#Compass Call

[nocternalrandomness]

EC-130H Electronic Attack Aircraft turning final for RWY 30 at Davis-Monthan AFB, Tucson, Az

[usafphantom2]

The first delivered EA-37B arriving in Manchester as BATT01 after a trip from Davis-Monthan!🦇

@Mthplanes via X

[tungledotedu]

uh why the fuck would you say this

this post has 3000 notes and they get worse.

el-shab-hussein has already explained why he no longer shares how he vets individual fundraisers. scammers will use the information to be less obvious, making it more difficult to spot them.

and senatortedcruz's post has no actual proof of a widespread scam. that is a serious accusation to make, yet people are reblogging it and accepting it as true with no evidence. i won't deny that there are individual grifters on tumblr, but there are accounts like @/neechees, kyra45 and anonthescambuster that will help you avoid them. hussein even has a #scam alert tag for this purpose.

it's racist to spread misinformation about a supposed large-scale deception posing as fundraisers, not to mention dangerous because this makes it less likely for gazans to get what they need to survive and escape relentless airstrikes. we've already seen the consequences of this bias. some of these people are all too happy to be cops and harass or report gazans thinking they're bots or 'spamming' inboxes.

almost nobody on that post is encouraging others to donate to organisations or other vetted lists like those by operation olive branch, which has a faq sheet that explains how they verify fundraisers. i suspect this is an attempt to discourage people from helping palestinians altogether.

gazans are making fundraisers because they have no other choice. many of them cannot work and earn money as their workplaces have been destroyed. some have been disabled by injuries thanks to the iof's targeting of civilians. the fault is on israel for besieging them and on the egyptian government for exploiting their need to evacuate.

they're doing this for the same reason they have been posting photographs and videos of genocide so that people will pay attention to their suffering, so the world will not forget. is it such a leap in logic to understand they will also use social media to start fundraisers? do you just expect them to sit there and die in silence? so you can ignore them and your countries can keep arming israel as it commits atrocities?

[nite-puff]

KILL the voice in your head telling you that kiyotaka ishimaru is a good innocent boy that can do nothing wrong. EMBRACE the fact that he’s a cunt. and a hypocrite.

and that’s fine.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[historicity-was-already-taken]

pixeljade: #it IS very much a complex issue and I feel like saying that has been pissing off a lot of folks on both sides #one fact i would add to the table is that the current actions against palestine DO constitute a genocide by definition #its a word i hear pro-Israel people get very upset by because they think it is inherently comparing this to the holocaust #but its not. some people DO and thats its own discussion. but calling it a “genocide” is simply accurate and undeniable

Speaking as someone who was that pro-Israel person in her teens and very early 20s, the reactions you're describing are 800% cognitive dissonance freak outs. Most of these people, like me, received either directly or indirectly from their Elders in the Jewish community a very trauma-induced and deeply emotional information about the history of this situation, which boils down to: "They tried to kill us all once and they didn't now we finally have returned to the Promised Land, the only place we have to shield ourselves against It Happening Again. Israel's detractors hate that Jews can defend themselves now, and if any of them, including the Palestinians, were to have their way, they'd see us all dead. We must defend ourselves at all costs, and not let anyone ever put us in existential danger as a people ever again."

And then to have some rando 19 year old who knows jack shit about your or your community or your community's trauma to get up in your face and start screaming at you about genocide? It's only going to trigger that intergenerational trauma, and cause the party being screamed at to dig deeper into their defensive, cognitive-dissonance fueled response. Which, if we were to boil that response down to a thought process, looks like "This person hates me and all Jews. They think we're a hive mind who don't deserve to live. Thank G-d for Israel."

What's complex, is that not everything in that trauma response is wrong, and not everything the dumbass 19 yo who has no interest in unpacking their own learned anti-Semitism was wrong.

Israel's actions towards Palestinian Arabs since 1948 does fit several definitions of genocide and/or ethnic cleansing. And many of the Westerners who scream about it the loudest are fairly openly anti-Semitic.

Now, as someone with big Holocaust intergenerational trauma in her family, I am sympathetic to the Jewish kid in this scenario. But cognitive dissonance is just that: the domain of a child. Adults understand that cognitive dissonance is a little voice in our head telling us "Hey comrade our discomfort with this is a little much. Maybe this is a learning opportunity?"

I mean, that's what I did. But it's difficult. Its uncomfortable, and that scares people. It's much easier to believe that "They call it the Naqba because they hate us and think our survival and access to national self-determination is a disaster,"* than it is to understand that "They call it the Naqba because it was the near total dispossession and ethnic cleansing of Palestinian Arab populations from their generational homes and properties."

And again, everything I'm saying here is a result of my journey from a hardcore Zionist-in-the-contemporary-sense child (though always left in terms of domestic US Politics), to a grown Holocaust historian who understands that Israel is no better and no worse than all the other nation states (for new readers, I understand the nation-state as a political entity, the logical end point of which is genocide and/or ethnic cleansing), and openly criticizes it on those grounds.

*A rabbi in a youth group I belonged to told me this almost verbatim when I was 15. And when you're 15 and somebody tells you they love you you're gonna believe them.

[uncanny-tranny]

So often, twink death is framed as a bad thing. However, the "twink death" for trans men* is frankly one of the most healing things you will bear witness to (pun intended).

[inanimateinsanityrsau]

oj buddy. Do you really not have Any other hobbies.

i just... haven't had a lot of time for them, recently.

[flowersandbirdsflyingfree]

Every like rewards him a bon-bon. Every reblog rewards him with a forehead kiss. Help your local tired German today

[fatedroses]

Zenos viator Galvus and him trying to deal with actually feeling things for once (Even if he doesn't really understand how to handle the comfort he receives from others for it)

I am also giving this man a dad that actually cares, because this brainworm have gotten me and there is no saving me from them.

[haifoct]

let me kiss your brain, because, seriously, EVERY WORD in that post about LI Lun IS ON POINT!!!

Was Li Lun behaving like a murderous toddler throwing a temper tantrum? Yes! But he had some good reasons to do so!

Regardless of their "romantic" relationship, ZYZ and LL were first and foremost, friends, who spent 30k years together. Even though they disagreed and even though ZYZ always felt like being a demon wasn't good enough, he wanted to be human, LL still accepted that.

