#Nightingale and Loudspeaker

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 2

Part 1

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness]

The Batfamily was in turmoil. Something was wrong with the city; they could feel it. There was a heaviness in the air, which wasn’t there before. Clouds hung low over the skyline, heavy with rain that refused to fall. Citizens didn’t bother to wander the streets, even during the day. The buildings seemed to curl in on themselves like the city was trying to form a shield between her streets and whatever was to come. Even the criminals were staying quiet! Joker hadn’t made a peep in days.

So, needless to say, tensions were high.

“How’d the raid on the Lounge go last night?” Tim rubbed his face as Bruce entered the Batcave. They’d all been running themselves ragged, trying to find the source of their unease.

Bruce grunted. “Hn.”

“He was busted.” Barbara filled him in from over their loudspeakers. She pulled up footage of the previous night on the Batcomputer, letting Tim examine every pixel of the interactions. “One of the workers spotted him during the stakeout and warned the Penguin. Hood was there, too.”

“Red Hood?” Tim sipped his coffee, clicking through the fuzzy videos. “I wasn’t aware he was up for collaborations right now.”

“He was there for a business deal,” Bruce muttered, obviously sulking.

“Bruce got yelled at for ruining the whole setup.” Barbara snickered. She opened up a short, thirty-second clip of Red Hood chewing Batman out in the middle of some dark alleyway, a grumpy-looking woman in the Lounge uniform standing in cuffs next to them. “The woman is Tamia Brone, the supervisor on shift for the evening. She was seen with the employee who tipped off the Penguin. She’s being held at Gotham PD right now, but will probably be released this afternoon since she’s not affiliated with the underground part of the business.”

“So the bust was useless?” Tim summarized.

“Hnn,” Bruce grunted again. The big bat was still sulking, fiddling with his belt’s equipment. Tim sighed. Bruce always got like this when Jason got angry with him. He was all solemn and sulky and resorted to one-syllable words for communication. He wanted to look something up on the Batcomputer, Tim could tell. He was just waiting for Tim to be done.

“Fine.” Tim spun the chair fully around and popped out of the seat as gracefully as he could. “Take the chair, Bruce. What do you want to find?”

Bruce practically teleported to the chair, fingers flying over the keyboard as he cleared the cam footage except for the stuff that came from his own bodysuit. He zoomed in on the moment the employee spotted him, using a program to clean up the stray pixels for a clear face of the boy’s face.

Tim leaned over Bruce’s shoulder, watching him work. “Oh, shit,” he realized. “That’s a kid! What is the Penguin doing, hiring minors?”

Furious keyboard sounds were heard over their intercom. “There are no minors in his employee database. But there is one recent hire; Danny Nightingale, age 18. No middle name.” Barbara recited. “He fits the description of the kid there, but there’s not much on his file. It’s most likely a fake name.”

“He’s a busboy.” Bruce finally spoke up. “Here’s the conversation with his supervisor.” He typed a few last words into the computer, and the audio started to play.

“-and the boy. Who is he?”

“Boy? What the hell are you talking about, Bats.”

“The one by the dumpster.”

“Danny? Hey, don’t you even think about bringing him into this! He’s a good kid; the best busboy I’ve ever had. If you scare him off imma beat you six ways to Sunday, you hear?? I don’t care what your stabby sidekick says about it!”

“He’s not in trouble, I just-”

“Like fucking hell I’d believe that! He was the one who tipped off the boss, everyone in the building knows that! But that poor boy is just trying to do his job. That kid risked his own health and safety to warn his boss against someone who, in his eyes, threatened his livelihood.”

“Health?”

“What? You didn’t notice the poor kid had gotten sick? Some detective you are.”

“He shouldn’t be working if he’s sick.”

“Like I’d tell him that. Danny’s parents kicked him out as soon as he turned eighteen. He needs money, Bats. Gotham ain’t kind to kids like him, you know this. If he was really sick, I’d’ve sent him home.”

