#writing: by your side

[bookofbolden]

TIMING: Early August LOCATION: Mansión Mexicana PARTIES: Leila ( @amonstrousdream ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: Eleanor goes to check on Leila after the incident at The Party Thifter. WARNINGS: None!

“No change, thank you!” Eleanor grabbed the shopping bag filled with powdered donuts, candy, and ice cream and ran out of the store and jumped into her car at lightning speed. The car had just barely started up before she stomped on the gas and sped back out onto the road to Metzli’s house.

She had been more than a little concerned when she’d received the message from Leila stating that something bad had happened at The Party Thrifter. Eleanor could hardly decipher what the messages were supposed to say, but somewhere in there she had picked up the words “stabbed” and “Regan” and her stomach dropped hoping that they didn’t have anything to do with one another. She couldn’t imagine Regan stabbing someone, especially not Leila, so she went with the assumption that she’d misunderstood the message and that everything would be explained in due time.

Once she’d arrived at Metzli's, Eleanor let herself in and yelled out for anyone who might be inside. “Hey, it’s Elle! Where is everyone?”

—

Leila was pretty sure she was floating.

Whatever Metzli had given her to dull the pain was doing an excellent job. The little cuts and gashes from the glass felt non-existent, and the sharp pain of the gash along her neck had dulled to a throb. It was so quiet, though, being alone and resting, and the moments moved by slowly and altogether. The new phone Metzli had left her was laying on the pillow next to her playing classical music quietly. Leila was just starting to wonder if she had actually messaged Eleanor or if that had been a dream (A dream! She felt like she was dreaming again!) when the woman’s voice floated up through the halls of the Mansión Mexicana. 

She sat up quickly, cringing a bit at the feel of the stitches tugging with the movement. “Elle?” Leila’s voice sounded so strange in her own ears. Wobbly. Distant. Maybe it was floating away too. Forgetting hers and Metzli’s orders to rest, the mare scooted out of the bed and started weaving her way down the halls, trying to find the source of the voice that sounded like Eleanor. “I’m coming, I just… gotta find…” Had someone rearranged the world while she was sleeping? 

__

There was the sound of sluggish footsteps and then a voice that only somewhat sounded like Leila’s. Eleanor grumbled under her breath as she followed the sounds along the halls, upset that Leila had once again disobeyed her strict orders. Maybe upset was too strong a word. Mostly, she was concerned. She wanted to know what had happened and what she could do to make her friend feel better.

“Que fais-tu? You’re supposed to be in bed, Leila.” Eleanor sighed like a disappointed mother but then her eyes went straight to the cuts and bruises. She stopped for a moment as she took in Leila's appearance then, determined not to show how much it scared her, she gently positioned her arm around the other so that she was supporting most of her weight. “If you get back into bed I won’t tell Metzli that you were up wandering around, okay? And I brought snacks, all the things you love, so you don’t have to get up anymore. You can eat the ice cream now if you want so that it doesn’t melt. I got cute little plastic spoons with cartoon characters on them. Moreso for me than you, but I figured you’d enjoy them too.”

Eleanor was no stranger to taking on the caregiver role, she was a big sister afterall. Whenever those around her needed her was when she felt the most useful. She liked being able to help and she wouldn’t be leaving Leila’s side until she knew for a fact that everything would be alright. “One foot in front of the other.” She set a slow but steady pace back into the bedroom and very gently guided Leila back down onto the bed. “Have you been given medicine?” She thought she knew the answer to her own question given Leila's loopy demeanor but she wanted to double check.

—

“C’est toi!! Je vais bien, ignore the bandages, ‘s excessif…” Wide, glassy doe eyes lit up with a slightly dopey glee as the mare took in the sight of Eleanor, as if the woman had magically apparated right in front of her. Her words strung themselves together in a messy mix of English and French. And… Elle was frowning at her- that wasn’t good. Leila didn’t like to see Eleanor frown. Her voice seemed so far away, even as she stood at her side, taking weight that the mare had forgotten existed. Was gravity a real thing anymore? Should she tell Elle that there was a high probability she could actually float down the hall? 

