#to try and make her do something about the floodlights

[greater-than-the-sword]

Great to add to my various woes, someone came into the front yard and clipped the tree branches and left them piled up there, while I was gone, and I have no idea who it was or if they had any right to do so (the landscapers only come on Tuesday and I wasn't gone over Tuesday plus they would have taken the debris with them)

SORRY IM PARANOID ABOUT PEOPLE MESSING WITH THINGS OK?? PEOPLE KEEP MESSING WITH THINGS

[happy74827]

One Call Away

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]

WC: 1970

Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}

This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔

『••✎••』

"And away we go..."

One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.

The only thing that was missing was some epic music.

He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.

They all had their own agenda.

Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...

Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.

The killing was better.

This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.

So, the usual.

But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.

Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.

Not the other way around.

Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.

What a night that had been.

But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?

Right.

So, the baddie.

His name was something long and non-English.

Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.

He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."

When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.

"���ow," he whispered to himself.

"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.

"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."

The man's eyes widened in surprise.

"It's not that bad, is it?"

"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"

"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"

Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.

"Don't come any closer!"

"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."

"Stop it with the mustache!"

"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."

The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.

"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."

He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.

"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.

He really was.

But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.

I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!

Needless to say, he was distracted.

He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.

"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"

Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.

If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—

"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."

"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.

"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."

"Wha-I-you-"

"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Is this a bad time?"

Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."

"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.

"And?"

"It's only been a few hours."

"And?"

"That's a short amount of time."

"And?"

You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.

"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."

"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"

"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.

"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."

In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.

"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"

"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"

"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"

"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"

"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.

"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."

“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"

"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."

"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.

"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"

"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"

"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"

"Again, only a few hours," you said.

"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

With that, the line disconnected.

"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."

"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.

"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."

"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"

"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.

"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.

"I am a giant!"

"No, you're a giant asshat!"

"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"

"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"

"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"

"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"

"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"

"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."

"Argh!"

"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."

"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."

Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.

"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."

He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.

"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."

He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.

The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.

But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.

"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."

He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.

He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.

"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."

He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.

"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."

He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.

And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.

God, how he missed his girls.

[undertheorangetree]

Tantrum

Summary- Art’s girlfriend sucks at tennis. He helps her feel better.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Stanford era Art. Exhibitionism. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Wee bit of fingering. P in V sex. Riding. The fluffiest giggliest sex you've ever seen. Me not knowing a damn thing about tennis.

Author's Note- Hi idk if you noticed but i have Challengers brain rot rn specifically for Art Donaldson :// As a theatre kid I simply had no choice it was always gonna be him. Read the full fic on AO3.

When Art had looked up at her with big pleading eyes, all but begging her to allow him to teach her the basics of tennis, she was in no position to refuse. It had been sweet, how badly he wanted to share his passion with her, the kisses he had peppered across her neck and chest in order to entice her into it, and she couldn’t so much as imagine denying him. Forget the fact that she had never held a racket in her life, that her strengths had always been rooted in academia rather than athletics.  If allowing him to teach her would make him happy, she would do it.

Though not without complaint.

She lets out a frustrated grunt as the ball hits the net- again- before turning her head up to glare at Art when he barely manages to stifle his laugh. He smothers it immediately when he catches sight of her glower, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as if he can physically wipe away his smile and she feels her teeth grind together.

“You can’t laugh. You’re the one who wanted me to do this so you’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she complains, her voice half petulance half hurt and immediately his face morphs into something more apologetic.

“I’m sorry baby.” He makes his way closer but she simply rolls her eyes, turning her nose up when he reaches out to her. He takes it in stride. “I’m not laughing at you, you’re doing very well. It’s just funny to see you so frustrated.”

It’s her turn to laugh, though it is little more than a humourless bark. “I am not doing very well. I suck.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he attempts to reach for her again. She allows it begrudgingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as his hands close around her elbows, face dropping into her neck to press a kiss there. She thinks that he’s about to praise her further, try to coax her back into committing herself to the game, but he stays silent, continuing to lavish her with silent kisses.

She’s happy for the odd hour they decided to come here, the tennis court completely devoid of any other life. It’s a colder night than it should be for mid spring, the floodlights and moon the only two things to provide them with any light, and she’s grateful finals have chased everyone else away. She’s glad to have this time alone with him, despite her frustration. To feel like they are the only two people in the world.

“You’re just hitting the ball too hard,” he explains, face still half buried in her throat. “And you aren’t even attempting to aim. Putting everything you have behind the hit doesn’t make it a good one if you don’t know where you’re sending it. There’s more to tennis than just force, you have to be smart about it.”

She scoffs, reaching up to press her palm against his forehead and shove him away, ignoring the shit eating grin that’s made itself known on his face. “Just go over there and hit the damn ball. Before I leave you here by yourself.”

The grin doesn’t fade, his amusement more than clear, but he does as she asks, returning to his side of the court. She lets out another aggravated sigh as she returns to the position he had told her to wait in, knees bent as she waits for him to serve, realizing more and more that she prefers to watch him play tennis rather than do it with him. She finds far more joy watching him from the stands as he chases after the ball, sweat dripping from his curls and grunts echoing in her ears. Here, where she is the one chasing the ball like a damn dog and failing to send it sailing over the net when she does manage to catch it, there is no time to admire Art in his element.

She almost feels bad for her poor attitude, wishing she was less competitive so that she could simply enjoy this quality time with him, but every failure does nothing but enrage her further, sending her spiralling further into frustration.

Read the rest here :)

[childrenofcain-if]

Alternate universe where D is a football player because I can honestly see it 😂

They'd still be FwB with MC, who's a cheerleader (I love cliches heh). But at one of their final matches, they immediately run to MC after winning and kisses them in front of everyone. I've been thinking about this a lot

the locker room smelled like a nauseating mixture of sweat and antiseptic. there was an overall nervous energy in the whole area because of the upcoming game: the biggest of the season.

yale (bulldogs) vs princeton (tigers). the oldest college football rivalry in america since 1873. truthfully though? you really did not have that as your priority at the moment.

D’s shoulders were tense as they leaned against the row of lockers, their football gear half on, half off, like they couldn’t decide if they were gearing up for the game or gearing up for this conversation with you. you stood in front of them, your arms crossed, trying to hide the way your voice wavered as you spoke.

“why are we even doing this if it doesn’t mean anything to you?” you asked, your words sharper than you’d intended. you didn’t want to sound hurt, but the cracks were already showing and you hated yourself even more for it. “you said you loved me, D. was that a joke?”

D flinched, their jaw tightening.

“it wasn’t a joke,” they muttered, not meeting your eyes. “you know it wasn’t.“

“then what the hell is this?” you gestured between the two of you, the space that felt both too close and too far apart. “why can’t you just—” you stopped, biting back the lump rising in your throat. “why can’t you just be fair to us for once?”

D ran a hand through their damp brown hair, their helmet still sitting on the bench behind them. “because it’s complicated, alright? i’m really not good at this. i don’t know how to—”

“how to what?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “how to be with someone who actually loves you? how to let yourself care about someone? how to not be a complete asshole?”

their silence was worse than any answer they could have given. you felt the sting of it like a slap.

“forget it,” you said, your voice quieter now, resigned. “this isn’t worth it. i’m not worth it, apparently. not to you.”

“don’t say that,” D said quickly, their voice low and rough, but before they could step toward you, the door opened, and your cheer teammates poked their heads in.

“hey, come on!” one of them called, her tone light but urgent. “we’ve gotta go!”

you hesitated, your gaze flicking between D and the exit. you wanted them to say something—anything—that would make you stay, that would make you believe this wasn’t just another dead end. but they didn’t.

so you left, letting the door swing shut behind you, leaving D standing there with their heart in their throat and everything unsaid on their tongue.

***

the stadium was alive in a way that almost felt sentient, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the air, through the ground, through your chest.

the cheer routine was designed to dazzle; full of sharp, explosive movements, tight formations, and splits that skimmed the edge of possibility. every count of the eight-beat rhythm had its place: a high V at one, a perfectly synchronized clap at three, a ripple of tumbling that broke apart and came back together like a flock of birds midflight.

there wasn’t room for hesitation. you had drilled it for weeks, the choreographer shouting corrections until the moves were muscle memory. your body knew what to do, even if your mind was stuck somewhere else.

somewhere else was D.

you couldn’t see them from the sidelines, not at first. the field was a mass of bodies, yale’s blue and white clashing violently with princeton’s orange and black, and it all blurred together under the floodlights.

the roar of the crowd pressed against you, a wall of sound that rattled your ribs, the kind of noise that demanded participation. you gripped your pom-poms tightly, smiling like your heart wasn’t threatening to give out, and launched into the first set of motions.

high kick. clap. shimmy. back handspring.

on the outside, you looked flawless, exactly like what the crowd wanted: all energy and excitement, no cracks in the façade. on the inside, your chest was a knot, the fight with D replaying on an endless loop in your head like a broken VHS tape.

the pyramid was next, the most complicated part of the routine. the bases braced themselves, strong and steady, while the flyers climbed onto their hands. you were in the middle, the top of the pyramid, the highest point for the crowd to see. it was a position of trust. you had to believe your teammates wouldn’t let you fall. it wasn’t something you usually thought about, but tonight, the irony cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

when you extended into the final pose, one leg straight, one bent, arms raised, your eyes landed on D for the first time.

they were in the huddle, standing tall as the team circled around them and the coach, their helmet tucked under one arm. the older man was shouting something you couldn’t hear, D’s face fierce with focus. you wanted to stay angry, but instead, you felt your chest tighten.

D was magnetic in the way they moved, their command of the team absolute. you hated how much you still wanted to be near them, how much your body betrayed you even when your heart was screaming.

the pyramid dismounted, your teammates catching you as you came down. you barely noticed the applause; you were too busy watching D jog onto the field for the first play.

***

D’S POV

D glanced toward the sideline. toward you. again.

it was ridiculous, the way you could disarm them from thirty yards away. you weren’t even looking at them. your head was bent close to one of your friend’s, your pom-poms hanging loosely in your hands. you were supposed to be listening to your captain, but D could see the faint smile on your lips, the way you kept sneaking glances toward the field like you weren’t paying attention at all.

like your eyes were searching for D.

D tore their eyes away before anyone could notice. they didn’t need their teammates teasing them about this—not right now. it was bad enough that their chest felt like it was caving in every time they saw you, bad enough that your fight before the game was still fresh in their head, your voice sharp and shaking, your words a blade sliding between their ribs.

why can’t you just be fair to us?

the truth was, they didn’t know how to. not the right way. not in a way that didn’t make them feel like they were standing naked in a room full of strangers, every scar and bruise and ugly thing about them laid bare.

you deserved better than the mess that they were. you deserved someone who didn’t flinch at the idea of love. someone who could give you everything without being afraid they’d ruin it before it began.

but even as they told themselves that, D knew they couldn’t let you go. not really. not ever.

“alright, team,” coach barked, snapping D back to the present. “this is it. princeton’s undefeated this season, but so are we. you want to be champions? prove it. show everyone you’ve got what it takes.”

the team roared their agreement, slapping helmets and clapping shoulders, the kind of camaraderie that made D feel grounded and restless all at once. they shoved their helmet on and jogged out to the field, their cleats digging into the turf, their breath coming steady and sharp.

they could do this. for the team, for the win, for yale.

no.

for you.

***

the first quarter passed in a blur of plays and hits, the kind of bone-rattling intensity that left D’s hands shaking with adrenaline. they took the snap, rolled back, dodged a tackle by inches, and launched the ball downfield.

the crowd erupted as yale’s receiver caught it just shy of the endzone, but D didn’t stop to celebrate. their eyes found you again, like a compass always pointing to their north star.

you were clapping, your pom-poms bouncing, but there was something off about your gorgeous smile. it didn’t reach your eyes, and D knew it was their fault. they’d put that ache there, and it killed them to see it.

focus. they had to focus.

***

the second quarter was worse. princeton’s defense was relentless, their linemen big enough to make D feel small—a very uncomfortable thing. every play felt like a war, every hit a reminder of how close they were to losing. the score was tied at halftime, and the locker room was a mess of noise and sweat and tension.

“get your head in the game, diaconu,” their coach snapped, pulling D aside as the team filed out. “you’re playing like you’ve got something else on your mind. whatever it is, leave it in here. got it?”

“got it,” D said, even though they didn’t.

they didn’t leave it in the locker room. they carried it back onto the field, where it sat heavy in their chest, driving them forward and holding them back all at once.

you were watching. D could feel your eyes on them every time they stepped up to the line, every time they called a play. it made them want to be better, to play harder, to show you that they weren’t just a coward who couldn’t say the words you needed to hear.

it wasn’t enough to just win. they had to earn you back.

***

YOUR POV

you watched in horror as princeton’s linebacker, a hulking person who looked more suited for professional wrestling than college football, blindsided D after a throw.

it was a dirty hit, helmet to helmet, and D went down hard. you froze, pom-poms slack in your hands, as the crowd erupted in boos. for a second, D didn’t move, and your chest seized with panic. but then they rolled onto their side, their hand going to their helmet, and relief flooded through you so fast it made you dizzy.

they got up, wobbling slightly, and waved off the trainers who tried to check on them.

your fingers dug into the plastic of your pom-poms, the edges biting into your skin. you wanted to scream at them to stop being so stubborn, to let someone take care of them for once. but you were stuck on the sidelines, powerless to do anything but watch.

it was the last quarter and the score was tied, and every play felt like life or death. the crowd was on its feet, the noise deafening, as D took the snap for the final play. they dropped back, scanning the field, their movements precise and fluid. princeton’s defense was closing in, but D didn’t flinch. and then, with a leap that seemed to defy gravity, they threw the ball downfield.

touchdown.

the stadium erupted. the crowd screamed. the cheer squad jumped and waved their pom-poms like their life depended on it, but you couldn’t move. you just stood there, your heart pounding, your eyes locked on D.

they ripped off their helmet, their face flushed and damp with sweat, and for a moment, they let their teammates surround them, clapping them on the back, shouting their praise. but D’s eyes were searching, scanning the sidelines, until they found you.

and then they ran.

it wasn’t graceful or dramatic—it was desperate and urgent, like they couldn’t get to you fast enough. the crowd blurred around you, the noise fading into a dull hum, as D closed the distance between you.

they didn’t stop when they reached you, just grabbed you and pulled you into their arms, burying their face in your shoulder like they were afraid to let go. you could feel their heartbeat racing, their chest heaving as they caught their breath.

“i’m sorry,” D said, their voice muffled against your uniform. “i’m so sorry. i’m an idiot. i was scared, okay? i love you and i didn’t want to screw this up. i didn’t want to screw you up.”

you pulled back just enough to look at them, their gray eyes raw and unguarded, and you felt your own walls crumbling rapidly.

“you love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

D nodded, their hands gripping your arms like you might vanish if they let go.

“i do. i love you,” they said, their voice cracking. “i love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”

you didn’t even realize you were crying until D’s thumb brushed a tear off your cheek. you let out a shaky laugh, leaning into them.

“i’m still supposed to be mad at you,” you said, but there was no heat in it.

D smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your chest ache.

“yeah,” they said. “but can you be mad at me and be completely mine?”

you nodded, choking back a sob as you wrapped your arms around their neck, pulling them into a kiss. the noise of the crowd surged back in, louder than ever, and it mingled with D and your teammates hollering suddenly. but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered except D’s lips on yours, their hands on your waist, the way they held you like you were their centre of gravity.

when you finally pulled back, D rested their forehead against yours, their breath warm against your skin.

“will you still be cheering for me, baby?” they asked, their voice soft but hopeful.

you laughed through your tears, pressing another kiss to their lips. “always.”

[catfern]

outback.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: trucker!abby x afab!reader

music: her - unloved

word count: 1.7k

summary: the night shift at a remote petrol station sounded like easy double pay. but nights get lonely. you've gotta find something to keep yourself entertained.

warnings: porn with a smidgen of plot, fingering, some perverted staring, tiny tiny implied age gap, australia. this is rlly just porn

fern says ⎯ THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE AUSSIES IN THE AUDIENCE MAKE SOME NOISE!!!!!! this truly is self indulgent cause i miss flirting with hot women who call me darl.

you brought this on yourself, really.

the pale blue of the bug zapper fought a contrast with the dying fluorescents, painting half the aisles in an eery, twilight movie shade. the heat of a high december night was creeping, clinging to your shitty polyester uniform as you camp out in front of the only standing fan.

you had begged for a job, pleaded for it really, in the wickedness of this economic climate. you had run, tail between your legs, from your local chain grocery at the sight of the price of an avocado, and thrown yourself at the feet of the next passing employer. like a squire to the knights of old.

you just hadn’t expected it would be this job.

the gatekeeper of one of the last vestiges of civilisation. the night shift at a deserted highway petrol station.

the flickering floodlights by the pumps fighting an uphill battle to keep the creeping night at bay, you can do nothing but stare, eyes adjusting, ‘unadjusting’, readjusting to the dark over and over again. you’d had a total of two customers since you took over from the day shift crew. one just threw a gatorade your way in exchange for the bathroom key.

the high beam headlights of an oncoming truck shake you from your fading thoughts, baking you into the linoleum tile as you squint, blind. asshole.

you’d been warned about truckers, briefly. handsy rednecks, your manager had called them in passing while giving you a tour of the storage room. desperate old fucks who crawl like dogs to anything with a hole.

you watch with an almost bated breath as the peeling yellow cabin of the long-haul truck pulls into park, your eyes following its jaunty movement through the glass of the front windows. you’re starting to think maybe you should have brought an illegal switchblade to work. if you had one.

you avert your gaze quick, grabbing at something from the magazine rack in desperate hopes to appear disinterested, unapproachable. 15 Ways to Homeschool Your Kids. sure, that works.

the bell above the door chimes, you spy the scuffed leather boots crossing the plastic tiling with heavy footfall. 

