#ive been waiting to write it for so long

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[four-for-fidelity]

longest chapter of MVO to date: 5,535

current draft of chapter 22: 8,082 before editing

on the bright side, I’m finally done writing this monster of a chapter

[silverskye13]

For a hurt/comfort idea, how about the Red King treating Martyn after he gets back from the rooftop escapades with Tanguish? Poor guy is really not used to roof running and was probably all kinds of sore and bruised from the experience.

To say Martyn walked himself down the cells would be an overstatement of his ability, at the current moment. Being tired, hels, being exhausted were feelings he wasn't exactly used to, but was at least familiar with. Every warrior at some point pushes themselves a little too far and pulls a muscle or breaks a bone, and has to spend long hours recovering even after the health potion hits. But damn, the rooftop running was a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Martyn still didn't know how in the hels Tanguish had intended to keep running.

"Just two more streets and it's a straight shot to the Colosseum--"

Bullshit. Just two more streets and Martyn would drop dead, more like. Everything hurt now. Everything. Of course his arms and legs. But also his back, his ribs, his teeth and jaw. Bracing for impact -- and then actually impacting -- had jangled more than just his nerves. Also every time he took a step on his left leg, pain went shooting through his hip. Also his fingernails hurt. His fingernails. From gripping ledges and shit. Gods and saints, he hurt in places he didn't even know you could hurt! The heels of his feet felt bruised.

He was bleeding too -- no stab wounds, thank the gods. But he'd taken a cut to one arm, and a cut near his ribs where a stab had tried its best to be fatal and he twisted. The cuts were the easiest to deal with, oddly enough. He was used to that kind of harm from the Colosseum. Right now they itched, and made his clothes feel gross and sticky. They would sting when he cleaned them later.

Ugh. He didn't want to take a bath. If he sat down in the water, he really didn't think he'd be able to stand up again.

Martyn blinked, a motion that somehow made the back of his head ache. Stress maybe, or just the unharmed parts of his body getting jealous of all the complaining the rest of him was doing. In front of him, his cell door wavered in and out of focus, his tired eyes denying him sight unless he really, really concentrated. Martyn sighed and opened his door. Then he realized he couldn't open his door, because he locked it when he left. He tried in vain to remember the passcode for his key.

He couldn't remember the passcode for his key.

"Bloody hels," Martyn scowled and kicked his door, and yelped when he felt the kick travel all the way up his leg to sink hooks into his hip. He hopped on one foot, waiting for the tenderness to subside, only for his other knee to decide to stop cooperating. With an inglorious shout and tumble, Martyn crumpled to the ground in a heap of sore muscles and bitter bones.

"Bloody hels!" Martyn whined, drawing out the phrase into a howl that, while unhelpful, at least made him feel a little less frustrated. Martyn lay on the ground, taking some solace in the heat radiating up from the floor. It sank through his coat and into his bones, taking some of the edge off his soreness. He knew if he lay here too long, he would get stiff, and standing would become a crippling labor.

He couldn't bring himself to stand.

Martyn had resigned himself to his fate of sleeping in the middle of the hallway, when the tip-tapping of clawed feet pulled at his attention. Martyn didn't have to see Red coming down the hall. He would always recognize those footsteps. The odd incongruence of muffled paw pads and scraping claws was something that could only be his Lord.

Martyn tilted up his head to peer at Red as he came to a stop in front of his door. Martyn and Red's cells were side-by-side, and Red already had his hand resting on his door, long claws keying through the combination lock Martyn had insisted he keep locked when he was out. With the habit of long memorization, Red keyed it in, opened his door--

-- and stopped just as he took one step over the threshold. The long, wolf-like ears twitched and swiveled. He tilted his head, the blinding crown, pulled low over his eyes, glinting in the dim light.

"Am I really breathing that loud?" Martyn asked sardonically.

Red wrinkled his nose in a confused expression and looked down. He couldn't really meet Martyn's gaze with the crown on, but he nearly did.

"Me Hand," Red said, his voice a low rumble, "how come thee to the ground in our hall?"

"Just dropped something, my Lord."

"Aye? And... What be it that you have dropped, me Hand?"

"Myself, mostly."

Red snorted half of a laugh. Then he sniffed, and sniffed again, and asked, "Why do ye smell of blood and..." He gave another long sniff, his nose wrinkling at whatever the smell was. "Be that... roof tiles?"

"You're uncanny, you know that?" Martyn asked. When Red only waited patiently for a response, he added, "That would be because I got in a knife fight on a roof, my Lord."

"Me Hand."

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Be ye possessed by a particularly knife-fond soul of a pigeon? Or be ye so bored with the errands ye run, that ye must make challenge for yourself?"

"I don't think that question deserves an answer."

"Need ye help, Hand?"

"What? Me? No," Martyn waved a dismissive hand, and even managed not to wince when he did it. "I'm just... Resting. Give me five minutes I'll be up, quick as a wink."

Red gave him a long-suffering sigh. He reached up to his iron crown, gently wrapping claws around it to begin lifting it away from his eyes. The moment his fingers touched the metal, whispering sprang to life in the air around them, and the lights in the hallway reddened. Martyn tried to get his arms underneath himself to shove himself upwards.

"Woah hey don't that's not-- you don't have to do that--!"

Martyn pushed up, let out an inglorious wince of a noise when his whole body shrieked its chorus of aches, and promptly fell back over into his side.

