#wishing for what almost was

[lostintransist]

[emerges from the dead]

ghoap angst? Ghost holds a lot of misplaced anger after mwiii - after Soap’s death.

He partially blames Price for ordering Johnny to step down when he had the shot. Hell, he even blames himself somehow for assuming his captain placed the same amount of confidence in Johnny than he did him.

If Price had just let him pull the fucking trigger, maybe he would still be here, alive, with him - in his arms.

But he’s not and they feel most empty. Simon tries to fill the gap with bourbon or throwing himself in whatever op he could get his hands on, even the riskier ones.

A part of him wishes it’d been him that day, muttering ‘why is it always the good ones’ to himself where no one can hear him spiral.

Simon is not suicidal in the way that most people think but he doesn’t see himself resisting the current if things were to go south on a mission.

Demi! 😘 remember you asked for this. @cafekitsune thanks for the dividers!

CW: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT Canon Johnny death, suicidal ideation (If you wonder about letting go and something bad ending it all for you or a car accident just taking you out? that does count as ideation I was shook when my therapist pointed out that I was suicidal as a teen because of that), canon style violance, Simon dies in the end.

AO3 | Masterlist

Minors beware, no sexual context but emotional violence abounds.

Trains screeched by on the metal tracks, brakes fighting for friction. They had made it down to the platform; now Johnny and his captain would need to disable the bomb before it took out the city above it.

“Red wire, got it.”

His captain’s gaze flicked. That was the only warning he got. That platform beneath the city would become his tomb. Johnny stood, hand already moving for his gun at Makarov’s appearance. He wasn’t fast enough.

Johnny watched, the flash of the muzzle pulling his eyes to the light. His soul screamed to look for Ghost, Simon, before his synapses could pass the message hand over hand that his time had come. No part of him wanted his last memory to be of anything but the man he loved so desperately and had never found the nerve to tell.

“Soap!” Captain Price called him, voice rough.

No part of him remembered the past or yearned for the future. The smell of the dank dust permeated his nose, throat. He wondered if they couldn’t get his body out, would the archaeologists of millennia to come be able to pinpoint his last breath based on the atoms in his lungs?

Eyes flicking open he rose, pulling his blade from its sheath on his thigh. Makarov stood over his captain, saying something the ringing in Johnny’s ears prevented him from hearing. Makarov took Johnny’s blade through the shoulder. The trauma from the previous shot slowed him. He was too slow. God dammit why was he always too slow? Makarov got him in an armbar, planted a boot in Price’s face, and fired his gun again.

Training from his youth, the chapel humming with the vibration of the organ, told him to call on a god he didn’t believe in. Maybe his mother would greet him at the gates before the angels escorted him to hell for his disbelief. No. It would pain her to see him dragged away from her peace.

The bullet whistled as it reached him, breaking the skin. It burned…until it didn’t.

There is a different sound to dead weight falling.

Babies losing balance and thumping into the floor had a certain lightness, expectant reverb in it. A drunk bumping into a wall as they stumbled home from the bar? The energy seemed to transfer back from the brick to propel them forward. But dead weight, life disconnected from flesh? It hits the ears like stone on stone, harsh and painful. Another train screeched by.

Johnny stood, chest heaving. With a slow twist, he saw his body, a discarded shell strewn on the unforgiving ground. He knew two things then; he was dead and there was an afterlife.

“Boy!”

His shoulders whipped him around to look at an older man he had never seen before. With thick tight curls and a hint of gray above the temples and glasses stood near Gaz who knelt. The shade of his brown skin was lost among the darkness but his firm glare could be seen clearly.

“Aye?” Johnny replied, hesitant and scared.

Funny how he didn’t feel scared before his body hit the ground without him.

“You know how to stop this thing?” The older man pointed down at the bomb, time ticking away relentlessly.

“Aye,” he said once more.

“Then get’cha ass over here and help him! I know less than jack about bombs.”

Moving is easier than it had been in life, almost as if gravity had less hold on him as a memory.

Johnny knelt next to his best friend, the abject horror staining Gaz’s face leaving trace marks on Johnny anywhere his eyes touched.

“What do I do?” he asked, glancing up at the man who still hovered.

“Talk to him, slap his hands if he tries to touch the wrong wire. Lord knows despite my efforts he sometimes only responds to a smack,” the last line being muttered told Johnny it was more self-commentary than a command for him. “Should have never let him leave being a cop, even if he did it for me.”

