#death mention tw

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 1: Dinner Time

TW: Past neglect, death, violence, mention of blood, drinking

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker

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"Eight years in hell. . ."

You were seated on top of a desk playing with a snow globe in your hands.

"Can really make you go crazy." Your head hits the wall behind you, slowly turning to the bleeding man on the ground, once again receiving a blow to the face from a man dressed in dark red.

"P- please. . . I don't know anything. I swear." The man whimpers as he begged.

You sighed. "You're lying. I really, really hate liars' doctor." You through the snow globe onto the ground, shattering the glass. The man in red took your small fit of rage as a signal and pulled out a gun, pressing it against the doctor's head.

The bleeding doctor felt another type of fear the moment he felt the cool metal against his temple.

"W-wait! Wait! Please! I have a family; I'm begging you please!" The doctor cried and begged. The man in red glanced to you, you sighed and waved you're hand off. The man in red put his finger on the trigger, about to shoot.

"WAIT- Gotham hospital! She was at Gotham hospital!"

The man in red paused and glanced over to you.

You walked closer to the doctor, crouching down to the man's current level, as the man in red slowly pulled the gum away, the doctor felt a large wave of relief wash over him.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor nods "She s-saw Doctor Hill, that's all I know, I promise that's all I know."

You stay silent for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Doctor felt relived. Wanting to go back to his wife and kids, hug them as tight as he could-

BAM!

The Doctor fell with a thud. Blood slowly seeping out of his body as you tossed the gun you used to shoot the doctor to the man in red.

"That's for lying" You mumbled as you stare at the doctor's body with indiffrence.

You've been out of Arkham for almost a month now. You should be relaxing, try to fit back into society. But no, your mother was missing, the Falcone's didn't know where her whereabouts were, some made comments of her abandoning you the moment you got out, which coursed them to have a slow death for their crude comments.

Your mother loves you, and you know she would never abandon you. So now you're searching. But you aren't getting to her fast enough. And your growing impatient. You wanted to come back out into the world and run into the arms of your mother, but your just met with Gotham's ugly mug. It angered you beyond words.

The man in red, Rex, works for the Falcones, but has come to be loyal to you. Rex followed behind you as you walked out of the room and down the halls.

"Give doctor hill a visit for me, will ya?" You spoke coldly as your heels clicked loudly walking down the empty hall of an abandoned building. Rex nods before speaking up.

"What about you Miss Falcone. Are you going back to the Falcon manor?"

Ah, yes. You took your mother's last name. All done in paper. No more, Y/n Wayne. That little girl is dead.

". . . No, I need to grab a few things."

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Alfred knows you have been out for a month, so why have you not come back to the manor?

Alfred tried to keep in touch as much as possible during your time in Arkham. Every phone call, he could hear that sweet innocent girl he knew fade. He has tried to phone you multiple times but no use. Even tracking you down with was difficult, Alfred has tried to tell Bruce about his worry for you not coming home, But Bruce seemed to almost immediately shut down at the mention of your name.

He's worried for you, he just wants to see you, and make sure you're okay.

There was a met Gala being held today. Preparing for it was exhausting, but it was like that every time a gala had to be held. Everyone scattered all over the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred entered the kitchen, the gala's close to an end, the rich of Gotham turning in for the night. But Alfred comes to a stop when he noticed a woman in the kitchen, dressed in a dark red dress, her back faced to him as she picked up a glass of wine.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're not supposed to be in the back here." Alfred spoke firmly with his usual stoic expression. The woman in red slowly turns around with the wine glass in hand. Then she spoke, the face, Alfred surely does not recognize, but the voice. He knows your voice.

"I rather be away from the crowed, if you don't mind." You gave the older man a small smirk as you see the realization hit him.

"Miss Y/n?"

Your small smirk cracked even wider. Alfred walks closer, shocked to see you here, in the kitchen munching on some sweets, just like you used to when you were younger.

You shrugged with a small giggle slipping from your red lips

"The one and only"

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"Miss Y/n, come, Master Bruce must know your home!" Alfred might not show it a lot, but he is overjoyed to see you in the manor again. You've grown so much.

"Ah, well I was hoping to just grab some things from my old room and head out." You try to walk off to the back staires

"Nonsense, come, come." Alfred needed you to meet the family. For the family to see you. He touched your back as to lead you out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

You immediately flinched away.

Your negative reaction causes the butler to coil back.

"Miss. . .?"

You let out a weak cuckle.

"Sorry, I'm not fond of being touched." You began to meekly rub your hands together. Alfred comes to realize your time in Arkham has damaged you in some way's he might not be able to know yet.