“So he wasn’t sick?”

“Don’t twist my words, bastard. He had gotten sick, not he was sick. Poor kid has some nasty allergies. One of the boss’ associates was wearing something that didn’t agree with him, and he threw up."

“Hn.”

“Don’t grunt at me, mister! It’s a legitimate allergy! Are discriminating against allergens now??”

“No-”

“Oracle! Hey! Don’t glare at me, I know they’re real-Oracle! Make sure to save this clip in case Big Broody over here gets his head stuck up his ass again. Maybe seeing how he’s treating a sick kid will burst his bubble sometime.”

“Will do, Miss Brone.”

“AHA! I knew they were real! You’re a real one, Oracle!”

“I’m taking you down to the station.”

“If I’m not let out before my next shift, I’m letting Poison Ivy know that Robin stores extra weapons in the park!”

As the audio faded out, Barbara giggled and Tim sighed again. “Who on earth is this woman?” He asked, draining the rest of his mug in a single gulp.

“I took some night classes with her, a couple of years ago,” Barbara answered, pulling up Tamia’s personal file. A strong-faced woman stared back at them. “She’s a spitfire, but a good person. Danny probably reminds her of her younger siblings. They died a while back, and ever since, she’s been super protective of young kids who are on their own. Volunteers at the library on the weekends for kid events, helps out at the Mystery Elf Program every year for Christmas, and stuff like that.”

“How did she know about my weapons?”

Tim swore and jumped, turning on his heel. Damian, the little monster, had snuck up behind them again. Bruce just spared him a glance and went back to sifting through their files.

“Kids tell her things.” They couldn’t see her, but they could tell Barbara just shrugged at their inquiries. “Robin has a small cult following among the younger kids in Gotham, so Tamia basically has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So we should investigate her.” Tim mused.

“No-”

A roar of a motorcycle interrupted them. Jason peeled into the Batcave on his motorcycle, barely coming to a complete stop before he jumped off and sped to the computer. 

“Move, old man.” Jason snarled, practically hauling Bruce out of the seat to take his place.

“How dare you, Todd!”

“Shut up, Demon Brat!” Jason growled again, never looking away from the monitor as his fingers flew across the keyboard. 

Tim flinched. He knew, without having to look, that Jason’s eyes were glowing bright green right now. He was on the verge of a Pit episode. Usually, this meant he’d hole up in his many safe houses and drop off the grid for a while. The only reason he’d be in the Batcave right now was if he needed to find someone. Someone to kill. 

“Oh, good.” Jason leaned back. “You already started researching him.” Everyone looked on in dawning horror as Danny Nightingale’s exhausted and startled face looked at them, the screenshot taken from Batman’s body suit camera. 

“Jason…” Bruce started. 

But Jason wasn’t listening. “No one is allowed to go after him.” He simply announced. “I have questions for this kid, you ain’t getting in the way of that.”

“You can’t kill a civilian, Todd.” Damian challenged.  

Jason stood. Green light leaked from his mask, and his muscles were tensed like he either wanted to run for his life or throw hands. Tim took a step back. “That,” he ground out, pointing at Danny’s picture. “Is not a civilian. That is a threat.”

…

Danny felt like shit. 

It’s been two days since he frantically tipped off the Penguin to the Bat’s presence, and ever since, the Lounge has been shut down for unforeseen reasons. He didn’t know why, he was just a busboy. His boss had taken the news in stride, ordering him to book it out the back with some of the other servers. Tamia was on his heels the entire time, directing them all down a side alley with ease before getting snatched by Batman herself. Danny had screeched to a halt, intending to go back for her, but one of the bartenders had gripped his arm and hadn’t let go, hissing, “She’ll be fine! You’re the one who needs to get out of here!” Reluctantly, Danny complied, no matter how horrible he felt after. 

When everyone had split up, the bartender told him to only return to work when the boss told him to. Then, they all went their separate ways, and Danny woke up the next morning with an extra $3k in his bank account. 