Did LL overreact by killing those people in the clinic? Yes. But, if I saw my people- including children- in cages, tortured, I'd probably snap too. Plus, it irked me to no end that ZYZ was too preoccupied with being outraged at Li Lun for killing guards instead of actually helping his fellow demons. "I will protect the Wilderness"- proceeds to do absolutely nothing crying over two killed torturers while LL does all the protecting.

Then ZYZ proceeded to touch the unknown burning thing and ended up mortally wounding Li Lun. And then sealed him in and deprived him of any choice. And did he go to talk to him after? Nope. No explanation, no "get well" card, nothing. Heck, I think even a shouting match would've been better.

Even if he never went to LL because he was spiraling into depression, that doesn't explain the whole "holier than thou" attitude he displayed throughout the show. Did LL kill humans? Yes, but so did ZYZ (example- that bureau guy whose heart he exploded to prove his point). And then had the audacity to taunt LL and call him names when in reality LL was right in most of his accusations- of ZYZ being a hypocrite, liar, traitor, etc. I'm sorry, but while LL is absolutely NOT free of fault, ZYZ has no right to pretend he is any better.

But the worst of all is that when he got a chance to make up with LL, he let his pettiness and anger get the best of him. He failed to say ONE SENTENCE (we will put your soul into a piece of wood and you will recultivate again in 100 years) that would've made a whole lot of difference, and in the end, he indirectly caused Ying Lei's, Li Lun's, and likely Bai Ju's deaths.

Literally, all they had to do to get LL to stop his antics and even become THEIR ally was for ZYZ to say "sorry I set you on perpetual fire, bro. I missed you". But the "hero demon" couldn't even do that...

If anything, Zhuo Yichen was the one who showed more compassion and kindness to Li Lun than his supposed friend ever did. No wonder Li Lun shifted his focus to him in the end.

It seems that ZYZ was inherently biased against being a demon and valued humans more than demons. Perhaps, it was because of him being the vessel of malicious energy, so he juxtaposed that unfair twist of fate onto all demons (as in, he would not be in that situation if he were a human). Perhaps, he also realized at some point that he could not have the same range of emotions as humans, so he perceived himself and other demons as less. And Li Lun was the personification of demon-ness and all that ZYZ hated about himself, and he couldn't overcome it. Plus, it seems that all demons have a problem with dealing with complex emotions like grief and rage; this is why, in the end, among all of them, ZYC is the most mature one even though he is only 24. If only ZYZ had one tenth of ZYC's maturity and compassion to his fellow demons, the whole story would've played out very, very differently.

And this is why I want to write fix it fics now

Thank you SO MUCH for your addition, especially for bringing up their very last chess match. It’s probably the only moment that makes me genuinely, fucking angry at Zhu Yan. I can even understand his reaction in the clinic—but this? He wanted to be human so badly that he put his pride above everything else, lmfao. How pathetic, how frustrating it was to see him so desperately refuse to call Li Lun his friend, refuse to say that he cared for him, that he didn’t want him dead, that he had a solution. It’s so sad that Li Lun was always open and clear about his grievances, he always used his words to explain why he’s angry.

I guess if Zhu Yan admitted that he cared for this unhinged one, it would show him in the bad light.

I don’t care; I don’t even think he "indirectly" caused Ying Lei’s death. He literally killed him, period. Xiao Zhuo and the rest of the gang were the ones who told Li Lun about the root thing, and the fact that we see Li Lun IMMEDIATELY stop struggling? He went, Oh… sure, I’ll go into the root, we can draw. (Also, if Zhu Yan cared for Li Lun, he would’ve put him in Cheng Huang’s sundial and grown him for 100 years as an apology for the pain. What is 100 years to a 30K-year-old demon? A mere blink.)

And YES, Xiao Zhuo was incredibly kind to Li Lun. Despite saying he never understood him and never would, we know damn well that’s not the case. Baby Zhuo Yichen spiraled into loneliness, bitterness, isolation, and hatred toward Zhu Yan and demons—until Wen Xiao’s words about snow eventually melting brought him back (the same way Xiao Zhuo’s words sobered Li Lun and left a mark on his soul). I’m forever grateful to our precious Zhuo Yichen for forming his own opinion about Li Lun. (Isn’t it fun that he never told the gang about his encounter with Li Lun by that river?) 

Zhu Yan’s hatred, his harsh words, never affected him. Zhuo Yichen understood Li Lun. His journey with Li Lun is one of the most fascinating and interesting. No wonder our director grabbed the two actors and put them in another series together — he’s one of us, a shipper.

I absolutely adore you pointing out Li Lun being everything Zhu Yan hated about himself. His harshness with his former friend comes from his self-pity and self-hatred.

His words, "Li Lun, you’re bitter I have everything, and you have nothing." Despite it being awfully annoying in the moment due to Zhu Yan literally not hearing what Li Lun was telling him, it made me think it’s Zhu Yan trying to convince himself.

And even worse, Li Lun is proud of being a demon. He loves the Wilderness, he loves his home, he loves his people. There’s nothing he loves more than being a demon. He even turned the human he liked the most into one as well.

Zhu Yan is not as broad minded as Wen Xiao claims him to be. He very clearly has his biases. Always thinking about Zhu Yan murdering Xiao Pagoda Ghost that played with them in Li Lun’s illusion. That was awfully cold blooded! 

They’re tragic, indeed, and my heart breaks for them both. However, it makes me incredibly happy that Zhu Yan learned from his experience with Li Lun and stood firmly by his new friends’ sides. And I’m happy Li Lun found one Zhuo Yichen and one little Ying Lei who cried for him and were kind to his pain.

[nocternalrandomness]

EC-130H Compass Call over the Lake Mead desert, AZ.

[paingoes]

a softer destroyer AU…..2!!!

(part 1)

wait why is writing family drama so fun

SORRY THESE TRANSITIONS ARE KINDA CLUMSY….. bro trust

also i imagine older sabina’s voice being similar to glados :)

(Content: living weapon whumpee, royal whump, familial whump, parental death, dehumanization, beating, PTSD, implied child abuse, implied domestic abuse, brief reference to past noncon, elderly abuse?, verbal abuse, angst)

In the far corner of the room, the kid was curled up against the cushion. The needles he held moved softly, like he was afraid to make too much noise with them. Sabina watched him through the corner of her eye.