Red lifted the crown off of his eyes, pushing it back onto his head where it flattened his long ears uncomfortably. He fixed bright, glowing red eyes on Martyn, bloody tears drifting from his eyes to fizzle I to nothing in the air around his face. The whispering intensified into barks, growls and howls, noises that sat just on the other side of true hearing and made the insides of Martyn's ears itch and burn.

Red looked Martyn over, taking in his harms with a cold, eldritch stare. Red had a demon in him. Something to do with black altars and Hermits on death worlds and sacrifice. When the crown was off, the demon stalked forward, and Martyn could see it now, writhing behind Red's eyes, a caged and hungry thing made of teeth and claws and baleful intent.

"Me hand," Red hummed, his voice a resonant double as the demon barked and growled his words along with him. Martyn marvelled that such an evil thing could shriek behind his Lord's voice, and yet still couldn't lessen the depth of concern and care in Red's tone. "Do not hide your harms from me. Ye ken I would give ye the world if ye only asked it."

With that, Red stooped and gathered Martyn up in his arms. So close to the demon, Martyn felt like his bones were vibrating. He felt like, if he could listen hard enough, he might be able to hear whatever the howling thing whispered when it wasn't gliding along the edges of Red's voice. Curiosity compelled him to ask what the demon thought of him, what it whispered to Red in the dark hours sealed behind the crown. Mindfulness told him he already knew what the demon whispered. It was a suspicious creature born of fear, after all.

It was not the demon that carried Martyn into his Lord's room though, no matter how loudly it barked around Red's eyes. Martyn liked the way the demon made Red look. A long red smear followed his Lord when he moved, trailing him in phosphorescence that reminded him of neon signs leaking their plasma. Sometimes he thought something, and the thoughts would turn into visible sparks that danced and jittered like absentminded lightning, his very essence a long exposure ribboned across the world.

Martyn was so transfixed watching it, he didn't realize Red had brought him to his bed until he was being laid gently on it. Then Red reached up to his crown and lowered it over his eyes again, and with a final barking growl, the demon vanished off Red like it had never been. His Lord diminished before his eyes, small, weary and contained -- but more his Lord than he had been when the demon was awake.

"You're uncanny," Martyn said breathlessly, his voice full of adoration.

"I be only what I must," Red hummed, leaning down to kiss Martyn gently on the forehead. He smelled of blood and winter, and his kiss was cold. "And ye be resting where I can keep ye safe."

"Who's going to hurt me down here?" Martyn chuckled, though he sunk into Red's bed gratefully. He had the softest pillows in hels, of that Martyn was convinced.

"Perchance a stray roof tile may swear vengeance upon thee and thy household for thy offence," Red grinned. He lumbered to a dresser and pulled out a rag and some bandages, and after some feeling around the room, returned with a ewer of water as well. He helped Martyn to sit, and with great care removed his coat and shirt, and began tending to his wounds.

"You're not supposed to do this part," Martyn informed Red. "I'm supposed to take care of you, my Lord."

"Aye, but how will ye take care of me when ye be in pieces?" Red asked patiently. When he finished cleaning the cut on Martyn's arm, he kissed just above the spot. A ritual. Something to seal the healing. "Tend to me as I tend to thee, and if my care be lacking, me Hand, leave me to bleed, as I deserve."

"I would never," Martyn breathed, and he meant it.

Red finished cleaning the cut on his side, and kissed him there too. Martyn squirmed at the closeness of breath somewhere vital. He knew Red would never betray him -- it was not in his Lord's nature -- but the paranoid creature that made Martyn him screamed that he would be so, so easy to kill right now, and Red's claws and teeth were sharp. And, though Red would never dream of harming him while he was vulnerable, he was sure the demon would, if given the chance. The demon had done it before.

The demon was not the one who eased Martyn back into the bed, and drew blankets over him. Nor was it the demon that traced a gentle claw over his arm, drawing patterns and symbols into his skin as he hummed, and soothed Martyn to sleep.

It was Red, his Red, who curled up beside him when finally sleep took him, his head resting gentle on the hollow of Martyn's collar, matching their breaths. It was Red, his Red, who hummed quietly for long hours, and brought him cold compresses when he woke in the night too sore to stay asleep. It was Red, his Red, who kept him safe.

The loyalty of a dog and the master who keeps watch for it, Martyn would think, wry and sardonic, as sleep came for him again. I would rather be a hound than a squire, I think.

[s0fter-sin]

pt.3 of my horror au! you can find pt.1 here and pt.2 here!

cw mild horror, fear

johnny opens his eyes

or- he thinks he does

it’s completely black, not a speck of light to be found anywhere; certainly not the lantern he’s started keeping on by his bed or the moonlight that should be coming through the curtains

he remembers falling asleep on the couch; he was exhausted after ripping out the fresh carpet from the sitting room, the pristine thing at odds with the smoke stained walls. it didn’t match any of the carpets or rugs in the rest of the house, too modern compared the vintage fittings and, new or not, that bothered him so it had to go

he just hadn’t been expecting the giant brown stain embedded in the hardwood underneath

he was turning over the pros and cons of buying a floor sander if he ever stopped foot off the property again, promising himself he was only resting his eyes for a moment, and before he knew it, he was out

now he doesn’t even know if he’s awake

“ghost?” johnny whispers. his voice echoes strangely; muted like he’s an in enclosed but long space and bouncing off things he can’t even hope to see

he has no idea where he is. he’s not in the basement, not with how dark it is; even the little cloudy window would be a wellspring of light compared to this. it smells damp too; musty with stillness, like not much air gets to it

johnny sets a hand in the soft dirt beneath him and sits up, some kind of cloth falling off his shoulders. he reaches out with shaking hands, searching for any kind of balance - a wall, furniture, something - and slowly gets to his feet