Johnny rested his head on Gaz’s shoulder. Later he would sit with the memory, puzzled how he didn’t sink right through his best friend.

“You got this Kyle. We’ve gone over this enough times in training and a way to win bets, you know what to do.” Johnny spoke to him, voice never ceasing switching from English to Gaelic and back. When he ran out of words for encouragement he began to hum, nursery songs from his mother, his sisters, and his gran all drifting back in snippets and memories. Every so often when he glanced up from Gaz’s shoulder he would see a woman, soft smile with crinkles around her eyes speaking softly in Price’s ear.

The seconds stretched until finally, finally, the device had been deactivated safely. Johnny lifted his head from Gaz’s shoulder. The older man stood watch, eyes settled back near where Johnny’s body lay.

Following the old man’s gaze he found Simon. Johnny stared at the man who weakly shook the empty husk. Simon knelt; knees one up one down as if he were proposing to a corpse. Johnny stood, compelled to his would-be lover by the ache in his chest.

The distance between them disappeared and Johnny lowered himself down next to one of Simon’s thick thighs. He wept. The darker spots flooding the mask told the story.

Johnny. Johnny, wake up. Johnny, you can’t stay there we need to go.

Simon’s mouth hadn’t moved but still, Johnny could hear the weak whimpering of a broken man. Rubbing his thumb across the eye black below Simon’s eyes did nothing to disturb the darkness or the tears. Johnny felt better for it anyway.

“He’s yours to care for now.” The old man stood closer now.

“What do you mean?” Johnny didn’t move his gaze.

“His mum left when you arrived, said to take care of him. You’ve been assigned to him. Tough task for these folks. But you know that since you were one till a few minutes ago as you were one.” The older man shambled over.

“What does that make me then, his guardian angel?” Johnny shot a disbelieving look up as the old-timer stopped next to him.

“If you like,” he inclined his head. “Name’s Cedric. Your gran said to be good. You prefer Soap, John, or Johnny?”

The brown of Simon’s eyes were the deepest pool of sadness Johnny had ever seen. That despondence is what chose his answer.

The three of them who had taken such care to get his body out of the underground had brought him home. The plot had been full, no room for even a small urn. They planned to set his ashes free into the sunset instead. Seemed a fitting end for someone who died meters below the earth.

“He was the best of us.” Price started. He, Ghost, and Gaz had stared at the horizon for nearing on twenty minutes.

Corrine snorted, “You weren’t the best. No one is in this field.”

Johnny whacked her with the back of his fingers. He had met Corrine after the men had made it to safety, she had been John Price’s little sister before she died in childhood. She stuck around, keeping her big brother from harm.

“Are funerals always this hokey from this side?” Johnny pulled his top lip between his teeth as he watched. Simon didn’t say a word, grief screaming in silence. He lifted the urn from the backpack at his feet, Gaz and Price each setting a hand on it.

“Always,” Cedric retorted.

Johnny stood between them, wind rushing off the water rustling his hair but not nipping him with its chill, as they watched what was as close to a funeral as he would get.

“Who dares wins,” Price pushed out a hard breath, “Sleep easy soldier.”

“See you down range brother,” Gaz offered his piece. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon’s words continued on for Johnny’s knowing only as he upended the ashes into the wind. With enough luck, I’ll see you soon.

Johnny’s eyes didn’t leave Simon’s back as he voiced his next question. The lump in his throat had him coughing before he could speak.

“Do you ever get used to their thoughts seeping into your brain?”

“Not really,” Corrine shrugged, the motion in his side vision.

Cedric guffawed, “Wait till he runs into life-threatening trouble while trying to get laid, those are the worst.”

Corrine’s face lights up as she turns to Cedric, “Did I ever tell you about the time John nearly got caught as a teen?”

“The hell was he doing that nearly got him killed for getting it wet as a teen?” Cedric fired off, face full of frustrated confusion.

“Jesus Ghost, your guardian angel must be working overtime to get you out of those hairy situations time and again with only scratches,” Farah patted him on the shoulder as she passed him walking down the ramp of the plane.

I wish they wouldn’t.

The thought lifted off Simon and into Johnny’s ears like a shimmer of heat rising from the blacktop.

“Fooker if you don’t shape up soon, I’ll keel ye meself.”