Delta seemed to leave every room that they entered in the beginning. Something in her sunk at the thought. Not that it was a foreign mindset to her. Loneliness was safety. Nobody could hurt her when there was no one around. She understood why he hid. But she had given him the sewing basket in hope that he wouldn’t.

Years ago, she had laughed dead in the Emperor’s face when he had first gifted it to her. She’d spent all of that week embroidering phalluses into his coronation robes. Delta, however, seemed grateful.

At eighteen, he was younger than even she had been when she was taken.

“Can I see it, honey?” 

It wasn’t an order, but he rose nigh immediately to fulfill it. He held the mass of yarn out to her, then pressed his hands back together, clasped politely. She noticed a soft blush appearing on his face.

It was a pink cat hat. He was knitting paw pads into them. 

“You’re learning so fast,” she praised, which made him shy again. She let his fidgeting go unacknowledged.

“Do this,” she instructed. “You’ve been at it for a while.”

Sabina stretched both of her wrists out. She rotated them within their sockets, then pressed against the individual joints and digits. It helped. She’d been doing a lot of physical therapy in the past years, most of which was just stretching. Delta followed her example obediently. From his expression, the process was novel to him. He seemed mildly entertained by the exercise.

She noticed, inevitably, the ring of bruises around his left wrist. This part she does not leave unacknowledged.

“Who did that to you?” She pointed at the injury, but did not touch it. 

For a second, he looked at her like she was stupid. But it fell away quickly. When he didn’t answer, she pushed again.

“Have they been hitting you?”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

It was a redundant answer. Marks like that didn’t appear on their own. But it meant he was okay with talking about it, which counted for a lot.

“How many times, since I told them not to touch you?” She could feel her own irritation spiking. “Both of them?”

“Not Simon,” Delta said hurriedly. “He hasn’t at all. He didn’t even hit me before.”

That last part was a lie. She had definitely seen the scientist swat him at least once, back when the Emperor was alive. She didn’t like the way that man talked to him. But the way Delta was staring at her begged to let it go.

“The other one, then? How many times?” she asked.

He winced.

“…I haven’t been keeping track,” he admitted. She could hear the note of irritation in his voice.

~

“Caned?” she asked. “Can you repeat that?”

Her only son twirled the butterfly knife in between his fingers. His other hand curled up by his mouth when he spoke.

“Ask him.” 

Martino stood in the center of the room, the other side of the desk. Both his hands were clasped behind him — and he was unmistakably annoyed at having been called in.

When she had gone to collect him, Sabina had found the doctor in the study — and his charge with him. Delta sat up on the table with his hair gathered up behind him. His shirt had been unbuttoned and pulled down at one shoulder, leaving half of his torso bare and exposed. To see the fabric hanging off him, to see him dead-eyed…

Her chest ached. 

Now, though, it was just the three of them. Sabina rested at the edge of the desk to face him. Paris swayed back and forth in the chair, with a weird and restless energy that resisted engagement in all directions. She did the talking.

“Do you remember the instructions I gave you?” she asked. “I thought they were quite explicit. I thought I told you not to touch him.”

“Your Majesty,” he said, all slick condescension, “I’m a doctor. How else would you have me treat him?”

“Don’t get cute. Don’t come in here and act like you need me to teach you how to be decent. You don’t touch people without permission.”

“Your Ma-

He wasn’t taking this seriously.

“You are in my house,” she yelled. “You will follow my orders. And you will keep your fucking hands to yourself! Do you understand me?!”

She stood up then, crossing the room to him. The fabric of the skirt rippled when she moved. He was taller than her, by a good amount. It didn’t matter. She was the one with the crown.

“If you hurt him again, I can have you sent to the gallows without trial. The fact you’ve even escaped it this long is a wonder in itself.”

“Your husband didn’t seem to think so.”

She slapped him. Immediately, she was overcome with a sense of disgust. Not at having done it. But at the fact she’d had to touch him.

Martino stumbled. It couldn’t have hurt that much, but he clearly wasn’t expecting it. He stumbled a bit, which she recognized as simple reflex. 

Paris didn’t.

The second Martino stepped to her, he was on him. He’d practically leaped over the table to intervene.

“Get back. Get back,” he urged, though he’d already slammed him into the wall, about as far back as he could reasonably go. His head smacked hard against the wooden surface. 

Paris had the worst of her temper. His grip on Martino’s blazer tightened. With a harsh, jerking motion, he tossed him to the floor. Though the doctor landed on his hands and knees, the ensuing kick to his ribs knocked him all the way to the ground.

“Don’t ever-“

Paris didn’t even bother to finish the sentence. He wasn’t able to. All he could focus on was driving the boot into that man’s chest as many times as he could. It wasn’t a fight, and it was barely even defense. It was just a beating. They both heard the rib crack. If he kept going, she knew he would’ve killed him.

Sabina wrapped one hand around her son’s forearm to restrain him. She did so without much enthusiasm, but some degree of obligation. Martino wouldn’t have struck her. He wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t deserve to die — at least not for that reason. 

More than anything, she didn’t want that for Paris.

He collapsed back against her. When he turned, she saw his eyes had gone glassy. She cupped his face to try and bring him away from it.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop. I’m fine. Look at me. I’m fine. Easy.”

“He was going to-“ Paris gasped. He sometimes got so angry he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m fine,” Sabina insisted. “Calm down.”

He stilled, but he did not calm. She’d gripped his wrist to restrain him — through the skin, she could still feel his pulse beating as if his heart might explode.

~

That was not the last of the re-shuffling. While they’d had succession plans drafted ever since he’d turned fifteen, that didn’t change just how brutal the transition always was. It was still abrupt, still contested. That day’s meeting was particularly bad. All of them had been recently. Paris did not greet anyone when he got back. He cursed to himself, making his way back up the stairs to the Emperor’s bedroom. They still hadn’t cleared out all the paperwork yet. He knew it could take hours of searching for him just to find the forms he was looking for, if they hadn’t been burned or lost already.

He jumped back in surprise to see Delta already inside of it. Draped in one of Constantine’s jackets, much too big on him. He’d been going through the jewelry box when the door had opened. He retreated his hand quickly as Paris entered, as if this did anything to conceal the act.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Delta froze. It did not help. 

