” Lorcan said, heaving them off the couch. “You need more to drink.”

Aelin shook her head, her shoulders sagging in as she admitted defeat. This night was a wash. She should just go home and cry.

Lorcan pulled the beer from her hand and finished it himself in one large gulp. He grimaced as he swallowed, shuddering slightly. “You let it get warm. That is gross.”

Aelin stared at the burly boy she’d been so frightened of a few months ago with a raised brow. “Hey, Lorcan?” She paused as he looked toward her with interest. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged and reached a hand out to her, pulling her off the couch. “Because you and Whitethorn are both fucking idiots, and being heartbroken sucks.”

Aelin laughed, unable to help herself. “I guess I can drink to that.”

Lorcan grinned widely and clapped. “Then, let’s get to it.”

She let him guide her through the party and into the kitchen where he pulled two more beers from the fridge.

“So…” Aelin didn’t want to push, but his words had gotten her curious. “Any chance you’re going to tell me who caused your broken heart?”

Lorcan laughed as he cracked them both open. “Nope,” he said as he handed Aelin her new cold beer.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatics of her friend. But she held up her beer to cheers his, knocking the cans against each other as she tilted her head back and let it flow down the back of her throat. She wasn’t exactly a huge beer fan, but, it was definitely safer than whatever red concoction was being scooped out of a literal trashcan. Or, so she’d learned last time.

She downed the can quickly and laughed in surprise as Lorcan held out another one for her.

As she took her next sip, a surprising song filtered through the room, causing Aelin to shoot her eyes up at Lorcan, who was looking at her with laughter in his dark eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“You added this to your playlist for me.”

Lorcan scoffed loudly, shaking his head overexaggerated from side to side. “I did no such thing. I just love Cheap Trick.”

“Babe.” Their new term of endearment hung in the air between them for a millisecond, until the intro of the song ended and launched into the lyrics.

Lorcan cackled wildly as he started singing to her, the words she’d been repeating in her head all week coming out of his mouth with surprising ease.

I want you to want me, I need you to need me

I’d love you to love me, I’m begging you to beg me

Aelin couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in her throat at the way Lorcan clutched at his heart when he sang, leading her back through the party. As he sang, he stepped up onto the low coffee table and reached down for Aelin.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, accepting his hand as he pulled her up on the coffee table with him to the round of large cheers from the crowds surrounding them.

I want you to want me, I need you to need me

I’d love you to love me…

I’ll shine up my old brown shoes, I”ll put on a brand new shirt

I’ll get home early from work

If you say that you love me

The beer buzz made its way through her body, loosening her limbs as she swayed back and forth. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting the music soothe her as she sang loudly.

Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?

Ohh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?

Feeling all alone without a friend you know you feel like dying

Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you crying?

Lorcan grabbed her hand and spun her under his arm, and Aelin finally felt her anxiety start to dissipate. Yes, this year was going to be different. But different didn’t have to mean, bad, right?

They cheersed again at the beginning of the long guitar solo, both knocking back the rest of their beers quickly. She watched as Lorcan scanned the crowd that had formed around the coffee table, most likely scoping out who he’d take to bed later. And inspired by her sudden lack of inhibitions and surge of happiness, Aelin decided to do the same. Not that she was going to take anyone to bed, but she could see who was potentially interested. She let her eyes trail across the mix of upperclassmen, a few who eyed her swaying hips appreciatively.  

She was about to launch back into singing when she spotted an all-too familiar head of silver blonde hair. Her heart pounded. Was it possible that he’d already ended his date and come to seek her out? Had she been worried for absolutely nothing?

Hope swirled in her stomach, but it was quickly squashed as her gaze trailed down his extended arm, down to his hand which was linked with a familiar brunette’s. Her chest contracted at the sight of them, hand in hand, fingers linked, making their way through the party. Aelin lost her step and lost balance, stumbling into Lorcan, who luckily was so sturdy that he barely flinched at her impact, steadying her quickly with a hand around her waist.

“I need another drink,” she said quickly at Lorcan’s questioning stare.

She hopped off the table and made her way through the throngs of sweaty bodies, tracking Rowan’s tall head across the room as he made his way into the kitchen, Lyria in tow. She wanted to look away – it physically hurt her to see his hand in hers, but she couldn’t. Her obsessive gaze followed them, and she held in a gasp as Lyria took a step in front of Rowan, and he moved his hand to the small of her back.

She’d dreamed of being touched like that by Rowan so frequently. And here he was, doing it without a second thought with Lyria. It just solidified what Aelin had already known in her heart: Rowan had never thought of her as more than a friend.

As she gained ground on them, getting closer, she stopped. What the hell was she doing? She should be running the other way from them, not approaching them. But she couldn’t stop. Like a magnet, she was obsessively drawn to Rowan.

“Uh, hey?” she said, tapping his shoulder gently.

He turned and looked down at her, a calm smile curling at his lips. “Hey.”

Aelin shoved her hands into her shorts pockets, not knowing what to say to him.

“Sorry to crash,” Rowan apologized. “Lyria’s friends texted that they were here.”

He pointed to the gaggle of cheerleaders communing in the corner of the kitchen behind him, and Aelin nodded as she watched Lyria distribute hugs to the girls she’d been away from all summer.  

“Plus, I know you said you were worried about not having any friends here…” he trailed off, looking nervous.

“It’s fine,” Aelin said, hoping she didn’t sound as affected as she felt. As if there were some invisible wall between her and her best friend that had never been present before.

“You having fun?” he asked, and Aelin shrugged. She wasn’t exactly sure there was an answer for that.

He frowned at her less than enthusiastic reply, and Aelin was about to ask if he wanted to talk outside when Lorcan bounded up beside them.

“G, what’s taking so long?” he asked, seeing her empty hands, cracking a beer and handing it to her. “I have a hoard of friends asking about the hot girl who was dancing on the coffee table.” He looked at her with a pointed glare before sliding his eyes over to the glowering boy beside him. “Oh, hey, Rowan. Didn’t see you there.”

Rowan nodded stiffly, and Aelin quirked an eyebrow at him. Wondering what his deal was.

“How many constitutes a hoard?” she asked Lorcan, taking a sip of her fresh beer.

“Five?”

“Think they could all handle me?” Aelin asked, ignoring the feeling of Rowan’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her head.

“Together?” Lorcan asked, and Rowan inhaled sharply, causing him to sputter and choke on his first sip of beer. As he coughed, Aelin finally let her eyes roll.

“You’re not really thinking…” Rowan said, and Aelin scoffed loudly.

“Of course not, Buzzard.” She paused. “I was kidding.”