"No need to apologize miss Y/n." Despite the small awkward moment Alfred still managed to have you walked out to see the others.

You felt an immense amount of DeJa'Vu. The walls, the detailed engraved in these walls. These walls haunted your dreams. Only half of your childhood was spent in this manor. You remember running down those stairs once Bruce came home from work. Skipping through these halls after getting a solo part in choir, something Bruce never really paid mind too.

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Almost everyone was here tonight. Jason, Dick, Cassandra, Tim, Damian and Duke. Steph couldn't make it. Barbra was spending time with her father. And. . .

Bruce watched as his children chat, argue, laugh. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip of his glass of white wine.

"Where's Alfred?" Damian spoke up as he turned his head in search for the butler that is always usually hovering around. Bruce shrugs

"Most likely in the kitchen."

Suddenly, the doors open, in comes Alfred with a smile on his face.

"Alfred." Bruce can tell Alfred seems to be in a more chipper mood than he was in half an hour ago.

"We have a visitor." Alfred's words confused the others. Then you stepped up. You scanned the room. Some faces new, some old. Others were still confused, either not recognizing you due to the years that have passed, or the fact they simply didn't know who you were.

But Bruce didn't take long to recognize you. And the way he paled at the sight of you, it just made you smirk at his reaction. Dick was quick to follow the realization.

"Y/n . . ." Bruce mumbled.

Jason's head whipped to Bruce once he heard the name. Looking back at you then to Bruce.

"Y/n, we thought you were still . . ." Dick tried to speak, but he seemed to get more uncomfortable with just thinking of his words.

You wait for Dick to say the words, but clearly, he was still in shock to say it.

"Arkham? I've been, rehabilitated." You say this with a soft smile.

Jason, trying to process what the actual fuck is going on right now stayed silent. Damian also confused spoke up.

"Father who is this woman?"

Your eyes snapped to the young boy, your head tilt for a moment. Walking closer to the table. Your heels click as you kept your eyes on the young boy, and Bruce kept his eyes on you. Still not believing you were out.

"I'm his daughter. Blood, daughter." You spoke as you kept a playful manner to yourself. The Damian frowns. "Imposible. I'm fathers only blood child."

You paused for a moment. You seem to be analyzing the situation.

"Is that what dear old daddy said." Your chuckle, almost darkly, as you sipped on your glass of red wine. Alfred pulled up a seat at the end of the table, across from Bruce. You took a seat.

The room that was once filled with chatter and warm air was now silent and tension filled the air. You leaned back into the chair; Alfred re-fills your glass.

"Thank you, Alfred." You kept a small playful smile on your red lips. You let out a small sigh before speaking

"So, what did I miss?"

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"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢?"

[kissorkill16]

Together: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Trinity and Nicky visit Mr. Peterson together.

"Trinity Bales.", started Mr. Peterson, "Raven Brooks' best kid detective, and future missing child."

Trinity glared at the man behind bars, and her friend, Nicky stood behind her, crow bar in hand.

She had gone to Nicky and told her that their friends were in trouble, but Nicky was still in a weak mental state at the time. Trinity was close to giving up, but just as she was about to leave Nicky's house, she felt him put a hand on her shoulder.

He looked like he'd finally snapped out of it. His eyes were still a little strained, but he wasn't mumbling nonsense anymore, nor was he wearing the bag.

He had decided to go with her to visit Mr. Peterson this time, and he came prepared, that explains the crow bar he brought.

Trinity stepped closer to the man. "Is that supposed to scare us?", she asked. Then she held up the book, "Because we found your book."

Despite her confidence, she still felt a little scared. Nicky too, he backed up against the wall with the crow bar in hand.

Mr. Peterson's eyes widened, then they darkened. "Then you're in even more danger.", he said. He reached his hand through the bars and tried to snatch it, "Give it to me!"

Nicky swung at Mr. Peterson's hand with the crow bar, making the man jerk it back. "Don't touch her.", he growled.

Trinity waved the book around. "Oh, want it back? Tell me who or what is after us.", she said firmly.

Mr. Peterson let out a condescending laugh, and he smiled the most evil, horrible, wicked smile anyone's ever seen.

"You enjoy spying on people, don't you?", he asked Trinity. "The intrusion? The thrill?"

"I'm not here to play games, weirdo.", said Trinity.

"I could see across your house from mine, you know.", Mr. Peterson said in a deep voice. "I watched your parents fight, watched you do your homework, watched you."

Nicky readied the crow bar in his hands, but Trinity put her arm in front of him.