“y’got a lounge?”

standing at the counter, you have to admit, she’s not what you pictured when you saw the truck. not that what you see is at all worth of complaint.

a thin sheen of sweat clings to her, echoes of the heat of the road. her skin is flushed, the contour of her muscle sitting, almost man-made, in a thin, cotton singlet. her hair is tied tight, her features, sharp, discerning, eyeing you down. you try not to stare, too obviously, at the soft outline of her nipple piercings beneath her shirt.

“hm?” you’re distracted.

“a lounge, darl. trucker lounge?” she repeats slowly with a bite of a smirk, looking at you like you were only a little bit stupid. your stomach drops with the honey of the nickname.

your eyes dart around the small space of the shop. you barely had space for the 3 aisles and the dingy bathroom. you clear your throat, trying to shake the feeling of fascination, “oh — uh, nah.”

she scoffs, a wicked, small laugh, before retreating to browse the snack section.

you watch her, when you think she isn’t looking. small, caught glimpses in your feigned disinterest. she’s been on the road long, a tension in the broadness of her shoulders obvious as she readjusts her posture, eyeing the chips. you try bury whatever rears its head in your stomach when you hear her groan as she squats to better see the canned fruit. a roughness in her voice, lead with age and smoke.

you drop your reading material and smile, tight lipped, polite, as she approaches the counter. a cold meat pie and a ginger beer.

"and uh — pack'a rothmans, thanks, love.”

you nod, turning to wrestle with the rusting cigarette cage behind the counter, when you hear her chuckle, breathy and deep as she talks,

“y’look a little young to have kids.”

spinning back so quick you make yourself dizzy, you swipe the shitty magazine off the counter, discarded and unimportant, “nah, i… i was just bored.”

she rakes her eyes over you, slow, and you can’t help but feel the pull, magnetic, a knot in your stomach as she studies you. you feel caught in a trap, under her gaze. looking up at her, her looming presence is becoming all too real.

you slide the pack of cigarettes over the counter, trapped meeting her eye. a smile, something sly, plays on her lips as she thanks you, moving to catch a breeze of the fan.

an uncomfortable beat of silence passes between you. well, it’s uncomfortable for you. no longer able to hide behind disinterest behind glossy paper, you instead wrestle with yourself to seem at least neutrally interested, not utterly obsessed. you wring your hands behind the shelter of the till.

the woman shakes a cigarette free from the pack, holding it between the skin of her lips. “you smoke?” she’s looking at you, through the corner of her eye.

no, never.

“uh, yeah.”

you follow her out the shop, tied to her artificial shadow in the fluorescents. something is crawling in the night, when you step outside. a cicada silence echoes across the gathering dirt and dust.

she offers you the cig she had been holding, you take it gingerly, holding it in your mouth as she holds her lighter up. she brings her hand to cup the flame, to keep the absent breeze from destroying it. you feel, just slightly, the brush of her calloused palms against the low of your cheek, and you pray that the navy hue of the bug zapper is enough to hide the heat on your skin.

smoke fills your lungs, foreign and quick, an itch inside you that feels impossible. you cough and splutter to the chorus of her raspy laughter.

“you haven’t smoked a day in your life.” she says with a lopsided smile, plucking the cigarette from your hand and bringing it to her lips, taking a long, constrastly confident draw.

you shake your head in between wheezes, “is that what everyone is always going on about?”

“you’ll get used to it, here,” 

she hands it back to you, you feel obliged to take it. to try again, as she so quietly commands. your second go is met with an only slightly irritating tickle in your throat.

“that’s it, good girl,” something that seems so unsure rolls off her like syrup, something you had never known you were so desperate for. her hand finds the small of your back, her fingers dancing circles in something akin to comfort, to praise.

you look up to find her eyes already on you, tracing the contours of your neck in icy blue form.

the smell of artificial pine and day-old dust clings to her, swallows you whole as you fall victim to her touch, light-headed and weak at the knees as her breath fills your lungs.

she’s nothing if not vocal, desperation falling from her lips in tortured moans as she presses herself into the crook below your jaw, drawing your soft skin beneath her teeth, softly licking the littered aftermath, a trail down your chest.

she’s quick to undress you, pulling impatiently at the scratchy fabric of your worn company polo shirt. she’s not phased by any forgotten need for privacy, for decency. she’s only here in passing, after all.

“oh, sweetheart,”

the lace of your bra is a temptation not lost on her, a delight she so happily indulges in after days on the road. in some perverted part of her mind, you wore it for her. maybe, in some cosmic, fated way, you did.

her hands snake down your body, helping themselves to the lux of your curves as her lips press, all-consuming, against yours. her fingers lightly spreading your legs, a mean chuckle souring the kiss.

she’s not at all easy, or kind, the way she pulls you open, watches you fall apart in the brutality of her control. she touches you like she aims to destroy you, her fingers working relentlessly to the pull of your walls, unheard to your pleas to — please, slow down.

“that’s it, darling. come on,” it’s sharp, delirious and oh so pleased to hear you, a whisper tickling the dip of your chest, watching you through the blonde of her eyelashes as you throw your head back, your body rocking to the rhythm she sets.

“p-please, fuck, jesus, fuck!” if she was any meaner, she would have laughed. but god, she’s distracted. driven mad by her own dripping need.

“you wanna come, baby? yeah, yeah?” she’s slowing down, and you chase her question with a desperate, shakey nod. “yeah, you do. come here.”

she takes your hand in hers, delicate, kind, a wicked contrast. under the guidance of her touch, you grip the stiff denim of her jeans, tender, unsure, until she leads you to the heat between her legs and you nearly melt. her hand goes to fiddle with her belt, her eyes finding yours, bleary, in the haze.

“think you can help me out, sweetheart?” she nods along with you, and you’re unsure if she’s copying you, or you are her.

“yeah — i can, please, please,” you whine, your hips still rutting a lazy pace against the now stagnant force inside you. your hand pulls, impatiently, at the waistband of her cotton boxers, pulling them down to sit unceremoniously at her hips.

“fuck, good girl,” she seethes at the languid circles you draw on her clit, gentle and paced, as you chase your own euphoria on her fingers, “come on,” a whisper, hot on your neck, “i’ll go faster if you do, darlin’.”

you pick up in a daze, so compliant to the whim of her demand, so desperate to feel her calloused fingers trace the tide against your centre. rushing that feeling, wretched to have her tear you apart.

her fingers rock against you without care, wrenching every ragged moan from the cut of your throat as her speed picks up, “that’s it, fuck, you feel so good, sweetness. keep — keep going.” hoarse whispers against your chest as she presses sloppy, undone kisses to the ghosts of your ribcage.

you watch, above the broadness of her shoulder, as a peak of the sun paints the horizon a muddy pink, your moans a soundtrack to the emptiness of the desert as you practically bounce on the stranger’s fingers, loud for your own release.

yeah, you lost your job.

⎯ kofi

taglist; @whore4abby @endureher @beemillss @afraidofheightss @sentimentalyellow

[sxnshxnxxnddxxsxxs]

Duke Thomas headcannons becuase please just write him as a black boy:

the first time there’s a summer rain at night after he moves into Wayne Manor Duke sets up the speakers and the floodlights and lives out his 00’s rnb music video dreams

after that Alfred will sometimes drive him around in the back of one of the cars when it rains at night because he doesn’t want his latest grandson to get hypothermia but understands that it is very important to live out 00’s rnb music video dreams

Duke teaches Cass the Usher watch this thing and originally they only use it to tell each other that they’re gonna do some dumb shit but then Cass decides she really likes it and uses it more than the actual sign

Duke and Cass have a theme song because they are besties and that theme song is black and yellow by Wiz Khalifa whenever it plays they drop everything to rap to each other and if anyone turns it off before it finishes they start it again even louder it becomes a great distraction technique for other batfamily members. they chose the song because of their uniforms but the first time a civilian sees how enthusiastic they are about the song they draw a different conclusion and they find it so funny that they definitely have to keep it as their theme song from now on

Duke lives a no shoes in the house life no matter who’s house it is or what everyone else is doing

He also keeps his Signal uniform exclusively in the batcave because no uniforms in the Manor seems like the natural extension for no outside clothes in bed

Duke sneaks scotch bonnets into the Manor kitchen generally timed with the occasions that Jason is around and in the mood to cook. Dinner those nights feature running eyes and noses from Bruce Tim and Steph along with all the milk in the Manor finishing. It’s great entertainment for Duke Cass Damian Jason and Dick

Duke has locs he lowkey thinks about bleaching the ends to match the aesthetic of his uniform but he’s unsure of if it will make him to conspicuous

When he first moved to the Manor he got pooled into the schedule to pick up hair shop (beauty supply store) supplies with the Fox’s because they’re all way too busy of people to be driving out of the way individually so it only made sense to add Duke to that. He and Tam also timetable his retwist appointments with her hair appointments for the same time

Duke is an instigator Jason and Tim will be having a petty squabble that is about to fizzle out but then Duke walks past them and just whispers a quick “if I were you I wouldn’t have that” and then an hour later a priceless vase is broken there’s holes in the wall and Tim and Jason have matching black eyes. Duke considers it a public service to provide Babs with entertainment for when Oracle hours a slow she agrees and doesn’t snitch on just how much shit Duke starts so he can get away with even more

Duke joins Jason and Alfred’s book club and the first book he picks is Beloved because like they’re in this big old gothic manor respect the aesthetic

One time Bruce walks passed Duke on ft to his friends and he’s performing “Wisdom” and Bruce thinks it’s something Duke came up with himself and is trying to be a supportive dad and is like “that’s great son” with a really strained smile and Duke just sticks to the bit like “you really think so?” bruce even more pained “yeah it’s amazing”

He also has exclusively satin pillowcases and gives everyone in the Manor a set because it’s good for the hair and therefore a good use of Bruce’s rich people money

Duke upon realising that he was gonna be adopted by a bunch of crime fighting pseudofurries and was going to join them in the crime fighting said this some white people shit and that’s why he chose Signal rather than some bioluminescent bird

[coyotelip]

starchaser microfic: theater || modern au || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 680

The theater was supposed to be empty at night. Sirius's whole brilliant plan for their first prank of the year was based on this, no one cares about an empty theater at night, so sneaking in and replacing a couple of audio recordings would be the easiest thing to do, and the coin toss put the job on James's shoulders.

So James is surprised when he enters the main hall through a side door and sees a row of small lights on along the stage. They are far from the floodlights, so the yellow light doesn't allow him to see much, but it underlines the movement of a couple of figures on stage. He takes a few tentative steps down the aisle, making sure he hasn't been spotted yet, and sinks into a seat in the third row.

The two figures on the stage from this distance have now become clearly shaped - a girl with long red hair, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and leggings, pulls her sock in an incredible balletic manner, folding her hands at her stomach, and then jumps up and down, moving her feet in the air; not far from her, a guy dressed in black with dark hair long enough to be pulled into a short, low ponytail stands and watches her every move.

“You need to relax that leg, don't focus on the foot, concentrate on your torso so you don't lose your posture,” the girl's voice comes.

“Mhmm,” the guy nods in response and takes the same stance himself, slowly extending his leg to the side, bending it, and extending it again.

The dim lighting outlines the boy's slender physique on the stage, and the darkness around him makes one forget about the large room and reduce it to a spot of light in front of the two figures. The boy's clothes are black and should blend in with the dark background, but James can still see the clear outline of his long, slender legs. Not that he knows much about ballet, but the stance looks perfect.

And then the boy jumps. Repeating the movements of the girl before him, he keeps his posture and arms in place, but moves his feet quickly and lands perfectly on the floor with a dull sound on the wood. James grips the handle of his chair, eyes unblinking, trying to process every moment of what he has just seen.

The girl's leap before was undeniably incredible, but there was something more to the boy. His longer neck, his more angular figure, or his steady expression - he looked as steady as a rock, but at the same time as light as a feather fluttering in a breeze.

“There, that was perfect!” the girl shouted with delight, immediately putting her hand on the boy's shoulder. “Now the next bunch?”

A slight smile spread across his face and he nodded, taking a step to the side and repeating another stance after the girl. On the count of 3, they moved together, quickly turning to face each other and reaching out to grab each other's hands and spin synchronized on the stage. James continued to watch in shock, no longer having time to process the individual movements, two bodies moving so quickly and in harmony, occasionally pressing against each other in this dance.

After only a minute of this duet, James lost track of time and wouldn't have even noticed the hours, but the phone in his pocket suddenly buzzed with new notifications, and he realized why there is this stupid rule about turning off phones during performances. Fortunately, the vibration itself wasn't enough to attract attention and distract the two actors on stage from their duet, so James slipped out unnoticed the way he'd arrived, but he stopped short at the door and turned around.

From a distance, the two figures were again hard to recognize, they were still actively moving around the stage, holding hands, but now it wasn't some kind of choreography, instead the two were just jumping around each other, waving their intertwined hands with smiles.

OR that one au, where Regulus and Lily are the lead actors in uni's theater club. and James is just here

[delusionalfanficwriter]

fever

The stadium was alive with the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline was coursing through my veins as I sprinted down the field, chasing after the ball. It was a crucial game against Spain, and I was determined to give it my all. But something felt off. My movements seemed sluggish, and my head was pounding with each stride.

I shook off the discomfort, thinking it was just pre-game nerves, but it wasn't long before my vision started to blur, and my legs felt like lead. I couldn't afford to let my team down so I did what I do best and fought through it.

I kept pushing myself, desperately trying to ignore the mounting fatigue and the feeling of my body betraying me. I wasn't about to be the weak link on the field.

It was Sonnett who noticed first. Playing in college together, we practically knew the in and outs of each other. As I jogged past her, I saw the concern in her gaze but looked away guilty until a player on Spain’s team went down and I made my way to the sidelines for water.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sonnett asked, her voice laced with worry.

I tried to muster a convincing smile. "Yeah, Sonnett, I'm fine. Just a bit tired."

But she wasn't buying it. She could see right through my facade. "You're shivering, Y/N. Something's not right."

I brushed off her concern, attempting to maintain my composure. "It's nothing, really. I just need to push through."

Sonnett didn't let it go. She knew I was too stubborn for my own good. "Y/N, you're not being weak by asking for help or taking a break. Your health is more important. Let's get you off the field."

“NO, SONNETT!” I snap, the fever coursing its way through my body. I see her taken aback and so am I but I try to not let it show because I know she definitely knows something is up as I rarely raise my voice. 

“Chill, Y/N.” She says before the ref signals we can resume the game and I make my way to the field. I can’t help but notice Emily talking to Tobin, Christen, and O’Hara while they look at me… Yup, I’m screwed. 

I try to ignore the concerned faces on the sidelines and keep playing. I defend well until Putellas body checks me and Carmona comes from the opposite direction causing my body to be jostled around until I hit the ground. I hear the commotion of my teammates yelling at the ref to card the players while Kristie and Naeher check on me, bringing me to my feet. All the motion caused my already fevered head to be boggled and the dizziness hits before I go sprinting out to our sideline. I barely make it to the trashcan by the benches before I empty the contents of my stomach. Hands immediately rub my back as another hands me a towel.

“You’re okay, Y/N. Get it all out.” I hear Christen say.

“C-oldd.” I whimper with my hands gripping the trashcan afraid if I let go, I’ll collapse. Sonnett takes off her big jacket and places it over my shoulder within seconds before wiping the hair from my face so she can make eye contact with me. 

She hisses as her fingertips graze my forehead, “You knew you had a fever didn’t you? And you still played? Y/N, you can’t be doing things like this.”

I nod, not really being able to focus on her words, “Can you help me back to the lockers before I puke again or collapse.” I whisper, all the adrenaline wearing off. 

Sonnett and Christen didn’t hesitate to lead me towards the locker room, their concern never wavering. I was still shivering, my body weakened by the fever and the strain of the game, and they wrapped their arms around me to provide support.

The fluorescent lights inside the locker room were harsh compared to the stadium's floodlights, and I winced as we entered. They gently guided me to a bench and began to help me change out of my soaked uniform and into a warm sweatsuit.

Christen and Sonnett exchanged worried glances as they tried to get through to me, but I could barely comprehend their words. Everything felt muffled and distant, and my thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Sonnett's voice was patient but laced with frustration. "Y/N, you need to let us know when you're not feeling well. Playing with a fever is dangerous, and it doesn't make you a better teammate."

Christen continued, her tone equally concerned. "We rely on you, but we also need you to rely on us when things like this happen. We can't help if you keep it to yourself."

I tried to nod in understanding, but my movements were sluggish and my vision was still hazy. They finally managed to get me dressed in the sweatsuit, and Sonnett helped me to my feet, her arm wrapped around my waist before guiding me to a cot in the corner of the room. 

