#the cries of the white conductor

[thespiritofaconductor]

What do you mean? Emmet, Ingo is gone…

* He seemed to have a worried face, possibly a fake one. He looked at Emmet, fake worry obvious in his eyes.

— ▿ …

— ▿ Forever?..

[mivalyn]

⋆ ★ Daddy´s Girl ★ ⋆

18+, mdni!

John Price x fem! reader

Cw: age play, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

!Requests are open!

Word count: 1,127

The late afternoon sun bleeds through the gap in the curtains, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the golden light. Price watches you with those piercing blue eyes that always seem to see right through you, to the core of your desires. At 39, his rugged handsomeness is a potent mix of danger and allure, a stark contrast to your own Y/A years and the carefully constructed facade of independence you maintain outside this room. The chemistry between you is a volatile cocktail, a potent blend of dominance and submission that leaves you breathless, trembling on the precipice of something primal and untamed.

The lazy Sunday morning has long since bled into a feverish afternoon. Your white cotton sundress lies discarded on the floor, a testament to the escalating passion, a casualty of his relentless pursuit. He's in boxers, the dark fabric a stark contrast to the pale skin of his thighs, hinting at the raw power coiled beneath the surface. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken promises, a tangible tension that vibrates between your bodies. He leans closer, that predatory glint in his eyes deepening, a hunter savoring the chase. "Come here, little one," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core.

You obey instinctively, your own desires overriding any lingering vestiges of caution. You crawl towards him, your body humming with a primal hunger that has consumed you since the moment you first met his gaze. His kiss is not gentle; it’s a demanding conquest, his tongue a forceful invader, exploring every hidden crevice of your mouth, leaving you breathless and disoriented. The taste of him -coffee, sweat, and something uniquely masculine and utterly intoxicating - lingers on your tongue, a potent reminder of his complete and utter dominance. He trails kisses down your neck, each touch leaving a fiery trail, his teeth playfully nipping, drawing ragged moans from your lips. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, the exquisite agony fueling your desire.

His hands, calloused and strong, cup your breasts, his touch both tender and bruising. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, the pressure sending jolts of pure, unadulterated pleasure through you, arching your back uncontrollably. He alternates between gentle sucking and sharp nips, teasing your senses to the brink of unbearable ecstasy. He moves lower, his breath hot on your skin, his lips tracing a fiery path down your abdomen, leaving you trembling in anticipation.

He reaches your mound, his gaze unwavering as he parts your legs, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your lips. "Such a beautiful pussy, little one," he breathes, the words a compliment and a claim of ownership, sending a shiver down your spine. He wastes no time, plunging in with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity.

His tongue is a masterful instrument, a skilled conductor leading your body to the precipice of orgasm. He licks and sucks your clitoris with a rhythm that resonates deep within you, a rhythm that builds slowly, deliberately, then explodes into an untamed frenzy, driving you to the very edge of sanity. You arch your back, your fingers digging into his hair as you grind against his face, desperate for release, your moans turning into raw cries of pleasure. His fingers join his mouth, probing, teasing, then penetrating, two, then three, a rhythmic invasion that complements the exquisite torment of his tongue. The world shrinks, focusing on the pulsing intensity, the pressure building until you explode, your name a desperate plea as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over you, shattering your senses, leaving you weak and trembling.

He looks up, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Good girl," he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of you lingering on his skin. He kisses you again, a deep, possessive kiss, letting you taste the exquisite flavor of your own surrender on his lips. The taste is both sweet and bitter, the culmination of pleasure and submission.

"I want you inside me, Daddy," you whisper, the words a desperate confession, a surrender to his overwhelming power. He needs no further encouragement. He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your already slick flesh, the anticipation driving you to the edge of madness. He slides inside, easily, smoothly, filling you completely.

He begins to move slowly, deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper, needing him to fill every inch of you. The pace increases, the rhythm building, the pleasure escalating to a point of unbearable intensity. His grunts mingle with your cries as you move together in a primal dance of lust and surrender, a dance as old as time itself. The air fills with the sounds of your combined pleasure, a symphony of moans, gasps and grunts.

"Come for me, little one," he growls, his voice rough with desire. The command is both exhilarating and terrifying, a perfect encapsulation of the power dynamic that defines your relationship. You meet his gaze, your body arching, your muscles clenching as the orgasm rushes over you again, this time fueled by his presence inside you, his power over you. Your pussy clamps around him, holding him captive as the waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows soon after, groaning as his own release floods you, a hot torrent of pleasure that leaves you spent and trembling.

You lie entwined, your bodies slick with sweat and passion, breathless and spent. He pulls out slowly, then rolls over, pulling you into his arms. His cock, still heavy and warm, rests against your inner thigh. The warmth is comforting, a tangible reminder of your shared intimacy, a constant reminder of his power and your willing submission. You don't want to move, don't want to let go. The lingering scent of sex, sweat, and his unique musk fills the air, a potent reminder of the raw, untamed passion you have just shared.

"I love you, Daddy," you whisper, the words escaping from deep within your soul, a testament to the profound connection you share, a connection born of lust, dominance, and a deep, undeniable surrender. He kisses the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

"I love you too, little one," he replies, his voice soft yet powerful, his words a promise whispered in the quiet aftermath of your storm. And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your passion, you know this is more than just sex; it's a complete surrender, a profound devotion to a man who owns you, body and soul.

[galaxymagitech]

The Monster in the Mirror

For @jasontoddweek2025 — Day 2

Joker | Chronic Pain | Fear Toxin

Summary: Jason is exposed to fear toxin in the field. And his greatest fear isn’t the Joker, or the coffin, or the League. It’s the monster that he sees when he looks in the mirror.

Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Hallucinations

You can read it here or on AO3!

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Jason’s heart thunders in his chest, crashing against his ribcage until the bones strain and shake. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know when he is. His entire world has narrowed into the space between one heartbeat and the next, stretched out into an eternity.

Surrounded by a dense fog, Jason stands on the uneven earth with his raised fists shaking. He doesn’t know where the enemy is, but he knows they are there, watching, waiting.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Jason is forgetting something. The fog closes in on him. He chokes, fingers clutching at his throat as he bends over, heaving for air. He swears he can feel hands around his neck. But that’s wrong. There’s no one else here. Just him. He’s all alone.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

The pressure releases suddenly, but Jason stays snapped in half, gasping. His lungs burn as he greedily gups at the thick, wet air.

When he finally stands straight again, there is a figure rising out of the fog.

Maybe, Jason thinks, they can tell me what I’m forgetting.

He staggers forwards, one hand outstretched. Slowly, the figure grows closer and closer, until Jason can at last see his savior.

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba—

His heart stops.

Standing before him is the Red Hood in all his glory. The Red Hood, because at first glance, he is Jason. He wears Jason’s face, Jason’s beat-up brown leather jacket, Jason’s Kevlar vest. He has the same blue-green eyes as Jason, the same white streak, the same ugly, twisted scar on the side of his neck. But he can’t be Jason, not really. Because there is something wrong with him, something that freezes Jason’s heart in his chest.

At Jason’s terror, Hood’s bloody red lips twitch into a grin, the corners stretching impossibly high. He brings a hand out from behind his back, revealing a crimson-stained crowbar. Still grinning, Hood bounces the crowbar with his right hand, allowing it to fall against his left palm. The sound of the metal thudding against Hood’s glove replaces the beating of Jason’s heart.

