#this isn't about that though

[twstyuna]

Scary Night

Characters: Skully J. Graves, Yuu, (brief mentions of the Pomefiores)

Summary: In the depths of Tartarus, a Phantom prepares for Halloween.

Notes: Intrusive thoughts go brr anyway the mystery of Skully being an invisible ghost plagues me to this day. This takes place during the Tartarus Descent. I forgot to post it here after ao3.

Warnings: Well Skully's dead. So that. Also delusions and questionable likely non-canon Phantom Lucidity. I would say this fic is bittersweet but you might say I'm chugging poison

Ao3 Mirror

. . .

. . .cold. . . it's cold. . .

. . .it's dark too. . .

. . .that's not right. . .one must to keep vigil, during times like these. . .keep a lantern lit through the night. . .keep it bright in the midst of darkness. . .

. . .there is noise, beyond the room, beyond the cold, cramped space he is in. Is it not a room? Why is it so-

Sounds, again. Noises, again.

One should be silent, on Halloween night, to let terror and dreads seep into one's bones. 

How bothersome. How disrespectful, to cause a ruckus.

He cannot stand for it.

He stretches, something breaks, and the noise and light pierce his skull-

Terrible. How terrible, horrible, unacceptable-

Isn't it enough? Hasn't there been enough of this? Could he not have a moment of peace? To have just one Halloween for himself, dark and solemn as it once was? Hasn't he done enough? 

The room is red and bright and dark shapes scurry all about, clawing at the walls, and making noise and it is wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong-!

Unruly. Ungrateful. Ugly, inconsiderate hoodlums!

He crushes something beneath his hand, something like pleasure drips into him. It's a little more quiet now. And how lovely! There is black paint here already. He can fix it then. He can-

He cannot change what he has done. He cannot extinguish the flames he has set throughout Wonderland. He cannot ruin all that joy and revelry-

But here-

Oh, here he can have it again, if only for a moment! The Halloween he loved and still loves. . . the one Jack Skellington began. . .his Halloween, simple and solemn, eerie and elegant, the one he-

New traditions have eclipsed the old. Even so, he can enjoy that darkness, that old custom, that old love, even if he must do it himself.

Glass shards bite into his palm, but there is so much to cover and so little time to find a brush. What useful little bugs these are, so full of such lovely, pitch-black paint. They fall apart like bruised fruit, and make themselves useful upon the walls.

It's a lovely thing, his Halloween. Those comforting shadows, that flickering lantern flame through the night. The quiet company, as one remembers what has passed and what is to come. He never stopped loving it, not once. Of course he loved it. He never traded it for the new, the bright, the sweet and dazzling. Is it so difficult, to hold many loves in one's heart? He could love the new and old. He loved that Halloween, the first. He never meant to. . .to. . .

How could he? 

He couldn't have murdered it with own two hands.

How could he?

He couldn't have. He never meant to. He only wanted others to love Halloween. To love a different way, if they had to, so they could delight in it as he had. It didn't mean he ever thought poorly of the first. 

Who could ever despise their first love?

. . .so why? Why would nobody care for it, anymore? Why was only he alone gathering black paint now? He could understand lands and towns beyond preferring the festive they saw first, but even in his own home. . . did no one care anymore?

The noise, the lights-

They were beautiful, but wasn't there beauty in the dark and silence too? In a solitary lantern rather than rows of them all about? In the intimate dark of a room than the open night sky? There is a time and a place for everything. . . that's what he told himself when he began. So why couldn't there be a place for his Halloween too?

Thank you, they said, smiling like ghouls. For what you've done. The old Halloween was-

Dull!

Unfashionable-

Dreary           

Boring!         

Morbid-

But what was wrong with that? 

This new Halloween is so much better.

But it wasn't meant to be better, just different. Just- just another way, not the only way, he never meant to-

He can fix it. Let them have their Halloween.

A room. Just a room. Just himself. He can fix this much. Let him have his own. Just by himself, as before. As he had, before, only his room alone would be dark. Only he would truly be alone, now-

That- he could be alright with that. He could live with that. 