“ghost, you here?”

his fingers meet nothing but open air and he almost tips over. he has no equilibrium, nothing grounding him; the dark so all-consuming, he might as well have not moved at all

air dances over his cheek and he gasps and spins around when a large hand latches around his wrist and johnny hisses as he’s tugged blindly forward

“ghost?” he asks and the hand tightens

he doesn’t know what to do with the relief trying to warm his belly

“hey, slow- slow down, i can’t see,” he gasps, stumbling over the uneven ground. the whole thing bowed and curved, gravel flicking out into the depths with every step like it was carved out by hand and never smoothed out

johnny swallows hard and clutches at ghost’s arm with his other hand

“ghost, can… can we go back upstairs?” he whispers, futilely pulling at his sleeve. something old and animal in him claws at the inside of his skull, baying and screaming that he not raise his voice; to not break this unnatural still darkness too harshly. “please?”

ghost just leads him deeper into the void

until he suddenly stops and johnny covers his mouth to mute the beginnings of the scream ripping from his throat when he runs into his back. he digs his fingers into his cheek, forcing a slow breath through his nose

“…you want to show me something?” he guesses and flinches as the air in front of him rushes like ghost’s moving very quickly. something scratches, like rock on rock, and he flinches as he takes his other wrist and cups his hands around something big

ghost’s hands fall away and johnny reflexively clutches the thing to his chest

“don’t leave,” he begs. “please don’t leave me down here.”

silence

he runs his dry tongue over his lips. “ghost?”

those same hands close around his biceps and johnny all but melts into the body-warmth at his back. ghost smooths down his arms, covering his hands with his, and pulls the thing away from his chest to eye-level

like he expects johnny to be able to see it

the way he can

johnny frowns, rubbing over the thing with his thumb. it’s heavier than he expected from the sound it made along the ground; smoother than the rocks he’s seen around the property and the gravel he kicked around down here

ghost’s chin drops on his shoulder and he jumps, pausing as he rolls into his neck and he can clearly feel the wide grin on his face

he blinks and something makes him press back into him, to try and see him with his body. there’s a cleft in his top lip he’s never noticed before and he’s practically shaking, rocking against his back like he’s trying to urge him to go quicker

johnny spins the rock around in his hands, trying to feel what it is, what would make ghost so - almost childishly - excited. his fingers catch on a crater, shallow and smooth like it’s been carved away. he drags his fingers down and feels another, around the same size. his frown deepens and his fingers slow as he finds another hole, this one going straight into the rock

ghost shifts behind him, his grin widening against his skin and something in johnny curdles, his hair standing on end

it feels like he’s not breathing, the dark so complete it’s stealing the air from his very lungs as he works his fingers down the rock; stuttering when the texture suddenly changes. he hits a fissure, then another, another; curls his fingers underneath and feels it flatten out. strangely familiar grooves run along it before it changes and becomes thinner, becomes sharp-

johnny screams

johnny screams and drops the human skull ghost placed in his hands

he throws himself away from ghost and runs blindly into an earth wall. he scratches at the uneven surface, screams still ripping from his throat and feels wet heat on his fingers as his nails scrape and break. his voice cracks, almost shrieking when ghost’s arms suddenly wrap around his waist and pull him back into his chest

“let me out!” johnny screams, fighting his arms, trying to run but run where it’s too dark- “please, let me out, let me out, please!”

ghost’s body curls over his, effortlessly holding him in place as he wrenches in his grip and wails and /screams/. he presses his face into the side of his head and johnny strains to get away, to stop touching him, to run-

and falters when he feels the contours of his face

ghost isn’t smiling anymore

“please,” johnny sobs brokenly, his legs going out from under him. but ghost tightens his grip and doesn’t let him fall. “let me out… please, i wanna get out. please, please…”

he keeps begging, mindless and panicked and almost screams again when ghost tugs him back a step, his fingers digging into his clothes. he doesn’t want to touch the skull again, he doesn’t want ghost to leave him, he doesn’t want to be lost in the dark-

ghost’s giant hands grip under his thighs, pulling him up and he slings his legs around his waist, burying his face in his throat as he sobs

his weight tilts and johnny flinches as his back suddenly touches dirt, arching up into ghost’s body to get away from it- he doesn’t want to be underground anymore, he doesn’t want to be buried anymore-

ghost wraps an arm under his back, holding him tight to his body, and johnny shrinks even more at the scrape of dirt and brick against the outside of their shoulders as he crawls them through some kind of hole

his weight shifts again, falling into the cradle of ghost’s hips, and he sobs at the feeling of going up

the arm crawling them forward presses against his armpit and johnny cringes at the screech of metal on concrete as ghost shoves something out of the way, involuntarily peeking out behind him

and gasps in pure relief at the moonlight streaming through the basement window; the dim yet powerful light making his eyes ache after so long in such total darkness