“Hello, Jason,” the Red Hood says, voice glimmering with amusement. The words float through the air. Jason breathes them in, and they coil in his stomach like a viper.

“What are you?” Jason asks. He’s forgetting something.

First rule of strange situations: remember how you got there.

Jason doesn’t remember how he got here. Just the fog and the fear and the forgetting.

Hood tilts his head. “I’m you.” He’s still smiling.

“You’re—you’re not me,” Jason whispers. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s trembling. “You’re the Joker.”

Hood laughs. Jason’s own screams echo in his ears. The crowbar thuds against Hood’s palm.

“You’re not me!” Jason shouts, finally regaining his voice.

Hood gestures with the crowbar like an orchestra conductor. The fog around his feet drifts away, revealing a body on the ground. Jason darts forwards, a frantic buzzing filling his ears. Because that’s Tim. Tim, lying on the ground, curled around the wound in his abdomen, breaths shallow and ragged.

Jason collapses to his knees. “Tim,” Jason says urgently. But the words are stolen from him.

Instead, he hears his own voice coming from Hood. “Pretender,” Hood spits.

“Tim,” Jason tries again. Tim’s eyes stutter open. Instantly, Jason can see the terror take root. “Tim, I—” Tim is bleeding out from the batarang in his abdomen. “I’m—”

“R—Robin?” Tim whispers. He coughs, and a clump of dark blood lands on the dirt beneath him. 

“Don’t try to speak,” Jason orders. “You’ll be okay, Tim, I—” 

Tim coughs again and begins to seize.

Jason looks up at Hood. “Help him!” He cries, leaping to his feet. “You did this, help him!”

Hood only grins.

On the cold, hard dirt, Tim’s small body shudders one final time and goes still. He’s so very pale, in death.

“Akhi?” Damian stands a few feet away, staring at Jason and Hood and Tim’s—Tim’s corpse. “Jason? What have you done?”

Jason reaches out in a wordless plea. In the same breath, Hood draws his gun.

It happens in slow motion.

Safety.

Click.

Aim.

“No—” 

Fire.

Bang!

Damian falls gracelessly. The blood seeps out of the bullet wound in his chest. Jason knows that he is dead.

There is a gun in Jason’s hands. He howls, rage exploding from his chest, and fires straight at Hood, again and again and again. The bullets pass straight through him. And then, someone rips the gun away.

There’s no one here but Hood and him and the corpses, no one to take the gun, it doesn’t make sense, it isn’t right, Jason—

Jason is forgetting something.

But that doesn’t matter, because there are hands. Hands on his shoulders, his arms, his legs. Forcing him to the ground and holding him still for the shadow that is now looming above him.

And it’s not Hood. Not anymore.

Batman crouches in front of Jason. “You killed my sons,” he growls.

“Please,” Jason sobs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want—”

In an instant, Batman’s gauntleted fingers close around Jason’s jaw, holding it shut. Jason’s heartbeat returns, hurtling forwards off the cliff.

Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum.

The strain is going to kill him.

Jason is forgetting something.

“I should have put you down long ago,” Batman says, and the words pierce Jason far more sharply than any dagger could. Batman’s hand slips from Jason’s jaw. Almost gently, it brushes against his throat.

Beneath his father’s touch, the scar on Jason’s neck splits open and begins to weep crimson blood. “Please,” Jason whispers. “Please. Bruce. Dad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m—”

Batman is gone. It’s just Jason, kneeling on the ground, and the hands that slowly begin to pull him under. Jason feels himself sinking, blood mingling with the dirt and turning it to mud.

That’s one way to do it, Jason thinks idly.

The dirt fills Jason’s mouth, choking him. His lungs burn in protest. Black spots enter his vision.

Jason has gone cold, cold as a corpse. There is dirt in his chest, packing itself into Jason’s ribcage. He can’t breathe anymore.

The earth swallows him whole.

***

Ba dum. Ba dum. Ba dum.

Jason startles awake with a scream that tears itself from his chest. There are hands on him again, holding his arms down as he struggles. Hood is there too, just behind his eyelids, grinning.

“Jason! Jay, you’re safe. It’s alright. Just calm down!”

Jason screams again wordlessly. He blinks, but his vision swims with images of the things he saw in the fog.

“Please, Jason. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

No, not himself. He hurt Tim. He hurt Damian.

He killed them.

(Tim, curled around the batarang in his abdomen, seizing. Damian, blood pooling from the gunshot wound to his chest.)

“They’re fine, Jason. Look, Damian’s right here. See?”

Jason blinks again. He sees a blurry child, standing there with his arms crossed, a scowl drawn across his face that can only be characterized as ‘concern.’ “Tt. I am perfectly fine, Todd. It was you who inhaled a toxic chemical agent.”

“Tim.” Jason barely manages to form the word. He swears he can feel the pain coming from the gash in his throat, stealing his voice. “He’s—”

“He’s resting, upstairs.” That’s Bruce’s voice. But Jason��saw it.

Bruce must be lying. “I need—I need—see him. I need to see him.”

Jason tries to stand up. The world spins, and then narrows again, and he collapses back on something soft. There are voices around him, all blending together. And then—

Tim is standing in front of him. Pale, but not pale like a corpse. Not bleeding from the abdomen. Not coughing up blood. Alive.

“Lie down, Jason,” Bruce orders. “You inhaled a lot of fear toxin.”

Fear toxin.

Oh. That’s what Jason was forgetting.

Slowly, Jason’s heartbeat calms.

Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum.

A hand rests on Jason’s cheek, and none of his wounds open. “You’re safe,” Bruce promises. “Tim and Damian are safe. Just sleep, now.”

Jason closes his eyes and breathes.

[5thcloud]

a journey through the heavens , in the train of flowers

--

edit : characters + literary sources -

note with appearance and pronouns , this story is primarily written story + all cantos in different povs with unreliable narrators , thus how perceive is all different (includes species and pronouns) . theres no "canon" designs

-

V . Campanella (she/they/he) - guide/conductor - night on the galactic railroad - was human with metal body and dog head , standing hound with obsidian skin , old man , red statue with pointy ears and long tail , cat head

VI . Dolorem Ipsum (they/she/he) - manager - night on the galactic railroad - human with tv head , human with old tv head model , old lady , fishermen with helmet , astronaut

I . Cygnus (they/she/he) - the cygnus constellation (swan) , the ugly duckling , the nighthawk star - massive swan abno , girl in white dress , crane with red smeared on head , a swan with torn feathers

II . Centaurus (he/it/she) - the centaurus / lupus constellation (centaur/wolf) , boy who cried wolf , one stormy night - bear sized wolf abno with sheep horns and hooves , sheepdog , shepherd , four legged creature

III . Piscis (it/he/she) - the piscis austrinus constellation (southern fish) , the rainbow fish series - fish abno with impossibly colorful scales , rainbow/stealhead trout , girl in blue suit , guppy fish

IV . Crater (it/its) - the crater constellation (cup) , the goose who laid golden egg , golden goose - goose abno that sometimes gold or sometimes white , little yellow goose , snake

[starlit-crossing]

A Ghost of Yourself Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Flying Solo