How could even remotely think that was a possibility? She watched as the tension visibly drained from his shoulders at her words, and she was annoyed by how relieved that made her feel.

“Well,” he said, his sneaker toeing at the sticky tile floor. “I’ll let you get back to your hoard.”

“And you should get back to your date,” Aelin replied, feeling more annoyed than she had any right to. But there was something in his tone, that slight hint of disapproval that had her on edge.

She tried not to glance over her shoulder as Lorcan swept her back out to the living room, but she couldn’t help it. She watched as Rowan made his way over to Lyria, sliding his arm around her waist and tugging her close.

She tried to stay focused on anything else for the rest of the party, she really did – but she couldn’t. She found herself constantly seeking out her best friend’s tall head. Despite the amount of guys Lorcan introduced herself – which, was an actual hoard – she was completely uninterested. She nodded and smiled in all the right places, but she barely registered anyone’s names, too busy wondering what the boy on the other side of the house was doing.

Having had enough of torture of her own making, Aelin decided it was finally time to leave the party. She wanted to say goodbye to Rowan before leaving, let him know that he could text her when he left. But her feet froze when she spotted him. He and Lyria were in the shadows under the staircase. She watched with a painful chest as their arms wrapped around each other. It was almost as if she were watching them in slow motion as Rowan ducked down and pressed his lips to Lyria’s. Her lips parted beneath his, and her hands knotted in the hair that Aelin had so carefully brushed earlier that night, keeping him close. A wave of nausea hit her suddenly and fiercely. Her head spun, and she knew she needed to leave the party immediately. Everything hurt. Her whole body.

Shaky legs led her out of the party and across town. She didn’t have the patience to wait for an Uber.

By the time she reached home, Aelin’s sadness had morphed into anger.

Why did she let Rowan have this much control of her? His actions had no right to make her feel this terrible. Her chest bloomed with fury as she thought over his words, his subtle judgment that she shouldn’t be allowed to meet other guys. But apparently, he was allowed to kiss whoever he wanted.

Aelin was finished needing Rowan’s approval. She needed to separate herself from him, from the affirmations she’d always sought out. She stumbled around the kitchen, looking for something in particular and set her mouth in a determined line when she found the tool. Breathing heavily, she reached for a section of her long, golden hair and snipped.

~*~

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[watery-melon-baller]

I think that, overall, only four good things came out of Danny Phantom season three:

1) Frostbite. I like that he can serve as another ghostly mentor figure to Danny, even if he is coming pretty late in the game, and he adds some decent worldbuilding.

2) Danny’s ice powers and ice core. There area lot of fun things to be done with these, especially in fanon, but even in the show they can make fights more interesting and dynamic. It’s a new element to play around with without it being too overly obtrusive. It does come a little out of nowhere, and just adds to Danny being absolutely OP, but I can look past that and see it as a net positive.

3) The episode Forever Phantom. This and the episode I’m going to discuss in point four are the only two episodes I feel truly hold up and are genuinely good in this season. There are some others that can be fun to watch, but they’re overall pretty mediocre. That’s not to mention the fair share of flops that just completely missed the mark. Forever Phantom works because it pulls its focus back in to grounded problems. A lot of season three has the issue of being all action, no breaks; the writers try to up the stakes, but it doesn’t work because there’s nothing to tie it back, and therefore it has little meaning. It’s just spectacle. What Forever Phantom does is give us a conflict with stakes that are much lower, but at the same time have a very pointed effect on Danny’s life. That’s able to keep viewers invested. The tone, also, just works a bit better for me than a lot of other season three episodes; some of the humor really works. Finally, we get Amorpho. He’s a very interesting antagonist; his morally gray motivations and general presence make him interesting to watch, and his direct goal to screw with people (and Danny specifically) brings up some good situations.

4) The episode D-Stabilized. This one holds up, and even excels, in a different way than Forever Phantom. Forever Phantom was an excellent example of how this show does a low-stakes, humor-driven episode. D-Stabilized shows off the potential for more plot-driven dramatic storytelling. One thing of the episode’s major strengths is its use of the characters. It was a good decision to take Valerie, Danny, and Danielle as a focus. They in particular did a good job with Danielle; while she definitely didn’t get enough screen time in the overall series to be fully realized as a character, this episode was a good step in the right direction, making use of the limited time they had. Through the focus the episode puts on her, the writers do a good job of fleshing her out into more of her own character (seperate from Danny), but keeping her familiar as well. As for Valerie, she was criminally underutilized in season 3. Nevertheless, her inclusion in the episode definitely improved it. She’s one of Danny Phantom’s strongest characters. To be perfectly honest, she’s probably a more developed and realized character than Tucker or Sam, despite the fact that the latter two are part of the core cast. She has a level of depth those two simply don’t have, with more thought-out motivations and traits that make her more belivable and three-dimensional. As such, D-Stablized took advantage of her strong character and arc to further it, staying true to her motivations and personality. And, critically, the characters are in character. This was an issue that season three had a lot more than the previous seasons of the show. D-Stabilized being able to succeed in this was critical to making it a good episode. Another thing D-Stablized handles well is its narrative. As I mentioned earlier, it gives us a strong and continuity-driven plot which helps to push many of the series’ ongoing points. It continues the thread begun by Kindred Spirits, bringing back Danielle and Vlad’s cloning plan. This is a compelling choice, as for much of season three Vlad has been exaggerated and his motivations twisted out of proportion. His previous motivations, to get rid of Jack and take his family, and more than that his critical trait of wanting love above all but not realizing that one needs to give back to get it, has been largely dropped in favor of a more generic set. His main goals are now shown to be world domination, power, and wealth, which makes little sense for his character. But that is beside the point; to bring us back on topic, the choice to bring back Vlad’s cloning plot demonstrates that he still does hold the desires he was shown to have previously: he wants a ‘perfect son’. It brings his character more in line with earlier seasons, bringing back that more compelling scenario. Another thread it continues is Valerie’s arc. I touched on this briefly earlier when I discussed characters, but to go into more depth, this episode gives us excellent insight into her life and motivations, wholly building off of what we already know about her. It fits in with what we’ve learned, but the events of the episode’s narrative also push Valerie into growing. It makes excellent use of her established anti-hero tendancies, showing how despite her prejudices she still has morals, and it trying to good even if it is somewhat misguided with regards to Danny and her unwavering hatred of ghosts. Especially considering how we’ve seen virtually nothing of her over season 3, the inclusion of Valerie and ties to her storyline certainly helped this episode exceed the rest. The action was dramatic, the development was logical and satisfying, and the characters and interactions are well handled and compelling. This is not even to mention the episode’s ending, where Valerie figures out about Vlad. This was clearly setting up more, but the arc got cut off before it could reach its completion. It is a real shame that we didn’t get a conclusion to this storyline, as it would have been really interesting to see how Valerie would handle the shift to her worldview, and how that could affect Danny and Amity Park.

