#would anyone want a part 2?

[prompt-prose]

I turn down the aisle and find the spot I’m looking for on the shelves. I start unloading the stack of books in my arms, lining them carefully on the shelf, exactly where they are meant to go. I walk back to my desk, collect the next stack, and start walking to that aisle.

I am not a known God, and I am content in that. In all of the depictions of the Underworld, no one has ever mentioned my Library. Here, I store an objective, accurate account of every soul’s life. Every soul. All that ever has been, or is currently (the works in progress are stored in the back room, but the Fates have ordered me to leave them alone until the story is done). No one tells of me because they do not care about my work. They care about the prophecies of the future, they care about the embellished and edited stories of the past, but an absolutely accurate unembellished biography? There are other things to amuse them.

But still, I exist, and I tend to my library. Cataloging the finished stories. Checking out the books anyone may request to borrow (no one has, in centuries). Reorganizing the books when I decide to try a new system (currently, the books are arranged in major categories reflecting where in the Underworld the soul is placed, Isles of the Blessed, Elysium, Asphodel Meadows, Tartarus). Occasionally, I will choose a book at random from the shelves and find a chair to sit in while reading it.

It is while I am reading he shows up. I am alerted immediately, as it has been centuries since another soul walked these aisles and I know the sound of footsteps is out of place. I set down the book I had selected (an account of a satyr’s life) and stood to find my guest. When I found him, he was in the Tartarus section, fingers skimming over the spines of the books there. I cleared my throat and he turned to face me.

“Oh! There you are! I’m so sorry, I went to look for you but I got distracted.” He smiles and starts towards me.

“Did you need help finding something?” I ask reflexively, confused why someone would be looking for me. Why someone would be here at all.

“Actually, I wanted to ask what you needed help with. I’m your new intern. I just need to know what my duties will be.”

He explains to me that he was a demigod, who had died on a quest given to him by Hades, his last mortal act being completing his mission. As a reward. Hades offered him a position in the Underworld. Any open position he desired. He had seen my library, asked Hades what it was, and requested a position here.

Not one to go against my king, I explain the organization system to him, and hand him a stack of newly finished books, and send him on his way to shelve them. As he walks away, I let myself feel my anger. This is MY place. Having someone else working here? It felt like a violation. But it was Hades’ doing, and though I may be the God of this library, I still answer to the King of the Underworld.

He learns quickly, works hard, and is content to sit quietly and read when the mood strikes me. As the years pass, I grow accustomed to his presence, his footsteps sound as familiar as my own.

One day, it dawns on me that I have not seen his book. I search the shelves, but to no avail. I use my internal connection to the library to try and find it, but as best I can tell, it does not exist. I wonder if it may be an error, or if maybe he took it. I ask him, if he would want to read his own book, and his eyes darken as he tells me that he lived his life, he does not need to do so again on the pages of a book.

I tell him I would like to reorganize the books, and we start, working from one side of the library to the other. I look at each and every book, but still I do not find his. An idea occurs to me, and while he is distracted by the reorganization, I find myself drifting towards the door in the back of the library. Where the Fates keep the stories still being written, where they have asked me not to tread, lest I disturb the stories. For eons I have kept this library, and heeded their words. Now, a desperate curiosity urges me to open the doors, slide into the room, and look.

As I open the door, I am met with a sprawling room, full of work tables and rows of desks. Each desk with a book open on it’s surface and a pen writing in it, accounting each life’s events as they happen. Each work table covered in materials for binding books, making them before they are placed on the desks, to be filled. I walk the room, careful not to touch any of the desks, careful not to disturb the stories, and search for his. Eventually, I find it. Discarded in a pile of scrap parchment.

I leave it there, at first. Sure that if I were to take it, the Fates would take offense. More years pass, and I find myself continually drawn to the back room, to that scrap pile, to his book sitting there.

Finally, my curiosity wins out, and I take the book.

I open it, only to find that it is not a book at all. On the pages, instead of the clean lines of story I expected, I find a scribbled outline. Notes of ideas, but no actual account of his life. “Demigod - which God?” Reads one note. “Quest for Hades!” Reads another. “Tragedy?”, “Tragedy!”, “Doomed love?”, “Hero’s death.”