Paris laughed incredulously and without humor.

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you doing?”

Delta didn’t answer, which only pissed him off more.

“It’s fucking rude to ignore people when they’re talking to you. What’s your problem? You miss him? Because he was so fucking nice to you?”

No answer. Delta looked back at him as if he’d just slapped him in the face. But Paris couldn’t stop it once he’d started. 

“Do you actually think he loved you? Do you think he ever loved anyone but himself? Put that shit down. He bought you and he fucking ruined you the same way he ruined everyone else that he pulled into his life. You think he was better just because he wasn’t holding a whip? That he didn’t know what they did to you, that he didn’t fucking pay for it?! Are you that fucking stupid?!”

That did it. Delta was already on the ground midway through the rant, kneeling, the way he did whenever people raised their voice around him. His eyes were down, bowing his head to keep his expression from view. But his knuckles were turning white from just. how tightly his fists were balled up.

“God fucking damn it,” Paris yelled, banging his side of his fist into the door in frustration. Delta flinched. At the same instant, Sabina appeared by the stairs.

“Paris,” she said his name in low warning tone.

“No, what the fuck is he doing? Why-“ Paris gestured, then cut himself off. He ran one hand through his hair, about ready to tear it out. He knew he was about to cry.

“I told him he could,” Sabina explained, slowly. Irate. “God knows you don’t want any of it. How dare you start yelling at him like that?”

She was mad at him. He hated it when she got mad at him; he couldn’t stand it. He slipped past her, jogging down the stairs before either of them could see the tears forming in his eyes. Sabrina stayed there on the top step. He didn’t see Delta, but he could guess he was still kneeling there, that he’d stay until she  gave him permission to get up. 

~

“You can’t snap like that again,” Sabina warned him from the other side of the kitchen.

Paris leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over. He rocked himself gently off the edge.

“Why? Constantine was a fucking dog. I thought we agreed to burn all his shit,” he grumbled.

“You couldn’t burn all that he owned if you had the rest of your life to do it.” She promised. But her eyes had lit up when she said the word burn. She shook her head. “Enough. Don’t take it out on the baby. It’s not his fault.”

“Is he stupid?” Paris asked again. “Doesn’t he know?”

Sabina sighed. She opened the fridge, pouring herself a glass of wine. She was overly focused on the mechanics of it. She rolled her shoulder to undo some of the tension that was forming there.

“Your father is dead, Paris. Isn’t that enough for you? It’s not enough that the both of us hated him, and that he died violent and alone? You also need everyone else to despise him just as much as you do?”

“I do.” Paris said plainly. “Don’t you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Do you know what all my anger got me, in the end? Do you know what would have happened if I’d kept feeding it?”

He didn’t answer. His mother crossed the kitchen to him, tilting her head to one side. He had half a second to glare at her, but it fell flat on the attempt. Sabina was unfazed. She said:

“I would’ve killed you in the cradle.”

Paris shifted back, pulling his arms tighter around himself. He hated when she got like this — all intensity, like she could hold up all four decades of her life on the edge of her fingers. Time flattened into a blade when she wielded it.

“Mom…” he pleaded. He worried she would twist the knife. She could have. He was fragile then.

But she seemed to realize she was pushing too far. Gently, she cupped the side of his face. He leaned into the touch, not caring that her eyes were still sharp. 

“Don’t get cruel,” she said.

Paris withered beneath the gaze, nodding his agreement.

~

Paris looking all over the castle for him. As he stumbled from room to empty room, his dread grew as he realized where he would find him.

He turned the handle of the basement stairs, tracing slowly down to the lower level. To his surprise, Simon was right in the middle of leaving. The scientist shot him a dirty look as he passed, which Paris refused to even dignify. As if he was any better.

In the center of the large basement, the interior bedroom still stood upright. The lock was off of the enclosure now and they’d given Delta a bedroom in the upstairs. But half of his belongings were still in the cage that had been constructed for him.

Paris knocked at the door.

“Yes?” Delta called at the first knock.

“Can you come out?” 

He knew the door was likely unlocked, but he had never stepped into Delta’s room before. To do so now felt like too much of an intrusion.

Almost immediately after the request, the door opened. Delta hovered in the entrance way. He’d taken the jacket off. 

“I had permission,” Delta protested weakly. He knew there was nothing he could really do to defend himself, in the end. The resignation was obvious in his voice.

“You’re not in trouble.” Paris promised, raising his hands slightly in mock surrender.

He didn’t expect it to do anything. But almost imperceptibly, the muscles of Delta’s shoulders relaxed.

~

In the garden, well into the night, Paris wove flowers in between his hands. 

“Do you want it?” He held the crown up to Delta.

“Yes, please.”

Delta placed the daffodils gently onto his head, careful not to disrupt their arrangement.

“Can you teach me how to make those?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Paris agreed. After a few seconds of working himself up to it, he followed: “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Delta seemed caught off-guard by this, like he didn’t know what the term meant. Even though he said it at every provocation. It was quiet after that. That was fine. His mom said he had to apologize, never said he had to he forgiven.

“I know he didn’t love me,” Delta said. “I’m not…trying to contradict you. I know he didn’t love me. That’s not what it was.”

The both of them stared out onto the lake. The water reflected starlight off the surface. Even late into the night, the grass was still warm with the midday sun.

“But I do miss him,” Delta admitted. 

Paris nodded, afraid to do anything else. He couldn’t agree. But he understood. Delta continued.

“Thank you for letting me stay here. I know you don’t like it. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you.”

“What?” Paris winced as he sat up. “It’s not difficult. What are you talking about?”

Delta recoiled a bit, like he’d overstepped. He kind of had. Paris rarely heard him speak so much at one time, let alone like this.

“I know you didn’t want me here.” He drew his legs closer in on himself. He was bracing himself now, definitely, still expecting to be hit. But he kept talking. “When I first arrived. You or y- Her Majesty. Thank you for letting me stay anyway.”

Oh. Paris felt the guilt well up inside him. He was right, obviously. They didn’t want him there. Of course they hadn’t been receptive to the Emperor bringing home a child in chains, to his building him a prison within their basement. 

