#deep basement constructions

[shencomix]

Recently I decided to go to my local fighting game tournament.

Here's how it went.

I had been getting pretty good at Guilty Gear over the past few weeks, to the point where I was getting the input correctly for the Potemkin Buster 1 out of every 4 or 5 times I tried it. So I thought "I might not be the best yet, but, surely good enough for my local" -- and I decided to go.

It took place at a the comic & games store in the town center. The venue was full of people 10-15 years younger than me and even more drastically cooler. They all turned to glare at me as I walked through the door, but as I stood completely motionless like a gazelle hoping to blend into the grassland, their gazes slowly returned to each other and they continued to banter friendlily.

I sat down next to me first opponent, and reached out to shake their hand. They looked down at my hand, and then up at my eyes slowly.

"You're supposed to do that at the end of the match."

"Oh, s-sorry"

I got perfected twice and lost the match. At the end, I reached out again to shake their hand, but they just stood up and walked away.

Because I lost, I got moved down to the loser's bracket, which was literally below the main tournament because it took place in the basement of the comic shop. I could hear footsteps, cheering, and happy conversation in the floor above. Here in the loser's bracket though, the mood was a lot more somber.

My next opponent reminded me a little bit of me. They were equally nervous and disheveled looking. They said "Um, h-hello" and reached out their hand for a handshake as they saw me approaching. I said "you're s-supposed to do that at the end of the match." But as a look of deep sadness came over their face and they slowly put down their hand, I pulled them in for a hug.

I'm not sure why I did that.

I think that some part of me knew that, in this dark, dank, alien place, illuminated only by a single failing ceiling light and the neon glow of a few arcade machines, I had at last found a friend -- someone I understood, and who might understand me too.

They hugged back.

I lost that match by a very narrow margin, and as they jumped up and began dancing around and cheering ecstatically, I began to hate them. This was no friend of mine. A friend would not do this to me. After they were done dancing, they reached out to shake my hand. After a few seconds of pause, I stuck out my hand too, but didn't look at them and refused to close it around theirs as they grasped it. They shook my karate chop.

I thought that at that point, since I had lost and then lost in loser's bracket, I was free to go home. But one of the tournament organizers approached me and informed me that I was going down to sub-loser's bracket in the sub-basement of the store, and pointed me towards a descending staircase.

The people there were fewer, and it was darker. I could faintly hear sobbing in one of the corners, but as I went to investigate, another participant put his hand on my shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a look of pain and shook his head slowly.

"You can't do anything for them."

In sub-loser's bracket I went up against a man in a suit whose face was cloaked in shadow. He spammed May's dolphin move. I lost.

As I went to go back upstairs, one of the tournament organizers held out her palm to stop me, and pointed towards a staircase leading further down instead.

Going down through the levels, I lost to many interesting participants. One player played exclusively by bashing the controller against his face. One player was a mushroom with a few circuit cables clipped onto it, that I later learned was able to play because its bioelectrical signals got sent to a machine that interpreted them as fighting game inputs. One player didn't touch their controller at all, but instead just told me their life story, which was so tragic that I picked up their controller and won for them.

Finally, at the very bottom floor, where construction standards were long abandoned and the stairs and walls were just messily carved out of the earth's stone, I faced my final player. It was a small bit of metal framework, with a controller nestled in it. On it was a tiny piston that just pressed the jab button exactly once every second. I lost.

I hung my head for a moment, then said "close game" and stuck my hand out for a handshake, before remembering that I had played against a metal framework cube with a piston in it and retracting my hand slowly. Then I heard a slow clapping from the darkness.

"No neutral. No footsies."

Out of the darkness slowly walked a woman about my age, clad in a decorative poofy dress that looked more expensive than my entire life savings. She smiled at me warmly, continuing to clap slowly, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"No meter management. No mixups. No spacing. No learning. No strategy…

…You're perfect."

"Wh-what?"

"You're perfect. I absolutely must have you."

"Have me for…um…for what…"

(Her eyes went wide as her smile grew more manic.)

"WHY, MY MORON FAILSON HAREM OF COURSE."

"Um, I-I"

"Tell me, what do you do for a living? Let me guess, you work at a fast food restaurant? Or, retail?"

"No, I'm a--I'm a comic artist."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my god, you are PERFECT. What will it take to get you."

"To-to ge--"

"You would be well taken care of, of course. 3 Michelin star dining for every meal. Only the finest, softest sweatpants and sweatshirts, pre-stained with whatever flavor of Takis your little heart desires. You would have access to the entire mansion except for the main foyer when I'm in business calls, and you could make all the comics and play all the fighting games you want."

"I'm uh--"

I knew that I had to think fast here.

"I'm already i-in a moron failson harem."

"Oh, DARN IT!! TELL ME, WHO IS IT??? WHO GOT YOU??"

"I-I think I'm not allowed to s-sa--"

She stomped her foot petulantly, her shoe clacking against the stone floor.

"WAS IT SHUXUAN?? IT'S ALWAYS SHUXUAN HOGGING ALL OF THE GOOD ONES."

"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, shuffling along the wall to make a wide radius around her and then running up the staircase.

As I got home and began making my standard dinner of Trader Joe's microwave falafel, I thought about her offer. Maybe I should have taken her up on it after all. A 3 Michelin star meal right now wouldn't be so bad.

Then I hopped on Guilty Gear and lost 22 matches in a row.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Stealing 'em off the Jobsite

You're fed up! Those goddamn construction workers have been across the street for weeks now, and they haven't erected anything (aside from the pole in your pants). Your eyes have studied the collection of sweaty bodies each day, always sad when they pack up and leave.

It's determined. Tonight, things will change. Tonight, they'll be coming home with you...

All it takes is a glance at your newly acquired, hypnotic pocket watch: a family heirloom.

Your grandfather probably didn't think you'd be using his most powerful artifact for this, but he's not here to witness the control you exert over the crew. They may laugh at first, but their eyes quickly glaze over the second they actually look at the thing swinging overhead. Their grins falter as the tendons in their face slacken. They're relaxing, just like you commanded them to.

Suddenly, those big muscular men don't seem so cocky and masculine. Their typical swagger is replaced by something else; something more subdued, more bovine, dumb.

You did that to them. You caught them right before they left the job site and flashed that magical pocket watch in their faces. Now they all stand before you like a herd of dumb work animals. It's an unbelievable site: grown men that are reduced to loyal dogs, patiently awaiting the commands of their master. Who are you to keep them waiting?

You order them to follow...

They're good at following the instruction, even if it's just a simple one. The construction workers fumble down the street behind you, grunting and pushing their way past each other like a bunch of braindead zombies. You know they're tired. The sweat of a long day is soaking through most of their clothes, but you rather enjoy knowing how weak their big arms and meaty pecs have become.

Normally, men like this are rowdy and obnoxious, but right now their jaws only hang stupidly. The occasional moan can be heard deep in their throats, but more often comes the unmistakeable sound of gas from their rears. After all, you did tell them to relax, and that command seems to have loosened up their insides as well. More than a few wet farts can be heard in the crowd, but none of them react. Some of the noises are gross enough to suggest they've even shit themselves, not that filling their pants with crap will stop them from mindlessly following you home.

It's almost comical to see how oblivious they've become, but that blank look on their face is getting old. Their heavy slick bodies are hot, but so are their chauvinistic bro attitudes.

Finally at your house, you order them to grab a beer, smile, and file inside for the party...

Watching the crew of hardened laborers snap out of the trance is eclipsed only by the dumb smile that breaks on each of their masculine faces. Just like that, they're beaming at you, treating you like their best bud and slapping you on the back. Can you remember the last time you were at a party, let alone a party full of grizzled blue-collar workers?

Per your instructions, they haul the booze and speakers down the stairs into the basement. They're only too happy to help, and they get even more excited when you tell them to.

Their eyes pop open wider. Any fatigue from the long workday is replaced with a sudden urge to chug a beer and chest bump the guy next to them. The music is turned up louder than the growing volume of the men joking, laughing, and shit-talking with their gravelly bass and baritone voices.

The testosterone is almost unbearable. You can smell the thick funk of body odor mixing in the humid air. You can even taste the salt evaporating off their skin. But, even more exciting, you can feel any inch of them you want. Diving into the bodies packed tightly together, don't hesitate to touch, sniff, and lick anything you want. The men are lost in a euphoria of moving to the music. They only grin when they find you below, slobbering over their muscle tits or fondling their swollen packages.

They sure as hell wouldn't allow this if you hadn't hypnotized them first. You made them eager to accept an intrusive finger down the back of their work pants. With a little more coaching, they've become even more comfortable around their master...

Your wish is their command, so they relax into each other's arms when you tell them to. They've already been told to relax so much that it hardly takes any effort. Before you know it, the men's bodies are being pulled in close embraces with casual smirks. These macho builders don't mind their colleagues getting all up in their personal space, no matter how intimate it gets.

The first pair brave enough to obey seems happy they did so. The hug turns into a more aggressive groping until the larger of the two rips off his partner's ratty old tank top.

This party's starting to look more like an orgy...

The men are happy with this new direction, mostly because you told them to be. Some of them partner up, greedily grabbing their closest bro at work. It's hard to imagine these guys were ever a platonic, straight work crew.

Some of them probably would've gone home to their families tonight, but these fathers and husbands are yours at the moment. You'll let their wives fuss over tucking the kids in. If you can take away all cares from these men with one simple glance at a pocket watch, then why should you care about their families.

All you need to worry about, is choosing which filthy laborer to break in first...

The Foreman. He's on the far end of the basement, but the boys obediently squeeze their beefy bodies together to give you a path.

He might be the big boss on the job site, but the handsome brute drops to his knees with one word from his master. That dopey smile on his face says just how much this bitch wants to please you, and his workers couldn't agree more. Noticing your lust for their boss, they start egging him on, telling him to be a good boy for the master, encouraging him to be the best slut you've ever had.

You command the Foreman to open his mouth. He does so gleefully and accepts your cock surprisingly well. You can feel how relaxed his throat has become.

With that, the orgy of construction workers is officially kicked off! Your commands begin simple enough, telling who to bend over and who to ram it in, but they become more involved as you gain confidence. You tell the men to moan like two-cent whores, and the whole room echoes with deep manly growls. At one point, you instruct everyone to form a line and jerk off onto the Foreman's face, leaving it smothered with the cum of thirty men. Later, you order them all to lower their pants and touch their toes so you can find the hottest ass to peg. Hours go by as you test the limits of your control over these men.

Eventually, around four in the morning, you are drunk, tired, and sore in the balls. Three of the strongest men are still up to massage your shoulders and each foot, but the rest lay on the concrete floor, using each other's bodies as pillows. You fall asleep to the sound of gruff laborers randomly muttering compliments or praise to you, their master.

Just like you told them...

You wake up, and they're still taking turns to commend you. The three blokes massaging you seem ready to collapse from the fatigue.

With a simple order, everyone stops.

You leave them kneeling in the basement, packed together as efficiently as possible. It'd be nice to keep using them, but you have to go upstairs and heal from the hangover.

Before you flip the light off, you take one more look. The construction workers seem totally oblivious to the fact that you're leaving them down there to wait on their knees in the dark. From the looks on their faces, this would seem completely normal to them. Chuckling, you slip the door shut and move on with the day.

Who knows when you'll flip that light switch back on next? Until then, they'll be patiently kneeling in the dark, listening to the sound of thirty bodies breathing around them.

So, what are you gonna do with them? Return them to their old lives of physical labor and unchecked masculinity? Their wives and kids would probably thank you for that. Or maybe you'll have them cut off whatever friends or family they had before? Turn them into true workslaves that are only interested in bringing you the checks they suffer for? That would definitely be a rewarding financial endeavor. For now you'll just leave them to wait in your basement.

After all, you stole them fair and square...

[fluffymarshmalllows]

In every universe, I'll look for you

fanfic about Reader getting sucked in the portal first, Ford follows.

Another restless night for you and your husband in the basement. Coffee staining the journals as he scribbles more blurbs about this “Bill” person he keeps calling his muse. You didn’t want to feel jealous but ever since that absurdly long late night walk Ford took months ago, he’s been nose deep into every physics book and theoretical researches to prove something, anything. Every time you beg him to rest, he refuses making you a bit annoyed, blame it on the sleep deprivation and lack of quality time.