Pages and pages of this. All of it considered, nothing truly written.

I take the book, and search for him through the shelves. When I find him, I shove the book at him.

“You said you lived your life. What happened? Why does your book look like this? Your loved your life! Why is nothing written?”

He walks away from me, but I follow. It takes only minutes for me to realize that he is not trying to escape, he is only leading me to chairs, so we can sit to talk. Once seated, he tells me that he did live his life, but it was just as disorganized and incomplete as the notes before me. He had parents, but each day he woke they would be different people. Each day, it would be a different home. They died, but no one could agree whether it had been a fire, or a robbery, or a tragic accident at sea. Even when he took his quest for Hades, the objective and locations changed with each person he talked to, every point of progress he tried to make.

“The Fates never could decide what they wanted my life to be, so everything changed, all the time. I had to navigate a world without ever knowing my place in it, where I came from, or where I was going.”

When he finishes, I walk away. For the first time, I leave my library. I march across the Underworld, right up to Hades’ castle, and demand an audience with him when the Furies try to halt my progress. Hades has them lead me to his throne room, where I throw the book at his feet.

“Let him go back. Give this book to the Fates, make them write him a proper story, and let him go back to live an actual life.”

Hades looks at me, and I am surprised to find a softness in his eyes.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find his book, to demand this of me.” Hades gestures with his hand, and the book floats up to him. “It is unprecedented. All of this is. The Fates not finishing a story. You, leaving your library. A soul being allowed to properly live again, instead of just being reincarnated.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I will. I had always planned to.” Hades stood from his throne and walked towards me. “I simply wanted to take the opportunity to give you some company and a test of your dedication to your Library. I suppose now that both are complete.” He reaches me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “The Fates are working on his story. When you return to the Library he will be gone. But I assure you, his fate is that of a hero, and I am certain he will find his way to you and the Library again.”

I walked slowly back to my Library. When I opened the doors, I found Hades was right. He was gone. I sit for a while, but for the first time the silence and solitude feel heavy. So I stand. Walk to the counter and grab a stack of finished stories. Start down the isles to place them where they belong. And find myself wondering how long it would be until I finally saw his book on the counter, his story finished.

Text: Between life and death there is the Library, where I shelve the knowledge of those who pass on. I am content as the sole soul, the only librarian, until a boy arrives claiming to be my intern.

[lulady030]

That one Haunted House meme : SEES edition

[cupcakeslushie]

Thirds

pt 1 || pt 2

Donnie thinks he knows what he has to do reconcile Three with Donatello. To leave everything from that time behind and move on, but…maybe there’s a simpler solution?

[arttsuka]

Based on somewhat real events

I spent way too much time drawing this...

But yeah, Ford finally saying thank you

A continuation (kinda)

[journey-to-the-attic]

the new nightmare is cool but i think not putting them in hanfu was an missed opportunity

(+ long hair version that i wasn't as sure about)

[doverstar]

actually I love Tentoo and he is the Doctor and it was the only ending for Rose that worked and it is a huge gift to be able to have the man she loves grow old with her, they were always heading for that, y'all be quiet. I 100% understand the angst but it's okay, they're okay, good ending-

[fisherrprince]

while we’re all bored out of our minds I wonder if anyone would want 2 do a mini khux multi-animator project w/ me

[nyxi-pixie]

not to sound like an exclusionary bitch but some media has age ranges for its intended audiences and a significant number of problems arise when a fandom is comprised of people decidedly outside of that.

[dotchi18]

The 'Real' Petal

(I've been listening to 'Open the Door' over and over for months thinking about this, and decided to write a oneshot at 3AM in one shot.

This is loosely based on the 'That's Not My Neighbor' game featuring one of my favorite Yandere Simps, Leumin, because I may be cringe, but I am free.

So, here's TNMN!AU/50s!AU

Leumin Holiday was created by @hime-bee )

----

Leumin didn't really pay much attention to his neighbors.