With a huff and a wince, Leila started moving wherever Eleanor was determined to lead her. “Bed’s boring” Her voice was muddled in her own head. Her throat felt dry and gravelly, and the side of her neck continued its dull throbbing with every little move of her head. Why did her neck hurt? Oh yes, the murder turtleneck. It had a knife! A knife that it had decided belonged in Leila. Very unfortunate. Her gaze drifted down towards the woman once more as she stumble-floated back down the hallway. At least there was company now! “You brought me snacks?” What good thing had she done to deserve Eleanor? She wasn’t sure. Thank god Metzli had met the woman and brought her into their life. She was a little bit of sunshine. “Tu es un ange,”

A moment or a century later (the mare wasn’t sure) she was back on the bed in Metzli’s room. Strange, she didn’t remember Eleanor having teleportation magic. “Metzli stitched me up…” That wasn’t the answer for the question, but her memory was so fuzzy of the time between then and now. She didn’t know if it was medicine or a decent lack of that glittering stuff she called blood that had escaped her veins. Probably medicine. Maybe both. “I think…? Medicine, things don’t… hurt so much…”

__

Eleanor had to laugh. “Not an angel, just a friend.” There were so many questions that demanded to be asked but she didn’t want to overwhelm Leila. Instead she walked around the bed and carefully climbed on top of the covers so that she sat beside her friend with the shopping bag of snacks. Another look over the wounds that had been patched up made the empath even more worried than before - close up they looked worse than she had imagined. But Leila was speaking, even if most of it didn’t make sense, and that had to count for something. Everything had to be alright.

“I like this song.” Eleanor commented when the classical music that played through Leila’s phone switched to Fur Elise. She began taking out the ice cream, happy to have something to pull her attention away from the stitches because she really didn’t want to stare. But what had happened? She was still so confused. “I was so scared when I got your messages. You said something about the store? What happened to it? And what’s this about… Regan?” She couldn't bring herself to ask the real question on her mind: Did Regan stab you?! “I really hope that Metzli knew what they were doing when they stitched you up.” She hadn't thought that it might be impossible for the undead to seek medical attention without causing some alarm.

“It sounds like you’ve had your fair share of medicine. I’m still deciding whether or not that’s a good thing.” Eleanor opened a pint of ice cream, stuck one of the plastic spoons in it, and handed it to Leila. “I’m glad that the pain isn’t unbearable. Let me know if you start to hurt again, alright?” This reminded her of that time her younger sister Farah had snuck out and gone to a party and needed to be nursed back to life the following day. Eleanor had stuck by her side and provided whatever she needed, much like she intended to do for Leila. “I’m glad you reached out to me, even if I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying.” She teased.

—

“Nooooo, no, you’re ange. Part angel. Too sweet and nice to be anything else,” Leila had slowly laid back down against the soft pillows and blankets Metzli had left her cocooned up in. If she could sleep- really sleep- it would probably be like heaven. But sleep was only something a mare could dream of, not something one could actually have. 

Fur Elise floated up into the air from somewhere nearby. Her fingers twitched, aching to play along, instinct miming what fingers corresponded to the right keys. She sighed heavily and let her eyes droop shut as she and the music floated about in the sea of fabric, punctuated by a wave of concern from… from… Oh yes! Eleanor was there! Her eyes opened once more, delighted by surprising new company. 

The smile that had grown on her face slowly drooped. Anything but that. Talk about anything but the store… Flashes of a world of crystalline shards and summer sun filtered by dust and filled with noise flooded her mind. “The store is gone,” Her voice wobbled for a moment. “The sweater came back for revenge, Elle! It had a knife, and, and it attacked Regan, then stabbed me, and then Regan was screaming and….” Her gaze drifted somewhere distant, as if the image had conjured itself in the space just over Eleanor’s shoulder.

She took a heaping spoonful of ice cream up on a Spider-Man spoon and closed her eyes. Sweet. Sweet was good. Sugar brought things back into focus, made Leila feel more like Leila again. “Fank oo…” She mumbled through an icy mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow fluff.

__

Nothing made sense to Eleanor and she wondered if she would have to wait until all of the medication in Leila’s system wore off before she would be able to get the clear picture of exactly what had happened. Whatever it was it was obvious that it was bad and she just wanted to know the best way to be there for the person she cared about. The one thing that was very clear to her though was that The Party Thrifter was gone. At least that’s what Leila had stated over and over again. Tears collected in her eyes at the thought of it - she knew how much the store meant to her, she couldn't imagine anything ever happening to it.

“It can’t be gone forever, right? Once you’re all fixed up and actually able to get out of bed without hurting yourself you, Metzli, and I will all come together and get it up and running again. Nothing to worry about.” She didn’t know how bad the damage was but Eleanor had her fingers crossed that everything was reparable.