"Fine. Don't help.", she said. She pointed at Mr. Peterson, "Enjoy rotting in here.", she grabbed Nicky by the hand. "Come on, Nicky."

They walked away from Mr. Peterson, both deeply disappointed that this man was absolutely no help. Well, Trinity was more frustrated, Nicky didn't really expect anything from him since everything that happened before Trinity got the coin.

"You two won't just walk away. You can't.", said the man. "You're obsessed."

Trinity rolled her eyes.

"Nicholas...", said the man, "Your friend is obsessed,...just like she was in Shelbyville."

The kids stopped in their tracks, chills running down their spines. Trinity especially looked scared.

"I'm guessing she never told you about that, did she?", Mr. Peterson asked Nicky. Nicky didn't look back at him, he just shook his head. "No, she didn't. But I don't want to know."

Mr. Peterson let out another condescending laugh. "Why not? She's a little monster. Her parents know it, I know it, and soon, everyone will."

Nicky still didn't turn around, he just looked at Trinity's scared face as she clutched the book to her chest.

"I'm sure you know it, but you just don't want to admit it. To her or yourself."

This time, Nicky did turn around. He was about to swing the crow bar at him again, but Trinity put her arm in front of him again. "That all you got?", she said, not at all intimidated by the man.

Then Mr. Peterson said something that made both Trinity and Nicky's heart plummet.

"Who will they blame when your friends turn up dead, Trinity?", he said. Then he looked around the hallway. "And where are your friends now, hm?"

Nicky looked at Trinity, wanting an answer too, because he didn't want to believe that his friends were dead. He didn't want his thoughts to be true.

Trinity stuttered. "I...I don't know.", she said. "We...we were ambushed."

Nicky's eyes widened in shock. His heart started beating faster with the thought of all of his friends being dead or missing.

"Ambushed?", asked Mr. Peterson, "Uh oh. Sounds like there's a nasty little traitor in your ranks. A real rat.", he said, walking back into his cell to the wall. "I wonder which one."

Nicky wanted to snap at him, to bang on the bars of his cell in anger for ever thinking that any of his friends would ever turn on them. But he just looked at the floor, eyes filled with worry.

"We trust our friends.", said Trinity. Nicky nodded, agreeing with her.

But Mr. Peterson kept thinking aloud. "Hmm...that timid little mouse of a boy or the insect with the bat.", he said, clenching his fist. Then he turned around and looked straight at Nicky, "Or maybe it's you, Nicholas."

Nicky backed all the way up against the wall, losing his grip on the crow bar he held in his hands. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked at Mr. Peterson.

"Do you want to come back yet? Back home?", he asked. He held onto the bars of his cell door, "I miss you my boy."

The last part came out like a growl.

Trinity snatched the crow bar from Nicky's hands as she noticed that he was about to drop it, then she banged on the cell door. Mr. Peterson took a step back.

"Stop it! Your mind games won't work!", she said. She calmed down a bit, but still stood her ground. "The only way we help you is you help us. Who is Crowface? And how is this book connected to stuff?"

She began to flip through the pages of the black book. Mr. Peterson just stared at her wickedly.

"Ah...it's a secret.", he said. He motioned for the kids to come over. "Both of you, come close, and I'll whisper it into your little ears."

Nicky just stood against the wall, curling in on himself, not moving an inch towards the bars his enemy stood behind.

"Why is this book so dangerous?", asked Trinity.

Mr. Peterson gave her a stern look. "Our masked guest is dead set on making their lives magnificent, our lives made worse.", he said.

Trinity and Nicky looked down at the floor.

"My life has been pretty miserable lately.", said Trinity. Nicky nodded, "Mine too."

"Someone has to suffer for someone else to soar."

"Who in Raven Brooks is dishing out all of this trouble?", asked Trinity. Mr. Peterson just stared back at her.

"Lots of us are hiding secrets, aren't we?", he said, saying the last bit as he looked at Nicky. The boy looked away from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of scaring him more than he already has.

Nicky took a deep breath. "Everyone in your book is a creep. I thought it was just you, and maybe my science teacher, but it turns out you're not the only one."

"Not the only one.", said Mr. Peterson. "Hm..."

A moment of silence passed by, and Trinity began pacing. She didn't want to believe that any of her friends could be a traitor, especially not Nicky.

She knew that he had every reason to do so, especially after what happened at school, but he didn't. So it couldn't be him. It could only be one of her other friends, who she still didn't know where they were.

She dreaded all of the things that could've happened to them.

"Your pursuers must not acquire my book.", said Mr. Peterson. Trinity looked at the book in confusion.