“No one can understand your angry accent, Johnny,” Corrine chided him.

“He doesn’t need to understand to start acting right,” Johnny punched Simon’s head, angrier still when his fist passed through with nary a ruffle of fabric.

It had been a nasty surprise when Johnny found he could only touch the living in love and care. He cared about Simon, would beg for reincarnation for the chance to love him again. The bastard couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t suicidal. Na, Simon didn’t call it that. Hoping that a bullet would shift by degrees and end his constant pain was still ideation—calling into the void and pleading for a response.

This was the sixth mission he had taken since Johnny left his body where he hadn’t tried to keep himself safe. Fucker threw himself into the line of fire and walked away only because Johnny would fistfight the powers of the universe at large if it meant keeping Simon breathing.

Cedric had stayed back with Gaz wherever he would be right now. Corrine found Johnny glaring at ‘his Simon’ as she called him when John had come to check on his lieutenant. She rested a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, touch familiar. They watched as Simon snapped at John, stepping back from John’s attempt at comfort and guidance.

“He’ll get better soon,” she soothed at him with her words.

“And what if he doesn’t Corrine? What am I supposed to do then? He is killing himself!” Johnny flung a hand out to the man who limped into the hanger, waving off concern from every person he passed. “He won’t go to medical to get that wound in his leg checked out. What am I supposed to do the next time he acts like a…a..”

Instead of searching for a word, Johnny shouted his frustrations into the sky. He had to watch Simon devolve, each day taking a piece more of his love and casting it into the fire of grief. He fell to his knees, the gravel he landed on biting at him despite the incorporeal body.

“I would have given him my beating heart Corrine. I would have done anything for him, but he can’t find the will to keep living for me.”

His whisper escaped, broken and raw in the face of seeing Simon again too soon. Too damn soon.

“When I died John tried to follow.” The even tone belies the words.

“What happened?” Johnny’s eyes stare at the ground while he listens to her story.

“We had been playing at the creek. We had been told not to,” she chuckled lightly, “But what six-year-old wants to miss the waters being close enough to touch without getting dirty? The bank couldn’t support my weight and I ended up in fast-moving water. I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to get out. John went in after me, our dad saved him but my body made it to the next town before it was found.”

Johnny looked up at her, the wrinkles on her face and the womanly body she moved in did not match her death. He looked exactly like he did when Makarov’s bullet had ended him.

“Someone came and gave me a choice, to stay with my big brother and grow as he did or move on to paradise.” She glanced to the side as if called.

Turning to look with her Johnny found Price, a hand on Ghost’s shoulder firmly leading him away from the barracks and to medical.

“What about when he tried to follow?” Johnny’s voice escaped small, and ringed with tears.

Cedric stared at Simon, his nose scrunching the same way Gaz’s would.

“Tough bastard that one. He is so strong-willed that he won’t accept any of your gentle nudging. Have you hit him yet?”

Johnny stared at Simon, sucking back his fourth bourbon at the bar.

“Too mad every time I try, nothing sticks,” John admitted, love and rage twining like vines in his chest, constricting.

“Grab him when he’s asleep but not drunk. He’ll take the message as a dream but it’s better than letting him kill himself without trying everything you can,” Cedric patted Johnny on the shoulder before drifting across the bar to chat with another guardian angel. Seems everyone had one and while not everyone would be assigned to be one everyone who accepted the role had a strong tie to the living, and a desire to keep them safe.

Johnny had never experienced impotence like that of keeping the love of his life from trying to follow him into the grave.

Time moved differently being dead. It moved strangely in dreams though. Johnny knelt at Simon’s head as he lay in the bed, fingers interlaced and ankles crossed. A shirt that had to have lost all scent of Johnny covered the pillow in lieu of a case.

Letting his fingertips explore like he never had a chance in life Johnny memorized the scars that added to the story of his love. Johnny would walk through hell, to the edges of the universe and back, further even if that would take the weight of pain from Simon’s shoulders. He already resembled Atlas, the sky teetering across his broad shoulders. Laying a gentle kiss to Simon’s forehead Johnny slid into his dreams.

“Why is it always the good ones?” Simon asked to the nothing that surrounded him.

“Funny you assume I was good enough to save,” Johnny remarks as he steps next to Simon.

No mask prevents Johnny from seeing every twitch of emotion across Simon’s face.

“You were. Always.”

Walking with Simon, hands tucked together, eons passed.