“Take these and lay down,” Sonnett said sternly, leaving no room for discussion. I listen and take the pills in her hand that the trainers told her I needed. Another jacket is placed over me as Sonnett makes herself comfortable on the ground and rubs my back trying to warm me up. 

“Yo-u can-n go bac-k out. I’ll- I’ll be okay.”

“You’re more of an idiot than I thought if you think I am leaving your side.” 

With that we sat in silence for who knows how long until the team came back in, their chaotic selves calming down as they saw me. Mal, Rose, and Trinity came and joked around about how my puking made some of the Spanish players feel ill, which threw them off their game, “You really helped us win the game.” Rose laughed but Tobin cleared her throat.

“Do not encourage her. And if any of you feel sick and play sick without telling anyone, I will make sure you are benched for the next few games.”

The silence in the room is deafening before I crack up, the fever making me delusional and mock Tobin which only leaves her more angry. Christen is by her side ensuring her, “Tobin, she’s sick. It’s the fever. You can lecture her later.”

“I’m going to take her to the bus so you guys can change peacefully.” Sonnett says. 

“No.” I pretend pout, “I want to stay here. Tobin is just being a control freak.”

“Uh no, before you say something in your state that you can’t take back .” Sonnett says remembering how my fevers cause me to have no filter. 

“Like that time O’Hara got caught hooking up with-” A hand clamps over my mouth before I can get the rest of the words out. I bring my gaze to follow the hand up to its owner and see O’Hara glaring back at me.

I could feel the collective tension in the room spike as the words hung in the air. My teammates exchanged awkward glances, and O’Hara cleared her throat loudly, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"Right, well, let's not go down that road," Christen said, attempting to steer the conversation in a more appropriate direction. "Y/N, you should get some rest."

“Yeah, she's right. Sonnett, take good care of her." Kelley forces a smile before looking at me and if looks can shut people up and kill them I would be dead. 

Sonnett nodded in agreement and helped me to my feet, her arm securely around me. "Don't worry, everyone. Y/N's going to be just fine. We'll make sure she gets some rest and recovers."

As we made our way out of the locker room, I mumbled my apologies to Sonnett for my earlier words. She chuckled softly and said, "Don't worry about it, Y/N. You just focus on feeling better."

Outside, the night air was cool and refreshing, a welcome relief from the fever that had plagued me during the game. Sonnett guided me toward the team bus, and as I climbed aboard. 

She sat me next to her and I nestled closer to her, the plush cushioned seat providing a soft landing. She draped her arm around my shoulder, her touch reassuring and gentle. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to me. My eyelids felt heavy, and I couldn't fight the exhaustion that washed over me.

"Hey, Y/N," Sonnett whispered, her voice a soft, comforting murmur.

I turned my head slightly to look at her, my vision still a bit blurry. "Yeah?"

A fond smile graced her lips, and she brushed a strand of hair from my face. "You know, even when you're sick and delirious, you manage to bring a smile to our faces. You're one of a kind, Y/N."

I mustered a weak smile, my eyes half-lidded. "I'm just a handful, aren't I?"

[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men -

Chapter 2: #78866B

AO3 - MASTERPOST

[GENERAL TW: Swearing, lukewarm violence, lots of POV changes, and mild body horror.]

[I sacrificed Damian's POV for more time of Jazz, and everything jumps around a little, but I refuse to feel regret. Notes on the timeline are at the bottom.]

-

Two hours went by way faster than Jazz thought. Between gathering the emergency bags, counting cash, and raiding the lab, she barely managed to herd her parents out the front door on time. Luckily, the two doctors didn't put up a fight, so she still had ten minutes to lock up. Like she said, Jazz hadn't touched the portal besides locking it down. The portal's power supply had been re-routed to an emergency shield, blocking anything from getting in or out. As long as it was still on, that shield would hold.

Jazz blew a strand of hair out of her face as she sat on the front porch for a moment. The door was locked, she had everything, and her parents were waiting like scared kids for her a few feet away. All she had to do was arm the security system using the bug Tucker had sent her. It was relatively easy; she had to take off the casing to the alarm next to their doorbell and use a connector to plug her phone in. It took her a moment, admittedly. It wasn't easy to mash tiny buttons when her hands shook with adrenaline.

While she waited for the virus to load, Jazz glanced at her parents, watching them. They looked lost. A little guilty, perhaps? They both looked gaunt and had unshed tears in their eyes, looking positively miserable for all the world to see. They hadn't said a peep after she had stormed off. Not even when she came back to clamp 'Shade Shackles' onto their wrists, hissing something to them about behaving. The shackles were heavy and bulky, restricting them from their wrists to their elbows and locking their arms together.

The shackles wouldn't hold Jack for long, she knew. Not if he was actually trying to escape. But honestly, the man was probably worse off than his wife. He just kept staring into space, dissociating.

Jazz thought they deserved it. After a few more seconds of fiddling, her phone finally beeped, indicating the upload was complete. She unplugged her phone, packed the cord into one of her bags, and stood again to close the alarm casing. Shutters slammed shut over every entrance into Fentonworks. Maddie flinched at the loud noise.

"And now," Jazz muttered, picking up her bat. "We can't go back." The redhead swung like a professional, slamming her weapon into the alarm, setting it off like a loud pig. She took her anger out on the plastic, smashing the buttons and hardware to bits, sending wires flying. Even the brick beneath the alarm was chipped in many places. Well, if there was one thing her parents did right, it was make a decent bat. The creep stick didn't have a scratch when she finally stepped back.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Jazz took in her handiwork. Getting some extra aggression out of her system slightly cleared her head, and she smiled at the ruined building. The alarm was going off at max volume, and some of the floodlights her parents had installed a few years ago lit up the whole neighborhood with flashing red. If the Fentons hadn't had people’s attention before, they sure as hell did now.

"What'd you do that for?" Maddie said, horrified. Guess she was breaking her silence.

Jazz scoffed, turning to pick her bags up and sling them over one shoulder. "Because while I'd love to burn this place to the fucking ground-"

"You can't!"

"Shut up. It's not up to you, Maddie." Jazz spat. "And it's not up to me. Danny gets to decide what happens to Fentonworks. Whether you like it or not, this is his final resting place. I'm not going to rob him of closure."

Maddie snapped her mouth shut.

"Final resting place?" Jack finally returned to himself as he cried at his daughter's words. Thick tears dripped down his face. Jazz had never seen her father so distraught, not even when Vlad moved away to Europe last year. He looked heartbroken.

Jazz sneered, poking her father in the chest with her bat. "You heard me. That fucking portal, your goddamn pride and joy, is what got Danny killed in the first place. That lab is where he died in front of his friends because you two are idiots who refuse to follow any sort of rule."

"No, that's not-"

"Not what?" Jazz rounded on her mother, who shrunk back in the face of her fury. "Not right? That's not what happened? Is that what you were going to say?"

They were attracting a crowd. People were being drawn out of their houses by the alarms and shouting, staring at the two Fenton parents with mild distaste. Everyone knew their children put up with a lot, even if the doctors were well-meaning. Did they finally cross the line?

"It was hard for us too!" Maddie insisted. "All those late nights, his avoidance of us, how he looked at us! It was horrible."

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM!" Jazz roared. She was as red as her hair now, and the little ectoplasm that ran in her veins made the edges of her form blurry. As if she was a heat mirage. "YOU KILLED HIM, AND NOW YOU'RE KILLING HIM AGAIN BY HANDING HIM TO THE GHOST INVESTIGATION WARD!"

"Th-they just wanted to study him," Jack sobbed. "T-to avoid and prevent any ghost disease breakouts."

"BULLSHIT!" Her voice echoed down the street. It boomed unnaturally, drowning out the sound of sirens that were a few blocks away. A few neighbors were going pale as they realized the severity of the situation. "You two are doctors! You know how science works! You two built and sold weapons to them! Don't pretend to be ignorant and blame it on the fucking ghost flu."

"You disgust me," Jazz continued. She descended the steps and shoved past her parents. Maddie landed on the ground with an oof! "I hope I never have to see you two ever again." She adjusted her bags and started marching toward Nasty Burger, cutting through the crowd like she was fucking Moses. The police were a block away now. She didn't want to be there when they got to the house.

"Where are you going?" Her mother called. Pleaded, really. "We can talk this out!"

Jazz ignored her calls and walked on. When they spotted the murderous look in her eyes, everyone on the sidewalks quickly got out of her way. She had two minutes now, but the others probably wouldn't mind her tardiness. Her phone buzzed, and she snapped it open.

From: TheFuck

4:12pm yo ms evie just blasted ur rant 2 myspace and yt

4:13pm for an old lady she sure has quick fingers

4:13pm dani just showed up at nb we just waitin on u

Rather than replying, Jazz pushed the door to Nasty Burger open and beelined towards the trio's usual table. Tucker was glued to his phone while Sam and Dani mumbled, pouring over several sheets of paper. She tapped Tucker on the head, making him jump.

"I'm already here."

Tucker spun around. "Nocturn's starry underwear, Jazz!" He whined. "You could have just texted me!"

"Didn't feel like it," she shrugged, suddenly feeling very tired. The restaurant was mostly empty, so she threw her stuff into the booth beside them and slid in next to Tucker. The Fenton creep-stick was rested against the edge of the table, acting as a warning. The others had already set aside their bags and weapons in the other booth. Not a single Nasty Burger employee came over to tell them they couldn't have swords at the table, so Jazz didn't bother thinking about it.

Danielle, her free-spirited youngest sister, glanced up at her with a weary smile. She looked rough. The wind had tangled her shorter hair, and her clothes seemed horribly displaced and damp. (She'd passed through a tropical storm half an hour ago.) Dani was swaying where she sat, desperately trying to stay engaged with Sam even though exhaustion was no doubt clawing at her mind.

Jazz felt her mood soften. Sometimes, she had to remind herself that Dani was only a few years old by human and ghost standards. While Danny was also a baby ghost, he had a lot more stamina as a human to make up for it. Flying from New Zealand had taken its toll on the girl.

"Here, Danielle, switch me." Jazz stepped out of the booth, guiding her little sister to sit next to Tucker, who wouldn't mind if the girl fell asleep on his shoulder. Dani didn't protest and conked out almost immediately, soft snores being the only indication she was alive. Sam nodded her greeting and shuffled some papers Jazz's way.

"Here's everything so far," she stated. "We're doing this on paper until Tucker can set up a server."

Jazz flipped through the pages. Each one had a little tab in the corner sticking out so things wouldn't get mixed up. The pages were even color coordinated, just how she liked it. She scanned through sheets of numbers, reports on agent activity, stolen research, manufacturing contracts, and so on. Everything she saw was dated back at least a year, and Sam had taken the time to highlight the discrepancies between all the paperwork. It was the very definition of thorough.

Time for business, I guess, she thought. "To start with, how's the town?"

Tucker got right into it. He turned his PDA around to show her the screen. A tiny map of the town was displayed, with red dots pinned to random spots. "All the monoliths Danny set up are primed and ready. They'll tap into the ley lines in the area to power the ghost shield we set up. I'll set it off when we leave the city borders."

"I called Cujo and Wulf," Sam added. She had a paper version of the town map with more random spots marked in green. "They are rounding up the ghost animals, and I got Grandma Ida to scare a few more human ones into helping. Some of the A-listers are doing a sweep to drive out anyone who stays behind."

"What about the GIW equipment?"

"Dash is getting his football and baseball teams together. Wes is going to load them with a virus before they smash it all to bits."

"Teenage boys are always destructive no matter the species." Jazz remarked dryly. Sam gave her a Look, but she ignored it. Yeah, she was being hypocritical. Who cared? "How's the tracking going?"

Tucker patted the sleeping Danielle on her head. "Thanks to a little miss, I got a lock on his ecto-signature much faster this time. But his aura is big, and we'll still need to raid at least four locations before I can pinpoint him."

Jazz sighed in relief, tilting her head back. Everything was falling into place, and soon, Danny would be safe by her side.

-

Danny woke up with a knife in his chest.

He choked, breathing in the air for the first time in a while. He couldn't feel a heartbeat, but the knife was too close to his core. It was too close to his fractured core. The weapon twisted, digging itself deeper, and he screamed silently in fear. His limbs spasmed, knocking into whoever was standing over him and throwing them across the room with a thud.

Free of the pressing weight, Danny rolled to the side, dropping to the floor and scrabbling at the knife still in his chest. Fabric was tangled with his legs, making it difficult to stand. Had he been placed in a bed? He jerked the knife out, letting it clatter to the ground.

Danny keened as precious ectoplasm leaked from his chest. From his core. Flaps of skin that hadn't healed yet tore back open, ripping fresh scabs and making him lightheaded. Half-formed organs were trying to slip free of his body, and he could barely scoop them back in. His fingers felt thick, and the task seemed endless. What if his core slipped out? How would he know? Could he catch it?

Was this how Dani felt when she was melting? He briefly wondered. A sob tore its way out of his throat. God, everything hurt so much. He tried to inhale, to breathe through the panic attack, but his lungs were either shriveled from disuse or missing. He couldn't breathe. Oh god, he couldn't breathe. The fabric felt like shackles against his legs, stiffing and trapping him further as ice crept through the room. He couldn't feel his lungs, he couldn't feel his heart, he couldn't feel his core. His core was here; he knew it. Where was it? Where was his soul?

Danny curled in on himself, letting go of his skin in favor of shoving a hand into his chest, searching for his tiny core amongst all the ectoplasm and body parts. It was like trying to find a ping pong ball in a pool of Oobleck. The base of his head felt heavy, and he just wanted to cry even more than he already was.

where is it where is it where is it

His body shuddered as Danny started folding in on himself. The heavy feeling got worse. Bones slipped from his joints and pressed oddly against his skin, making it poke out in strange positions. He screwed his eyes further shut as he kept reaching past his ribs. His fingers were ice cold and sent shocks up his spine, making him spasm again. Flimsy organs were slipping past his arm; he tried not to pierce them as they landed back onto the floor with an ugly splat.

Danny kept crying, even as he felt the tips of his fingers finally brush his core. It was ice cold, colder than his skin. He could feel a deep crack in the surface, and he mourned for himself as he pulled his arm back out of his body. He wanted to scream so bad. To yell. To wail. To call for his family and friends and heal in his haunt surrounded by love.

But he didn't have any of that right now. His parents had given him away to the GIW, saying he just needed help, that he just needed to be fixed. That he needed healing. His haunt wasn't safe anymore, and Sam and Tucker had to stay behind to protect the other ghosts. Jazz wasn't even home the last time he checked. And now he was somewhere new, having a meltdown as he lost more blood than he cared to think about. He felt so goopy.

Danny's ears twitched as footsteps rushed towards his room. Was he underground? Everything was echoing. The person he'd tossed sat patiently against the far wall, probably staring at the mess he'd made. He was still whining in a high-pitched kind of way, which was his version of a ghost sob. The door burst open, making him flinch, but he was too weak to defend himself with ice. Danny could only lay there and try to pull himself back together.

-

"The boy is awake."

One of Ra's messengers bowed deeply to him, eyes cast to the floor. The papers he'd been going over were forgotten as he shoved them aside and focused on the messenger.

"I heard he was not due to wake until his organs regrew." Ra's commented lightly.

The messenger's frame tightened up a fraction. "The Demon's Thumb has returned," they intoned. "And has decided to greet the new Demon's Heir."

Ra's hummed, standing up. "I suppose I should have expected this. News does travel quite fast these days." He gestured for the messenger to lead the way, and they stood to do so. The walk from his main office to the medical wing was short as more of his retainers gathered around him. Dr. Vanessa, a thin woman with a vicious fire in her eyes, rushed to join his little circle as they passed the research hall.

"I apologize, sir." She seemed harried, if not a little ticked off. "My calculations must have been off. I-"

"It was not your fault, doctor." Ra's cut her off. "My granddaughter seems to have stopped by for a visit and wanted to pay her respects to the new heir, it seems."

"Ah." Dr. Vanessa's anger at herself vanished, and her face was carefully blank. "In that case, I shall adjust the boy's treatment plan accordingly."

They said nothing else as they approached the boy's room, admittedly at a quick pace. The bind around Ra's heart was urging him forward, to be faster and be by the boy's side when he awoke. The mere knowledge that the boy was in danger made his blood boil as his body revolted against this mind. By the heavens, he couldn't wait for this contract to be fulfilled. He hated magic so much.

Turning the final corner, a loud, keening cry assaulted everyone's ears. Dr. Vanessa flinched. A few guards pulled out their weapons, adopting a more defensive position. Ra's could barely stop himself from rushing through the group during the last few steps. He grits his teeth as another opens the door.

They were treated to the sight of a frost-covered room. The boy was on the floor, tangled in his blankets as he tried to shove unfinished organs, which was a gaping hole that led to nothing. Lazarus water was leaking from his body in copious amounts. His skin was practically translucent, and Ra's could spy his bones shifting unnaturally underneath it all, creating strange angles and planes that did not belong to a human. The boy's eyes were screwed shut, and he was crying even more Lazarus water, but Ra's would bet that his eyes were glowing that same bright green. The keening noise seemed to be coming from him, even though his mouth was shut tight.