"So...burn it?", she asked. Nicky shrugged, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Mr. Peterson growled, startling Nicky and making him back up against the wall again. Trinity still stood in her place. Then Mr. Peterson smiled wickedly again.

"Then you'll never know the truth. Will you?"

Trinity looked at the book once again.

"I can see the goosebumps on your skin.", said the man, "On both of your skin."

A pause, "Free me and -"

Nicky shook his head, "Absolutely not!", he said. He calmed down when he realized his voice was a little too loud, "We can do this by ourselves, Peterson."

Trinity nodded, agreeing with her friend. "Yes, Nicky's right. We just need to -"

"We can only stop them if you let me out of here."

Both of the kids looked at the man, incredulously. Nicky scoffed, "What makes you think we need your help with stopping them? Especially after -"

"Your friend made herself a part of this.", said the man. "Our fates are entwined now. You two need my help, and I -"

Trinity put her hand up, "No. I don't trust you.", she said. "The realtor..."

"Lucy...", said Nicky.

"The hardware store clerk.", Trinity continued on.

"Aaron and Mya. I don't know about Aaron, but I know about Mya."

"They're dead because of you!", Trinity finished. "No way in hell I'm gonna -"

"How dare you.", growled Mr. Peterson.

He grabbed the bars of his cell door. "I didn't hurt those people, and I never laid a finger on my children, especially not you or Lucy, Nicholas.", he said, looking at Nicky as he said that last bit. "That was the nasty handiwork of our masked acquaintance."

Nicky looked at the floor once again, completely shocked. "So I was wrong about him.", he thought. "He's not a killer."

"So you're not a killer?", asked Trinity. Mr. Peterson growled.

"What I am is tired of waiting.", he said. "Get me out and I'll take care of everything. I started this, now let me finish it."

He took a breath, then reached his hand through the bars. "Deal?", he asked.

Both Trinity and Nicky just looked at the hand, completely frightened.

"Take my hand, children.", he said.

Neither moved to take his hand.

"Take it.", he said once again. Still, neither of them made a move.

"Take. My. Hand.", he growled.

Trinity turned around to leave, "I'm good.", she said, scared. Mr. Peterson reached both of his arms through the bars, almost like he was about to grab her.

"Take it you sniveling pest!", he growled. Trinity just ran out of the hallway as Mr. Peterson kept screaming.

"Take my hand! Take my hand! TAKE IT! TAKE IT!!", he screamed.

What Trinity didn't realize was that Nicky was still standing there in fear, watching as Mr. Peterson became completely unrecognizable. Once a kind family man, now a monster. Mr. Peterson turned to look at him, and he smiled.

"Come on now, Nicholas.", he said. "You've followed her like a pet for long enough now. It's time you came home with me."

He reached through the bars to Nicky, and Nicky just stood against the wall, not wanting to take that gloved hand.

"I never meant for Lucy's death to happen, and I promise I've never laid a hand on my children. I never raised a hand to you while you were in my home, have I?", he said.

Nicky didn't want to admit it, but Mr. Peterson did have a point. Even while he was slowly descending into insanity, he never even thought about hurting Nicky.

But even that wasn't enough to make Nicky feel better.

Mr. Peterson pulled his hand back into his cell. "I'll give you some time to think about it, dear.", he said. "But don't take too long."

Nicky just walked away, taking his crow bar with him.

[fcrafcrtnight]

"AND I'M TELLING YOU THAT I'LL HANDLE THIS PATIENT MYSELF. GO HOME, DOCTOR STRANGE. YOUR WORK IS DONE FOR THE NIGHT. i'll handle their condition and.. when i see it fit? i'll move them." she checked her phone, to see if she had any texts from jake, but.. no. she didn't do this. she didn't pine after people, especially after confessing something like she had. something that she had never thought she'd find herself saying in the past. right? "gabriela's not mine. i have one daughter and.. perhaps, she'd be better off if her father's attention could be dedicated to her and her alone." meh. maybe she should have pushed harder. "ah, yes. thank you for explaining that to me. i'll certainly take a vacation when all of this is as it is supposed to be. with the man that i love." @bejcwcled

"and i'm telling you i can't move this patient. i'll put someone else on the case and tell them to stay out of your way but i'm not moving them. they're too fragile. patient care matters more than your mood." perhaps before he would have been submissive and done exactly what she said. probably wouldn't have stood up to her in the first place. now that he had power though? well the only reason he was still staying here was because of her. because he loved her. "about what, dr. pederson?" he asked raising an eyebrow. oh this had certainly got his attention. "about the patients or your daughter? hmm? is the happy family just a lie?" she just got more interesting. "yes it shows. you need a break after all this is over. a chance to destress. take a vacation." @fcrafcrtnight

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I have ~Thoughts~ on the Harry Potter Phenomenon that was

(Courtesy of memories prompted by this Tumblr Poll)

Back when I was a senior in college (back in the mid-to-late 1980s), I actually wrote a fantasy novel for kids aged ~8 - ~11 (in a self-designed course for a single credit, under the guidance of my Literature advisor), inspired by a series of dreams and recurring characters that showed up in them.