He would love his Halloween, and he would honor its death by mourning it with itself. He had to. He has to, he can't let it die, because of him-

But he needs a room first. A dark room, the walls inked black. He could make a lantern, later on. But first, the paint-

Red light pulses in the chamber. An eyesore. There is plenty of paint to use though. Boxes and boxes and boxes stacked up high. Some vials are so eager they open themselves up! And the silence is so, so lovely, every time he-

. . .he cannot help but pause, at this sound, even though he knows he must hurry and have the room painted black-

"Skully. . .?"

There it is again. A soft noise. A soft voice. That sound. . .it's important, isn't it? He knows that sound, that word, that name-

A vial skitters towards the noise, screeching-

But he is faster, his reach longer. 

There is that satisfying crunch, and he looks at his hand. It looks odd, but no matter. It drips black. Right. He must paint the walls, to have his-

"Skully." 

Oh. That voice, again. That was. . .rude, of him. . .to ignore. . .Skellington was a gentleman, a gentleman should-

"Skully, is that you?"

. . .is that him? Is that his name? There's something delightful about the thought, how his name might sound even a little bit like his idol's.

There is a hand against his face then, and it feels so small. The voice is so small. Should they be this small?

"Oh Skully, what happened to you?"

. . .what happened to him? Did something. . .? 

Oh. Why are they crying? Crying should come later, during the vigil, the reflection. If they cry all those tears now-

"Yuu, get away from-! "

L o u d . 

He turns-

But they- Yuu - they're faster.

They turn and they hiss, they shush, despite wearing the same robes as the others, and something flutters in his chest.

"You're. . .you should be quiet. Halloween's supposed to be quiet right?" Their own voice is quiet, so soft he has to lean closer to hear right. "Is that what you're doing here? Painting the walls black. . . you're preparing for Halloween. . ."

. . .they know. They know-

Oh he wants to embrace them, but his hands are just so messy. He lowers his head instead, to kiss them, to see them better, to keep this one's face in mind, but his head's so much bigger and heavier than he remembers, he can't feel his lips and it's like his thoughts are sloshing about. He has to kneel to get close enough-

Yuu throws their arms around his neck.

"Potato, what are you-"

Yuu turns their head and shushes. It's louder than it should be, but they have the spirit.

"Go," they say.

"Trickster-"

"Yuu, yer -!"

They hiss, and the two fall silent.

"Go," they whisper. "I'll. . .I'll catch up. . ."

"Yuu-"

"Please, Vil."

Vil. . .something about the sound. . .like Yuu, it-

Yuu turns back to him, and smiles. "Do you need help? I'm sure you're capable, but it seems like a lot of trouble to do, by yourself. . .not to mention, you've missed a bunch of spots down here. The problem of being too tall I guess. . ."

They're right. There are small spots left unpainted, lower than his line of sight. 

How clumsy of me, he wants to say, but he can't find the words. His throat is clogged with syrup. Must be from all the sweets.

Yuu pulls at their sleeves and gathers its cords until they hold the tassel of their robes like a brush between their fingers. They swipe at the wall, smearing the spaces he neglected. He makes a pleased hum at the sight, even as the others leave noisily, as one makes a sound and drops something before the door.

"Like this?"

Yes, just like that! He can't quite kiss them still, he can't feel his lips, but he can bend low, and press his head against theirs. He hopes they can feel his gratitude. How lovely to have someone to help-

Yuu makes a sound, soft and sad, despite the laugh of it. Their hand shakes.

"I promised. I promised I'd try it- your Halloween."

He can't form their name, though he wants to call it. He shifts to see their face, and oh dear, those tears again-

"I'm sorry, Skully. I'm so sorry I forgot."

Forget? What did they forget? They're the only other one not to forget.

Yet they cry, and the tears drip into the ink. His useless mouth won't open, only gurgles rise from his throat. He wants to touch them, but there is so much broken glass-

They wipe their eyes. They smile at him.