Ra's glanced around again. A knife was on the floor next to the boy's head, covered in his blood. Mara al Ghul, his granddaughter and leader of the Demon's Fist, was sitting against the far wall with thick sheets of ice covering her from the neck down, trapping her in place. She was still wearing her mask, so Ra's couldn't see her face, but he knew she wasn't happy. Foolish girl.

Dr. Vanessa glanced at him. "May I approach the patient?" She asked. Ra's nodded his approval, and she cautiously stepped forward, trying to avoid the puddles of bodily fluids.

The doctor knelt, and she adopted a soft look to soothe the boy. "Hello, young man." Her voice dripped with honey. She reached out to tap the boy on his shoulder. "My name is Dr. Vanessa, and I'm-" She got cut off as soon as she made contact. A flash of light blinded everyone, and suddenly, Vanessa was encased with ice. She was essentially a statue now, still with a sweet look on her face.

Interesting. Ra's thought. One of his attendants moved the frozen doctor out of the way so he could walk forward, stopping right at the edge of the Lazarus water.

"Boy," he ordered. "Listen."

The boy's cry petered off at the sound of a human voice and he cracked his eyes open, staring straight at Ra's unblinkingly. He warbled something in a language that grated on everyone's minds. Ra's understood him, though, and switched tongues as easily as he would clothes.

"Boy," he repeated. His voice cracked, and Ra's could feel his granddaughter's burning questions engraved into his back. No one had heard him speak like this before. However, the boy finally opened both eyes wide, which he counted as a win. His interest was piqued. "Boy, listen to me."

The boy's mouth didn't move as he replied, "Hurts..."

"I know. But you are hurting others, and hurting yourself. Let us help."

The boy shivered. "Hurts. Can't. Pain."

"My people will not harm you," Ra's promised. The weight of the promise hung in the air like a bird, and the boy's eyes widened. Making promises in the tongue of the dead was a serious thing. "Calm yourself, and let us help you into bed. You are losing lifeblood. We cannot help if you freeze my people."

A humorless laugh was his reply. "Already dead." The boy informed him. "Almost dead again. It hurts. Please?"

Ra's motioned for the assassins to pick the boy up. He squeezed his eyes shut as hands touched his body but relaxed as one of them handed him his liver like it was a stuffed toy. The ice in the room started melting, releasing the two ladies from their bonds. The attending nurse quickly got to work collecting all the extra things that had fallen out of his body and placing them gently back inside the boy's gaping chest like he was playing Operation.

Once he was situated with all his goopy organs back in his body, the boy tried apologizing to Mara and Vanessa. "Sorry for the cold." He rasped.

Mara glanced at her grandfather, who didn't bother to translate. "I will be informing Mother Soul of this development," she said stiffly before turning and marching out of the room, two assassins at her heel. Dr. Vanessa was likewise escorted out to be taken care of.

Ra's stepped closer to the boy's bed. He didn't pay any mind to the blood, Lazarus goop, and now melting ice that stained his robes; they could be replaced. But he needed answers. He needed to figure out how to get out of this deal with the Gardener. And he needed to know how much power one child could offer him.

"Child." The boy looked lazily up at him. The effort of being awake was taking its toll. "I am Ra's al Ghul, the leader here. May I have your name?"

"Mmm." Some of the boy's bones shifted as he wiggled around, trying to relieve the weird pressure pressing against his skin. Ra's reckoned his whole skeleton might be out of place. "Call me Phantom," he eventually hummed.

Ra's knew that wasn't the boy's true name, but he'd work with it for now. He simply inclined his head in acknowledgment, watching as Phantom started nodding back off to sleep. Oh dear. He couldn't let him rest yet; Ra's needed answers.

"Do you know why you are here, Phantom?"

The boy licked his cracked lips, but still couldn't use his voice. His words were just echoing into the air like he was projecting his thoughts for everyone to hear. "No..."

"You were given to me. By a being who called themselves the Gardener. I am to take care of you."

"In exchange for what?" Phantom was struggling to stay awake. But he instantly caught onto the double meaning, which proved he had a brain somewhere.

Ra's considered his words. "Power," he said simply. "I care for you as if you were my own, and in exchange, you would be the key to granting unimaginable power and knowledge."

Phantom wrinkled his nose but seemed to accept that answer. "Undergrowth is so shady sometimes. But I'll acknowledge the deal between you two. Let me take a quick nap, and then you can let me know what you need..." He trailed off as sleep finally claimed him.

The Demon's Head wasn't pleased that the conversation was cut short, but the bind around his heart had loosened its noose, and he felt it was unavoidable. Now that his foolish granddaughter was out of the way, he would leave and return later. Phantom, while boyish in nature, seemed quite mature once he was lucid enough to talk. Perhaps Ra's wouldn't regret making him the Heir.

-

Jazz was getting antsy. It had been weeks, and they still hadn't found Danny. Raiding GIW bases with just the four of them took a toll on the group, especially since they kept losing supplies (like her beloved creep-stick, RIP). A few times, Danielle had to fly off and keep the peace in other cities, as the ghosts were finding different ways into the mortal realm now that Amity was shut off from the world. She'd taken up Danny's name as Phantom and was exhausted from flying across the country constantly. So, really, it was mostly the three of them.

Luckily, Kitty and Johnny showed up recently, and Dani got them to spread the word about Danny's disappearance and the group's country-wide manhunt. No ghosts had shown up since then.

"We're here," Tucker snapped her out of her thoughts, pulling her to an instant stop. This was one of the four bases Tucker had narrowed their search to. They'd destroyed the other three, gathering evidence and doing what was necessary to defeat the agents inside. And now they were standing in front of the final one, deep inside Yellowstone National Park. It looked like a rest stop with a bathroom, but Jazz knew that the compound was actually underground and most likely ten times the size of the shack.

Sam wrinkled her nose. "This place looks abandoned," She noticed. "At least the others had a front going on. I don't want to ride in a dirty bathroom that's really an elevator. I'd rather go back and fight those creepy clown performers from the pizza place."

"I can just phase us down." Danielle offered.

Jazz shook her head. "Nah, you need to save your energy, kiddo. Who knows how deep this one is."

Tucker crouched, fiddling with his PDA. "This spot does have a front," he told Sam. "It's a rare geocache spot. The only hint for it online that I can find is a shitty riddle that was posted, like, last week."

"Oh, what is it?"

"Uh, here. It says:

Below the keep, just six feet deep, lays a weathered path, born from wrath. A white beast rests, who troubles his guests, so find the key, and beware the banshee."

Danielle snorted. "You're right. That riddle sucks. Who wrote that? Skulker?"

Jazz smiled but considered the words seriously. "I mean, it seems pretty literal if you know the context behind it. Why not search for the cache and see if it has a key?"

"Good idea."

With that plan in mind, the four split up to scan the terrain. None of them had ever been geocaching before, but it was a popular tourist activity around Amity. It shouldn't be that hard, could it?

The answer was yes, it was. The group searched for an hour before Tucker finally gave in and sat on a log to take a break. The log promptly crumbled in half, and Tucker shouted in surprise as he landed ass-first on a hard tackle box.

"Oh, come on!" He groaned. "This log isn't even made of plastic! It's cardboard! Who makes a geocache out of cardboard?? It literally rained last night, my ass is wet now!"

Danielle giggled for the first time in weeks. Jazz ruffled her hair, earning a swat of protest, and then walked over to help Tucker to his feet. Sam swooped in to claim the first dibs on the box as soon as he was clear.

The lock was no issue for her as she simply bashed it open with a sharp rock. Sam seemed eager to find more clues and crowed triumphantly when she dug out a key card still attached to a GIW lanyard. "Fucking finally!"

"Good job, Sam." The four gathered around the tackle box. The card seemed legit, right down to the near-invisible security numbers engraved on the back. Their enhanced eyesight allowed them to spot that detail, which was a blessing when sniffing out fake leads.

Dani shot up excitedly. The fact that they were so close to finding Danny renewed the spark in her eyes. "I'll go look for the entrance!" She sped off, turning invisible to avoid any inside cameras. She found it within minutes, and returned to share the good news.

It was, indeed, in the tiny bathroom.

Sam groaned. "I need to learn to keep my mouth shut."

"I'm fine with that, honestly. You loud-mouthed mother-OW!" Tucker stumbled through the doorway to the bathroom, too slow to avoid the whack Sam had given him.

"That's 'loud-mouthed BITCH' to you," she scolded playfully.

The eldest shook her head and ignored them. The bathroom truly was tiny, and hadn't seen the loving touch of a mop in years. Spiders were making webs in the corners and Jazz was pretty sure something had been using the toilet as a litter box. It looked awful and smelled even worse. A smug look from Danielle told her that the girl had simply stopped breathing, and therefore didn't have to deal with the scent of actual bear shit.

She ignored Danielle, too. Jazz could feel her little sister's smugness radiating as they searched everywhere for the secret card scanner. Jazz couldn't stop her organs at will yet, and the twins always took full advantage of that to mess with her. They eventually figured out that the empty soap dispenser was what they were looking for, and the scanner beeped when they swiped the card. The whole room started to shake as they moved down.

Sam and Tucker stopped their petty back-and-forth as they heard the grinding of the elevator cable. "When was the last time this was used?" Tucker sounded alarmed.

"Probably when they built it." Sam grimaced at the sight of the dirty toilet water moving and pointedly moved to stare at the wall. "I want to set myself on fire right now. This is so gross."

"I'll hand you the match."

"I will douse you in gasoline, Tucker."

"Not the time, guys!" Jazz glanced at the ceiling, where she imagined the cable would connect. It squealed and screeched, but eventually, the world's worst elevator trip came to an end, and the one wall with nothing attached to it split open to reveal the pristine tunnel of a GIW facility. All four of them bolted for the hallway, and not just because they were eager to start trashing the place.

"Danny better fucking be here because I do not want to ride that thing ever again." Gasping, Sam rested her arms on her legs, breathing in stale, underground air. At least it didn't stink.

Danielle giggled again (that was twice now!!) and changed forms. "I'll go scout ahead," she informed them. Jazz bid her good luck before she faded from visibility. She wasn't too worried about the girl. Dani had her radio and knew to avoid GIW sensors as a ghost.

Tucker lay on the ground, staring into nothing while they waited. "My ass is still wet," he commented after a few moments of silence.

"No one needs to know that, Tucker."

"Too bad. I might get a rash from this. Did you know I ran out of underwear last week? I'm on my last pair, and now I'm gonna get a fucking diaper rash from them."

Sam gagged. "That's disgusting. Don't tell me this shit. I'm cursing your bloodline just for that."

"You gotta tell me these things," Jazz chided. "I would have gotten you a new set."

Tucker waved his arm in a 'whatever' motion. "Eh, honestly, it isn't that bad right now. I've done worse. Danny and I once tried to see how long we could go without showering or changing in middle school. I went two weeks before my parents hog-tied me and hosed me down in the front yard. Danny managed to go a full month before you did the same."

Realization struck Jazz and her eyes widened. "That's what that was about? Oh my god, he was yowling like a cat when I caught him, and it took three rounds of shampoo just to wash his hair! He's never forgiven me for it!"

"Sounds about right." Tucker shrugged. "I promised him a ticket to the observatory if he won, but you caught him the day of the showing, and he missed it."

"Why don't I remember this?" Sam demanded.

"It was right before y'all moved to town. It's the incident that caused the 'Fenturd' nickname."

Jazz put her head in her hands and groaned. Sometimes, she really wanted to smack her brother.

Danielle popped back into existence, making all three of them jump. Her mood had drastically changed, and she seemed really uncomfortable. "As interesting as that story is, and I definitely want to hear about it later," she said nervously. "This whole place has already been raided. There's no one here except a couple of soulless bodies. And an open portal. Someone was here before us."

All three shot up. "Lead the way," Jazz demanded. Everyone ran down the still-pristine hallway. Barely any dust had settled, and none of them smelled blood. Who had gotten here first?

They slid to a stop before a big metal door. Dani ducked through it to open it from the other side, and everyone was assaulted with the smell of rotting bodies and days-old blood as soon as it started moving. The door was literally so thick it had trapped everything inside. Including some agents, it seemed. A few bodies were pressed against the door and fell toward them when it opened. Tucker screeched and jumped back.

Sam, a true crime girlie at heart, crouched to examine the closest one. "Their fingers are worn through, almost to the bone," she noticed. "I bet if we closed the door again, we'd find scratch marks."

Dani floated above the corpses. "Yeah, it looks like something cut off all the exits and hunted them one by one."

"But what killed them?"

Sam toed a body until it flipped over. The eyes of the agent had been ripped from their skull, and frostbite warped their skin so bad she couldn't tell what their original features were. Danielle floated closer to Jazz, looking highly uncomfortable. "Danny's ecto is all over the place," she whispered. "He was definitely here."

"Right." Jazz hardened her heart. She was here to find her brother, not feel sorry for brutally mutilated government agents. "Let's get going. Stick to the battle buddy system, and keep your comms on."

They proceeded cautiously, only touching a body if it blocked their path or to find a key card. Tucker remarked that if this was a horror game, he probably would have played it, but living it was so much worse. Every single corpse had its eyes removed, and it was starting to wear on Jazz's mind. Dani mentioned their souls were gone, too.

Eventually, after some detours and backtracking, they reached the labs where Danny would have been held. Rage filled Jazz's chest as she saw ectoplasm mixed in with the bloodstains. A table had been set up to restrain a ghost with specialized handcuffs that had FENTONWORKS printed across them in bright green letters. Shattered glass was scattered across the floor and a few organs were decaying quite rapidly. A scientist was slumped across the table, a small knife still in hand. Jazz kicked the corpse.

Without Danielle telling her, she could feel it. This is where Danny had been tortured. Probably vivisected, too. Those were his organs that were rotting on the floor. His blood stains the ceiling. She was seeing red. She wanted to scream. Her baby brother had been tortured by these horrible people, and she didn't even get to kill them??

Danielle tugged on her arm, quietly bringing her back to herself. "The portal," she reminded Jazz. "It's in the next room."

"Sam, Tucker, see what you can recover from in here." Jazz gritted her teeth and let Dani guide her away from that room. "Dani's gonna show me the portal. Scream if you need us."

"Be careful!" Sam called back.

They left the room, going two doors down to what looked like a near-perfect copy of the Fenton's lab. She stiffened as she spied the portal. It wasn't set into the wall like the original but rather floated a few feet in the air in front of it. It looked like a tear in reality, similar to something Wulf could make, but on a much larger scale. She felt dwarfed by it, and dreaded to think about what could come through a portal this size.

Dani pointed out some blinking computers, the only ones still with power inside the entire compound. "They were working on a new portal," she said. "The Fentons sold their research. I'm not sure how we missed it, but they were really close to getting it figured out."

"This isn't from the GIW?" Jazz asked, gesturing to the behemoth of a disaster still swirling next to them.

"No, I don't think so," Danielle zoned out. Her eyes glowed, and she looked at things Jazz couldn't see. "This was opened from the other side. I think someone broke in, took Danny, and left after killing everyone."

"Someone from the Ghost Zone?" Jazz frowned. She bent over the computer, trying to click around for security footage. "But who do we know that is strong enough to kill everyone so physically? Vlad swore to never interact with us again, even if it was life or death. Undergrowth would have left plants behind, Nocturn doesn't like killing in the mortal realm, and Vortex can't sustain himself underground. None of the normal rogues are strong enough, either. Unless they got Desiree to help?"

"Nah, she may be a bitch, but she refuses to participate in murder of any kind. Plus, she's a neat freak. This isn't her work. It isn't Ghost Writer either; he doesn't like writing horror stories."

"What about Frostbite or Pandora?"

Dani wrinkled her nose. "Maybe? Frostbite is a pacifist who is more likely to rescue Danny without killing anyone. And the portal is too small to let Pandora through. She could've sent her warriors, though."

"It was Danny."

Jazz glanced up from the computer. Sam and Tucker were standing in the door, looking pale.

"We pulled recordings from the labs dating back two months. Danny was the one who killed everyone."

"...Pardon? It's only been a few weeks since he disappeared."

"I don't know." Tucker frantically typed away at his PDA, pulling up the downloaded footage and shoving it in Jazz's face. "But it's definitely him. I pulled their files, too. They were looking into time travel, Jazz. The day Danny showed up in their records, Operative K and Operative O were also logged in, even though they were 100% still in Amity during that time. They suddenly added on the time travel stuff a day later."

Jazz zoned out, numb to Tucker's near-hysterical rant. She just watched the tiny screen blankly as Danny was tortured over and over again but refused to give up the secrets the agents were asking for. Every time he refused, he was punished by having his organs taken away and put into jars for study. Then he'd be pumped full of pure ectoplasm, and just like Prometheus, he was back the next day with fresh organs for harvest. The dates in the recording went back weeks. Way before Danny disappeared.

Dani sobbed and looked away from the screen. Jazz couldn't even blink. The turning point in the experiments was when they brought in a little girl, a human girl, in front of Danny. The girl was about five, probably homeless or kidnapped, with pretty blonde hair done up in pigtails. Jazz noted she had been crying and had the number '27' pinned to her shirt. Danny was wary, sure it was a trick until he spotted something off-screen that they couldn't see. He jerked forward, straining to reach the girl, panic in his eyes.