he can’t bear to look away from it, even as his eyes twitch and squint, still clinging to ghost as he crawls them across the basement to the stairs. he gets to his feet, not even stumbling with johnny’s added weight, and he strains to keep looking out the window as he climbs up. only when they reach the top step does he wrench his eyes away, desperately searching for the nearest window

and ghost seems to know it; angling him to look out the dining room into the backyard as he carries him to the couch he fell asleep on

johnny keeps his fingers tangled in his hood as he sets him down, holding him close. he doesn’t even try to pull back and he feels him drop to kneel between his legs, compressing himself down the way a man of his size shouldn’t be able to

his breath stutters on an inhale and johnny forces himself to drag his eyes away from the light, to take his first real look at the source of all his terror; the ghost in his walls…

and he’s just a man

his hair has been hacked at, patches ripped out and uneven, too fine to dread but matted together all the same. thinner patches struggle to grow through shiny scar tissue; some blunt and wide, others looking like burns. but beneath the caked in dirt and years of grease… it might be blonde

his hoodie and jeans sit tight and loose in turn like they were bought for the build of a very different man, hiding dirty skin so pale he didn’t even know it was possible, almost /translucent/; veins bright and bulging beneath his skin like he’s never seen sunlight

and with the size and complexity of the cavern under the basement… maybe he hasn’t

but it’s his face johnny gets caught on

his light lashes do nothing to hide the fine scars dug around his eyes, like he scratched at them with his fingernails and after only his short time in the dark, he can guess why he did it. his pupils look permanently dilated, forcing away the deep brown of his irises; unblinking, desperate to take in as much light as possible. more scars cut through his skin, so old and light they almost blend in, difficult to see through the dirt staining his skin

but none of it, the scars, the filth, the uncanny wrongness…

none of it hides how beautiful he is

ghost slowly reaches up and johnny freezes as he brings his thumb to his cheek, wiping through the sticky tear tracks on his skin. it makes his sleeve fall back and his heart seizes at the thick, ragged band of scarring ringing his wrist

he swallows heavily as ghost brings it back to his mouth, sucking his tears from his skin. it splits the cleft in his upper lip wider, splaying over his thumb. ghost doesn’t look away and johnny’s heart beats loud in his ears as he reaches for his hand, tangling his fingers through his own, and lifts it to his mouth

his hand shakes as he gently runs his thumb over his bottom lip, catching on his chapped skin and the smaller scars splitting it, but ghost stops his hand; moving his thumb up to his top lip

the cleft matches up to a thick scar running up his cheek, just skirting his nose and almost meeting his eye and johnny’s violently reminded of the body’s worth of blood stained into the floor of the sitting room

“the sk-…” he falters, a shudder creeping up his spine as he remembers the feel of it in his hands. “the person downstairs; did they do this to you?”

ghost cocks his head and johnny’s thumb slips into his mouth, caressing his inner lip

“did… did they put you down there? in the dark?” he tries again

he sucks at his thumb, a gentle self-soothing pressure

“the couple who used to live here…” johnny breathes, slow with realisation. the couple who lived here for thirty years. the couple the realtor refused to tell him anything about…

“they were your parents.”

but she never said anything about a child

“your parents put you down there,” he repeats and feels sick with grief for a boy he’ll never know. “was… was it your mother?”

ghost rears up on his knees, crawling above him and caging him in against the couch and johnny gasps as he lets out an animalistic snarl in his face, spittle flying onto his cheek

“sorry, i’m sorry, it wasn’t her- it wasn’t her, i know she didn’t do it,” johnny rushes out, flattening himself against the couch and tries to pull his hand away when he presses into it even harder, his thumb pressed to his eye tooth

ghost pants, teeth still bared in a deranged snarl. his mouth twitches, lips slowly falling to cover his teeth. his tongue runs over his lips, gathering the spit from them and tickling the edges of his thumb

“y-your father…?” he tries and his breath catches as he nods

johnny slowly copies him, still pressed back into the couch

ghost’s eyes flicker up at him like he’s checking his reaction and keeps lapping at his thumb, long almost apologetic passes of his tongue as he works down to his palm. he leans in and johnny’s breath stutters as he laves his tongue up his cheek, cleaning up the spit. ghost lets out a low groan, nibbling along his cheekbone and goosebumps prickle his skin

he sinks back down, mouthing a trail down his throat and he shivers as he bites at his collar, tugging it away with his teeth to expose his collarbone

“ghost…” johnny sighs and he pauses

ghost noses at his sternum and sits back on his heels, nuzzling his forehead into his belly as he pulls something from the front pocket of his hoodie

something heavy tumbles out with it but he ignores it in favour of the bundle of cloth ghost pushes into his hands, wrapping his arms around his hips and sinking his chin into his thigh. johnny’s heart sinks as he gently unfolds it, careful of the unthreading edges and torn holes and has to bite his lip hard

it’s a ragged patchwork blanket; hardly big enough to cover a child. and hand embroidered onto it, in faded and dirtied gold thread is a single word

“simon,” he reads, tracing the once-loved letters

simon perks up in his lap, making a gurgling almost purr in the back of his throat; the closest thing to speech he’s heard from him in the month he’s lived here

