#nope none at all

[broccoli-bitching]

Asking for absolutely no reason what so ever

[wren-writes-things]

Hey wren! When you gave me that tea, I put some milk in and it formed the shape of a skull. Should I be worried? 🤔

Oh no, not at all!

That’s just a fun spell on the cup to allow anyone who adds milk to the cup to experience the joys of latte art in their tea (even if they use unfrothed milk!)

Though the skull was an odd choice, were you thinking about skulls at the time?

[vale-priestess]

❀ MAYPOST ❀

Below is an article of mine I’ve shared before, about how Wiccans (especially those outside of the UK) have a skewed perception of May Day that does not necessarily reflect surviving traditions. This was long before the TERFs really started to take hold over the “nature-based” demographics; many of these harmless folk customs would be outlawed if they had the power to do so. Anyway, here it is in full, because nobody wants to click through a bunch of links. (archived here)  ❀ Some time ago, I began to question what I've generally been told about British folk traditions. May Day, for example. I was so busy re-educating myself about folk festivals in Gaelic cultures, that I never stopped to question what I knew about British ones. My following visit to Wikipedia was illuminating.

Here are some things I was surprised to learn.

1. May Day is feminine and twee by today's standards.

At a neopagan festival, you're likely to encounter a maypole, and any dancing that occurs will be performed in the weaving of the ribbons around it. In England, there's a lot more dancing. Elaborately choreographed dancing. Young and old folks dancing. With bells. And ribbons. And wands. And little hankies. And flowers. Flowers on hats. Men's hats. 

These Cotswold dancers, for example. Or these dancers at Oxford Circus. As you can see from some of the comments, the average citizen tends to find these displays uncool and annoying. Failing to combat this attitude is a contingent of "goths and pagans" on a mission to butch the whole thing up with black clothing, phallic pantomime, and seasonally inappropriate hats - much to the disapproval of traditionalists (and people who can see.) 

Happily, morris isn't restricted to the month of May. They are also seen on other holidays, such as St George's Day and Pentecost. On Plough Monday, dancers in East Anglia gather in “molly teams,” made up of jolly, burly types dressed like little girls. 

Royal Liberty Morris dancers and “molly”

2. The May Queen can be a little girl.

Wiccan and neopagan literature tends to emphasize the idea of May Day as a marriage rite between the “king” and “queen” of spring. But that doesn’t necessarily describe the festivals that have survived to the present day. In many townships, the sole representative of springtime is the May Queen: a young girl chosen from among local students in their pre-to-mid-teens. 

She is crowned before her community and a procession is made to welcome her rule. 

She may have a wide cast of characters and troops to accompany her, including musicians, dancers and attendants. One of the longest running May Day fairs is held each year in Hayfield, Derbyshire, where there are many roles and silly costumes donned by children and adults. 

Hayfield May Queen attended by girls dressed as beefeaters.

There is precedent for a May King, however, to be found in some Early Modern sources. Here's one mention of a "Lord of May" from the diary of Henry Machyn, in 1557: "On the 30th day of May was a jolly May-game in Fenchurch Street (London) with drums and guns and pikes, The Nine Worthies did ride; and they all had speeches, and the morris dance and sultan and an elephant with a castle and the sultan and young moors with shields and arrows, and the lord and lady of the May." These military characters may reflect the Spanish origins of morris dance, where battles were reenacted to commemorate historical conflicts with Morocco.

Additionally, in Sports and Pastimes of the People of England, the author tells us that "in the comedy called The Knight of The Burning Pestle, written by Beaumont and Fletcher in 1611, a citizen, addressing himself to the other actors, says, 'Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, and speak upon a conduit, with all his scarfs about him, and his feathers, and his rings, and his knacks, as Lord of the May.' His request is complied with, and Ralph appears upon the stage in the assumed character, where he makes his speech, beginning in this manner: With gilded staff and crossed scarf the May Lord here I stand." Strutt also notes the appearance of Robin Hood appearing in May Day performances, accompanied by "a female, or rather, perhaps, a man habited like a female, called the Maid Marian, his faithful mistress." 

From this, we see that...