But he couldn't reach her. Two scientists simply wrote down some observations before nodding in the same direction Danny was looking. Without asking a single question, the agents killed the little girl in front of Danny.

Jazz's hands shook as tears filled her eyes. Danny, her sweet baby brother, looked on in horrified shock as the cameras switched. Agents dumped the girl's body in a barrel of ectoplasm and waited patiently until a blue wisp rose from it. Then, using a Fenton peeler, they zapped the child's soul without mercy. Normally, the peeler stripped the disguise off a ghost to reveal their real form. But to a fresh soul as weak as that?

Her soul was burned into nothing.

Danny started screaming and imploded in on himself like a star.

The camera blacked out for a few moments, flickering between glimpses of her brother and blackness. She barely recognized him. His form had warped into something unrealistic. Something straight out of a movie. He was impossibly large now, barely able to walk on two legs when he stood amongst his broken restraints. His chest was a gaping cavern, and when he turned towards the camera, she could spy his tiny core exposed to the world. It was acting like a black hole, pulling at Danny's own skin and flesh like it was trying to suck him in. It was beautiful and strange in a horrible way.

He was too fast for the camera to really keep up with, but Tucker had doctored it to slow down each frame. Danny's face was splitting in two from a silent scream. His hair was flowing wildly, falling over his body, so it looked like he had a white, shaggy cloak.

His hunt never stopped. He didn't slow or hesitate to pounce on everyone he saw. His body was stained red from the gouging of people's eyes, which was the fastest way to reach a human soul. The group watched in horror as Danny leaned over his victims, opening his splitting maw even wider and devouring every soul he could, ensuring that they wouldn't even get peace in death. The churning of his core was getting worse, and at some point, he was spreading ice with every step he took. It looked like he was really struggling to stay standing by the time a few scientists were the only ones left in the compound. Jazz was afraid of what would happen if he collapsed completely. Would his core devour him?

At some point, the cameras really did die, and the screen went dark. Jazz realized she was crying, and moved to give the PDA back to Tucker.

"There's more," he shook his head. "But we didn't watch that far ahead because an outside force added it when I downloaded everything."

Like he said, the screen crackled back to life after a moment. The group realized it was from Danny's point of view. All the agents were dead, and he was stumbling through the halls in a daze, unable to keep his bigger form. He finally made it to the room they were in now, probably drawn to the familiarity of the lab layout. Before he could reach the unfinished portal, however, the freestanding one opened and out stepped a very familiar figure.

"Clockwork?" Jazz muttered, surprised.

As if hearing his name, Clockwork looked directly through Danny, straight at her. "The flow of time has been disrupted." He said softly. "I'll take our young Guardian here to a safe place. We have much to talk about, Miss Jasmine. You, too, Samantha, Tucker, and Danielle. I'll see you soon."

Then, the older ghost's focus switched back to Danny, and it was like he'd never spoken to them at all.

"Daniel," he coaxed. "It's time to go."

Danny groaned but stumbled forward and passed out in Clockwork's arms, promptly ending the video.

Silence descended over the room. Jazz could hear blood rushing through her body, and her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She thought over what they'd found in the facility, about the state of Amity Park, her parents, and most importantly, her brother. About how he was tortured to the brink of insanity and how he still found it in his heart to love others. To protect them. To care and grieve for someone he'd never met. He must be feeling so much hurt.

Deciding on the next step was easy.

"We need to find Clockwork."

-

[I realized the timeline is kinda confusing, and I promise it'll all match up in the next chapter, but here's a chart on what it looks like right now so it's easier to understand.]

[The top one is the timeline Ra's and the rest of the DC characters are on. The middle is Jazz and the others. Danny is separate from both timelines right now because of the Time Medallion that Dan forced into his core. Right before the start of the story, which is marked in bright colors, Danny and the agents he's traveling with get involved in a time anomaly and are transported two months into the past. The agents still take him to the Yellowstone compound, but the incident makes the GIW speed-run their research on the Ghost Zone and, now, time travel. The timelines sync up again when Tucker finds the video from Clockwork. The total amount of time that has passed since the start of the story to the sync-up is about three weeks.]

[willowser]

For the fanfic trope game: maybe Neighbour Touya and awful first meeting ?

I loved reading what you wrote for Bakugou Soulmate first time mashup ❤️

LOL OKAY THIS SOUNDS CUTE ! and tysm !!! i'm so glad you enjoyed it !!! 🥺✨💕

so you move in next door to the todoroki's and the first one you meet is fuyumi !!! she's getting out of her little cute car, bringing some groceries inside as you're hauling boxes up to your room from the moving van. and she's very nice ! very sweet ! about your age and you're excited about the possibility of having a friend already !

she tells you a little bit about her family later, when you two go walking around the neighborhood after the sun has started to set and the evening has begun to cool things down. her parents are divorced and she and her brothers live with her mother ! though she and the two younger ones still see their father for certain holidays and in small stints in the summer. she doesn't say much about her other brother, and you don't ask, trying to soak it all up like a sponge.

over the course of the first week, you meet all of them. all of them. little shouto who seems wholly uninterested in you — you can't tell if he's shy or just more interested in the little gaming system he keeps in his hands at all times — and natuso, who blushes when you introduce yourself. rei, who is so sweet ! and invites you to stay for dinner, which you do, and you and fuyumi help her in the kitchen and have a good time ! you meet enji for just a moment, near the end of the week when he comes to visit rei, a serious, withdrawn look on his face that sends you and the kiddos outside. you only barely catch him saying something about touya, but then yumi is rolling her eyes and natsuo is asking you something about having a boyfriend.

it's not until a little later that you're trying to sleep that you hear something OBNOXIOUS outside, like a fist against a window and some ridiculous noise that could be scary if you think too much about it. when you take a peek, there's some dark-haired guy trying to climb the side of the todoroki house, wobbling dangerously and barely hanging on. you spend a moment watching him, wondering if you should maybe call the police, but then the window opens and natsuo sticks his little head out — and plants a hand on his face and pushes him off the house afhahfahf

all the floodlights come on and he's stumbling to his feet just to face plant in the grass, and he looks up when you accidentally laugh out loud. even in the dark, you can see the face he makes at you, before he's getting to his feet and scaling the side of your house, too. you should probably be afraid, but natsuo is still looking out his own window, watching with his mouth open as this guy starts knocking and hissing to be let in.

you don't know why you do. maybe because he's a little cute up close and both natsuo and now shouto don't seem afraid as they watch you from across the yard. just as you yank open your window and he forces himself in, you catch rei coming around the side of the house with a flashlight, arms crossed as she calls out, "touya!" all exasperated. he just face plants into your room and groans into the carpet.

he doesn't move for a minute and when you lightly kick him in the arm, he sits up and is sort of drooling. the bitter smell of alcohol hits you terribly, looking at his handsome, scuffed up face, and he just blinks his bright blue eyes up at you slowly.

he slurs, "you th'neighbor?"

"uh, yeah," you raise an eyebrow, "that's why i'm in the house next door."

it makes him — touya — huff. "cute," he grins enough that his dimples show; the same ones shouto has, the one fuyumi has in her right cheek. and then he groans again, slumping back on your floor as he covers his mouth. "much as 'm enjoyin' this, 'm 'boutta hurl all over your rug."

you barely manage to drag him down the hall to your bathroom.

✨ trope game ! ✨

[alinalioness]

Alina in Wonderland FINAL:Performance.

From the first person of Alina, she opens her eyes and notices the familiar corridor of the theater. In the third person, Alina notices her friends lying on the floor like her.

Alina:Guys, wake up.

Everyone gets up and notices that they are in the theater.

Emma:Are we at home?

Balan:I think so. (I noticed that there is no pit) And the pit that was here has disappeared (Everyone stood up).

Leo:So we have returned home after all.

Heroes:Hurray!

Lance:Wait. We completely forgot about the final performance.

Balan:Damn, that's right.

The heroes in the backstage noticed the audience who are just sitting down now.

Heroes:Phew.

Balan:We had time. (He looked at his watch) We have a whole one minute. Have you come up with anything yet?

Alina:We came up with a number about your background. How did you meet?

Balan:That's a coincidence, we thought about it too. We really decided to add you.

Alina:But I wasn't there.

Jose:Nothing, the main thing is that you know what our background is.

Balan:Right. And now the show.

The audience is already sitting on the chairs waiting for the performance. Suddenly the lights went out and the music "Party x Party" started playing. The floodlights were directed at Balan with a cane until the curtains were removed and the city appeared.

The song "Our time is an adventure".

Verse 1

[Balan]

Once upon a time there was a girl named Alina

She noticed two children Leo and Emma

They didn't have a perfect balance

Until they came across the theater

When the three of them entered the theater

They were surprised that it was magical

[Alina]

And it would be worth just looking at this theater

[Leo and Emma]

Suddenly we met Maestro Balan himself

[Balan]

I'm asking you for the help you need.

Save the twelve inhabitants

Which are they like you too

Lost the balance

Chorus:

[Balan, Leo, Emma and Alina]

Don't yawn and go on to adventures, adventures

Our time is not so rubbery

Our time is an adventure, an adventure

We'll all go together.

Every second to adventure, adventure

We must do everything in time without losing

Our time is an adventure, an adventure

It's time for us to hit the road

(The scene changes to 12 worlds and Alina, Leo, Emma get caught)

Verse 2

[Balan]

And they hit wonderworld itself

Having seen twelve worlds at once, they understand

[Alina]

The inhabitants themselves have a terrible problem

[Alina, Leo and Emma]

We need to find out what problems they have stumbled upon

(The music changes to the song "Crazy•Night")

[Jose]

My garden was destroyed by a hurricane

[Fiona]

My friend the dolphin pushed me

[Yuri]

My classmates don't like bugs.

[Haoyu]

I couldn't make a functioning plane.

(The music stops)

[Tornado Wolf, Dynamic Dolphin, Dusk Butterfly and Aero Acrobat]

Oh no, this is terrible.

(The music continues)

[Sana]

The builders destroyed the forest

[Cass]

My kitten got into the car

[Cal]

I was the champion, but I lost

[Iben]

My parents are dead.

(The music stops)

[Guardian Bird, Air Cat, Quad Cannon and Frost Fairy]

So sad.

(The music continues)

[Attilio]

I'm afraid to confess my love

[Lucy]

I've run out of inspiration

[Eis]

I wanted to be a hero, but I was afraid of fire

[Bruce]

And no one noticed me

(The music stops)

[Happy Blaster, Inky Blaster, Water Blaster and Invisible Man]

It's not fair.

(The music returns to the song "Party x Party")

[Alina]

But if you try something again

[Leo]

Or fix something to the right

[Emma]

You should have thought about it.

[Alina, Leo and Emma]

And everything worked out

Inhabitants:Yes!

Chorus:

[Heroes]

Don't yawn and go to on adventures, adventures

Our time is not so rubbery

Our time is an adventure, an adventure

We'll are go together

Every second to adventure, adventure

We must do everything in time without losing

Our time is an adventure, an adventure

It's time for us to hit the road

(The scene changes to a world of negativity where Alina, Leo, Emma are looking for Lance)

Verse 3

[Alina]

The time has come

To defeat Lance

[Leo and Emma]

But certainly not by battle

But only with kindness

(The music gets a little creepy)

[Lance]

Defeat me?

No! I won't let you

You all ruined the plans to stop me

Now I'm going to destroy you

Inhabitants:No!

(The music returns to the song "Party x Party")

[Jose, Fiona, Yuri and Haoyu]

You can't do it in three

[Sana, Cass, Cal and Iben]

After all, you helped us

[Attilio, Lucy, Eis and Bruce]

Now we will help you

[Inhabitants]

Save Lance all together

Chorus (2x)

(All still singing in a bright scene)

Don't yawn and go to on adventures, adventures

Our time is not so rubbery

Our time is an adventures, an adventures

We'll are go together

Every second to adventure, adventure

We must do everything in time without losing

Our time is an adventure, an adventure

It's time for us to hit the road

The performance ended with fireworks, causing everyone to cheerfully applaud and the heroes bowed.

Alina:It was fun.

Balan:I'm glad that you all enjoyed it as an audience.

Suddenly, Cass noticed the notes and picked them up.

Cass:Look, I found something.

Balan took the letter from her and opened it. His eyes widened as he read it.

Balan:Guys, this is a letter from Cheshire Cat himself.

Heroes expect Balan:A Cheshire Cat?

Balan:He says that Wonderland is fine and better off without the Queen of Hearts.

Emma:So everything worked out.

Alina:And this is our favorite how...

Heroes:Together, stronger, hurray!

The End

[mangoisms]

like the part of the song where it falls ━ miyuki kazuya In which you get hit by Miyuki Kazuya’s winning home-run of the World Series and things get a little… weird.

━ part one: rough as a thousand sharpened nails / read part two

━ wc: 6.4k

━ warnings: none

━ masterpost

Okay, you know you are severely concussed but, like, the bruise kinda fits your look, right? 

You echo this question to Dr. Peña, who levels a deeply unimpressed look at you in response, then resumes scribbling down your vitals.

Okay. Alright. You think it does and that’s all that matters in the end, anyway. 

You continue to eye the baseball-sized bruise sitting above your temple in the handheld mirror the nurse had given you. Since it’s so fresh, it’s still just a deep red, the area swollen and incredibly tender. You amend that when it purples, then it will fit your look. But until then, it just looks… really nasty. 

Either way, you are just trying to stay positive. No one can blame you for that. 

Because of course it is just your luck that you get knocked out (and consequently concussed) by the winning home-run of the World Series. 

Bottom of the ninth, the sky is dark, the floodlights on, the atmosphere of Petco Park absolutely electric. You’re just trying to get a good shot of the field with your camera and then boom. 

Baseball, meet face. 

You don’t remember much after that.

Nothing, actually. 

As soon as the ball had connected with your head, you were out, crumpling like a leaf. You were told you’d fallen backwards first, which explains the ache in your back, no doubt from roughly meeting the plastic of your seat, then you’d sort of… flopped forward, onto your face. Totally crushed your camera underneath you. 

Your broken camera is probably the thing you are most upset about. 

But the San Diego Padres won at least, right? That home-run broke the 4-4 tie — a walk-off home-run. Their first World Series win ever and their first World Series appearance since, like, the 80s or something. (You don’t know, that’s just what you heard on the news before Dr. Peña shut it off.) 

In no small part due to their trailblazer of a catcher, a foreign player, actually, the only Japanese starting catcher in the Majors currently — Miyuki Kazuya. 

“Good for them,” you say idly. 

Even if he is the guy to (technically) blame for concussing you. 

Dr. Peña sighs deeply, then sets the clipboard down. “Follow my finger.” He clicks on his penlight, shining it directly in your eyes. 

You let out a colorful curse at the brightness, closing your eyes. The throbbing in your head increases sharply. Whew. Okay. You don’t feel so good now. The world tilts on its axis. You clench your hands in the heavy hospital blanket over your lap. 

“Sorry,” he says, actually sounding apologetic for once, a semi-comforting hand laid on your arm. “I have to. Just take a breath.”

You try. 

He clips the penlight back to the breast pocket of his white coat when he finishes, looking particularly serious and doctor-like as he does. 

“Am I gonna live, doc?”

“After a week of observation, most likely.”

“A week? Is that a joke?”

He opens his mouth to respond, a slightly irked expression on his face, before a knock on the door interrupts him. 

“Your sister,” he sighs, going over to open the door. 

Well, you suppose if your sister was a six-foot-something baseball player, then yes.

As it currently is, the awkward-looking man standing in your doorway is not your sister. Neither is the slightly shorter woman next to him, tapping away at her phone. 

Sure, your sister is pretty, but this guy is something else. Even knowing that he and his team were probably up until the sunset celebrating their new championship, he looks good. 

Dressed in grey joggers, a maroon hoodie, with a cream-colored cap tucked over windswept brown hair, he makes you both a little envious and a little insecure. Your sister had cleaned off most of your makeup while you were asleep, saving you the mess, but the bruise on your head doesn’t do you much favors. 

It does kind of go with your nails, though. So. You have that going for you. 

Dr. Peña gives them the stink eye. “Can I help you?”

Miyuki Kazuya says your name in a questioning tone, eyes darting between you and your doctor. 

“That’s me!” you say cheerfully before Peña can reply. “What can I do for you?”

Reluctantly, Peña lets them in. 

Miyuki looks incredibly uncertain of himself as he shuffles in. Needlessly, he introduces himself — “I know who you are, dude. Everyone does.” — then his companion, his manager, Wendy. Dressed smartly in a cream-colored pantsuit that blends prettily with her brown skin, black hair pulled into a high ponytail, you are also a little bit envious and a little bit attracted to her equally heartbreakingly gorgeous looks. 

It’s both really nice and really sucky that you are currently, save for Peña, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people. 

Ah, well. Such is life. 

“I just wanted to apologize,” he finally says, stepping closer to the bed, looking uncomfortable. “And make sure you were okay.”

“Totally! I’m fine. No worries. You didn’t have to come out like this.”

He probably had way better things to be doing. Like recovering from his night of celebration. Or continuing it. Either one. He deserved it. You saw a replay of the walk-off home-run on the TV (again, before Peña killed your fun). You were far out in the stands, near left field and the bullpen, so you didn’t get much of a close-up look at him but it was pretty cool. Professional athletes of any kind are impressive, you think. But for a guy like him who probably had to prove himself repeatedly to American fans and those on his team — it is admirable. 