“your name is simon,” johnny breathes

he thought he considered everything about how he ended up a prisoner in his own house; a serial killer toying with his food, a stalker he never noticed, a random psychopath chomping at the bit for his next victim and johnny was just unlucky enough to draw his attention

but if this is the only thing simon has left, his only proof of before… he’s been down there, left alone in the rotting dark, for decades

since he was a child

“i’m so sorry, simon,” johnny whispers thickly

but simon just frowns

like he’s never heard an apology in his life

johnny presses his eyes shut for a moment, just for a moment; to let himself feel the pain and the fear and the grief, then refolds the blanket just as tenderly as he opened it. he presses it into simon’s chest and his heart catches at the way he hugs it tight, dropping his chin to nuzzle into the fabric

he flinches as he takes his hand in his, jerking back, but johnny keeps hold of him; gently tangling their fingers together and rises to his feet

“come on,” he beckons, walking backwards towards the stairs

simon’s grip tightens around his blanket. but he follows him, up the stairs johnny sprinted down the morning after he first saw him, across the landing with the vents he counted and dreaded walking past, into his bedroom

where it all began

johnny pushes the door wider and riley pops his head up from his dog bed, tensing and about to jump up when he sees simon behind him

“back to sleep, riley-boy,” he soothes and riley droops and burrows straight back under his blanket, nosing it up over his face until only his ears stick out

he smiles and turns back to simon- but it drops when he sees how he’s frozen in the doorway; quick, wide eyes darting around the room. around the master bedroom, clutching his blanket to his chest like he’s afraid of it being stolen

“it’s okay, simon,” johnny promises, rounding him and takes his other hand in his. “he’s not here anymore; you can come in.”

he slowly steps backwards and with the gentlest tug on his hands, simon follows

but lets out an almost involuntary sounding hiss, squeezing his eyes shut and twisting away from the automatic lantern set up on his bedside table

johnny looks between them, at the warm light that’s been his beacon for the last few weeks, and the man he needed that safety from

he holds his breath

and flicks off the lantern

chills immediately creep up his spine; the encroaching shadows smothering him like waves and it’s only simon’s hand in his, the gleam of moonlight catching his eyes, that keeps him above water

johnny squeezes his hand and brings him to the bed, silently coaxing him under the covers. he’s stiff, holding himself so rigid it almost looks painful, and he leaves the covers around his waist, not wanting to make him feel restricted when he’s already so visually unsure

“just like you did for me,” he murmurs, remembering the scrap cloth of a blanket he woke under

simon’s most prized possession

his only possession

simon cocks his head, that same primitive yet studious look in his eyes as he watches him climb in next to him and tug the covers up to his shoulder. he looks at it then the side over his waist, and pulls it up until it covers him up to the neck

johnny can’t help the smile tugging at his lips and sinks deeper into the bed, the blanket riding up higher

until they match

“we’re safe here, simon,” he promises

simon’s wide brown eyes stare back at him and it’s all to easy to lose himself in them

💀🧼

when johnny wakes up, simon is gone; only a dirt-stained imprint of him left on the sheet and pillowcase

and his phone sitting innocently on the side table, beside the lit lantern

[crybaby-bkg]

Trainer Bakugou who you're a little terrified of the first day you're paired with him. when asking for a trainer at the gym, you had expected the friendly redhead who always looked so sweet and encouraging and cut as hell. you weren't expecting his grumpy looking blond counterpart, who was all glares and shouts for his clients to keep pushing themselves.

you were hesitant at first, before you quickly realized that it was all a ruse, for the most part. he pushed those who needed that extra encouragement, but was more lenient to people like you who simply wanted a professionals guidance. so, after a few weeks, you liked him for the most part, and his looks damn sure made it easier to cozy up to the big guy.

the only issue you've been having with Bakugou though are the...coregasms, as you've seen them been named on social media, that you keep experiencing. the first time, you weren't sure what it was, why your stomach and pelvis kept tightening up. you couldn't have...climaxed, or anything. you hadn't even been touched!

but, as the weeks go by, and the workouts get more strenuous, they've become harder and harder to subside and ignore, and so had Bakugou's commands to keep going when you suddenly stopped. you can only lie and say its cramps so many times before he realizes that something is up.

you're midway through a good morning, when that familiar feeling starts tightening in the pit of your gut. you clench your eyes shut, shaking your head a little, as if you could ward off the impending feeling. bakugou notices though, frowning at your almost pained expression in the mirror, walking up behind you to stop you as you pull yourself back up. his hands are on your waist, and as you come up, you feel his bulge glide over the curve of your ass, and something in you snaps.

you gasp, buckling over, one hand on your knee as the other reaches back for bakugou's hand to keep you up as your thighs shake. you can feel yourself spasming, clenching and unclenching around nothing, secretly wishing you had something that could fill you up, something that you felt throb against you as bakugou leaned over your form.

"Another coregasm, huh?" he asks you lowly, his lips brushing your ear as you bite your bottom lip to hold back your moan. your eyes buck open though, when his words sink in, head tipping back to look at him in the mirror, only to find his gaze already on you.

"You knew every time?" you ask quietly, panting now that its finally starting to pass over you. but bakugou doesn't let you up from this position, especially since the area you're in seems to be desolate for now.

"It's hard to ignore how pretty you look when you cum, sweetheart." Bakugou seals his words with a firm press to your ass, his cock rubbing the seam, and you can practically feel the heat and veins of it through your thin bottoms. you groan under your breath, getting lost in the feeling of him grinding against you, when he suddenly speaks again.

"You still feel it?" he asks, voice low as he looks at you through his lashes. you nod, biting at your bottom lip as you meet the steady rock of his hips, watching how he smiles before slotting his lips against your ear.