To be honest, he spent that first day anxiously sneaking around the city, checking in on all his coworkers that were present that night. Everyone was okay, for the most part. The bartender who had dragged him was passed out on a shitty couch, beer bottle in hand, and one of the waiters was being yelled at by her boyfriend for having her shift cut short. Danny’s core ached at the sight. So when forgotten cans of coke in the back of their fridge exploded from a random spike of cold and cut the argument short, he hoped she didn’t mind his interference too much. 

Tamia, however, took longer to track down. To his horror, she was sitting like a grumpy cat deep within Gotham’s police station, glaring at any officer that tried to approach her. He was forced to tap into his invisibility, but he eventually snuck past security and over to her holding cell. He waited until she was alone, before letting out a tiny, almost inaudible rumble from his core, slipping through the bars with intangibility. The two shades at Tamia’s neck perked up, instantly zeroing in on him. While the older woman couldn’t see the shades, she must have felt something as well. She stiffened, glancing around subtly. 

“Who’s there?” She hissed. 

Danny shifted. He was…uncomfortable. But Tamia had done so much for him. “It’s me.” He whispered back, stepping closer and leaning close to her ear. Tamia flinched back, eyes darting to his face. He was still invisible, thank the Ancients. 

“Danny??” Tamia regained control of her expression and went back to her brooding look for the cameras. “What the fuck???”

“Sorry, Tam.” He apologized. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Danny. How are you here?”

“Uh…” He didn’t know how to answer that, so he just told her the truth. “I snuck in.”

Tamia gave his general location a side-eye. “You know Batman doesn’t like metas in his city.” 

And that was a tipping point, wasn’t it? Danny’s core buzzed in his ears with anxiety as his voice shook. “Are you going to report me?”

Tamia snorted, covering it up with a cough as a cop passed by. “Hell no. You’re a good kid, Danny. I’d never turn you in, even to the Joker.” 

“Ah,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks. Uh, do you want me to get you out of here?”

Tamia tilted her head. Her hair had come loose from its bun, with strands of curly hair falling into her eyes. “No,” she decided. “The boss has plans in place for things like that. I’m a legal employee and a good one he won’t leave to rot. I’ll be out of here by the end of the day. I’ll be alright.”

He sighed. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. Go home, Casper. Get some sleep.”

Danny’s face twisted at the name, but he nevertheless bade his supervisor and the two shades goodbye and walked back out the front doors of Gotham PD, not bothering to fly. Flying meant he had to go ghost, and that meant he had to deal with…other things. 

He decided to sleep the rest of the day, extremely spent from all the extra energy he had used up. Danny didn’t rise again till noon the next day, at which his stomach finally made itself known, demanding he seek out food. He lay on his bed for an extra hour, trying to desperately ignore the grumbles in his belly, but finally gave in, grabbing some cash to stuff in his pockets and making his way out of the shitty apartment building he lived in. Two kids threw rocks at his face as he passed through the front doors, but he just sidestepped and ignored them, letting the stones shatter the glass doors instead. 

The clouds are low. The Knights are away. Shades whispered and writhed at the edges of his vision. The Lady is sick.

Leave me alone. Danny groaned and rubbed his forehead. These days, the words of the dead seemed to pound at his head like a sledgehammer, relentless. An uncomfortable heat was building in his head. He ignored it. 

Danny rounded a corner and entered a gas station. “Hello!” The cashier greeted him, too cheery for the job they were working. “Let me know if you need anything!” He waved in acknowledgment and shuffled between aisles, staring blankly at the brightly colored packages of cheap food. His eyes couldn’t focus on the labels, so he just grabbed something with a cheetah on it. Danny then shuffled to the next aisle over and snatched a large bottle of something pink and bright. The cashier gave him an impeccable customer service smile, which he tried to return. 

“Personally, I like the smell of the blue flavor.” They scanned his items, and he had to nod and pretend he knew what they were talking about. “Here you go, that’ll be $6.27. Would you like a bag?”