“Please, Fordsy, you really need some rest. We’ve been working on this project for weeks now” you muttered, half-asleep at this point. But words fell on deaf ears as your husband just waved you off with some empty promises of he’ll be with you to bed soon.

Too tired to argue, you kissed him on the cheek which caused his face to get dusted pink for a bit, but still very much focused on his calculations. A sight you will never get tired of. You also waved to Fiddleford who was roped in this whole project bidding farewell.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he says without looking up as you climb the squeaky staircase. You reminded them both to get some rest while internally praying to whoever God that will listen that you get your doting husband back sooner than later.

Not even hours later, loud metal clashes and bangs from the basement jerked you awake. You shot up and dashed straight to Ford worried that something might’ve happened. Did he get injured? A part fell on him? Was he trashing the place? Shaking your head ridding of those thoughts. Running towards the basement fueled with adrenaline and a power nap is not ideal but the situation called for it.

You got there as quick as you can and witnessed a rather vulgar argument between your husband and Fiddleford leading to the latter walking out and bumping your shoulder muttering unpleasant words towards Ford.

Peering out from the basement stairs, on the other side of their makeshift divider was a big glowing construction whirring with power. “Oh my god” those were the only things that you could mutter in that moment. The machine was… working. It was finally working. After months of sleepless nights, exhausted arguing, they finally made it work giving you hope that things will soon get back to normal, or as much as it used to be.

Ford felt your presence and looked at you like a mad-man, eyes crazed with no sign of sanity. It made you question if the man standing ahead of you was really the guy you married. “It finally worked! The math finally made sense. Do you understand, Y/N?! This is our key to figuring out all these anomalies.” You took a step back your back against the door while he tries to coax you in joining him. “No, Ford, this doesn’t look safe”.

Ford turned his back to you, staring at his creation. “Fiddleford said the same thing” he mused, “but please, beloved, I won’t let you be in any danger”. His reassuring voice was enough to put you in some ease as you walked to him extending his hand.

He held you by your waist supporting your trenbling body, guiding you to admire their creation. Observing some sparks of electricty dancing across the ground and bouncing off the walls. Ford was explaining to you how it works, how he plans to use it, what they should do next and all that but one look at your alarmed face gave him all the hint he needed to keep quiet and let you process all this.

He was so enamored by this portal he built, you both did not realize the glass dividing the area was slowly cracking. Only took some more volts of current to run by it to shatter and allow the portal to suck you in.

It happened so fast. Ford tried grabbing you but the force was too much, pulling you in within seconds. You managed to maneuver yourself to grab on the portals frame. Using all your strength pulling your body out to ask for help one last time before you were completely lost somewhere some time in space.

“Ford, help me!” The last words his lover spoke before getting lost in the oblivion haunts him in his every waking hour. He tried consulting Bill about this, how to get you back, but Bill was adamant about the situation, believing that Y/N was just a hurdle to their masterplan. He spent too many lonely nights missing you and regretting what he has done, it was driving him imsane. This lead to him calling quits with Bill which ultimately made the polygon mad.

Alas, he struck the courage to contact his twin after years. This was not an easy decision for him but to set up his grand scheme of finding you in the vast universe, he had to have his brother fit the missing link.

Ford explained everything to Stan, or as much as his twin needed to know but things did not go exactly as planned. He was planning to portal jump, sure, but not get sucked into it accidentally. He found it somewhat humorous that he ended up the same way his lover left, through the portal—asking for help.

Journal log no. 176? 177. Two years, 18 dimensions, 3 timelines. I saw them again. Different hairstyle but with that same aloof smile. Happy in this dimension with me, alternate universe me. I still live to regret that day. It also appears that she is also being tracked by the space-time continueom agencies (noted from the encounter at the do-over dimension). Just what in the world did my Y/N get to?…

Journal log no. 320+. It has been almost 10 home years if I calculated it correctly. Still no sign of my Y/N in this timeline. From the dwellers of this dimension, it appears that the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron has laid low on the investigation of their whereabouts. It has become harder tracking them down, maybe they learned new tricks. Best to take a note of this…

Journal log __ . I have lost track of days in this dimension. Some part of this dimension are mirrors that behaves like looking glasses. Upon my first arrival, a mirror reflected Y/N staring back at me. As I am writing this, I am still formulating probable hypothesis that could explain their reflection on mine. Seeing them again after so long makes me yearn for them more. If only I h

A zipping sound ripped from a distance away from Ford as he's trying to journal his discoveries.

“Time to go” quickly packing all his materials shoving it in his makeshift bag careful not to drop any while going on another leap. He looked back at those men? Aliens? Whoever those guys are they are pretty hot on his trail. Getting too close for his own comfort. And too many close calls with them than Ford will admit.

“Get him!” The smallest tentacle humanoid man commanded or something similar of the sort, it’s another universe language he has yet to decode. Learning the tongues became much more difficult since he accidentally stumbled on a rebellion matched with a bounty picture of your face displayed in every available surface they can stick it on to. Knowing you, whatever you did there most likely called for it or he hopes so, anyway.

Muttering some curses he took his grand leap and entered another dimension. Not once did he look back.

This time it looked like another parallel timeline of his home universe. Ford walked around pin pointing important anomalies, most of them minor like an extra toe on a cat or a bird with butterfly wings. He slumped down under a tree near the opening of the forest to draw these creatures. Pulling out his journal, he realized something in this dimension feels right, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belong. Another minor anomaly in a dimension filled with other anomalies. It made him feel normal, but not complete. Ford sniffled his tears back overwhelmed by the feeling of missing you. He never stopped looking for you. Eyes scanning every place hoping to see you again, waiting for him, happy with him.

Coast is clear and the sun was slowly setting. It lulled Ford to take a nap. Closing his eyes trying to remember what you look like. It’s been years since he last saw you. In every universe and timeline you were in, they did not look like you, his Y/N. Something was always off, but one thing remained constant— you were always happy together with him. Ford chuckled bitterly. Only in the universe he lived in was he alone. It was unfair, but he did this to himself. He regrets all the time he spent with Bill than his own spouse. His only lover, to think that fame and knowledge blinded him to put you in danger.

A soft thud was heard from the tree he was resting on, followed by a feeling of being watched made chills ran down his spine. Ford became hyper-aware looking, searching, for anything. Standing up quickly, he was ready to dash for it but for unknown reason he stood his ground. His feet felt glued to the ground, waiting for whatever it was to emerge from the trees’ shadows. The now dark forest was eerie and he could not risk getting hurt in another dimension. A pitter patter of steps from the forest heading his way made him draw his gun aiming at the darkness. His fingers at the trigger, steady.

“Fordsy?”

His breath hitched. Hands trembled. A figured appeared out of the dense forest. Face to face with the gun he was ready to fire. His heartbeat was so loud it was almost all he can hear. Seeing you, still perfect after so many years. With gray hairs and past your prime, yet you still had the same effect on him. Decades or more has passed but the feelings remained the same.

Both of you did not dare to take a step. You feared that this is all in your head, a fragment of your imagination that you did not want to go away. The air was still, and the silence deafening. You can’t take it much longer and you run up to him. Ford took you in with open arms.

He hugged you tight, not willing to let go. Never again will he let you go. All those years of longing and you’re finally back in his arms. He stared at your eyes, filled with the love and adoration like the days you were married and living with each other. You took a step back and slapped him. Hard.

“How dare you!” You angrily muttered to him. Voice tight but not so loud to disturb the silence. “This?! This is what you were trying to make?” Shoving a pointed finger to his shoulder blade. Ford was hurt, but he knew he deserved that anger. “We were always together! In every dimension I went to, even in our past, did you know how much it hurt seeing us together? Knowing that every version of me is happy and loved while I am trying to go back home to a husband who’s cheating on me with a guy!” Y/N rambled exasperated. Your cheeks felt wet, not realizing the tears already started falling. All those years of resentment and anger to your husband resurfaced. “And you know what the worst part is?” You sniffled trying to sound brave “I still love you! And at times I feel like a fool for doing so.”

Ford was confused with what to feel to say the least. He felt sad you had to endure being lonely, longer than he had been. Joy? That you still love him despite his wrong doings. Humour as he realized that you thought Bill as a mistress. That made him crack a small smile which you noticed. You turned around calling him a jerk while wiping your tears muttering cusses.

“Dearest” he tried calling out to you. “You know you’re the only one I love right?” He cooed, still not getting over the fact that he had someone else. He reached out to you gently, wrapping his arms around you. His chest at your back as you felt his breathing on your neck. “Y/N, please face me, it’s been so long since I’ve seen your beauty.” Ford purred. What else can you do but look at him again, you reached your hand to the cheek you hit and soothed it for a bit. “I’m sorry for hitting you” you muttered looking at his eyes. “It was deserved” he replied sheepishly avoiding your gaze. The tension was as thick as the dense forest behind you and you can’t take it anymore.

You pulled him down by grabbing the collar of his coat to give him a kiss. A bit stunned Ford was but he warmed up to it. Breathing a sigh of relief, finally in the arms of his Y/N, with no plans of letting her go.

They trudged into the woods, conversing on what they witnessed and all the universe they jumped, comparing notes and journals. You proudly showed him yours as you stated “I was just copying you but it became a scrapbook of some sort”. Inside were trinkets from dimensions folded into the paper with drawings and detailed descriptions of things you saw. Ford was more of interested with the folded wanted poster between those pages. He took it out and observed it closely. “Yeah, I became part of their council for a while,” you said which earned a questioning eyebrow raise from your husband. You raised your hands in protest “Well, I didn’t know that fruits were their money! I was hungry”. This made him laugh and it sounded like music to your ears. Mr. All seriousness laughing with you again, everything felt perfect.

Until the familiar space ripping nearby brought you both back to reality. Whipping your heads towards that sound, Ford exclaimed “I’m getting too old for this”. Grabbing your hand he lead you the forest clearing and pulled out his dimension jumper and you followed suit.

“We are now easily trackable since we are together so we need to be extra cautious” Ford explained as you both explore the city-esque universe you landed in. “Do you think we’d ever go back home?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. Ford turned to you “I trust Stan. It might take a while to be honest.” You nodded in respond, still not giving yourself false hope. “But I’m with you Y/N, and anywhere is better when you’re by my side.” His voice was so sincere you can’t help but believe him. You held him interlocking your digits together. His six fingers perfectly hugging your hand as you both jumped into another dimension unprepared but together.

word count: 2.5k words

woop woop first published fic! should i make a part 2?

[lonelychicago]

inspiration saturday! 💌

so i started this au inspired by the movie suck me shakespeer and im excited... so here's a moodboard and a lil snippet!

ex convict! buck and er doctor! eddie

“What do you mean you buried the money at a construction site?” It takes every cell in Buck's body not to smack Ravi right on the head.

Ravi sputters and his eyes widen comically. Buck would laugh if panic wasn't already choking him inside. “I didn't know! You told me to hide it, so I did!”

Buck raises his eyebrows and looks at the brand new hospital across the street, and then at Ravi, then at the hospital again and one more time back to his friend.

“And do you see why burying it at a fucking construction site was a bad idea?” He says between gritted teeth.

“I didn't think they were actually going to construct anything.” Ravi defends himself. “You know how it is. These guys take forever. How was I supposed to know they would be done by the time you got out?”

“You didn't even think to check?” Buck asks incredulously. He forces himself to take long, deep breaths and counts to ten in his head. It's probably not a good idea to kill Ravi right now, when Buck is just freshly out of prison.

Besides, he has a meeting with his probation officer tomorrow. Showing up with bruised, bloody knuckles to her office would probably not be the best look for him.

"Well, we've gotta figure out a way to dig it up," Buck announces after a few minutes, a plan already starting to form in his head.

“How?”

“The money is probably buried in the basement, right?” Buck asks. If he just had access to it he'd be able to dig his way to the cash. “I just have to… get there.”