"Want me to help make it go away?" and he does, in the employee locker room after hours. he makes it go away, and rebuild, and go away again and again until you're hoarse and your legs are weaker than they typically are on leg day. bakugou helps the ache go away, but not for that sweet redheaded coworker of his, whose fists have fucked his cock the entire time of watching bakugou rail you over the locker room bench again and again.

[eosphours]

finished the veilguard and wow the emptiness i feel rn is crushing my soul

i need at least a year to get over it, and another year to get over emmrich and his romance

[inkandpaperqwerty]

Dean has a knee-jerk reaction to seeing an angel almost get put down at a hunter's market, and thirty minutes later, he's in the Impala with Sam and a supernatural creature that wants to tear their jugulars out with his teeth. Sam seriously doubts they can handle the task his brother has taken on, but he's doing his best to be supportive.

Castiel wants blood. He wants to rip every human that crosses his path into pieces, and he wants these two humans in particular to stop lying and trying to trick him with false niceties and so-called kindness. He's not going to fall for it; he's not stupid or weak. What he will do, however, is find a way to escape captivity. And, of course, brutally kill them before he leaves their underground bunker behind.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3 // fanfiction.net // wattpad

[lilacandladybugs]

i LOVE women and im a christian and sometimes reading commentaries on the Bible makes me feel fucking crazy stay safe out there girls

[raddestrose]

Ive got like two more episodes Cherry Magic then im back on my Link Click bullshit

[littleplantfreak]

if you see me exploded on the ground its because my twt feed had been (rightfully so) so so full of ume birthday pictures that I feel like when squidward ate the crabby patties

[charlotte-family-apologist]

Happy new year!! My new year's resolution is to finish my kensuchin au fic :)

[too-young-to-fall-in-love]

Turned Night Into Day

summary:

There's no reason why Illya should want to talk to him. Really, there isn't. So why's he showing up at his hotel room with a bottle of Scotch and something like an apology on his lips? Or, most of Amor Magnus Doctor Est chapter 8 in Napoleon's POV!! <3

notes:

inspired by Amor Magnus Doctor Est by @cha-melodius

tags:

POV Napoleon Solo, Napoleon solo has no self confidence, insecure Napoleon solo, Reunions, the happy ending to just like me, Mild Sexual Content, inspired by another fic, Napoleon Solo Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors

excerpt:

“I’m sorry,” Illya whispers, the words ringing like a gunshot in the otherwise dead quiet of the room. Of all the things Napoleon was expecting, it was definitely not that. “I heard what you and Gaby were talking about,” and “Did you really get Victoria fired to try and win me back?” seemed the most obvious. He’s only able to stare at Illya as the words rattle around in his head. In the silence of the room it seems that Illya might want to take it back. He finds himself hoping he will, because while there’s nothing he wants more than Illya, he’s only good for being left behind. He hopes equally as much that he won’t, because even in the face of reality he still wants him more than he’s ever wanted anything else. “What for?” he asks, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed. Illya huffs out a sound that could be a laugh, but it’s too harsh, too bitter to be classified as such. It’s so sudden that Napoleon actually flinches from it. “Everything,” he answers, like it’s obvious. Like he’d done anything wrong. Leaving him may have been the best decision Illya’s ever made. He can’t imagine how that could be wrong. “For blaming you when it wasn’t really your fault. For shutting you out. For not—” Illya’s voice catches in his throat, and he takes another swallow of liquor. Napoleon shuts his eyes against Illya’s next words, “for not being there for you when I should have been.” A feeble sense of hope takes root in his heart, growing until it threatens to choke him.

read more on ao3

[kelocitta]

It's nothing super worrying (As in its not likely any specific physical damage) but lately my hand has been acting up with a very low pain/stiffness whenever I put my hand brace on. Kinda sucks and its making me a little more fickle about drawing time :/ It starts up basically as soon as I put the brace on so its not a case of strain sensitivity/less endurance...

[nbmudkip]

rehyperfixating on a children’s game that came out in 2015, is one of the least popular entries in its series, and has minimal content, the vast majority of which i’ve seen before. the series has been dead for nearly 10 years, nothing has happened recently that would warrant anyone’s returning interest in it, very few of my friends give a shit about this specific game, and those few who played and liked it in the past have no reason to give a shit about it at all right now. i have been coasting through on a playthrough i’ve been doing with a friend who’d never seen the game before and who was kind enough to let me show it to them, but we just beat the game, and after we play the epilogue we will have nothing left to do, and on top of that they really have just been humoring me as they have their own very strong current hyperfixation they would much rather be thinking about. also i am depressed enough right now that literally nothing else except for waiting to play this game with them and playing this game with them and watching them enjoy it at least a little has been able to briefly quiet the constant cacophony in my head screaming how much of a worthless, lazy, constantly-failing miserable excuse for a living person i am and how much better everything would be, especially for myself, if i stopped existing lately. would anyone like to volunteer to 🔨💥⚒️Kill Me With Hammers🔨💥⚒️ because i would really like for someone to 🔨💥⚒️Kill Me With Hammers🔨💥⚒️ right now

[shroomerr]

Dude! Please I gotta hear more about your little lady 🤲

☆ Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

☆ Who would your OC say is their best friend?