“No,” Danny shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice day!” The bell rang over the sound of the cashier as Danny left. He was too tired and hungry to give them a proper response. 

Gotham’s skies were still dark and cloudy, which for once, Danny was thankful for. Sunlight would probably make his growing headache worse. He wandered around for a long while, just taking in the sights of the city. He didn’t know why, but less and less people had been on the streets these days, giving him a slight break from the relentless stares and whispers. He just had to avoid certain areas that were clouded with death, and he was good to go! He was free to walk around aimlessly all he wanted. 

Today, it seemed, his wanderings took him to a small, silent park. He pushed open the tiny gate and snuck inside. It was quiet as a cemetery, and looked like one, too. Hell, if Danny was in his right mind, he would have realized it was a cemetery. He’d argue later that there were no spirits around, so how could he have known? There was just a profound sense of emptiness that was suffocating the whole area, but Danny was so fed up with the rest of the city, he barely noticed. 

Instead, he simply made himself at home on a stone bench off to the side and tore open his feast, not tasting anything as he chowed down on the chips. A faint tingle on his tongue told him the chips were spicy, but how was he supposed to taste anything when his tastebuds were dead? Soon, the chips were gone, bag and all. (The only perk of being dead was that he acted as his own personal trashcan. Nothing was littered with him around!) Cracking open his heavy drink, Danny took a sip and stared at the sky. Just thinking about nothing as the day passed and the evening set. 

It’d been a long day. 

…

Jason jerked. Shivers ran up his spine, and the green in his vision got stronger. He was in the depths of a pit episode, some part of his brain told him. No one had been hurt yet. 

But someone was about to be. 

Jason jerked again and lunged for his front door, ripping off the lock Tim had put on it (trying to cage him like an animal) with his bare hands. He had no shoes, no helmet, no mask, nothing. But he bolted out the front door in a blind rage. His world was greengreengreen. 

A snarl ripped itself out of his throat as he jumped the last two stories from the main staircase to the ground level. His landing left a small indent on the tile. (How did he do that?) The front doors were already wide open, he’d left it that way. Jason tore down the street, silently thankful there was no one on the streets. 

Someone was going to die tonight. Someone had walked over his grave. 

Jason’s chest heaved as he bolted through alleyways, taking shortcuts to get to the one place he always refused to visit. There was a Bat following him now. Which one? Probably Nightwing. It didn’t matter. His hands were curled and his footsteps were loud. His heart pounded in his head, egging on the Pit. Phantom fingers ran down his arms, pushing his shoulders so he’d go faster. The city bent in on itself. Streets seemed to straighten out, letting him have a clear shot toward his target. 

He burst from the alleyways in a sudden rush, and Jason skidded to a stop to get his bearings. His feet were bleeding, he could tell. Whatever. His green eyes were glued to the tiny, limp figure of Danny Nightingale resting on a stone bench not five feet away from Jason’s grave. The one he was buried in. The one he crawled out of. The kid had walked on his grave. 

Jason rushed forward with a roar. 

“What the FUCK?!” Danny startled upright at the sound, quickly spotting Jason and scrambling to his feet. He had a half-filled bottle of pink Fabuloso cleaner in his hand but dropped that quickly when Jason lunged for him. 

“Jason!” Someone yelled, trying to grab at his shoulders. But Jason was too far gone in the pit rage, now. He was almost animalistic, growling and clawing at the kid’s retreating figure. Blood was getting smeared over the dead grass, with bits of glass from the alleyway being pushed farther into his skin. 

“Shit, man! I didn’t know this was your Haunt!” Danny’s eyes were filled with fear and worry, but his gaze was fixed solidly on a spot above Jason’s head. 

“This was my grave!” Jason managed to screech. He got a lucky hit in, and the kid tumbled away, clutching his shoulder where a bruise was already forming through his thin clothes. 