They both frown and stare at the hospital, Buck sees a group of what looks like interns hurry inside. Doctors and nurses come and go and some ambulances pass by. If he could just figure out a way—

A janitor would have access to every room in the hospital, right? And Buck needs a job to meet his probation requirements anyway.

tagging: @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @devirnis @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @theotherbuckley @the-likesofus @eddiebabygirldiaz @rainbow-nerdss @queerdiazs @bidisasterevankinard @hippolotamus @wellcollapse @daffi-990 @bekkachaos and anyone else who wants to <33

[thescarletnargacuga]

We've had mother and son bonding with Pomni and Cade. Now how about some father and son time? It can be silly or sad, I just really enjoy seeing the little muppet boy.

A/N: Cade deserves something nice after the last couple stories involving him in peril

REACH OUT

A HARLEQUIN AU ONESHOT

AU credit @iamespecter @tadc-harlequin-au

WARNING: none

~~~

Deep in the basement depths of the manor lies Caine's workshop. A cavernous room full of equipment for designing and engineering inventions from the mind of the puppetmaster. Everything from watches and weapons to puppets themselves have been developed in that room. Most days, Caine retreats to his workshop for solitude with his thoughts, but today he brought a little helper.

For the first time, Cade was allowed to help his dad tinker. The young puppet sat on a tall stool, waiting for his dad to give him a task. Unable to keep still in his excitement, Cade fidgeted in place, but kept his hands to himself. He didn't want to touch something he wasn't supposed to and get kicked out on his first real visit to the workshop.

Caine focused on a small actuator, using his own energy to power the tools to construct the piece. He set down one of his tools and held his hand out to Cade. "Hey, be a sport and hand me the soldering needle?"

Cade snapped to attention on the stool and looked around the workbench. "Uh! Um....the sodder needle? This?"

Caine held in his laughter. "That's a wrench."

"Oh, sorry. Is it, uh, this thing?"

Caine snorted. "That's a screwdriver. Are you doing this on purpose?" He teased.

"No! I- I can find it." Cade searched furiously for what he thought could be the tool.

Caine picked up the tool that was right next to him. "This one, champ. It's pointy, like a needle."

"Oh." Cade sat back down and crossed his arms in a huff.

Caine pat Cade on the head. "Don't worry about it. You'll hand me the next one." He went back to the project at hand. Blue electric energy flowed through the tool, creating a tiny arc and soldering small parts in place.

Cade watched his dad with wide eyed fascination. The power of soul magic so effortlessly wielded was what he hoped to one day achieve. It was the coolest thing in the world. "How do you do that?"

"Do what, son?" Caine asked without looking up.

"What you're doing. The blue light. How do you make that do what you wanted to do?"

Caine stopped, contemplating how to explain soul magic in a way Cade would understand. "Your soul magic is an extension of your will. If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen. I want to power these tools to help me build the actuator. So I make it happen."

"But...how?" Cade featured with his hands in confusion.

"Practice. You have to really dig deep down inside yourself and find the inner strength to mold reality to your will."

"Wow. Sounds hard."

"Sometimes it is. Like I said, practice. Here," Caine picked up a spare lightbulb from a parts box. He held it by the conductive metal and it glowed bright blue in his fingers. "This is a very simple exercise. Will your energy to flow through the lightbulb to make it glow. Careful not to squeeze it too hard."

"Okay!" Cade held the lightbulb with both hands and stared at it without blinking.

Caine watched for a moment before going back to what he was doing. He finished the actuator and moved on to another part of the project at the workbench. "Your new toy is coming along nicely-"

"SHHH!" Cade shushed dramatically.

"Sorry." Caine said, smiling to himself.

Several minutes went by. Cade narrowed his drying eyes at the lightbulb. He wanted it to work! His dad made it look so easy. He twisted and turned the bulb. He changed hands. He tried everything he could think of. "Ugh! What am I doing wrong?"

"You're reaching with the wrong part." Caine turned on his stool to face Cade.

"Huh..?"

"Soul magic doesn't come from the hands. It comes from the heart." Caine pressed his fingertip to Cade's chest. "That is where all of you lives. To use soul magic, you have to reach out."

"Reach out..." Cade stared at the bulb again, even harder. "Reach. Out."

The bulb flickered yellow for less than a second. Cade dropped the bulb from being startled, but Caine caught it.

"You did it!" Caine stood and lifted Cade off his stool in celebration. "You actually did it! That's incredible!"

"I- I did it!? Wow! Can I show mom??" Cade wiggled in his dad's arms.

"Yeah! Let's go!" Caine rushed out of the room with Cade on his hip. "Pomni, dear!! You have to come see this!"

[scarletsaphire]

TUCKER DANNY JACK AND SKULKER

"Ok, you're gonna need to run me through this one more time," Tucker said, trailing after Danny towards the Fentonwork's lab.

"You remember that Skulker is like, a tiny little blob thing in a mech suit, right?" Danny asked.

"Of course! How could I forget, I still have the pictures."

"Well," Danny said. "Apparently, if he gets hit hard enough in like, five different specific spots, he can't pilot the mech suit anymore? Like it just doesn't move."

"And let me guess," Tucker said. "You hit him hard enough in those five specific spots and now, he's what? Sitting on the table in the lab?" Danny scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Tucker sighed. "I don't know why you think I can fix him. Like, I appreciate the confidence in me, I am pretty great, but there's a big difference between building a computer and fixing a whole guy."

Tucker's feet hit metal as they made their way through the door into the basement. Sure enough, as soon as they made it to the bottom, Tucker saw Skulker. Or rather, Skulker's empty, broken suit. "Jesus, dude, did you put him through a garbage disposal or something?"

"That is, in fact, a thing that happened," Skulker's real, high pitched voice came from Tucker's left. "It was right after I threw him into the sewer!"

"And I stand by my decision," Danny said. He made his way over to where Skulker floated and lifted himself onto the only clear spot on Jack's desk. "Have you ever seen the sewers? They stink. Almost as bad as your aim."

"You insufferable whelp, just wait until my suit is operational, and I'll show you aim!"

"Nuh uh, you agreed one month no hunting if I fixed it up," Danny said.

"Of course," Skulker said. "Every great hunter knows that you don't hunt in off season."

"Hey now, I don't see you trying to fix this, so why do you get to make the deal?" Tucker protested while gathering together tools. The Fenton's lab was a mess, as it always was, but Tucker had puttered around there enough with Danny to know the not quite organized chaos. "What am I gonna get out of it?"

"Um. A theoretical month of extra time with your best friend?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of an all expenses paid round trip on the Phantom Express to that Tech EXPO happening in a few weeks," Tucker said. "You remember the one."

"Dude, that place is like, 500 miles away!" Danny argued. "It'll take ages to get there if I carry you."

"It will not. We've clocked your flight speed at well over 150, it'll just be a few hours."

"I don't know if you know this, but carrying someone for a few hours while flying a hundred miles an hour isn't what most people would describe as easy."

"You're not most people," Tucker said. "But if you don't want my technological expertise, I'll just be on my way. I'm sure you'll figure out how to get this together." He turned to walk back towards the stairs.

Danny groaned. "Fine. But you're paying for my ticket."

Tucker turned back around with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. "Deal. Now, sit back, relax, and watch the master at work."

---

It ended up being only Danny who was sitting back and relaxing. As Tucker had predicted, a giant ghostly robot mech suit was, in fact, very different to anything Tucker had worked with before. Skulker knew much more about it than he did, so the ghost had taken to hovering over Tucker's shoulder, directing his work and shouting threats at Danny. And occasionally Tucker. (He was somewhere between creeped out and flattered that Skulker thought he was worthy to insult, if not fully hunt. That was one of the details he was never going to mention anywhere within a hundred miles of Jazz.)

"Could you grab me that laser wrench thing?" Tucker asked. "The one your parents use for small scale ectoplasm constructs."

Danny grabbed one of the many tools off of Jack's desk. "This one?" Tucker glanced over quickly, not willing to take his eyes off of the suit when he was quite literally elbow deep in machinery.

"No, the other one. I think it glows purple sometimes?" Danny made a noise of acknowledgement before holding up a similar looking device. "That's the one."

"Hey Jellybean, go long," Danny said before tossing the device at Skulker. Tucker couldn't help snorting at the indignant squeak Skulker made when he caught the device. 

"One day, ghost child, I will have your head hanging from my wall, and you will never be able to fling around childish insults ever again," he grumbled, passing the device to Tucker.

"Yea, I've heard that before. Maybe one day you'll be able to actually follow through on your threats."

Tucker already knew what Skulker was going to say, or at least had a pretty good guess. Despite how frequently they threw each other through buildings, Danny and Skulker were friends, at least in a ghostly sense. He'd heard their banter both in and out of combat enough to let the comments fade into background noise, focusing instead on fixing the part he needed the tool for. 

This part of the suit was delicate, to say the least. Skulker's suit fed almost entirely on ambient ectoplasm, whether that be excess produced by Skulker himself or by the environment he was in. This part was a regulator of that energy, allowing for the suit to store excess power for use later, like when he was blasting twenty seven different missiles and a laser canon at Danny. If Tucker fucked it up, there was a lot of different things that could happen, all of them bad with a capital B, and most of them ending in some kind of explosion. Minor explosions, admittedly, and ones that would take a while to build up, especially outside of the ghost zone, but an explosion nonetheless.

Luckily for Tucker, the system was pretty simple. A couple of wires and a designated compartment that held the filtered ectoplasm. All Tucker needed to do was reconnect the wire here, seal off the leak there, and-

Tucker jumped as the door to the basement slammed open, followed by loud heavy footsteps. He pulled the tool out of the cavity in Skulker's arm quickly, throwing the tool to the other side of the room, and spun around to try and hide Skulker's suit from Jack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny doing the same for actual Skulker, despite the fact that Skulker had gone invisible. 

"Danny boy!" Jack called from the stairs, still out of view. "I thought I heard you and your friends down here!" Jack's head poked out from the top of the stairs. Tucker met his eyes, watched as it flicked from his face, to Danny, to Skulker's suit. Tucker covered his ears preemptively. "GHOST" Jack bellowed, grabbing an ecto-blaster from wherever he stored them on his hazmat suit, and opening fire towards Tucker.

It was lucky that Jack's aim was so bad; Tucker might've gotten better at dodging ectoblasts, but at such a close range, there was no way he'd get out of the way in time. And ectorays stung, and the residue it left never came out. Instead the ectoblasts hit against the back wall, leaving a green, smoldering mark. 

"Dad, stop!" Danny called, dashing towards Jack a little too quickly.

"Danny, what are you doing? There's a ghost in our basement!" Jack shouted, but he didn't fire the ecto-blaster again. Not with Danny so close.

"A ghost that is completely and totally still with both me and Tucker down here?" Danny asked. Jack narrowed his eyes, visibly processing the information. Then his features lit up and he grabbed Danny in a bear hug. "Ok uh what are we doing now."

"You caught the ghost, isn't that right Danny-boy!" Jack said, not putting Danny down. "That's that one ghost hunter that's always showing up to try and hunt down the ghost boy. as if he would ever be able to catch the ghost before we could." Tucker saw Skulker reappear over Jack's shoulder, small mouth opened to protest, before Danny's hand clamped around him. He couldn't see Danny's face at this angle, but the faint green glow indicated that Danny was using his Scary Eyes. It worked.

Danny let go of Skulker just as Jack set him down. "Uh, yea! It uh. Wasn't too hard?"

"Wasn't to hard!" Jack said. "We've been trying to track this ghost down for nearly as long as the ghost boy! For you to catch him, why, you must be some ghost hunting prodigy! C'mon, let's check out your catch!" Jack practically dragged Danny over to the suit, and Tucker reproached at his insistent waving. He couldn't see very well around the brick wall that was jack Fenton, but he was able to see enough. Enough to make him duck under Jack's arm to get a closer look, and start swearing.

"Is everything ok, Tuck?" Danny asked.

"Of course it is!" Jack answered in his place. "I'm sure he's just realizing how incredible this all is!"

"We might have a code potato," Tucker whispered so just Danny could hear. "Definitely gonna need help to fix it."

Danny's face sharpened in the way it always did when he was dealing with superhero stuff. "Hey, Dad, do you think we could get something to eat first? All that ghost hunting really works up an appetite."

"You bet it does! You go get something to eat, but science waits for no man! I need to make sure the ghost is secured for experimentation later. Don't want to risk him blowing up the house!" Jack reached out to grab the arm connected to the panel Tucker had been working on.

"Stop!" Tucker shouted, throwing his whole weight into Jack's arm to push it out of the way.