He hadn’t realized Delta had picked up on the hostility. The thought never even occurred to him. He really hadn’t been thinking about Delta at all.

“You were a kid,” Paris said quickly. “That wasn’t- Nobody blamed you. You get that, right? We weren’t mad at you.”

Delta ran one claw around the daffodil petals, feeling their shape. He swallowed, “I was scared.”

Paris sat with that for a second, returning his gaze to the water where it was easier to look. He recalled the day’s incident, feeling much worse for it.

“You can take what you want from his room,” Paris amended. “Honestly, he’d probably want you to have it.” 

Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the bitter edge from his voice. Why was it only ever about what Constantine wanted? Why was there never room for anything else?

“I’m sorry, Paris.” Delta said quietly.

Paris blinked in surprise.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied automatically, trying again to reassure him. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.” Delta agreed. “But I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

The grief was worst at night. He ran his hands through the grass, feeling his throat tighten.

“…Me too.”

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter @whump-till-ya-jump

[thepersonalwords]

To me, empathy and compassion are among the bravest of emotions ... and faith, the bravest of convictions.

Gerard de Marigny, Rise to the Call

[cyncerity]

I saw you asking for stuff. Could u do a ghost Tommy and ghost hunters sbi with ranboo? safe vore. Tommy is an old soldier ghost. He died protecting is group and the town don't remember his name just his story. feel free to do what u want to it

I took some tiny liberties with this, but this idea has been infecting my brain for days now so i hope you like it!!

tw: soft, safe vore, talk of suicide, character death (duh it’s ghosts)

Ranboo sat in the back of his family’s van, pressing lightly on his stomach as he felt a few marbles come back into his mouth before he swallowed them back down again, as he’d been doing for a few hours at this point. Machinery rattled in the back of the van; different cameras, scanners, and other ghost hunting stuff. Ranboo had been in this game for a few years, when he met his adoptive family Phil and Techno. They met him at his group home and realized he was something special, and something that could definitely help with their less than normal job.

Ranboo grew up lonely. They never knew their birth parents, as they were given up as a baby. So what did lonely kids do? Well, in Ranboo’s case, learn magic! That would surely make them cool! They became good with cards, regurgitation, and slight of hand, cause what else were they supposed to do with their time? They very quickly learned that the others kids didn’t find any of that cool, and they were only pushing potential friends farther away. Eventually, they set their sights on a family, but that didn’t seem to be going well either. Ranboo lost almost all hope of being adopted by the time they were a teenager. Until one day when he met Phil and Techno. Two best friends (they had to make it very clear to the adoption agency that no, they were not gay, Phil had a girlfriend, they just wanted a kid together cause fuck it why not, which in Ranboo’s opinion made perfect sense). These two were weird. Like, really weird. And Ranboo loved them immediately.

They were professional ghost hunters (which almost made the adoption agency kick them out, they had to call Phil’s girlfriend Kristin to verify that she had a stable job and was supplying Phil and Techno with enough money to properly take care of a child) and were looking for another member of their troupe. Ranboo believed in ghosts wholeheartedly, and was ecstatic when they showed genuine interest in his magic tricks (which included the marbles, to his surprise). When Ranboo turned 16 he was officially legally adopted, and it was the best birthday present he ever could have received. From that point on, the three of them were a ghost hunting team (Kristin still had a “real job” cause they needed money), and quickly learned that Ranboo was a pretty damn powerful medium. He could sense and communicate with the dead through their machines far easier than either of his dads, and had helped them find plenty of haunted locations in the past.

The place they were headed was a memorial to an old war, some place that Ranboo had a feeling was incredibly haunted. Now, museums were normally at least a little haunted, but almost never haunted enough to make him feel ill. But this memorial, whatever is was, was unwieldy upsetting to him.