3. The May Queen can be a drag performer.

In the late 1880s, chimney-sweeps and other guild-workers had developed their own styles of celebration. For them, the "Lady of the May" was typically played by a man, for comedic effect. She carried a ladle and was dressed like a flirty cook, while the "Lord of the May" was dressed as an admiral, or a gentleman in a powdered wig. I find this example interesting, not just for its urban setting, but for the satirical quality of the characters involved. Also, these games came about after morris traditions had lain dormant in the countryside for some time.

Some regions have processions led only by Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Interestingly, the Maid Marian was the sole focus of these pageants for centuries before the Robin Hood mythos came into being, and continued to preside over the festivities long after he had faded from popularity.

Another one of the oldest continuing May Day processions is the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, dating back to the 11th century. Here, Maid Marian has no consort. Then, as now, she was played by a young man. 

The Horn Dancers consist of the horn bearers, the Maid Marian, the Fool, a boy to keep time on triangle, and a boy with a bow and arrow. In recent years, girls have also been allowed to participate in the boys’ roles.

4. The May Queen can be a doll.

This is an interesting practice that bears a close resemblance to the Gaelic custom of making the Brideog doll on Imbolc. The Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore tells us:

The most widespread and best known May Day activity in the 19th and early 20th centuries was the children's garland custom. In essence, this involved groups of children visiting houses in their community showing a garland, singing a song, and collecting money. [...] A regular, but not ubiquitous, feature was to place a dressed and decorated doll (sometimes more than one) in the centre of the garland, or in front of it. She was usually called something like Her Lady, or The Queen, and treated with great respect. Commentators assume she represented the Virgin Mary. In some places, it was the doll which was given precedence, rather than the garland, transported in a decorated box or basket... 

In this write-up from a UK newspaper, we're told:

There has been much debate about what the May Doll represents. Some believed it was the Virgin Mary, to whom the month was dedicated, others Flora or the May Queen. One of a group of young girls told a folklorist in Bampton, Oxfordshire in the 1970s that their doll represented a goddess whilst another in the group said it was Minerva! In Edlesborough, Buckinghamshire, two dolls, one smaller than the other, were carried in a covered decorated chair to resemble the Virgin and Child. 

It also notes that in some counties, this doll was called "the Maulkin." Bringing this all back around, these etymology geeks claim that "maulkin" or "malkin" was once a common term for the young man dressed as the lady in May Day dances and parades. Guess playing dress-up was always the point.

What strikes me the most after learning all of this? Overall, traditional May Day festivities seem...almost diametrically opposed to the image presented to me by the pagan community, which was all about reinforcing strict gender roles. On the American side at least, I think a lot of pagan men would find the absence of a May King intolerable, and the presence of a drag queen unthinkable. In their minds, this can't be what their ancestors intended. If they can invent their own May Day to be more heavy metal, then they will do just that. 

I am not here to say that old customs are good and new ones are bad. Many of the traditions described above were revived in the 1900s, by new communities who did new things with it. There were also debates in the mid-20th century, around whether women should be allowed to participate in May dancing, despite the fact that women were evidently involved both in its history and preservation. So it’s not as if the legacy of May Day is totally free of sexism or revisionism. What I'm here to say is this: Sometimes, when a person claims to be practicing an ancient faith that's been passed down secretly through the country-ways of the common-folk, you have to ask yourself: what is it they're really advocating? Tradition? Clearly, tradition has no problem with unmarried girls or cross-dressing men. Nature veneration? Somehow, the seasons kept turning through all this. If someone is telling you a story about what your forebears practiced, believed, or valued - can you be sure they’re telling the truth? To the best of their ability? It's important to be sure, I think, if we sincerely want to honor the past.

❀

Extras:

Jack-In-The-Green Revisited

Quest For the Queens is a collection of BBC footage of May Day festivities in New Westminster, from the 1930s onward.

The Hayfield May Festival in 2011.

Nigel Pennick with a May garland and doll, plus a song on accordion.

[pantheramore]

I want these socks. For no reason in particular.