My advisor encouraged me to try and get it published. And so, I arranged with teachers from my old school to have a class of 30 or so 10 year-olds beta read it, and give me feedback for revisions. The kids also encouraged me to try and publish it.

So I did.

Now, back then, there was no "Self Publishing." The closest thing was "Vanity Publishing," where you would pay 100% of the publishing cost of your book, which would be printed in hard copy, for the benefit of having 500 -1,000 books shipped to your personal address, which you were then responsible for storing and selling out of the trunk of your car in a parking lot, somewhere. And if word got out that you were trying to claim credit for being a "published author" because of a Vanity Press book, actual publishers wouldn't touch you with a 40-foot pole.

If you wanted to get published, you had to buy that year's copy of Writer's Market: a listing of magazine and book publishers, and agents, with a brief description of what material they published, and what they wouldn't touch.

Guess what genre no agent or publisher was interested in handling?

That's right, Gentle Readers: Fantasy for children aged 8 - 11. I would have happily sent out a dozen queries for each story I wrote, if there were publishers and agents willing to look at them. But for three to four years of trying, in directories of two-columns of tiny print, and several [hundred]* pages long, I'd be lucky to find two or three outlets even willing to look at fantasy for kids.

The general consensus, across the publishing business, was that fantasy was a dead and obsolete genre. If it was for kids old enough to read chapter books and novels, it must also be firmly grounded in realism and actual history, because everyone knows the only people buying books for kids that age were teachers, who wanted stories with practical applications in the classroom.

***

After 3 - 4 years of trying, while I was in grad school, I finally got a rejection from the one agent who agreed to read my novel. A few days later, I received news that my mother had died from the breast cancer she'd been fighting, and my heart just went out of the project altogether.

A few years later, the first Harry Potter book was published. And it became a worldwide phenomenon. And it was the kids, themselves, who were driving the sales.

See, I think the real reason the books were such a success, even though they were never really very well written, was because they were in a genre the audience was hungry for -- a genre they'd been denied access to for all of their young lives.

Someone who is starving will think even moldy bread is delicious.

*Gosh, what a word to leave out via typo; the Writers Market rivaled the Manhattan Yellow Pages in length.

[charlie-artlie]

I think the death weirdos should hang out

[fromharbor]

she wasn’t sure that ‘wicked’ was quite the term, but she chuckled in response regardless. it wasn’t often that they heard such fervent excitement — usually it was the opposite, with tight lips and prompt redirection. elspeth wasn’t ashamed of her profession, nor was she embarrassed by it; she was simply overly used to fielding the subject in order to make others more comfortable with an inevitable reality. “i work on the bodies and i also help with funeral preparations and things, so i’m not a one-trick pony. it’s not always sad, there’s actually a kind of beauty to it. death is the great equaliser, after all.” they continued to comb through the trash of others, hoping to find their own treasure. “i don’t know if i’d consider myself a special person,” but they had always been humble, eager to please, the type to keep her head down and get things done, disregarding their discomfort for the benefit of others. the southern way, she supposed. her mother had taught her well. as nate spoke, elspeth paused and leaned against the clothing rail with a gradually growing smile. “are you imagining me as an idol, now, mister? i think the morgue would start stacking up if i was off practising choreography and trying to hone my terrible singing voice.”

"what! that's super wicked. you're a mortician?" he knew what it meant by osmosis, and watching random youtube videos, but he didn't know too much when it came to the grittier details. he supposed, from what she said, as she delved into the clearance bin, that the trope of morticians not having colour was true. honestly? it was kinda epic. "y'know, kinda takes a special person to do that. like, i could try it out, and i know i'd just either get really sad, or, not know what to do." nate was firm in believing this. he overheard his uncle once, saying it took a special person to be in the medical field; this wasn't any different, in his opinion. whereas from what he witnessed, almost anybody could be a lawyer, including a skeeze. nate didn't like skeezes; their attitude was not tubular for the times. "ooh, man. you'd think a black dress like that would be avant garde or whatever, but i guess it just isn't here. but i mean, you could try to find a polo, or something. tuck that into the shorts. get a sparkly belt. that's, like, idol-chic." these things all pivot from nate watching little videos on youtube, scrolling through and his mind cherry-picking details to recall.