"Do you remember Grim?"

Grim. . .something small and warm. Fluffy. A mischievous little creature, he vowed-

"You said you'd be his hands and feet, a long time ago. Do you remember?"

. . .something like that, he said something of the sort, yes-

"Could you do that again, please? Paint for him? He hates chores. He ran away, you know. I'm looking for him now. I'm looking for a switch too. It will stop this room from being so red. You'd like that, right?"

. . .yes, yes, the room ought to be black-

"I'll go turn the lights off then. And I'll go get Grim, he can light a lantern, and we'll have a nice, proper Halloween together. How about it?"

That sounds splendid, Yuu, but he must have been so passionate in his painting that the stuff got in his mouth. He can't tell if he beams, but Yuu certainly does.

He feels their arms about him again, their lips against his face-

"I'll be right back, okay Skully? "

He hums. It's a delightful thought- sharing his lovely Halloween with someone lovely enough to appreciate it-

Yuu pulls away too soon.

They head for the door.

So do some fiendish, blabbering things. He crushes them, before the beasts can follow Yuu. They have something important to do. Yuu is going to help darken the room, and they're going to find Grim. 

Such a noisy thing, silencing is. Yuu turns back at the commotion and he feels almost ashamed.

But Yuu only smiles at him, so terribly teary still.

"Thank you, Skully," they say.

They press a card to the door, and the brightness beyond swallows them up.

. . .red light flashes, in this horrid room. There is so much to paint, and so much to silence. So much to do. It is worth it though, as the room turns dark and quiet. . .

The room is perfectly dark now. Perhaps Yuu found a way to do away with the light. Perhaps they found Grim too, and are hurrying back this very second-

Oh, but the lantern! He's forgotten all about it. Will Yuu bring a pumpkin? He can make one, certainly, but he doesn't want to use them for it. 

His hand flies to his head, to tap at his chin, but isn't that strange?

His other hand rises, and he'd laugh if he could. How silly of him, to wear the lantern like this. No wonder he couldn't feel his head.  No wonder Yuu was crying. What a sight he must have been. 

The room is ready, and he's only waiting for Yuu and Grim for a fire. He can light it all on his own, but he'd like to share it with them. It would be rude to start early, but he ought to have the lantern ready as well.

He makes sure he has a good grip on the pumpkin on his head.

He pulls, and pulls, and he must be smiling.

He feels so very light, as he sets it down, as he waits in the dark.

He is so glad, he must be smiling. 

After all, it will be simply wonderful to have a proper Halloween again.  

[leupagus]

It's worth noting that there are some extraordinary people in the world who have been quietly doing the work for decades, and they should be celebrated with all the fervor that we denounce the villains. I first read about Harrison twenty-odd years ago, when he'd already been doing this for about fifty years, and this is one of those guys whose life can, indeed, be summed up by his headline.

James Harrison saved millions of lives. Millions. Not with anything flashy or dramatic, not with profound speeches or brilliant strategy or any of the things we insist are the ways to impact the world. He simply kept himself as healthy as possible so that every few weeks he could go and sit quietly in a room and give away a fundamental part of himself — quite literally his lifeblood — to people he'd never meet, for no pay and no expectation of acknowledgement. (He was, it should be said, acknowledged quite a lot per this article, but that's beside the point.)

When we talk about the kind of people we want to elevate and celebrate in our societies, I often think of people like James Harrison. I hope we get more of him; not just for his blood, but for his heart.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Expertise can't help you here.

[analog-television]

So like. Not what you'd consider "cold" just in general, but rather specifically for where YOU live (for example: 6c/43f might be considered "cold" if you live in Florida). I see a lot of Tumblr users defending the cold on here, so I'm wondering what temperatures they're actually talking about. For me anyway "cold" automatically translates to be anything below freezing - but I'm not fully convinced that 90% of Tumblr is Actually yearning for below freezing temps.