[mizuthe-cat]

OH SHIT IT’S 11:18

[greatvaluevertigo]

I'm normal, I just feel particularly cold and sad tonight

[riddlerosehearts]

one of my favorite a3 moments ever that i wish all of my non-a3 followers knew about is the time when itaru, a character who at 23 years old was still dealing with deep-seated trust issues and a paralyzing fear of trying to connect with others due to having been bullied for most of his childhood, practically forced to hide his true self and become someone new just to get it to stop, and then betrayed by the one person he thought he could call a friend during his last year of high school, encounters that same former friend again later after he's become a successful stage actor at a theater company and is finally happy and considers his troupemates to be like his family. and in the end his former friend hasn't changed at all, still tries to use itaru for his own gain, and isn't even sorry for any of it so itaru just straight up calls him a dick.

[leiawritesstories]

hmmmmm that's an open ending...

Ahaha, I have another because I’m greedy 🙈 But this prompt for Rowaelin, please??:

I put you down as my emergency contact because I don’t know anyone else in the city, and we literally only met in passing, please forgive me but I am stuck at the ER and they won’t let me leave without you.

Thank you!

hehehehe okay so both you and @tomtenadia asked for this one and I really really hope this delivers 😈😁🥰

500 followers celebration prompt fills

Word count: 2.2k oops

Warnings: some angst and hurt BUT ONLY A LITTLE BIT I PROMISE and it's followed by so much comfort

Enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin blinked back into reality and found herself in a hospital bed, her body covered in a cotton gown, aches and dulled pains creeping back into her consciousness as her head cleared. She shifted and found her left arm in a sling, immobilized. She shook her head gently, trying to bring up the memories of just how the hell she'd ended up in the emergency room instead of back at her hotel.

"Good to see you awake," a woman's voice said from her right. Aelin turned her head to find a nurse, about her own age, clad in the same blue scrubs as the other staff. "You've been asleep for a solid few hours, probably thanks to the medication."

"Wh-what happened?" Aelin croaked.

The nurse pressed her lips together. "Do you remember a car accident?"

Oh.

Just like that, the memories flooded back. Aelin had been sitting in the back of a taxi, heading from a coffee shop where she'd been at a casual post-session meeting back to her hotel in downtown Doranelle. As the taxi had driven through an intersection, a driver had run the red light in the opposite direction and hit the rear side of the taxi. Her memories got a little fuzzy after that, mostly just snippets of shock, confusion, flashing lights and sirens, and a vague recollection of being loaded into an ambulance.

"You remember?" the nurse asked. Aelin nodded. "Good. That's a good sign that you likely don't have a concussion." She scratched a few notes onto her clipboard. "Now that you're awake, we can finish discharging you. You're stable, so we won't need you to stay here."

"So I can go home?" Aelin signed the papers the nurse handed her.

"No."

"What do you mean, I can't go home?" Still a little out of it from the medication they'd given her, Aelin blinked at the ER nurse. "You just told me I don't need to stay."

"Let me clarify, then," the nurse replied. "You've been cleared to go home, but you have not been cleared to go home alone. You'll need someone to take you--and no, a taxi or an Uber doesn't count." A hint of a smile curled the corner of her lips at Aelin's disgruntled frown. "It's for your safety, Miss Galathynius. We don't want to see our ER patients back here within a few hours because they tried to do something they shouldn't have done."

Aelin sighed. "All right. You can call my emergency contact." She leaned back into the hospital bed. "I'd ask you to call my parents, but they live over a thousand miles away, so that isn't possible."

"As long as you have an emergency contact on file, that will be fine." The nurse placed Aelin's normal clothes in a small pile on the chair next to the bed. "I'll be back in a few minutes to let you know who's coming for you."

"Thanks." Aelin managed a half smile before tilting her head back and groaning. Gods. Of all the days and times to wind up in the ER, it had to be now, during her work trip to Doranelle. At least their healthcare system was well-funded and well-run; the staff who she vaguely remembered tending to her when she came in were polite, professional, and expertly trained. Muffling a grunt, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, gripped the handrail, and stood up slowly, careful not to put too much weight on her legs at once. Shakily, she managed to stand up and reach for her clothes.

