#he died in the house that Jack built

[fortheunsungheros]

Serious question is Matt Dillon killed in every movie he’s in 😭

[lightningzbolt]

Awsten Knight Hair (Two different files)

I started with showing Red & Black first as it's the latest but I made 17 swatches. I think I covered every significant color, skipping most Greatest Hits hairs as those are a pain okay, I am but a single person with GIMP. I did do the scene hair but I would like to some day do it on another mesh. I sorted and organized all my pictures of Awsten, over 400 btw, by hair color, to help me figure out the best examples of each, and to figure out which ones were just faded versions of the others, a few swatches are 'faded' colors, and which looked distinct enough to make swatches for. Green seems most consistent, I have the most pics of blue. Greatest Hits tricolor and red & black are my favorites. The blue is the first color that shows up on the swatches so the thumbnail shows blue hair to make finding it easy. I tried to mimic that the two distinct reds were not exactly the same. I've gotten way too fucking good at telling when a picture came from even if the color is gone from it. None of these are what hair my Awsten Sim normally has tho.

This is. I made this a couple years ago and never changed it from most outfits as it just makes him stand out and it took hours to make, I wanted to get the most out of it. Just one swatch here. Both of these are base game mesh recolors, so nothing else is needed. Standalone files. Also I went out of my way to grab werewolfy poses and emotions because I think it's adorable, okay. He's the least intimidating werewolf, but still my favorite. Forgive Jack's face and body and everything being in frame a lot I am playing as him.

Hair 1

Hair 2

[beggars-opera]

On the road leading into the center of Concord, Massachusetts, there sits a house.

It is a plain, colonial-style house, of which there are many along this road. It has sea green and buff paint, a historical plaque, and one of the most multi-layered stories I have ever encountered to showcase that history is continuous, complicated, and most importantly, fragmentary, unless you know where to look.

So, where to start? The plaque.

There's some usual information here: Benjamin Barron built the house in 1716, and years later it was a "witness house" to the start of the American Revolution. And then, something unusual: a note about an enslaved man named John Jack whose epitaph is "world famous."

Where is this epitaph? Right around the corner in the town center.

It reads:

God wills us free; man wills us slaves. I will as God wills; God’s will be done. Here lies the body of JOHN JACK a native of Africa who died March 1773 aged about 60 years Tho’ born in a land of slavery, He was born free. Tho’ he lived in a land of liberty, He lived a slave. Till by his honest, tho’ stolen labors, He acquired the source of slavery, Which gave him his freedom; Tho’ not long before Death, the grand tyrant Gave him his final emancipation, And set him on a footing with kings. Tho’ a slave to vice, He practised those virtues Without which kings are but slaves.

We don't know precisely when the man first known only as Jack was purchased by Benjamin Barron. We do know that he, along with an enslaved woman named Violet, were listed in Barron's estate upon his death in 1754. Assuming his gravestone is accurate, at that time Jack would have been about 40 and had apparently learned the shoemaking trade from his enslaver. With his "honest, though stolen labors" he was then able to earn enough money to eventually purchase his freedom from the remaining Barron family and change his name to John, keeping Jack as a last name rather than using his enslaver's.

John Jack died, poor but free, in 1773, just two years before the Revolutionary War started. Presumably as part of setting up his own estate, he became a client of local lawyer Daniel Bliss, brother-in-law to the minister, William Emerson. Bliss and Emerson were in a massive family feud that spilled into the rest of the town, as Bliss was notoriously loyal to the crown, eventually letting British soldiers stay in his home and giving them information about Patriot activities.

Daniel Bliss also had abolitionist leanings. And after hearing John's story, he was angry.

Here was a man who had been kidnapped from his home country, dragged across the ocean, and treated as an animal for decades. Countless others were being brutalized in the same way, in the same town that claimed to love liberty and freedom. Reverend Emerson railed against the British government from the pulpit, and he himself was an enslaver.

It wouldn't do. John Jack deserved so much more. So, when he died, Bliss personally paid for a large gravestone and wrote its epitaph to blast the town's hypocrisy from the top of Burial Hill. When the British soldiers trudged through the cemetery on April 19th, 1775, they were so struck that they wrote the words down and published them in the British newspapers, and that hypocrisy passed around Europe as well. And the stone is still there today.

You know whose stone doesn't survive in the burial ground?

Benjamin Barron's.

Or any of his family that I know of. Which is absolutely astonishing, because this story is about to get even more complicated.

Benjamin Barron was a middle-class shoemaker in a suburb that wouldn't become famous until decades after his death. He lived a simple life only made possible by chattel slavery, and he will never show up in a U.S. history textbook.

But he had a wife, and a family. His widow, Betty Barron, from whom John purchased his freedom, whose name does not appear on her home's plaque or anywhere else in town, does appear either by name or in passing in every single one of those textbooks.

Terrible colonial spelling of all names in their marriage record aside, you may have heard her maiden name before:

Betty Parris was born into a slaveholding family in 1683, in a time when it was fairly common for not only Black, but also Indigenous people to be enslaved. It was also a time of war, religious extremism, and severe paranoia in a pre-scientific frontier. And so it was that at the age of nine, Betty pointed a finger at the Arawak woman enslaved in her Salem home, named Titibe, and accused her of witchcraft.

Yes, that Betty Parris.

Her accusations may have started the Salem Witch trials, but unlike her peers, she did not stay in the action for long. As a minor, she was not allowed to testify at court, and as the minister's daughter, she was too high-profile to be allowed near the courtroom circus. Betty's parents sent her to live with relatives during the proceedings, at which point her "bewitchment" was cured, though we're still unsure if she had psychosomatic problems solved by being away from stress, if she stopped because the public stopped listening, or if she stopped because she no longer had adults prompting her.

Following the witch hysteria, the Parrises moved several times as her infamous father struggled to hold down a job and deal with his family's reputation. Eventually they landed in Concord, where Betty met Benjamin and married him at the age of 26, presumably having had no more encounters with Satan in the preceding seventeen years. She lived an undocumented life and died, obscure and forgotten, in 1760, just five years before the Stamp Act crisis plunged America into a revolution, a living bridge between the old world and the new.

I often wonder how much Betty's story followed her throughout her life. People must have talked. Did they whisper in the town square, "Do you know what she did when she was a girl?" Did John Jack hear the stories of how she had previously treated the enslaved people in her life? Did that hasten his desperation to get out? And what of Daniel Bliss; did he know this history as well, seeing the double indignity of it all? Did he stop and think about how much in the world had changed in less than a century since his neighbor was born?

We'll never know.

All that's left is a gravestone, and a house with an insufficient plaque.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Little idea wiggling about in my brain...

So like *holds Danny and Billy up by the scruff of their shirts* these two bastards won't leave my brain, and for punishment I will make them kiss...

Just, the Rock of eternity technically is Shazam's (the wizards) haunt? He has been dead for a long time, living only though his champion, what if Ghost King Danny gets slapped with a post it note that reads like

"Daniel, you're required to assist the Champion of Magic as the High King of the Realms, even Pariah helped the previous Champion Black Adam."

And Danny is like, "Sure, why not, Magic is real and so are ghosts."

And like....

Sparky Danny meeting Literal Sun Beam Billy, they are both 14, it's puppy love at its finest. Danny doesn't know what to do with gay panic and Billy is just straight up "This man is my soul mate, he shall be mine." (Call iy Zeus bestowing more than just lightning)

The leauge is very concerned why Captain Marvel seems to have a seeming underage partner.

Superman squinting very hard and trying to figure this out: So...just how old is Phantom?

Billy, unaware how bad this looks: Oh I don't know honestly, it's kinda hard to tell with beings from the Realms! Though he died when he was 14!

Superman, gripping the table (which cracks a little) :And how exactly long has he been 14?

Billy, taking out his phone and flipping out pictures: Like I said, I don't really know how old he is, but there is Egyptain hieroglyphics of him! Look!

Superman, blinking at the very real looking pictures: Ahh. Fun cool cool cool...a-and how are you again Cap?

Billy mindlessly swiping the photos, excited to show off his boyfriend:Never said it, but he is definitely older than I am.

(Danny is older by a month, Billy calls him an old man for it.)

Billy gets to live full time in Danny's haunt in the Zone, Danny built him like the best house, Tucker and Sam get to meet Billy and they just are flabbergasted that Danny "I can't get a girl to date me or else she ends up wanting to kill me" Fenton has a boyfriend that has been going steady for a few months.

My brain sees like, Maddie and Jack are 100% backing Danny, they are fully supportive of their bi/gay/pan son, but in no way would they support him if he was a ghost, like they are organizing Amitys first ever Pride parade, but there is a shoot ghosts on sight order.

And just the reveal is like...

Danny gets finally tells them he is a ghost: if you start shooting me, your shooting the only Gay person you know, not very ally of you mom and Dad.

Maddie mouth open in horror: Oh no...Jack are...are we homophobic?

Jack sharing her look of fear: Great Scott...Dann-o a-are you sure...its...it's a life style right? Y-you chose this?

Danny, trying very, very hard not to laugh: It's not a life style dad! I didn't choose to Die!

Anyway, thank you for coming to my brain word vomit, I haven't slept in 20 hours.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Handle With Care - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: Reader and Aaron meet for the first time before she starts as a full-time nanny for Jack.

Notes: Hopefully will be at least 5 parts! I'm excited to be writing again :)

Word Count: 4.6K

I always believed in new beginnings, but as I stood on Aaron’s doorstep, rolling a suitcase in one hand and a Vera Bradley duffel bag in the other, I was tempted to question my resolute thinking. It had yet to fail me. Not when I was hardly eighteen and living on the other side of the country, vying for my spot at the esteemed culinary arts program. And not when I’m twenty-four with a stint as the private chef

Professional chef turned nanny–for my father’s beloved mentee, no less. My parents, ever supportive and ever loving, practically held an intervention when I showed up on their suburban door step a fractured shell of the bubbly daughter they dropped off at the airport. 

Five years later, I’m sleeping in the same bed. I had nightmares about leaving once again. And yesterday I gave up that bed for a full-time position as Aaron Hotchner’s live-in nanny. Aaron, who I never even met, is my father’s protege. He knew him as a whip-smart, young lawyer from a family Law dynasty at Quantico. My father took him under his wing and even after his early retirement from the BAU they would get together for an annual work lunch. 

I was nearly finished with my final year of the Los Angeles Culinary Arts Program when my fathers called to say that Aaron’s wife was murdered. I remembered thinking how lucky Dad was and how brave Daddy had to be. With one day off saving the world and the other left to hold down the fort with an awfully anxious only child daughter. 

One year later, I was unemployed and completely blacklisted from the culinary entertainment industry for reasons beyond my control and without my fault. I gripped the suitcase, my chipped fingernails so jagged they punctured my skin. 

Aaron had a nice house with a manicured front lawn, a big wrap around porch, and a fully furnished backyard. Clearly, he was a man with a lot of education and a lot of smarts to top it off. He worked hard. It showed, these neighborhoods of Arlington, Virginia weren’t cheap. No wonder my dads were dying to relocate to Georgia. 

The door swung open before I could work up the courage to ring the bell or knock on the dark cherry wood. Aaron answered. He wore a dark green men’s quarter zip that was pushed up, showing off his forearms. His dark, charcoal gray watch shone as he let me into his foyer. 

He had a foyer.

And a house that smelt like warm cinnamon and musk. 

“Y/N,” Aaron said, nodding to me with a smile, “Please give me your bags. And we’ll go sit and chat before Jack comes. His grandma is still in town and brought him to the zoo.” 

I complied. There wasn’t a need for me to protest. And clearly, by the looks of those forearms, he would have no problem handling my bags. I only brought a single suitcase, a duffel, and five boxes of books. Aaron’s mother-in-law, Lorriane, had been staying with them since Haley died a year and a half ago. But her husband broke his hip. Apparently, Aaron had added a mother-in-law suite for Lorriane and judging by the looks of his home, the suite I’d be living in for the foreseeable future was twice the size of my studio in LA. 

“Thanks.” I said, grabbing a seat on the brown fabric sofa, “My dad said I had to say hello to you for him. He still raves about you. Like all the time.” I chuckle, watching as Aaron hands me a glass of iced tea. 

“Marty’s a good man. He and Gideon built the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our team is in constant debt to him.” Aaron spoke so formally, gesturing for enthusiasm with his hands. 

“Yeah, well. He’s always just been dad to me.” I smiled, the man I knew showed up to my field hockey games even if it meant holding office hours there. He was the most there dad I could ask for– maybe it was neck in neck for the both of them. 

“So Jack?” I said, breaking the silence. “How–how’s he been?” I couldn’t help but wonder. My dads had a close friend who helped them with their surrogacy journey, so while I didn’t have a mother in the traditional sense, the woman who I’ m half of  was still alive and in my life. Debra was more like an aunt to me, fun and spirited and eternally youthful. But I still had her. 

Unlike Jack, who’s Earthly ties to his mother were shredded in an horribly violent way. 

My dad hardly ever cried, but when he called and told me that Aaron’s wife died I could hear it in his raw voice. Aaron’s a man cut from the same cloth a Dad; stoic and responsible. He was a wall of somber trepidation, but somewhere deep inside I could make out the man that wasn’t cataclysmically destroyed. 