“I didn’t know!” Danny yelled again. He made no move to fight back. 

“THIS WAS OUR GRAVE!” 

Something is wrong. A sudden, clear thought entered Jason’s head. It was like cold water had splashed him awake. These were not his words. These were not his actions. Jason was not in control of his body. 

Something else was speaking for him. 

A wail ripped itself out of his throat. Danny rolled to the side, avoiding his lunge. Jason could only watch helplessly as the kid was backed into a corner. For every step Jason took forward, Danny took two steps back. The kid was too used to this. He moved with too much ease, avoiding Jason’s wild swings like he could predict every movement. 

“Dammit, JASON!” Two pairs of hands gripped at his shoulders this time, forcing him to turn. Nightwing and Orphan (when had she gotten here?) tried their best to wrestle him down, heaving with the effort. 

“No! Don’t!” Danny bolted forward, right as Jason lunged for his own family in a haze of green. Time seemed to slow, and logically, Jason knew there was no way in hell Danny would have made it in time to do anything. Jason knew he was about to hurt his family, badly. He was about to break bones and claw at vulnerable skin. He was about to look his sibling in their eyes and see their hearts shatter. Jason was bout to break apart their family. Again. 

Then Danny screamed something, there was a flash of light, and suddenly there was a wall of fucking fire separating Jason from his siblings. From the outside world. 

Jason barely managed to avoid the flames, tucking himself into a sharp roll and popping up with his teeth bared. 

His brain tried to process what had just happened. 

His body screamed in rage.

His prey had disappeared. 

In Danny’s place floated a young boy. His eyes were as green as Jason’s. An iron crown wreathed in flames was set upon his head upside down, the sharp points causing rivers of green blood to run down from his hairline. Iron shackles chained his hands together. Pieces of charred armor clung to his body by thin straps. There was a chill in the air, and despite the fire, ice was starting to grow from the ground in a ring around the boy, curving and sharp, like it was trying to trap him in.

The boy looked at him, and Jason saw that he was crying.

...

[oOoOoO cliffhanger~]

#danny phantom #dpxdc #eyes of the past fic #pondhead writes #angst #i just think it'd be funny if everything was food for danny #he had hot cheetos and pink fabuloso for dinner #packages and all #danny IS NOT the ghost king #then why does he have the crown you may ask? #good question i'm not telling you #adding links as i go #not beta read #no beta we die like danny #long post #oc insert #sorry about that #she's just for this i swear

[kurogane2512]

omg a ptn writer😭😭🩷🩷 hiii

can you write sfw sumire x reader please :))

I'm so sorry this is so late, I wanted to know Sumire better before writing this and oh my god I'm in love!! Thank you for waiting!

Game: Path to Nowhere

Characters: Sumire x fem!Reader (Chief)

Type: Fluff

"The moon is beautiful tonight."

The gentle phrase was the last thing you heard that night before you fell unconscious on Sumire's lap. The cool night breeze danced on your skin, swaying Sumire's long black hair with itself, the rustling of the leaves falling from the tree above you were the last things you witnessed. You had tried to move your gaze towards the moon but your eyelids felt heavy before you could as much as glance.

The next thing you knew was that you were back in MBCC, laying in the hospital ward. Sumire had carried you all the way by herself and let herself be arrested as she told the truth to Nightingale and asked her to look after you. You slowly opened your eyes and were met by the white ceiling of the ward until you sat up and looked around to find a vase kept on the windowsill, containing a familiar white flower.

"Chief, you are awake." Nightingale's voice beamed through the loudspeaker and you looked over at the camera and gave a small wave. Few minutes later, Nightingale came to the ward herself and examined your body for any more injuries or neurological problems.

"Chief, do you remember what happened?"

You pondered for a while and slowly, all the things that happened within a few hours came back to you.

"Yes...What time is it right now?"

"2 am. You were asleep for 3 hours after being brought here."

"Where is Sumire? Is she okay?"