There, she got stuck. She couldn't get out of her hospital gown alone because the damn thing was tied in the back and her damn arm was in a sling to immobilize her injured shoulder.

She'd just screamed a string of foul curses into the pillow when there was a knock on the door and the nurse reappeared. "Good news, Miss Galathynius! A Mr. Rowan Whitethorn is on his way to pick you up."

Ah, shit. The thought of Rowan Whitethorn seeing her like this was almost enough to make her wish she'd been kept at the hospital.

"All right," was what she told the nurse. "I hope he's bringing food, because I am bloody hungry."

The nurse laughed. "I'm sure he'll be able to get you all the food you want once you're out of here." She handed Aelin a small paper bag. "There is a small quantity of pain medicine in here. I'd recommend taking it once or twice a day, depending on how severe your pain is, for the next four to seven days. You can take over-the-counter pain medications as well. After seven days, stop taking the prescription medication. If there's any left, you can bring it to any pharmacy here and they'll discard it."

Aelin nodded along. "Okay. Thank you." She flashed a soft smile at the nurse, who'd been nothing but kind to her.

"Of course." The nurse offered her a small smile in return and left the room.

Aelin considered whether or not it would be worth attempting to get into her normal clothes before Rowan got there and decided that it wasn't. If he had to walk her out of the hospital still wearing the godsdamned gown, then he would. Damn shoulder.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Rowan Whitethorn pushed open the door and burst into the hospital room. His crisply pressed suit was disheveled, his tie loose around his neck, his collar undone, and his eyes were wild, almost panicky, as he crossed the room in two long strides and cupped Aelin's face in his hands.

"What the hell?!" She pulled away from him, hissing at the sharp twinge of pain caused by the sudden movement.

He stepped back, hands up. "You what the hell? Give me a fucking heart attack, why don't you, Galathynius?"

She rolled her eyes. "You barely even know me, Whitethorn. Shut it with the heart attack nonsense."

"No." He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. "Why the hell am I your emergency contact?"

"Because I'm a thousand miles from home, I don't live here, and you're the only person at this fucking seminar that's bothered to learn my name." The small rant spilled out of Aelin before she could stop it. "I needed to have someone on file, and your stupid face is the first name I thought of. You're lucky I had your business card, or I'd be stuck here until I convinced the nurse that I could Uber back to my hotel without dying."

Rowan's cranky expression morphed into mild shock, then concern. "So you weren't going to explain why in all hell your arm is in a sling and there's bruises all over you?"

"They're not all over me," she huffed. "There's some minor bruising on my clavicles, arms, and left cheek. And anyone who asks why I'm wearing a sling deserves to be told to shut the fuck up."

"Fair enough," he admitted. "Fine. I'll drive you back to your hotel." He offered one hand.

She held up her good hand. "Not so fast, Mr. Business. I need to change into my own clothes." She frowned. "But with this bloody sling, I can't get the gown untied."

To her immense shock, a blush spread up his angled cheekbones. "Um...should I call the nurse?"

"This is an ER, Whitethorn, not the regular hospital ward," she deadpanned. "I've been discharged, so as far as they're concerned, I'm no longer their patient. You can help me."

His blush deepened. "I..." He cleared his throat, schooling his face back into its usual impassive mask. "Fine. Tell me what you need help with."

She turned, presenting her back. "Untie the gown, please."

He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "she's trying to kill me" and carefully untied the gown, keeping his hands as far from her skin as possible. Which wasn't very far, since he was literally undressing her.

Aelin was still wearing her bra and underwear beneath the gown, and because she wanted to have a little fun, she let the gown drop to the floor instead of holding it up to herself. Rowan emitted a strangled cough and wheezed behind her. She smirked. "Is something wrong, Whitethorn?"

"Nothing," he grunted through clenched teeth. "Where are your clothes?"

"On the chair. Hand me my pants, please." He did, and she pulled on her slacks. "Blouse." The blouse was a little more trouble. Aelin got it halfway on and stopped, unable to wrangle her sling arm into the unbuttoned blouse. "Shit."