She shook her head. “I’m so sorry chérie, but nothing's making sense right now. A sweater came back for revenge, Regan screamed… I’m not following.” Maybe there was some kind of curse placed on a sweater? But what was so bad about Regan screaming? Wouldn’t anyone scream if a murderous sweater was after them? The problem was deciding whether or not anything that was said had any truth to it or if Leila’s mind was just seriously medicated. “How’s the ice cream?” Eleanor asked as she took a bite of her own cookies and cream with a Captain America spoon. She needed some time to think over all of the information properly.

—

She wanted to think about anything but the store. Leila would have happily been knocked back out to avoid the thought of how many pieces of her history now laid in shards and scraps on the floor of the place that had once been her store. Things she had made and mended now torn to ribbons. Pieces of history danced across the splintered floor, swirling in the breeze with the dust like ghosts. 

Sweet Eleanor tried to ease that pain. She was grateful for it. Usually, she would fight the tears that started to roll down her face, but she was too tired and too out of it from the medication to even try. “It’s all gone…” Her lip trembled before she spooned another helping of ice cream into her mouth to shut herself up. If she was lucky, the roof was still hanging on and hadn’t caved in. Maybe the back room where she had lived for almost the entirety of her first year in town wasn’t completely demolished and she might be able to collect a few belongings… but Leila doubted it. 

“Regan… Regan screams and things break.” Leila’s nose scrunched up as she tried to find the words to describe it. “Elle casse les choses avec sa voix. I don’t understand it. She just does… She tried to get rid of the cursed sweater, and then…” Her voice dropped off, and the mare stared into her pint of ice cream. The Spider-Man spoon stared back. He did not seem to have any advice to give as to how to explain the day’s events, either. 

“‘s very good ice cream, mon doux, thank you…” 

__

Surprised, Eleanor wiped a bit of ice cream from her hand before she reached over and lightly wiped the tears from Leila’s face. She was still silently determined to find some way to restore the shop and make it whole again even if she hadn’t seen the amount of damage. She didn’t want to believe that it could truly be gone just like that. She was a very sentimental person and she didn’t want something that meant so much to be gone forever. She made a vow to do whatever she could to help bring it back to life. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I want you to know that I’m here and I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help you feel better, alright?”

She breaks things with her voice. Leila was too medicated to make sense. Eleanor didn’t know how to respond to such a claim so she didn’t say anything at all about it. She would ask more Regan-centered questions later, or maybe even message the woman herself to get some clarification as to what had happened at the store. As for this cursed sweater, well she had no idea where to even begin. “And the sweater, is it still out there?”

As many questions as she had she still wanted to lighten the mood so that she didn’t upset Leila too much. Eleanor pulled her phone from her pocket and smiled. “I know I’m supposed to be on vacation but you know I can’t rest for too long. I’ve been working on some poems and I want to write one about you. What is your favorite color?” There, that would get Leila’s mind off of everything, wouldn’t it? They could speak about things that didn’t require a lot of thought like favorite colors, movies, and songs. And she could write it all down and put it into a poem or two.

—

She had never grown used to being the one being comforted. It was so much easier to be the one who provided the comfort, Leila thought. She had lived long enough that her own troubles felt like they should be minor in comparison to a normal, human lifespan. Besides, caring and loving and providing comfort for others might have made up for the necessary evil of weaving nightmares in the minds of dreamers. A less damned immortal soul. But it was so… nice… to be comforted. She didn’t know if it was the medication talking or the sheer extent of shitty the day had been, but the simple act of wiping away her tears and being there seemed to make things just a little bit better. 

“Don’t know about the sweater. Crisse de câlice de tabarnak d'esti de sacrament, I hope Regan shredded it with her screamies… I hope it’s smooshed. In the rubble. In a puddle of.. of glitter... Stupid murdleneck…” 

The sound of Fur Elise faded as the final chord was released, only to be replaced by cello and piano swirling together. Saint-Saëns. Le Cygne. Where was her piano- she wanted to play her piano, but Leila had a feeling that her hands and her feet would not cooperate to get her to the piano, let alone play it. Before she could try to stand and make another grand escape attempt, Eleanor’s sparkly smile distracted her. “You want to write a poem about me?” Who wrote poems about nightmares? Sweet sunshiney Eleanor, that was who. Spider-Man assisted with another scoop of ice cream that seemed to be almost entirely marshmallow fluff as the mare contemplated for a moment. 

“... Purple. I like purple.”