“Jack is…he’s a strong kid. I put him in therapy after it happened. He still goes once a week. Laura, she’s his therapist. She’s wonderful. Truly has helped Jack work through all this.”

“That’s good. That’s really good, Mr. Hotchner. It seems as though Jack has a solid foundation here.” I say, unsure what to say exactly. I can make an omelet six different ways, yet it’s lost on me to know what to say to a widower with a little boy. If I had to bear even a fraction of their grief, I’m sure it would break me. I would crumble. But these two boys? They’re a good man in the storm. And I know in my bones, it’s entirely Aaron’s doing. If that man is anything, he’s steady. 

“It’s Aaron. Please, Mr. Hotchner reminds me of my father.” He cringes, the lines on his eyes creasing, “Your dad said you’re a professionally trained chef? Unfortunately, Jack’s still squarely in the dinosaur shaped chicken nugget and baked tater tots phase. It’s been a struggle to get him to try anything new…for…for awhile now, if I’m being honest.” 

I nod, thinking that Jack’s food discouragement might stem from losing his mom. “Well, the way I see it, Jack lost his mom at how old? Four and half? That’s when we’re starting to really know what we like and don’t like to eat. His life was turned upside down and shaken all around when you lost her. So maybe he needed some consistency in a world of chaos. Not that your home is chaotic, it’s lovely and clean and happy. It’s just…loss…”

“Losing your mother as a toddler really fucks up your life.” Aaron says. He speaks so definitely, as if he means everything so ardently you could cast it into stone. 

“Yeah.” I add, somberly. “But I think we can get him to branch out. Make it a game. I’d love to cook with him. I can get him kid-safe tools so he can be involved in food preparation and cooking. Oh! Maybe Jack and I can have a garden. I’m sure that will get him eating vegetables and fruits.” 

Aaron’s neutral expression slowly transitions to a soft smile. He thumps his fingers on the wooden table, as he looks out through the deck. I could feel him glance back at me and then to the yard again. 

“I think that a garden would be lovely over on the side. It’s far enough away from the pool and patio.” Aaron offers, sipping his tea. It’s sweet tea, too sweet for me. Working in kitchens throughout my program has trained me to not only tolerate black coffee, but to actively seek it out. He smiles, his grin defining his face. “Good idea.” 

I feel heat at his praise. I like doing well, who doesn't? But after a series of mishaps and bad luck, an 'atta' girl is my Hail Mary of the month. I simply nod. “Simple things to start so he can see some quick results. I’ll get him super involved in it. Make him feel like he’s a part of a team.” 

“I work a lot. My team flies across the nation, as you know. It takes me away from here for days on end. It was getting too much for Lorriane. And how her husband broke his hip.” Aaron shakes his head, “Honestly, you couldn’t have shown up here at a better time.” 

He runs his pointer finger over the water rung pooled on the coasters. “Jack’s a very easy kid. Reasonable. But shy. He was shy even before Haley…even before last year. I’ve brought him to the pediatrician because he stopped talking for a while, but she said that we’ve all survived an immense trauma and our brains simply process and live through that trauma differently.”

Sitting there, I couldn’t help but think how lucky this little boy is. His dad was running up the hill; pushing that boulder up and up and up for an eternity. It must be an awfully lot to carry, without anyone to share the load. 

“Yeah. I’m sure it is? Is he going into Kindergarten after the summer?” I ask, wondering if Jack went to Kindergarten on time or if Aaron and his grandma kept him home when they lost Haley. 

“Lori, Haley’s mother, taught preschool for thirty-five years. She told me to keep him home for a year, let him be a little bit older and get the help he needs to heal and then send him. So I listened. I think that was one of the only decisions I made as a team this year.” 

Sympathy must have colored my face because Aaron’s demeanor shifted quickly. He sat up, sipping his iced tea and wiping his hands on his jeans. “So basically your weekdays are around 8am-7:30pm. And occasionally on the weekends when the team does have to be on location But recently, I’ve been trying to transition to a more leadership position at headquarters. Hopefully, that’ll mean less traveling.” 

I quickly journaled the hours down in my notebook. Live-in nannying hours are not for those looking for a job to allow them the life of leisure. Naturally that couldn’t possibly be true for a position whose main coworker is a five and a half year old boy. 

“Alright. So that’s summer hours. We’ll need to brainstorm lots of stuff to do all day. Maybe the library?” I write a small note to get ideas and have them approved by Aaron.

He nodded, “Yes, summer hours are a lot, but Jack will be going to a couple camps that his therapist recommended. So you can get a couple hours each day to yourself. I am ready to compensate accordingly. Between my new role at the BAU and other personal investments, we live comfortably. How’s $2,500 to start and then we’ll discuss a raise in the future. And naturally your room and anything you may want to eat or have will be covered by me.” Aaron says it again in a way that leaves no room for argument. He must’ve been a great lawyer; no wonder dad adores him. 

“That’s quite a lot of money.” I’m shocked and my face does a horrible job of hiding it. “I’m not a professional nanny. I’m good with kids. Really good. But I don’t do this for a living. This is you doing me a favor because if it wasn’t for you, I’d be a waitress at my dads’ country clubs” I cringed, my mind instantly filtering in an image of me serving one-time sorority sisters bottomless mimosas for an Easter Brunch. 

“I apologize if you though that it was up for discussion, Y/N. Your first month’s pay will be $2,500 each week. And then it will increase to $3,250 each week. If I’m asking you to work 13 hour days plus one weekend a month? I better be paying you that much. And you’re still on Marty’s health insurance?” 

I rolled my eyes, of course dad mentioned that to Aaron and of course Aaron double checked. Aaron just might have Marty, JD beat when it comes to thoroughness. “Yeah, till I’m 26. And that’s like…a year and change away.” I say, implying that it’s not up to me, or Aaron even, to know how long I’ll be with him. I wasn’t sure if I would ever venture out to LA again; not after what happened that sent me back here for good.

But the thing about food is that everyone wants good food, no matter where they live. And right now, the ones that wanted something good in their lives, lived in a lovely Colonial home on Moss Avenue. 

“I guess there’s no arguing with you, prosecutor.” I say, my voice increasing just so that it balances the line between teasing and something else…something else I should be too ashamed to admit. 

It elicited a smile from him and all of the sudden it was completely worth it. Aaron finishes his tea, and places it into the sink after dumping the remaining ice chips down the drain. 

“Non-negotiable. It’s in your contract. Along with a health insurance package should you need to go off Marty’s name. Plus all that tax information that I’ll get you someone to walk you through it.” Aaron explained. 

“Thank you.” I replied, grateful that it was both all above the table and that I would be given the resources to help me figure it out. Looking at the pile of paperwork in my lap, I was sure that if Aaron didn’t offer legal literacy assistance I would be way in over my head. “That’s wonderful. Really.” 

“I just…I just want my son to be a good kid with a good childhood. That’s all. I want to be there for him and if I’m not there, I want the next best thing there. You know?” Aaron said and I’m not sure if it’s a plea or statement. Or if it was stuck somewhere in the middle; lost at sea like Aaron was himself. An island unto himself, drifting as the tide rolled in. 

I break the silence. “What was Haley’s favorite meal?” 

Aaron smiled. His eyes, crinkling again. “She had chicken piccata on our first date. And we ate it at our wedding. And when she found out she was pregnant with Jack she made it for me.” I nodded, understanding the important link between food and memories. 

“Let’s make it. For Jack and you and Lorianne to share tonight before she leaves. It’s going to be a big transition for him to go from having grandma all the time to me, someone very new.” I expressed, hoping that I didn’t sound bossy or as if I wanted to parent Jack myself. 

“That’s a lovely idea, Y/N.” Aaron sighed. “But I never was much of a chef. I wouldn’t know the first place to start.” 

He leaned his hands against the table, a slight smile breaking the formidable since that had fallen between us in the moments before. I smiled back, standing from the table to reach my tote bag. 

I pulled out an apron, the kind that criss crossed over my back. It was denim blue with a canvas front and large pockets. 

“Move over,” I said, tying my apron, “It might be your kitchen, Aaron, but for tonight you’re kicked out” 

The chicken ended up being more chicken piccata adjacent than a true representation of the dish. I mixed a seasoned blend of flour and spices for the dredging. Then, butterflied and pounded the chicken breasts into thin pieces. 

Aaron’s kitchen was spacious and airy. There was a large island with barstools on one side and lots of pantry and cupboard space on the other. I stood at the island, dredging the chicken in seasoned flour before placing it nearly on paper towel lined trays. The chicken, thinned and butterflied, didn’t take long to cook in the oil and butter. 

I let the skillet heat up till the oil, butter, garlic, and capers produced a mouthwatering aroma. Aaron gave me a bottle of white wine, imperative to make the sauce taste even better. I added freshly squeezed lemon juice and lemon slices to the pan sauce, letting the brown bits cook a little bit more. I scraped the edges of the skillet, incorporating the sauce even more. 

I placed the chicken back into the pan, letting it absorb the lemony, garlicky flavor of the sauce. The sauce thickened, forming something that was similar enough to chicken piccata. I added a bit more butter to the pan, along with some lemon. I figured that it would stretch a little bit more for some sauce for the pasta on the side. 

The chicken was simmering in the pan and the pasta water nearly boiling, when Jack came home. He looked like his father, but must have gotten his lighter colored hair and eyes from his mother. 

Aaron walked into the kitchen with Jack, his hands resting on Jack’s shoulders protectively. Jack’s shy demeanor was evident as he peered over at me. I smiled and waved as I finished the pasta. 

“Jackie, this is Ms. Y/N.” Aaron introduced me to the young boy, who stood shyly by his father. “We talked about how Grandma Lorraine needs to go back home. And we’re gonna have a friend come and live here.” 

Jack nodded, his little mind clearly spinning and spinning to make sense of all this. He was clearly well adjusted, even for losing his mother at such a young age. 

“Hey, there Jack!” I smiled. “I made a good dinner for you and your dad. I heard you went to the zoo with Grandma. I love the zoo. Especially the tigers.” 

Jack nodded, eagerly walking around the kitchen island to talk about the zoo. “Yeah,” he said, “I liked the monkeys. They were funny. The babies were learning to climb and jump.” 

I nodded, plating up some food for Jack. “Super cool. They’re kinda like little people. The way they act and play.” I placed the plate on the counter. “I used the Cars plate. It was way too cool not to.” I crouched down and whispered to Jack, “Just make sure your dad doesn’t swipe it. Between you and me I can see him eying it from here.” 

Aaron chuckled, reaching high to grab not one, but two plates. He handed one to me before telling Jack to go sit for dinner. “You’re joining us. It’ll be good for us to get to know one another.” 

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Nothing you do would be an intrusion. And it’s good for Jack to see that we’re friends. He’ll be more trusting of you.” 

I nodded, understanding that it was very important for Jack to become used to me. Especially considering Aaron’s job could take him away for days at a time. 

“Alright.” 

Aaron nodded. “Sit. I’ll get your plate.” 

There was an understanding that washed over me. An understanding that Aaron was the kind of man that didn’t ask for things. He was simply used to things he wanted being carried out. I envied that security. Maybe if I had even an ounce of it I would still be hacking it out in LA. Or maybe I wouldn’t have needed to figure it out because I would’ve figured it out already. 

Jack and Aaron went back and forth, swapping facts about dinosaurs. Jack was squarely in the dinosaur phase. Five minutes in, and I already had promised to help him find a dinosaur coloring book, with dinosaurs besides just the “cool ones”. 

“Uncle Spencer says that some dinosaurs had heads as big as a car!” Jack said, practically shrieking with excitement as he recounted all the facts a certain Uncle Spencer had told him. 

“Uncle Spencer’s so smart. And he’s a kid!” Several of Jack’s stories started with the aforementioned Uncle Spencer and I couldn’t help but wonder where the connection lay. Especially if, like Jack claimed, Spencer was a child. Sometimes some cousins are so far apart in age they’re more like an aunt or an uncle. Perhaps this was the case.

“Spencer is on my team.” My face must have shown my confusion. I always wore my emotions and thoughts on my sleeves, something that failed me several times over. Most notably when my friends in LA would get hit on by men at bars in the most vile of ways. One of the blessings of being deemed unapproachable by men was being left alone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t burdened by their lack of tact in seducing women. “And he’s 28…yes about 28 now, and has been on the team since he was 23. He’s brilliant. Jason Gideon, who worked with Martin, scouted him when he was hardly 21. His mind works in ways that are simply unexplainable.” 

“Which means he must have some pretty sick dino facts?” I ask, my question causing a prickly smile to appear on Aaron’s face. Jack giggles, he must enjoy seeing his father smile. It seems that even though the boys find themselves moving alone, smiles are few and far between. Especially from the elder Hotchner. 

“And three phDs.” Aaron cut the rest of Jack’s chicken, sliding his plate over and reminding him to at least try the vegetables. “It’s like these kids are getting younger as fast as they are getting smarter. Sometimes I just look at Spencer and my knees hurt. Then again, I’m pretty sure I would beat him in anything athletic. Even though he’s much younger.” 