A gentle tug, a chirp of a morning bird informed Johnny his time here neared an end.

“Simon,” he stopped, using the hand in his to pull the other man to a stop. “You need to live. Giving in to grief? If you die Si, who will save the world?”

“There isn’t a world worth saving without you in it.”

Ghosts must feel pain more acutely without bodies. Ten words and Simon had cracked his rib cage open and poured arctic waters over his heart.

Pulling his hand free from Simon’s Johnny took his face in both hands, pressing their lips together in a way not even his vicious masturbation fantasies could conjure up. Whispers of touch, as if he were kissing moonlight, Johnny infused each atom that passed his with love.

“Live a long life for me, Simon. Keep me waiting until white has stolen all the color from your hair. Let me take your hand in the old folks’ home and walk you to peace,” Johnny laid the words like flowers over a casket, drawing focus away from the dead below it.

Johnny thought Simon had finally found a ledge to cling to, something to grow against as he reached for the sun again.

Fucker always had to prove him wrong.

Simon stopped being so overtly careless with his life on missions. He even began talking to Price again, letting the older man draw him into laughing once or twice.

Death found Simon unprepared, his own knife slid between his ribs high in the mountains closer to the moon than the sea. Johnny took the blade in the heart with him, trying despite the lack of flesh, to stop the end from arriving.

The snow stole away Simon’s gasps.

“You were supposed to live!” Johnny reached down and grabbed Simon by the back of his shirt, hauling him out of his body before throwing him back to the trees that lined the path. “How could you not check that he was dead?!”

He didn’t care that he was shouting. He kept going.

“I needed you to live Simon! If you lived then my death wasn’t the reason you got careless.” Johnny swung on him.

Simon didn’t try and stop it, move, block, nothing. The wide hook caught him in the chin, sending him tumbling into the undisturbed snow. He held a hand to his jaw, staring at Johnny.

The love-twinned rage shook in Johnny’s chest. He sunk his boot into Simon’s chest until his legs shook and he fell. Knees bracketing Simon’s waist the tears started.

“Why Simon? Why?”

The raw, gasping wound of love painted the scene between them. Johnny couldn’t see past the tears and the heaving sobs that racked him.

“I missed you, Johnny,” Simon’s voice, tender and raw, preceded the hand that reached.

Fingertips brushing against the permanent stubble on Johnny’s cheek sent him crashing down. The dead men wept, for each other, themselves, and everyone they left behind.

If the dead find peace, it is not while the living roam.

[keferon]

Drift’s “Dead end” design is my Roman Empire…

Like. His Crystal City look is great. His mtmte look is also great. And the Lost Light one too. But when I look at this specific design eh idk there’s something very special about it. It’s the way he was created by Cybertron if I’m not wrong. I love this colour scheme. It’s so calm and simple.

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu AU where Luo Binghe's the chosen village sacrifice to the evil deity who lives up the mountain.

Normally the village sends maidens, but they've more or less run out of expendable girls of the right age and, ahem, "virtues". So of course Luo Binghe's early life bad luck kicks in. In the wake of his mother's death there's no one to really care about what happens to him, he's fairly pretty, and the village leaders decide that if they dress him up like a girl the teenaged homeless kid should pass well enough. And hey, y'know, he's probably got a hard life ahead for him anyway -- dying in a brothel of some venereal disease or on the streets of exposure or starvation. At least as a sacrifice, everyone else gets to benefit from his loss! And the kid will get added to a shrine and be remembered as a hero! If anything, he should be happy about this!

Binghe is not happy about this.

But he's also a skinny underfed nobody who is easily overpowered, dressed up like a bride, and tied to a post. So. Not much he can do but wait for the evil deity to come and do whatever horrible thing he's gonna do to him.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is pretty sure he's been isekai'd into the over-powered hero of some kind of supernatural adventure story? He's not totally sure because he doesn't recognize the setting, but the signs are there. He's got a shrine-like base of operations (though it seems to have become corrupted/ruined, probably he has to restore it somehow), he has a very resilient and handsome new body with spiritual energy of some kind flowing through him, and a very clearly magical sword. Plus lots of neat starter powers! Though it feels like he has other abilities that have been blocked somehow? Probably he has to level up in order to access them.