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 5/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read the final chapter below or the entire work on ao3

—

“Help us, Saras—” a stream of coughing rings out, eating up the rest of the words.

“What the hell happened!?”

“I don’t know! One minute he was kicking ass, and the next—”

“He’s down! Oracle, scan him for signs of life.”

Their voices sound far and muffled, like he was under a foot of ice.

“He’s alive, I know he is. Kikur…” More coughing, wet and almost retching. “Dammit!”

“Skull hasn’t moved in ages and we pumped him with more Diaharan than we know what to do with!”

“Then why isn’t he moving?”

He feels like he got hit with back-to-back garbage trucks, all fully loaded with an entire city’s trash and was going eighty down the freeway.

“I...I don’t know…!”

“Why not? Why the hell not?”

“Joker!”

“Unicorn—” Actual retching comes this time, sporadically. “Why isn’t—!”

“Please stop! You’re only going to get yourself hurt!”

“Akira. Quit it, or I’ll cast a Dormin so strong you’ll wake up next year.”

A groan escapes his lips, and all arguing stops.

“Oh thank god,” Makoto’s voice sighs in relief. “Skull? Can you hear us?”

“Skull?” A leather-clad hand touches his cheek. “Are you with me?”

Ryuji suddenly bolts upright. “Konoe!” The whole world lurching sideways but he ignores the nausea. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” Yusuke replies. He’s looking slightly better than when he last saw him, able to stand on his feet again. “Disappeared, just like the rest of them. In no small part thanks to you.”

“It was more than that,” Haru disagrees. “It was nearly completely thanks to him. Your last battle with him was quite a spectacle.”

“It really was,” Sophia agrees. “You got hit near the end, though.”

“Oh,” he forces a laugh. “My bad. Must’ve worried you guys. Thanks for the heal.”

“‘Thanks for the heal’?”

Any levity that was present gets sucked away as Akira pulls his hand away from him, expression unreadable. “It wasn’t just a heal, Ryuji. It was a Recarm.”

He winces, eyes darting away. “That must’ve been scary for you,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

“I’m not interested in an apology. I’m looking for an explanation.”

“What am I supposed to explain? He caught me off guard, it happens. I might be good, but I’m not getting out of a fight with the creator of the Metaverse Part Two without a scratch.”

“It was a scratch. I’ve seen you take bullets better than that,” Akira says flatly. “The strangest thing about all this is that I think you knew about this. I think you knew what would happen if you got hit, no matter how light it was.”

Do not panic. Do not panic. “Spit it out. What are you trying to say?”

“I think something’s up and you’re hiding something from me.”

“Guys,” Futaba whispers. “Don’t fight.”

Akira turns on her, taking in her expression for a long moment before his eyes widen. “You know about it,” he realizes.

“What?!”

“You knew that he changed, and you didn’t tell me.” His eyes flashed. “Futaba, he could’ve died, and you didn’t say anything.”

“Stop it.” Ann’s voice was low and hard. “Don’t take out what you’re feeling on her.”

Looking away from Futaba, Akira scans each and everyone of their faces, and it dawns on him. “You knew.” Hurt takes up every syllable, heavy but small at the same time. “You all knew, and nobody told me. I can’t believe this.”

“Don’t get mad at them,” Ryuji snaps. There’s no way he’s letting his friends take the fall for his own actions. “You’re getting worried over nothing. I took a hit—that’s it. Bad guy defeated, let’s move on.”

“I’m not moving on if people on my team, people that I thought I could trust are hiding things from me,” he insists. “Especially you. Dammit, Ryuji, I thought I could trust you!”

His stomach doesn’t twist. Instead, a gigantic pair of scissors made up of Akira’s words goes ahead and snips off his stomach from his intestines, and he’s free falling with nowhere to crash land.

“What the fuck else do you want from me?” Everyone but Akira flinches at his words. “I beat Konoe, didn’t I? You were worried about that, you wanted to retreat because you thought I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I did it!”

“What I want from you is to be safe. That’s it.”

“But that shouldn’t be the only thing you want! Don’t you want us to win? Don’t you want us to be able to finish what we started?”

Akira shakes his head, frustrated, and starts rummaging through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“We aren’t fighting here.” A Goho-M flashes in his palm, and before anyone can say anything, they blink and suddenly they’re at the entrance of the Jail again. “Everyone, get out.”

Ryuji glares at him as the rest scurries to the entrance as quickly as possible without making it look like they’re making a run for it. Akira stares back.

“...Fine.”

The familiar but unpleasant swirl between the transition of the Jail and the real world takes over them, feeling their cells tear apart from each other before instantly clicking back into place, and then they were at the foot of the Tenboto tower.

Akira’s eyes don’t leave his. “Everyone who isn’t Ryuji, go find something else to do. We need some time to talk.”

Nobody questions it except for Futaba. “Um, do you want me to take—”

He shoves his hand in his pocket and throws his phone at her. Usually, the rose gold shade always makes him crack a smile, but he doesn’t even look at it this time. “Here.”

When she still doesn’t leave, Akira spares her a glance. “What is it?”

“Don’t...don’t be too harsh on him.”

“Don’t push it. I’m still upset that you didn’t say anything about this.”

Futaba’s head falls downwards as she walks away, Sophia in tow.

“So?” Ryuji crosses his arms. “Are we good?”

“No, we are not good, Ryuji. You argued with me over something stupid, spat in my face and deliberately went against with what I knew would be better for all of us, and worse than all of that, you knew that your defense is down by an insane amount.”

“Who cares if it’s down! Get the fuck over it, we already won.”

Akira's jaw goes slack. “Who are you? Why are you acting like this? What’s gotten into your head that you’re trying to pretend that I don’t care about your health and your safety?”

“Because you shouldn’t,” he insists. “You’re slowing the rest of us down by doing this whole hero schtick—if you just focus on what we need to do rather than something like my god damn endurance then things would go so much faster!”

“I don’t give a shit about efficiency, and do you have any idea what it even means for you to have a drastic change in your Persona? Or are you just looking for another stupid thing to argue about?”

He draws back, shame instinctively bubbling at the implication. “No, but it can’t be that damn important for us to be fighting like this.”

“Personas are the strength of the heart,” Akira roughly prods at his chest. “Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you believe in, your Persona would reflect that.”

“Okay? So what?”

A shift overcomes his expression, and Akira closes his eyes. When he speaks, it’s like he’s an ethereal being rather than a boy his age. “You seek power, correct? Since your name has been disgraced already, why not hoist the flag and wreak havoc?”