“You doin’ alright back there, kid?” Techno asked from the drivers seat, and Ranboo swallowed down his marbles again to answer. “Yeah, just, uh, a bit nervous. Something feels…off about this place.” “As you’ve said,” Phil chuckled. “Whatever’s here has to be mega haunted.” He said, fiddling with his camera. Oh, right, they were youtubers too, Ranboo almost forgot that part. They had a somewhat popular channel and Ranboo was incredibly grateful that his parents were very considerate with what he wanted to put online. Right now, Phil was just trying to make sure their main handheld worked. “Yeah, something’s here. I’m sure.” Ranboo adds. This was about to be one hell of a trip.

~~~

It’s midday when they arrive at the museum of the town of L’Manberg, somewhere none of them had ever even heard of. They meet a nice man who Phil had called over the phone to do a tour with. He introduces himself as Mr. Manifold, or just Jack, and leads them around the museum. Apparently, this small town had a lot of war time history, and Jack knew loads of it, since apparently he’d had an ancestor who fought, which was pretty cool. Ranboo tried desperately to feel for anything specific attached to the man, especially if he had a great great grandfather who died in these parts, but nothing. No ghosts. Ranboo still felt wrong, but he couldn’t find why. Nowhere they went had any sort of supernatural readings, no matter how cool it all was. With every nervous glance Phil and Techno gave to Ranboo, he felt worse and worse that he could have led them somewhere useless.

Until that one room.

Apparently, the museum was built over a specific relic of the war. Jack started leading them down an old stone staircase, into a place he said was called “the final control room.” There were old half decayed wooden chests lining the walls, moss infested stone bricks, and a single wooden button in the center of it all.

As soon as Ranboo entered the room, they collapsed.

They had never had panic seize them like this in their entire life. Something in the room, something about it, was wrong. So, so wrong. Something had happened in there, something that hurt a lot of people. Something that time couldn’t let go, that had lingered in that room and hit him like a freight train over a hundred years later. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see through his own tears, and could only barely feel Techno lift him and run him back out of the room.

“Something bad happened in there.” Ranboo muttered as soon as he was able to. Phil and Techno looked to Jack, who explained that that was the very room where the infamous L’Manburg traitor tried to kill the original founders. He apologized for taking Ranboo in, but they insisted they were fine to continue the tour. So, Jack did. Eventually when he finished (with no more incidents, thank god), Phil thanked him profusely for his expertise, and Jack wished them all well and invited them to explore on their own a bit to stop and read.

“Im so sorry, i swear to god I felt something, i still do, there has to be something here, there has to-“ Ranboo started apologizing as soon as Jack was out of hearing range, only for Techno to cut him off. “It’s ok, Ranboo, it’s ok. Maybe you’re just off your game, it happens to everyone, we’re not mad at you. You figured out what was wrong with that room, maybe that was all it was. And hey, we get to look around this cool museum!” Ranboo looked and saw the genuine excitement in Techno and Phil’s eyes and chuckled, ignoring the feeling that the control room was definitely not what he was looking for, no matter how upsetting it was. His parents were both huge history buffs, and he bet that they loved being here and just learning more than even finding actual ghosts.

“Ok, yeah, I- I’m just gonna go sit outside, if that’s alright. I feel like i’m suffocating in here. You guys keep exploring and call me later, we’ll meet back up then.” “If that’s what you want to do, mate. Keep in touch.” Phil tussled Ranboo’s hair, and him and Techno left to put their paranormal equipment back in the car, leaving Ranboo to find their way outside through a back door. He stepped out and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He felt better…for all of two seconds.

Then he opened his eyes and panic hit him again.

The outside area to the museum was a historical town, a place that held some of the exact homes that L’manberg citizens lived in over a century ago, and with those homes was a horrible sight that almost made Ranboo pass out from sheer panic for the second time that day.

A tower. Massive and made of cobblestone, it grew to lengths almost higher than Ranboo could physically see. It was old, moss covered, and slightly crumbling, as old stone is, but still sturdy. The control room was nothing compared to this thing.

Ranboo managed to keep himself from throwing up as he made his way closer to the tower and read its plaque: “Tower of the Child Soldier.” Ranboo pulled some of the marbles up to his mouth and started chewing on the glass, a nervous tic that Kristin warned would break his teeth one day, but for now her warning was the farthest thing from his mind. He read on.

“This tower was built by an original citizen of L’manberg who couldn’t take the war efforts, ending their own life by jumping off this very tower. Letters and documents from other soldiers around this time indicate the victim of this tragedy was a child. This stone is a testimony to the cruelty of war, and just how many innocent people were lost not just to the battle, but to the wars they were fighting with themselves. Rest in peace, Child Soldier, your memory has lasted far beyond your years. To learn more, visit the memorial of the Forgotten Soldiers.”

Ranboo didn’t know when they started crying. This was horrible, so so horrible. But, for the first time, they felt like they found part of what they were here for. He rushed back in the museum and found Jack shockingly quickly, asking about the memorial to the forgotten soldiers. Jack explained that while the stories of many remembered veterans’ stories were told in the museum itself, there was another memorial to the soldiers whose names and faces had been erased over time.

The memorial Jack led them too was, admittedly, beautiful. It was outdoors, marble archways and columns aligned in a circle with display cases with belongings. Some of the things were all together and labeled that it’s likely they all belonged to the same person, though historians were unsure who those people were. Some display cases just held random objects. Finally, there was a small room with a door and a staircase. Jack said that it led to the room where the rest of the memorabilia that belonged to the child soldier was. So, Ranboo thanked him and went down.

The hallway at the bottom was narrow, the walls were glass cases lit up and filled with remnants from this poor kid. Diary entries, songs and poems, hand knitted scarves and jackets, and mementos that were presumably gifts from their friends. There were even letters from people who knew them, ranging from talking about how irritating they were as the youngest soldier at just 16, some talking about how they’d never met someone so loyal and it was a shame they were fighting in such a huge war so young.

Ranboo had never felt quite like this in his entire life. He honestly couldn’t help the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He felt utterly sick to his stomach, pain stabbing him through the gut at the sheer grief he felt. The feelings weren’t his, something was pushing this onto him. This was what he set out to find; this poor child, only a little bit younger than he was now, losing his life to suicide in this war. “I’m not sure if it’s you that’s here,” Ranboo started quietly, “but…but I’m here to talk to you. To learn your story. I’m a medium, I just want answers.” Nothing. Ranboo continued. “I’ve never had a place make me feel like this. I knew something happened here the moment I heard of this town, and I needed to see. I learned about the war, I learned about the rebellion and the betrayal and-“ at that, a draft blew through the room, dropping the temperature drastically. Ranboo was sure he closed the door behind him, and even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t this cold outside.

“I know, I know that must have been horrible, I can’t imagine, I went in that room and just the sight of the stone and chests sent me into a panic attack. I can’t imagine what it would have been like in person.” It felt like a rock was sinking in his gut the more he talked about the control room, so Ranboo shifted gears. “I’m so sorry. I’m about as old as you were, I can’t imagine. You didn’t deserve it, you didn’t deserve any of it. And you don’t deserve to be stuck here alone. This place may have forgotten you, but I don’t want to. I’m here. I want to be here, if you’ll let me be.” Ranboo could barely finish speaking before he fell to the ground, his forehead pressed into his knees as he began to sob. He knew these feelings weren’t his, he knew it, but he also couldn’t reason through the blind grief and sorrow he was feeling enough to care.

With no warning, the lights in the display cases at the walls went out, leaving a single illuminated case right in front of him, the center of it all: a uniform. White and blue with accents of red. Tattered, torn, with small patches and embroidery on it. And at the foot of the case, a little ghost stood. Barely 5 inches tall, standing just on the other side of the glass. Ranboo was…well shocked, to say the least. He’s been able to feel ghosts, sure, but he’s never seen one. Half of him didn’t think they could even have a visible form until right now.

The child soldier was a boy, somewhat translucent and shaded blue, with dirt filled hair, sunken almost glowing blues eyes, and a torn up mismatched outfit of whatever he must have been wearing when he died. He stared up at Ranboo, who he’d let stop sobbing, tense and full of distrust. But as Ranboo looked at him, he found himself tearing up again all on his own. “You look…exhausted.” The little ghosts eyes went wide, shoulders dropping as he began to cry again. Ranboo laid a hand in front of the glass, and was shocked when the ghost stepped through onto it. They pulled him up to their chest, feeling the cold and only half corporeal being press into them and cry as Ranboo swiped a finger up and down his back.

“It’s been so long,” the ghost muttered eventually. “Even when I was alive, I…” He trailed off, and Ranboo didn’t push him to continue. “It’s ok.” Ranboo said, cause what else were they supposed to say? It was a ghost. A real, actual fucking ghost, it was taking all of their self control to not freak out. All things considered, it looked weak, but if this kid was what was infecting the museum and the memorial and messing with their head like that, Ranboo could guess that he was anything but. “I’m here to help, however i can.” “How?” the ghost whispered in response. “I’m dead. Thats it. I didn’t do well enough in life, now I’m here forever. Even if you can finally see me, you can’t stay.”

“Can I take you out of here? You don’t deserve to spend the rest of your afterlife surrounded by the same places you were for your entire life. I travel a lot, I’ll take you.” Ranboo wasn’t sure why he was offering. He certainly didn’t need to, he just met this dead kid. But…something about all of this hit home for them. They lived their life seemingly alone, unappreciated, and helpless. Getting a family had been Ranboo’s saving grace, maybe they could be a saving grace for this ghost too.

“I…I’d love to go. But I can’t.” the ghost admittedly sadly. “Im stuck here. Im bonded to this stupid uniform and there’s nothing else in here that I’ve had a stronger connection with. There’s only one thing I might be able to re-bond to, but it’s not down here.” “Wherever it is, I’ll find it.”

“I had it throughout the whole war, and it was on me when I..when I died. I’d bet it’s there. If you find it, I’ll be able to follow wherever it goes. That’s how I think it works, or at least, that’s how it feels like it should work. You’re the first person who’s ever been able to see me like this, I want to trust you. If you really can somehow feel my emotions, you’ll find it. Help me and I’ll leave with you.” “I’ll find it, then. I’m not leaving you behind.” He didn’t know why he became so attached to the ghost, but he wasn’t going back on his word now. Ranboo pulled the ghost away from his chest, holding him to eye level with one hand and holding the other outstretched. “I’m Ranboo.” The ghost grinned, his smile taking up his whole face as tears still poured from his eyes. He took one finger with his hands and shook. “I’m Tommy.”