When he treks out of his "base" and finds what seems to be a distressed maiden, he takes it for his beginner hero mission. The girl claims that she's been doomed to be sacrificed to an evil god. That sounds a little above Shen Yuan's pay grade for dealing with, so he unties her and decides that they had better just get out of the whole region altogether. He already packed up anything useful from his base, anticipating he might get caught up in an adventure once he left, so they follow the river away from the settlement until they reach another one.

While they travel, Luo Binghe tells Shen Yuan about the cursed deity, Shen Qingqiu, who was cast out of the heavens for slaughtering one of his brethren and has apparently being do-who-knows what to maidens from the local village in exchange for his "protection" ever since. Sounds like a real asshole! And also mid-level boss type bad guy at least. Shen Yuan hopes he doesn't have to fight him, but he probably will.

Thank goodness he found Binghe, though! Clearly the helpful little sister type! He's definitely going to require her assistance if he's going to figure out how to navigate this world and level up his skills enough to take on a god.

[shrimpyjackal]

Im continuing this thing of Cosma-Fairywinkle family being hella supportive towards Dev and Hazel s blossoming relationship

[royalarchivist]

Bad: I don’t think people understand the effect QSMP had on some of the streamers in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. [...] Imagine that you were given a friend to play Minecraft with — like your best friend — BUT if this person dies, if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Can you imagine what that’s like?

Bad: If you did not live through the QSMP, if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience the Eggs were. They were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with.

Bad: I’m not saying I regret it. To this day, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again. [...] I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, it was just that fun.

Earlier today during his stream, Bad shared his experience and thoughts about the Eggs and the significant emotional (and traumatic) impact they had on him and his fellow QSMP members.

This clip a very edited-down version since his commentary was ~13 minutes long, so I highly recommend checking out Bad's VOD if you have the time. (Timestamp: 47:36 - 1:00:14)

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

———

Bad: To be fair Chat, I really think the QSMP... I don't think anyone really can relate to it, Chat. It's something that's so... I've told people this before, like– but it's hard to understand. Right? Like...

Where was I? Sorry Chat, I'm losing my train of thought. Look, let me explain Chat– here's the dealio, ok? Here's the dealio, and this is what I mean when I say like, it's important to keep this in mind, Chat. Ok? It's important to keep this in mind:

I don’t think people understand the effect that the QSMP had on like, some of the streamers, in terms of like… The real raw mental impact, so I’m gonna set the stage for you. This is the analogy I’ve given to every person who I’ve like, shared this with. Imagine you meet somebody– [He hears a strange noise] What the fudge was that? Did you hear that?

Anyway– Chip! The story I was just relaying to Chat, Chip, was this: I was sharing this story with them, I said–  I was giving them an analogy. 

Imagine Chat, for example, imagine that you were… playing Minecraft, with like– you were given a friend to play Minecraft with, Chat, like your best friend, and [unintelligible] were like, “Hey, you get to play Minecraft with this person, right? BUT if this person dies – they’re currently your best friend, Chip – but if they die in the game, you never get to talk to them again. Ever again.” Can you imagine what that’s like, Chip?

I don’t think a lot of people understand like, what that does, right? I’m not gonna say that like, it creates this situation, Chip, that like, messes with your head, but it– Chip – but it totally, totally does, Chip. It messes with your head! It literally puts you in a position where you’re second-guessing and thinking about everything, Chip! You’re thinking about EVERYTHING Chip! Ok? And that’s the problem, Chip– is you turn into a paranoid monster because of it, Chip! Like, you don’t understand Chip– I was- I was so afraid of every dirt block, I used to carry a shovel with me Chip, and I would specifically right-click dirt blocks that looked suspicious because mines, Chip– mines could not be shoveled! Like, I was crazy, Chip! But here’s the problem, Chip: that craziness is still there. I’m genuinely like–

I remember thinking Chip, that I would one day– I was like, “I’m going to move past–” here, let’s go up here, Chip. I remember thinking one day Chip, I was like, “I’m gonna move past the underground base, one of these days. You know, one of these days, I feel like I’ll be able to grow and achieve the desire to build a base that doesn’t have to be underground.” But I don’t think it’s possible now Chip, because I think… I just don’t know. I feel like the paranoia– there’s still like, residual leftover trauma from that situation, Chip.