“The ‘other you’ who exists within desires it thus,” Ryuji finishes, frowning. “Why do you have that memorized?”

“Because I’ve memorized everyone’s awakenings, and because I think that’s the reason why you can’t take a hit anymore but you can throw a punch the way you can,” Akira shoots back. “You awakened your Persona to ‘wreak havoc’ on the people who piss you off, right?”

“Yeah.” His patience is waning thin. “What’s your point?”

“What if that feeling—rage against corrupt adults, your need to wreak havoc on them—what if that gets flipped around and you direct that on yourself?”

“What?” Ryuji shakes his head. “Is that even possible?”

“I can almost guarantee it, because your stats are shuffling like crazy. Your endurance is down, yeah, but do you know what skyrocketed in its place? What nearly tripled?”

“My strength?”

“Exactly. Look, I don’t know what happened, but something has shifted in your heart enough to make you believe that it’s more important to be strong than to keep yourself alive.”

Akira shoves his glasses higher on his nose, and Ryuji swallows when he sees his hand shake. “Tell me. Please. I won’t get mad, or disappointed, or whatever you think I’ll feel if you tell me. I just want you to be honest with me. I want us to work this out.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s really that simple. Like the two of them can take on any problem together, no matter how big it is, because it’s them. They’re two pieces of a puzzle—they can only ever see the bigger picture when they both click into place. It would be easy, because Akira makes it easy.

A droplet of rain lands hard on his shoulder. He opens his mouth.

“Just because I’m not telling you something, doesn’t it mean gives you the right to hound the fuck out of me until I cave.”

Akira recoils like he’s been slapped in the face. “I just want to understand.”

“And I just want you to leave me alone, okay?” He wipes away the rain from his face only for it to be replaced almost immediately. “You don’t—you just don’t fucking get it, Kurusu. You have no idea what it’s like being a piece of shit, you have no idea what it’s like being a moron, with everyone hating you—”

What? He doesn’t mean that. Of course Akira gets it. That’s how they got to know each other in the first place.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hear so much shit about you wherever you go—”

That’s not true, either. Why is he saying this?

“To have no one even take a look at you, to be a ghost, to not even exist anymore—”

Are you kidding? That’s all Akira lives through in his hometown.

Ryuji levels a gaze at him, chest burning. “You don’t know what it’s like being nothing,” he finishes.

Akira stands there, staring at him, refusing to wipe the rain away from his face. His mouth opens, before closing again, and shakes his head. His movements are jerky and stilted.

When Akira looks up, his eyes are empty. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

He turns around and walks away without another word, leaving Ryuji to stand alone, drenched in the rain and feeling like gasoline is eating through his chest, and all he can do is burn.

Osaka has bright lights and has the scent of mouth-watering in its every nook and cranny, but the only thing Ryuji can process right now is the squelch of his socks with every step he takes.

He’s only vaguely aware that he’s moving, traversing through Dotonbori in a hazed state. It’s like his consciousness left his body, trapped and distant, the burning in his chest turned into something smoldering, filling his entire being with suffocating smoke.

Ryuji’s spent who knows how long staggering through the streets, unfamiliar sights with unfamiliar people, and none of it has the same excitement that normally comes with them visiting a new place. The rain hasn’t let up, and his t-shirt has long since been soaked through. His body is still crazy sore, with his ankles begging for rest, but the idea of stopping makes him nauseous.

A large body hits his shoulder, and it nearly knocks him sideways. “Watch where you’re going, dumbass.”

“S-sorry,” he manages, but the stranger is already gone by the time he finishes.

Ryuji scrubs his eyes and looks up, surprised that he isn’t horrifically lost. He’s at one of the dual bridges in Dotonbori, a place that he recognizes because he and Ann stuffed their faces with so much takoyaki they could barely breathe afterwards.

His body sags against the bridge’s concrete railing, exhaustion making itself known, forearms pressed in an odd angle that he knows is going to leave weird patterns etched into his skin. In his pocket, his phone buzzes angrily, but he ignores it.

He scrubs his eyes again, harder. He hasn’t cried, which sucks. In fact, he hasn’t even felt the familiar panic build up in him, and he didn’t even know it was possible to miss that feeling. The feeling of something other than the gaping hole inside of him, only getting bigger.

For the first time in his life, he wishes he was angry, just so he can stop feeling this never-ending plane of nothing.

That’s a lie, actually—there’s some anger, too. A lot of it. At himself.

His phone buzzes again, and Ryuji can’t even muster a meager response. I’m fine, don’t worry, is what he’s supposed to say.

Bullshit. All he can ever do is say bullshit, over and over again.

Pressing his forehead against the edge of the concrete, he grits his teeth, staring down at his hands, miserable and desperate for something to take away this gnawing feeling inside of him, eating its way through his gut like an insatiable parasite. He tries focusing on the waves lapping against the stone below him, on the pitter-patter of the rain that’s coating his skin, on the chatter from the people behind him, but he can’t because all he can see behind his eyelids is the hurt in Akira’s face and the crack in his voice when he spoke and it’s Ryuji’s fault because he fucking sucks and he’s incapable of keeping anything good in his life and he’s trying to cry but it’s not coming, why isn’t he crying, please let him get some fucking relief, why can’t he cry—

A shadow casts over him, and he’s about to move out of the way when shoes enter his periphery. Standard sneakers except for colorful beads tied into the shoelaces.

“Yo,” Futaba greets, holding an umbrella over him.

Ryuj tries for a laugh, but it comes out hollow and pathetic. “You track my phone?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “Akira mentioned that you have a thing for bridges.”

His heart goes utterly still, before beating into overdrive. “Leave me alone,” he finds himself saying. “Just fucking get out of here, Futaba.”

“No.”

“No?” It’s sick how fiercely glad he is to be able to grasp onto anger like a lifeline. “I don’t want to be around anyone, don’t you get it? Leave me alone, Jesus, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in the group.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“And why not?”

“Because you didn’t leave me, even when I really, really wanted you to.” The gaze behind her eyes is unreadable. “You dragged me out of my tomb, screaming and kicking, but you didn’t let go.”

His lungs tightened up. “I don’t want to be around anyone right now,” he says weakly.

“Then I’m not here.” Futaba readjusts her grip on the umbrella, careful that he was still covered. She trains her eyes on a random point in the distance, away from him. “No one’s here. I’m just another stranger, and you’re just some guy who’s talking to the rain.”

They stand there for a while, unspeaking. Each passing second lets the aggravation seep out of him, bit by bit.

“Can…” he tries eventually. Maybe he can let it out, just a little bit. Enough to stop the boiling froth from spilling over the pot, maybe the water would stop rising. “Can I ask you a question?”