So, you really do mean it. 

But the way he blinks, the way Peña sighs, and the way Wendy lifts her eyes from her phone, eyebrow raising, makes you think they don’t see it your way. 

“Fine?” Peña asks sullenly, glowering a little at you. “The reason you’re staying a week for observation is because not only do you have a linear skull fracture at the point of impact, but you also have a cerebral contusion.”

“And that… is not good.”

“Brain bruise. Minimal swelling, no bleeding,” he says sourly. “Not an issue, at the moment, not as far as we can see but it can become an issue.”

“Well, if it’s not presently an issue —”

“Do you even know what the exit velocity on that ball was?” 

You open your mouth to state quite plainly no, you don’t know, because you were busy, at the moment, losing consciousness, but someone else speaks first. 

“A hundred-and-nineteen miles per hour.”

You blink, looking at Miyuki, who stands a little stiffly. Beside him, Wendy is squinting at Peña. 

Peña clears his throat, leveling another glare at you. “Yes. That. Do you even understand what happens to your brain when being impacted with objects going that speed?”

“Like a pinball machine, right? Just — boink.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

You chuckle. “Relax. I’m not, like, actively dying.”

“You could’ve died,” he snaps. “Had that ball been an inch lower, you would’ve.”

Wendy clears her throat. “Is that really appropriate?”

Oh. You get a look at the scandalized expressions on your peanut gallery’s faces and snort. 

“Oh, it’s okay. The reason his bedside manner is super shitty is because he’s my brother in law.”

That helps. 

You smile brightly as Hector groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, despite being a whole thirty-six years of age, he still lacks the emotional intelligence to properly convey his concern for my well-being and now it’s awkward for all of us!”

“Okay, alright,” he mutters. “I — yes. I apologize for the… lack of professionalism.” 

“Anyway,” you chuckle, looking back to Miyuki and Wendy. “Why are you really here? Like I said, even if I’m not totally fine, you didn’t need to show up.”

“It was my home-run.”

You grin. “Well, were you aiming for me?”

“Uh, no but —”

“Then it’s fine. You shouldn’t feel bad but if it’s forgiveness you want, you got it, bud. Really just an occupational hazard of going to a baseball game.”

Though, the more you think about it, the more you realize it might be less of a matter of feeling bad and more, in terms of PR, that it would not look good if he didn’t show up for you. 

Yeah. That makes more sense. 

You don’t hold it against him, though. That’s just the way of the world. 

If anything…

“Sooo, not to sound completely vain but is my concussion, like, a whole thing right now, or…”

“All over the news,” Wendy confirms. “Especially since your lawyer confirmed your name a few hours ago and people put two and two together.”

You give Hector a sidelong glance. “My lawyer, huh?”

Like hell. This is Hector and your sister’s doing, you assume. You barely make enough to feed yourself, your pets, and pay rent. Though that is admittedly because of your own hand but still. 

“It was necessary,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “There was enough fuss when it happened at the stadium last night.”

You glance at Miyuki. “Sorry to put a damper on your guys’ fun.”

He blinks, looking quite perturbed. A knock on the door interrupts your conversation. 

“I have no idea why,” comes the familiar voice of your sister as she steps inside, “but the lady in billing said everything was already taken care of —”

Your older sister stops short as she takes scope of your new visitors. Recognition hits immediately, glossy pink lips forming an O. 

Miyuki clears his throat, nodding. “Right. That’s me. It’s, uh, the least I can do.”

“Thanks, dude,” you say brightly. You won’t complain. Better him than Hector and your sister. Even if they do have the funds (and more) for what you imagine is going to be a ridiculously expensive bill. 

Introductions go round again, your sister shaking each of their hands then falling back to Hector’s side. 

Miyuki looks back at you. “I was also told the camera you had with you was broken?”

“I’d say.” 

Your sister lifts the plastic bag of your belongings, passing it to you. Above your folded clothes and your tote bag sits your camera, the lens and screen thoroughly cracked. 

Again. A little sad. Hector and your sister had gotten it for you two December’s ago, a real update from the dinky little camera you’d bought secondhand a few years before that, when you wanted to get into photography. 

“I can pay for a replacement,” he says. “Or an upgrade entirely. I’d just like to —” he gestures awkwardly at you “— make it up to you.”

“Well, sure. I hardly mind.” Very kind of him. Even if it may be part of those aforementioned public relations. Not like you had the money to replace it and hey, if you could get a nice upgrade from this one, why not?

“That’s very kind of you,” your sister says appreciatively.

He shakes his head. “It’s… the least I could do, I think.”

“I don’t think so,” you say, smiling. “And like I said, I don’t blame you for what happened. It was just an accident.”

So, you wonder if it would be inappropriate to use his fame to help your cause.

Since he’s doing… all of that…

“Still. So… if there’s anything else I can do…”

You roll the hospital blanket under your fingers, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth thoughtfully.

“Well, actually,” you start.

Your sister huffs your name but Hector, probably already seeing what you’d like to do, that smart jerk, merely rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, smiling faintly. 

Even the look on Wendy’s face makes you think she knows, too.

But Miyuki seems nothing short of eager as he nods for you to continue. 

Man, he must feel really bad, huh?

Well.

“So, you see, I’m the host of a nighttime radio segment called Night Owl. You probably haven’t heard about it since we run pretty late into the night and, well, most people like satellite radio these days or their regular old streaming platforms. It gets enough traffic for us to be up and running but it’s getting a little slow.”

Actually, the truth is, the company sees you as nearly obsolete. The end of your segment is nigh. Them cutting Jerry’s paycheck is proof of it. But you aren’t ready to accept that. The people you get to talk to and interact with in the dead of the night assure you that you will be missed. 

Just… not by enough people for the company to care.

You smile ruefully. “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure if there is much intersection between our audiences but…”

“People were recognizing you,” Wendy says. “Not many initially but as soon as news outlets got wind of that connection, they were talking about it, too.”

“Oh, really? Sweet. Then, honestly, in that case, I don’t think —”

“No,” Miyuki interrupts, not unkindly. “I’ll help. Not a problem. What should I —?”

“A picture will be fine,” Wendy says. “We’ll release a statement about your current status in tandem with your lawyer, which is —”

“Stable but she still needs to be monitored for several days for brain bruises and a skull fracture,” Hector fills in.

She nods, tapping away at her phone, and your sister whips out her own phone to pass along the number for the lawyer. 

You shift, plastic bag with your belongings crinkling in your lap. Curious, you dig into it, pushing aside your broken camera to open your tote bag. Your phone is mostly unharmed, as is the tube of sangria red liquid lipstick, which is excellent, because you think you’d be more upset if the tube had broken than if your phone had cracked. After all, you think Miyuki would be willing to replace the phone as well (given his eagerness to help you) but probably not the liquid lipstick, even if it is among your nicer ones. 

Everything is in order, fortunately. You don’t think someone would steal from you, especially since you were knocked out by a baseball prior, but still. The lapse in your memory between last night and then just an hour ago makes you a little… tetchy but everyone filled in most of the gaps. Ball meets face, paramedics are called (you’re rolled out on a stretcher and everything, how dramatic), you get a high-speed ride to UC San Diego Medical Center in the ambulance (sirens and all). 

Hector, an ER doctor here, got wind of your arrival just as he was getting ready to head home and stayed the rest of the night and this morning to monitor you. Your sister, a flight attendant, called off an early morning flight to Colorado to be with you. Jerry, your friend and your sound engineer at the studio, came as soon as he heard, too, last evening but you were in the ICU, then, so visiting hours were over at nine and he had to leave. 

As soon as they started up again this morning at seven, he (and your sister) came back. He’s somewhere down in the cafeteria, you think, grabbing a late breakfast.

“Ready?”

Miyuki’s question jolts you and you realize he’s expecting you to get ready or something, since you’re digging around in your stuff. 

You barely keep yourself from shaking your head — probably not a good idea with your headache.

“Oh, sorry, I’m ready. Just checking that everything is fine. No touch-ups. Looking like I feel — shit — will probably help my case,” you say lightly, passing your bag back to your sister.

“Pathos,” Wendy says in solemn agreement, shuffling back and lifting her phone. 

Miyuki looks faintly amused as he takes up a post by the side of your bed.

You smile for a few pictures, Wendy’s camera app shuttering loudly. 

“Can I see?” you ask, leaning forward.

“Nope,” Hector answers for you. “No screen time for the rest of your stay here.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” your sister says quickly before you can keep pressing the issue. “I’ll look at them and pick one out.”

She and Wendy huddle together, swiping through the pictures. Miyuki stands awkwardly to the side as you pout at Hector. 

“I can’t even play some Tetris?”

“Why?”

“Well, I like Tetris, and also, isn’t that supposed to lessen my chances of getting PTSD?”

“No, Tetris does not do that. All the studies looking at that had horrible methodological issues. Tiny sample sizes, failure to replicate. No validity and no reliability. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on Twitter.”

“Well, sure, because I have you to debunk it!”

“No.”

“I can’t even play it just for fun?” 

“No. And no reading, either. You can’t strain yourself for the next few days. It will help with your recovery.”

“What about my puzzles?”

He purses his lips, brown eyes roving the room in thought. “Maybe. But big pieces, not little ones. Something easy.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

Hmm. If you get bored of that, maybe you can get him to cough up his Audible account and listen to some audiobooks. Not your preferred way of reading but you’ll take anything to mitigate the boredom that will no doubt set in very quickly. 

“So, you’re getting out —?” Miyuki leaves the question hanging as he looks at you. 

“A week from now, sooo… Wednesday, the second?”

Hector nods. 

“Give us your phone number,” Wendy says. “And we’ll get in touch about the camera.”

You rattle off the numbers to them, Wendy typing it into her phone. 

“I appreciate all of this,” you say, flashing Miyuki a smile. 

He nods. “No problem. I hope you feel better soon.”

“I hope so, too!”

They bid their goodbyes then step out of the room. 

Your sister looks a little mischievous. “Those two sure were cute, huh?” 

You snort, then wince at the throb in your head. 

Hector grunts out reluctant agreement. 

A knock on the door. Jerry Rodriguez, your friend and sound engineer, slips inside, holding a cup of coffee. 

“Hey, Tee, I got you a cookie —”

“Mouser! You just missed it! Guess whose hospital bills are paid in full?”

He blinks rapidly, passing you the soft chocolate chip cookie wrapped in saran wrap. “Yeah, I was about to say — I think I just passed that guy who plays for the Padres.”

“The very same guy who did this to me!” You gesture to your forehead. 

“Oh, that was —? Wow. Wait, he’s paying your bills?”

“And for a new camera! And also some nice promotion for Night Owl!”

“Sick.” He high-fives you. “Speaking of —”

“She’s off until she’s discharged and even then, I think it’s prudent to gradually ease back into working those shifts. A messy sleep schedule won’t do your recovery any good,” Hector nags. 

“Look in the mirror, brother. Seriously. You were supposed to go home last night.”

“Worry about yourself.”

“I am.” Your eyes sweep the room. Jerry, nibbling on his own cookie, eyes avoiding yours, your sister, sitting on a chair on your other side, watching you carefully, and Hector, a pinched expression on his face, looking exhausted, too, the circles under his eyes prominent, brown skin paler than usual. 

You sigh. “Y’know, I am very aware I could’ve died. That I still can.”

Your sister’s face crumples before she composes herself, hand finding yours, careful of the IV line. Her nails glint a milky shade of white. Yours are black. It was only a few days ago the two of you had gone to a nail salon together — her treat. 

“You aren’t going to die,” Hector says quietly, looking contrite. “Not on my watch.”

Quite a sweet thought but the truth of the matter is, you very well could and he could do nothing about it. 

You know. You know!

How had you felt a few hours ago, waking up with a pounding headache, vision blurry, feeling like someone else? 

It was scary as shit. 

All of this is terrifying. But if you succumbed to that kind of catastrophizing, then you wouldn’t come back out. 

Bad things happen. 

You’re still here, though. Stable, for the most part. Christ, you’d just been visited by one of the most famous baseball players in the country and he was paying not only your hospital bills but for a new camera, too. Your sister was here, Hector was here, and Jerry was here. Work would be taken care of — Jerry would take over and you’d have to drill it into him that he could, under no circumstances, use music beds, otherwise you’d disown him — and your pets would be okay, too. Jerry promised to go to your apartment and feed your Betta fish and your snail, Batman and Robin, until you were released. 

“Well, I am aware of the suckiness of the situation. Believe me, I am. But come on… being hopeful — optimistic… think that’s all any of us can do right now.”

“You’re right,” Hector says, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I am sorry. I was just…”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” your sister murmurs. “So, we won’t worry more than we need to.”

You don’t expect that to pan out but you appreciate the thought. And anyway, it was a balance. Too much optimism could fool you into a false sense of security. Too much worrying could put you into a hole you could never get back out of. 

You would be fine. 

Everything would be fine. 

So, you aren’t going to die from those brain bruises — so far — but you think you might die of boredom. 

Granted, it is only your second day here and your sister brought you a few of your favorite puzzles and you were able to get Hector to cough up his Audible log-in info but mostly, you really want out of here.

You’re cleared to walk around, so you’ve taken several trips out of your room, exploring the inpatient ward and other parts of the hospital. Though you have found yourself incredibly sensitive to any and all forms of bright lights, particularly sunlight. Nighttime walks are better since everything is dimmer. 

You’re sleeping a lot, too, finding yourself unusually tired. Hector says that’s normal, that your body is healing. (You’d also thought they’d be waking you up every few hours to make sure you were okay but again, Hector mulishly informed you that that was a myth and that when studied, showed no real results; that if anything, it was better to let someone sleep than to bother them like that and plus, they were still monitoring your vitals.)

He also says the reason you’re so tired is because of your shitty sleep schedule from working the show but, you digress. 

That’s where you are now. Eating a cup of orange jell-o, eyeing your partially finished puzzle of an assortment of anthropomorphic pumpkins (in honor of Halloween coming up) that is meant for kids but, like, who really cares? 

You’re alone now. Your sister is finally at home, dragging Hector with her. Jerry isn’t here, either, likely resting after having to take command of Night Owl last night. Last night was his first time doing it. You slept through it since it was the smarter thing to do, even if you did worry, but you’d listened to it this morning and it went pretty well. Despite what he likes to say, your dear Mouser is good with the people. And he didn’t use the music beds when he was talking like you told him not to. 

He fielded a lot of questions about you and about Miyuki and the Padres, too. Your little promotion tactic worked incredibly well. Too well, maybe. You find yourself missing the studio, wishing you could take the reins again but the suspense of you eventually returning will probably work in the show’s favor anyway. 

Either way, your picture with Miyuki has been plastered not only all over the MLB and the San Diego Padres’ socials, but also in the news outlets covering the story. Jerry says it’s all over the news in Japan, too, which is… a little scary. Sounds silly, you know, since you wanted that promotion but you hadn’t quite thought of the fact that it’d cross the pacific, too. 

In any case, Night Owl was spotlighted time and time again and Miyuki Kazuya got a sweet little PR boost as, alongside your current status, they mentioned his generosity in paying your hospital bills. No mention of the camera, though. You aren’t sure why. You wouldn’t have minded if he did. 

You’re thinking about that as you finish off your jell-o and slot in another puzzle piece when someone knocks on your door. 

You call out an absent-minded Come in! 

You expect a nurse, another doctor, maybe even your sister or Jerry, but no. 

Instead, it is Miyuki Kazuya shuffling inside, looking particularly awkward. 

Your eyes widen. You were not expecting him. In fact, you didn’t even think you’d ever see him again. You just expected they’d send you a camera and wash their hands of it. And that’s fine! He’s probably got better things to be doing…

Your eyes flicker to the cup he’s holding in his hand, immediately recognizing where it’s from. 

“Wow. You went to In-N-Out and didn’t get me anything?”

It’s a little a corny but you can tell that you taking the first leap eases some of that awkwardness, his lips twitching. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll get you some next time.”

“You better. That’s a Double-Double with no onions and no pickles, and light-well fries.”

“Light-well fries?”

“Dude. Don’t tell me you’re just getting the fries as they come. All soft and gross?”

He drifts further into the room.  “I thought they were just like that.”

“Well, they are, that’s why you gotta make that request. Soggy fries aside, what’s your take?”

“It’s okay. Not mind-blowing but not the worst. I don’t mind it.”

You nod. “Fair enough.” 

In-N-Out is more a comfort food than anything. Open until one in the morning, you have made many a trips to the In-N-Out across the street at midnight, typically the midpoint in your segment when you and Jerry were craving something greasy. 

“Anyway,” you continue, setting your jell-o and your spoon down next to the incomplete puzzle on the table hovering above your lap. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re taking back those offers for my bills and the camera. The camera I could do without, really, but those bills… can’t do it. And to be honest, it wouldn’t look great for you, either.”

He snorts. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No?”

Some part of him seems to become sheepish. 

“I was, uh, in the area and thought… I’d come check on you?”

“Sounds like more of a question than a statement, bud.”

“To check on you,” he repeats, more firm this time. “And your… uh, brain.” And the awkward uncertainty is back. Can’t win ‘em all. 