__

Eleanor didn’t know what to say so she hoped that a joke would help lighten the atmosphere. “I have yet to run into a cursed object of any kind… At the rate everyone else is experiencing them, I hate to think that I’m next. I don’t know what I’ll do if something mysterious and… magical comes after me.” She had heard of a few curses around town but never really put much thought into it. Maybe more and more people were losing their minds or maybe what they said had some truth to it. She didn’t know and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Of course I want to write a poem about you, silly, I’m writing poems about everyone I love. Metzli, Ariadne, you.” Eleanor waited patiently for the response to her question and typed it into her phone with a proud nod. “Purple, beautiful color. I can think of a million ways to use purple in a poem to describe you. Soothing like lavender, royalty in my eyes, ambitious and powerful.” As she spoke she typed those words as well, not wanting to forget them when she actually sat down at her computer to put everything together. “I don’t know why I was inspired to go the poetry route, I think going out of my comfort zone with my most recent novel has helped me take the leap and explore things I would have never explored before.”

She thought that she was speaking too much. Maybe Leila didn’t want to have a conversation, maybe she just wanted to rest. Eleanor was sure she would have wanted nothing more than to eat her ice cream in peace if she had ended up the way Leila had. “You let me know if you want me to stop talking, I can just sit here and focus on work. I mean, I’m technically supposed to be on vacation, but what do people even do during that time? I don’t plan on traveling anywhere unless I get asked to do a book signing, which I’m still not one hundred percent sure I’d do, and I don’t have any crazy plans for here at home.” She looked over to Leila with a smile. “Sorry, once I start talking I can’t ever seem to stop.”

—

“You’re not allowed to get cursed.” Leila’s voice wobbled as her eyelids drooped more. The longer she sat still, the easier it was for the exhaustion of the day to fall back on her like a ton of bricks. It was so strange to be so exhausted yet unable to sleep. But there was the hint of an amused smile playing at the corner of her lips. A glimmer of the woman she usually was poking through the cracks. “Not allowed... ‘cause I said so.” There were entirely too many cursed items in the town of Wicked’s Rest. Sometimes, she’d wondered if they all traveled there as if pulled by some curse-magnet. Logically there was no way to insist that Eleanor not get cursed… but she could still try and scare the universe into it.

It was nice to sit and listen to Eleanor’s voice while music from… somewhere (Where was it coming from? She couldn’t remember) filtered in and out of her mind. If she could not go and find her piano, wherever that might have been, then she was happy to sit and listen to Eleanor talk about poetry. “I’m not a good writing subject,” She mumbled before she could really process the woman’s words. Writing poetry for everyone she loved… Her eyes opened for a moment, straining to focus on Eleanor. Loved her? Was it a kindness, spoken to someone who was in pain? Metzli was the one Eleanor was closest too- Leila was probably just an added friendship out of obligation. But… If she were an obligation, why would Eleanor be there with her, talking to her, keeping her company. 

“Don’t stop talking…” The words were soft, the medication pulling her back down into a rest she hadn’t known in so long. “...’s nice…  Talk to me…”

__

Eleanor laughed a little under her breath. “Alright, I’m not allowed to be cursed because Leila said so.” She already tried to keep herself out of trouble as best she could because she knew that it would be those around her that would have to try and get her out of whatever situation she found herself in. “Considering I spend a lot of time either in my apartment or various coffee shops I think it’ll be easy for me to avoid any kind of trouble. It’s you I’m worried about anyhow.”

The empath shook her head. “You’re the perfect writing subject. You’re strong, talented, ambitious, beautiful. All of those things make it easy to write about someone.” Eleanor sighed and got even more comfortable in the bed. “This project will be a lot of fun because instead of sitting at my computer researching all day I get to be outside speaking with people, being around those that I’m writing about so that I can pick up small details about them. I’m actually very excited about it, not that I wasn’t excited about any of my other publications. This one just feels like it’s going to be a breeze. I think I’m going to include some photography with it as well, I haven’t done much with my love for photographing things lately.”

If there was one thing Eleanor could do it was talk. She looked over to Leila with a smile. “Not a problem.” She continued typing away at her phone as she spoke, the ideas coming to her in waves. “Have I ever told you about my wild college days? I went a little crazy: bar hopping, going to clubs, getting tattoos while drunk. I was a completely different person!” She giggled because sometimes she still couldn’t believe the things she’d done in the past. “But I obviously settled down and became the serious writer I am now.” She hoped that her voice would help Leila to fall into a deep sleep because she obviously needed the rest. “I think you would have gotten a kick out of me if we’d met all those years ago.”