Dude !!! Always happy to see you in my inbox 🫶 ahh thank you sm for the enthusiasm!!

oh man these are some hard questions!! im still trying to figure out the characterization for some of them, so the dynamics might be subject to change. Regardless, oh boy you might have to brace yourself for this one, I fear it's going to be long......... (i havent written it yet but im going to preemptively cut just in case)

☆ Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?

that someone is Craig!! He wouldn't like Hanh at first because she's often involved with the M4's shenanigans, and assumed she was either a. a wimpy pushover because of her shy nature or b. just as bad as them lmao. On the other end, Hanh thought that Craig was nothing but a troublemaker with how often he got sent to the Principal's office and assumed he was a meanie with how often he'd clash with her friends. She'd misinterpret his direct and pragmatic comments as being malicious, and while she does agree with a lot of his points, she thinks that his words could use more tact.

However, over time they'd both realize that they had misconceptions about each other: Hanh would come to realize that Craig's reasons for being sent to the principal's office is usually never on purpose or for malicious reasons, and that he never actively looked for trouble. That, and that most of the time, his criticisms towards her friends were completely justified LMAOO. Meanwhile, Craig would find out that Hanh's not as much of a pushover as he thought she was, and that she reprimands the M4 just as much as he does.

which, segues nicely into:

☆ Who would your OC say is their best friend?

also Craig!!!

After they get over that little hurdle, they come to learn a lot from each other! I imagine that Hanh would often give Craig advice on how to talk to Tweek, esp when it comes to the more emotional situations where Craig's more prone to problem solve, and over time he'd learn how to be gentler and kinder in general! On the flipside, Craig would teach Hanh how to be more confident in herself by getting her to be more direct. Craig's honesty is also something Hanh will always appreciate, because it's something she can always rely on without second guessing herself or look for any double meanings. She can always reliably trust that his monotone and deadpan ass will always tell her the truth.

I imagine Craig would ask Hanh what she sees in Stan's gang, only for her to reply with "they make me laugh."

I kind of headcanon that Craig to be this super tall, stoic, kind of intimidating (mostly thanks to his height) kinda guy that people are kinda scared of and avoid. In reality, he's just as much of a loser as any other guy. And with Hanh being short af (standing at a whopping 153cm/5 foot), I think it's a pretty funny visual contrast lol, especially with their very differing personalities (imagine that one picture of the guy going "someone will die" and the other person going "of fun!" thats them)

I also love the headcanon of Craig having braces, so I wanted both of them to share the pain of wearing braces together!! I imagine Hanh being self conscious of having to come to school with braces. She'd probably get a bit of teasing, but then lo and behold: Craig Tucker with braces, to which no one has the balls to say anything about it because he can and would fuck you up (i mean he boxed tweek after all!!). So, by proxy, no one made fun of Hanh for her braces either! Anyways they bond over shared pain and the wires tightening their teeth <3

oh and he also taught her how to flip people off and swear at people lol. the guys made a bet to see who could get Hanh to swear (bonus points if she flipped someone off) and he was the one who ended up winning 30$ that day.

Now, this is where I predict it's going to be long because Craig's not her only best friend: there's also Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Wendy!!

For Kyle,

They both respect each other a lot! Him and Hanh both have very strong moral compasses, and often times they'll find themselves on the same side and agreeing with each other on a lot of things, seeing as they're both very compassionate and caring people.

Although she's usually non-confrontational, whenever it involves Hanh's friends getting hurt unjustifiably, it's like there's a switch that gets flipped. She'll turn a complete 180 and make sure whatever needs to be done gets done (even if it means getting into a fight), which is something Kyle really appreciates about her. Especially if it's moments where she'll defend Kyle from Cartman's comments that go too far. If there was to be anyone he'd have a lot of respect for and find to be on equal footing with (other than maybe Stan and Wendy), it would be Hanh.

Similarly to Craig, I imagine that Kyle would try his best to help build Hanh's assertiveness and support her in her studies, and Hanh would in turn help keep Kyle's cool and give him advice on how to manage his emotions. They've both got each others' backs, essentially.

Whenever Hanh falls asleep in class due to staying up late, Kyle will often take notes for her

I think she'd also help Kyle be a little less uptight at times. Granted, she's guilty of this too and is often very prone to overthinking/freaking out, where just one thing going wrong in her schedule could derail her whole day. Despite this, she also has a very silly, goofy and happy-go-lucky side to her, so whenever that comes out it helps him loosen up a bit haha

They're also both the most studious out of Stan's gang, so they often do study sessions together. There's definitely a very small rivalry between them (which is completely one-sided on Kyle's side, btw. I imagine that he's at least the littlest bit competitive over grades, but Hanh does not give a fuck lmao). Sheila loves it when she comes over. Most of the moms, actually. They think Hanh's the right influence the boys need to balance out their stupidity lol

Speaking of stupidity, they're the most likely to take the responsibility of making sure their group doesn't get hurt/into trouble. Sometimes, it's just Kyle (though those moments are rare). And smetimes, it's just Hanh who takes on the role of the girl who's surrounded by a bunch of idiotic, immature guys, lol. Even Kyle can sometimes be susceptible to "boys will be boys," guys.