When she doesn’t answer, he looks down into the black water.

“What’s it like hating yourself?” he asks. “Like, really, really hating yourself. All you want to do is hide, in your room or away from everyone else. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to disappear, either. You just want to...stop. To the point where you don’t even know what you want anymore—do you want to just keep hiding? Do you want to tell everyone, to finally let someone know? To let the one person who fucking matters know what’s happening to you?”

A boat passes underneath them, and he can see a couple drinking together, laughing. “Isn’t it so embarrassing? You failed so fucking much, and you’re only making it worse by hiding it from everyone. You hid it so much, you were so unwilling to let them know, that you actually ran the damn risk of them leaving.”

The last of Ryuji’s resolve, weak as it was already, crumbles. Something inside Ryuji cracks, and his eyes are wide, so wide they might roll out of their sockets. “I couldn’t tell him, Futaba,” he rasps out. “I couldn’t—what if he leaves me? What if I lose the only damn thing that made my life something worth getting out of my room for? What’s going to happen when he realizes I’m nothing more than the kid with the fucked up leg who failed high school?”

Futaba continues to listen in silence, unable to hold back the streams of hot tears running down her cheeks.

“He loves me,” he says this with an unshakeable force, an unforeseen barrier unwilling to be broken down by anything. “I know that for a fact. But—” he sucks in a breath, and before he can stop himself, he leans his body over the bridge.

“I’m so fucking selfish!” he yells. “I can’t! I can’t tell him! I can’t face another failure, I can’t do it, it’s going to kill me, I swear to god. I failed myself, I failed all of you,” he wildly gestures at her. “I failed my mom, but I can’t fail him. Not him, anyone but him.”

“Sir Sakamoto Ryuji.”

He turns his head to her with a crumpled expression, and she wipes her face with her sleeve before grabbing his hand, pulling him away from the bridge. Ryuji is too surprised to resist. ”W-what?”

She doesn’t turn back, and despite her hoarse voice, her words don’t shake. “I will not let you continue your great sin of wrath unto yourself. You cannot,” she tugs harder, and he stumbles forward. “You cannot keep yourself in this, this darkness of hatred and anger, and thus I, Sakura Futaba, a member of the Phantom Thieves, have decided to intervene.”

“Was—” It took a lot of effort, but he composed himself enough to keep up with her short legs. “Was that a calling card?”

“You’re damn right it is, with or without the fancy paper.” Futaba glances back, and her eyes are shining and determined. “I wasn’t ready at all when you guys showed up in my room to take my heart, but good thing you did, because that was exactly what I needed. So here I am dragging you out, kicking and all. You’re going to tell Akira—”

“I can’t,” he pleads, weakly crossing the street when she keeps pulling. “Dude, I just told you why I absolutely cannot.”

“You’re going to, and that’s final.”

“No!”

And to his absolute shock, she stops in the middle of the road, expression defiant. Cars honk and flip them off, but it does nothing to deter her.

“Get out of the way!” he screams, roughly pulling at her, but Futaba doesn’t budge. “Get off the road!”

“Welcome to my ultimatum: I’m not moving until you go to him!” she points directly at him, ignoring the way headlights flash over her and puddles splash on her shorts. “You say he loves you? Cool, now prove to him that you love him.”

Ryuji rolls up his sleeves. “I’m going to carry you off of the street, you gremlin.”

“Try me, because I’m going to scream so loud,” she says seriously, and he knows she is.

“You’re insane!” he yells back, because she is.

“And you’re a moron, and it’s not because you couldn’t do academic whatnot!” Her glare is hot steel and he’s nothing more than a warm stick of butter. “He’s known you since day one, has seen you at bedrock level, and he’s still following you around like you’re some kind of queen bee and he’s the hive. You’re going to talk to him, or I swear on my mom’s grave that I’m going to jump in front of a big truck and you’re gonna have to be the one to explain to everyone why I died.”

Screw it. He rushes forward, picks her up and, because she’s never been one to back down in anything, she screams from the top of her lungs until he eventually sets her down on the other side of the road.

“Hey!” she stomps her foot. “That’s cheating!”

“Are you out of your damn mind?”

“No more than you, you clown!” she yells. “Why don’t you want to tell him?!”

“I already told you why!”

“Then what if he felt the same? What if this happened to him, and he kept it from you this entire time?”

The thought is enough to make him feel uneasy. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“But what if he did?” Futaba insists.

“Then of course I’d want to know,” he answers before he can stop himself, and quickly adds, “But he doesn’t.”

“If he was, though, then you—” she prods his chest. “Are hurting him. You’re hurting him, and I thought you loved him, and I thought you didn’t want to disappoint him. You’re a gigantic hypocrite, and screw being a bad boyfriend,” she spits the word as if eager to rid it off her tongue. “You’re being a really freaking bad best friend.”

They stare each other down, with Futaba breathing hard and him, completely unseeing.

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she says immediately. “But elaborate.”

“I’m being a really, really bad best friend.” His fingers make their way to the root of his hair and starts pulling. “I made this entire thing about me, and my problems.”

“To be fair, they were pretty big problems.”

“Yeah but...holy shit, I completely—I completely forgot that this trip is about Akira and to make sure that he’s smiling, and happy, and stress-free and—I fucked all of that to hell.”

“You did,” she agrees, relentless. “Totally screwed the pooch, but hey, you know what? There’s a big plus sign to all of this:” Futaba throws up jazz hands weakly. “You can still fix this!”

“I can still fix this…” he repeats, in a daze, and he slaps his face with both hands. “I can still fix this, dammit! This isn’t going to be another failure; I’m going to take this,” he wildy gesticulates around himself. “And shred it down so Akira doesn’t have to worry anymore. I’ll talk to him, he’ll understand, and we’re going to have a fan-fucking-tastic rest of the summer vacation, even if my life is horrible and falling apart.”

She nods enthusiastically. “But we can all fix it together once we get back home. One step at a time. First,” she levels him with a look. “You’re going to talk to Akira.”

“I have to. He’s had my back since day one, and I promise I’d do anything for him.” Even if it means showing himself, every ugly part of himself, to the most amazing person that’s ever walked on planet earth. The panic twitches inside of him, coming alive again, but he doesn’t push it away. He lets that feeling wash over him, that adrenaline, and he starts jumping on his feet. “I’m going to talk to Akira,” he announces, looking around to see any place that Akira’s eye might catch. “I need to find him, ASAP.”

“Say no more.” She pulls up her phone. “This won’t take more than two minutes.”

Glancing around wildly, something catches his attention, and he grins. “No need. I know exactly where he is.”