You grin. “My brain is great, thanks for asking. Well, not great, I guess, but I’m not, like, actively dying. CT scans from yesterday and today show my lovely little brain bruises are not swelling, which definitely lowers the risk of me kicking the bucket. Spatial awareness is a little iffy sometimes but —” you gesture to the puzzle “— I’m working on it.”

His eyes drift to your temple. You resist grimacing. By today, the bruise is… nasty. Nastier than before. In the throes of, well, being a bruise, it stands out by your hairline, deeply purple and vaguely baseball-shaped. You still think it goes with your look but mostly, it just gets a lot of sympathetic stares. 

“Yeah, still have a headache but it’s better. This thing looks worse than it feels for the most part. As for the fracture, well. That’s gonna take a while to heal.”

After your discharge next week Wednesday, you’ll be expected to come in for another CT scan and X-ray in six weeks. 

Something like guilt flashes across his face before it’s gone. He clears his throat, feet shuffling. 

You idly slot in another puzzle piece. “So, why are you really here, man?”

“Checking in,” he repeats, then gestures to the chair by your bed questioningly. 

You nod. He sits down. 

Some part of you wants to insist, because surely there is more to this than that. If he wanted to check in, he could have his manager ask the hospital, ask your ‘lawyer.’ Hell, all of this is fairly straightforward. Your lawyer would release statements as information came. If things were fine, they’d just say something about you being discharged in stable condition on Wednesday. If not… well. They wouldn’t just leave the public in the dark. Not a wise decision. Otherwise the media would fill in the gaps and you couldn’t bank on anything good coming of that.

Though, considering in that worst case scenario you would be dead, it probably wouldn’t matter much to you in the end. 

Still. It’s only been three days since the Padres won the World Series. You guess it could be for some more good press but he looks pretty nondescript with his ballcap over his hair. 

You won’t press, but…

“Avoiding your responsibilities?”

“I’d argue I’m actually being quite responsible right now. But for my press stuff,” he shrugs, “maybe so.”

“What’s on the docket?”

“Magazines, interviews, talk shows. That kind of thing.”

“Must be nice being here then, since you’re just a few hours away from LA. Though you’ve got Fallon in New York. Are you going to be on Jimmy Fallon?” you pause, realizing how it might sound to him; you aren’t trying to leak his schedule, just… wildly curious about what it must be like for him. “You don’t have to answer that if you can’t.”

He waves a flippant hand. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you don’t leak anything to the press.”

“No. And blackmail wouldn’t work well in my favor, either,” you say, grinning. “I’m just curious.”

He lets out an amused exhale. “No, not Fallon. Kimmel, though, yeah. Him, Conan, Jon Stewart…”

“Ooh. The big names.” You’re sure the situation is the same with the magazines. TIME, GQ, Sports Illustrated, Men’s Health… you haven’t been able to watch the news but you’ve kept it on, listening to them talk about the Padres’ win, your concussion, and Miyuki Kazuya’s brilliant performance. From what you’ve heard, he is apparently nominated for National League MVP and a slew of other rewards. 

“Don’t you have a parade, too?”

“Saturday.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be something.” 

You laugh. You still aren’t sure what to make of him but whatever it is… you think you like it. It’s fun. Exciting. 

“So, then, when does the PR stuff end?”

“Few weeks. Then I’m done.”

“Offseason, right?” At his nod, you continue. “What are your plans?”

He leans back in the seat, sipping at his drink. Ice sloshes around when he lets his arm fall, eyes flickering to the window covered by thick curtains. The light bothered you too much, even with the blinds down. Hector says you need to ease back into it, so they’ll be taking the curtains off tomorrow. 

“Not much,” he says. “Probably just house hunting.”

“Ooh, fun! My advice that I know is completely unsolicited but important to me for you to know and I won’t ever mention again? Beachfront property. Preferably with a pool deck. The water’s usually too cold but it is sure nice to look out at it, chilling on the sand.”

“Beachfront? So, I can be swallowed by the ocean?”

“Oh, come on, we all know California is more likely to break off from the rest of the country before it sinks. It’d be worth it, either way. ‘Cause on the beach, you have the ocean right in front of you.”

“The ocean that might want to reclaim us.”

“Hey, that’s her prerogative. Can’t do anything about it. But even if you’re not a fan of the ocean, you’ve got some really nice sunsets since you’re facing west. I mean, not even some. They’re all great. And you’d get that everyday being on the beach.”

“True,” he concedes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Can I ask where you are right now? Just a general vicinity.”

“I don’t know… you did say you were willing to blackmail me over my press schedule…”

“Aw, that was just a joke!”

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to be thoughtful. “I don’t know. I’m giving you a fair bit of power…”

“Hey, compared to you, with what is probably an army of lawyers and publicists? I’m just an ant!”

He snorts. “Yeah, alright. I’m in East Village. Close to Petco.”

“Very downtown.”

“Too downtown. Short walk away from the stadium but…”

“You wanna get away sometimes? Yeah, I get that. Well,” you shoot him an impish grin. “Being on the beach gives you a balanced medium. You aren’t downtown but you aren’t all the way out in the ‘burbs… and you get some sick views…”

“What’s with you and the beach?”

“Dude. You’re in San Diego, California. I’m not saying we have the greatest beaches in the world but they’re nice! I like the ocean. Swimming. Chilling on the beach. It’s not like Huntington or Venice.”

“That is true.”

“What, you’re not a fan of the City of Angels?”

“Los Angeles is… okay,” he says diplomatically. 

“No, I know. It’s an… acquired taste. I mean, you’re house hunting here, so I take it you like San Diego more than LA.”

“Not much of a contest if that’s the comparison.”

You laugh. “True! Okay, so… what other cities can you compare it to? Where have you been?”

“Well…”

For the next several hours, you talk. It’s easy but it’s not smooth, per se, which sounds contradicting but when the conversation gets going, it gets going. But then you run upon the occasional awkward silence. Which is fine. You can tell he’s holding back sometimes, choosing politeness instead of the truth, and you think you understand why. He has a snarky way of communicating and you get glimpses of it through your time together. He can’t just act like that with you, because even if you promised not to reveal any information he gives to you, there is no real guarantee. 

Your knowledge of baseball is limited. Zero, actually. But you know of some — mostly Shohei Ohtani, the Angels’ star player. You’d heard all about his arrival and trade a few years ago, the local news talking about the masses of Japanese media that followed him overseas and continues to watch him closely. For baseball, certainly, but for the opportunity to sniff out a scandal, too. American media is the same, if only a bit less intense. 

And given that Miyuki Kazuya not only helped bring the San Diego Padres to the playoffs and then to the World Series, he also helped them win, well… the whole world is watching him now. Probably for the next few months. 

You certainly aren’t going to be talking to them, even if you do in fact have a long line of requests from news outlets, magazines, and reporters, both American and Japanese, for a small piece of your time. To talk about Miyuki, probably, and your experience. 

You… are aware you couldget more Night Owl promotion talking to them but… you’ve gotten enough now. Your discharge is an anticipated event, as well as your return to Night Owl’s helm. That’s enough. More than enough. 

You also appreciate him coming here. He didn’t have to, not at all, but he did. It’s… kind of him. 

So, no, you won’t try to use his status for yourself. 

(Not unless he suggests it again, which you would of course be fine with…)

For the rest of his time, he grills you on the best neighborhoods to live in, since you’ve lived in San Diego for most of your life. You live in a shitty apartment in Normal Heights; the neighborhood itself isn’t so bad, though. A lively residential area with cafes, gastropubs, craft beer bars and diverse restaurants, especially along Adams Avenue. The nearby University Heights area offers Asian, Mexican and Ethiopian eateries but, well, it’s also an area chock-full of young college students, so that might not be up his alley. 

Mission Hills, however, might be. It’s where your sister and brother-in-law live. Predominantly residential, Mission Hills is home to a wide variety of shops and restaurants. Pretty suburban but also not far from East Village, where Petco Park is; about fifteen minutes by car. It’s also near the medical center where you currently are — UC San Diego Medical Center is east of the neighborhood, which is good for Hector. The airport, too, is southwest of the neighborhood, not far at all, which is good for your sister, a flight attendant with Delta. 

You run through a few more neighborhoods, with him picking apart every little detail to know more, and you don’t realize how much time has passed until your dinner is being delivered by one of the techs. 

They must be in a hurry, though, because they drop it off for you without giving you a backward glance — and without looking at him, too. You can see his shoulders relax a little when they hurry out without preamble. 

You had thought so earlier but this just confirms it: he isn’t here for some more good press. And it doesn’t make sense, either, considering what he told you of his already established press requirements that will only bolster his status. 

He’s here to… well, you aren’t sure. Check in? Maybe. But he isn’t here for good press. The sudden tension in his body when the attendant came in tells you that, that he doesn’t want to be recognized. 

The thought is warming. It is always nice to talk to people — you wouldn’t have your job if that wasn’t the case. 

“I should get going,” he says, a tad awkwardly as he stands, picking up his empty In-N-Out cup from the floor. “Let you eat and stuff.”

“Sure. Thanks for stopping by. It was really nice talking to you.”

He pauses, blinking, amber brown eyes surprised before the look is quickly gone. He ducks his head, adjusting his cap. 

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me encroach on your recovery.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He gives you an awkward wave then slips out of the room. It’s hard to budge the smile from your face as you pull the table with your tray toward you. 

How unexpected. 

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know what a smile means, don’t you?

[wind-corner]

Chapter fifteen

Mina was quietly writing in her notebook the fragments of the pot was beside her in the plastic container, and while the fragments weren't going to move in their own, mina found her self still needing just to be sure. Since one never really knows. But they didn't move and she went back to her writing making sure she wouldn't miss a single detail about the peices.

Taking a moment to glance to the photo on the opposite side of the pot fragments, she noted it seemed to have shown up on the old cammrea film. Which meant she could add it to the notebook already. And while making this notebook meant mina had to do extra work since she could do everything via computer, she felt it was safer this way.

Also given the fact that they just manged to get everything working after some sort of thing seemed to knock out all their device including their floodlights. And maybe it was that inner instincts that she volunteered to stay back and not head back into the tunnels. which was ironic since just a few days ago after her dad called the head archeologist doctor O'Connell to check on her, since her mom was freaking out about her safety. (Something she sort of felt embarrassed about) went into the tunnels alone to get her phone out of the rubble.

But the thing is the vibes are diffrent. A few days ago it was fine, right now something felt wrong. Maybe it had been her own nightmare or something else, she didn't know. Looking out the window the rain seemed to continue pouring the drops hitting the window. Again glad to have gotten the ac working in the rv, other wise the feeling in here would be unbearable. Sighing she heard the door open and she turn to see who it was.

Seeing the familiar face of Sébastien, mina felt her heart skip a beat and quickly glances away her eyes looking back to her notes "Hey, is everything good?" She was greatful she didn't say anything stupid and that Sébastien seemed to be taking his time near the door of the rv.

"Yeah its good, and the others are lucky to have that old tunnel reopen up after it collapse a week ago." He seemed to shuffle closer to her before a plastic container was placed beside her and mina glanced to the male her heart fluttering and the butterflies in her stomch seemed to be acting up on her.

"More like a business week, and isn't it a little to early for lunch?" Not that she was ungrateful, in fact she was super happy that the guy she likes bought her food. And if not for the fact that it would make her look like an completely idoit, she might have sqeeled.

"True, but you haven't been sleeping well, and seem to be waking up early." She heard him sit on the chair (they really needed to oil these things) and saw him reach for the gloves not to far from her.

"Ah, so you noticed?" She has been trying to be quiet as not to be caught. But it seems she had failed to do that, though it made her wonder what else has been heard.

"It might not have been noticeable if not for the explosion coming out of the tunnels that echo on some nights."

Glancing over to Sébastien, mina noted he was pouring sand into a container, most likely to make a mold of the pot fragments that way they could put it together with out handling the original peices to much risk to them.

Looking back at her notes she stab the food with a bit more force than she meant to, but it was plastic vs plastic and the spork bent from the pressure.

Sighing she let go of the spork letting it slip into food. "So everyone knows?"

"Not really just me and a few light sleepers, but I already talk to them and they won't be saying anything to O'Connell." His words made warmth fill her cheeks. He was so stood to her. And honestly she wish she could tell him she liked him. But than again if she came out and this was all plotaonic it could end up destroying what they have.

"Thank you sebby." Mina found herself smiling softly as she went back to her notes and food after all she couldn't leave either fully abandoned. Though that also reminded her of somthing.

"No problem, " and it seemed the male had subconsciously knew what she thought si could he continued to speak. "Also doctors chan called though their was some time of wried riddle crap attached to the message."

Looking back at Sébastien, who was now pressing the fragments into the sand now, she turned to look at him though she continued to eat since the pasta wasn't going to remain good if it got all cold "Oh? Care to tell me the riddle? And if its something cheese-y know I'm allowed to steal your jacket for the rest of the week."

The laugh that the male let out made mina's heart flutter. "But that would required for me to let you catch me since I'll be wearing it, but I guess I don't mind you trying to catch me."

Mina felt her face get way to hot and coughed as she tried to restart her brain since that has to be romantic right? Or was she over thinking it? Because that screams flirty, but what if she's wrong? And honestly she doesn't want to make that mistake again. Childhood trauma aside, she wanted to know what wordy thing he was told. "If you say so. also, what was the riddle?"

Taking another bite of the food she couldn't help but find it really good, surly Sébastien broke into one of the higher ups stuff because there was no way this was kept cool in the ice chest that they as the lesser one would have to keep drinks and foods cold. Though as two of the only three magic users on the site also meant that they could also use a bitnof magic to keep said chest colder longer than everyone else's and they had to cause a revolt to get a few people's medications out of the locked rvs of doctor dickhead (not his real name of course but it what she calls the fucker) and now said medcation was being safe kept in her own ice chest so people could at least not die.

Sébastien moved to grab a metal container and begin filling it with the metal he needed to melt in it. "Not going to lie to you, i don't even remeber all of it. Didn't help i was hiding and the phone was on speaker, but from the bits and peices I recall, Something about the one with the blood of you something about a world of seven seas, and some more nonsense than there was a mention about shrimp and a lover of cats? So a bunch of nonsense But if we can solve it we'll know who to send to get the funding at blare Valley."

Mina blinked. While yes it was a lot of nonsense but that had been enough information for her to get it. And not to mention her mom had a tendency to talk a lot. But she needed to be sure.

"Is that everything?" Mina set her food to the side and put the lid back on the container.

"As far as I remember yeah, I can see if doctor chan will call again and get their thoughts, but thats all I remeber. So unless we find who ever that riddle was about than the funding from the queendom ends this month."

Mina turned to look at her notes and the pot peice that Sébastien had put back in its container. They were so close she could feel it. They have been finding so much. If they kept going deeper she was sure they would would find something that went past this world's version of gods!

Reaching to play with the necklace her mother had given her, she knew what she had to do, maybe she could prove that the religion she and her mother followed was the right one? As dumb as that might sound, but even if this is a different world from the one her mom was born into surely they would also have to be signs in this world that would be the same as the one in her mom's world? Or something to prove that it was real.

The whole reason she had been drawn to this field of work was because of all the tales of what happened in a holy book that her mother talked about, a book that was the only copy in all of twisted wonderland. And mina had read the book back and forth and could recite it almost page for page. And reading everything she had originally had wanted to study religion, but had found herself solely disappointed. But having jumped fileds she found herself adoring what she was doing now.

And she sort of hoped to stil find signs that the book was also hinted to in this past, and maybe her mom can be put at ease? Though it would be a lie to say she's doing it just for her mom, their is also a part of her that may or may not want to rub it in a few people who mocked her faith. So their was that. But she was getting lost in thought.

Letting go of the necklace she viewed this as a sign from God, and she would be a fool not to take it, though she was a bit weary she had to take this chance. "Sébastien. " the lack of his nickname drew the male's attention to her so quickly that it looked like he hrut his neck.

"Can you get ahold of doctor chan? Because I need to go get us tha mt funding..." Mina found herself hesitating for a moment after all she didn't want to make a fool of herself, but she needed to ask. "though would you be willing to come with me?"

The male turned to her. And mina found herself fearful he would reject her, or maybe she was being to bold? Maybe she shouldn't have asked? After all this wasn't like and of the times she's asked him out for dinner, or to hang out when hey had free time. Or when they spent the night at each others houses. This might have been to much an idoit move! After all she doesn't even know if he even likes her! And this might be seen as to forward something only a girlfriend is allowed to ask or something.

Though it seemed like ages before he answered, it had only been a few moments. Just mina's panic made the moments seem much longer than it actually was.

"If you're the one asking than I'll definitely go." The smirk Sébastien gave her made mina quickly look away as she tried to hold back her emotions because squealing in front of a guy would bound to make her look stupid. But damn it he makes her so happy, and she really wish she knew if it was safe to tell him of these feelings.

Though mina jumped slightly as she felt something near her ear only to realize that it was Sébastien moving some of her hair put of her face. And he face felt much to warm. "If that's completely alright with you, that is."

Her heart skipped a beat, when had he gotten so close? Does this mean he likes her? Or is he just platonically helping her. Would it be wrong to kiss him? Cause she wanted to so badly."yeah... it is~"

Mina wonder if she was imagining the closer distance. What lead to this?! Is this platonic or romantic?! Why must she not know the answer to this?!?! Closing her eyes and hoping for the best her heart thumping in her chest. And she could feel a warm breath against her face. And her lips slightly parted.