"Here." Unexpectedly, Rowan had picked up her sweater and draped it over her injured arm, careful to keep his touch light. He let her slip her good arm into the other sleeve, then buttoned the three big buttons on the front of the loose sweater. "Does that help?"

"Yes." She flashed him a small, hesitant grin. "Thanks."

He clutched his chest. "Polite words from Aelin Galathynius? What world is this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be a jackass, Whitethorn, just let me grab my purse and we can get the hell out of here."

"Not so fast." He snatched her purse before she could reach it. "Are you supposed to be carrying this?"

"I still have one good arm," she sighed. "Give it to me." He raised one pale brow in disbelief. "Yes, Whitethorn, I can carry my purse. It's not too heavy for the limit they gave me."

Satisfied with that answer, he handed her her purse and held the door open as she walked out. "I'm parked kind of far away," he admitted as they left the ER building. "Couldn't find a closer spot."

"It's okay," she reassured him. "It's my arm that's injured, not my legs."

Her traitorous legs chose that very moment to wobble, betraying her strong façade.

"Mhmm," Rowan drawled, a smirk curving his lips.

She scowled. "Shut it."

He mumbled something indecipherable and, without warning, lifted her off her feet. "We'll actually get somewhere if I don't have to put up with your toddling," he teased.

Aelin's mouth dropped open. "Toddling?!"

His smirk grew. "Tell me you weren't as unsteady as a toddler and I'll call you a liar, Ae." The nickname fell from his lips as easily as his dry sarcasm.

"You're horrid," she grumbled, folding her arms.

"And look at that, we're already at my car!" he announced, triumphant. She sighed and let him help her into the passenger seat.

As they headed down the streets towards downtown Doranelle, Rowan flicked a glance over at her. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

"Remember the accident that blocked up half of downtown earlier this afternoon?" she asked. He nodded. "I was in the taxi that got hit."

If he hadn't been driving, he would have stopped in his tracks. "You--what?"

"Rowan." Instinctively, she reached over and placed her good hand on his forearm. "I'm okay. It wasn't a huge crash."

"It wasn't--Aelin, do you know what happened at that intersection?"

"I remember my taxi getting hit."

His throat bobbed. "The driver that hit your taxi skidded on black ice and T-boned another vehicle. It was...it was bad."

She gasped. "I had no idea."

"Of course not," he murmured. "You were injured, Ae." He shifted one hand off the steering wheel so he could wrap it around her good hand. "There were some serious injuries, but everyone made it to the hospital in time and it seems like they're all stable. Police arrested the driver for DUII and reckless driving." His thumb rubbed across the back of her hand. "It's been all over the news and social media."

"I had no idea," she repeated, softly. "I...I'm glad everyone seems to be okay." She leaned back into the seat and was quiet for the rest of the drive back to her hotel.

At the hotel, Rowan surprised her again by parking, helping her out of the car, and grabbing a small duffle bag from the backseat of his car before accompanying her inside.

"What are you doing?" she hissed under her breath as he walked beside her to the elevator, his steadying hand on her lower back.

"I've been given orders to see you safely home," he drawled, mirth lighting his eyes.

She frowned. "I'm at my hotel, in case you haven't noticed."

He nodded. "You are. And I'm going to make sure you get to your room safe and sound."

"You going to pat me on the head and tuck me into bed, too?" she griped.

"Oh, I wouldn't mind putting you to bed, Aelin," he whispered into her ear. The heat concealed in his lazy words barreled down her spine, awakening a part of her that had absolutely no business being so active when she was supposed to be resting and recovering.

She stepped out of the elevator before Rowan and led him down the hall to her room, where she stopped, took a deep breath, and pressed her key card to the lock. The small screen flashed green, the door unlocked, and with her hand on the half-open door, Aelin turned to face Rowan, her calm voice belying her thundering heart.

"Stay with me, Ro?"

More emotions than she could count flashed across his face. He followed her into the hotel room, closed the door, and leaned himself against the door frame, resting the weight of his gaze on her.

"I'd love to."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[damian-lil-babybat]

Art dump for my old b&w practice sketches

Dami has died officially four times (Batman Inc. #8, RSOB #13, Teen Titans (2016) #41, Robin (2021) #1) while on duty, during which he was introduced three potential love interests (Emiko Queen, Djinn, Flatline, in comics) before he reached 13.