She also adores Ike! Hanh loves reading bedtime stories to him and playing Minecraft with both brothers! So that's bonus points in Kyle's book. Hilariously, I think it would be the funniest thing if Kyle was just terrible at Minecraft, so both Hanh and Ike would just dunk on him for being bad at the game HAHAHA

theyre both level 106 in hay day

I think Hanh would also really trust Kyle's judgement. He's not the smartest kid in class for nothing, after all. I'm imagining moments where if she's ever skeptical on joining on one of the M4's escapades, usually all she needs is Kyle's approval before begrudgingly sighing and tagging along HAHA

He's also much bossier than she is, so she's ok with just passively and silently following orders from him (from the others too, but Kyle's especially because of what I said above). Though, the same goes for Kyle as well: He trusts Hanh just as much as she trusts him, even if he doesn't actively show it.

They're both incredible yappers, Kyle moreso than her. Though, she doesn't mind taking on the listener role that much.

Both of them would also relate to kind of being the "outcasts" in the sense that they're always missing out on the thing that's mainstream (see: Kyle always being late to the Chinpokomon trend and him going against the metrosexual trend, etc.). I think it'd be the funniest thing too if both of them didn't know how to dap people LMAOOOO so they just spend a whole evening practicing how to dap each other up, only to realize that they can't even get a good dap up because both of their hands have hand sizes that are too different from one another.

I also think it would be super cute if they bonded over their "weird" lunchbox foods (on days where they don't buy from the cafeteria). Totally not me projecting my second generation immigrant experiences.

oh and he's the type to hug her right after a basketball practice: sweat and all. very gross, as intended.

As for Stan,

they'd bond over hating their dads, lol

Because both Stan and Hanh are very emotional people, they have a very close bond, often feeling like they're the only ones who can understand each other. They'd both be able to vent to each other about school, their issues, their depression, etc.

They also both get to see each other in their cringiest phases: for Stan, it was his goth phase, and for Hanh it was her weeb phase LMAOOO (they both tease each other about it constantly since they've both seen each other at their lowests and they know they're both losers anyway)

Speaking of goth phase, Hanh helps him paint his nails black!! he reluctantly asked for her advice because she has a lot of experience painting nails (thanks to her mom working at a nail salon), and she decided she needed to take it upon herself to teach him how to apply it the nail polish cleanly LMAO

They're both also very creative!! Hanh will often go over to Stan's house where they just hang out in each other's presence, where Stan's working on a new song and Hanh's just doodling something. Sometimes she'll use Stan as pose reference.

Stan would teach Hanh how to play some of his favorite board games (albeit with a lot of struggle), and she'd give him tips on how to better paint his Warhammer figurines.

both of them are also hoarders, lol

I also headcanon Stan as being pretty chronically online, so doomscrolling, on discord, the whole package. On late nights when Hanh's writing an essay that's due the next day, she'll often text/call him on discord because she knows he'd be awake super late.

THE BIGGEST CRIMSON DAWN FAN!!! absolutely gives her 100% when it comes to supporting his artistic endeavours, and also thinks his music and the concept of being in a band is just the coolest thing in the world.

Always sending each other new songs that they like, even if they both have vastly different tastes haha

Her and Kyle often have studying sessions along with Stan (and sometimes Kenny if he decides to tag along) where they both struggle to teach these two lol

Stan's more of a listener than a yapper, but they both have long back and forths. He prefers to be the listener more often though.

And then Kenny, oh sweet Kenny.

Hanh always tries to include Kenny in the conversation, because she notices how often he gets left out and she knows what it's like to feel left out!! it sucks!! It's something he always appreciates a lot about her

And despite being a huge yapper, Hanh always makes sure to get Kenny's input and encourages him to talk more! Especially when it comes to his own issues, because she notices that he often keeps his problems to himself and internalizes all of it, and she wants him to know that she can someone he can lean on.

He also makes her laugh the hardest. And she hates that she laughs at everything he says because sometimes it's the stupidest shit ever LOLL especially if it's stupid perverted jokes

Loves loves loves Karen. Absolutely adores her presence and often encourages Kenny to let her tag along so they can hang out!

Hanh's also a huge gift-giver, and she'll often bake stuff for her friends, but she always gives Kenny more to take home!

Always her treat when they go out to eat! Especially when it's Kenny, it's not something she wants to make a big deal out of. It's never out of pity, and it's always just because she loves sharing food with her friends! Sometimes she'll even pack extra in her lunch to share with him.

Calls Kenny "Princess" even outside of the Stick Of Truth larping game they play, because it's cute!!

Both Kenny and Hanh are very selfless and kind people, and it's something they appreciate about the other.

And then finally there's my girl, Wendy!!

Something something, girls with black hair who can fuck up cartman gotta stick together.

I don't think Wendy and Hanh would be as close as the other boys, but there's definitely a strong bond between the two, for a lot of the same reasons as Kyle.

Wendy's a girls' girl!! So of course it's only natural. Lots of bonding over feminism and the likes. Y'know, just girl things <3

Wendy would be the one to teach Hanh how to do stuff like makeup along with Bebe.

Ahhh I need to think more about their dynamic, especially she's my favorite girl in the show!! Even if they don't always have the same interests, one thing's for sure: they've always got each others' backs!!

This is also just a general thing that Hanh does, but she loves being physically affectionate with her friends!! So expect a lot of handholding and hugs for everyone! (which ends up leading to a lot of funny mutual pining shenanigans lmao)

[bmpmp3]

i do wish i was better at communicating with people online and through technology. i wander into conversations and make new ones all the time irl with random people and its fun but im like hyping myself to type out a single response to a Post. and to say nothing of how difficult it is to get me to say something in a discord server