[miniar]

The blue lagoon in Iceland is currently closed (for a week) due to a high risk of a volcanic eruption within a kilometer (0.8 miles) of the popular tourist location.

When the gathering magma breaks the earth's crust, anyone visiting the blue lagoon will have (best case scenario) approximately 20 minutes to make it to safety.

If there are people sleeping in the adjacent hotel or gods forbid in the lagoon itself, the worst case scenario is the magma breaking surface beneath the lagoon.

The only truly realistic way to avoid serious casualties here is for the resort, hotel, and lagoon yo remain completely closed until the danger passes.

There are currently icelandic people calling for a 2/1 deal (or cheaper) on blue lagoon tickets for Icelandic people on twitter.

Do Not Go To The Blue Lagoon Until The Danger Has Passed!!

It's a lovely experience but it's absolutely not worth boiling alive or burning to death.

[fcrafcrtnight]

"WORSE. I DIDN'T HAVE.. MUCH OF ANYTHING. and now, i run the biggest hospital in town, have a beautiful daughter and my boyfriend's the most loving, kind-heart and generous guy i've ever met. oh and he also happens to be the mayor. all this to say? it may look bad, but.. trust me, kid. it gets better." was she attempting to connect with him for a reason? yes, because she needed this kid on her side. if sweet, little gabriela ever woke up? she was going to need someone to hold up her story and this was it. this was how she made it happen. this was her way in. titling her head to the side. watching him? yes, she was. "of course. not even i would ask you to make any kind of decision like that right now. we should focus on gabi being.. better." waving his words away. "it's alright. if anything, it helped me get my shit together. sometimes, certain things do, right?" @xtinyslip

"oh, um, i guess that makes sense." nodding his head. "you saying you used to be like down the ditches like the rest of us?" a joke. maybe next the smoothest one but he wasn't always known for that. still, the truth was that he rarely ever meant any harm ; he just said a lot of things and did them without necessarily thinking them through fully. it got him into trouble. "uh," wrigley didn't really know what to make of her or how to act around her. she was gabi's family but gabi had made it seem like she couldn't be trusted or, or ; he didn't really know. his head was spinning about the whole thing and not to be that guy but ; why the hell was she offering him a job? "um, it's a really good offer and everything. like thank you so much or thinking of me! shit, don't think anyone's offered me something like that in um, maybe ever? but… my heads like a giant mess right now and if you get me. it should be at my best so…" was he blowing her off? honestly, he had no idea what he was doing. what should he do? he didn't know why this was the one thing he was thinking about so hard. "prison? okay that kind of makes you more like a reason person now. cool. well, not cool and i didn't mean --" well, shit. also why was he suddenly relieved she had been in prison? that wasn't normal. was it? "oh, i haven't been in prison. nothing like that. um..." @fcrafcrtnight

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Prologue

Your mother was a beautiful kind and dangerous woman. In short. She was a Falcone. And for young Bruce, being with her was a thrill. Being Batman gave him a thrill, but your mother was a different kind of thrill.

Till she got pregnant. And the thrill was gone.

Your mother kept you of course. Counting the days till she gets to hold you in her arms. And when she finally got to hold you, to feel you close and hear your sweet little voice. The rest of the Falcone men decided that your mother wasn't ready to take care of you. So, they forced you out of her arms and sent you to Bruce.

Bruce held you once. And immediately passed you to Alfred. He was too young to become a father. (Never mind the fact he was already acting as a father to two boys)

He didn't have time to play daddy. Deep down Bruce did come to care for you over the years and attempted to try and hold you. But then Jason died, Dick distanced himself. Holding you, an innocent little thing, felt wrong.

When you were eight. You had tantrums. Night terrors. terribly scared of the dark. Thunderstorms especially. Gotham famous for its long dark nights and loud thunderstorms. Bruce, too busy with his new sidekick, Tim. Didn't have time to comfort you. No matter how heartbreaking your scrams for him were. Crying for him, so he can save you from whatever nightmare you have woken from.

But only Alfred occasionally Dick, would come and save you.

Bruce would give you toys, new dresses as a form of apology. He wouldn't give it to you directly. But have Alfred give it to you or leave it in your room when asleep. But no matter how many new toys he gives you. Those nightmares just never stopped.