I raised my brow instinctively, smiling. “Was that a joke?” I deadpanned. “My dad said you made two jokes the entire time he knew you. And the first was…”

I stopped myself short. But it was far too late. Aaron, like myself and my father, knew when the first joke he made to my father was. His wedding day. My father had long retired, and moved his mind and soul far, far away from the BAU. He trusted Aaron and Gideon to handle it. Instead he decided to live as himself, freely with his husband and their daughter in the suburbs.

If there was one thing that I shouldn’t have done the first night working with a nanny family consisting of a widower and his son, it was to bring up the marriage of the widower. 

When Aaron married his late wife, Haley. My fathers attended, but I didn’t even remember. It must’ve been one of those times that Nana would sleepover. I remembered it was painting nails, ordering Chinese, and watching Walker, Texas Ranger and Family Feud. I remembered it as falling asleep to my Nana’s snoring as Home Shopping Club glowed on her ancient TV set and waking up to her chocolate chip pancakes. My father remembers it was the first time his young protege made a joke. And Aaron remembers it was the day he married the love of his life. 

“Daddy?” Jack said, cutting through the silence, “I don’t like veggies. They’re too mushy.” 

“Don’t eat them, bud.” Aaron, murmured, his voice laced with a guard that I hadn’t noticed till now. It was careful, like he crafted each tone and cadence before he spoke. “We’ll figure it out, Jack. Come on, let’s show Ms. Y/N her room. Where she’ll be staying.” 

Each sentence is clipped and calculated. I nod, smiling as Jack stands next to his father. 

“I’ll clean up.” 

Aaron nodded, thanking me as he took Jack up to get ready for bed. Minutes later, the kitchen was back to normal and a couple extra meals were packed away for leftovers. I left a note on the counter for Aaron in the morning. 

Lunch is in the fridge.

I always like to make extras! 

Have a nice day

Y/N

Aaron returned, without Jack. “You didn’t have to do the whole kitchen. I don’t expect that. This isn’t a housekeeping job, it’s taking care of Jack.” 

“I don’t mind. Being a chef…or I was a chef, as much as a pain in the ass cleaning and dishes can be sometimes it’s a good way to finish it all. I don’t know…I don’t make sense.” I chuckled, trailing off in a rambly way that fully gave away my nerves. My previous blunder had shaken me, especially since Aaron seemed completely unnerved, even though I knew it stung.

“I suppose, sometimes I used to stay late to do all the paperwork, even though the interns usually will do it for us.” Aaron wipped his hands on his pants.“Anyway, let me show you to the room. I had it cleaned over the weekend and put Lorianne up at a hotel for a couple nights so there wouldn’t be any issues or crossover.”

Aaron led me through the rest of the house. It was neat and tidy and I didn’t expect anything else from someone like Aaron, even though he does have a young, energetic son. There was just something meticulous about him. Something so put together and careful. And then there was me. Messy and complicated and unsure and terrified. Anyone would be that after having the carpet pulled out from under them. And I couldn’t name a bigger carpet than having to bury your life. 

There was a locked door that led to what Aaron explained as my private area. “Jack and I won’t come over here. From the time that I get home in the evenings, or frankly, some days, till I leave in the mornings is your own. This is your spot in the house, but my housekeepers that come twice a month will clean in here, if you’d like.” 

I nodded, grateful for that added bonus. The small attachment was the size of a studio apartment. There was a kitchenette with a nook tucked into the corner with the windows. The furniture matched the rest of the house, clearly Aaron had spared no expense to add this attachment. The queen sized bed was pushed up against the wall and nestled into the corner. Next to it was a nightstand with a lamp. And, as I turned the corner, was the crowning jewel. 

“Are those built–ins?” I asked, staring in disbelief. “Those are so gorgeous. I have like, easy, a ton, of books. God! Can I use them?” I turned, practically jumping from joy as Aaron chuckled reluctantly. 

“Of course. This room’s yours.” Aaron must’ve carried my bags into the bedroom while I was cooking because all of my belongings sat on the floor near the set of love seats and armchair. “I’ll leave you to get settled. 8:30 okay for tomorrow?” 

I nodded, stunned beyond belief as I opened my boxes of books. Aaron handed me a set of keys, one to the house, the shed, and the other to my area of the house. 

“You’re the only one that has a copy. If you want others made, I’ll cover the expense.” Aaron explained. “Have a good night, Y/N.” 

“Good night,” I replied, hooking the keys onto my set. “And thank you for this room. It’s nicer than my apartment in LA.” 

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, “Of course, I think Jack'll be very happy. It’s been hard to trust others. With him, honestly…Jack’s all I got left.” I had known Aaron for about three hours, heard stories of his skill and professionalism and talent for years, but he wasn’t someone that I had known, let alone even met. But in those three hours, I could count several times where I saw a sliver of emotions.

“I’ll leave you to it.” 

“Night.” 

“And Y/N?” Aaron said, stopping me as I reach down to start shelving books, “Food does hold memories. You’re right. I needed it. We did. Jack and I. He needs to remember her.” 

“Food has memories.” I said, shrugging, “You’re gonna have to learn I know more than you think I do.”

Taglist

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @pear-1206 @this-is-calm-and-its-anne @little-jana @pastelpinkflowerlife @sarcasm-and-stiles @ilovefictionalmennn

[hipstergecko]

Okay people! DP X DC idea time!

This hit me like a trainwreck and I must release it into the wild. Will I write this properly one day?

Anyway!

Let's think about sensory deprivation tanks. Danny phantom. What if the thermos acted like one? It was only meant for short term storage. What if the Fenton's built a coffin like one meant for long term? 

And they caught Danny first?

—---

The Fenton's newest invention "ghost in a box" had caught him. It was a dumber bigger heavier version of the thermos and somehow they managed to catch him right as he was falling to earth after a nasty hit to the jaw from the latest ghost of the week.

He propped himself up on his elbows and hissed through his teeth. Better to get out of this box quickly. His parents probably couldn't handle this guy. Using the bright glow of his eyes, he examined the inside of his new holding cell. It was fairly big. Big enough for him to roll about and prop himself up on his elbows. There was 10 inches or so of watery ectoplasm sloshing around him as he moved and shifted. Surprisingly comfy too. At least compared to the cramped space of the thermos.

Without the glow of his eyes it was dark. Completely dark. The kind of dark that makes you wonder if you really had that hand on front of your face. And it was quiet. The only sounds were the faint sloshing of the ectoplasm and his own breathing. 

He saw the faint line of the lid and tried with all his might to push it open. His ghostly strength didn't seem to do much. He was panting by the time he decided to try to phase through it instead. He ended up with a sore head for his efforts. Airtight, watertight and ghost proof. 

There was no way out. 

He tried his phone which had luckily enough survived the fight.

No service.

Danny sighed heavily and lay back in the water, staring at his phone with a tired frown. So much for luck. Hopefully, Tucker, Sam, or Jazz would break him out before school tomorrow.

The silence was so strange. He'd never been somewhere this quiet before. Even the ghost zone at its most peaceful had the sounds of flowing ectoplasmic winds. He felt his eyelids fall shut as he slipped into a doze. He was frankly exhausted from everything that had happened that day and needed a nap. So he took one as he waited for someone to open the box.

But Nobody did. Nobody could. Apart from his friends and sister, nobody cared to.

You see, immediately upon his capture, the elder Fentons rushed the box back to the lab for testing. After several hours they had declared the invention a success. As long as no one opened the box, the ghost couldn't escape. 

Meanwhile Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were consumed with worry. They hadn't seen Danny get captured, but after Jack and Maddie proclaimed Phantom was caught the next day on the news, they feared the worst.

Jazz confronted her parents about Phantom in the box, but she was kindly and lovingly dismissed. You see, they had given it some thought and finally agreed with their daughter that ghosts too dangerous to be studied should just be caught and dealt with humanely. A compromise. Sure they couldn't do all the tests they wanted, but they would rather have their town and family safe.

The "Ghost in a box" was equipped with noise canceling movement dampening ecto-sustaining technology. In essence a sensory deprivation tank. The ghost would be kept safe until they were docile enough to be released for study or simply turned back into base ectoplasm to be recycled for something else.

But they didn't know about cores.

And they didn't know about Danny.

Cores would not dissipate like regular formless ectoplasm. They would remain even as the physical form of the ghost melted away as their consciousness faded into everything and nothing within the box.

But Danny wouldn't. Jazz knew that Danny couldn't.

A core wasn't made to house a human. A ghost, who was the personification of a person's emotions the moment they died, a being made of obsession, could be condensed and made dormant inside the fragile safety of a core. But a human flesh and bone body? A heartbeat? He would always be there. Able to be sucked in a thermos, yes. Ghost in a box, yes. His ghostly abilities made him pliable enough. But into his core? Never going to happen.

His heart and core were very different, but worked together in harmony. Neither could exist without the other. Neither could be taken out without issue. (The ghost catcher notwithstanding. Freaky duplication personality splitting weirdness) Should his heart vanish into the core, it would die. Hearts do not take compression and dormancy well. Should his heart be removed, the core would have no filter and overtake the body, burning it into pure ectoplasmic fire.

Danny was the perfect balance. His heart strengthened his core and his core energized his heart. He could not be easily shattered or dissipated. But this meant he also could not retreat into his core when his mind or body failed him. 

He had to remain fully formed. Fully in ghost form. The ectoplasm that was being cycled through the box made sure he was stable, but he would suffocate and starve if he became human.

He was well and truly stuck.

Jazz begged and pleaded with them to let him go. The psychological damage would be so severe if he stayed in longer than a few hours. But their success had blinded them to the point of pride. Instead they praised her for her empathy and willingness to study the obsessions ghosts were known for.

They only really started listening to her after Danny had been missing for an entire week. And even then it was just a call to the police and a search to hunt "they ghost who took our baby boy".

(Did Jazz ever break down and tell her parents the truth? Who knows.)

Perhaps the worst part was that his loved ones couldn't even get to the box. It had been locked up in some government facility almost immediately after the Fenton's announced their success. The patent was sold to the government for a truly amazing amount of money.

Danny was out of reach.

It was only after months of petitioning and rallying and absolutely threatening Vlad with ruining his political reputation, Sam was able to gain access to the box to "see for herself if they were truly as humane as the Fenton's claimed". She had 20 minutes with the box and she and Tucker did everything they could to open it. 

Nothing worked. No hacking or code they tried could open it. They had no power tools or weapons to try attacking it with. For 20 minutes they tried.

For 20 minutes they failed.

There was nothing they could do. They were escorted from the premises kicking and screaming.

Meanwhile the product went viral. Some opposed it, some praised it. The Fentons became famous for the "ghost in a box". Soon they were available widespread. Ghosts were being caught left and right and safely contained. most of whom were peacefully living out their afterlives in their chosen haunt.

Many ghosts were caught actively seeking Phantom. Skulker, Ember, some invisible ghost kid, a great hairy looking wolf man, and more. Ghosts were being caught all over the country. None of them could escape once they were put in the box. And none of the other ghosts knew what was truly happening to their kind. They only knew that if you went into the human realm, you didn't come back. 

Surprisingly enough, Vlad was eventually the one to put a stop to it. By forcibly closing the portals. The Fentons were too busy with their manic search for their son to rebuild their own portal. (And even if they tried after jazz told them the truth, would it have even worked?) His own portal was hardly ever used anymore. Mostly because alongside the "ghost in a box", the Fenton finder and ectoplasmic tracker were also extremely popular tools for ghost catching. It was too risky to activate his personal portal. If he was caught, he was as good as dead. 

But he too was eventually caught.

Somebody had finally looked into his shady dealings. Suspicious of him, and not wanting to rule out anything ghostly, they opened a box on him during a packers game.

He never saw it coming.

Eventually almost every ghost people across the world knew of were caught. The U.S. government paid for the boxes and had them categorized and stored deep underground in a ghost proof facility that slowly faded from history.

But what about Danny?

Let's ask a different question. Do you know what happens when a human stays too long without sensory input?

The hallucinations started when his phone battery gave out.

—————

The justice league had been an entity for quite some time now. Long enough that they felt secure in digging down into the underbelly of various world governments to root out world ending threats at the source. Especially after what had been going on with CADMUS and their government sanctioned cloning operation.

Someone (the flash? Batman? TBD) finds old records of a bunker buried deep under the earth full of something called "ectoplasmic" radiation. For the safety of the nearby town of Amity Park, they felt the need to dig it up and clean it out.

Upon entering the bunker in full OSHA approved hazmat, they find strange looking boxes. Boxes upon boxes stretching for at least a mile, maybe more if there are sublevels. Each box is labeled with a number. The first one they find is marked 3278 (or some other arbitrary number). All the boxes are sealed tight with no known way to open/dispose of them.

Most of the heroes agree just to let the bunker be. It was sealed and doing no visible harm to anyone or the environment.

But Batman (or other super? Dealer's choice) decides to do a bit more looking.

He stalks through the boxes, noting the numbers, the lights saying 'occupied' and 'dissolved'. Many of the boxes are buried deep. He can really only observe the ones close to the walkways.