(My ideal temperature range is around 10c-20c, but a bit below 10c can be nice and refreshing as well. Above 20c depends on what I'm doing - and anything above 25c is too much.)

[keplercryptids]

i just think that, most of the time, you really do need to teach people how to love you. and equally, you need to be taught how to love others. this can feel scary and hard and even like a failure, especially if you're approaching a relationship with trauma - shouldn't it be easy to love me? yeah ofc. but love is an act of translation between people across experience, geography, culture, memory. it's constant, purposeful translation. and though it can be hard, there is real joy to be found in the teaching and learning of love.

[egophiliac]

this started as a reply to someone (a million years ago) (I am so sorry) and then very quickly got out of control, as these things do. so...uhhh....here's everyone else at Playful Land!

sorry

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[snail-day]

Thinking about babies again, what's new 😮‍💨

Gojo would be over the moon when you tell him you're pregnant (the little freak inside him would show everyone the little piss test and all) pressing excited kisses to your belly, looking up at you like you're the most incredible person in the world. He talks to the baby before they can even hear him, whispering jokes and telling stories. His favorite moments are when he can feel the little kicks, he gets a giddy smile everytime before pressing a kiss to a stretch mark or two.

But then he starts reading. About the risks. The complications. The fragile nature of it all. Suddenly, the strongest sorcerer alive feels powerless. His excitement turns into quiet anxiety, masked behind nervous jokes and late-night research.

The first time he holds them, his breath catches. They’re so small. So soft. So warm. Their tiny fingers curl instinctively around his, and he feels it, the shift in his entire being. A weight heavier than anything he’s ever carried, yet lighter than air.

Anxiety for the first time crawling over him. He’s scared. Terrified, even. What if he’s too rough? What if his touch, so used to battle, isn't meant for something so delicate? His hands tremble the first time you ask him to hold them on his own, a wobbly smile on his lips thats begging you to not hand the fragile creature over. But then, the baby lets out the tiniest yawn, their little face scrunching up before settling against his chest. And just like that, the fear melts away.

He learns. Slowly.

How to support their head, how to sway just right to stop the cries, how to tickle their tummy without worrying about breaking bones. He learns that they love the sound of his voice, giggling whenever he whispers nonsense. That their tiny grubby fingers grab at his blindfold, fascinated by the fabric, and that they light up whenever he enters the room.

Satoru is completely smitten. This small creature becoming the greatest gift. He kisses their chubby cheeks until they squeal, blows raspberries on their belly just to hear their laughter. Learns to appreciate all the slobber kisses that reach his cheeks. The teething phase where they bite on his jacket or his fingers. Carrying them everywhere, showing them off like they’re the most precious treasure in the world. Which, to him, they are. (Oh how he'd brag to Nanami if he managed to have a kid first).

When they fall asleep against his chest, soft breaths puffing against his collarbone, Satoru feels like his heart might just burst. They’re so tiny, so warm, so safe in his arms. He presses a few more kisses to the top of their fuzzy little head, inhaling that sweet, new-baby scent.

As he sits there, holding them close, he wonders - how bad can the twos and threes really be? Because right now, he’s excited for them. For the giggles and wobbly little steps, for the endless chatter, for their silly little thoughts and questions. He wants to share sweets, wants to sneak them treats behind your back with a conspiratorial wink. He wants to play at the park, wants to see them coming running with bugs, snails, and flowers in their hands as that tiny, delighted voice comes calling, "Daddy look!"

Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the untouchable, the undefeatable, completely, helplessly in love with his baby. Maybe being this strong has never felt as important as it does now, with this little life curled up against his heart.

[radiance1]

Danny: Hey, I need you to be my boyfriend for a week.

Jason: What.

Danny: My parents are coming over and I've apparently accidentally talked about a partner more than once and only realized when they said they wanted to meet them.

Jason, currently still solidifying his power as a Crime Lord: Excuse me?

Danny: Let me get this out of the way, I do not consider you at all a person of romantical interest and a friend. But I need you to act as my partner for only a week until my parents go on their merry way over to my sister, okay?