Due to the neglect. Your mother was able to meet with you secretly. As years passed, she was able to steal you away when Alfred wasn't hovering around you. Take you to shop and give you whatever you wanted. Holding you in her arms and not wanting to let go.

Slowly, your mother was gaining the favor of some of the Falcones. To let her have you back. To welcome you back into the Falcone family. Once she gets the whole family to agree. She can make a case of child neglect against Bruce Wayne and take her sweet Babygirl back.

But when you were ten. Your powers began to kick in. You told Bruce, hoping your father would help you. Help you understand. Bruce, told you to keep it a secret. And to tell no one else.

Having a kid who was a meta was the last thing he needed at the moment. Trying to re-connect with Jason who still had deep hate for him instead focusing on his first-born child who was struggling to understand.

You felt like a freak.

And it wasn't long till you lost control of your powers. To keep it short. You accidently killed a few other kids with your powers. It was an accident. You swore. You see you would have just been left off. Your a kid. It was an accident. But most of all your a Wayne. But one of the kids you killed was a Falcone.

And Bruce couldn't risk you getting killed. He cared about you. Just not as much as he should. So, to avoid the wrath of the Falcone's. Bruce had to claim you were mentally ill. Sending you to Arkham. Only for a few months. That's what he said to you. That's what he promised.

You did your six months in Arkham. Six months turned to eight. Eight months turned to ten. Ten months turned to two years. Then finally, you were taken out from your cell. Lead by two prison guards. They said you had a visitor. You assumed it was another reporter. But was proven wrong when you see Bruce on the other side of the thick glass. You were shocked but happy to see your father.

"Daddy." You spoke softly as you slowly smile, putting your hand on the glass. Bruce hesitates to put his hand on the glass, once he does, he focused back to you. Your eyes stared at him with so much love and hope.

". . . Your case. . . the court decided you're, too unstable to attend court, so. . ." Bruce didn't look at you as he spoke. So, he couldn't see the smile on your face fade. Confusion taking over.

"But. . . I did my six months. . . I-I've been here for a year! Daddy, please I didn't do it on purpose!" You were on the edge of crying.

"I promise. I'll get you out of here as soon as I can." Bruce wanted to try and console you. But that was harder due to the glass between you two. He reaches out his hand to the glass once more. But the loud buzz that queued it was time for you to get back to your cell.

"Please Daddy don't let them take me!" You cried, putting both hands on the glass. You were in full despair. Bruce didn't know what to do. He can take the risk from the Falcones and get you out with a snap of his fingers. Or he can make it easy for everyone but you and wait till you serve your time.

". . . I'm sorry" Bruce can see you falling deeper and deeper into dispare.

Guards burst from the doors and had to forcefully take you away.

"No- No! Daddy please! DADDY!" Your screamed louder as the guards took you away, reaching out to Bruce who just stood there. And did nothing. As always.

Seven years later.

No one ever visited you again. Well, no one from the Waynes. But your mother visited you every week. Her visits where the only reason you kept saine.

Arkham isn't all fun and games. Obviously. You were immitted into Arkham's fucked version of rehabilitation. You started hearing things after your first month in Arkham.

. . .

You sent letters almost every day to the Wayne manor. But never got any back. None from Bruce. None from Dick. You and Tim weren't close. So, you didn't expect anything from him. Alfred prefers to call you. Wanting to hear your voice to make sure you were not lying to him when he asks of your wellbeing.

You stopped sending letters to Bruce a few months ago. Not like he'll respond anyway. You don't need Bruce. You have your mother. And she's all you'll need. She's your world now, your reason to keep living this pointless life. And once you're out, Mama promised to give you a big hug. Which you so desperately needed.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢. . . 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎?"

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[retquits]

my grandfather passed last night.

i miss him more than i can express with words, so i painted my favorite photo of us instead.

thanks for teaching me so much. i hope there's good music where you are.💛

[springbandit]

Jake let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he processed Elaine's words. The weight of hat she didn't fully understand hung heavily between them. He appreciated her confidence and offers, but he knew what Jennings & Rall truly were. What Ravenwood truly was. And he knew they weren't something even the most powerful name could buy its way out of. "They're not just con artists." he said, "They're con artists with tanks, mortars, an entire military-grade arsenal at their disposal. And Ravenwood, the contractors they work with? They don't believe in mercy. You disobey orders? You're nothing. Less than nothing." He paused, willing her to understand the gravity of what they were up against. "I've seen it. Hell, I've been a part of it. Back when I when I was with Ravenwood, we...we weren't good people. We didn't give second chances. And now that they're with J&R? There's no winning moves." Her question about what they did to him hung in the air like a knife. He hesitated, fingers curling against his sides. The memories were too close, too raw. The basement of that pig farm, the harsh lights, the pain; it was a place he tried not to visit, even in his own mind. His voice tightened as he finally spoke. "You're better off not knowing. Some things...They're just better left alone." He looked away, unable to meet her eye as he fought to steady himself for a moment, the familiar thrum of tension building in his chest.