Nightingale was surprised for a moment then gave a small smile, "Yes, she is here. She has been waiting outside the ward all this time."

The door opened once again and Sumire walked in with her head bowed, an anxious look on her face. You felt relieved seeing her and indicated to Nightingale to leave you both alone and she gave a nod then walked out. Now alone with Sumire, you looked at her a with a smile and were about to speak but she suddenly rushed forward and kneeled down beside you, tightly holding your hand in hers.

"I....I'm sorry, Chief. I-It's all my fault....I'm so sorry...."

Sumire spoke in a trembling voice, tears filling her eyes as she held your palm. You could feel her body shaking and how regretful she looked, you then smiled softly and patted her head.

"Sumire, I'm glad you are okay."

Sumire was shocked at your words and looked up to see your gentle smiling face, she was at a loss of words now.

"C-Chief, you....you are really like this. I knew I chose right...."

Tears flowed down her cheeks and you gently wiped them away, causing her to blush lightly.

"Were you the one to keep that vase?" you pointed to the vase on the windowsill and Sumire nodded.

"I-It's my latest work, the flower symbolises good health and is often used for healing techniques."

"I see. It's beautiful, just like you. Thank you very much."

Sumire blushed once again, this time a darker shade.

"I-I made some tea for you, would you like to have it?"

You were about to reply but the speaker in the ward rang again, "Apologies for interrupting, Chief. You are requested to return to your office and look over some documents immediately."

Nightingale's voice rang through causing slight disappointment to Sumire but she smiled nevertheless and stood up with a bow.

"I apologize for keeping you here, Chief. Please, don't mind me and continue with your work."

You gave a slow nod and watched Sumire as she exited the ward, you then let out a sigh and went back to your office as instructed, only to find 2 big stacks of papers kept on the desk. You knew it was going to be a long night. However, the moment you tried to focus on work, you mind often wandered elsewhere....You kept recalling the phrase that you last heard and wondered if it had a special meaning.

That's when it clicked to you. It indeed had a special meaning. Sumire wasn't simply complimenting the moon....she spoke her true feelings at that moment, her true and deepest feelings for you.

The next thing you were doing was running through the hallways of MBCC in search of Sumire's cell, your shackles told you of her location and you finally found her cell. You sent away the guards around it and took a few deep breaths to calm yourself and fix your clothes before entering.

"Oh, Chie—"

"The moon is indeed beautiful tonight."

Sumire looked at you wide-eyed, unable to understand.

"And so are you."

You finished your sentence and walked in only to immediately embrace Sumire in your arms, holding her tightly. She was awestruck by your sudden confession, but soon understood everything.

"....I didn't expect you to know the real meaning of that phrase."

"It took a while for me to recall...."

Sumire gave a small laugh then looked at your face, gently cupping it with a smile. You gazed into each other's eyes until you leaned in and connected your lips with hers in a gentle yet passionate kiss. The two of you melted into each other under the moonlight, but you were now the support she needed to continue blooming, and she would bloom until her last petal withers away.

#path to nowhere #ptn #ptn x reader #sumire #ptn sumire #sumire x reader #ptn sumire x reader #path to nowhere fluff #ptn fluff

[camels-pen]

A Half-dead Mockingbird in Paris

DannyMay Day 26 - Luck

Summary: Ever wonder how ghost powers would work with a miraculous? Or how the Fentons would ever be let through border control at any major airport? Do you lay awake at night thinking about how Hawkmoth would go about akumatizing Danny?

Me too!

Unfortunately, this fic will answer none of these questions and likely only bring up more to plague your inconsistent sleep schedule.

(Danny Phantom x Miraculous Ladybug crossover)

(thanks to @thesoulspulse and @princessfanonanona for helping me come up with Danny's hero name!)