"What has gotten into you two?" Jack asked, brows knitting back together. "I feel like I'm missing something..."

Tucker met Danny's eyes. It had taken a long time, for them to be able to communicate just with a look, but over the years of near death (or post death, in Danny's case) situations, they'd gotten pretty good at it. Danny's ghost based empathy thing helped. Danny knew that Tucker was being very serious, life and death kind of situation. He could probably guess by Tucker's reaction to Jack that this was something incredibly delicate. Danny also knew that the game plan was still up to him; it was his secret, his half-life on the line.

"Dad, do you trust me?"

Jack turned his confused expression to Danny. "Of course I do, son."

"Then I need you to promise me something. You won't ask questions, you won't start a fight, and you won't get in the way," Danny said.

"Danny," Jack said slowly. "I don't understand. What do you-"

Danny cut him off. "Just promise me. Please?"

Jack was silent for a moment, before he nodded. "I promise."

"Tuck, what's going on?"

"I nicked the regulator when he came downstairs," Tucker said, adjusting slightly to the side so Danny could see. "It could be nothing, or it could be a very volatile explosion waiting to happen."

"Definitely an explosion," Skulker said, materializing above the suit. "That's a nasty one." Jack yelped in surprise, but put his hands over his mouth to silence it.

"How do we fix it?" Tucker asked. "I'm assuming we can't just throw it back into the ghost zone and be done with the problem."

"That's probably the worst thing you could do," Skulker said. "Unless your goal is to blow up the realms."

"Been there, done that, already stopped it from happening," Danny said. "What else do you got?"

"Could we try to reroute it somehow?" Tucker asked. "There's gotta be more of them in here somewhere, right?"

"There is, but they are located in distant locations. There would be no point of having them in the same area," Skulker said. "If you connected them, my suit would be completely unusable."

"Yea, but it would solve the literal ticking time bomb, wouldn't it?" Tucker asked. 

"Perhaps," Skulker said. "But I wouldn't be able to get it back to my lair, and I would rather not have the whelp stinking the place up again."

"And yet you keep trying to get me there," Danny retorted.

"Yes, as a pelt. Not as you," Skulker said. 

"Danno, what's going on?" Jack said, his voice significantly higher than it normally was.

"No questions," Danny replied. "I'll explain after. So, reconnecting to a different regulator is a no go. What about shutting down the power input in general."

"Impossible," Skulker scoffed, the sound odd in his tiny jelly bean voice. "If you could just shut it down that would be a massive overlook." 

"You don't have any kind of shut down switch at all?" Tucker asked. "It seems like your style."

"Please, I'm not Technus."

Danny and Tucker laughed. "True that. So shutting it down won't work either. I'm not even going to bother suggesting letting it explode in an explosion proof place, so I'm out of ideas."

"I'm pretty much out too," Tucker said, staring into the hole in the side of the suit. "I'll keep thinking."

It was Jack who spoke next. "You're looking for a regulator for... ectoenergy?"

The three others turned to look at Jack. "Yea," Tucker said slowly. "It needs to hold filtered ectoplasm from the surroundings, and be able to expend it. Without exploding."

"Without exploding when I don't want it to!" Skulker amended.

"I could do without that," Danny mumbled. 

"And it needs to fit in there?" Jack asked, gesturing to the suit. Tucker nodded. "Some of our ectoblasters have a regulator that functions like that. Would that work?" He was looking at Tucker, who looked at Skulker.

Skulker was thinking. "It may work temporarily, at least long enough for me to get back to the lair and fix it properly." 

"What blaster is that in?" Danny asked. 

"The bigger ones, but not as big as the Fenton Bazooka. Any of those should work," Jack said, and Danny ran off to grab the weapons. "You are...comfortable working with these types of things?" Jack asked Tucker after a moment of awkward silence. 

"Not really," Tucker replied with a shrug much more nonchalant than he felt. "I know enough, and Skulker isn't a bad teacher, at least when it comes to this."

"So you're... Skulker?" Jack said to Skulker. 

"I am Skulker, the greatest hunter the ghost zone has ever seen!" Skulker said.

"Wait, I thought this ghost was the greatest hunter?" Jack gestured to the suit.

"I built it as a tool to use during my hunts!" 

Tucker could see the gears turning in Jack's head, but any other questions were cut off by Danny running back downstairs, a number of different weapons cradled in his arms. "Will any of these work?" he asked, setting them on the floor in a crash. 

Jack nodded, and grabbed one from the pile. "This one will work." He dismantled it expertly, and removed a small piece. "If you hook this up to the regulator it should work." He held it out to Tucker, who took it with a nod. 

"On it," he said. Tucker worked in tense silence, with Skulker hovering above him, and Jack and Danny a few steps behind. Finally, he wiped the nervous sweat off his brow, and resealed the whole on Skulker's suit. "That should do it. Give it a spin?"

Skulker climbed back into the face hatch, letting it seal around him. The display came to life, and Skulker rose to his fake feet. "It's rather stiff, but nothing that I won't be able to fix!" he said, back  to his regular voice. "I do not believe this is worth a month without hunting, whelp."

"Two weeks and I'll do something nice for Ember," Danny replied smoothly. 

"Deal. I will see you in two weeks, ghost child!" he called, and began to make his way to the portal.

"I'll cherish every minute I get to go without seeing your ugly mug," Danny called back. "Seriously, you got to decide how you look and you chose that?"

Skulker's retort was washed away by the whirring of the ghost portal. His departure left Jack, Tucker, and Danny standing in the basement without a possible life threatening situation to mediate the conversation.

"I guess I owe you an explanation," Danny said. 

"You do," Jack said. "But it can wait until I've made some fudge. I think we'll need it for this conversation."

[eksvaized]

Part Nineteen [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride if you want to be added - let me know!

As your eyes slowly flutter open, an all-encompassing darkness that looms over the bedroom greets you. The air feels heavy and suffocating. Lying in bed, you find yourself tucked under the covers, cocooned in their warmth, which is a stark contrast to the cold dread that gnaws at your insides. A surge of surprise mixed with a hint of confusion washes over you, assaulting your senses like a relentless wave crashing against the shore. The realization that your body is not bound, as you had feared, hits you like a sudden jolt. Your arms, which you had anticipated to be tightly restrained, rest freely at your sides. With astonishment, you begin to move them, flexing your fingers without any resistance.

Startled by this unexpected freedom, you sit up abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest as if startled by a deafening noise. Just before losing consciousness, you were absolutely convinced that the reckless stunt you pulled would lead to your banishment in the basement. At the very least, you had fully anticipated that Simon would resort to restraining you, perhaps tying you up with rough, chafing ropes to the bed, and then locking you away without a second thought in your old bedroom.

But because of Johnny… of Johnny, who was fed a steady diet of lies, and who is convinced that you are Simon’s girlfriend, who has some mental problems, Simon could not possibly resort to such a harsh punishment. Nor could he even consider taking the extreme step of confining you to bed, as it would go against the complicated web of deceit that had been spun around him.

Another surprising realization is the rapidity with which you regained your consciousness. You start to question whether the sedative wasn’t potent enough. It’s a possibility, although it seems unlikely that Simon would make such a mistake. Another theory crosses your mind. Perhaps, over time, your body has built resistance to sedatives, and now you need a higher dosage to be knocked out.

Despite the tempest of questions whipping through your mind like a gale-force wind, any theories, or reasoning you attempt to construct seem as insignificant as a single drop of water in the vast, roiling sea of your current predicament. This feeling of insignificance of your thoughts is primarily because Simon, who quite obviously assumed that you would be knocked out, deep in slumber until the next morning, is not present in the room.

Your eyes dart around the room after you cast the heavy blanket off of you. An audible exhale escapes your lips, but you quickly suck the breath back in when you realise the sound is echoing too loudly in the ominous silence.

As you sit there, trying to gather your thoughts, it dawns upon you that you are still donned in the same clothes as yesterday. The same oversized shirt that hangs loose on your frame, the same worn-out pair of leggings, and the same pair of panties; the fabric of your clothes feels coarse against your skin.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, every muscle in your body protesting against the sudden movement. You take a moment to steady yourself, gripping the edge of the nearby dresser for support. After cautiously casting a glance around the dark bedroom to make sure that Simon isn’t lurking in a shadowy corner, watching your every move, you slide your trembling fingers into the waistband of your panties. The fabric is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the warm, nervous sweat prickling at the small of your back.

There is a moment that haunts you, etched in your memory like a dark, indelible stain. It was the moment when you heard the terrifying, bone-chilling sound of footsteps thundering behind you, gaining on you as you desperately tried to sprint towards the front door. The image of that door, so close yet so far, replays in your mind like a horror movie stuck on repeat.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, echoing the rhythm of dread that had taken over your body. The horrifying realization, the paralyzing thought that you weren’t going to escape, slowly started to sink in, weighing you down like a stone in water. This was a reality you were forced to confront when the set of keys, your only hope of salvation, kept slipping from your trembling, sweaty palms again and again. Each time they slipped, your hope dimmed, flickering like a candle in the wind.

In the heat of the moment, with adrenaline pumping through your veins and fear clouding your mind, you made a split-second decision. Knowing that you won’t be able to step a foot through the door then, you hooked the keys around the waistband of your panties as securely as you could. You prayed with every fiber of your being that they wouldn’t fall out, that they would stay put, that this last-ditch attempt to safeguard your freedom would work.

As you pull them out, a wave of relief washes over you. The keys have left an imprint on the side of your hipbone, causing your skin to itch, but you brush it off,. You don’t care. The minor discomfort doesn’t matter because you have Johnny’s keys—you still can escape.

Without daring to squander a single second, soundlessly, almost like a shadow, you move to the wardrobe. You begin pulling clothes out and hastily dressing up. You layer on more than necessary, preparing for any possible weather conditions. Then you notice a pair of Simon’s boots and decide to put them on. You have no idea where your shoes are, and going out barefoot is not an option.

Despite that Simon’s boots are too big for you, you lace them as tightly as you can around your ankles, creating a makeshift fit that, while not perfect, will allow you to walk, at least.

You have a key to the Johnny’s truck, but you know you won’t be using it. Given the dull ache in your muscles and the lingering fog clouding your mind, you doubt you’ll be able to drive. It’s a risky decision, perhaps a foolish one, but there’s no time for second-guessing.

Before you even consider the idea of leaving the bedroom, you press your ear against the closed door. With your heart pounding in your chest, you strain your ears, desperately trying to discern any sounds that might betray the presence of someone lurking beyond the door. It’s eerily quiet. Fear gnaws at your resolve, threatening to consume you whole. But when you hear the distinct sound of two sets of footsteps upstairs in Johnny’s room, a sound that is chillingly out of place in the otherwise still house, you know you can’t afford to hesitate any longer.

Summoning every ounce of your courage, pushing back the fear that threatens to paralyze you, you reluctantly step out of the room and make a beeline for the front door. As you reach it, you find your hands trembling violently. But despite the terror that grips you, this time, you manage to unlock the front door and open it.

The night air stretches out before you, its biting chill wrapping around you like a cold, invisible blanket, seeping through your clothes and making you shiver. Luckily, you had the foresight to dress in multiple layers. Your eyes dart around the dimly lit driveway, scanning the area and taking in the sight of Simon’s sleek black car and Johnny’s old, beaten-up truck.

Your hand closes around the cold keys in your pocket, their jagged edges digging into your palm as you contemplate a notion that seems both dangerous and tempting. The thought of just driving away, of putting as much distance as possible between you and this place, flashes through your mind. It’s a fleeting thought, one that you quickly push away almost as soon as it appears. You know better than to entertain such a rash plan.

The thunderous roar of starting a car, shattering the haunting silence like a glass vase on a stone floor, would certainly beckon unwanted attention. You tell yourself that it would be too loud, too noticeable. And even if you were to get the car started, you doubt you could maneuver out of the tight driveway and speed away before being cornered by Simon and Johnny.