These excluding those deaths from elseworld versions, and Mari Grayson (Kingdom Come, fiance), Raven (DCAU, dating), Kami Garcia (Teen Titans & Robin, kissed).

So yea there is a reason I immersed myself with DC fanon ✨

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 16

Happy WIP Wednesday everyone! Sorry I missed last week, but I think I should be good to get back on track going forward. Finished making most of the baby things I want to make for my soon-to-be nephew, so I'll be able to spend more time writing than crocheting again.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

An hour later, all eight of them were ensconced in the theater in Sam’s basement with a few pizzas and salads spread around them. Wulf again refused any and the rest dug in.

“All right, Tuck, we need to figure out what Walker’s up to. Can you ask Wulf?”

Tim watched as Tucker asked and Wulf responded. Then Tucker burst out laughing and slapped his knee.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t.

Sam scoffed. “You have no idea what he said, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Tucker admitted.

Tim groaned.

Bart cocked his head. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right back!”

Before Danny could even finish asking, “Where are you going?” Bart was gone.

Conner grabbed another slice of pizza and said, “He’s off to learn Esperanto. Hang tight and he’ll be right back.”

“How can he learn a language so fast?” asked Sam.

Tim swallowed. “He’s a speedster. His normal is faster than our brains can comprehend. He slows himself down so he can interact with us mere mortals. He’ll be back.”

Sure enough, in less than ten minutes, Bart was back among them. He repeated Tucker’s question. This time, when Wulf responded, the ghost was understood.

“So, Walker is pissed at Danny,” translated Bart. “And he totally wants to ruin your entire life and drag you back to his prison in the ghost zone. Apparently he and his guards are overshadowing a bunch of the people you’re close to in the town to trap you in their web of lies.”

Danny groaned and buried his face in his hands. “How do I fight against that? I can’t just soup them all! I don’t even know who all is overshadowed!”

Cassie butt in then. “We know some of them. Dash and your classmates are definitely overshadowed.”

“Your reputation improved thanks to the other night,” commented Conner. “That might help mitigate Walker’s plans.”

“Doubt it,” said Danny. “Most people think I’m a menace. One night of good publicity won’t turn them around. Especially not with my parents there to dirty my name.”

“Let’s prepare a press release,” suggested Tim. “I bet the Young Justice team could get themselves on the local news. And if we speak up for you, it might help.”

Danny exchanged looks with his two friends. Tucker shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt, dude.”

“Fine,” bit out Danny. “What else?”

Conner looked at Wulf curiously. “Bart, does Wulf know how we can get his collar off?”

“Oooh, good question.” Bart asked, but Wulf shook his head as he answered.

“Will he let me look at it?” asked Tucker.

“I might be able to help, too,” added Tim as he stepped closer and reached out to touch.

Before he could actually touch the collar, though, Wulf snarled at him and jumped back several feet. Tim held up his hands in apology and took a step back himself. “Sorry!”

Bart grinned at him. “He said don’t touch it.”

Tim grimaced and nodded. “Think I got that.”

Tucker was already typing away on one of his devices. “I’m gonna try something. Might help.”

And that’s when Wulf screamed out in pain and fell to the floor clawing at the collar.

“Shit!” shouted Tucker as he rushed forward. He managed to plug his device into a port on the collar. Electricity arced back along the connection, causing Tucker to yelp in pain and drop his PDA.

But a moment later, there was a beep and the collar fell to pieces.

Wulf looked down in shock, then up at all of them. “Mi libras?”

“You’re free, dude,” said Tucker.

Bart added something in Esperanto.

Wulf grinned at them, sharp teeth shining in the light. “Mi libras!” Then he turned and disappeared as he jumped through the wall.

Conner groaned and collapsed backwards. “Jerk couldn’t even stick around long enough to help us after everything we did for him.”

Tim sighed and sat down as well. “Well, we’ll figure it out ourselves. Just like we always do. So, operation Fix Danny’s Reputation. We’ll start with talking to the press. What else?”