Jason: Is there, quite literally, no one else to ask this?

Danny: You're my only friend who lives in Gotham, plus we share the same apartment.

Jason: That's almost sad.

Danny: You in?

Jason: Sure, why not.

===

Maddie: Danny, honey.

Danny: Yes mom?

Maddie: I don't mean to.... question, who you choose as your parent but. Well, me and your father was just wandering if he was a... [Maddie gestures with her hand] you know, one of those.

Danny, uncomprehendingly staring at his mother's hand: What.

Maddie: Oh dear, how do I bring this up. You know, one of those.

Danny: Mother I need more context.

Jack: If your boyfriend a crime lord!?

Maddie: Jack!

Jack: What? Beating around the bush wasn't helping!

Danny: Say WHAT?

===

Danny: Hey dude, thanks for helping with this even though you didn't need to!

Jason: No problem, I wasn't doing anything too [Crime Lord activities flash through his mind] important.

Danny: Can you believe my parents thought you were a crime lord though? Weird am I right?

Jason:

Danny: Jason. You are scaring me.

Jason: Haha, yea that's weird isn't it?

Danny: Jason.

Jason: Well, I have to leave now to attend to my totally real and totally not crime related job at the ice cream shop.

Danny: [Squints eyes]

Jason: [Internally sweating bullets]

Danny: Suuuuure, bring me back some ice cream though.

Jason: [Thumbs up and leaves]

[frownyalfred]

Okay, another little lesson for fic writers since I see it come up sometimes in fics: wine in restaurants.

When you buy a bottle of wine in a (nicer) restaurant, generally (please note my emphasis there, this is a generalization for most restaurants, but not all restaurants, especially non-US ones) you may see a waiter do a few things when they bring you the bottle.

The waiter presents the bottle to the person who ordered it

The waiter uncorks the bottle in order to serve it

The waiter hands the cork to the person who ordered the bottle

The waiter pours a small portion of the wine (barely a splash) and waits for the person who ordered it to taste it

The waiter then pours glasses for everyone else at the table, and then returns to fill up the initial taster's glass

Now, you might be thinking -- that's all pretty obvious, right? They're bringing you what you ordered, making sure you liked it, and then pouring it for the group. Wrong. It's actually a little bit more complicated than that.

The waiter presents the bottle to the person who ordered it so that they can inspect the label and vintage and make sure it's the bottle they actually ordered off the menu

The waiter uncorks the bottle so that the table can see it was unopened before this moment (i.e., not another wine they poured into an empty bottle) and well-sealed

The waiter hands the cork to the person who ordered the bottle so that they can inspect the label on the cork and determine if it matches up; they can also smell/feel the cork to see if there is any dergradation or mold that might impact the wine itself

The waiter pours a small portion for the person who ordered to taste NOT to see if they liked it -- that's a common misconception. Yes, sometimes when house wine is served by the glass, waiters will pour a portion for people to taste and agree to. But when you order a bottle, the taste isn't for approval -- you've already bought the bottle at this point! You don't get to refuse it if you don't like it. Rather, the tasting is to determine if the wine is "corked", a term that refers to when a wine is contaminated by TCA, a chemical compound that causes a specific taste/flavor. TCA can be caused by mold in corks, and is one of the only reasons you can (generally) refuse a bottle of wine you have already purchased. Most people can taste or smell TCA if they are trained for it; other people might drink the wine for a few minutes before noticing a damp, basement-like smell on the aftertaste. Once you've tasted it, you'll remember it. That first sip is your opportunity to take one for the table and save them from a possibly corked bottle of wine, which is absolutely no fun.

If you've sipped the wine (I generally smell it, I've found it's easier to smell than taste) and determined that it is safe, you then nod to your waiter. The waiter will then pour glasses for everyone else at the table. If the wine is corked, you would refuse the bottle and ask the waiter for a new bottle. If there is no new bottle, you'll either get a refund or they'll ask you to choose another option on their wine list. A good restaurant will understand that corked bottles happen randomly, and will leap at the opportunity to replace it; a bad restaurant or a restaurant with poor training will sometimes try to argue with you about whether or not it's corked. Again, it can be a subtle, subjective taste, so proceed carefully.