Each step you take sends a painful reminder of the day you spent lying in bed. The muscles throughout your body throb with a dull ache, previously dormant from lack of use, now awakened with a vengeance. Despite the discomfort, you refuse to halt your progress. The thundering beat of your heart and the adrenaline coursing through your veins push you forward to the forest…

You seize a transient moment of respite, seeking refuge behind the sturdy bark of a towering tree. You lean against its solid trunk, allowing yourself a brief interlude to catch your breath, your lungs greedily absorbing the cool, crisp air.

The taste of dread is bitter on your tongue. You know, with a gut-wrenching feeling of impending doom, that the clock is quickly ticking away. It’s a race against time now, a game of hide-and-seek you were never prepared to play. You have but a handful of fleeting hours at most before Simon begins to suspect your disappearance. And it’s only a matter of time before he starts his search for you.

The problem that currently plagues you is that you have no clue which direction to head in, but the urgency of your situation leaves no room for hesitation. Like a wild animal driven by a primal instinct for survival, your singular focus is to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the prison-like house you’ve just escaped from. The more miles that lie between you and Simon, the better your chances of evading his clutches and finally tasting the sweet freedom you’ve been yearning for.

The forest around you seems to stretch on endlessly, its vast expanse appearing as infinite and insurmountable as the night sky. You get lost in a wilderness. Yet, you refuse to let despair overcome you. You cling to the hope that, if you continue walking, you will eventually stumble upon a road or a bustling highway that will lead you to safety. The fear gnaws at you, like a relentless wolf, yet you summon the courage to press on, spurred by a desperate hope to never step foot in that house again.

However, it seems that your luck has dried up. As the dawn breaks and the sun begins its ascent into the sky, bathing your surroundings in a golden hue, it dawns on you that you have wandered deep into the heart of the forest. You find yourself intermittently pausing in your tracks, straining your ears in the eerie silence, hoping to detect the faint, distant hum of a car engine that signals civilization.

The fear of Simon catching up to you has gradually faded into the background of your thoughts. You’re fairly confident that if he had any inkling of your whereabouts, he would have reeled you back in by now. The lack of his pursuit can only suggest one of two possibilities: either he is still unaware of your escape, or he knows but is floundering in his attempts to trace your path amidst the expansive wilderness.

As you lean your weary body against the rough bark of a towering tree trunk, a palpable wave of exhaustion seeps into your bones. Up until this moment, you had been pushing yourself relentlessly, not permitting even the briefest moment of respite. Now, however, your body vehemently protests against the relentless exertion, leaving you with no choice but to concede to its demands.

The pain radiating from your feet is becoming increasingly unbearable. It’s a constant reminder of your poor decision to wear Simon’s boots. They are a size or two too large for you, leading to your feet sliding uncomfortably within them with every step you take. You had contemplated just taking them off altogether in a desperate bid to alleviate the discomfort. However, the biting chill in the air is daunting, and the last thing you wanted is to risk frostbite on your toes.

You close your eyes. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know where you are and this forest seems endless. With each step you take further into its depths, the world around you seems to darken, as if the moon itself is afraid to penetrate this place. The only sound that breaks the heavy silence is the crunch of leaves under your feet, which only serves to amplify your growing sense of unease.

With your heart pounding in your chest like a drum, you bite your lip nervously in a futile attempt to keep the fear at bay. You try to remain strong, to keep your composure, but the fear is like a shadow, always present and growing larger. You don’t want to acknowledge it, don’t want to voice it out loud, because to do so would be to make it real, tangible. But, deep down in the pit of your stomach, you know you are terrified. Your fear isn’t just a feeling anymore; it’s a living entity, consuming you from the inside.

In the farthest corners of your mind, a question persists, a silent whisper that nibbles at the edges of your consciousness. Should you turn back? The mere idea of it makes you want to slap yourself, to rid yourself of such thoughts. How can you even consider returning to that house, to Simon, after everything that happened there? After the horrors you witnessed, the things you endured? How could you think of retracing your steps back to the place you finally had the courage to escape from?

Yet, despite your horror at the thought, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to the times when you felt safe. Times when you were ensconced in warmth, when food was not a worry, and when the world outside your window didn’t seem so daunting and dark. The thought is tempting, but the memory of what you left behind is too fresh, too raw.

* * *

A long, arduous night passes; the moon hangs high, casting a ghostly pallor over everything. Then, another day, with its relentless sun, goes by in a blur of heat and sweat. As the sun starts to set again, dipping below the horizon and casting long, creeping shadows across the forest floor, you decide to go back because your stomach twists in painful knots, and every muscle in your body protests with each movement. Your feet are covered in painful blisters—painful reminders of the miles you have traversed without rest. Your throat is parched, so dry it feels as if it could crack. Above it all, the main reason, the driving force behind your decision to turn around, is a potent mixture of fear and despair. You are scared, and utterly convinced that there’s no way out of this dense, never-ending forest.

As you trudge back, you can’t help but chide yourself for your foolishness. Yet, you find a small measure of comfort as you squeeze the keys you have hidden away in your pocket. You repeat a mantra to yourself, trying to quell the rising tide of panic - you aren’t going back inside the house or anywhere near Simon, you are just going to get into Johnny’s car and escape.

The forest at night is a completely different beast than during the day. It is even more terrifying; the trees casting monstrous shadows under the pale moonlight. As you thread carefully, your every sense is heightened. Your eyes, wide open in a frenzied attempt to pierce the darkness, take in every detail, no matter how insignificant. The rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig, even the whisper of the wind is enough to make your head swivel, your gaze flicking frantically from one direction to another.

The sensation of being watched is constant, a prickling on the back of your neck that refuses to ease. Whether it’s a person or something far less human, you don’t know, but the fear it instills only serves to quicken your already rapid pace.

The day has been filled with so much stress that tears have already been shed twice, and now you can feel them on the verge of cascading down your cheeks once more; you are lost, wandering aimlessly, and stepping deeper into the unknown with each labored stride..

Suddenly, something—a branch—snaps in the distance. You freeze. You cast a glance over your hunched shoulder, your eyes scanning the environment, but there’s no one in sight. An eternity seems to pass in the silence that follows, but force yourself to move again. You have to keep going, to fight against the fear that’s trying to root you in place. Despite the terror that’s urging you to stop, you know you have to keep the blood pumping through your veins; otherwise, the biting cold would claim you.

As you proceed, your fingers trace over the rough bark of the trees you pass. Blinking rapidly, you wipe away the tears. The world around you is shrouded in an almost pitch-black darkness, the kind of darkness that seems to seep into your very soul, filling you with a sense of impending dread. The thick tree canopy overhead, a jigsaw puzzle of leaves and branches, barely allows any of the soft moonlight to filter in. And the limited light, coupled with your tear-blurred vision, makes your surroundings appear blurry and distorted, adding to your rising panic.

“Y/N!”

You halt, your heart pounding in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you think that it’s your mind playing cruel tricks on you. Surely, you didn’t just hear a voice? But then it happens again.

“Y/N!”

Your name echoes through the forest, the sound bouncing off the trees and cutting through the unnerving quiet. Guided by the voice, you begin to move again, each step bringing you closer to the source of the sound. Your heart is a frenzied drum in your chest, and you feel the bile rise in your throat. The fear of it being Simon sending waves of dread through you. But when the voice yells out again, you recognize it—it’s Johnny.

Your relief is short-lived as you find him wandering aimlessly, a flashlight clutched tightly in his hand. There’s barely a moment to decide whether you wish to be found before his light lands on you, illuminating your shivering frame.

He marches up to you. His inadvertent movement of the flashlight directly towards your face forces you to squeeze your eyes shut, the harsh, bright beam searing into your retinas.

“Where—what…we—I…” Johnny attempts to form a coherent sentence, but ends up stammering something indistinct instead. His words tumble out in a rush, barely making any sense, his usually confident demeanor gone.

His hand, large and rough, wraps around the curve of your shoulder. He tries to guide you, to make you follow him, but you resist. Your heels dig into the soft, damp earth below, your body rebelling against his insistence.

“You can’t take me back there. I won’t go back to him—I-I…please, Johnny, don’t make me,” you beg, your voice barely rising above a whisper. The plea hangs in the air. He hesitates, pausing momentarily to look at your teary eyes.

In the pitch-black darkness, you can’t see the details of his face, the subtle play of expressions that might hint at his thoughts. Yet, there’s tension in the air, a sense of him contemplating, mulling over his response, carefully picking the words that he’s about to utter next.

“I just want to help,” he finally breaks the silence, his voice laced with a layer of concern so palpable that it is almost tangible. “You need to eat, you need to change into warm clothes and sleep… We can do it at my place,”

His words, they’re tempting, like a sweet promise. You want to believe him. His sincerity seems to be real and genuine, but you still question him. “Is… Isn’t your place getting fixed?”

Johnny nods, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to assure you, to convince you. He pauses for another moment, weighing his words before speaking. “Yes, but we’ll make do.”

Hesitantly, you follow him. A part of you doesn’t want to, your instincts screaming at you that it’s a bad idea. That you are walking into a potential trap. But you muffle the protests, hushing the loud voice of your intuition—you don’t want to spend another night alone.

Johnny leads you to a gravel road, where a car—Simon’s car—is parked. When you refuse to get in, he explains he had to borrow it because he couldn’t find the keys to his truck. “Simon made me take it and drive around while he combs the property around the house.”

With a sense of trepidation, after he opens the car door for you, and despite your reservations, you get in.

The drive is silent. You keep your eyes wide open, plagued by the fear that if you let your guard down, even for a moment, this car ride could end in the same terrifying manner as it did when Simon had offered you a ride home.

Breaking the quiet, Johnny suddenly asks, “Are you thirsty?” His gaze is fixed on the road ahead, never once meeting your eyes. You observe him clutching the steering wheel with an intensity that turns his knuckles almost white. “There’s a water bottle on the back seat,” he adds, trying to sound casual.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder before unfastening your seatbelt reluctantly. It proves to be a difficult task to wiggle out of your seat, but somehow you manage it.

“Where? I don’t see it,” you question, your voice coming out as a low, parched whisper. Your palm brushes over the backseat, then your hands skim the ground, but there’s no bottle to be found.

Unexpectedly, you feel something sharp, like a pointed needle, poking through the layer of your pants.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny says, and you realize, with a sinking heart, that trusting him was a mistake.

[silentpaint12]

Philipp's Day at the Construction Site

Philipp's story is a testament to the power of trying new things and pursuing one's dreams, even in the most unexpected ways.

Once upon a time, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, lived a teenager named Philipp. He was known for his casual attire and a spirit of curiosity. One day, while strolling through a park, Philipp, dressed in his favorite trendy t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, came across a market. His eyes were drawn to a stall selling old boilersuits in various styles, including high-visibility, polyester/cotton blends, and PVC.

Philipp's interest peaked when he spotted an orange high-visibility boilersuit. He examined it closely and asked the seller, a friendly person of Middle-Eastern descent, about the price. After a moment of thought, Philipp purchased it, envisioning how perfectly it would fit into his wardrobe.

Back at home, Philipp decided to explore the basement, where he discovered a pair of old, dirty black rubber boots. He brought them to his room, thinking how well they would go with the boilersuit he had just bought. Standing in front of his mirror, Philipp tried on the boilersuit and boots, contemplating his reflection. He imagined himself working on a construction site, a profession he had always admired.