He walks all the way to the very bottom. The very end of the bunker. Where there is a solitary box set on a raised platform. It is labeled number 1. The lights flash 'occupied'.

'Corporeal'.

He takes it back to the watchtower for analysis.

——————

The justice league cannot safely open the box. Any attempt to break it open could compromise whatever is inside. Scans do not indicate what could be inside.

More research is done into these boxes. Nothing digital is found. Eventually someone looked through some old offices stationed outside the bunker and finds patents for the boxes. Dr.s Fenton describe in detail what the box does and how to use it. It was meant to never be opened by anyone without the proper DNA match.

Apparently Jack Fenton, understanding that ghosts can possess people (read overshadow) coded the box to reject anything that had human DNA in it. He had to manually override the security to open the boxes. Which included several (read 100) security questions and passwords pertaining to Jack directly.

So only someone completely non human and non ectoplasmic could open the box.

Good thing they had aliens on payroll.

—————

Superman pressed his thumb to the scanner. There was a light beep and a sudden rush of pressurized air. A cheery voice rattled out of a small speaker embedded in the box's control panel.

"Wow! I don't know how you found an alien, but well done! Please enjoy your docile ghost or ectoplasmic goo! Thank you for using the Fenton GHOST IN A BOX! Patent pending please don't sue."

Superman, startled by the sudden voice, took a step back. The lid of the box opened slowly the inside dark. Toxic looking green mist sluggishly broiled out of the box. It spread almost like fog across the floor.

A black hand with abnormally long and skeletal fingers stretched slowly rose out of the mist, rising to grip the side of the box.

All the superheroes were immediately on edge. Hands flying to weapons and dropping into fighting stances. Superman himself jumped back to guard against whatever was coming out of the box.

What emerged was frankly horrifying to look at. A black mass of bulbous limbs and... Tentacles? Were those tentacles? Claws and teeth scrabbled at the edges of the box until the entire bulk of the thing fell from the edge, squelching with whatever liquid had been inside. It hit the floor of the watchtower with a wet sounding thud.

There was an immediate reaction among the heroes.

"Oh gross!"

"That... What IS that?!"

"Eugh..."

"It's not human, that's for sure!"

"Someone find a member of JLD!!"

"Get Constantine up here!"

Amidst the noise the thing on the floor writhed about. All over it's amorphous body, eyes opened. Countless eyes appearing all over it's form. They were the same toxic green color as the mist, but brighter.

The eyes rolled about and winced. The thing shuddered as if in pain and the eyes squeezed shut back into the void. Instead, teeth appeared, countless mouths inside mouths and razor sharp teeth upon teeth. It scrabbled on the floor and opened it's countless mouths.

And screamed.

Heroes threw their hands over their ears in an attempt to stop the sound. Those with enhanced hearing took it the worst. Superman himself was forced to kneel, hands pressing to the sides of his head desperately. It sounded like the screams of the damned. Of someone dying. Of thousands suffering. He couldn't move, couldn't react. It was going to drive him mad if it didn't stop.

It came almost in waves, battering against the triple reinforced windows protecting the inhabitants from space. Lights above their heads popped and broke as sound crashed about the room. Coffee mugs shattered, fuses blew, and the watchtower was plunged into darkness.

With the darkness came a panic. The screaming was unending, debilitating. Some curled into fetal positions, uncaring of their peers. Others tried to run, but with the power gone, doors wouldn't open.

Not many paid attention to the thing on the floor.

It is important to note that in attendance that day alongside batman were a few of his brood. Namely Red Robin and Black Bat. It is also important to note that Black Bat is a hero who is hearing impaired.

So of the heroes in the watchtower that day, Black Bat was the only one to focus on the amorphous thing despite the noise.

She watched the Eldritch horror even as the watchtower fell to darkness. It had too many mouths. Too many eyes. It's form was barely recognizable in the darkness, but as she watched she could see the makings of something humanoid.

It had a discernable head.

She watched it try to open its eyes various times only to see it shriek louder and shut them swiftly. It was in pain? Even though the lights had gone out? She looked at batman and the other heroes. They were screaming and yelling and trying to figure out a course of action.

She looked back at the thing. The sound beat at her ears in waves. Growing ever louder as those around her screamed in pain.

In that moment, Cass had an epiphany.

She lunged across the room, reaching Red Robin almost instantly. She allowed the sound to reach her ears as her hands left them to dig around in Tim's utility belt. She knew he had them, she'd seen him wear them often enough.

Ahah! She triumphantly pulled the headphones from a side pouch. Dick and Jason teased Tim about the headphones when he first got them for working on casefiles. They were the big chunky kind. Designed to fit over the entire ear.

Designed to be noise cancelling

She turned and sprinted towards the thing on the floor with her prize. The closer she got the worse the sound was. It beat on her brain painfully, she could feel a nosebleed trickle down her lip. Still she darted forward. She leapt ito the air, flipping upsidedown as she did. She aimed to the beings... Head? What could've been it's head... And deftly slipped the headphones onto it.

There was a flailing of... Limbs?... In her direction as she sailed through the air. She landed a bit ungracefully as the sound crashed over her again. She covered her ears with her hands and retreated, turning to face the entity as she backed away.

There were hands... Or hand like things... Clutching the headphones. Slowly the screaming dwindled. Soon it was quiet save for the cursing and crying and relief voiced by the heroes.

"Oh thank god!"

"It's over!"

"Ugh my head..."

"Is everyone okay?"

"I understand why they had that thing locked away now."

"Black Bat." Cass turned to see Batman holding his head in one hand. "What did you do?"

Cass mimed putting the headphones on. "Overstimulation." She said simply.

"What do you mean?" Batman looked to the entity. His eyes narrowed at the way it clung to the headphones. His gaze swiveled to the inky darkness of the box. An idea swirled in his brain and he nodded. "Extreme sensory deprivation."

Cass nodded, pleased.

"Batman! What happened? Are you alright?" Superman approached the pair. His voice was raised slightly. Blood dripped from his ears.

"I'm fine Superman." Batman faced him fully, moving his mouth in exaggerated syllables. "But you're not."

Superman smiled sheepishly. "I see you noticed. I can't hear anything right now." He turned towards the entity. "What do we do now? It's clearly too dangerous to simply let free." He turned back to Batman. "With the watchtower out of power the best option we have is to put it back into the box."

"Hnn..." Batman frowned. "I don't think that would work well. Based on how it reacted to light and sound, we can assume that the box was some sort of sensory deprivation tank."

"Sensory deprivation tank?"

"It's a box that cuts off all stimuli from the outside." Red Robin pulled himself off the floor with a groan. "It's a form of extreme isolation. Do you think that's why it was screaming?"

"What?"

Batman ignored Superman. "I believe so. Black Bat was the first to notice."

Red Robin squinted. "Are those my headphones?"

Cass grinned at him. "Useful."

He huffed and passed her a handkerchief from his belt. "You owe me new ones." She giggled silently and took the handkerchief, wiping away the nosebleed.

Batman grunted, gaze shifting back to the writhing mass of black in the darkness. "We'll have to quarantine this room. I don't believe trying to handle the entity would be wise."

"No kidding." Superman winced, putting a hand to his head. "But we won't be able to do much until Cyborg restores power. He was in the control room when the screaming started, right?"

Not a moment after Superman had finished speaking the backup lights came on.

And the shrieking started anew.

Heroes were once again forced to their knees as the sound hit them. Cass wasted no time and ran towards the entity. It was no longer a roiling bulbous mass, but rather had a partial humanoid form. A clear and present head and shoulders, thin long arms with hands clasped around the headphones.

She didn't know where it's eyes were supposed to be, but she didn't bother taking the time to figure it out. She ripped her cape from her shoulders and flung it over top of the entity. There was an immediate flailing of limbs and tentacles as it tried to get the offending object off.

Cass worked quickly. Pulling a blindfold from her belt, she wrapped it swiftly around the "head" of the thing in front of her. The knot was tied equally as fast, but before she could pull away, her hands were caught.

Long, impossibly long fingers held her hands in a vice grip. They were icy. So cold that it felt like her skin was burning.

But the screaming stopped.

"Black Bat!"

Cass ignored Red Robin's cry and Batman's frantic run towards her.

The entity had stilled.

It's limbs shrunk instantly, leaving almost normally proportioned arms and legs. The tentacles shrank away to nothing. The claws and fangs receding with them. The grip on her hands turned gentle, the fingers shrinking to a normal, proportional size.

Cass's eyes darted to Batman, stopping him just before he reached her. She shook her head minutely. This thing was not hostile.

It was scared.

Cass turned her gaze back to the thing and watched, tense as the fingers slowly ran up and down her hand. It felt her wrist, palm and fingers.

Slowly, the blackness faded into color. Blinding white hair fluttered with an unseen breeze. Skin tan underneath the headphones and blindfold. A tattered jumpsuit in black and white stained green.

A nose peeked out from under the blindfold. A pair of lips, thin and chapped. Freckles dotted what she could see of the cheeks.

It looked young. A young humanoid. It probably wasn't human at all but, the similarities were there. It looked like a boy. Younger than Tim, but older than Damien.

He looked thin. She traced the line of his ribs with her eyes. She would see where his hip bones jutted out. He was emaciated. Or very nearly. He looked as of he'd been starving.

She head Batman shift as he knelt beside her. She knew he'd seen it too. This boy had been tortured in extreme isolation. What had happened to him?

He didn't speak. She didn't really expect him to. He searched her hands for a moment more, before his hands stilled. Then, slowly, carefully, his fingers intertwined with hers. He gave a gentle squeeze.

She squeezed back.

The blindfold covering his eyes grew wet. The wetness seeped down the blindfold and dripped to the floor.

The boy was crying.

"You're real." Came a raspy whisper.

There was a flash of bright white light and suddenly a very starved human boy was collapsing into Cass's arms.

—————

(Cass looked up at Bruce with wide eyes, cradling the boy to herself. He now had pale skin, tattered blue jeans and a worn T-shirt. His tousled black hair was grimy with filth. Dark circles shadowed long dark eyelashes and hollowed cheeks.

Cass was suddenly sure. Whatever he was, he was hers now.

"New baby brother."

Batman sighed heavily.)

————-—

Aaaaaand I have more? Maybe? Like the idea that he has gone crazy and lost his senses for a time really appealed to me. Cue rehabilitation and him trying to free the other ghosts/Vlad and get them back to the ghost zone. Maybe try to go back in time to stop it all from happening? Idk.

I felt the need to post this before I dedicated too much time to it and wrote a multi chapter fic but never actually post it anywhere. 🫠

Tell me what you thiiiiink.

[merakiui]

what do we think skully's parents were like.......

i think there are many different fabrications that can be envisioned based on all kinds of factors!!! with the time period, perhaps his mother died in childbirth. or maybe both parents were alive. perhaps they were pleased and very proud when he received his acceptance letter to attend nrc. i wonder if they were okay with him traveling all over the world instead of settling down like most often aspired to do in those times. was he pushed to find a significant other and start a family? or maybe they were supportive. maybe they weren't. maybe they kicked him out of the house because the life of a traveler can be unstable (for that time)??? so many thoughts......

since it's stated that he didn't like to be in direct spotlight and so for that reason there aren't many existing records of him, there's so much potential for lots of imagined lore to fill in the blanks.

also his childhood!!! i wonder what it was like! if he was fawned over and coddled by his parent(s). or if he was neglected. etc etc. maybe he was on the shy, quiet side. or perhaps he was bright and cheerful. i always like to think the characters who are happiest and very bubbly are often the saddest or have lingering melancholy,, or even have come from a background or place of misfortune. in skully's case, who is so theatrical and outwardly exuberant, there is definitely a sense of sadness and loneliness within. the shadow he casts to everyone else is happy, but the shadow looming over his heart is marked by an incredible sorrow.

aaaa and then there's also the thought of: did his parent(s) influence his thoughts and ideas on halloween and did he then project that onto jack (thinking jack would definitely agree with this kind of halloween) when he became a fan? or perhaps it was more of a mindset appropriate for the time period. or maybe skully is just built different and holds onto older ideals and traditions, thus leaving himself behind (stuck in the past) while everyone else around him moves forward (which could be a reason why he could never get along with his classmates).

he is still shrouded in mystery. there's lots to think about with mr. graves!!! i hope this wild rambling had some speck of sense. ^^;;;

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — four. delicate.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: canon divergent. emotional cheating (not on reader). angst. right person wrong time. a bit of daddy issues on this one. no use of y/n. word count: 900+ .a/n: me taking my least engaged fic and making a series out of it? more likely than you think. summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

previously

    Aaron knocks on your door even though that is the least effective way to show you he’s there, hoping in some way this would delay the terrible thing he was about to do. He wishes he could pretend he didn’t know what you felt for him still existed rooted deep in your heart as it did his, and Aaron surely wishes his heart didn’t beat that fast as he heard Jack’s laughter and your voice about three times rougher than usual, apparently pretending to be some sort of monster. 