But then, she moved closer, her words shifting the conversation, and Jake latched onto it like a lifeline. His lips curved into a faint smile. "The last date I went on didn't even have working electricity," he teased, tone lighter. "Drinks by candlelight, wasn't exactly by design and it was a far cry from romantic - her mysterious husband returned from the dead. Or rather, we thought he had." He chuckled softly, a bit of genuine warmth creeping back into his voice. "That was the last time I danced, too. Until you. And for the record? Time hasn't made me any better." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You should take the day off. Your patients will survive one day without you. In fact, they'd probably want you to have a life outside of the hospital. Besides, you deserve this. We deserve this." his hand lingered for a moment, slowly and gently tracing down her before returning to his side. "I'll show you the stars, Elaine. For as long as you want to see them." he grinned, his confidence flickering back for a moment. "You're looking at one hell of a pilot, Dr. Pederson. Trust me, the air's where I do my best work. Safer than the ground any day of the week." His gaze softened further, and for a moment, the storm in his mind was quieter. "You and me, up there...I think that sounds like exactly what we both need. No noise, no interruptions. Just us."

@fcrafcrtnight

"SO THEY'RE CON-ARTISTS. PROMISE ONE THING, DO ANOTHER. BUT.. WORSE? I SEE." it was possibly worse than that, but her mind worked in a different direction and right now, she was already thinking of ways that she could handle these... people. of course, she had the resources of the pederson name behind her, but.. would it be enough? right now, she didn't want to think about it. she had faced worse. she had dealt with worse. "we make sure that they don't have the chance, then. they're not handling anyone here, jake. ESPECIALLY NOT YOU OR ME. EVERY SINGLE RESOURCE I HAVE TO MY NAME IS YOURS TO USE. ALRIGHT? those people are not getting anywhere near us." she frowned, reaching forward.. almost gently. kindly. lovingly, before placing a hand against his arm. no, she didn't like seeing him like this. scared. fear was an emotion that she had put to the side a long time ago and.. what good was it, if she couldn't use that to keep the people that she loved - like him - from being scared too? "what... what did those monsters do to you?" part of her wanted to know and the other part... didn't. she didn't need anymore nightmare fuel but they were in this together and if he wanted to tell her? she'd listen. she would.

"no. we do it together, remember? your mess is my mess and likewise." but her grin was back at that, especially as she noticed that yes, he was making an effort. wasn't that what she had wanted? the most, actually? yes, it was. "you are. no one's ever offered to take me to see the stars, if you're wondering. most i've gotten is a silly lame restaurant so.. we're off to a good start. kind of epic too, if you ask me?" she moved in his direction again, almost in a shy manner. almost to see what he was going to do. hopefully not pull away from her? she liked to think that this had been worked through... nearly. grinning. "you know when was the last time i took a day off from the hospital? never. then again.. i suppose it can survive for a day or two without me. wouldn't be fair for me to show up in my scrubs when you're making all this effort, would it?" but he did have a point, more than he knew. and well, she wouldn't take time off from the hospital just for anyone. that showed that.. yes, she wanted to make this work too. more than anything, right now. she wanted him with her. by her side. "that would be nice, wouldn't it? not coming back down. just.. spending some time up there. amongst the stars. just you and me. and you say you're not a romantic, mr. mayor?" @springbandit

[kyuhu]

love is in the air or maybe not idk

[henwilsons]

THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR  ↳ 1.04 | 1.09

[kyuhudraws]

Strong bird prince!

[lilybug-02]

Weird Route...

Spoilers for CT Weird Route below.

Please check tags for anything triggering ❤️

Afterlife...

........

This is not cannon, as the weird route is finished and it will not be added upon. But.......I often find myself wanting to draw for it. So here you are...

The weird route ends abruptly and without art for a reason. I wanted to make it painfully obvious that as YOU continue the route/story YOU stop getting anything out of it. You're only hurting the characters, and by the end, there's nothing left to do except start over.

I had thought of Asriel discovering Chara...well, dead. But I think that would have been too much for the scene. I didn't want to get any more depressing than it already was.

tbh I only hope that I can make an ending even half as good as this one. I still think about it often and I'm proud of the amount of work I put into it.