“You do?” A hard slap lands on his back, pushing him forward with a yelp. “Then go! Run to him! Get out of your tomb, Ryuji! I’ll see you on the other side!”

He takes a few steps forward, before turning around and quickly taking Futaba in a hug. “Love you, shorty,” he says seriously.

“I love you too.” She hugs him back tightly before letting go. “Get out of here before you find a new insecurity to change your mind.”

Ryuji opts to ignore that last bit and sets off, sneakers slapping the wet concrete as he runs, Tenboto Tower already in his sights.

“Akira!”

Everyone jumps as he slams the glass entrance open, loud and unyielding as he runs past tourists, wildly taking in each of their faces and pausing at none of them. He sucks at everything—at school, at being a good friend, at basic communication. But this? Facing public humiliation in front of strangers?

“Akira!”

He can do this any day of the week.

Nervous employees start to approach him and Ryuji books it before they can get close. Not on the ground floor, but he knew that before he even came in here. Elevator, he thinks, skidding to a halt to see that it’s already six floors up. It would take too long.

Letting out a sharp breath, he lets his feet take him to the stairwell, apathetic to the fact that he’s about to sprint up eighty-eight meters.

He’s an idiot. A moron. World’s biggest buffoon. That doesn’t surprise anyone, least of all him.

The soles of his sneakers squeak as it slaps against concrete stairs, using the railing to propel him up faster.

And he hates it. He fucking hates being the dumb one so much that it hurts.

A couple that was making out screams when he barely dodges them, and he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

He wants nothing more than to bury that part of him. Shamefully, completely. Like a corpse, or some ancient artifact. Gone for the rest of time.

Sweat streams down his back and it’s gross and he doesn’t care, not one damn bit.

But if burying it means destroying what he built with Akira? If scrambling to hide actually makes things worse when the only thing he wanted was to preserve what the two of them have?

His throat is drying up and he can feel his thighs about to split in half, but he keeps going, keeps running.

Then screw it—the whole world is about to know what a big failure he is.

Ryuji bursts through the door to the top deck, gasping for breath and dozens of heads turn to him. Gulping down as much air as his lungs can take in, “Akira!?” he booms, and he knows he’s being an asshole but he doesn’t care right now.

Nothing happens. He grits his teeth and starts running again, soaked shoes ruining plush carpet as he looks for a familiar patch of messy hair. Ryuji evades tourists left and right, around gift shop stalls and hundred yen telescopes, ignoring the picturesque view from the huge glass windows. Just like he thought—from up here, it looks eerily like you were overlooking the entire city of Tokyo if you were desperate for any sense of familiarity.

And that’s exactly what Akira had needed at the time.

Come on, come on. He’s about to hit a full circle around the observation deck and he still hasn’t spotted him. I know you’re here. There’s no way that you’d be anywhere else in the city.

Ryuji takes in another breath, ready to yell out his name for the upteenth time, when he sees an open balcony, nearly empty except for a boy leaned over the parapet, eerily still and barely underneath the glass covering above him.

Despite his earlier fervor, Ryuji slows down to a walking pace, chest heaving and feeling like his heart is going to burst.

It’ll be okay. It’s him.

He takes his place beside him, mimicking his pose, leaning over the cool metal railings. Akira doesn’t even look up, which is what he deserves, really. The wind is light, and the city sparkles below them.

No games. No bullshit. Just him and his best friend.

“I failed second-year,” he says. “And also I think I’m at a real, real low point in my life.”

Akira’s face flits in mild surprise, but Ryuji doesn’t stop, doesn’t want to give himself an out.

He starts from the very beginning—from getting called into his homeroom, to Ushimaru giving him a look that said he expected this because that’s ‘just the type of student he is’, to hiding it from his mom, from Ann, from him. He tells him how being alone is tiring, but being with people is exhausting.

And the tears. The minute he started talking, the tears came and kept coming no matter how many times he wiped it away. At first he thought it was from humiliation, at the guilt from keeping it from Akira. But after a while, he realizes that keeping this huge, weighty, life-altering secret from Akira was hurting him, too. It’s like the entire sky got lifted off of him, and he can finally breathe again. For the first time, he feels relieved.

Akira stands there, silent the entire time, not looking at him but he knows he’s soaking in every word that he’s saying.

Ryuji stands up straight and faces him. His voice is barely above a whisper, used up and crackled like dried out stone. “Akira, I’m so, so sorry. I said horrible shit and I kept you in the dark for so long, and-and I forced everyone not to say anything because of my own issues, and I could’ve—” he flinches when he remembers feeling his life deplete out of him from a single hit. “I could’ve died, dude. And I kept it from you over something so petty like being bad at algebra. I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I know that now, and hindsight is a bit of a bastard.” He looks down, sees people from below, small as ants. “There’s no good excuse, I get that. It’s just...I was fucking terrified, dude. Of whatever you see in me fading away once you see me for what I actually am.”

Ruffling his own hair, he lets out a long breath. “Alright. I’m done. It’s your turn, if you want it.”

“Is that really how you feel?” Akira asks, emotionless.

“With my entire body.”

His feelings are twisted together between shock that he actually did it, and earth-shattering fear that something bad might happen. No, Akira would never in a million years openly mock him, but he can easily imagine a small, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. An it’s okay. I get it. A shallow hug and a kiss on the cheek. An obligatory comfort that Akira feels he has to give but Ryuji never wanted.

But what he didn’t expect was for Akira to suddenly start laughing.

Ryuji stares in shock as his shoulders, always straight back, hunches in on itself, shaking uncontrollably, hands instinctively flitting to his mouth but unable to hold in the snort that escapes through his lips.

“Uh,” he asks, confused. “What?”

“I—” Akira tries, but doubles over, gripping the metal railing. “Give me a second, sorry—”

They stand there for a few long minutes, Ryuji bewildered and Akira laughing harder than he’s ever seen him. Whenever he looks like he’s about to finish, Akira gives him a look, and starts laughing uncontrollably again.

Eventually, he sobers up enough to resume his earlier position. “Ryuji,” the smile is still stuck on his lips. “I love you.”

“...Okay?” he replies, still lost.

“And I’ve been in therapy since April.”

The entire world halts to a grinding, screeching halt.

“You’re—” Ryuji fumbles. “You’ve been in what?”

“Therapy.”

“Why?!” When Akira raises an eyebrow at him, he backtracks a little. “Okay, I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just...surprising.”

He can’t even imagine what kind of metaphor he’d have to use to begin explaining the complexities of a Persona and Palaces. “Is it tough trying to explain all of this?”

“It’s not about the Metaverse or anything,” he says, and, with the slight mirth still stuck on his features, “It’s because I’ve been depressed for a few months now.”