    He tried to be honest, but being honest to himself meant admitting that night was a succession of terrible choices only he could be blamed on. He was the one to ask if anyone at the BAU could watch over Jack as his sitter had been sick and Jessica was busy, he thought JJ or Spencer would offer to, but you did. And he accepted it knowing fully well he was leaving his son at your house so he could have a date with his girlfriend. 

    Your eyes were always your tell, he saw the hurt in then the moment he dropped Jack off, knowing clearly by his outfit that he was going on a date, a special one even.

    That was another terrible choice, not explaining before why he needed someone to babysit Jack. You told him he looked nice and your voice didn’t crack but the fake smile you gave him made his heart break. And the one you gave Jack was even worse, watching you so genuinely happy taking him in your arms as if Aaron wasn’t being the biggest jerk was enough to throw him off balance the whole night. 

    His date wasn’t good, he was silent, more than usual, and it wasn’t fair. Beth was a good person, he loved her. Beth made him believe in something he thought he would never again, that little spark that faded the moment you left and crumbled when Haley died. Beth brought it back, she wasn’t some sort of placeholder as he waited for his true love to come knocking at his door. She was love, and stability. Someone Jack adored, someone he had built a relationship long lasting enough that Jack got accustomed to.

    And his final terrible choice that led him to your door again, cutting the date short. Much shorter than Beth expected as they had planned it for weeks before. But he couldn’t face her. He couldn’t talk to her with the attention she deserved because all he thought about was your sad eyes to him and your warm smile to Jack. 

    He was a mess. He was hurting himself. And Beth. And you. And inevitably he would hurt Jack if he kept acting like that even though he was acting like that because he couldn’t change Jack’s life upside down again. It was always an impossible situation with you. 

    You know something’s wrong by his face and by the time he shows up at your door, he looks defeated, so you pull him inside instead of calling Jack to go home. You don’t ask him what’s wrong, you don’t want to know, you don’t want to hear him talk about his love life, instead you smile at him and place your hand on his cheek, rubbing the signs of age on his face lovingly, he closes his eyes and hold that same hand, leaning into it for just a moment. 

    “I gave Jack ice cream twice already so he’s in a hell of a sugar rush.” Your confession makes him laugh and breaks the intimacy of the moment, thankfully so. It was your intention after all, you couldn’t afford more than those tiny minutes. His eyes are accusatory, his mouth expresses his shock as he shakes his head in disappointment. “What? I want him to like me, everyone at the BAU has years of family time with him and I don’t.” 

    Jack comes from the kitchen yelling, the amount of daddy daddy daddy leaving his mouth per second probably breaking some record, Aaron takes him in his arms, throwing him in the air just high enough to get the boy giggling. 

    He forgets his dilemmas for that night, Beth’s messages and calls ignored on his phone as the three of you played together. Hide and seek, catch and even a bit of karaoke before it got too late. 

    Sleeping is hell when he gets home. He keeps thinking about everything he ever did wrong, how he almost cheated on Haley with you and then he let you go, and how he made Haley’s life miserable after that, so much so she ended up cheating on him–he couldn’t judge her for it. And how he was again on the same destructive path. 

    Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, his fidelity to the women he loved seemed to always come back as a question the universe begged to have an answer to: Are you really that different from your dad?

    If it wasn’t for you, for your restraint, for your respect for his commitments, would he be able to defend himself from such accusations his own mind threw at him at night? If you didn’t leave the unit, if you didn’t leave his lingering hugs first, would he be a faithful man? 

    Would he be the man he wished Jack would grow up to be? The man he wished his own father was? Or would he just prove what his mother would constantly say, that he was merely his father’s son? 

    Those kept him awake until his mind couldn’t handle it anymore.

[crazycatgirl420]

It's not Magic, It's Science P2

The Fentons had been good at inventing, at research, at theories and experiments to prove or disprove those theories. They had not been good at bussiness.

Danny gave Tucker a hundred dollars to fix the FentonWorks website into something more professional. Sam was his first Client, and they sat down to figure out how Danny would take clients and sell his inventions.

With the Portal closed, the only Ghosts who came through were coming from Vlad's Portal. Being Emancipated meant there was no custody issues. All of Vlad's attempts at forcing his way into Danny's life were slowly esclating with Maddie and Jack dead.

Danny didn't have time to be dealing with the Mayor of Amity Park's obbession with him. So he took the collection of cameras and mics to the police and requested a restraining order.

"Mister Fenton, is it true your parents knew Mayor Masters?"

"-that your parents supported Mayor Masters?"

"-know that Mayor Masters took videos of minors?"

"-Are you pressing charges? Will you sue?"

Valerie and Dash stepped between the Papparazzi and Danny, as they left the school. Sam and Tucker sheilded Danny from the back, and together they fled to Jazz's little car.

"Go with them," Val said, as Sam and Tucker took the backseat with Danny. "I'll follow on my bike."

Danny never thought he'd need bodyguards, or that Dash would become one of them. But a lot of things changed after the funeral. Hiring Val and Dash as bodyguards would probably be smart, at least until the issue with Vlad goes away.

Danny slowly grew Fenton Works into an actual Amity Park bussiness, instead of a local oddity. Ectoplasm was a wondeful green energy source, natural and rewnewable, at least until a thousand years after all life on the planet dies off. Harvesting it from the air, using things the Doctors Fenton had already built that do just that, and then making that into a collection of power sources.

Ecto-Batteries, and their charging pods. Ecto-Light Blubs, with a filter for red light at Sam's insistance, that went into all public lights. Ecto-Blubs for the schools, bussinesses, houses that came with a collection of color fliters to choose from.

"Can Ecto replace gas?" Sam asked, the first time Jazz's car had a leak.

Danny spent the weekend under Jazz's car, and three hours after school learning at a mechanic shop. It took six months, dozens of trips from the lab to the car port, but he built a car able to run on Ectoplasam.

The issue came when he added it to his website.

"Mister Fenton? This is Timothy Drake-Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. I'd like to talk to you about your Ecto-fueled vehicle. Do you have time to talk next week?"

[profoundbondfanfic]

Hi, I know you guys only searching for destiel fics but I'm just wondering if you guys also have any recommendations for dean acting like parent ish fic?

Hey! Here's some we could think of.

Fics where Dean doesn't consider himself a parent at first but ends up becoming one:

Kriah by ioascc

Dean can do this. He can. He can raise Jack Kline, Lucifer’s baby. No, not Lucifer’s… Cas’ kid. Their kid. With his mother gone, and Castiel dead, Dean finds himself hanging on by a thread. Castiel has died so many times on him, Dean is half-convinced himself that Cas will return to him. Dean evades the pain of the truth, carrying on in false hope until his soul renders into a million pieces. He learns quickly that taking care of a newborn is not for the faint of heart, sleep-deprivation, grief, and feedings rule most of the early days. During this time, Dean is forced to build a new life for himself. With a new name and identity change, Dean becomes a Dad. Something Castiel would be proud of. Dean cooks, he cleans, he reads, he sings his ABCs and 123s, and ultimately Dean does his best for Jack. It’s not until Jack grows into a small child that Dean feels like he can breathe again. The grief no longer suffocates him. His new life has meaning. He sees family and he allows himself to miss Castiel. To mourn him, to love him in death. And when Jack goes to school, Dean is once again reunited with friends and enemies from his past.

let's take a drive by sobsicles

Dean takes a really, really long drive to kick fear in the ass. It might just be the best thing he ever decides to do.

right in the palm of your hand by LoversAntiquities

Five years after Castiel's death, Dean has built a life in Murphy, North Carolina. A decent life, with a house he built with his own hands, and Jack, now five years old and beginning kindergarten in the fall. Only, after a string of failed relationships and sleepless nights staring at the urn on his windowsill, he makes an unwilling decision--to bury Castiel for good. Only, the night he and Jack bury Castiel's ashes, the unthinkable happens--Castiel rises from the dead, wounded from his time in the Empty, and with his resurrection comes questions Dean never thought he would need answered. Namely, how long will Castiel stay with him--and will the Empty come back for him, once and for all?

The Other Baby by DoctorProfessorSong

This is a canon-adjacent series of one shots in a world where Jack is reset as a baby and being raised by TFW. I am going to pick and choose canon at will and may not even be consistent between the stories. Seriously, it's just a bunch of fluff and angst surrounding babies and toddlers.

You Belong Among The Wildflowers by ImYourHoneyBee

Cas is gone and Dean doesn't know how to deal. Sunk deep into the worst depression he's ever been through Dean only pulls himself together when Jack comes to visit, intent on repairing his relationship with Castiel's son. Eventually, as a result of an offhanded comment Sam makes, Dean begins to dream of a better future and becomes determined to rescue Castiel from the Empty. It's a rough go, but he's successful and Cas is back. Fed nightmares during his time in the darkness of an angel's afterlife, Castiel doesn't believe that Dean is real. Refusing to speak or to come out of the literal closet, will Cas let Dean persuade him that he really is saved?

2. Dean helping with Cas' kids

A Little Grace by tricia_16

Castiel is well aware that a handsome, surprisingly gentle alpha like Dean was way out of his league even before he made the decision to become a single parent. Dean's been kicking himself for blowing his shot with Cas before he could even ask for it, and now Cas is happily taken (and adorably pregnant) by an alpha who doesn't deserve him. Neither one of them could have guessed that Castiel's baby would be what brings them together, but it turns out that a little Grace goes a long way.

Let Me Come Home by prosopopeya

It would be very inconvenient for Castiel to get a crush on Claire's foster parent.

Swan Upon Leda by kelsstiel

Pediatric Surgery Fellow Dean Winchester meets baby Jack Kline and neuropsychologist Castiel Novak his first week on the job. Dean’s been accused a time or two of caring a little too much in the past and it’s hard not to care about the neurotic adoptive father and his medically needy preemie. After a series of run-ins between the pair, Dean and Cas develop a friendship that everyone else around them suspect more from immediately, though it takes them a little longer to get the memo. When Dean struggles with a particularly devastating patient loss, their mutual understanding of loss and love bring them closer in a way that neither of them could have expected.

Start of Something Good by tricia_16

Dean Winchester is introduced to his new neighbor, Castiel, and his daughter, Claire, in an unexpected way. When an unlikely connection forms between Dean and Claire it also helps to push Castiel and Dean closer together. But Castiel has been hurt badly in the past and it's up to Dean to prove to Castiel that he can be trusted with both his daughter and his heart, even when outside sources try to make Castiel believe differently…

3. Dean acting like Sam's parent even though they're siblings:

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

I Wanna Get Outside (Of Me) by emwebb17

Dean is a novice in the dom/sub world asked by his employer as a desperate last resort to be a sub for his recluse of a brother, Castiel. Castiel is a diagnosed OCD suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia, mysophobia, and dystychiphobia. Needless to say—he’s a mess who hasn’t stepped out of his home in literally seven years. The only times Gabriel can see traces of the way his brother used to be is when he feels in control—specifically when he has control over a sub. However, due to his idiosyncrasies and paranoia, keeping a sub around has been impossible. Enter Dean, who’s not a very traditional submissive, to try his hand at subbing for the hermit.

Proof of Love by VioletHaze

Working two jobs and doing his best to pretend his little brother wasn’t leaving for Stanford in a few months, Dean let his friend Benny talk him into a much needed night out. What started out as a fun evening at the bar ended with Dean drunk and face-to-face with a couple of cops outside a bakery. When the bakery owner gave him the chance to come back the next day and deal with his mess instead of going to jail, Dean knew he’d been given an opportunity he couldn’t squander. If only the blue-eyed guy didn’t seem to hate Dean…

White-Collar Contract by CBFirestarter, TrenchcoatBaby

Caught between the lesser of two evils, omega Dean Winchester is thrown into the orbit of Castiel Novak—a gorgeous, older, and incredibly wealthy businessman…and perhaps the only alpha who wants him for his brains, not his body. Castiel has no interest in bending Dean over the nearest surface and fucking his brains out, which is a first. Not that Dean cares about the alpha’s lack of interest. Nope. Uh-uh. He couldn’t care less.

[phantoms-lair]

88 for the crossover roulette.