He was going to kiss her right? There's no way for a kiss like this to be platonic.... right? He's got to like her right?!?! Though all this seemed to be intupted as a loud banging knock hit the door to the work rv causing mina's eyes to shoot open and back up and it seemed Sébastien had done the same before mina looked to the door.

The banging kept happening before the yelling began and mina looked at the door annoyed and turning back to the tubaware she open a random drawer closing the food she than put it in there and closed it to hide the food, because technically they weren't meant to eat in here.

Sébastien had gotten up and walked to the door and waited for her to be done before he opened it and he took the bruent of the yelling and mina really wished she had a working phone to record this bull shit. He didn't even tend to react at least from what she could tell since Sébastien had his back to her as he seemed to be keeping the main focus of the dickhead's attention.

And honestly she knew she was going to tune this out and her and sebby would bitch about the fucker later. but if the fucker tried to push her buttons, she wasn't going to stand down... hopefully. but she'll hope for the best none the less because honestly she didn't want to get kicked out of the dig site before getting funding for this project.

Looking upwards she pray for the strength to make it though not only the asshole's bullshit, but also to not screw up on getting the findings because if Sébastien is right thaan shes the one that needs to go. And Lord knows she's going to need all the help she can get, if that's the case. But than again she knew at the end of the day she won't be going down the wrong path, so long as she held on tightly to her faith and did everything she can to be a good person and follow the Lord's will. With that thought in mind she stealed herself for what ever may come her way.

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

♬ - a friend/best friend memory

[The northern balconies are dark and quiet, tucked away from the floodlights in the castle’s shadow. Recently the castle has been filled with noise, rallies and etiquette lessons and the distant banging of last-minute construction that Ghetsis has insisted be finished before the coronation, and so the silence outside is a welcome respite.

“… Lady Anthea. What are you doing?”

Anthea flinches as a Shadow materializes next to her. Even having known the Shadow Triad for years, it always startles her when they appear suddenly like that. 

She traces her fingers along the balcony railing and forces a smile. “Practicing my princessly charms. If the stories are to be believed, a king’s sisters should spend a great deal of time gazing wistfully off of balconies. Only, there is not much to see out here…”

“Ah.” The Shadow leans up against the railing next to her. “ And…does the abyss gaze back, milady?”

“Indeed it does,” she replies. “Am I needed inside?”

“Not currently.”

“…Good.”

They stand in silence for a moment.

“Are we friends, Luce?” Anthea asks. 

“Shadows don’t have friends. …You are tolerable company, as humans go.”

“That is good.” Almost an admission of affection, coming from him.

More silence. The Shadows are good at silence; Anthea likes that about them.

“I must ask, though…” she said finally. “If…if Ghetsis were to…order us eliminated, would you…”

The Shadow stares straight ahead, face unreadable in the darkness. “We will do whatever Lord Ghetsis commands.”

That was what she’d expected, frankly. A part of her had hoped for something different, but she knows better than to think that anyone would choose her over their other loyalties. “Thank you for answering honestly, then. I will try to make it easy on you, should it ever come to that…”]

[bloomspellwritings]

[Case Study of Vanitas] suit of swords

A sword is still in her hand, and a bitter call in her heart. For a moment, a blink of an eye, Dominique questions. Misha said everyone against them must be fought. She has to do it, or she'd be betraying yet another's expectations of her.

Who is the enemy?

What does she want to do?

For anyone coming to the manga later, chapter 54 originally published just the first fifteen pages or so, then there was about two months where no update came. This ficlet started within that space mostly as an excuse to get back into basic writing after years of blocks, but was also me really wanting Domi to finally fight with a sword. When the manga continued I simply let the project drop and forgot about it. But I've dusted off the draft in hopes of getting constructive criticism to my action scenes, and to also possibly end my own hiatus of sorts. The title comes from a minor arcana within tarot reading. I thought the associations with it fit Domi's character, so it gets the honour of helping me not have to think of a title of my own.

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They are surrounded, above and below. Mikhail's crowd of afflicted vampires normally would not be enough to stop a royal guard and the Hellfire Witch, but Dominique still wavers where she stands, and Jeanne's gauntlet hangs dead upon her arm.

The clinking of chains rings through the air. Dominique's eyes shift to Mikhail, clutching his wrist as his automaton tugs at the hem of his clothes. She wonders briefly if he'd dropped his grimoire or if a metallic tail had struck it from him. Though the answer doesn't matter, as he lets the mechanical dog whisk him away, face twisted in pain.

Despite everything, at the sight of the boy's tears, she wants to reach for him, to tell him she understands – she's lonely, too.

Her eyes move to Noé, injured arm useless as the other holds Vanitas close, his legs trying to shift them away from circling attackers.

A sword is still in her hand, and a bitter call in her heart. In front of her, Jeanne swings the gauntlet with all her strength to disperse the crowd, even as the vampires lunge at her over and over.

For a moment, a blink of an eye, Dominique questions. Misha said everyone against them must be fought. She has to do it, or she'd be betraying yet another's expectations of her. The echoes of her family belittling her, of how she'd hurt Louis, never leave her. But now, like a struck match flaring, she remembers wanting to save Jeanne even in the face of Veronica's anger, she remembers how Noé wanted her to be more like herself as she'd grasped at her cut hair.

She looks at Jeanne, unbuckling straps as crimson eyes glance from Dominique to the crowd.

Who is the enemy?

What does she want to do?

She charges forward, Jeanne only has time to brace her feet and gasp as Dominique passes her. A sweep of the sword is enough to make the few vampires on the tracks flinch away. Quickly, she uses the edge of the blade and her arm as a shield, but it's not enough. A man bites her forearm, fangs piercing through cloth down to skin. A woman tries to push past her, clawed hands catching at her loose hair and epaulets. Dominique's arm trembles as she tries to hold steady. These are innocent people, she doesn't want the sword to cut through them.

Clattering and a shudder through the coaster's structure is the only warning she has of the gauntlet being off before Jeanne calls, “Get back!”

She overestimates her step and her heel slips between wooden slats. Reflexively her hand grabs the guard rail as she falls. The floodlights glint off a rapier thrust in the space between the attackers' heads.

It must have come from that giant pack she carries, Dominique thinks as she untangles her legs and pulls herself up.

Jeanne doesn't look back as she kicks a man away and says, “I can fight on my own! Go!”

Dominique wants to say something more, anything better than the hatred she'd spat earlier, but knows she doesn't have time. Thank you is lost to the noise. She runs further along the incline and grasps the rail with both hands. A chill runs through her arms to her clenched fingers.

She needs to jump.

Her breath quickens as she pleads with herself that this time is different. She can see Noé far on the ground, up and fighting off the mob surrounding him, but he doesn't stray far from Vanitas's body. He's in danger of being overwhelmed if someone doesn't help him.

Dominique grits her teeth, tenses her legs, and swings out over the rail. Rain stings her face – had that happened last time? She can't remember – before her heels crack into the ground from an impact that would have broken a human's ankles. She springs up and runs to the swarm in front of her, as the Book's page flutter audibly in a nonexistent wind.

Noé backs away from the crowd, his legs tremble and he crouches over Vanitas, cornered like an animal. Dominique can see his chest move like a bellows before she screams his name, a glimpse of white and crimson looks back at her before he ducks. She arcs her sword over him and his charge, spins on her feet to make the other vampires cower away again.

She fumbles on her heels and barely thinking kicks off her shoes. Rainwater chills her stockings but she can't risk any instability. Noé shouts her name, but she doesn't look back. The people pulled into this conflict don't know how to fight, but they are pulled by a child's strings to do so. She only has to keep them away from her.

She dances around the mass aggression as best she can. Her heart pounds at her throat and breath grows sharp, her gaze flicks between the crowd and Noé at the edge of her vision; he's up again, Vanitas held close in a crude sling of his arms. She aims at legs and spaces between torsos, anywhere that could sting but heal. Once she may have even struck someone in the head with the pommel of her sword, but she can't be sure.

An escalating whine like electricity building within machinery rises from the Book, still fluttering wildly. Suddenly, it sounds like the world itself shatters and the crowd collapses. Dominique freezes mid-parry, panting in the silence. She looks over the people, murmuring as if they're merely asleep now, and sees starlight glimmer on the ground. The bulbs of the park's streetlights had broken in that final snap of energy, she realizes, and glances back where Mikhail's book fell. The grimoire sits on the dirtied walkway like a lost brochure, still as raindrops blot its blank pages. It is silent and painfully normal.

A thud makes Dominique look back to see Noé half-collapsed on the ground, Vanitas held haphazardly in his lap. She scans briefly around the quiet of the park, then walks to him, falls to her knees and leans her side against his back. She should probably care about the mud seeping through her stockings, but it doesn't seem to matter now.

“Domi... Thank you,” Noé can barely speak through his own exhaustion, words come beneath exhalations. “Thank you, for being here, for saving me.”

Is that what she'd done? Now that the fight is over, it feels like she'd never known what to do, only stumbling from moment to moment on split-second whims. She closes her eyes and tries to catch her breath, cheek pressed between Noé's shoulder blades.

Dominique hears footsteps approaching, but stays resting where she is. It's only Jeanne, also tired but steadier than the rest of them.

Jeanne takes a deep breath. “Now then,” she sighs, “what happened here?”

Noé is quiet a moment, inhales sharply before he speaks. “That boy was Mikhail, he's also kin of the Blue Moon. He took Domi hostage to lure us both out here, and get me to drink Vanitas's blood. He wanted to take Vanitas away with him.” His voice stutters, grows faster. “I tried to, I almost did because Domi would have – I didn't know what to do! I lost control, I attacked first and Vanitas fought back! It's no one's fault!”

Jeanne waits, Dominique can see her expression above them, patiently neutral. When Noé says nothing more, she mutters to herself how that raised more questions than it answered. She drops to one knee and holds out her hands. “I can take him now.”

Dominique can feel the way Noé freezes. “Huh?” leaves his mouth so quietly she barely hears it, almost as if it were squeezed from his chest.

“I'll go to Count Orlock's and ask for directions to the nearest hospital that hopefully won't ask too many questions. I can travel faster than you or Lady Dominique right now. Vanitas needs better help than any of us can give.”

And beyond Noé's adrenaline-beating pulse, Dominique can hear it; even unconscious, Vanitas's body drags air into his lungs and his heart hammers erratically. He's along a precipice, and she can't guess which way he'll fall.

Noé jerks back, accidentally nudging Domi off him. She can even hear one of his shoes scrape the dirt as he tries to move further away.

“You can't!” He exclaims. “He doesn't want strangers prodding at him!”

Jeanne's eyes glance over Vanitas as if she's clicking puzzle pieces together, before she looks straight at Noé again. Her voice is quiet but blunt. “His discomfort isn't important right now. If you or I had a choice on how to die, it wouldn't be in this park.”

Even though Domi knows the words weren't meant for her, they still choke her and prick at her eyes, and she looks away in shame.

“Vanitas said he'd rather die than be examined by a stranger,” Noé says, hesistant and wavering. “I heard him say it only days ago.”

Jeanne replies gently, “He can hate me for the rest of his life after he wakes, then.”

Aside from rapid breathing, Noé is silent. His fingers tangle in black hair and his arm tightens around Vanitas's coat as Jeanne waits, the firm set of her jaw the only sign she won't be patient much longer. Dominique's eyes flick between the two and their stubborn stalemate. They talk as if they barely know each other she idly thinks before she breathes Noé's name.

His face snaps back to her. His wild eyes remind her so much of the night Louis died, the memory strikes through her heart like a pin. She doesn't care about Vanitas, she thinks he's selfish and awful, but she doesn't want him to die, either. She needs to get Noé out of whatever trap between logic and loyalty he's spiralling into.

All she can say is, “You can trust her.”

Noé blinks, nods, and finally, finally loosens his vice grip on the human in his arms. Jeanne's hands slips between the gaps of their bodies and takes Vanitas, cradling him close; the motion barely pulls a strained gasp from him. Similar moans around her draws Dominique's attention away to the crowd she'd almost forgotten. Under faint city lights, she can glimpse other vampires shifting into wakefulness, a scattered few twitch their hands and arms against the pattering rain. Amidst that she half-hears Noé giving information that Vanitas took two shots of the same drug the chasseurs use, though he isn't sure what that is, or where the empty syringes are to give to doctors who may know.

Dominique calls Jeanne's name and the woman faces her. For a fraction of a second, she wants to cower from someone so much stronger than her, who had shaken off harsh words as if they were nothing. Instead Dominique raises her head high. “I hope we can talk later,” she says, too many apologies within her and not enough time to sort any of them into words. But she promises herself she will try. Tonight won't become another moment she hides away as if that means it never happened.

Jeanne nods. “Of course, Lady Dominique.” Then with only a few long strides, she's gone with barely a draft to disturb the misty air.

“I'm sorry, Domi,” Noé says, over and over in the quiet.

“It's fine, it's alright,” she whispers after each apology, until they can almost believe it.

Dominique rests against Noé again. He's wrung out and slouched, but braces himself to support her weight. The other vampires push up onto elbows and knees, mumbling questions, but the pair don't move.

“I was awful,” suddenly rumbles through Domi's ears.

“No, you weren't.” she tells Noé, and can feel through his shoulders how immediately he shakes his head.

“I lost control of myself,” he admonishes.  “I became a monster.”

Domi presses closer to him. If he won't listen, hopefully her presence will show she won't leave him, no matter what he thinks of himself.

Noé's words come out wet and choked. “I let myself become that thing and didn't care.”

Dominique closes her eyes. Unbidden she remembers Noé's face halfway down her fall, and holding a little girl back from her own pain.

Her only response to Noé's self-hatred is to say she understands.

She thinks she should pick up her shoes from wherever they are in the mud, as the crowd around her wonders how they all got here, but her body is too heavy and tired to do so yet. It's fine if she rests a moment more.

[unearthlychild34]

A Prayer, or On Planting Peaches in the Dark

When I paid for the trees, it was 4pm. It would be dark by 7. Not much time to get them in the ground.

I have a thousand thoughts about the wisdom of this decision. I don’t know anything about peach trees. I don’t know if March is a good time to plant a tree. I planted a persimmon last year, a scraggly thing that was half-dead before I brought it home. It died, eaten by deer in the winter. I have no reason to assume this will be different.

It’s 5:20 when I get home. I started digging before I put away my groceries, desperate to use whatever light is left in the day. I know it won’t be enough. I keep digging.

It’s too easy to rip up the grass. Life is too fragile. My grandmother is sick, her dog is dying, innocents in Gaza are dying. Maybe I’m dying too. Is that why I’m doing this? To regain some sense of control?

The tree won’t come out of the plastic pot. Suddenly there seems something cruel about making a tree grow in a confined pot like this simply for my convenience. I brace it against the ground with my shoe and it pulls free.

The instructions specify well-draining soil. This ground is almost all clay, there is no drainage to be had. I bury it anyway. Now who’s being cruel?

The remaining soil is heavy and doesn’t want to go back onto shovel to fill in the hole. I resort to my hands. Now, I’m up-close and personal with all the half-worms I killed while digging the hole, with this awful soil that seems determined to resist new life. I have nothing else to offer this tree.

It’s now 6pm. I haven’t eaten in 7 hours. Im running out of daylight. The cats puzzle over my odd behaviours tonight. I can offer them nothing but mud-stained jeans and hands for explanation. I can offer myself nothing more, either.

I start on the second hole. It is an honor, a luxury to bury your dead in the midst of war sometimes. How many in Palestine have had their burial be the ceiling that fell down upon their head, rather than a ceremony with dignity? How many loved ones remained unburied because they had no one who loved them left alive to do it?

I keep digging. I can barely see as the darkness encroaches. This peach tree is a different variety, but it desires the same well-drained soil. It is 5 feet away from its sister and is no better off. Ive dug the hole too deep.

Filling in the second tree feels like allegory. Perhaps this is a kind of memorial, a symbolic burial for someone I never met. It isn’t enough. It can never be enough. I can’t do enough. I can’t fix it.

I direct that question skyward as I search for a bucket. Why can’t I do more to fix it? Why is it that I’m here in my yard instead, planting peach trees in the hopes of blessing my mother with their fruit in several years? Is this a good use of my time? What good can these filthy hands that can barely plant a tree do to even help, anyway?

The silence holds a looming answer- do you pray because you want to fix it? Or do you pray because you want Me to fix it?

Isn’t this collaboration, I fire back? Am I not meant to be your hands and feet? And what exactly are you doing about it anyway? What good are you? What good are either of us?

There are no answers. For a moment, I feel a grief even greater than I can comprehend. I don’t know if I imagined it, but I don’t think I did. I do not think it was mine. I toss a half-bucket of water onto both trees and walk away. It’s 6:50 and it’s dark, so dark that the distant floodlights barely show the base of the trees. I cannot see my handiwork.

I sit and stare into the dark for awhile, alone but not alone. I will try to keep an eye on the peach trees, but tonight Ive done all I can. I wish I could have given them better. I wish I could do more. I cannot stop death. But all I can do tonight is give life a home in the ground and pray, pray that it’s enough.