About a trillion questions want to fly out of his mouth right now, but he settles on one for now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Akira looks up, staring at the few specks of stars that still poke out despite the light pollution of any big city in Japan. “I just think,” he starts. “That I’m really, really lonely.”

Before Ryuji can say anything, he cuts him off with a look. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he says, relaxing. “Because it’s not your fault, or anyone else’s. I’ve just…It’s been hard, going back to that life after living such a good one in Tokyo. When I finally came back home, it’s like I was stuck in a time loop. Every day that I stay there,” he stares down at his hands. “Is another day that everyone’s moving on without me.”

Ryuji nearly bites his tongue off in an effort to hold himself back. Move on? Without Akira? Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.

“It didn’t help that no one would even look me in the eye there,” he continues. “It got to the point where the days just blended together, the same cycle of nothing, the same day of being alone, over and over again. Worrying about being forgotten, being trapped and stuck.” Akira’s pale cheeks turn red. “Eventually, my grades started dropping,” he admits. “My parents noticed, because of course they did, and…”

Akira curls his fingers around the bar. “They threatened that they wouldn’t let me go if it stayed down.”

“Son of a bitch,” he hisses, unable to help himself. “What the hell, man?”

“I know,” he agrees. “Bad move on their part, considering that it got even worse after they said that. It’s...it’s actually why I’m getting tutoring now. Not necessarily for Tokyo U, but I really do plan on going to a Tokyo-based university. Because if I don’t…” he trails off.

“I am the only person in the world who isn’t allowed to say this, but,” Ryuji shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything, Akira? I could’ve visited you more, or had more phone calls, or, I don’t know. Something to help.” To help you the way you helped me.

“Good question,” he muses, slightly amused. “Alright. Imagine this. You’re a new kid in town with a criminal record. Everyone hates you, more than they usually do, and you were starting to accept that your life is just going to be like this. But suddenly, a guy comes barreling into your life.” Akira’s expression softens. “He’s loud, tough, and extremely cute, and next thing you know, he became your best friend. You don’t know what he sees in you, you don’t know what you did to make him approach you in the first place, but the only thing you know for sure—”

“Is that you’re never letting him go,” Ryuji finishes for him. “Even if it means hiding yourself away, yeah?”

Ryuji’s gazing down at the city beneath them, unseeing. He can’t react the way he wants to, but what the fuck.

Akira is the best person he’s ever met and he’s pretty sure at least twenty other people scattered around the streets of Tokyo would agree with him on that. Yet he hid such a massive secret from Ryuji because he thought that Ryuji would leave him? That’s beyond ridiculous. That’s messed up, that’s—

Ryuji looks up to see that Akira’s already looking back at him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yup,” Akira tries to pull it off like he was scratching his cheek, but the shine of the tear makes it obvious. “You got me.”

Finally, Ryuji cracks.

“I’m—” he chokes, wracked with grief. “I’m so fucking sorry. I am so, so sorry, you were going through so much and I didn’t even—”

Akira takes a step back, shocked. “Why are you the one apologizing? I’m the one who was too busy wallowing to notice that you had changed enough that your Persona—”

“Because you’re depressed, and I should’ve been there to help you!”

“And I said that it was never your fault!”

“That doesn’t matter, I should’ve helped you go through that, wait outside the clinic with you, I don’t know!”

“And I made you think that I would have left you if you failed high school, which is insane—!”

“Kurusu, I lied to you. I lied to your face, I said so much shit, I jeopardized the entire team all because I didn’t want to lose you—”

“Don’t,” he pleads. “I know why you did it, but me? I don’t have an excuse. I’m your leader—”

“I’m your partner—”

“I’m your best friend—”

“And I didn’t notice!” they both finish in unison, distraught and breaths heaving, hearts pounding in time with each other, always together.

And then they both laugh; it’s teary, wet, and they probably look insane to any tourist ten feet from them, but they’re cracking up because it’s hilarious. It’s absolutely hysterical that either of them ever believed that they would leave the other over something so stupid as their own perception of themselves.

Ryuji sobers up first, grin so wide that it’s hurting his cheeks. “Can I apologize one last time?”

“No,” he says, voice tender. “I’ve heard enough sorrys to last a lifetime.”

“Come on! Just one more!”

“Just one more,” he relents.

He throws his arm around Akira, squeezing him tight against his side. “I’m sorry that I’m apparently the most good-looking guy you’ve ever seen that you instantly fell in love with me.”

“Dammit,” Akira tries shoving him off weakly. “I knew you were gonna use that against me.”

“Damn right.” He kisses his forehead, gentle despite the rough grip.

“Can I apologize too?”

“Copycat. You can apologize once.”

“Okay.” Hugging Ryuji’s torso, they’re close enough that neither can feel the chill of the wind. “I’m sorry this happened to us,” he says seriously.

Pulling back, Ryuji frowns. “Dude!”

“I know, I know, what a downer. But it’s true.”

“It’s true,” he agrees. “But we can work on this. Together, this time. Like a couple of smart, capable people.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Akira murmurs before leaning forward and catching his lips. He tastes like rainwater and heat. He can feel his own lips twitch into a smile, and the vibration of Akira’s chuckle against his throat. It’s familiar, memorized, but he still makes sure to relearn it every time.

They kiss so deep that the hole inside Ryuji’s chest is full enough to burst.

“Kaboom!” Futaba had said.

The booming sound of a firework rings from up top, illuminating their faces in bright colors in the night. It reflects shades of red, yellow, blue and pink all over the surface of the water like paint buckets that got toppled over in a kindergarten classroom.

Ryuji’s chin is tilted up, watching them explode and take over his entire view of the sky. It’s almost blinding, but he can’t peel his eyes away from them even when he can feel them drying up.

It’s the last day of summer—his worst nightmare.

A purple one sparkles, the sound of the explosion delayed by half a second. He leans his head against Akira’s shoulder, lip quirking up when he feels weight pressing against the crown of his skull.

It’s the last day of summer, but he can’t feel anything but the warmth at his side, fingers intertwined with his, the ringing in his ears. Everything feels more real than they had in the last few months, the haze shifting away, the fog thinning out.

His heart beats strong in his chest. A hand squeezes his tightly.

Kaboom.

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs into the attic of Leblanc, the heat just as intense as it was this time last year.

Stray beams of light poured in from the open window of what has turned into a study cave for any of the thieves to use—cram books of trigonometry to art theory lined the shelves, the walls lined with study good luck charms that they had hoarded from any shrines that they had visited, and day-old tea cups and coffee mugs littered the desks.

Amidst all of that sat Akira, elbows propped up on the table, expression serious. “Happy last day of school,” he says, voice monotone, staring at the thick, impressive envelope in front of him.