---

Danny had lost track of the time quickly after beginning to fly, his stress ebbing away with the landscape that spend by. He tried to focus on the grass, the roads, the horizon, anything but what had just transpired. Every time his mind wondered; he would be reminded that he needed to not feel. His friends' face as he took off — nope, not thinking about it. How worried Jazz would be — what a really cool tree I just passed. His parents’ confusion and not getting to say goodbye to anyone — that is a lot of white vans up a head. Wait… Danny stopped midair above a state highway. Similar to a police barricade, white vans, jeeps, and motorcycles were stationed in the middle of the street. Guys in White were stopping the passing cars, scanning them, then letting vehicles through the state border. Lines were beginning to form and angry honks floating up to him. This isn't good… Danny fished for his burner phone, feeling for the metal at the bottom of his backpack. Digging it out, the clock read 12:45. He had left Casper high during lunch, which had been around 11:30, and he had left Amity around 11:40. Good to know it takes less than an hour for the Goons in White to make a move. He floated closer to the cars to see if anyone had a Wi-Fi spot open. I should've grabbed the Fenton GPS from the emergency OPS center, finally a Wi-Fi signal popped up under the name __Not_The_FBI__. Danny choked on a laugh as he pulled open his map app. He was going to need to avoid every joke and pun on this trip, or he was a dead man. Well, a deader man… wait! Bad brain! He yelled at himself. He had to be less than a five-minute flight from Chicago. Zooming in, he looked for a train station or a ferry… and there was a train station used for hauling cargo from the US into Canada.

“Perfect!” Danny exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air, only to hit something metal. Turning, Danny watched as a pristine white drone steadied itself in the air. Its camera focusing on him.

“Shit.” Danny turned to watch as the men below froze, then look to the sky. Spotting him immediately, he just waved as they began to take aim. Turning invisible and speeding away as round after round of ecto blasts lit up the sky. Nice going Fenton, he berated himself flying towards Chicago; I have two things I can't do: express emotion and use powers publicly. I've already done both! Like he thought it hadn't taken long to reach the station, gravely rails and signs directing conductors were sprawled throughout. He found an empty car, checked for any passerby, and phased inside. A flash of light leaking through the cracks as he returned to his human self. The darkened car was cold, with metal walls and doors. The floor was a kind of embossed metal, a crisscross pattern embellished the sheet metal.

“I should've brought a book or something.” he laughed tiredly to himself… “Damn it!” Danny yelled, banging his head on the car wall. It's probably best if I just sleep, I'll be over the state border by the time I wake up. He thought to himself, settling into a corner. Propping his backpack to use as a pillow, the cold had no effect on him as he drifted to sleep.

---

It had been a little over an hour since Danny had gone on the run. Sam and Tucker had decided to skip what was left of school and head straight home. It would be difficult to catch up with him, but they had to at least try, and every second that passed was a second wasted. They didn't have anything in mind for Danny being tracked so easily, but they would figure something out. They had to.

When Sam got home, her house was surrounded by GIW agents. Her parents stood at the door listening to a panicked Jack and Maddie. As she pushed her way to the front, she was able to make out some of what Danny's parents were saying.

“Please! Just let us make sure Phantom didn't leave anything here. Anything could be a clue to where he took Danny!” Maddie cried, Jack stood by her as she pleaded, an arm around her shoulder. Her parents shared a pained look as they tried to decide what to do.

“Maddie, we know your situation with ghosts is important. To your career and with your family,” her mother started softly, remaining in her polite and cheery tone. “But we can't risk involving Sammikins more than your son already has.”

“Not to mention when we let you search our home earlier during that wild goose chase! Left a large mess that our house cleaner had to pick up.” Her father chimed in, annoyed.

“We understand that, but we need every clue we can! Sam!” Jack shouted, seeing her as she entered the path leading to the door.

“Sammy get inside! You don't need to be pestered by agents as well.” Her dad called, ushering her inside the large house.

“Same, please! Have you heard anything from Danny? Is he with Tucker?” Maddie called, fighting the door as her mother tried to close it. Sam tried to calm down, closing her eyes and slowing her breath. Key word being tried.

“No! I haven't and neither has Tucker! So just leave the two of us alone and don't you dare try storming his house too!” she hollered, shoving the door fully closed. She sighed back sliding against the door.

“That's right Sammikins! Just because they risked their family with ghosts doesn't mean they can risk ours!” Her mother cheered.

“And sorry, Sammy, the house cleaner couldn't get to the second floor today, so your room's still a mess.” Her dad added.

“It's fine, dad. I'll clean it myself. Can I… Can I just be alone for a bit? Stressful day and all.” Sam mumbled, making her way upstairs.

“Of course, sweetie!” they answered, leaving Sam with herself. Once her parents were out of sight, she ran up the stairs. As she entered her room, she looked at the damage caused by the aforementioned goose chase. It looked like a storm had blown through, her bed and desk had their contents thrown about. Anything related to Danny had been pulled out. Ignoring the mess, she pulled over a chair to her closet and felt for the backpack taped to its ceiling. Once down she poured out its contents mentally checking everything was still there. Her clothes? Check. Money? Check. A letter? Sam pulled out the simple envelope that made an appearance in her bag. It was addressed to her, the whole thing crisp and clean. Inside a piece of notebook paper full of Danny's handwriting, nothing looked rushed, and it seemed he had prepared these in advance.

*Ring* *Ring*

Tucker’s face lit up her phone's lock screen, she answered the video call while reading the letter.

“Sam! Did you get home safe? I heard the GIW were swarming your house. Did you find a letter?”

He blurted, the room behind him burring as he moved.

“I'm fine, and I did. Did you get one too? Why would Danny write these?” She flipped the page to see if there was more, a hint to what he was thinking.

“I did, that was why I called you. Does yours say the same thing. Well, maybe not the exact same.” He rambled, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Tuck! He wants us to stay in Amity? To abandon him and protect the town that barely cares he's here?” She exclaimed. Tucker nodded along from the camera.

“I know right? He's our best friend, we can't just let him be on the run!” Tucker ranted, “Can we? I mean, I know where he's coming from. We can't really trust his parents or the GIW to keep ghosts out. Valerie can handle her own, but she still hates ghosts. It will be hard for her to leave the neutral ones alone.”

“I don't know, Tuck, Danny even said we could tell Valerie his secret if things got out of hand and became too much for us and Jazz. I don't think he plans on coming home, at least not anytime soon.” she contemplated; there had to be something they could do. “What about other heroes?”

“What? What would they do?” Tucker asked.

“I'm not sure, I know we don't really keep up with stuff outside of Amity, but the Justice whatever works with the government, right? We could tell them our local hero is being unjustly hunted.” Sam suggested pacing the room.

“Sam, what will they find when they look into Phantom? That he's a wanted criminal, robbing banks, and threatening mayors? The media doesn't shine Danny in a good light.” He countered.

“But those can be explained, the GIW have files on Freakshow.”

“Didn't Danny wipe his memories with the Reality gauntlet? They couldn't get the whole truth, or they would learn his brain has been messed with through magic or martians.” They went back and forth.

“Then what do you propose we do? We can't track him down without others noticing.” Sam huffed in defeat.

“We'll just have to do what he asked of us. We'll watch over the town, if Valerie gets out of hand, we'll offer our help first. Say we helped Phantom with ghosts, Danny included. We can say Danny is protecting Phantom even now, and it will buy us some time to see if she can handle Danny's secret.” Tuck finished.

“She trusts Danielle, right? We might be able to convince her.” A moment hung in the air between the two friends. The reality settling in that they may never see their friend again. “Where is Danielle? She might get caught in the crossfire of this, being a clone and all.” Sam wondered.

“She's in Italy last I checked, I'm glad I gave her one of my old phones before she left the US.” Tucker answered.