In a world where anything could happen to you when you were in the outside world, getting close to your neighbors would likely earn your head getting ripped clean off your shoulders should anything happen to them.

Sure, he knew them vaguely by their faces, but that was more out of self-preservation than any real care about them or their lives.

Go to work as a Florist, Go home.

Work, Home, Work, Home, Work, Home.

Maybe go to the store and have a little chat from going completely insane with his Book Club friend Seal.

But life was pretty listless, it was a wonder to him how some people could grasp human connection at all.

It was so draining and bled so much out of him, that when he first met her, he just kind of felt relief.

There was no wondering if a monster would come and take someone away from you if you already knew they were a monster.

It had been pouring, the sky above dim despite the slight warmth causing a humidity in the air, and very few people were outside.

Stationed behind the counter, Leumin leaned against it as he waited for his shift to simply end.

The likelihood of anyone coming in at all was slim at best, at this point there was nothing to do when he had done all of the chores earlier.

It was when he looked down to take a sip of water that a hooded figure rushed into the shop, the bell chime clanging at the force as the figure moved to the side, staying close to the window as they crouched to shrink at the very edge.

Immediately straightening up, Leumin reached to the bat tucked under the counter.

It was strange to him how more people didn't do such a thing, and seemed even offended if you carried a weapon around them.

If more people were more cautious, the doppelgangers probably wouldn't be such a problem, after all.

Walking over, he noticed the figure was watching someone else outside, trembling.

He glanced outside, and noticed from the bright red hair that it was someone that was from his apartment complex.

Not many people had hair like her after all.

Which made it all the more alarming when he saw the exact same curls falling from the hood.

Gripping the bat tighter, he kept a good distance, on guard, but also noticing the trembling.

" Can I help you?"

The figure froze before looking over to Leumin.

It was almost comical, the way the creature had shoddily slapped together the eyes, nose and mouth of his neighbor, but it was in such a way it was like he was looking at a Picasso painting.

It caught him off guard, that and the tears that were running from it's weirdly placed eyes.

" I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" The creature croaked as it covered it's face, " I'm trying, I'm trying."

Keeping his distance still from it, the young man shifted, bangs still covering his eyes as he looked from the creature to the window and then back.

What the hell was even happening here?

" Don't kill me, please, I'm just-" The creature sniffled and coughed.

" Take a breath." Leumin couldn't help but feel a bit bad, the creature shuddering with sobs.

It was hard to think of taking the life of something that was acting like a lost child.

The creature took another shuddering breath before focusing more on him, looking back to the woman whom was long gone before back to him again.

" ..."

The silence was awkward before the creature moved to stand, " I-I'm going to go..."

" Looking like that?" Leumin couldn't help but voice, gesturing vaguely at their face, " Uh... You sure?"

The creature seemed a bit more upset as it reached up and actively pushed at their features, trying to fix them, " I'm sorry... I-I tried to copy this woman... but her features were b-blurry from the rain..."

" Mm... Yeah." Leu looked around the street before back to the creature, a few beats passing.

' Fuck it.'

Deciding life wasn't that worth it, he moved to it, the creature flinching before he offered his hand, " Come on, let's fix it."

" H-Huh?"

" Your face. It shouldn't look like that." His words were blunt, but the creature didn't seem to mind, tentatively reaching their own hand to him, Leumin noted that they had to remember to put fingernails on their hand.

" Th-Thank you..."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

By the end of his shift, Leumin had helped the creature craft their face in the back of the flower shop, thanks to a few pictures the owner had that could help them with composition.

A lot of it was based on memory, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what color his neighbor's eyes were, the color faded and watery on the creature's face.

" What's your favorite color?" The creature asked as they watched him.

It caught him off guard, so he took a beat before answering.

" Lilac."

It was then the creature closed their eyes, and when they opened them, the lilac color stared back at him.

" Thank you."

He felt his heart flip in his ribcage, his cheeks growing hot.

Why did they...???

" Do you have a name?" He asked as he stared.

" U-Um, I call myself Dotchi." The creature answered, scratching at their cheek with one of their new nails.

No, not the creature.

She didn't do anything wrong.