But here’s the problem Chip: I don’t think I don’t think– I don’t think people understand it. Like, I just really don’t. But I also don’t blame them Chip, ‘cuz I don’t think it’s possible to fully understand it if you haven’t lived through it. Like, if you did not live through the QSMP… I’m talking about the QSMP, I don’t- I don’t know if that was obvious– if you did not live through that, it almost sounds like, crazy. But I don’t think people realize how much of a joyous experience like, the Eggs were. Right? I don’t think people realize it. Like, they were SO awesome! They were literally so awesome to just hang out with and spend time with, Chip. So, it’s just one of those things that–

[He’s interrupted by a loud rumble of thunder above them]

Did lightning just strike here? Is it thunderstorming out…? But anyway, Chip. That’s the food for thought.

But that’s the problem– Like, every time it rains in Minecraft, I have to like, look at the sky, and I get this weird, like, second--hand vibe because of the trauma. The trauma, Chip! The trauma is real! But that’s the point– I’m not saying I regret it. I, to this day Chip, I loved the experience. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing how everything went, I would still do it all over again. 

[He falls down] Dangit, don’t come over here Chip, ‘cuz I’m coming back up! Ok.

I would still do it all over again, because — even knowing like, all the trauma and suffering  and stuff like that — because it was just… It was just that fun, Chip, it was just that fun. I really wi– I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible, Chip, to give people that same energy, like that same experience. You know what I mean, Chip? I don’t think it’s ever gonna be possible again. Like, EVER.

Because… because like, one: I will say on one level Chip, I will say on one level, like– it’s sort of emotionally like… It’s emotionally devastating, and I think to actually go through that– and this is where like, if I ever do end up going to a– see a therapist, if I ever do end up going to see a therapist at any point, I’ll talk it over with them and be like, “Hey, what do you think about this?” Because I genuinely think on one level, like– it’s created this fear of forming attachments because of like, how things can go. You know what I mean? Like, the fear of getting attached to something and then potentially losing it. Like, it’s- it’s a genuine thing. I think people forget about that.

Like, at the end of the day, everything was RP, right? On the server. You know what I mean? Like, everything was RP, Chip. BUT at the same point, even though it was RP Chip, it was still like– there the reality of you were still playing like, with another person, and you were still getting that experience, and it felt like you were genuinely attached to someone and you didn’t want anything bad to happen to them. It was GENUINELY stressful, Chip.

But at the same point, I don’t regret it, and I don’t think it was a bad experience. I’m– 

Sometimes in life Chip, you go through stuff, and maybe you have a certain amount of like, things that like, can happen, that you’re like, “You know what, maybe this wasn’t a good thing that this happened,” but at the same point, you still aren’t necessarily upset about it, because… it’s like growing as a person, right? Here’s the thing Chip; even bad situations, Chip, can lead to an overall good outcome. Like–

Even if you’re going through something bad Chip, just because a bad thing happens doesn’t mean that only bad things have to come from that. That’s one of the things I tell people all the time, Chip, is that if you go through a bad situation, you can learn from it, and you can use your experience to help others. And you can be that– you can be, at the worst-case scenario, you can be someone for other people who are going through that same experience to lean on when they go through that.I think there’s a certain amount of comfort that comes from that; from knowing no matter how bad your situation is, you’re not the only person who’s experienced it. You know what I mean?

[lucabyte]

"So what's the weirdest possible first (second) impression Loop could make on the party in postcanon?" "Yeah, that, probably."

+ Bonus

theyre just standing there in direct party order while this happens. normal tuesday.

[saeiken]

your honor i love them

[cozylittleartblog]

worst way to start my new year, thanks. i have a lot of things to say about these companies but i'm tired and just keeping it focused to the pin side of things for this one. do not ever buy pins from these companies, literally ALL of them are stolen from small artists like me. if you want to buy enamel pins, check out etsy, and artist's personal websites and shops! (though even Etsy has some bootleg pins that ship straight from china, so tread carefully…)

Every pin I've designed is, thus far, EXCLUSIVE to my etsy. if you find it anywhere else, it's been ripped off! and once these stupid bootlegs pop up, it's basically a never ending game of whack-a-mole trying to get them all taken down...