“That's good… Which of us is telling Jazz?"

---

The train started to move shortly after Danny fell asleep. Four hours passed before Danny's body forced him awake, ghost hunting had ruined his sleep. He could hear Jazz's voice in his head talking about the importance of sleep for teens today. He checked the burner for the time and saw the numbers 6:05 glowing back at him. Pulling open the map he saw he had made it to Indiana, finally.

“Time to get moving, I guess.” As he spoke, he focused on keeping his voice even. The events of earlier, still fresh in his mind. The sound of the car's rolling wheels echoed in the empty car as he stood. Stretching to pop his back. He stuck his head invisibly through the train door, seeing the cargo station grow closer. Bringing his head back in, he readied to slip off the train. Steadying himself as the train arrived, opening the door, and running through the train yard as fast as he could without getting caught. It had been easier than expected, no one cared, as the teen bolted through the gravel-filled rails with ease. Once outside, he went searching for food. A mini mart was on the corner and a King Burger across the street. He couldn't risk lingering, so he made way for the minimart. The convenience store felt dated with white walls and neon signs, the floor was black and gray checkered tiles. Grabbing some water bottles, bags of jerky, and some premade sandwiches. The many sweets and freezy drinks were tempting, but the longer the food could last, the better. The place was deserted, only the clerk scrolling on his phone could witness he was ever there. After finishing his resource gathering, Danny went on the hunt for a gray hound bus stop, it would be the easiest way to get around without drawing too much attention. Looking for the longest possible route to the East Coast, he was left with two options: Gotham or Metropolis. Both had international ports and superheroes that protected them. He had always meant to look into other heroes more, find some inspiration or role models for hero work, but with ghosts constantly attacking the town and homework, he just didn't have time. Mr. Lancer tried to keep class interesting by referencing the things happening on the global news. Now if he could only remember what he had said about the heroes protecting the cities. Danny had actually perked up when Lancer mentioned that one was an alien with super hearing and other abilities. Aside from that, all he could remember was their names, Batman and Superman. I'm feeling a lot better about my hero name. He would have to give Amity News a break about Invis-O-Bill. Between the two, he was pretty sure Superman was the alien. Sam had done a report on meta-human rights and had gotten very passionate when she discovered that they didn't reference the ecto acts whatsoever. She had been so sure that someone would shed light on the act, accounting it to being unknown meta-humans being unjustly removed of their rights. A point she got stuck on was that Batman had all but banned metas from Gotham. Stating they should seek sanctuary elsewhere due to the antics of his villains. It had something to do with gas, scarecrows, and clowns? So, he could either go to the city where no powers were allowed, or the city protected by a super-hearing alien. The GIW might expect him to go to an alien for sympathy or to overshadow him in a power grab. Gotham seemed like the safer choice, even with the high amounts of criminal activity they seemed to have. He would be able to fight off most thugs without causing serious damage, humans can't normally through a guy through a brick wall like ghosts can. No one would question him being alone and sneaking around, he'd use his powers to get on a boat for Europe and keep a low profile while he searched for Danielle. He'd fill her in on what was going on, send a message to Sam and Tucker that he was safe, and wait to hear what was happening in Amity. So, Danny waited in line and got his ticket for Gotham. The bus was crowded full of people trying to do the same as him; to take a bus as far from one's old life as possible. He was able to grab a seat towards the back, settling into the stained fabric seats. His backpack between himself and the wall of the bus window. Settling in for the longest stretch of his journey out of the country.

Hello and welcome again! I hope everyone is enjoying the story. It’s been very exciting getting to see everyone’s comments and enjoyment for the fic. Don’t worry about the lack of Bat family, I am getting their as fast as I can. I wanted to revisit Amity a little bit to wrap up a few loose ends. I’m not sure at what point in the DP timeline I am placing this, but it will most likely either be prefinal of the show or post A Glitch in Time. Two very different time periods but both work with the general DC timeline I am using. As for the Bat family I’m more familiar with the characters themselves than the canon timeline. So, I’ll primarily be referring to the Batman: Family Adventures for the family and Young Justice for world events such as meta-humans.

I spent a lot of my time working on this listening to the Epic: Underworld Saga musical concept and got stuck on the song No Longer You. It’s so good and feels like it could fit Danny in some aspects if you go for a post A Glitch in Time ghost king Danny. Might draw something if I got time.

See you next week, byee!

Master post - Chapter 2 Prev. <<< Next >>>

[thebrickinbrick]

Night Begins to Descend Upon Grantaire, Part 3

An omnibus with two white horses passed the end of the street.

Bossuet strode over the paving-stones, ran to it, stopped the driver,

made the passengers alight, offered his hand to "the ladies,"

dismissed the conductor, and returned, leading the vehicle and the horses by the bridle.

Omnibuses," said he, "do not pass the Corinthe. Non licet omnibus adire Corinthum."

An instant later, the horses were unharnessed and went off at their will, through the Rue Mondétour, and the omnibus lying on its side completed the bar across the street.

Mame Hucheloup, quite upset, had taken refuge in the first story.

Her eyes were vague, and stared without seeing anything, and she cried in a low tone. Her terrified shrieks did not dare to emerge from her throat.

"The end of the world has come," she muttered.

Joly deposited a kiss on Mame Hucheloup's fat, red, wrinkled neck, and said to Grantaire: "My dear fellow, I have always regarded a woman's neck as an infinitely delicate thing."

But Grantaire attained to the highest regions of dithryamb.

Matelote had mounted to the first floor once more, Grantaire seized her round her waist, and gave vent to long bursts of laughter at the window.

[smallestapplin]

I’ve always liked the reverse AU’s where Emmet is the one Hisui’d and Ingo stays in Unova, so if you’re willing, would you write an Ingo still in Unove while his brother and partner are both missing for however long? I love you!!

OOOO AND DO I HAVE IDEAS!

-

-

Ingo remembers that day so clearly.

He remembers waking up to your sleeping face curled into his chest, he remembers kissing your forehead accidentally waking you.

Apologizing as he had to leave for work.

He remembers chuckling at your sleepy plead for him to stay a little longer, to cuddle you more.

He didn’t, but he did linger to give you several kisses, linger to tell you how much he loved you and couldn’t wait to marry you.

Your ring and his shining in the morning light seeping through the curtains.

The ring that’s still currently on his finger even a year after your disappearance.

He remembers Emmet texting him, telling him he’d be in late as Archeops apparently stole his hat, paired with a video of the fossil Pokémon running and flapping around with a white conductor hat.

He remembers laughing at the video, but messaging his twin ‘good luck!’ Before heading to work.

Ingo didn’t mind being the only boss there then.

He does now.

He remembers getting worried and messaging Emmet if he was okay, or needed help as time quickly passed.

Yet no response.

He left for home on his lunch break, as Emmet lives next door.

Only to enter his twin’s home and seeing all his Pokémon there in distress, crying out and looking frantic.

Yet no sign of Emmet.

He rushed to his home to get you, knowing you were off of work today, yet you’re not there either.

He remembers the panic that went through him, the frantic calling for both you and Emmet, even calling your phones.

He loathed recalling how his heart plummeted when he heard his ringtone go off and found your phone on the floor of your shared bedroom.

You were taken, that much he was sure of, you never left home without your phone and at least one of your Pokémon.

Yet all six were accounted for, and weakly crying for you.