~~~

The sun was starting to set by the time Ranboo gathered everything they needed for what they were about to do. Whatever weird physic connection they had to Tommy was truly fucking with their head as they circled the tower, trying to get a sense of where this thing might be. Almost everyone in town was home for the night, which Ranboo was grateful for since he was pretty sure that digging up around a memorial site was probably unappreciated at best and illegal at worst.

He was running fully off his own intuition, digging near the front of the stone, quickly realizing that whatever Tommy needed was in that area. It luckily wasn’t too far down, since Ranboo was only using their hands, but eventually they found it: a compass. This was it. Almost as soon as their hands touched the old iron, the sick panicked feeling they’d had since first arriving here went away, though Tommy’s lingering grief remained. They pulled a water bottle from their backpack and quickly cleaned off the compass with their shirt till it shone like it hadn’t been buried for a century. They opened it’s clasp to find the inside miraculously untouched and clean of grime, save for a message that had been scratched into the inside years ago: “Your Tubbo.” Along with this, it was fully functional, pointing in a direction that was decidedly not North but hey at least the hand was working. They clenched it in one hand and pushed the upturned soil back into place with the other. They had to push back more tears as they thought that this had been Tommy’s, now unsure if the sadness was theirs or not, but that was an issue for later. Right now they just needed to steal this century old historical artifact and be on their wa-

“Ranboo! There you are, Phil and Techno have been lookin’ for you!”

Now call it a practiced reflex or whatever, but when a kid who has spent most of their free time practicing magic tricks that may or may not involve swallowing marbles gets caught by a museum curator holding what could be a priceless addition to the museum that they are not going to give up, you can imagine that in the panic to hide it, muscle memory may kick in.

Ergo, you know exactly where the compass ended up the second Ranboo heard Jack’s voice.

Ranboo turned away from the monolith to see Jack running towards him, trying to keep his cool and pretend everything was fine as he felt the cold metal of the compass slip down his throat and into his stomach, eventually clinking against the marbles he hadn’t had time to pull to his mouth. “You alright, man?” he questioned, and Ranboo nodded. “Yup! yup, totally, absolutely nothing wrong here, heh…where are my parents? I have something to show them.”

~~~

“This is crazy, we didn’t even know this was here!” Phil said, standing at the cobblestone tower. “It’s sad, too. You said there was more stuff left behind by this kid?” Techno asked, and Ranboo nodded, wanting to get back to the other memorial as soon as possible so they could get Tommy and get out of this town. “Yes, there’s a little underground tomb thing in his memory, and we need to go there before it closes and we head home.” Ranboo said with a determination that was rare for them. Techno and Phil took the hint to follow.

Making his way back to the memorial, Phil and Techno looked around a bit at some other artifacts, but Ranboo bolted straight back to where Tommy was. Racing down the steps, he saw all the lights were still broken except for the uniform spotlight, and Tommy was nowhere to be seen. “Tommy, it’s me, I’m back. I found it, I found the compass. ‘Your Tubbo,’ right? You can come with me, I’ll get you out of here.” Nothing. He waited. He heard the district footsteps of his parents behind him, but paid them no mind. “Tommy? It’s ok, you don’t have to hide! It’s me, Ranboo, your friend, remember? Tommy??” He started to get frantic, and felt a calming hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Ran, you don’t need to have another panic attack today. Who’s Tommy?” “The soldier, this soldier!” Ranboo said, pointing at the uniform. “The kid, the one who built the tower! He asked me to find something, it was where he said it would be, I spoke to him, I touched him, he was here!! Please, please you have to believe me-“ “We do, mate, we do!” Phil interjected, taking Ranboo’s hands in his and rubbing circles into the backs of his palms. “You spoke to a ghost, that’s incredible! But, maybe if you found what he wanted, he’s moved on? You helped him find peace.” “He didn’t want peace, he just wanted a friend! I told him I’d be back for him.” Ranboo practically sobbed. He again didn’t know what came over him, he was never like this. He barely knew this ghost, why was he getting so worked up over this?? Phil and Techno exchanged glances that told him they were thinking the same thing he was.

“Ranboo, listen to me;” Techno said, placing his hands on his kid’s shoulders, “you helped him. He’s at peace now because of you. He probably didn’t know that would happen, but he’s ok now. He’s happy, alright?” Ranboo took a few deep breaths, and suddenly felt a shocking wave of calmness wash over him. And by shocking, he meant freezing. It was like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, but he no longer felt ill. Sure, he was shivering, but he felt…better. So, so much better. He was worried about Tommy, but maybe his parents were right, maybe he had moved on. Maybe Ranboo had helped him.

No one noticed that the air in the cellar grew warmer as the trio left the up the stairs.