In restaurants, this process can happen very quickly! It's elegant and practiced. The waiter will generally uncork the bottle without setting the bottle down or bracing it against themselves. They will remove the cork without breaking it, and they will pour the wine without dripping it down the label or on the table.

[obsessedoverwater]

Sometimes the doomed old man toxic yoai gets so bad you just have to start writing about fucking revenge guac to get over the pain.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

License to Kitty.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

y'know, a lot of people like to write possessive Spock in spirk fics, where he claims Jim as his own, but I kinda feel like he's less likely to say that Jim is his, and more likely to say that he is Jim's.

[bet-on-me-13]

Wes ruins everything

Wes had finally done it, he had finally realized why nobody ever belived him about Fenton and Phantom! It made so much sense now, he had been looking for an answer for years, thinking he was going crazy because everybody refused to see the Obvious!

He was Cursed!

He literally had an Ancestoral Curse on his Bloodline that made it so that all those born with the gift of Prophecy would be ignored! A Gift of Prophecy that he apparently had.

It was Cassandra's Curse, the one from Greek Myths. Apparently she was his Great×1000 Grandmother and passed down the Gift (and Curse) of Prophecy to him. And he knew how to break it!

All he needed to do was gather the right resources, chant the correct incantations, make sure not to accidentally summon a Demon in the process, and he could just foist the Curse onto some other poor schmuck. Sure it would suck for them, and he would loose his Gift of Prophecy, but Wes had been ignored for Years at this point, he needed validation!

So he did the Ritual, and he didn't mess it up, and he managed to get rid of the Curse.

Now all he had to do was convince everybody that he was right for the first time in his life! This was going to be great!

...

Cass didn't know what was going on.

A while ago, she had started getting these...gut feelings that she couldn't explain.

She would look over the details of a Case her Family was working on, and see a patern that the others were seemingly ignoring. Like when she realized that The Penguin was about to raid the Docks on the East Side, but the others were convinced it was going to be on the West.

But when she had tried to tell them, they had brushed her off. "We've already concluded that he will begin the Raid on the West side, no need to go to the East."

She had gone anyways, and low and behold she had been right. But nobody even acknowledged that she had been right at all, they had just wondered how they had missed the signs, not even questioning how she had known.

It wasn't limited to Cases either. Even small things, like telling her brother's where the TV remote was were brushed off, and hours later they would still be looking, never even having checked where she told them.

It seemed that no matter what, nobody cared about her point of view anymore. They kept brushing her off, telling her she was wrong, actively ignoring her ideas.

And it was getting worse. They were starting to ignore her more and more, forgetting she was in the room, not calling her down for Dinner, even forgetting to check in on her during Patrol.

She knew that there must be something going on, Magical or otherwise, but when she tried bringing it up with her Dad or JLD, they would also Brush her off.

Her Family was forgetting her. And they didn't even realize it.

...

Danny was not okay at the moment.

When he had gone to school a few weeks ago and noticed everybody staring at him, he didn't give it much thought. Maybe Dash or Paulina had spread another Rumor about him again, not too out of the ordinary.

When his name had been called over the Intercom, he hadn't thought much of that either. His grades were falling even more than usual, so he assumed his Guidance Counselor wanted to have another talk with him.

When he walked into the Principals Office to see both of his Parents and some GIW Agents, that's when he realized something big must have happened.

He didn't have much of a chance to react when the Shields went up, but he did react when the first Ecto-Blast scorched the wall behind him. His Parents began to scream at him as they fired their Blasters, something about replacing somebody? He didn't know, he was pretty preoccupied at the moment.

It took more effort than he cared to admit to escape the Room, but a stray shot to the hidden Shield Projector under the Principals Desk proved to be his saving grace. Unfortunately the moment he escaped the Office, he was met with a veritable Army of GIW Agents, all armed to the Teeth with Weapons he had never even seen before.