He called all your friends, his friends, Emmet’s friends, and anyone he could think of. By the end of the hour, it had already spread that a subway boss and the fiancé of one had disappeared.

Then the rumors started.

Rumors his friends tried to protect him from, but it was too late.

The most popular being you and Emmet fell in love and ran away together, leaving him behind.

But even if that were true, you would’ve taken your Pokémon and phone, he knows you and knows his brother.

He knew it wasn’t true and something more sinister happened.

The police tried, search efforts were made and news outlets pleaded for help for the return of the two of you.

But days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and now here he is, a year later, and still not a sign of either of you.

Ingo cried and still cries at even the mention of you and his brother, he couldn’t thank everyone for their help properly without sobbing.

Elesa and Skyla had to drag him from his home for the first five months, just to get him to go to work.

His loud voice was now hoarse from all his crying, and barely as loud as it once was.

He refused to part with anything of Emmets or yours.

He still introduces himself as engaged.

He can’t let go.

Taking care of so many Pokémon is a hassle, but he enjoys the comfort of them as it reminds him of his brother and beloved.

He refuses to let you two be forgotten.

He refuses to move any of your things.

Your side of the bed remains untouched, your side of the bathroom counter is just how you left it.

He makes sure to dust and keep things clean.

Even with Emmet’s home, he does the same, unable to bring himself to part with anything that wasn’t already in the trash can.

Ingo feels numb, he feels like a husk. The bags under his eyes are dark, his body sways more from being unbalanced. The exhaustion is getting to him, but no matter how much he sleeps, he wakes up even more tired.

He’s tired.

He wants you two home.

He can’t give up, you wouldn’t want him to.

But he’s afraid he’ll never see you two again.

Unaware of a museum in Sinnoh having some pictures and artifacts that are too similar to be a coincidence.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Yandere Outlaw Mingi TEASER

a/n: WROOF WROOF WROOF okay bye lmmmaaoooo

(>ᴗ•) ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ (ಡ‸ಡ)genre: smut w plot, YANDERE, angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content(for teaser only): yandere themes, near death, violence, shmurder she wrote, not proof read

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

"Please, why are you doing this?!" Your voice shook with pure horror, tugging at the ropes that were wrapped around your entire body and tied to the tracks by the bandit who once was on your side. He crouched down at your feet and smirked, his simple answer making you cry all the harder.

"Why not?"

All of your pleas and prayers fall to deaf ears as the man turns away and to his cart, rummaging in his chest. The tracks begins to shake and you begin to except your fate. You turn your head to the side and watch the pebbles rumble, your sobs visible in puffs of air as you exhale into the harsh winter air.

A loud thud and a groan makes you look back, and you see a tall figure on a familiar white horse.

"Mingi!" He drops the crowbar he used to whack the man as he rode past.

He looks back at you briefly- his face hidden by his droopy hat. But you can tell he's pissed. His jaw clenched and shoulders tense before a gunshot rings out and he ducks and rolls off of Mare, slapping her to make her run away as he draws his own gun.

Between the dull rattling of the tracks and the thrumming of your heart, you can barely force yourself to watch as he approaches the man bravely, your eyes flicking from them to the horizon repeatedly. A sob of his name makes him pause for a split second before he comes back to his body.

"Too close," Mingi scowls at the man, using his gun to smack his hand and make him drop his, kicking it away as he scrambles for it.

"Aye, man, I did what yo-"

"Too close."

"Just give me my mon-"

His gun smokes by his side in the next second as the man drops to the desert floor dead. He takes a moment to bask in the way the blood pools around his head before the steam whistle catches his attention.

"Mingi, please!" He drops everything and runs to the tracks, crawling over your body and looking at your binds frantically. "Mingi, oh my God, please- I'm so sorry! Please untie me, hurry," you babble on in a panic as the train appears just over the horizon, sobs wracking you body under his as he tugs at the ropes.

Your horror breaks his heart, but he knows it's necessary. He knows he has a knife strapped to his back, but he plays the panic card and 'forgets' as he forces a false worry onto his face. He won't let anything happen to his Doll, but you're too caught up in your fight or flight to remember that.

"I got you, I got you," he murmurs as he pulls the ropes on one of your sides undone, taking his sweet time with the other as he watches the train grow ever closer- the conductor blaring the horn.

Your free hand grasps at him, clawing at his leather jacket, eyes wide and soaked with tears as you stare down your death as it barrels towards you. Just a few feet away.

Mingi yanks you up and falls to the ground besides the tracks with you on top of him, hands roughly holding you to his chest as his hat blows away with the wind that the train creates. You willingly slump into him, sobbing into his warm chest as the tracks rattle loudly besides you, drowning out your cries.

He relishes in the way you cling to him well after the train passes, not daring move away from your savior as you cry your heart out and ramble on to him about how you're so sorry and how you never would have really turned him in and on and on until he silences you with a tender hug.

He knows all of this. His Doll would never betray him. But it's best that he get a subconscious message through your thick, naive, skull early on.

The message being: every attempt to leave him has failed miserably. Why even try to leave when he's so clearly your fate?

-

[beautyinsteadofashes]

I just saw TGC for the very first time knowing very little about it. Every upbeat ensemble number was an absolute blast!!! Like you could feel excitement building for the Troika Driver and i didn't really even know why or what was going on. The crowd was pumped!

Our production had Pierre in a sunken stage pit with the pianist/conductor (who cried during Sonya's song bless his heart) that was black and white and low so he literally is climbing out of the slimy depression pit during Dust and Ashes and into the light (I might cry).

Anatole is wearing all black and so when Natasha goes to the ball she wears this half black half white sexy number having been seduced by him then a fully black and slumped kinda rolling dress in her sad scene with Pierre and then when I saw her back in her original white for the ending I was so happy.

The stage has a massive white marble door that was used really well (it was very Mama Mia vibes. Anatole and Natasha has a weird Angel of Music mirror moment Infront of it) but especially to show Andre's absence. I felt Natasha's arc and longing and regret so deeply that when Andre finally speaks so much anticipation has been built for this character that you've barely seen or never truly seen except in her imagination and then he can't forgive her! I was crushed.

[litsunee]

Hold on till May

PART 1 He always sat by the window. The fast clatter of the train wheels – his heart was now beating slowly and calmly. The cherry blossoms gave way to the soft curves of green valleys. The sun switched everything to a high-brightness mode. Jungkook leaned his head against the heated glass and felt the speed vibrating in his body.

Mother? Did she search for him? The boy had been with her for so long that he seemed to be going crazy. The smell of unknown medicines had not yet washed off his hands, his beloved voice had not yet washed out of his memory.

He was leaving abruptly. The city saw him off with the first thunderstorm, an unexpected thaw, and a white petal of an unknown flower caught on the fabric of an old coat. It was surprisingly quiet inside, he had probably cried everything out. In the back rows, the melody of someone's long-familiar violin barely passed through the hissing radio waves.

There were only a few people in the entire carriage. In the next row, a cheerful little girl was clutching the hands of her dozing grandmother. Behind her, two teenagers were asleep leaning on each other's shoulders. Somewhere by the door, holding tightly to the handrails, an old man was weakly peering at the name of the next stop. But Jungkook didn't need to. He was riding without a destination. Just to look at everything one last time.

The train stopped. Jungkook saw the old man carefully step onto the platform and hand a basket of vegetables to the girl who was meeting him. A half-empty station, leading the rare travelers along the only narrow path to the low houses of the town to which he would never return. A station where he would never be able to get off again.