The very next day, dressed in his new attire, Philipp stepped outside and to his surprise, found a construction site right in front of his house. He approached the construction site manager, a person of Hispanic descent, and asked if he could help. The manager, surprised but impressed by Philipp's enthusiasm, agreed.

Philipp worked tirelessly, learning new skills and performing tasks with care and concentration. He felt a sense of accomplishment and joy as he worked alongside the other construction workers. His day at the site was hard but fulfilling.

Exhausted but content, Philipp returned home in the evening. He was covered in dirt, a testament to his hard work. He lay down on his couch, still wearing his boilersuit and boots, reflecting on the day's experiences. Despite the exhaustion, Philipp felt a deep sense of satisfaction, having taken a step towards a dream he cherished.

[varianlikescheese]

Okay so here we go again

The 1st Sanctus-

(1855-1925) ~70year reign

i dont have much on these guys right now, though i will put names to species at some point.

The 1st Sanctus went remarkably well, the Yokai involved volunteered for the 'peace for all' program. They were randomly selected and given their powers, then all of them became the 1st Sanctus, serving their purpose with pride.

Once they began dying out, the heads constructed the tombs all around New York, as well as one in the Hidden City.

Domum Reptilian (home of the reptiles) is located deep in the sewers.

Domum Mammalia (home of the mammals) can be found in the basement of Central Park Zoo.

Domum de avibus (home of the birds) is built on the 4th floor of a forever abandoned building in New York.

Domum picis (home of the fish) is submerged at the bottom of a lake Ontario.

Domum amphibii (home of the amphibians) is

Domum de invertit (home of the inverts) is in a large forest, somewhere behind a tree.

So ya- this has been in my drafts for TOO LONG and now i have actually put names to species and made a proper group for Sanctus 1 but ill do that in a diff message.

Edit- i just realized there's nothing for Domum amphibii and thats because I HAVE NO IDEAS FOE WHERE TO PUT IT SOMEONE HELP ME

[sephirthoughts]

for char/hc ask game. providing a couple options, feel free to just pick your favorite!

Vincent Valentine - 8, 16

Nero the Sable - 18, 21

yayyy thank you for the ask, i love doing these!! i pick all of them they're all my favorite

Vincent Valentine

-8- smell/personal scent:

i have very specific and detailed headcanons about the way that Vincent smells (gasp). i don't think we have reason to believe he sweats or produces much personal body odor, since he's an indestructible undead shapeshifting monster —however— his hair grows. so maybe some of his body functions are normal. who knows. also, his training as a turk likely taught him some scent masking, so he might not have any particular smell, but that was a long time ago and he really has no reason to practice that now. anyway i like to think he does have a distinctive personal scent

Mahogany. This just plain has to be an element of his scent profile. He spent decades sleeping in a coffin, of which one of the most common materials is mahogany. Also, the coffin Vincent uses in the Shinra Manor basement just looks like mahogany. Mahogany has a deep, woodsy, slightly spicy scent. Kind of perfect for Vincent.

Leather: He is covered head to toe in armor constructed of several different kinds of leathers there is no way he doesn't smell like it. That also happens to be a very sexy scent, so good job Vincent.

Old books: He's been holed up in the Shinra basement for decades, and there is a lot of evidence he's been actually living down there, not just comatose in the coffin. There is literally nothing else but a huge library, packed with old books. Don't tell me he hasn't wandered in there and whiled away countless hours reading them.

Pipe tobacco: Unexplained. We have never seen him smoke a pipe but no one can prove he doesn't. Also before you say yuck, pipe tobacco is an ENTIRELY different scent from cigarettes and even cigars. it's very aromatic and mellow and sweet. A highly attractive masculine scent.

Petrichor: He lives in a basement full of wet rocks.

Blood: Dependent upon how recently he's been in battle.

Gunpowder: Same as above.

Bourbon and cigarette smoke: Dependent on whether or not he's been hanging around with Cid.

Conclusion: Vincent possesses the sexiest personal scent imaginable.

Vincent's coffin for reference

-16- home/place that they live:

You're never going to believe this, I have a bunch of headcanons about this, too.

We all know about the Shinra Manor basement, but he wasn't born there and stops living there when he gets picked up by Cloud's crew. In Dirge of Cerberus, we see him in a room, in Kalm, that looks very lived in (bottles of wine, etc.), so it's clear he's staying there. I prefer to think this is some sort of inn or extended stay situation. Vincent doesn't actually strike me as the kind of person who maintains a fixed abode, long-term. if he had someone important enough to him, however, he'd be perfectly happy to make a home with that person/people. It's just not something he seeks out for himself

Now, hear me out, I HC that Vincent's vampirey habits and aesthetic have nothing to do with him having become a monster. He already had pale skin and red eyes, before he was undead—he just looks like that. Lucrecia even mentions how much he resembles his father GRIMOIRE who also dressed and looked just like a vampire, for no explainable reason except that he wants to and no one can stop him. I believe this is just the Valentine family aesthetic. They're weird people. Vincent only wore a suit in the Turks because that was required dress code. Red capes, pointy armor and black leather are his comfy clothes. What does this have to do with home/place of residence? The Valentine family home. I very strongly HC the Valentine family as being from Old Money. Like, the old-world, 1200 years of ancestors buried in catacombs on the premises, kind of Old Money. And by premises, I mean the sprawling grounds of the massive, gothic-horror style mansion that is the Valentine ancestral castle. Do I think Vincent lives there currently? Almost certainly not, and he probably avoids visiting, too, because of painful memories. If one knows anything about the way hereditary lands and estates (in Europe) traditionally work, though, they are a business unto themselves, and such a property would have many dedicated caretakers and staff, usually offer tours of the property as a historical site, and generate its own income, without much interference from the owners. Thus the Valentine family home, huge and dark and creepy and amazing and perfect as it is, would be respectfully maintained by the loyal staff, in the event that the Valentine heir shows up any time and wants to skulk around like Dracula frightening away tourists. This is very likely the reason Vincent chose a coffin in a creepy basement for his self imposed exile, and also why he really seems to like the haunted hotel. It's just like home!

the Valentine family castle probably

Onward!

Nero the Sable

-18- beloved or important items or property:

This is a tough one, because Nero was born and raised in Deepground, and likely had very few pieces of personal property. He probably learned very early to never become attached to things, because they could and would be taken away at the whims of the people in charge. However, he keeps one thing that is deeply important to him, and if anyone dared to touch it they'd never even know how they died.

This precious item is a picture Weiss drew of them together, on the back of a pilfered prescription slip from the medical ward, when Weiss was eight and Nero was six. They weren't allowed art supplies or other such frivolous items as children, so that's the closest they got. the lines are wobbly and childish and the heads are a bit wonky and out of proportion, but to Nero, it is the greatest work of art the world has ever produced. He treasures this above all things and always has it with him, tucked safely away in a little pocket of darkness.

-21- fears:

Nero is a scary motherfucker. He commands people-eating darkness tentacles, he can suck out your soul and make your corpse into a puppet to fight for him, and he has huge metal wings with knives on the ends. Nero hates human beings for their cruelty and cares for nothing but his brother, who he calls the only person who loves him and the only one he'll ever love, so it stands to reason that his greatest fear would be losing him or harm coming to him. This is evidenced by...literally every word out of his mouth. I think that deep down, Nero fears being alone. Not that he likes being around people (he literally hates it) it's that there is a bone-deep sense of loss and emptiness in him, that he was born with and he can never seem to escape, and when his darkness voraciously consumes souls, it's an unconscious to attempt to fill that emptiness. But when he's with his brother, the emptiness goes away. They seem to share a psychic bond, too, so even when they're not physically in the same location, the two are 'together'. The only way Nero could truly be alone would be if Weiss were to be taken from him. So it's no wonder he mobilized all of Deepground to try and revive him, when he was in that deathlike state. Only to be betrayed by Hojo of course, who tricked him by saying he could revive Weiss because he wanted to steal Weiss' body. Hojo you stupid bastard I just got fuckin mad at you all over again.

Here's a picture of Weiss smiling probably about something evil to cheer us back up.

[heritageconstruction]

undefined

Heritage Infraspace Diaphragm Wall Project for Tokyo Town, Ahmedabad Another glimpse of success, this time with the Sant Group in Science City, Ahmedabad. We constructed 385.7 meters running Diaphragm Wall with a depth of 12 meters and a width of 600 mm, for 2 levels of basement of this project. Soil Anchoring works will commence post excavation.

[state-of-grac3]

𝐀 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

I Wish You Love - Idol! Xiao x Singer! Reader

Now playing: A Night to Remember

Masterlist | Visual | Next Song

“(Nameeeee) !! You were amazing at the Jazz Club as always.” Hu Tao says after she hugs you. “Aw thank you Tao” “…Soo are you busy tonight?” you can already see a smirk grow onto her face. 

“No, but I was thinking of just staying in tonight…why?” You knew you shouldn’t have asked her but she’s your best friend after all why not entertain her idea, right? 

The air buzzed with anticipation, the low rumble of bass reverberating through the packed stadium. “You’ll love 5WIRL, (Name)! I know it’s not really your preferred style of music but I think a change is always good. Besides don’t you want to experience what your fans will be once you’re completely famous.” Hu Tao, chirped, oblivious to my internal turmoil. “5WIRL is amazing! Trust me, you'll have a blast here and you’re with me after all”

You had no doubt about Hu Tao's enthusiasm, but you were, to put it mildly, not really thrilled to be here. Jazz was your lifeblood, your passion, the music that moved your soul. But Hu Tao, ever the adventurous spirit, had fallen head over heels for the high-energy pop of 5WIRL, dragging you along with her.

As the opening act ended and the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers. The stage was bathed in a blue glow, revealing a figure standing alone in the spotlight. Your breath hitched. 

You had been close friends in high school, sharing a love for music and late-night jam sessions. But life had taken us down different paths The two of you both had dreamed of being idols but unlike you he pursued his dream and made it a reality. You were happy with were you were, truly, a part of you now wonders if you had continued your training would the two of you had fallen out of touch…?

His voice filled the stadium snapping me back to reality. It was the same voice that used to serenade you during those late nights, the voice that had once calmed my anxieties. Your heart ached thinking back on the past… 

Hu Tao notices this but when you say that it’s nothing she doesn’t believe you but doesn’t push you for answers.

During the concert, you found your drawn back to memories of our shared past. You’d spent countless hours huddled in my basement, you strumming your guitar while he'd sing, his voice blending beautifully with my own. 

As the final notes of night faded, Hu Tao grabbed your hands as you’re walking out of the stadium, her eyes sparkling with excitement . 'I told you, they’re amazing!' she exclaimed. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “He is.” 

She looks at you confused “I was referring to all of them not a single member… wait does my dear (name) have a bias already?” 

You laugh at her reaction and shake your head. “No sorry you’re right they’re all amazing.” Deep down you know that you didn’t even acknowledge the other’s presence and had your eyes set on Xiao only. You smile at her “Thank you for being me here Tao. It definitely was a night to remember”

❥・・ ┈┈┈┈┈‪༚༅༚˳ . ୨୧ . ˳༚༅༚┈┈┈┈ ・・❥

Ahhh I’m so excited to be posting this !! I finished earlier than I thought i would tbh. Also please let me know if you found any typos or have any constructive criticism to share! I’ll be posting some visuals to go along with each chapter as well.

Taglist:

@naosh1 @xionri @trulyylee

[pxstxl-strxwbxrry]

Wide Awake

Pairing: Giovanni Potage/Lorelai Blyndeff

Word count: 2.6 k

Tags: Fluff/Angst, Post POP, Cuddles, Dancing in the Rain, Walks In The Park, Constructed Reality, technically one sided GioLori

There was only one thing Lorelai Blyndeff needed in her life: love. It was something she was in a constant shortage of. The people around her had it; her sister had her friends, Giovanni Potage, (whose real name she had learned was NOT Vincent Murder) had his minions, and Howie had his worker bees. Lorelai Blyndeff had no one. Molly had run away; her father was tucked away in his basement, only coming out when he needed something… who did she have to turn to?

No one.

So, she was left to make someone who loved her. She made worlds where she was surrounded by love, where it consumed her. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted only one person. Giovanni. So, she made just that.

It was a nice spring day; the clouds were floating above, big and fluffy. The gentle breeze made her black skirt flow with it, as if it were trying to whisk her away. It made her happy. It was never this warm in the real world. The hottest day would be about seventy degrees.