“Can we write up op-eds describing what really happened in some of his ghost fights?” asked Cassie. “Set the record straight?”

“What if we make you easier to reach?” added Tim. “Get a number the police or the mayor can reach you at so you can show them you’re willing to work with them instead of just on your own?”

“Do you think that’ll work?” asked Danny.

Tim shrugged. “Worked for Batman. Don’t see why it wouldn’t help you.”

Danny sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Great,” said Tim. “I’ll send out some emails asking for interviews. And then we can start working on the op-eds. How about we split into three groups, Danny and me in one, the rest of you can split up how we like. Then we can go over the major ghost fights that have happened and write tell-all articles that don’t run the risk of spoiling Danny’s identity.”

Conner shrugged. “Sam, wanna work with me?”

Sam grinned. “You betcha.”

Bart disappeared and reappeared next to Tucker. “Tucker and I will work together, too!”

Cassie moved until she was next to Conner. “I call working with Sam and Kon.”

“Great. Now, Tuck, do you happen to know the best contact info for local reporters?” Tim pulled out his laptop and powered it on as he spoke.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get it for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tim had sent out a dozen emails asking for interviews. As he and Tucker were working, Danny and Sam had gone through which ghost fights would be the best to write about and divided up the attacks between the three groups.

Once he was ready to start on the articles, Tim sat down next to Danny. “So, what are we starting with?”

Danny grinned. “We’re going to go over my first fight. The one with Lunch Lady. She wasn’t bad, but caused a lot of clean up for the school and wasted a lot of resources. Most people still don’t even know that was a ghost attack.”

“Great, let’s get started.”

Tim had heard about most of Danny’s fights before, but being next to him in person definitely made a difference. They were sitting with their arms pressed against each other so they could both see the computer screen and add or delete bits as they went. It was nice.

They’d been working for a few hours when Sam’s parents came down.

“Children!” called her mom.

Tim wasn’t the only one to hide a grimace at the term.

Jeremy Manson continued, “The mayor has instituted a curfew for the city due to all the ghosts. No one is allowed out on the streets after nine PM.”

Pamela Manson giggled. “And it’s nine PM now! So looks like you’ll all be staying here. Tim, dear, be sure to tell your father how seriously we took your safety. I don’t want any of you leaving the house until morning.”

Tim turned on his gala smile. “My dad is in a coma, I’m afraid. But I’ll be sure to tell Bruce just how considerate all the people of Amity have been.”

Jeremy let out a forced laugh. “Of course, our mistake. We wish our best to your father, as well. I hope his prognosis is good?”

Tim blinked at him. “He’s been in a coma for months.”

Pamela giggled again. “Of course, we knew that. Right, dear?” She smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

“Sure did!” he agreed. “Well, I hope to hear news of his miraculous recovery. I’m sure he is getting the best of care.”

“Of course he is,” agreed Tim. “I wouldn’t put up with anything less.”

A few more giggles and well wishes, then Pamela and Jeremy made a hasty retreat.

Once they were alone, Conner looked at him with concern. “Tim—”

“I’m fine, Conner.”

Before anyone else could try and say anything, his email beeped. Tim took the excuse and read it over. The most popular morning radio talk show wanted to have the Young Justice on. Tim grinned.

“We’re getting up early, guys. Radio interview at six AM.”

Cassie laughed. “I can do that, can you?”

Tim shrugged. “I just won’t go to sleep. Easier to stay up that late than drag myself out of bed that early.”

Conner shook his head. “You and your family are insane, Rob.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back to work.”

-----

Next

This is where I definitely go off the rails of what happened in the show. But that's half the fun of an AU! Hope you like it.

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Scroll down to the next post on my blog to see the really cool birthday comic @stealingyourbones made for me!

[onmyo-jin]

24: ...in danger :3

With ZYC + ZYZ

Much danger, very risk~ Thank you for the prompt! If you've sent me a prompt as well: no worries, I haven't forgotten^^ I've been busy with an exchange fic, which has since been posted, so now I can get back to my favourite demon idiots 😁

It's funny, seeing all these places in Tiandu that he used to know long ago– or it would have been if there wasn't an angry mob hounding Zhou Yichen through Tiandu. It really is quite freeing to not be the one who is hunted for once, Zhao Yuanzhou reflects.