The events of a year ago flashed before his eyes like a veil. In the middle of April, he sat on this very bench near the dilapidated station building. He was drenched and chilled by the icy rain and frightened by the screaming lightning in the dark gray sky. He saw a shadow of himself from the past: lost in a light windbreaker, with his last coin spent on a useless call in a phone booth.

In this mirage, a stranger's hand fell on his shoulders, just like it had done only a couple of weeks ago. He raised his tear-stained eyes to a young guy in an old coat, who was covering him with a child's umbrella. The little pink thing with the pictures of lollipops was not enough for both of them, and cold drops fell on the stranger's back.

"Why are you crying? Are you lost? Or did you miss the train? Then, stop crying," the boy didn't wait for his answer. "Let's run to the bus stop, you can get to the city much cheaper from there."

“My bag was stolen, and all my money was in there, and then there was a thunderstorm, and I…” Jungkook threw up his hands and cried louder, pressing his back into the clogged wood.

The boy only smiled in response and gently pulled Jungkook by the sleeve where he hid his frozen palms. The boy was carefully covering Jungkook's already wet hair with a clumsy children's umbrella, while he was cautiously following him to the bus stop. There, without further objection, he pushed the still quietly sobbing boy into the only bus at the deserted station, bought a ticket from the old conductor, who kindly patted him on the shoulder, and, before running out of the bus, which was starting up, he said:

"It's going to get warmer in here, so take off your jacket and boots," a gentle smile reflected again in his wide-open eyes. "They're wet, it's better not to catch a cold. Please, don't forget, otherwise you'll get sick!"

He opened his funny pink umbrella and, without giving him a chance to say thank you, waved goodbye, disappearing into the blurry landscape of fresh April foliage outside the window.

Jungkook moved back to Gangwon Province just a couple of weeks ago. This picturesque corner, soaked in the salt of the noisy surf, the sweet flowers of Seoraksan Park and a cozy pile of childhood memories, was his homeland. And the homeland of his mother, who finally decided to get a divorce. The woman woke up one June morning, threw half-empty bottles of unfinished alcohol into the trash bin, packed nine years into three suitcases, helped her son calmly say goodbye to the loved ones, and right before the train station filed a long-awaited lawsuit.

“Jungkook, this is liberation,” the woman gently rocked him in her arms, kissing his temple from time to time. “You know that we tried, but were unable to help him."

Jungkook knew that his father's illness had robbed them of enough. It had taken away their family, committed a crime against someone who was now just a name on his birth certificate, humiliated and mocked them. Pity had turned to hatred, and with it, everything that had been valuable seemed trivial. The school with the best grades, the boy he liked, the cherished family piano in the kitchen, the arcade with free slots on Saturday nights. Every memory was filtered: a nasty dirty-yellow sepia with the smell of vomit and the bruises on his pale arms.

If he had to move to the other end of the country to hide from the disease, he was willing to do so. And he hid. He looked at the city streets from the station window for just a minute, turned around and started again. Someone else's symptoms allowed it.

But, as it turned out, some were much less lucky. For these few, even a flight to another planet did not solve anything.

His mother woke him up, asleep on her lap in the stuffy silence of the night bus, already on the approach to Sokcho. The dawn was breaking in yellow flashes over the clamorous sea, and the cherry trees were setting their buds in the courtyards of the coastal houses. He was tired and cold. He wanted to get lost in the endless valleys on the horizon and fall asleep under a blanket of dew on last year's grass. But the blue road sign had already welcomed them "home."

They were indeed going home. The Jeon family estate, where his grandparents used to live, now belonged to his mother's sister, her husband, and their two children, little Jihyo and his peer Hoseok. He was on good terms with the cousins, and he honestly considered Hoseok to be his very close friend. They didn't just send candies as gifts once a year on Christmas Eve but regularly called each other even for all sorts of trifles. Only recently the boy called too rarely, and when Jungkook managed to catch his voice against the background of his aunt's conversation with his mother, it sounded weak and forlorn. Unfortunately, they saw each other indecently seldom. So meeting them now was especially joyful and exciting.

Auntie Jeon greeted them without asking any questions. She warmed them up, fed them, and kissed them. She didn't care about the early hour and helped them unpack the necessary things herself. That is how it must be done in a loving family.

"Cookie, I put a towel for you in the bathroom, just ask your mom to get you some pajamas, otherwise Hoseok's things..." the woman looked through the neat stacks of multi-colored T-shirts in the dresser, unfolded one with a trembling gesture. "... will be too small."

She paused to look at it. The slightly faded yellow fabric with black lettering was folded very carefully in her hands as if it might suffer from careless creases. Auntie carefully pushed the drawer shut and straightened the bed in the attic room. Here, by the desk, hung the variety of shiny sticker notes, movie tickets, postcards, and drawings. In the corner, there stood an old rocking chair with a mountain of cushions in every shade of green, and next to it a full-length floor mirror in a shabby gold frame. A canopy of satin tulle was stretched over the large double bed, and from the half-open window, just behind the headboard, the endless sea was visible.

It was Hoseok's room. Surprisingly clean and somehow empty.

Auntie Jeon was humming something under her breath, fluffing up the pillow in a sky-blue pillowcase:

"It's insane how much you've grown, Cookie," she smiled at him, just like in childhood, and turned on a tiny night light, swirling the shadows of shells and starfish across the gloom of the wooden walls.

The boy leaned into her touch, like a kitten seeking affection, and asked:

"Where's Hoseok? Does he mind that I take over his room today?"

The woman looked into his eyes somehow kindly, condescendingly, with the same smile that he always remembered on her face. A warm palm once again gently stroked his cheek:

"Go to bed, little bunny, we'll talk about everything tomorrow."

The heavy door closed with a cozy creak, the body steamed after the hot water sank into the freshness of soft bed linen, and the disappearing shadows of the sea faded in the first rays of the spring sun. And tomorrow came after only five hours of deep sleep.

[crescentblossom66]

Prompt 27 Pool

The arctic cruise was on the new and improved ship was still had plenty of visitors even after what happened to the previous ship. The new ship had various quality of life improvements like bolted down tables and chairs, a safer kitchen, an engine room that wasn't quite as...electric, and bigger play area for kids. The one thing that really needed a revision but never got any was the pool though, the water was still ice cold. A testament to the coldness of the pool came in form of frozen feathers on an owl that had decided to take a dip, but regretted it immediately. “Man, this pool is colder than the heart of the Conductor.” He yelled as he climbed back out of the water.

A resounding “I heard that, laddie!” Came from the bar where the director was at this year again. He was drinking his glass slowly, this time he had left the little owlets at home. After the incident with his grandson, who had fallen into the pool and was saved by a Moon Penguin of all people, he refused when his daughter asked him if he'd take them along this year.

Bow Kid was milling about on the tables above, serving food and drinks at a rapid pace without spilling a single drop of liquid. Nearby a group of penguins, the ones that actually enjoyed water, were playing pool volleyball. The loud splashing and cheering was annoying, but the director was tuning it out, focusing on his drink.

All that changed, however, when a stray ball hi the back of his head, nearly making him choke on the drink that he was sipping at the moment. He coughed as the alcohol ended up in his lungs instead. “Careful, ye peck necks!” He growled as he went back to drinking. Stupid, obnoxious Moon Penguins.