The park she was surrounded by was something out of a dream, with greenery you could get lost in, adorable wildlife, and trails you could follow for miles. It was near deserted, something she made sure of before she took her position. She didn’t want any of her pesky creations getting in the way of *her* story!

Lorelai leaned against a tree, twiddling with the heart bracelet around her wrist. She liked to think Giovanni made it for her in this world. The simple thought made her smile.

Lorelai looked down at herself a moment, double checking that she had gotten her outfit right. She needed to be the cutest she could be for him. She couldn’t have it any other way. She’d probably make herself restart the whole scene otherwise.

She kept her usual leg warmers, putting on what she considered to be the nicest Maryjane’s with them. Her purple crop-top matched with her purse and headscarf, which tied at the top of her head to make bunny ears. The outfit was simple for once. Though Giovanni was one to wear costumes out in public, Lorelai couldn’t bear the thought of someone seeing her like that, real or otherwise.

She dug through her purse, taking out her phone. It was about 7:30. She took a deep breath, stuffing her phone back where it belonged. Giovanni would be rounding the corner in three, two…

“Heyyyy, Lori!” She heard the string bean’s voice before seeing his goofy grin and his arm waving excitedly in the air. He wore a red coat with a fluffy white trim, jeans, knee-high boots, and a bracelet around his wrist.

She had seen him once in the same outfit in real life, just once. She wanted to see Giovanni and Molly for her dad and herself. It was just to make sure they were both okay. Well, she was instructed to see if Molly was okay, but checking on Giovanni was a bonus.

Her little sister was bossy and mean, but when she saw her again, she was much smaller than she had remembered. She hid behind Giovanni’s leg, her hood up, occasionally peeking out at Lorelai. Giovanni was kind, explaining what he could to her. They were staying with someone named Crusher, who, in her opinion, sounded dangerous. What was this guy crushing, anyway? Her spirit? But from what Lorelai could tell, Molly was doing okay. If Lorelai ripped this from her, they would all be worse off.

When Lorelai started to cry while this was all being explained to her, Giovanni held her, brushing his hand through her hair. Molly stood there, frozen. Lorelai didn’t want either of them to go.

Here, Giovanni didn’t leave. Here, Molly was at home, playing with a teddy. Here, he didn’t take her sister away and leave her alone with her dad. Instead, here, he took her hand, dragging her onto the trail. She took a deep breath, putting on a grin. “You missed me that much, huh? You’ve barely said hi, and yet you’re already dragging me away!”

“Well, Ms. Hare-idan, I think this date needs to start off right!” Giovanni looked over his shoulder to look at her, giving her his mischievous grin. Lori laughed. “Start off right how, Creampuff?”

“I’m not sure, hah!” Giovanni said. “But it *will* start off right, don’t you worry your little head.”

“I assure you, I’m not worried about anything.” She responded. “Just lead me, and I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Giovanni’s grin widened, letting go of her hand to dash forward. “Then just follow me!”

“Hey!” She sputtered, running after him. “Slow down, I’m not in a running outfit!”

“Every outfit’s a running outfit for you! You *insist* on running through my mind all day!” He cackled maniacally. She gushed, “You’re acting like you don’t do the same to me!”

“Oh, please!” He skidded to a stop, turning on his heel to face her. “You’re a knockout of the ballpark, Lori! A total Babe! Babe Ruth, that is.”

“Well, *you’re*… uhm.” She slowed to a stop in front of him, wrapping her arms around one of his. Crap. She didn’t know that much about baseball. “You’re a pitcher. So *strikingly* handsome.”

“Oh! That was great!” He snorted, his wild laughter returning. Lorelai felt her face flush.“Oh, you’re just saying that…” “No way, that was so cute!”

Hearing him flatter her so much made her face feel like it was steaming. “I mean, I’m better with lacrosse pickup lines! Like, are you a ground ball? Cuz I’d chase you anywhere!”

“Is that how you do it in lacrosse? Cuz, in baseball, you gotta wait for it to come to you and then snag it! Just imagine I’m wearing a glove and an awesome uniform. And if it’s infield, then…“ Giovanni squatted, his hands hanging between his legs. He stood up, putting a hand to his chest, his eyes locked on a random tree. He lined himself up to it, skipping forward and throwing nothing. “You toss it to a baseman to get a base runner out!”

“Really? Ground balls get us points!” Lorelai knew that much about the sport at least; she wasn’t totally helpless. Plus, his excitement from that sentence was just to die for! “No way!”

“I meannn… we could probably play out here, either game!” Lorelai smiled sweetly, putting her hands behind her back. Giovanni put his hands on his hips, looking up. “I’m not sure, Lori, the clouds kinda look-“

Small droplets of rain began to fall onto the pair. Giovanni unbuttoned his coat, sighing. He draped it over Lorelai’s shoulders. “Gray. They looked gray.”

“That’s too bad… but we still could hang out, y’know?” She tugged the fluffy hood over her head, looking at the way the rain dampened his black tank top. She let herself admire his muscles. What? This was still her fantasy! Giovanni boasted, pumping an arm, “Of course! The rain can dampen our clothes, but not our spirits!”

“That’s, Mr. Murder, the most dorky line you’ve said yet.” She said, slipping her arms into the sleeves. He sighed dramatically, buttoning the coat on her. “Thought you loved that about me…”

“I do, more than anything,” she paused, “but, I would also like it if we got out of the rain so you don’t get a cold. My house isn’t far. Molly talks about you all the time, I bet she’ll love a visit from her boss.”

She wondered if Molly would be happy to see her big sister again. Would she even want a visit? Did she even talk about her, let alone miss her?

Lorelai felt a wet arm wrap around her, snatching her out of her thoughts. From the corner of her eye, she saw Giovanni cheer. “Bear trap! My number one minion! Hey, how lucky is that? I get to date my minion’s cool older sister!”

She took his hand from her waist, making him spin her. “You must be the luckiest supervillain in the world, then.” “Heck yeah I am! Just look at me!”

Giovanni seemed receptive to this dance, tugging her closer to lift her up and spin her. “Pfft— Gio! You’re all wet!” “You’re just so light!” He chirped. Lori wrapped her arms around his neck, brushing his wet bangs out of the way to kiss his head. “Dummy.”

He rolled his eyes at the tease, setting her down with her arms still linked around his neck. They began to dance down the sidewalk, the only noise for a brief while being the splashes of their feet, the drum of raindrops, and their giggles. Their dance wasn’t anything special, or fast-paced; it was quite the opposite, really. It was slow, and by the amount of giggles, clearly unpracticed. They rocked back and forth, Lorelai’s head resting against his shoulder, and spun each other, clinging to one another once their footing was half stable again. They were pressed so close, the rain didn’t feel cold anymore.

“You said you were worried I would end up sick.” Giovanni mumbled. Lorelai’s eyes fluttered closed. “I am. But I want this more.” “You want me more?” Giovanni said, amused. Lorelai stayed quiet. “I see, the hare-idan refuses to speak! Did she hit herself with a mute spell, or embarrassed from drinking too much love potion?”

She giggled, squeezing him tighter. Giovanni dipped her down, kissing her nose. “Did you use an incantation to take all the color away from the world and put it in your laugh?”

“I put it all in me.” She said, her voice barely louder than the pitter-patter of the rain.

She wished she could be a bunny, watching the pair dance. She was sure it was something out of a movie. The way his eyes were stuck on her, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered, was something straight out of a fairytale. It made her heart pound.

Giovanni stood her up, wrapping an arm around her. “Couldn’t bother to share?” “Nope! But maybe I’ll give some to you in exchange for another kiss.” She said, leaning closer. Giovanni leaned down, connecting their lips. It didn’t last more than a second before he pulled away, guiding her to her home. She had wished it had lasted longer— not just the kiss, but the entire moment. She wasn’t ready for it to end.

“Your house is right up ahead, right?” But even she knew they had to.

There, across the street, was the Blyndeff Toy Emporium, a bear and bunny decorating the sign. Toys sat in the windows, the top of which were decorated with party banners. Posters were pasted to the inside panes of glass, advertising the toys inside and a Regional Below Ceremony.

“Uhm, yeah! The toy store is right there.” Lorelai stuttered. “Great!” Giovanni pushed her closer, inside the store. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here!”

She looked around the store. For once, it was rather full. Customers drifted around the isles, picking random toys from the shelves. She felt her shoulders sag, free from the weight of seeing her father, real or otherwise.

She began to guide Giovanni to the back of the store, but before she made it to the door, a voice called out. “Lorelainebacker Blyndeff! Who is the lucky guy?”

Crap. She pushed Giovanni closer to the door, a plastic grin plastered on her face. Giovanni appeared confused.

It wasn’t her real father, so it wouldn’t be a problem, she reasoned to herself. She heard him call out again, but would not turn to face him. She shoved Giovanni through the door, guiding him up the rickety old staircase.

Martin had made his oldest daughter talk to Giovanni for him, which ended up moot. She had to pick up most of Molly’s chores: cleaning, cooking, running the store; and if she was “too busy,” otherwise known as trying to pass school, her father ran the register. It had ended up tanking her grades, making her turn in homework late, feeling constantly exhausted, getting even less time outside…

Is this really what she had been putting her sister through?

Once home, Lorelai sighed. “I’m so sorry. Do you want something? The toy tea sets serve real tea, so we can have that! Or I could make some cookies. I looked up some new recipes after last time, so they’ll taste great.” Giovanni shook his head to all of that. “I’d rather warm up with you.”

“Let’s go, then.” She said cheerfully. “My bedroom’s just up ahead.”

Down the hall, they entered the pink and green bedroom. The pair discarded their excess layers into a soggy pile corner. They collapsed onto the bed together, Lorelai squeezing herself into his arms. “There we are. This feels right.”

Giovanni ran his hand through her hair. “Beartrap’s in her room?” “Probably playing with her stuffies, yeah.” Lorelai replied.

“How’s she been?” He looked down at her. She shrugged. “Good, I guess? She’s happy.”

“And how’ve you been?” He asked. She, again, shrugged. “This was amazing. This is so much better than what’s been happening.” “What has been happening?”

Lorelai hesitated, gripping him tighter. “You know, after all the witch stuff? After Graham, and that fight?”

Giovanni remained silent. Of course, he wouldn’t know what had happened. He wasn’t there. She pulled away from Giovanni, sitting up. Giovanni furrowed his brow, sitting up after her.

“What fight?”

Lorelai felt her throat tighten, her voice cracking as she spoke. “She isn’t here.”

This only confused the villain more. “Who?”

“Molly. And those customers. And you, you aren’t here either.” She hiccuped. She could feel him wrap his arms around her again. She put a hand on his chest. “Stop it. Just go away.”

“I’m right here, Lori, I’m real.” He said, his tone gentle. Her face felt hot and wet, tears dripping down her cheeks. “You aren’t, though. You think you are, but you aren’t. You’re there with Molly, and I’m here.”

Giovanni, again, looked confused. He reached a hand up, brushing some of her tears away. “I’ll stay all night if it convinces you I’m real. I’ll stay forever, if it’s what it takes.” “See, that? That’s not real! We aren’t the story I wish we were!” She tugged herself away, getting off the bed. Giovanni stood up after her, lifting his hands. “Hey, hey! It’s okay!”

She stumbled away from him, wiping her eyes. “It's not! Nothing’s okay! It doesn’t feel like anything will be okay ever again!” “It will be, it just takes time!” “I’ve used all the time I’ve had!” She sobbed. “She's gone because of me! I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself or how Dad can live with himself without shame!”

Giovanni stepped closer, “There will always be a bit of shame in you, Lori, I can’t take that away from you. I just want to be here to help you go through it.” “But you won’t be.” She said bitterly. “You want to, but you won’t, because you’ll be taking care of her.”

Giovanni was silent.

And the world shone ivory.

Lorelai opened her eyes, finding herself in her bedroom in her pajamas. The house was silent, besides the sound of her dad’s snores. It was pitch black out; it had to be past midnight.

Lorelai Blyndeff had no one to turn to. No one at all, not even in the recesses of her mind. She couldn’t even make someone who loved her.

Lorelai Blyndeff was truly and utterly alone.

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 357: That was Then, This is Now, p9

Okay, so he asked me to show this to you, to help tell the story again. I’ve told you before, that I write a journal? This is, like, part of my journal entry for that Monday when I found him passed out or catatonic or whatever in his apartment. It’s just quick but I hope it helps.  Maybe someday, when this is all over, I’ll turn it into a book. Melissa says I'm a pretty good writer :D

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

<<From the Journal of Aubrey Henson>>

“Oh my god Dr. J what happened !?!?!?” she yelled as soon as she showed up at your door. It was broken, missing shards of the frame laid on the floor along with her love boss. It took her a minute to come to grips with what she was seeing. 

Had somebody hurt you?!?!?