Okay, this one took me a while

~~~~ "You really are like a cockroach aren't you?"

Vlad whirled around. No human should be in this place! Especially not one he didn't know. And he didn't recognize the tall lanky man one bit, though it was hard to make out his face covered by a hood. "How did you get in my house?"

"There are many ways to get into places Plasmius." he snarled.

Well that was that then. Whoever he was, he couldn't live. He created a duplicate behind the man, ready to strike him unawares-

Only to scream as the duplicate popped and incredible pain lanced through his body.

"Like it?" The stranger sneered, showing off his belt. "Improved model of the specter deflector. Little bit of the Plasmius Maximus built in too. Good luck using your powers for the next several hours." he crouched before Vlad's prone form. "Now where were we? Oh right, you being a cockroach. You do the stupidest shit and then you escape consequences by lying. You lie to your business partners before you rob them blind. You lied to Valerie about everything about ghosts. You like to yourself about how nothings ever your fault and that Mom would ever like you. You lie to Dad about being his friend while trying to kill him."

"Daniel?" Vlad gasped. The man pulled back his hood revealing a familiar face made foreign by age. This Danial was clearly an adult, though not a healthy one, gaunt and wary. "But the specter deflector?"

"Let me tell you a story Vlad. It has a sad beginning. Hell, it's sad all around, but the beginning packs a wallop. It start with a freak explosions at a fast food place causing the deaths of Maddie, Jack, and Jasmine Fenton, Sam Manson, and Tucker Foley. None of whom became ghosts after that. One survivor, who only survived because his half ghost body regenerated the damage, one Danial Fenton."

"Originally the next of kin to take him is was his Aunt Alicia, but since reconnecting with his 'best friend' Jack had wanted it changed to Vlad Masters. Maddie resisted at first, but after Vlad pretended to save Danny from Pariah Dark, again an incident he'd caused in the first place and again lying, she'd agreed."

"But Vlad wasn't as happy to have control of the boy as he once would have been. He'd blamed him for living when his mother hadn't. He wanted the boy to act grateful for even being in his presence when all the boy wanted was to have died with his loved ones. Needless to say it didn't work out. But did you give him to his Aunt? No. You decided you just needed a better version of him. You'd already been working at your cloning experiments, even if they weren't...built to last." He looked a tube containing a small girl sadly. "But you did the thing you did best besides lying. You got greedy."

"I was at your mercy. Obviously you could have harvest my DNA at your leisure and made a perfect clone, but you decided you wanted more. You decided to splice your own DNA in, so it would truly be 'your' son and that's where everything went wrong."

"You're the first halfa Vlad, but you know how first drafts are. Or maybe you don't, I doubt you ever did your own work. First drafts are messy and incomplete. And that's you as a halfa. Twenty years of experience, but Little Me was catching up to you in less that one. He was also good to go without any serious recovery time while you needed years of hospitalization and even then had flare ups. In terms of blending I was mayonnaise, kept stable and homogenous. You were oil and vinegar, constantly trying to separate. That's what the ecto acne was, you know. Not some skin condition like puberty gone wrong. It was your human body trying to purge itself of ghostly contaminants. Trying to reject Plasmius. And maybe you'd be healthier if you let it."

"But back to the point. You were an imperfect halfa. And you passed that along to the clones you made with your DNA. They failed even faster and you decided the solution was more power. You used me as a battery, draining my ectoplasm into your creation, damaging my body so much I can't create more. You essentially made me human again Vlad. But it still wasn't enough. And you decided it couldn't need much more, so you decided to transfer a bit of your own, only for your creation to take all of it."

"I guess credit where credit it due, you cured my death wish. I lived. I escaped and warned people. They didn't believe me of course. Thought I was mad with grief, especially Val. Until the attacks started. I don't know what the fuck you made with our combined DNA, but whatever it was it had both our memories and neither of our moral compasses, or at least any you pretend to have. It fed off death. And no one was ready for it. For a while I was imprisoned because it would pretend to be me and as such I was deemed a risk. But time helped that. I aged and it didn't. It's human form would always be 14 year old Danny Fenton while it's ghost form was a horrible amalgamation of us. It killed. It destroyed. Anything we did to keep it out it would eventually overpower. Until we decided to game the system."

"Time travel, Vlad. Remove the triggering incident. But not even Clockwork can change things all willy nilly. But what he did was seed things in the past to make the Observants of then panic and order him to fix it. Of course they did it by ordering my death, so Clocky had to work around that. Prove Little Me was worth the chance. Little Me ended up in my time and guess what you did Vlad? Can you guess? You lied again. Made up a whole sob story of how you were just trying to help me with my grief by surgically removing my ghost half and how my ghost half then attacked and stole yours and you'd spent all those years trying to fix it. And he believed you. He's burdened with guilt for a time that never happened and believes you're capable of changing and deserve a second chance. Your lies always work, don't they. But I know better. You can't lie to me, not anymore."

"But I'm not going to kill you Vlad, do you know why?"

"Because you're Daniel. I'm sure you're telling yourself something about how I'll suffer more alive, but the truth is you just can't bring yourself to do something like cold blooded killing." Vlad sneered.

"Wrong. You have no idea what I had to do to survive the hell you made." Danial smiled. "I just respect dibs."

"What? OW!" Vlad's body spasmed as something was forcefully injected into it. He looked up behind him and saw an older version of Valerie Grey, twirling a pressure injector, almost exactly like the ones he used to treat his symptoms when they reoccurred. (The scheming part of his brain realizing that would mean it wouldn't raise any alarms if marks from it were found on his body)

"A little compound based on one of the Fenton's projects. I strengthens ectoplasm and makes it stronger. It would be a real boost for past Danny or any other ghost. But for you? Well, your human form was barely holding it together with the ectoplasm you had."

Vlad whimpered, feeling the bubbling under his skin he recognized from his ectoacne only a hundred times worse.

"Goodbye Vlad." Valerie uncaringly stepped over his dying form and wrapped her arms around Danny, the two joining in a kiss.

"It worked." There was joy in Danny's voice for the first time in along time. "It really worked Val. The future, our loved ones, they're safe."

"They are." Valerie smiled down on him. "So we doing this?"

"Yeah. It's selfish, but I think we've both earned a little selfish." Danny pulled a USB and stuck it in Vlad's computer, Mikey's code rewriting several things. "There we go, edited to include another clone of me and one of you."

"How long are we going to have to be in those tube?" Val wrinkled her nose a little.

"Not long. The evidence we dropped off should get the investigation here in less than a day. Also I missed seeing you with long hair."

"It wasn't practical." Valerie grinned. "But Little You saw me with the buzzcut so I had to grow it back." Thankfully with all the wonders of the Infinite Realms, something to instantly grow hair was downright mundane and something Clockwork had been happy to maintain the timeline.

The story now was the story that had to be. If the Observants discovered they were manipulated they might undo their undo. But Vlad had to be handled and with the narrative the Observants had gotten they wouldn't do it themselves.

(Valerie had actually ranted about this, about how even in the lie Vlad had spun the Monster was half him, But the Observants had put all the blame on the mourning 14 year old. Typical.) The 'responsible' thing would be to let themselves fade from the timeline. Or barring that disappearing and starting new. But as Danny had said, they'd earned a bit of selfishness.

If they posed as clones of their past selves there was a chance their families would be contacted and taken in. It was a gamble. Maybe the authorities they'd contacted would destroy them or turn them over to the GiW. Maybe the Fentons or Damian Grey would see them as a violation of their children and reject them. But they'd take the gamble. It wasn't any worse than the one they'd just taken to save the future. And besides, their younger selves needed all thee help they could get

Sure Danny didn't have powers anymore, but he had the experience fighting his younger self had lacked. If everything worked out, not even Pariah Dark would have a chance against two Danny's working together.

~~~~

Future Danny, Valerie, and Clockwork: We'll seed these images to the Observants so they know all they have to do to save the future is prevent the explosion

Observants: Naturally there's only one way to fix this, KILL THE CHILD

Future Danny, Valerie, and Clockwork: *facepalm*

[blueishspace]

The Watchers court p3

Martyn: Court back in session, bring the second witness to the stand.

Tommy: Hello Jack!

Jack: ...Hi.

Pearl: Introduce yourself mate.

Jack: Jack Manifold, he/him, owner of the innit hotel.

Tommy: Oy! That's my hotel.

Jack: The previous owner died in prison so I took it.

Tommy: I got better you fucker!

Pearl: ... I see?

Punz: Ehm ehm, we have an examination to do your honurs.

BigB: O-oh right, you can begin your questioning.

Punz: Jack Manifold.

Jack: Punz.

Punz: It has come to the attention of the court that Dream might have taken some extreme measure to take care of... Thomas.

Pearl: That's a kind way to phrase it.

Punz: Perhaps you can shed the light on how much of a necessity they were to mantain the peace-

Tubbo: Objection! Leading the witness!

Grian: Sustained, try and rephrase it if you can.

Punz: ... Alright, do you happen to know if Tommy might have done something to deserve such measures?

Jack: Of course he did.

Tubbo: Jack? What are you doing??

Jack: Telling the truth! Tommy is a selfish asshole who cares about nothing but himself.

*Tommy steps backwards*

Tommy: Fuck you too Jack!

Pearl: Order in the court everyone. Continue with your testimony.

Jack: He is just a pretentious asshole-

Tubbo: Objection! Those are not offences, you are just insulting the prosecution!

BigB: ... Sustained, are there any actual crimes that you remember?

Jack: Wh- he started so many wars!

*Pearl and BigB look at Grian*

Grian: ... You do know who you are talking to right?

Jack: Like the disk war-

Tubbo: That was Dream technically.

Jack: The L'Manberg war!

Tubbo: And that was Wilbur.

Jack: ... Manburg vs Pogtpia.

Tubbo: That was Schlatt...and Wilbur.

Jack: ... ... Doomsday?

Tubbo: Techno. And Phil. And Dream. It wasn't even a war.

Jack: H-he burnt George's house!

*Ranboo walks back in*

Ranboo: T-that was an accident...and partly my fault.

Jack: Well- he... he... he killed me!

.

.

.

Tommy: Uh?

Jack: The fuck you mean "uh?".

Tommy: Did I kill you?

Jack: ... YES! You pushed me into lava!

Tommy: N-no, that was just a vision, that didn't actually happen.

Jack: It did! I had to crawl out of because of you!

Pearl: People, as much fun as this is we are putting Tommy on trial. This is a trial against the defendant, Dream.

Grian: Yes, the reasoning come second and I doubt this witness convinced anyone of Dream's innocence.

Tubbo: Wait!

BigB: ...?

Tubbo: I... Tommy said he tought it was a vision.

Grian: He did, yes.

Tubbo: Jack, did this death happen while Tommy was in exile?

Jack: It...did.

Tubbo: Now the question is, why did Tommy assume it to be a vision? Well, if this death happened during Tommy's exile, one where Dream looked after him the whole time, then I think the defendant is suspect.

Grian: ... Sustained. So, what do you need?

Tubbo: I need to speak to the three people who saw Tommy during exile. I call to the stand Dream, Ranboo and Ghostbur!

Tommy: ... Four.

Tubbo: Uh?

Tommy: I call to the stand MD as well!

Grian: So... when did you meet Tommy, in this "exile" specifically?

Dream: Well, I led him to his exile like I was ordered too.

Ranboo: I... I would visit Tommy sometimes near the beginning... I stopped after a while...

Ghostbur: Oooh! The holiday! I went with him and Dream! He looked sad so I would give him blue!

MD: I don't know man but he looked shitty when I arrived! And that Dream dude was there too man.

Tubbo: What do you remember from that time?

Dream: I took the initiative of making sure Tommy wouldn't escape, my responsability as an admin you see.

Ranboo: Tommy...he used to be so happy when I visited him but then... I stopped.

Ghostbur: We built houses together! It was fun! He used to look at me weirdly but I think we became closer friends after a while!

MD: Let me tell you man. It was a mess over there, seen rats living in better conditions then he did.

Punz: ... Did the topic of ...visions ever come up?

Dream: Oh yes, sometimes he said he would see things that weren't there... I suppose it is my fault I didn't expect it to get that bad.

Tommy: Bullshit.

Ranboo: I... I don't know, I don't remember too well, sorry.

Ghostbur: Visions? I... hmmmm. I think so... It was... Uh what was I saying again? Oh right! I think I heard him mentioning seeing something once!

MD: Oh yes man, it sure did. The kid was terrified man.

Tubbo: What did Dream do?

Dream: ... Nothing more then was already said-

Ranboo: He lied!

Grian: Oh?

Pearl: Go on mate.

Ranboo: He said Tommy didn't want to see me anymore! I remember! It was a lie! You wanted to be alone with him!

Ghostbur: He...well, he sent me out once under the snow. He knows I melt but maybe he forgot... That was the last time I was able to see Tommy for a long time, I got lost I think ...hmmmm.

MD: He killed me. The kid said Dream was his owner and then he killed me!

Tommy: ...

BigB: Do you have something to say?

Tommy: He told me I imagined it... that MD died of overdose and I had hallucinated it.

MD: ... He did what? Fuck you, how dare you!

*MD jumps on Dream*

Grian: ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT!

*in the jury*

Squiddo: ...

E1!Jimmy: ...oh.

Knight!Grian: Holy hell.

Grian: Is the prosecution satisfied?

Tubbo: Sure am.

Grian: Taurtis, bring the witnesses out please.

Taurtis: On it!

Martyn: Watcher and Listeners, there will now be another break and then will be the last witnesses.

Prev Next First

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 1: what's lost can be found

"She won't make a sound, alone in this fight with herself and the fears whispering if she stands she'll fall down. She wants to be found, the only way out is through everything she's running from wants to give up and lie down. So stand in the rain, stand your ground. Stand up when it's all crashing down. You stand through the pain, you won't drown. And one day, what's lost can be found."  -Stand in the Rain by Superchick

Regent Masterlist Part 2

The decayed ghost siren echoed through the abandoned streets of Amity Park's Witching Hours. Its residents were well acquainted with what that sound meant, fear and exasperation a potent (strange) mix to keep them tucked in their homes, their beds, as the Fentonworks building seemed to come alive.  

Of course, figuratively speaking. 

(Nothing was truly alive there anymore.)