The penguins seemed to have the same contempt for him as one of them snickered before purposefully chucking the ball in the direction of their boss' rival, who was more coherent still as they anticipated as he turned and popped the ball with his talons after catching it.

“ I was watching ye lads! Come here, I'll break yer beaks!” He got up from the stool, swaying and heading their way, not realizing that even thought the water was cold, it wasn't solid. He tripped and fell face first into the pool.

The owls nearby gasped while the penguins were laughing loudly. “I told you the Conductor is an idiot.”

Bow, who was on the upper deck, realized that something was wrong after everything went quiet, except for the penguins who laughed at the now resurfaced owl who started to flail around and swallow water in between cries for help. She jumped down heroically, diving into the water to get the yellow owl out before he'd drown. Bow glared at the penguins who did nothing but laugh, wondering if they'd have let the Conductor meet his demise. “I'll tell DJ Grooves that you'd let the Conductor drown.”

The group of black and white birds jerked up in horror. Even if the DJ hated his rival, killing him was something that even he wouldn't want them to do.

“Thank ye, lassie.” The drenched and freezing bird muttered with a chattering beak. “Drownin' myself in alcohol is one thing, but actually drowning' is terrifying.”

[thespiritofaconductor]

Welcome Aboard to the Remains of Battle Subway!

——————————————————————————

- Greetings, this is an ask blog to my pokepasta AU of Ingo (and Emmet) — The Conductor’s Spirit. This is NOT going to be a free all-out interaction ask blog, there will be a couple of rules to follow before stepping in to the station. Viewer discretion is advised—as this blog contains slight gore. the art ref at the bottom and the explanation to the lore (on ingo) can be your advisory.

- They are simple.

Blankshippers can indeed interact, but do not mention anything about that ship or anything related to it.

NSFW DO NOT INTERACT!

Please try to ask questions — and reasonable asks worth for me to answer. Yes you are allowed to ask and speak to Emmet (The Cries of the White Twin), too. [But make it known who the ask goes to-ingo or emmet] You are allowed to interact with touch—like hugs. NOTHING inappropriate. You can also send reaction images as long as they are family friendly. (Swears are allowed, I don’t mind. Slurs too.)

Please do not be mean to Ingo, Emmet, and/or Hilbert.

I include Hilbert simply because I am collabing with my friend, @paperyfox , or known as: @ask-the-burned-trainer in terms of this blog.

As I mentioned before, inappropriate topics aren’t allowed. I suppose I’ll let NSFW interact as long as they keep their mouths closed about that interest. Just try not to make the user(s) uncomfortable.

You get the idea. Follow the rules, safe driving! Follow the schedules. Everyone SMILE! Check safety. Everyone’s ready! Aim for victory! All Aboard!

Viewer discretion is advised.

“On a normal day of work, I was off on the tracks fixing the switch stand lever, until I heard an oncoming train horn coming in my direction. I didn’t think much of it, until it was too late. Just as I near the completion of the switch, I seen lights, rushing at me full speed ahead. I heard my brother, Emmet, call out to me and get me to step aside, but to my inconvenience, I didn’t listen and focused on the tracks and switch. Those lights appeared to be a train, and just as I tried to get out of the way, it has already collided with me… The last thing I heard was Emmet’s sobs and pleas, and the sound of destruction.”

“By the time I woke up, I was in a hospital room. Nobody was around… I was at least expecting to see Emmet there waiting for me to arise… I made my way through the corridors to reach the station again. …The station looked in very bad shape. As if nobody has been taking care of it throughout my absence. Everything was still functioning, pretty finely, actually.”

“I made it down to the tunnels—the tracks. And the sight I saw certainly was… something. Something to cause a panic. I spotted a derailment, ashes of the tunnel walls and remains of the burnt down. I went to investigate.. But all was hell. There was a lead to Gear station. I went through. …Gear station appears to have blown up. The train did also.”

“Further investigation, I spotted Emmet. Emmet looked… Very distraught. He didn’t even look at me. He was just covered in ashes, drenched in tears, still sobbing today. I waited, I went towards a mirror I saw. I took a good look at my body… And it was frantic. My own eyes widened, in question of what had happened here. There was a large gap inside of my stomach, revealing my ribs… Bloody tears stuck underneath my sockets, and everything else was simply just … Torn apart. Now my question was: Did that train come in impact with me?”

“I went back to Emmet, to see if he could tell me something about this. Although… He didn’t respond. I was scared to if he even would face me without a shout or more fearful panic sobs. But, He didn’t even hear me. He felt my hand, though, thats for sure. He tried to look for what touched him… But he looked right through me. that’s when it all clicked. I was dead. I was indeed hit. …If only I listened to first time.”

REFS (he gash will look better the more asks i get and the more art i put up—i sorts rushed these pieces)

[yallemagne]

“There is no use your telling me that you are going to be good,” cried Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled with rose-water. “You are quite perfect. Pray, don’t change.”

Henry stop fucking grooming him for one second, he's trying to have a character arc.

Dorian's great act of mercy is finally not fucking over a young woman just because he has a fleeting interest in her. For maybe anyone else I'd be like nooo you're just isolating yourself it's unhealthy, but Dorian just is a shitty person, so yeah, if he "can't help" but hurt everyone he knows he should avoid impressionable young people. Of course, Henry is a whore, so--

“Besides, how do you know that Hetty isn’t floating at the present moment in some starlit mill-pond, with lovely water-lilies round her, like Ophelia?”

"Dorian, you should have just slept with her and ruined her chances at a normal life anyway. She would have killed herself either way." Remind me why people think he's charming.

"You must play Chopin to me. The man with whom my wife ran away played Chopin exquisitely."

GOOD FOR HER. Go get it, Victoria, hell yeah. If I seem like a hypocrite cheering her on and condemning Henry, yes, I am, and I have no shame, I truly hope he was hurt by her leaving him. I wish every inconvenience upon him.

"I dare say he fell into the Seine off an omnibus and that the conductor hushed up the scandal. Yes: I should fancy that was his end. I see him lying now on his back under those dull-green waters, with the heavy barges floating over him and long weeds catching in his hair.”

Does Henry have a fetish for suicide by drowning? Is the only way he can finish by looking at that one painting of Ophelia? Jesus man. He complains Dorian's idea that Basil was murdered is "too romantic" and then he gets all hot and bothered saying "mm imagine Basil rotting in a river".

"There is some one at White’s who wants immensely to know you—young Lord Poole, Bournemouth’s eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite delightful and rather reminds me of you." [...] "We might go together, and I will take you to lunch afterwards with Lady Branksome. She is a charming woman, and wants to consult you about some tapestries she is thinking of buying. Mind you come. Or shall we lunch with our little duchess? She says she never sees you now. Perhaps you are tired of Gladys? I thought you would be. Her clever tongue gets on one’s nerves. Well, in any case, be here at eleven."

Henry, what the fuck do you think you are? A pimp??

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part four)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Warnings: Conductor thinking about his dead wife

Word count: 1,063

Author's notes: Heyyyy! Remember back in part one when I mentioned Owlice and Pinguini? Well they're making their debut! They're OCs that I came up with while working on this and will appear a fair bit in this AU so get used to them I guess. The chapters will eventually slow down in how often I'm posting them but I somehow have creativity right now so yeah. Have fun with this part!

Conductor looked up as Grooves walked into his office, a giddy grin on the penguin's face.

"What's got you so pleased?" Conductor asked, putting down his notepad.