“‘Happy’ my ass,” Ryuji flops down on the seat next to him, wood creaking under the sudden weight, nodding at the parchment. “Is that it?”

“If it isn’t, it’s going to be one insane train ride back home to get it.”

“I don’t know how you did it, man. I would’ve torn that thing open the minute I got it.”

Akira gives him an alarmed look. “You didn’t—”

He puts his hands up in surrender, holding a much thinner, yet somehow just as weighty sealed envelope between his fingers before throwing it down with the other. “I didn’t.”

“Good.” Akira doesn’t quite relax, but he lets out a breath. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, a little wobbly. “Moment of truth, huh? Either you got into school…”

“And you passed second-year.”

“Or we don’t.”

The silence that follows is heavy, contemplative, coating the air with something thick and hard to swallow.

Ryuji slams his hand on the table, gut twisting and knotting tightly. “Let’s fucking do this.”

They both reach forward to their corresponding envelopes, hands shaking but neither comment on it. Akira opens his first, and Ryuji very nearly bites it open just to get it over with. He’s suddenly glad that he’s sitting for this. His knees would’ve given out for sure.

Eventually, he finally gets it out of the envelope. His vision blurs as he starts scanning through the letter, eyes flitting all over the page looking for a few choice words, and his breathing stops cold.

He raises his head in time with Akira, and their eyes are wide. A wind chime clinks somewhere behind them.

“I got in,” Akira whispers.

“I passed,” Ryuji whispers back.

They stare at each other for a moment, before they explode.

Immediately, Ryuji jumps out of his chair and lifts Akira clean off his seat. “You got in!” he cries, and he’s not even embarrassed at the horrendous crack in his voice. “You bastard, I knew you could do it!”

“You passed,” Akira throws his arms around his neck and clings, so tight he can barely breathe. “I knew it, I could feel it, I knew you had it!”

Ryuji grasps the back of his hair, still spinning. “I’m so happy for you, I’m so happy for you,” he chants, his entire body feeling weak with relief and unencumbered joy but he knows he’d never drop him. “You fucking did it.”

“And you fucking did it!” He starts planting kisses on his head, his cheek, his shoulder, wherever he can reach. “You worked so hard, and you—” another kiss, this time right on his eyelid. “You did it, and I am so, so, so proud of you.”

With whatever last strength Ryuji has, he spins double-time, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Tokyo University, baby!”

“Third-year!” Akira tries, voice barely above his normal volume. “Third-year!”

He sets him down, and the grin on his face is wider than it’s ever been. Ryuji feels like he can eat the entirety of Yongen in one try. “You are—” he holds Akira’s face between both of his hands, face inches from his. “The smartest person on the entire fucking planet.”

“And you—” his eyes are bright, so bright. “Need to call your mom.”

“Shoot!” Ryuji slaps his forehead. “Totally slipped by me. Uh, I’ll—”

“Bathroom works, and Soijro locked up the cafe for us.”

“Boss is the best. I’ll be back,” he turns, headed for the stairs.

“Wait.”

Ryuji looks back only for a hand to hold his nape, pulling him forward. Akira kisses him, still smiling. When they pull away, he says, in a crystal clear voice, “I love you, I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

He could barely reply past the lump in his throat, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in that sentence. “I love you,” he manages. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? I want to keep talking to you.”

“Of course,” Akira says, and Ryuji slips out of his grasp before he can do something stupid, like cry. Again.

Cracking the door open to the tiny powder room of Leblanc, he leans against the wall and catches his expression in the mirror—grinning and flushed with pleasure. It’s a good look.

He hits the speed dial on his phone, and his mom picks up almost immediately. “Did you get the letter?” she rushes out. “Whatever happens, you’re still the best son I could ever ask for, you hear me?”

“Ma,” the reflection’s grin grows impossibly wider. “I passed.”

The screaming from the receiver is loud enough that he had to pull it away from himself, wincing but laughing at her reaction. “I knew it!” her voice sounds years younger. “I knew you could do it!”

The wall is cool behind him, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, embarrassed. “Thanks, ma.”

“Of course, Ryu! Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” he blinks. “Well, yeah, of course.”

“That’s all I ever wanted,” a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniffle sounds through. “You could’ve stopped going to school entirely and as long as it made you happy, I’d go along with it.”

Air catches in his throat, awe-struck. He knew how she felt, but having her tell him at face value is something else entirely.

Ryuji’s about to answer when a cascade of voices and footsteps suddenly flow into the cafe, just outside the powder room.

“Akira,” Makoto says gently, audible through thin walls. “Did…?”

He doesn’t catch a reply, but screams and cheers fill up the cafe, dust falling from the ceiling as people start jumping up and down.

“I can hear your friends celebrating from here,” his mom chuckles. “I’ll let you go. Let’s get dinner when you get home, okay?”

“That sounds great,” he says, coughing, brushing the flecks of dried wood off his shoulder. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

He hangs up, sighing happily. After mentally preparing himself, he throws the door open, doorknob slamming against the wall that he prays didn’t leave a dent.

“Is that him?” Haru’s voice flows from above.

“That’s him,” Akira confirms.

Ryuji takes the steps two at a time, welcomed by the sight of everyone clinging to Akira with overjoyed expressions, and they quiet down when they see him.

Ann takes a step forward, gently letting go of Akira’s shoulder. “So?”

He takes a deep breath, makes a big show of kicking the floor boards, before looking up.

“Yeah, I did it.”

An eruption of pure noise goes straight into his eardrums as he’s tackled by arms and bodies, knocking him to the ground. Everyone’s yelling, some are crying, and he can understand exactly zero of what they’re saying but he hugs back as best he can. Through the cracks of shoulders and hair and necks, he can see Akira watching them all in amusement.

With no small amount of struggling, Ryuji wriggles a hand free and extends it to him. Akira doesn’t hesitate to take it, but yelps as he proceeds to get tugged right into the middle of the pile, crashing into three other people and loving every second of it.

Delusion is a real funny thing in hindsight. How could he have ever thought that he had nothing to be proud of? That his list of accomplishments added up to exactly nothing?

Yusuke is reciting victory speeches from wars won long ago while Makoto is listing off scholarships he can apply for in his third-year. Futaba is repeatedly hitting his shoulder, shrieking in his ear while Haru is quietly telling him how proud she is of him. Ann’s already pulling Shiho on speakerphone, and Akira has a look in his eye, a fondness that tells Ryuji that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The room is full, and the sun is still streaming through, warm and inviting. He wishes that Ryuji from a year ago could see this, see his friends that are still by his side, that will always be by his side, and rest easy.