Jasmine Fenton had just arrived back from the Infinite Realms, muscles pleasantly sore from training with Pandora and very much looking forward to hugging her little brother before he begun his nightly patrol. The siren caught her attention before she’d stepped fully out of her portal, dread filling her gut like a rock dropped into a lake. 

Oh no. 

Team Phantom were young, no one could ever argue that, with some scars to show for all their battles to protect Amity from those that would claim their haunt- but no one outside the team understood just how paranoid they’d become since Pariah Dark and Dark Dan

The contingencies had begun when Jazz started to remember bits and pieces of a timeline that Danny himself had erased using the reality gauntlet. He’d never told anyone of what had happened, with Freakshow’s plan to make himself ‘ringmaster of all reality’ and all, but Jazz had somehow recalled flashes of sheer panic at watching her little brother accidentally reveal himself as Phantom on live tv, in the Fentonworks kitchen on that little box set. The white rings of light that emerged from his core to switch from half-alive to half-dead and vice versa damned him. 

The elder fentons had gone on the offense immediately, Jack’s screech of ghost! Echoing in the house and they raced down to the lab to get whatever latest weapon they’d built to capture Phantom. 

It didn’t matter that their son was dead, that he had died, that their ‘greatest work’ was Danny’s grave. That Jasmine was…well, she wasn’t entirely human anymore, not when she turned on her heel to follow her progenitors down down down into the darkness, sword tightly grasped in hand as her teal eyes glowed a sickly green.  

She hadn’t hesitated then, to protect her little brother. One slash, two, three

Danny hadn’t known she killed their parents in that timeline. She would never tell him. 

She would never tell him how they hadn’t even noticed her presence, her ever loyal weapon Faithkeeper about to take their lives, how she hadn’t even needed to summon her armor. She would never tell him how they begged for their lives, not to protect their children, but to kill the ghostly menace. 

Danny never knew she’d dumped their corpses in the landfill.

(Right where they belonged.) 

WIth the rewrite of the timeline, reset to the same day of the ill-fated Humpty Dumpty concert, Jack and Maddy Fenton’s deaths were undone, but not the blood on Jasmine’s hands. 

With Danny’s defeat of Pariah Dark, came another revelation. 

Jasmine was still mostly alive. Somehow she’d survived her childhood, but Danny hadn’t. She’d looked away for five minutes, forgotten to lock the lab after their parents left and he’d died for it. 

With the weight of being schrodinger’s hero, could her little brother withstand becoming king of the infinite realms? 

Perhaps not while he was still learning, still gaining his own grip on his strange existence. In time, he would become a great king- one of mercy and benevolence, but he still had a long ways to go. 

Jasmine had borrowed ancient ghost law books from Ghostwriter and locked herself away for three days, cycling between crying for her and Danny, reading through the complicated laws of ye olden times, and writing down her findings- just in case another reality rewrite was due. 

Jasmine had accepted Regency on Danny’s behalf with a grace she didn’t know she possessed. 

It had been a small ceremony, with Danny and his friends present and Pandora, Jasmine’s mentor, acting as sentry as she accepted the Crown of Fire. She knew it was a long road till she could pass it down to its rightful owner, but Jasmine was prepared to shoulder the burden for her little brother. 

Pandora had simply laid one of her many hands on Jasmine’s shoulder with a solemn air, in understanding. There was work to be done before any of them could have peace. (Not even the afterlife was safe from paperwork.)

Her favorite journal contained the scraps of her hope and dreams bound in maroon leather, soft with age and imprinted with every emotion Jazz had unwittingly (and later knowingly) poured into every word. 

Its pages were a kaleidoscope of her life. 

Sure, it began with the soft tinge of curiosity-exasperation-fondness, some sentiment of better times before her progenitors began working on that damned portal, constructing the future grave of their son without the slightest clue. 

The emotions began turning a darker turn when the work turned into an obsession. Jazz had plunged into her schoolwork and part-time jobs to afford whatever was needed for the siblings to survive, fondness becoming slowly poisoned by anger. Anger for the portal. Anger for the food other kids had, that they didn’t have to work so hard for. Anger that she knew what starving felt like. 

Anger that she was so weak. 

Then the day of Danny’s death. 

The darkest part of her history, the last embers of her hopes and dreams, of the siblings escaping smothered. Danny’s death scream forever etched into her brain. 

(It should’ve been her.) 

She hated those pages of her journal, the emotions of grief-anger on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to rip them out. No more than she could destroy the confessions of protect-rage-grief, the confessions of the darker timeline she shouldn’t remember. 

On very last page was the contingency plan Jazz herself had created.

Code Graverobber.

That siren wasn’t any ordinary ghost siren, no, it was the one Tucker had programmed himself- it was the quickest way to alert every member of Team Phantom and Tucker had made sure that none of them could mistake it for a Fenton ghost alarm. No, Code Graverobber was in effect. 

Phantom had been captured by the elder Fentons. 

(Fate has a way of setting itself right.) (Death wants its due.) With a bleeding, sobbing and vivisected Danny cradled in her arms, Jazz left Amity Park behind for what she prayed to the Ancients was forever. The Fentons died that night, though the official records would claim they were killed in a explosion due to the highly unstable inventions they created, taking the lives of their children as well. No one really dug around in the wreckage of Fentonworks, not for the bodies of the family within, with the chance of another explosion happening should rubble be shifted the wrong way. 

Jack and Maddie Fenton died.. 

But Jasmine and Danny Nightingale lived on, in Gotham City.

The last of those three days she spent locked in her room, Jasmine wrote a letter to a future version of herself, tucked inside one of her favorite books now lost in the destruction of Fentonworks. To my future self, Forget me in your happiness.    Love, your past

A/N: BEHOLD!

Ahem. This is the original chapter 1 that I never finished or published. It's not my favorite or my best, but I unburied it for the 300 milestones. Thanks for reading!

[evilkennedy]

Midnight Visitor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood (brief), mentions of guns and violence, slight fluff me thinks

Word Count: 3.1k +

Requested: Nope! Came straight from this noggin of mine.

Summary: You’re injured on a case and Hotch blames himself? I’m bad at descriptions and titles bear with me.

You want to pretend like you know why you can’t sleep, mind preoccupied with the knowledge that you could’ve easily died… Of course you hadn’t, but there were always questions as to whether or not you could have should anything within the scenario have shifted even slightly. What would have happened should you have not stepped in front of the gun? Hotch would have been shot instead. What would have happened if the unsub held his gun slightly higher, a quarter of an inch further to the right…? If you weren’t undercover, if you had worn your vest, if Aaron had worn his— etcetera.

Your room is dark and your gaze rests on the ceiling, illuminated by the moonlight alone. It wasn’t that late, despite not looking at the clock or your phone, you’d known that much. Well aware of how much time was passing you by as you rested your weary bones. You’d been… ready. To give up; to let the bullet finish the job and take your life. Before Hotch had arrived at the scene, only a few houses down from where you’d been undercover, feigning the lives of a newly wedded couple, you’d been more than roughed up. You were barely aware of the way you’d gotten back up on your feet at his arrival, adrenaline taking over as the man that you'd come to care for, much more than what was normal between a boss and employee, was threatened. You could feel his gaze on you, even as you laid in your bed now, the way he silently pleaded you to get out of the way, to let him handle the rest— to stall him until the other agents got there, but you weren’t having it. Not only would you never forgive yourself for remaining idle and losing him, losing whatever potential relationship you so deeply hoped to develop, you’d never forgive yourself for allowing Jack to go without another parent, to lose him the same way he’d lost Haley. Even as you’d considered it now, your throat constricted with metaphorical barbed wire, you’re certain you wouldn’t have done anything different.

You sigh, closing your aching eyes against the phantom vibration of a gunshot soaring through the air. You’d still go through it a million times over to ensure that Hotch would remain alive, safe and sound. Even if that meant he was angry with you for now. Your chest seized with pain, more so at the idea that you’d ruined everything that the two of you had built between the other, the trust, the affection, the concern, the honesty, all of it, less than of any medical affliction or after effects of the trauma. Part of you wanted to message him, to tell him that you were sorry for not following his orders or for anything else he might be angry over except for the fact that it had been you instead of him. You refused to let him mourn over the fact that you’d gotten injured in his place, for his safety, but you knew that’s where his mind had been since. He hadn’t texted or called or even come by, and you wonder how correct that assessment had been. Would he be angry if you messaged now? The thought makes you feel ridiculous and you ignore it, succumbing to the sleep that had been threatening to pull you under since the sun had set. The last thought on your mind was of glazed hazel eyes and large trembling hands.

Aaron looks between you and the unsub, attempting to keep his gaze calculated and professional, but he hasn't been able to keep steady without knowing the extent of your condition. All he could tell was that it was bad. He doesn’t think you can stand, almost hopes that you can’t stand. If you stayed down, he could keep the attention off of you and onto him. He refused to lose someone else at the hands of a narcissistic psychopath. His heart skips a beat when he notices the way you make an attempt to push yourself up, only to lose your momentum part of the way up, falling back into the floor.

You hear him call your name, it’s quiet, a warning. You could tell it was a command, one in which you took as a suggestion, knowing exactly what kind of violence the unsub was capable of. You couldn’t allow him to be on the receiving end of that force, not when you were on your last leg. You were certain this would be the end for you and it didn’t have to be the end for him. You feel as though you imagined the panic laced in his tone, sheer anxiety gripping at his vocal chords as he pleads that you stay down, eyes glossy with the promise of unshed tears.

“Upset that I’ve discovered you both, Agent?” The unsub’s voice sounds like venom, hateful and acidic and cruel, his methodology had been specific, calculated— Aaron had never been more terrified than he was now and it wasn’t for his own life.

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea… you’re confused.” He was unarmed, at least physically. He’d have to stick with the profile for now, belittle the man so that he’d focus all of his anger and attention on him. You wish he’d stop talking and get to a safe place, but you weren’t naive enough to believe he’d get out of here unscathed, even if you could stand. Still, you worked on mustering every ounce of strength into your arms, hoping that you can pull yourself up before it was too late. You were well aware of your supervisor’s agenda.

“You know very well that I’m not confused, just like I know you’ve got something to live for while this one…” He gestures vaguely to you with his gun, “Doesn’t.”

He doesn’t allow Aaron to consider a response before speaking again, “I would almost think you’re a failure like me, making mistakes and losing the person you loved way earlier than you needed to, don’t look at me like that.” Hotch is glaring, defensive and tense. The unsub continues regardless, trying to get under his skin, “But something about the way you stand, the way you look and behave, you’ve got kids, huh? You’re a dad and after you fucked up with their mom or whoever, you place all of your worth in what you can do for them, huh? You think you’re so good and so righteous, playing the hero, saving the damsel in distress, but you’re no better than me. I know you think I’m a low life, but there’s purpose in what I do. Just like there’s purpose in you. I see it.”

It makes Aaron feel absolutely sick. He’d always hated when these unsalvageable, soulless bastards would sympathize with him like they understood the weight that rested on his shoulders, like they understood his pain. He knew they never would, not in the same way, not if he killed you now. He doesn’t let him speak again.

“You’re pathetic. I’m nothing like you. You’re nothing like me, you never will be. You get off on killing married couples, taking away something you could never have and that is love isn’t it? You’ll never be loved because you’re too fucking self absorbed to see that no one is as interested in you as you are in of yourself. You’re so mediocre, Kenny. You’re ordinary and worthless and you think you’re righteous because of what you do but you have never been more wrong, this is the work of a coward and a bully.” He’s shaking from rage, but he can feel the relief of having the gun pointed at himself instead of you. He’s no longer paying attention to your form on the ground, and he continues, egging on the angered man even further, hoping that the rest of the unit would arrive soon. They were in his ear saying as much.

“But you know that, don’t you? You’ve spent your entire life trying to prove yourself, to your mom and your dad and friends, partners, coworkers, hell, even strangers. You’ve been ignored and honestly, it’s for very good reason. You were never more than a pawn in someone else’s game and even now you’re going to go down and no one will remember you for the senseless crimes you’ve committed, you’re no Jeffrey Dahmer-“ With that, he knows he has said too much, riled him up too far, but he doesn’t even flinch when the gun goes off. He does, however, fly into action once the rest of the agents surround the small building they’d been in. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t feel the sting of a gunshot wound to the hip until he notices your body, now unmoving on the ground below him. He allows Morgan to apprehend the killer, knees giving way to his trembling as he falls to the ground beside you, immediately placing his larger hands on top of the gunshot wound that was meant for him.

He has to fight through tears, not willing to appear distressed as he makes an attempt to comfort you.

“Hey, you’re okay.” He can’t smile, even as you do. You’re content with knowing he’s safe, it hadn’t hit him instead. You were barely sure of what had happened yourself until you were lying in a puddle of your own cooling blood. You could barely feel it as you shivered, gaze fixed on Aaron. You want to tell him that you’re not okay and that he will be. You want to tell him not to blame himself, but as your mouth fills with copper you find that all you can do is tilt to the side to spit it out.

Your chest heaves and he has already called for medics and for someone to please just help, but you’d been so out of your mind that you didn’t hear it. You shake your head, tears falling freely from your eyes, either from the shock or from the pain, you weren’t entirely sure.