"So you know how I said about Pinguini and Owlice?" Grooves replied, waiting for a nod before he continued. "Well, both of them are in today and I thought you could come and meet them."

Conductor considered saying no, continuing with his drafted scene ideas. But he wasn't going to get anywhere with that, he'd known that since he first started jotting more ideas down.

"Well, you said they might be good for the leadin' roles. Go on then, let's go and see them," Conductor said, standing from his desk.

"They're, um, they're actually outside right now," Grooves squeaked, standing in front of the Conductor.

"What? Why?"

"I thought it'd be quicker just to bring them here! But I think Owlice panicked and thought we were going to fire her," Grooves explained shyly. "What should we do?"

Conductor let out a put-upon sigh before shoving past Grooves and opening the door.

An owl and a penguin were sitting together on the floor, leaning back against the corridor wall.

But when the door opened both looked up, the owl scrambling to her feet while the penguin stood up at a slower pace.

The owl, presumably Owlice, wore large wire framed glasses that covered worried looking brown eyes. She wore a white lacy shirt and a small silver necklace hung around her neck.

The penguin, seemingly Pinguini, also wore glasses; but his were heart shaped sunglasses. He dressed like most of the Moon Penguins except for the fact he wasn't wearing a formal jacket. Instead he'd opted for a dark blue hoodie to go over his shirt.

"Alright then, you two had better come in." Conductor gestured back into the office.

Owlice swallowed nervously while Pinguini smiled. Grooves shut the door behind them once all four of them were in the office.

"So, Grooves tells me that yer both quite talented actors. What sections do you work in?" Conductor questioned.

"I- I work in costume design, s-sir," Owlice stuttered, looking on the verge of tears.

"Props. I work on lots of the laser guns for DJ's movies," Pinguini replied.

"Right then." Conductor nodded before refocusing on Owlice. "Lass, you're not being fired, so could ya please calm down?"

Owlice nodded, blinking a few times as she stared at him. "Yes, sorry sir, I was just nervous. If it was that I was going to get fired then I might've cried," Owlice explained, voice breaking slightly.

"Darling, do you need a minute?" Grooves offered and Owlice looked over at him.

"Oh, no, sorry sir, it's fine. I'm- I'm fine now, thank you very much," Owlice insisted.

"Right. As I was saying, Grooves here thinks yer both talented actors. But as I've just found out, neither of you are actually actors. So we'll give you the lead roles for now and see in a few weeks as to how everything is going. All good?"

Pinguini nodded and Owlice did too, albeit with less vigour than the penguin.

"Alright then, off you pop," Conductor dismissed them.

The owl and penguin hurried off and Grooves walked over to the Conductor's desk.

"That was nice of you."

"We need actors. And Owlice was going ta break down if I called her in here for nothin'."

"Why are you so against the movie having romance?" Grooves questioned suddenly. Conductor looked up at him, letting out a sigh as he recited one of Satine's possible lines he'd jotted down.

"I can't fall in love with anyone." Grooves' face knitted with confusion.

"Can't fall in love? But life without love- is terrible!" Grooves protested, holding onto Conductor's arm.

"No, being out of my job, that's what's terrible!" Conductor argued, remembering the few times he had tried romance movies.

He'd lost interest in that area after meeting his wife.

He'd only tried once to make another romance movie and that was after she died. He couldn't bring himself to do it in the end.

"No! Love is like oxygen!" Grooves argued before pausing, beak hanging slightly agape. "Are you crying?"

Conductor sniffed and hurriedly bought a hand to his face, scrubbing it across and catching the few falling tears.

"Nope. Now off you pop. I've got work to do," Conductor stated, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Whenever he thought of her he got upset.

It had been better in the more recent years but it might've been what caused the rift between him and his daughter back when it first happened.

He began to walk towards Grooves and the penguin instinctively backed away towards the door.

"We should be working together, darling," Grooves pointed out as his back hit the door.

"Just leave," Conductor sighed.

Grooves opened the door slowly, lingering in the frame of it as he turned to leave. "You know, if you ever wanted to talk about-"

"Just. Go." Grooves nodded and closed the door slowly.

Conductor let out a sob as he leant back against the door before sliding to sit on the floor.

"Peck I miss you."

Conductor uncurled himself at the knock on the door, standing up and opening it slightly.

"Um, sorry sir, is this a bad time?" Owlice asked, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another. She held a basket in one wing, covered in a small dark purple cloth.

"What is it lass?" Conductor prompted gently, pushing his problems aside for a minute.

"Mr. Grooves asked me to give this to you," she explained, holding out the basket.

Conductor opened the door a little further, taking the basket from her.

"Thanks. Anything else?" Conductor checked.

"No sir. But everyone is packing up so I suggest you head home soon."

"Will do. Thanks again."

Conductor closed the door, sitting down on the floor again and rifling through the basket's contents.

One bottle of whiskey, two records of music from famous western films, and a couple of tickets for the movie marathon of the first five Annual Bird Movie Award winning films at the cinema.

"You pecking idiot. I didn't want all o' this," Conductor muttered, secretly touched by the action.

He stuck his head back out the door, shouting at Owlice as she walked down the hall.

"Tell him to bring them himself next time!"

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

J is driving us home from the girls regional basketball final. D's daughter's team won. Big. Even though they played the same team they had a tough one against in the district final. That big number 50 was knocking people down and hooking somebody literally every time she touched the ball in the paint and the hillbilly refs from down East didn't call SHIT. D was like, "She hooked my baby like she's trying to boat a marlin! I know you see that! She was into her BELLY BUTTON! You can see that even from way down East!"

They're headed to state. For the 3rd year in a row. She made another (bigger) all tournament team. D cried again. 🥹❤️ I think that kinda freaks J out but I also think he admires it.

D's son led the student section again. Wearing white conductor's gloves. 😂😂😂 D's wife is all, "Look at what a goof he is! 😂❤️ Why is he like this?! Why does he have to be so weird?! 😂❤️" We know it's because he's just like his dad, don't we, A? 😂😂😂😂❤️

The Boy was tired and he didn't go with us this time from being at his own state competition this morning. I felt you with me as I waited in that hotel lobby with J during his state tests. I know you were there. I had that dream about you right before I woke up this morning, basically telling me not to freak out and that you were gonna be with me all day. And longer. I believe you.

We watched as much of the Kentucky/Tennessee game as we could after we got home from the boy's tests and before we left for the high school game, and in case I missed the end, the boy texted me the final score. Because he knows I really wanted Kentucky to beat Tennessee. I mean I always want the Wildcats to win, and I always want them to beat Tennessee, but this year, he knows, because of you, I super duper wanted them to beat Tennessee. And they did. I knew that before he told me, but it was still cool that he was all, "Hey Mom, Kentucky beat Tennessee 😀 A would approve." You would. ❤️

I still cried today. That dream was kind of a lot. And I miss you at academic team and I miss you with basketball at every level. I'm going to the cemetery this week and I know J said he'd go with me, but I'm going to go by myself. I can do it. Because I know you're with me. I know you are. And I'm grateful for that, and I'm still mostly a happy person. But I still miss you, man. I'm always going to wish you were HERE here, no matter how much I manage to integrate the grief.

Anyway, boys semis are tomorrow. My godfather is going with us. So are my brother and The Wife (that ought to be something 🙄). But D and B and J and the boy will be there too. And so will you. Right? So my brother and The Wife won't be able to bring me down. All my most favorite people who don't make me nuts will be there too. Even my best friend. ❤️