Pulling Zhou Yichen into an alley away from where they were heading, he protests: "We cannot hide at the Bureau, you know that's the first place they'll look for you. Besides, if we can just lose this bunch we can make our way through the old town and back along the wharf and we'll be at my place in no time- ah." Zhou Yichen runs into his back at the abrupt halt Zhao Yuanzhou was forced to make, and catches himself from tripping by grabbing hold of the great demon's shoulder.

Ahead of them the alley comes to a dead end, and judging by the age of the buildings (old, in need of a new coat of paint and more than a few extra roof tiles), it has been several decades at the very least since the route Zhao Yuanzhou planned to take was even an option.

"Why did you bring us here, you great stupid ape, there's nowhere to go now–mph," Zhao Yuanzhou slaps a hand over Zhou Yichen's mouth and turns back to listen to the approaching posse. They have dwindled from a full crowd to only a large group simply by virtue of the alleyways they have traversed, so really Zhao Yuanzhou would call his plan a success. 

Yichen drags his hand off his mouth to bare his teeth at Zhao Yuanzhou. They are sharper than usual, and his newly acquired demon marks shimmer faintly even in the daylight. "I hope you have a great idea up your sleeves, Da Yao, because if they see me they won't let either of us off the hook easily."

His teeth are definitely sharper, Zhao Yuanzhou decides. Combined with the anger sparking in his eyes they make his Xiao Zhuo-daren look deliciously dangerous. And he is right: if the crowd sees this they'll hurt him for sure. So, it is for the best that they do not see it.

He crashes their lips together just as the first people of their somewhat diminished mob come running around the corner behind them. Yichen makes a choked sound, and Zhao Yuanzhou uses his surprise to push him against the wall. Licking into his mouth, tasting the edges of those teeth (definitely sharper), Zhao Yuanzhou can't not notice the way Yichen lets him in, lets him do this. He rumbles a laugh that barely sees air between their lips before it is swallowed eagerly, easily, by Xiao Zhuo.

For good measure he wraps a hand around Xiao Zhuo's throat– to hide the demon marks that now paint his skin with proof of his powers. Yichen gasps at the contact, and bites at Yuanzou's bottom lip in response. He tastes blood, and Xiao Zhuo-daren must do too because he leans back– or tries to, but Zhao Yuanzhou does not let him. Using the hold on his neck to keep him close Zhao Yuanzhou hides his features from the crowd, shielding him behind his lips and his touch. The sharp little wounds on his lip he heals without a thought, and hears Zhou Yichen gasp in response. Yichen licks at those spots, tasting the energy, chasing the flavour of it until Zhao Yuanzhou can taste the smokey flavour of his own powers on Zhou Yichen's tongue. It is a heady flavour, pure power and electric energy, and it makes Yichen clutch at his robes, pulling him closer until the demon is leaning his weight fully against Zhou Yichen, allowing himself to be devoured.

By the time they separate the mob is long gone.

[empyrean11]

me too katie

BO JORDAN ?? Serious??

[simplykorra]

push the specials

[fried-manto]

OH HO HO HO!

[lloydfrontera]

tfw when you write an entire novel with two protagonists that spent the entire plot getting closer to each other, becoming best friends and eventually both of them deciding they would rather die than allow the other to not live a long, fulfilling life, their friendship carrying most of the emotional weight of the entire plot and the emotional climax being one of them sacrificing his life so the other can live and then the other crossing literal universes to find him, a tearful smile in his face as he confesses how much he missed him. which is the scene you wanted to write and show the most because, again, this is the pay off to the slowburn you've been writing in the entire novel and what everything has been building up to since the very first chapter. and then you end the novel by having them share a smile, finally confident they'll be able to have a happy future.

but you also just gotta have one of them marry offscreen because everyone knows you can't be happy if you're not in a het marriage with kids lmao it's whatever it's okay i'm fiNE-

[maximum-arson]

arson meets a woman, colorized, circa 7th astral era