“Why would you do that? You were already so hurt, God, I-“ He stops, focuses on pressing against your wound again. It was bad, you could both tell. So this time, you force yourself to say something— anything to urge him into feeling a bit better or just a bit less guilty even if the attempt was futile.

“C-Couldn’t- You have J-Jack.” That would have to do. Your eyes were barely opened and you could feel your breaths slowing down, teeth clattering as you shivered, cold either from the blood loss or the wooden floor beneath you. Most likely both.

His eyes furrow together, multiple emotions pass over his features at once, you focus on the warmth of his hands against your abdomen, wishing that he’d relax his eyebrows or smile. Anything that wasn’t showing how utterly terrified he was of losing you. You just supposed you would have to be okay with seeing his face under any circumstances, and you would have to be because you begin to lose consciousness soon after that.

“No, no.” He speaks your name, it’s desperate but not in the way you’d been waiting for your entire career, it was bargaining, begging for you to stay. “Please don’t sleep yet, tell me something.”

While you want to, your tongue feels like lead in your mouth and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You didn’t know if you’d ever be waking up again.

———————————

You roll over, groaning at the noise that you hear from the living room of your apartment. It brings you fully back into the waking world, and despite looking over at your phone to see that it’s midnight, you’re happy to have been woken up from that particular dream. It was the last time you’d seen Aaron and you didn’t need to feel that guilt in your sleep as it had already been enough during the waking hours of the day.

You bury your face into the pillow, blinking away tears that threatened to fall. Another noise from the living room echoes through your hallway and this time, you think it’s a knock. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, thinking that it had been your pet to make that noise originally, but that second knock had sounded awfully like someone being at the door. You sit up, slipping on your slippers as you walk through the apartment, not sure of anyone that would be knocking on your door at this hour. You almost wanted to grab the gun that you’d kept in the kitchen by the door, but you resort to looking out of the peephole first. You’re shocked to see a disheveled looking Hotch at your door, and the ache in your body at seeing him makes you pause. You almost don’t want to open the door. You knew he visited you while you were out of commission in the hospital but he hadn’t seen you awake yet. He didn’t come by after you woke up and you didn’t hear or see anything of him. You barely understood why he stood at your door now, but you unlock it, opening it slowly so as to not bother your injured shoulder.

“Hotch.” You breathe out his name, almost choking on the syllables. The way he looks at you, still in his suit from work, has you weak, your eyes water upon seeing him standing in front of you. He looks so relieved and so worried at the same time, pretty hazel eyes filled to the brim with emotion.

He breathes out your name in response. Not your last name, not something professional, but your first name. It sounds so good coming from him and you just want to pull him into a hug, to apologize for being so reckless, just as he wanted to lecture you for the same. Upon seeing you, especially in the condition that you were in, he couldn’t. He could, however, admire how beautiful you still looked. His gaze wracks your entire frame and it pulls a blush out of you. It’s not sensual or lustful, but one of concern and remorse, you invite him in.

Closing the door behind him, you speak again, “I haven’t… I was worried that you were mad at me.” It feels lame to say, there’s so much more to be worried about, but that’s all that you can think to say now that he’s here.

Hotch has already hesitantly walked into your dark apartment, leaning against the small wall that separated your kitchen from the doorway, you can see how tense his shoulders are, even in the dim lighting.

He shakes his head, putting down his go bag before turning in your direction. You hadn’t dared to move from the position you’d welcomed him in, scared of what’s to come. You almost hope that it’s a lecture because you aren’t sure that you can handle the gentler tone he usually takes with you right now.

“At that moment, I was terrified.” He punctuates the end of the sentence with a whisper of your name. It’s coated with so much fear and anxiety and all you want to do is take it all away, ease it any way that you knew how, but instead, you listened.

“All I could see was your blood coating my hands… You were… cold to the touch, breathing, but so close to death that if I closed my eyes it was almost like holding Haley’s limp body to mine again. If I had done anything different in that moment or even before— you would’ve slipped through my fingertips before I even had the chance to tell you that you are the world to me. I would have done anything, and I still would do anything, to assure that you made it home in one piece, but I- I failed.” Towards the end of his rambling, his voice became more unstable, no doubt because tears welled up in his eyes as his throat thickened from the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“I didn’t visit because if I did I would have said that I loved you, but putting that on anyone feels like a damn curse.” He lets out a humorless laugh and that’s when you step into action, walking a few slow steps forward to look him in the eyes. He’s a bit taller than you and you’re glad that your non-dominant hand was injured so that you could bring your dominant hand to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch as you wipe the tears away.

“Oh, Aaron.” You don’t look at him with pity, more so a melancholic fondness, one of great understanding and love. You smile at him, your own tears welling up in your eyes as you blink them away.

“Your love couldn’t be so much farther from a curse.” There’s more you need to say, more that the two of you would have to work on if you went from here, but you’d relish this moment, even as it’s tinged with a sort of despair. It feels Shakespearean in portrayal.

“It was my decision to take that bullet, Aaron. Not yours. I was… I already didn’t think I was going to make it and I wasn’t going to let Jack grow up without his father too.” He sighs, hand coming up to rest atop the one you kept firmly against his cheek, thumb caressing the height of the bone there.

“I know that it scared you, it scared me too, and I’m sorry for being so reckless, I didn’t mean to make you feel like a failure.” You pause, “You’re anything but, and I wish you could see that for yourself. Haley’s death and my injuries aren’t on you.” You both knew that it would take some time for the other to heal, you’d both been through entirely too much shit to be considered normal, but you always had the other. And now that you both knew the extent of what that meant for each of you, and how that felt, this could be a new beginning.

Aaron nods, finally feeling like he can breathe again. “Can I stay?” He knows the answer, but he asks anyway.

You nod easily, “Please.” You go to remove your hand from his face, but he grasps it in his own, taking a moment to give your palm a kiss before bringing it down between the two of you. You take this as an opportunity to lead him into your room with his go bag so that he can change into whatever he has brought. The air feels lighter and you know that everything will be okay with time. No matter what, you’ll figure it out together.

[thedivineerotic]

The 8th House Experience Pt.1:

(Don’t Bite the Hand That Feeds You)

Case Study: Rose DeWitt Bukater

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.” - Anonymous 

“He who feeds you controls you.” - Thomas Sankara

Two old sayings that have colored much of my experience as an 8th house dominant person for a good part of my life. Beyond the sex, occult and transformation themes, one of the most under-recognized signifiers of the 8th house is the connection to other people’s resources. It sounds mundane on the surface, and it is, but growing up and looking at my childhood and adolescence in retrospect I began to understand the depth of how it plays out. 

And one of my favorite movies and characters illustrated it before my very eyes. 

In Titanic, Rose is showered in gifts, presents and jewels bigger than she can handle. She is gifted things from other people, from a lavish wedding on behalf of her mother to the Heart of the Ocean from her fiancé down to the first-class tickets onto the Titanic on its maiden voyage. While she can play it all up and she does appreciate it, one thing is clear; She never asked for any of it. The 8th House is the house of other people resources, opposite the 2nd house of our own resources.

Rose is never consulted for her opinion, takes or even how she feels about any of the things people shower her with. Her mother disregards the lavender color theme she wants with her wedding, talking about her when discussing it but never actually involving her in the conversation. 

The 8th House is opposite the 2nd House, the house of voice and speech.

She’s treated like a child, “meant to be seen and not heard.”

Her fiancé Cal orders her food for her like a child, down to the temperature of the meat. 

Her family and friends have celebrated her engagement and impending wedding. Her mother dotes on her fiancé. Her fiancé has their plans set for when they land. She seemingly has it made with the perfect man, wedding and life. But until Jack, no one ever asks her how she feels about the wedding or if she even loves her fiancé to begin with. She says “it feels like i’m standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming to the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.” And that colors a lot of experiences with the 8th house, being on the receiving end of other people’s resources without being asked if you even want them or having any input in them at all.

And running the risk of being called ungrateful if you don’t want them.

Rose feels trapped. She describes the opulent heart of the ocean diamond necklace that many would have died for as a dog collar. But she still hesitates to leave. When Jack comes into the picture and her mother realizes she may be tempted to throw her plan out of wack, she accuses Rose of being selfish and threatens the idea of a poor, dishonorable, shameful existence with them losing everything they have and working as seamstresses. The 8th House is an extreme house, it doesn’t know nuance, it doesn’t know the middle ground.

The 8th House: you accept all the resources other’s have to give you or they threaten to rip the rug out from under you completely. 

In the 8th House, you run the risk of people gifting you things with the intention of controlling you. 

Dangling their resources in your face like a cat toy.

In the end however, it leads 8th Housers out of the dark into the 9th House, a house defined by independence, adventure and risk. A life very similar to Jack and the path he was able to give her a glimpse of.

The path that she ultimately took for herself.

In the most extreme examples, such as mine, it may even make one hyper-independent but for the better. At the conclusion, Rose was able to give it all up and go live the life she built for herself, based on choices she made for herself and define herself outside of the things given to her, but with things she gave and made for herself. 

As an 8th houser, like Rose, you realize people would gift you with things not for you, but for them. 

Also, eventually like Rose, you stopped being scared of refusing things people gave you if you didn’t really want it. You, cautiously, learn to trust others but most of all you learn to trust yourself and your own resources to get you ahead, your own resources physically and mentally. 

And they worked.

It worked for me

Give it a chance and it will for you too!

Signed, The Divine Erotic (8th House Sun, Mercury, Ketu (South Node), Uranus and Neptune)

[maiden-of-rats]

🅲🆁🅴🅴🅿🆈🅿🅰🆂🆃🅰 Story??(Eyeless Jack)

DISCLAIMERS!!!: 

All head-canons well be represented in my writing (Unless paid to do otherwise)

I am very new to writing on tumblr

There will be generally dark themes/mature language in my work 

I may be willing to do NSFW writing (Warning: I do not have any experience whatsoever) Before you ask, yes I am of age, I’m just a loser  

(You are exploring abandoned buildings for your youtube series ;also, I’m listening to house of 1000 corpses by Rob Zombie, if that adds to the experience)  Also what he looks like in my head-cannons (Without mask and very quick 12 am doodle)⬇

  Click! The green light on your camera begins to blink, signaling that you are filming. You shuffle around in the leaves to get in view, zip up your coat and gently wave at the camera.

 “Hey guys! I know it’s been awhile since I last filmed but there have been quite a few brutal animal attacks in the area …. And I wanted to wait till that died down before I came all this way.” 

  “So getting off that topic, Hey everyone! I’m currently about two miles away from the main road exploring this beautiful house built in 1924! Abandoned in 1994 for unknown reasons… maybe we will find it when we head in?” 

  You make your way to the decaying front porch, camera now in hand.The exterior is in relatively good condition for being abandoned for 30 years. The only flaws being the sad porch, a lack of front door, paint peeling and a cracked widow on the second story.

  “Alright enough stalling, I’m heading in!”

You carefully make your way on the porch making sure there is minimal falling through . Making your way in the house, noticing the door was not missing but simply was on the floor. The area was oddly quiet, but you did not think much of it due to the video.

 “Oh! There's the- God, it stinks… uh, god, wow, well, I guess something gone and died in here… I don’t think I want to do this anymore” 

   You recall the 12 cases of horrid mawlings, the questionable photos. Mixing with the smell, you could die at this point. Leaning towards the wall, gagging on the stench of rotten flesh. Till you hear something on the second floor.  You for some reason must be the dumb girl in the slashers and investigate for the video of course. You stand back up straight, covering your nose and make your way through the debris.

  “Ya’ll better be glad I love you all.”

  You step over all the gunk that is carelessly decorating the floor.

“God, I hate this”

   Luckly or unluckly the stairs were straight from the door. The stairs seemed to squeal at every movement.

   “I hope this doesn’t kill me”

  The closer you got to the top the more ghastly the smell got. The higher you went the more apparent that the house was indeed furnished with blackened blood. The noises ceased. 

   At the top there is a short hallway that seems to lead to two small bedrooms. The blood trail leading to the one on the left. 

  “I really hope it’s a racoon or something…”

   You managed to quietly make your way to the door and peek through the door.

“ Oh my god, what the actual-” You mumble.

  Through the crack of the door you seem to see a man. He was in all black, facing away from you hunkered over a decaying deer corpse.

  You begin to hyperventilate. 

  “Oh god, oh fuck, oh god, what the fuck.” You begin to whispershout.

   He stands up and grabs what seems to be a blue mask.

   “HOLY SHIT!”

    You drop your camera. Stand in shock then frantically try to run.

    “God, Fuck, Why do I do stupid shit for 114 subscribers?” 

  He manages to grab you, causing you to fall down the stairs. Then proceeds to drag you up the stairs to the room with deer.

  Panting as you lie there on the floor, fearing. Him standing over you, motionless and silent.

“Please, please” 

  You begin to cry. You are sure this is the end, laying on the floor with a masked man hovering over you covered in rotten deer.

“ Please, I’ll never come back, I swear, please”

       (I realize now that this will need a part 2, So comment if your interested)