It had taken her less than a minute to get up there. She had been at reception, checking in patients, when she felt it. Nadia was at the desk as well, and had given her a strange look. “Did you feel that??” she asked.

“Um yah, something’s going on,” Nadia had replied. 

‘Something’?!? It was like your world had just screamed. 

“Melissa just went downstairs to the construction guys,” she said with a new urgency, pulling off my her headset and already out from behind the desk, “call her.” She’d known Melissa had been spending some time with the men, more regularly recently, deep in the new basements. But she’d want to hear about this. Doctor Jay needed her.

She thought it must of happened on the way up. As she ran down the hall, into her Office Manager’s office, and up the little spiral staircase her breasts began to swell inside her pink tee and her new expandable bra. But she didn’t even notice that; she just needed to get to you. She couldn’t move as fast as she wanted; her silly-tall heels now quickly <CLACK-CLACK CLACKing> on the floor of your hallway and her tight pencil skirt kept her from running. Even these new long racehorse legs, all these extra inches, couldn’t move her fast enough.

She’d seen you, she’d seen the shambles of your apartment, and she’d been at your side in a flash. With you laying on the floor next to your little kitchen, your eyes were half-closed, turned up into your head weirdly. They were moving under your lids like you were in strange dream. Your mouth was slack, you were a crumpled little mess. Something odd was going on. You weren’t just asleep; that she could tell

She didn’t know what to do!!

She looked at you, now down on her knees aside you on the cheap laminate floor. She gathered your head into her arms, pulled you across her lap. Where was Melissa?!? She’d know what to do! 

Had someone broken in and attacked you?!?

She was so upset! So scared!

She looked you over, laying there. She didn’t see any wounds, or bruises. Your scrub pants were torn, ripped away from your hips. She tried to keep from looking but yes she could see your penis becoming an erection. She liked to think you were growing it because you were in her lap. That you could smell her, feel how warm and soft she was even in your sleep. It was big, your penis, it was very big.

She looked at your face again. She looked at your eyes, still moving, still dreaming or whatever it was. And then, suddenly, she gasped, because she felt like if she looked hard enough, she could see what was in there.

You're dreaming about us, aren’t you? she thought. Or maybe she whispered it to you. She felt it now, though, for sure. Her breasts had swollen. She looked down at them, and cradled your head more closely. They were bigger than your head, oh my god, they were bigger than your head. You’re still dreaming about us, hm? All your girls? You are, I can tell. And it’s more than just a dream…

She bit her lower lip. She felt her thighs warming.

But it’s just me here.

We’re alone.

You whimpered a little, while you were dream-thinging about us.  

“Oh, honey, baby, I know,” she began whispering to you, so gently, happy to finally speak to you honestly alone, “It must be a lot to take in.” She knew others, Melissa, were probably on their way - they must have felt it too, right? But for now she had you all to herself, if even for only a minute. It was her job to comfort you, make sure you were okay ‘til help got here. She would talk to you while you dreamt. She thought for a moment, and couldn’t resist.

“You used to be the daddy here. You were my boss, you were in charge. You’re dreaming about that, huh?” she began again,  “But now it's different, isn’t it?” She watched your sleeping face, giving you a tender smile. “With all these women so much bigger and taller than you it’s hard, huh?” Still she looked down at you, with a new look in her eye. She was thinking, for sure, and trying to read your face. “All us ladies now, so much stronger than you,” she spoke softly, adjusting your head in her arms, turning your face towards her. Your brow furrowed…what was going on in this dream? “All us ladies,” she continued, pulling you toward her left breast, “so strong, with our big, big boobies…”

With that she pulled you in fully, gently, into the swell of her firm bosom. She guided the nub of her nipple - plainly swollen through her bra and tee -  towards your mouth. She pushed it between your lips and even in your dreaming you responded oh god you did. Your mouth opened to accept her thick nipple, and began to suck lovingly at it through her shirt and bra. With the soft mass of my her breast against your face, she lost herself in that moment, even as she knew others would be here soon.

She didn’t want to wake you, but she imagined your eyes opening, searching up over her bosom to her face and she sweetly smiled a comforting greeting. Somehow, with all that had happened, she could make you more comforted than ever before. Calm and with no worries in the world. It was as if she was your protector and the one who would make everything feel right again. “There you go,” she purred down to you, “You’re getting to be just the right size for this, aren’t you my darling? Just the right size to suck, and be held, and be loved and cherished by all of us here.” But mostly me.

Oh my that made her feel so naughty! 

Her words ran over you unheard as she gently cut her fingers through your thick hair. Her shirt was getting wet from your sucking. You, lost in your dream, said nothing. “That’s it, baby, that’s okay,” she whispered, “you just enjoy yourself.” 

Did you feel her nipple push deeper into your mouth as her large breast mashed against your face, plastering its soft weight across your face with its more than ample size? She looked down, between your legs, to see how you were responding and gasped a little to herself. You were uncontrollably hard now, throbbing, and - biting her lower lip in her excitement - she couldn’t help herself. Still holding your head to her breast she continued to stroke your hair, and you continued to mouth at her, but now she reached to take hold of you. Her whole body trembled at the feel of your stiff shaft in her soft hand, the thickness and weight of you, veins running turgid up your length. She began to gently pump you.

“Oh, that’s it, baby, suck. Suck on my breast,” she cooed, allowing you your pleasures down below. “Mmmm…that’s right, goooood. How does that make you feel, honey? Better?” The two of you continued like this for a small bit, several long moments of pleasure before suddenly you were interrupted...

I She opened my her hand, dropping you free. She wasn’t as chagrined as she thought she’d be, being caught like this. No, Nadia appearing at your door, finding the two of you, barely made you blush. It snapped you back to reality, but it didn’t feel wrong.

“Okay, what happened?” Nadia asked, surprisingly unbothered by what was in front of her. She obviously hadn’t rushed up here, even after having seen her coworker explode away from the front desk. 

. 

She looked up to Nadia and spoke again. “We should call the police,” was the first thing she said, surprising herself with how calm she sounded in response. Reluctantly, she was pulling you from her breast. The wet spot from your mouth was clear on her pink tee shirt, over her nipple. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nadia responded, a funny tone to her voice as she surveyed the scene, “I’ll tell Olivia. She’s away but she’ll need to know about this.”

”Olivia?” she asked, “But…Melissa’s on her way up?”

——-

Thanks for reading all this.  I know it’s not very good but like I said it’s mostly true.

===============================================

thank you RiF for the editing!

[acapelladitty]

Scriddler Fic: Gratitude

Summary: Concerned about his health, Edward tries to alleviate some of Jonathan's pains by purchasing him some mobility aids.

This fic was a commission from the utterly delightful @glorified-monster and it was a real pleasure to fill for them. Thank you once again for the opportunity xx

Edward surveyed the opened package with an uncharacteristic hesitancy that irritated him with its sudden appearance. The construction of the individual componets within were all beautiful; each bearing a final painted coat in deep hickory which appeared almost glossy in the poor lighting of the basement.

The joint braces were composed of comfortable foam, stiff enough to ensure support but with the necessary flexibility to allow rapid movement. A skeleton of rigid metal structured the brace into a custom fit, one which Edward had painstakingly calculated using his brilliance where a conventional tape measure proved impossible due to secrecy of the intention.

In an identical shade, the finger splints which lay alongside the braces were constructed from a fine aluminium that held an intricate series of hinges and plating which allowed for as much mobility as possible without compromising their intended purpose.

Winter had not been kind to Jonathan.

The chill had brought sickness with it and Jonathan, as susceptible as he was due to his willow frame and immune system which seemed to run on little more than fumes, had spent days bedridden. Not that it impacted his work, rather, he merely shifted focus to more theory-based experiments as yellowed notebooks soon grew fat with scribbles and chemical formulas that Edward found almost incomprehensible in their complexity.

Edward, his frame much more plump and able to withstand the cold snap, had no such difficulties. His own skin played host to thick thermals which trapped his natural warmth as he popped vitamins as freely as mints to prevent any illness from sinking its claws too deep.

But still, an unfamiliar concern feathered his senses and so he put another brilliant plan into play to ensure that Jonthan would allow at least a little alleviation of his pains.

Shifting the mobility aids within the box so that each were clearly visible, Edward dropped to his haunches as he snatched the box from the floor and strode across the basement. Reaching Jonathan's seated position, he dropped the box atop the wide worktable and waited for the response.

Jonathan Crane accepted charity with less grace than illness but Edward Nygma was more than capable of manipulation when necessary.

"The hell's this?" Jonathan grunted, his voice sliding hoarsely over the syllables as his rich Southern twang broke the stillness.

"Are you so dense as to not recognise such simple items?" Edward countered with a haughty sniff. "They are braces and splints, for your knees and fingers respectively."

Jonathan remained silent for a moment as his thin, willowy hands trembled within the box to wrap around one of the splints. A deep frown marred his forehead as he brought the small item to his face and it quickly dissolved into a snarl as he dropped the splint back into the box and pushed it away with a dismissive hand.

"I'm not an invalid and I do not require your pity."

"I never said you were. An ungrateful bastard, perhaps, but not an invalid."

Standing to his impressive height, Jonathan used the extra inches he had to fill the small space.

"I do not need these to work. My recent illness had passed and I am no longer feeling its effects."

Edward bit back his cruel reply, restraining the desire to immediately drag Jonathan down to size, and instead he crossed his arms defensively.

"You are not working to full efficiency. I see the tremble in your fingers when the winter chill sets into them and, since we work together more often than not, I will not allow for my plans to be delayed due to an easily corrected roadblock."

It was an out. An easy escape for Jonathan to accept the help without sacrificing any dignity. It was the closest thing to kindness which Edward could offer him.

A deep hum emitted from Jonathan's chest as he considered the words. His intelligent gaze, robins egg blue eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed spectacles, flashed for a moment as something between acceptance and amusement settled in his features.

"I see your mind is not to be changed." He growled. "Very well. I will consider their use."

"Excellent." Truly pleased, Edward allowed a wry smile to tug at the edges of his lips. "And if you find any discomfort with them then I can refit them for a more appropriate shape."

[recklessfiction]

You are Building a Church

Carve a shallow bowl into the stone floor. As blood pours from the ceiling, it will flow down the aisles and collect like water in a pool. This way, you will lose all your acolytes trying to expel the Body and Blood that has accumulated in the rafters.

Images of saints line the walls in high, vibrant stained glass prisons. You cannot let them out, no matter how they scream or howl, trapped as they are in divine torment. Pray to them. Beatify them. With each prayer, they shall grow in the favour of God, imprisoned forever in divinity and exultation.

Be sure that the pit you dig in the basement is deep enough. The Devil is wily and will escape should it crawl out before Lauds. Make it deep enough that no one can hear its cries over the sound of the mass, lest some poor fool goes in search and takes mercy on its wretched and rotting form.

Build the ceilings high; arch and curve them, trap the song of the congregation in their echoing spaces until the euphoria of prayer and chant fills you. Let them hang in the air and stretch for days and months and years. The songs have turned to screams. For you, there is no difference.

Another god resides in the side Chapel, kept for now in the reflection of its polished floor. The construction of this room must follow exactly the instructions set by the Vatican. These new gods must not be viewed in their entirety nor can they be allowed to view themselves through our eyes. The room must be small, this holy creature only seen in parts. It must not go mad.

There must always be someone weeping in the Sacrament House. The sound of sorrow will be enough to sate them but they must never be left in silence. They must never be left to think on their own anguish.

Shape the communion rails from marble and wrap them in wire, barbed and anointed by the Prince Bishop. This regulation is newly instituted. Something has been stealing the skin of the Extraordinary Ministers.

Do not build an altar quite yet. You have not been told for whom this church was commissioned. Though, your bishop has suggested you invest in some chains and perhaps a gun. You will find out who your benefactor is in the coming weeks.