—

Exhaustion rolled over the mare like rain on the skin of someone who only knew drought. It was strange to not know rest for so long and suddenly feel so very tired and find some relative of sleep when she closed her eyes. Thank god for whoever invented modern medicine. Its intended use was likely not to bring sleep to the living dead, but whatever medication Metzli had dosed the mare with was enough to gift Leila with dreamless sleep for the first time in centuries. 

Leila could feel her eyelids drooping as Eleanor’s melodic voice filled the space, calling her words that did not fit with her vision of herself. She was not strong. In her current state, she couldn’t have fought a bunny rabbit off if she had to. She wasn’t talented or ambitious either. Talent was a thing that possessed people in mortal lifetimes, not those who had centuries to perfect crafts. Ambition was for those who pursued what they wanted- she had wasted two hundred years hiding away in shadows, hoping the universe might forget her. 

And beautiful… well… Metzli thought she was beautiful. She had not felt beautiful since she’d become a nightmare. In truth, beauty was a farce that could be played at. She could wear gowns of satin and silk, paint her face to look near angelic, move and talk with all the grace in the world… and still, at her core, Leila was dead. A shiny painted apple that was rotten at the core. Metzli had been the first in two centuries to look at her and make her feel beautiful not for what she looked like, but for who she was. It was a thought that after a year, she still could not comprehend.

Leila’s droopy gaze lolled to the side, trying to take in the effervescent Eleanor as she wound words into the air in a neverending strand. She spoke her words as if they were simple truths. Facts rather than topics to turn into poetry. Maybe, she thought to herself as she shifted into the feather-soft cocoon of blankets, her head lolling gently into the woman’s side as the dark of rest tried to reclaim her, Maybe Eleanor could see her a bit like Metzli could. Not the monstrosity that feeds on fear, but the person she tried to be. 

What a lovely dream. 

—

Eleanor enjoyed being around people who made her feel calm and Leila seemed to be an expert at that. The empath could easily understand why Metzli was so in love with Leila, it was nearly impossible not to instantly fall in love with her. What an amazing writing subject for her poetry! And it wasn’t just the outwardly beauty she could write about all day long, the other woman possessed a beautiful soul, too.

As Leila leaned into her side, Eleanor smiled and continued her typing. That was one poem finished and she hadn’t had to think too hard about it at all. Sure, there was the editing that would come at a much later date, but for someone who’d been hesitant about trying her hand at the craft she thought that she was onto a pretty good start. Maybe all she needed for motivation was to be near those that she loved the most and who made her feel comfortable. She just hoped that her continued presence didn’t cause her to become an unwanted visitor.

“You need to rest. When you have the energy you can tell me all about whatever happened and how you got to be in this condition, but for now I’m banning you from leaving the bed.” Eleanor tried her best to sound stern but a smile crossed her face despite her efforts. “I’ll be here when your mind isn’t so foggy and I’ll stay for however long you want.”

[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[somanyfandomsorkinafs]

(I am ~buzzing~ with ideas…. Allow me to release some)

Once Danny was an adult, he decided to join Ellie in her ‘permanent world tour’. It’s better than staying in Amity where the opinion of Phantom hasn’t gotten much better. Besides, the portal caused the veil to get weaker, allow ghost to wreak havoc where ever they want.

He’s met a lot new ghost cause of this too. Old as Mycenaean Greece to non humans who came to Earth and died there. Danny’s learnt so much from them that he’s basically a walking in Encyclopaedia.

So, Danny’s decided “fuck it.” and has it became a part-time history teacher. It’s fun! He knows the details by heart and is able to make it more fun than just droning on about the same old wars and whatever. He enjoys it, the kids enjoy it and the ghosts having their stories told!

Of course, this does cause some problems when people try to correct him. Danny’s argument? “I got them correct sources.”

And when anyone asks him how knows his sources are correct? “My source was there when it happened.”

Cue the dc world thinking that Danny’s just some immortal guy whose decided to use his immortality for good(TM)

[ayatou]

the strawhats & their dreams

[mischievous-thunder]

They're equally bad. They love teasing each other to a degree that's dangerous to the general public.