" I'm Leumin." He offered a hand to her, letting her shake it, this being the actual first time they touched as he wrapped his fingers around her hand tighter.

This world was fraught with danger, but she wasn't going to be one of the ones experienced it, because technically she was the danger.

But she didn't seem like she would hurt anyone.

Delicate like a little Petal...

And then it came to mind.

Curfew.

It was one of the things implemented to help keep the citizens safe, but it meant that anyone after a certain period was treated with immediate suspicion.

He could hide her in the back of the Flower Shop for a while, but considering she wasn't very good at human interaction much at all, and that people are checked at the door...

It was a kill or be killed world out there, he would have to make do for her.

[nillial]

what do u mean this didnt happen on the podcast

[starry-bi-sky]

i made a rough timeline for the clone^2 au, just for my own convenience sake when dating things. some things might be out of order from the episode date, and thats also for my convenience.

September 3rd: Danny, age 14, has the accident in the lab that turns him liminal

September 10th: Danny is discharged from the hospital and given two weeks leave from school

September 24th: his sick leave ends, and Danny returns to school

October 14th: Danny sneaks into his parents' basement and releases the ghosts they have trapped in cages. Official birth of the vigilante, Phantom

November 27th: Danny fights Pariah Dark, and wins

December 24th: the Ghost Writer torments Danny

February 12th: Danny's 15th birthday

March 3rd: its been six months since Danny's accident

March 7th: Danny fights his evil future self

May 8th: Danny meets Ellie [age 15] and they become twins

December 14th: Danny finds out from his parents that he's a clone

February 12th: Danny's 16th birthday

Early-Mid April: Danny meets Damian [age 6] :)

Mid-Late April: Damian runs off for the first time, damages Danny's hands the first time

May: Damian runs off two more times in the span of three weeks, he damages Danny's hands both times.

Early June: Damian runs off one more time, damages Danny's hands again, resulting in permanent nerve damage.

Mid-Late June: Damian finally gives up on the League coming to get him and joins the Fenton Family.

July: Damian finally coaxes Danny into letting him come along with him on patrol: Wraith is born.

[triglycercule]

sometimes i like to think that horror comes to dust's room late at night just to talk to phantom papyrus. no he doesn't wanna talk to dust. horror probably doesn't even CARE if dust's awake at the asscrack of dawn or rambling off to the hallucination too loudly this late at night because he just wants to talk to phantom papyrus

horror's not delusional enough to believe that phantom paps is actually real and his own papyrus like dust does but sometimes he really wants to,,,, so just for these short moments between them he wants to pretend that the hallucination is his papyrus. that he gets to talk to his own brother before everything went to shit and before he ruined his brother's life. yeah sure phantom paps kinda says some crazy stuff that horror's papyrus never would back then but so what?? dust's papyrus is the closest thing he's got and at least he doesn't have to deal with the guilt at even LOOKING at his brother's face (the sunken eyesockets,,,, the uneven teeth,,,,, yeah no) because there's nothing there. horror doesn't have to do anything but keep his back turned to dust and just talk to papyrus through him

they both keep their backs turned to eachother when they do this because neither of them can stand looking at eachother. dust especially because hearing horror sound so much like how he was before. horror sounds so lighthearted and relaxed and just,,,,, normal that it almost reminds dust of himself. maybe if he closed his eyes and tuned out his own voice he could just imagine the moment being a conversation between himself and paps back then before he had to kill him over and over. dust doesn't want to have to look back and see horror's mutilated skull and his permanently replaced eye. he doesn't want the fake scenario he's choosing to indulge in right now to be broken

and then i think they talk like that for a long time; because horror has a lot to say to paps about himself and what he regrets and dust has a lot of reminiscing to do on the good old days before he lost himself :3

[cerealmonster15]

deuce calling riddle boss is everything to me btw

[taegularities]

some men are textbook villains fr

[imgoingtocrash]

Ellie + Joel's Jacket

The Last of Us (HBO) // The Last of Us: Part II

[takitakidancetillthesunriseyea]

Y'all I just read the GH pt2 Diary and-

HALAZIA MENTIONED‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️