~~~

Ranboo’s sense of calm had persisted as he was helping pack up his family’s van, now knowing they’d have to drive through the night to get home, but so did the chill. In fact, his shivering had gotten so bad that Phil had stopped to buy him a blanket and a few packs of hand warmers at a gas station, and that was barely doing anything. It had been a few hours at this point, and while Techno was driving in silence and Phil was asleep, Ranboo found himself laying across the backseat pulling the marbles back up to his mouth again out of habit, only to barely suppress a hiss of pain when they hit his teeth. They were fucking cold, and the sensation on his teeth was incredibly unpleasant. Pulling the marbles out of his mouth, he was shocked to discover that they were coated in ice, fully frozen over.

None of this was making sense. They set the marbles aside, sitting up somewhat and pressing a hand to their torso underneath the blanket. It was frigid, the entire area of his stomach was ice cold. Was…was it the compass? Could it be?? He tried to pull it up, but for the first time in years, he couldn’t. He tried again. Nothing. He tried a third time, and this time distinctly felt something yanking the compass back into his stomach.

The aura of calm (which Ranboo was quickly realizing was being pushed onto him like the panic had been earlier) was cracking, and Ranboo began to panic. He couldn’t throw up, his body temperature had dropped by at least 10° F, and his stomach felt like it had frostbite. What could he possibly have done, what could possibly-

wait.

The air in his stomach was dropping in temperature, his emotions were being manipulated, and the compass was in his stomach, the one thing that the ghost had said he’d be able to latch onto to leave with Ranboo.

no fucking way.

“Tommy…?” Ranboo whispered as loud as he would dare as to not disturb his parents. He waited for a response, until-

“I was wondering how long it’d take you.”

Ranboo could have screamed. The calm aura shattered, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from hyperventilating while his other hand stayed firmly grasped over his stomach. Fuck. Holy fuck, there was a ghost inside of him. Was he possessed, or was this being haunted? It felt like he was being haunted, more so, but either way he would certainly fucking rather not be. “What are you doing in there?! Get out!!!” Ranboo hissed frantically, still trying to pull the compass out of his stomach and hopefully the ghost along with it. The compass was pulled back down regardless.

“Hey, don’t yell at me like this is my fault! Why would you swallow my compass anyway? Don’t you think it was a bit of a shock for me to see you walk into my room, feel the presence of the most valuable item I owned before I died, and attach myself to it only to end up in here?! Pretty damn weird way to rescue a guy, if I do say so myself.” Tommy snarked, and Ranboo sighed. “I’ll explain later, I don’t want my dads to hear me. I’m sorry, now let me bring you out.” “No can do.” Tommy replied. “I don’t, uh, deal with adults well. I heard them talking to you, that’s why I didn’t just leave the second I ended up in here. I’d rather not meet your folks. And myself and the compass seem to be just fine.”

“I’m gonna die.” “No you won’t, pussy. I’m not that cold.” “The metal against my stomach lining is!” Ranboo quietly argued, “just let me bring the compass up, i’m not gonna get rid of it. I want to help you, but i can’t do that if we’re both ghosts.”

“You…you still want to help me?” “‘Course.” Tommy responded in silence for a few seconds, before sighing. “Fine, but if you toss it I’ll curse you.” Ranboo hummed in agreement, not bothering to argue that if he wanted to toss it he wouldn’t have dug it up and certainly wouldn’t have swallowed it in the fucking first place, and this time when he pulled up the compass it came easily. When he pulled it out of his mouth, a cloud of steam came out with it like he was standing outside in negative degrees. Sure enough, the compass was frozen and almost hurt his hands to touch, so he immediately opened a new pack of hot hands for it, wrapping it carefully.

With nothing else in his stomach, he could start to focus on what Tommy himself felt like, which he’d expected to be nothing, but was…definitely something. Firstly, the ghost was cold, as was to be expected, but oddly physical. Like, there was a noticeable weight in his stomach, but he was generally used to that. Tommy didn’t necessarily weigh…less or more than the marbles, but he weighed differently. His weight was spread out, and since he wasn’t as solid as what Ranboo normally swallowed, it felt strange. He could feel something, someone, in there, but it wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. He…didn’t hate it. Tommy was almost…soft? Like a form made of tv static that he could feel along the bottom of his stomach, but he still had a form and some mass. Tommy hadn’t said anything since he gave up the compass, so Ranboo took the opportunity to press his unoccupied hand against his stomach, feeling where the front walls touched Tommy’s form and the tv static feeling spread. Then he felt Tommy press back, seemingly done with talking for the night. Ranboo patted where he felt his stowaway and laid an arm over his…well, he guessed friend now.

Something warm lit up in him when he realized he’d finally have a friend, even one his own age (Tommy still acted like a teenager, so in his mind, it counted). He genuinely couldn’t wait to get to know Tommy better, learn about ghosts and how he lived, and more, but he quickly figured out that excitement was not the only thing making him feel warmer. Tommy, who seemed to be completely unconscious, was warming up slowly, and Ranboo was confused for all of 2 seconds before looking back at the compass. Right, the hot hands. He guessed Tommy was more linked to this thing than previously thought. Ranboo looked down at his torso, arm still over his friend. Yeah, Tommy deserved to be warm after all his time in that cold ass cellar. He reached down and placed the compass, still in hot hands, right in front of the car heaters that Techno had been blasting for the entire ride. He felt his stomach heat up a lot faster, and swore he heard Tommy sigh as he felt the tension in the ghost’s frame melt away. Good, if this is where Tommy needed to relax, Ranboo could do that.

[splickedylit]

Anonymous asked: Cute Garanaru (is that the ship name???) forbthe drawing suggestion? Like, maybe Gaara trying Naruto's favorite ramen or something? Idk, they're sweet.

They are sweet tho!!!! ToT They were never one of my top Naruto ships but also. You don't have to hardcore ship them to know that Gaara imprinted on Naruto like a baby duckling and wholeheartedly adores him and that's great, I love that. :D