[inumkii]

dating rumors part 2

shinsou, monoma, dabi, shigaraki, hawks x reader (individual)

false rumors have been circulating that you and a certain person are a little closer than you let on

part one (izuku, bakugou, denki, sero) also shouto’s is here in a diff scenario

notes: monoma stops responding because i like to think hes so genuinely shocked he cant think of anything snarky to say. he can dish but he cant take!!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sunrise, Parabellum.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[lyxchen]

I'M SORRY did they give Maxine ocd?? (not angry, more like just really surprised) like the light switch and then the "Wrong. Everyone I love will die" and having to flip the light switch again, like that's intrusive thought + compulsion. Was this intentional? Are the writers aware that this is an ocd thing???

[existingillusion]

[disgracefulthings]

Modern Day Platonic Cumplane AU where Shen Yuan meets struggling author, Shang Qinghua. He realizes that Shang Qinghua is the author of his most hated story, and rips into him. After he is done, Shang Qinghua explains how he currently can't afford to write a good story, and Shen Yuan, a rich kid who has done nothing with his life at this point, decides to help fund his story in exchange for being his editor, and Shang Qinghua agrees

After seeing the state of Shang Qinghua's apartment and all of his possessions, Shen Yuan decides 'hell naw', and has Shang Qinghua move in with him (he had an extra room) and replaces all his stuff. They end up becoming close friends, and Shen Yuan learns that being an editor is fulfilling for him

While those two get along, their friends think something else is happening. They believe that Shen Yuan has become a Sugar Daddy, and Shang Qinghua is his Sugar Baby, and they are NOT happy about that

It does not help when they go to Shen Yuan and tell him that Shang Qinghua wants his money, Shen Yuan replies 'I know, that was part of our arrangement'

Hearts are broken and many people want to break them up for their own selfish reasons (whether because they want to be with Shen Yuan or Shang Qinghua, or in Shen Jiu's case, doesn't want his baby brother to date a freeloader)

Meanwhile Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan are oblivious and are having the time of their lives working on their masterpiece

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[koipudding]

being with kaiser means having to dissect your own heart while stitching up his.

chewing on him jn the tags and etc. don’t mind me

he’d be pretty mean at first. he’s gauging your reactions; would you run if you saw everything that haunted him? how he haunts himself? Kaiser does nothing but spit and snarl at you, like a stray cat that’s only been kicked to the curb.

but you don’t leave him alone. not like every other one-night stand he’s had—no, you’ve made him breakfast—a traditional german faire—and brushed and put oil in his hair (his favorite scent too; you tell him it’s been your favorite for a few years. something in him softens).

It’s so domestic he almost vomits after that, but on his first night away from your apartment, he can’t sleep. Practice is shit and he’s not performing well, to the point where he initiates a facetime call (kaiser hates initiating. it feels like begging for your attention, when yours should be solely on him anyway.) and you pick up instantly.

the time difference makes something shatter in him. You’re just waking up… hair messy and eyes bleary. You can hardly speak or hold up the phone…

“Mihya…? You okay?” you’re slumped in bed, wearing his sweater. He might combust (when did Michael become so attached to you? He doesn’t know, but he whispers your name like a prayer, like you’re his guiding light).

“I’m better now, dear. Let me tell you what that idiot of a striker did at practice—“ he rambled on, and watches you nod along. You him and agree with him, and a weight falls off of his shoulders. Kaiser can love you. Perhaps he already does…

[mischievous-thunder]

Wade wants to be wined, dined and maimed

[musicallisto]

𝖭𝖮 𝖫𝖮𝖵𝖤 𝖨𝖭 𝖭𝖤𝖶 𝖸𝖮𝖱𝖪 — out friday, june 20th!

“Excuse me?” (...) The stranger was cute, and for some incomprehensible reason he matched you: he, too, was dressed to the nines like he’d run off from some wedding, and he also distinctly looked like he wished for nothing more than the Earth to swallow him. “Are you going to the F1 movie premiere?” “What?” “The, uh, the F1 movie red carpet thing? Are you going there right now?” (...) “No, uh... I… I got stood up by my date. F1, you mean like Formula 1?” What a formidable and ridiculous scene you two must’ve painted—two kids in formalwear, standing in the middle of a New York City subway platform, stuck amidst the pungent smell of piss and nonsensical conversation. “I’m sorry about your date, they sound like a bit of a dropkick,” the stranger replied (...). “But, uh… I think I’m lost, and I hoped you might help me, or else I’m gonna be the one doing the standing up. On about two thousand people.”

ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦ … 𝗈𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 && 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 (𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍!). 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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