He managed to get away for a moment, hiding in the Bathroom as the Agents chasing him passed it by. That's when he met Wes.

He obviously hadn't been expecting him, but the moment he saw him Wes put on a smug look. "Oh hi Fenton, trying to get away from the other students?"

Danny had replied with confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I finally managed to convince everybody about you, now everyone knows that you're Phantom! I'll bet you're hiding from all of the other Students hounding you for questions right?"

"...it was you?"

"Yeah, so? I finally get to be right!"

"...You absolute MORON-"

That was the last Danny got to say to Wes before an Ecto-Blast launched him through a Wall, seeing his face morph into a look of Shock just before the dust cloud covered it up.

Since that day, Danny had been on the Run. Nowhere was safe anymore now that the GIW knew both his Human and Ghost's faces, but he had to keep running. He crossed state Lines already, and was on his way to the next Ecto-Rich City he could sense, somewhere in New Jersey.

He cursed his Fenton Luck every day. Why had everybody believed Wes this time?! Nobody had ever belived him before, nobody even seemed to acknowledge his existence after a while! What had changed?

Danny just wanted to rest already.

...

Cass had taken to Patrolling alone recently. She had taken to doing a lot of things alone, actually.

After the first month, it seemed that nobody could remember that she was in the room with them, even if she was within their eyeline, she just faded into the background. By the 2 Month Mark they had stopped talking to her entirely, although occasionally she would get a Text or two from her dad. By the 3 month Mark she was completely invisible, and By the 5th she had been forced to get used to it.

She didn't know what was going on, was it a Meta Ability? Magic? Alien Tech? She had no idea.

She had begun to cook for herself after the first time Alfred forgot to set her Plate at the Table. The same with Washing her own Clothes, Cleaning her Room, and Paying her Phone Bills. At the very least the Automated Allowance Payments to her Account had kept up, or she wouldn't have been able to go to her favorite Cafe anymore.

It was bittersweet for her. She used to go to that Cafe every week with Alfred, but he didn't even come on his own anymore. Had he only come for her? Did she really mean that much to them? It hurt, she finally had a family that cared for her and suddenly she didn't exist to them.

She sat alone at a Table, ignored by everyone in the Cafe as usual, when a new face walked in. He looked about her age, a little roughed up, walking with a sort of cautious gaint, as if he was scared of something. His Body Language seemed to agree with her assessment, as his body practically screamed "Worry" in its movements.

Cass stopped watching at that point. Just another Gotham Teen, probably worried over something like getting not having enough money or getting mugged on the way home. It was a Common sight in Gotham.

She attention was pricked again for a moment when she heard a voice speak up. "Uh, can I sit here?"

She ignored it, he wasn't talking to her.

"Um, excuse me? Miss? Could I sit here?" He repeated.

She ignored him again, he wasn't talking to her. Nobody talked to her.

"Hello? Do you have Earbuds in?" He said, and he waved his hand in front of her face.

Her face. He waved his hand. In front of Her Face.

He was talking to her.

She looked up at him sharply, seeming to startle him for a moment before he asked, "So, is that a no?"

"You can see me?" She asked.

He looked a bit bewildered, but replied "Uh, yeah? Why would I not? Are you...a Ghost?". That last part sounded a bit suspicious.

"No. Not a Ghost. But nobody sees me. Ever. Nobody remembers me." She replied. She had never spoken this much to anybody outside of her Family, but in the past few weeks she had been starved for interaction.

He seemed slightly interested, and sat down at her table. He looked her in the eyes, and said "Do you...talk about it?"

She smiled. He could see her.

[egophiliac]

LET THE BOY HAVE AN EDUCATION

officially at the point where we're starting to see where it's all headed and I am just going NYEEHEEHEE in delight at it all. ahhh...next week can't come soon enough...

[antiadvil]

hold on when did the subreddit add this rule lmao