[vaguely-concerned]

sometimes I think of all the on-the-surface warm, well-meaning but deeply ineffectual advice and attention john gives harrow through harrow the ninth (make some soup and get some sleep! get a hobby! don't be so hard on yourself! self care harrow! as long as I need take no actual responsibility in this relationship whatsoever I would have loved to be your dad!) set up against the stark truth that with his other hand he has been staging her attempted horrific murder again and again and again like a living nightmare on the logic that it will 'put her down or fix her'. and then I find that I wish there is a hell. a special hell where twitch streamers turned necromantic death emperors go

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good Morning, World.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ruthytwoshakes]

haha turned them into popsicel

what flavor do u think they are… find out next time I respawn. Okay.

[mumblesplash]

ok @ artists i want to know if i’m in the minority here

[randomfandomss]

+Bonus ✨️

[demigods-posts]

headcanon that percy's most reoccurring nightmare about tartarus is the one where he loses annabeth to the pit. the one where he trips over the rogue lace of his left shoe and misses her fingers by centimeters. the one where his hands get clammy due to nerves and she slips out of his grasp. the one where they descend over the cliff together but he isn't strong enough to hold the weight of arachne. the one where she uses her knife to slice his palm and catch him off-guard so she can wiggle free. and the one where she's bleeding from the wound on her head. begging him not to tamper with fate. to let the prophecy play out. and a silent conversation passes between them. an 'i love you' and 'goodbye' in the same breath. and he stares into her eyes for what he knows is the last time and lets go. the one where he has to watch annabeth sacrifice herself to save the world.

[hyakunana]

I hate the sewers . jpg

[kizzer55555]

Core Gems

So when a ghost becomes injured, they have a last ditch defense where they retreat into their core. And I mean, injured badly where their body is rip apart to the point they can’t hold a solid form anymore. And they basically go into a hibernation state until they are strong enough to form again.

Ellie, Danny, and Dan are all injured in a final battle against the GIW. The organization was destroyed and the ghosts were safe but the halfas ended up being so injured that they reverted to core form and then went to sleep for a bit. When they woke up, they were still weak but at least recovered enough to gain consciousness. And realize…they are in some kind of auction…in the middle of a heist. It appeared that two furries (one in a bat costume and one in a cat costume) were ducking it out. And they…they were a necklace. All three of them had been turned into a necklace with their cores as gems accompanied by sapphires, pearls, and opals. And frankly gorgeous craftsmanship as the metal was crafted around their cores as if to cradle them and the other gems.

Unfortunately, they were too weak to take a form properly, they could still feel the strain on their bodies. But at least they could still communicate through their auras. Then the cat lady punched a hole in the glass container surrounding them and grabbed their necklace.

However, the bat grabbed the other end and it resulted in a sort of tug-a-war. Meanwhile, Danny, Ellie, and Dan were having a back and form commentary on the situation and what they should do. Completely unheard by the other party.

In the corner of their eye, the three halfas finally noticed a third contender. Some kind of clown who was…hold on…holding a gun?! And it was pointed straight at the two fighting furies who had yet to notice him. The ghosts’ protective instincts went into overdrive and they frantically tried to shout, yell, move. Just do something to warn the two but their cries fell on deaf ears. All they succeeded in doing was faintly glow which immediatly caught the attention of the fighting duo. The two turned to look at the strange necklace but right at that moment, the clown fired and a gunshot rang throughout the auction room. Having no other options, Danny and the others poured every ounce of ectoplasm they had to try and phaseshift, making the two furries intangible as the bullets passed right through them, but in their shock, the two jumped away in opposite directions and accidentally ripped the necklace apart. Gems and pearls went flying and the three cores bounced along the ground.

Luckily, the two finally noticed the clown and went to deal with him and his minions who had appeared. Seemingly putting their fight on hold and forming a temporary truce. The three halfas could only watch as the battle finally wound down, ending with the cops barging into the place and arresting the clown and his grunts, the cat managing to escape with half the scattered gems and pearls from the broken necklace along with a few other jewelry pieces (none of their cores though) and the bat leaving through a skylight.

The auction continued and in the end, despite being broken, their necklace seemed to have caught someone’s interest. A man named Bruce Wayne bought up every piece of the shattered jewelry wear. The auctioneers appeared relived that the item managed to sell in the end and gratefully gave it to him.

Bruce had no idea what happened at the auction, but he could have sworn that some of the gems faintly glowed right before he and Selina were shot. If the necklace was some sort of magical item, then he needed to understand exactly what has been brought to Gotham. It was unfortunate that Selena had taken some parts of the necklace but he utilized his vast wealth to make sure all the other parts ended in his possession. Now he would take them back to the mansion for examination.