Ao3 Link

~

“Soooo he’s from the future?” Chat nodded his head to the left where a boy in a white, grey and red costume was running around on the ground in front of the Eiffel tower. He had on a white and grey suit with red on his chest and mask, and holding up a white bow in his hand as he ran around. His grey feathered cloak rustled as he tried to line up a shot at the top of the tower, but ducked at the last moment to evade his pursuers.

“No, he’s not. I know what it looks like, but he doesn’t even know Bunnyx.”

“Did you ask?” Ladybug shook her head.

“No, but I’ve met his family. They’re a little weird, but they are supposed to be in our time.”

They scaled the side of the tower, ducking behind beams as a group of snickering white ghosts flew by. They watched as the ghosts ascended up to the top of the tower where a large green and silver doorway floated with dozens of ghosts pouring out of it every second. A teenage girl in an oversized blue pantsuit and orange hair pulled back into the shape of a loudspeaker stood on top of the doorway. The akumatized teen, aptly named ‘Loudspeaker’, let out short screeches at the boy.

“What’s with the temper tantrum, Jasmine? Did you lose your favorite stuffy? Or did your parents embarrass your whole family on live TV again?” the boy shouted in english. Loudspeaker shrieked louder and her shockwaves of sound made a massive crater in the ground, nearly hitting the boy. He started blowing raspberries as he dodged out of the way of a literal tornado of ghosts coming towards him.

As Nightingale flipped over a ghost trying to get him from behind, he unfolded his bow and quickly shot a single arrow into the ghost tornado as it turned towards him again. The arrow changed them into a pile of teddy bears in Albert Einstein costumes.

“Hey look Jazz! If you give up the crazy guy’s butterfly, I’ll give you all these clean new Bearberts~” Nightingale singsonged, holding up one of the bears. Loudspeaker yelled in frustration, causing another shockwave of sound to blow away large chunks of debris and anything else not nailed down.

“You’re not listening to me! You’re just like Danny; he never listens to me and neither do my parents! No one LISTENS!” Loudspeaker took a deep breath and a poor imitation of Phantom’s ghostly wail assaulted their ears. The tower vibrated heavily and Chat and Ladybug held on tight while Nightingale clapped his hands over his ears, somehow not moving an inch despite being directly in its path.

He stayed that way for a while until finally the attack subsided. Nightingale wobbled as he withdrew his ears and steadied himself, picking up his bow from where he dropped it.

“nO oNe LiStEnS!” he shouted back, mocking her. “Like you’re one to talk! I- uh, Danny tried to tell you that going somewhere with television crews would end in disaster! It’s a given with our- ugh, your family!”

“Is he sure he wants to stick with ‘Nightingale’?” Chat asked, holding back snickers. “‘Mockingbird’ seems to fit him a lot better.”

Another swarm of ghosts dived towards Nightingale. He chucked his bow high into the air and clapped his hands together. He slowly pulled them apart and a glowing white arrow was created between them. White gloved hands quickly grabbed it out of the air, then grabbed his bow and pulled it back on the string.

“Blank Slate!” He released the arrow and it hit the lead ghost. Every ghost in the swarm turned into tiny ducks and flapped their wings frantically as they slowly descended.

“That makes 8 times, M’Lady.” Chat turned to face her and raised his eyebrows beneath his mask.

Ladybug groaned. “He’s not a time traveler.”

---

Chat whistled as Nightingale jumped into the air to dodge a group of ghosts. “Didn’t know the robin miraculous lets you fly.”

“Maybe it’s a bird thing?” Ladybug mused as they continued to climb.

“Mayura couldn’t fly.” Chat whispered as they hid behind another pillar.

“Peacocks don’t fly.” They hopped to a higher beam as a group flew right by where they were crouching before. “Do they?” Chat shrugged.

They continued to climb in silence for a while, before Chat spoke up again. “Phantom can fly. Do you think he’s part bird? My cat senses were telling me to chase after him.”

“Phantom’s a ghost. And he isn’t a miraculous holder.” Ladybug surveyed the area. “Hey come to think of it, where is he?”

“He went to ‘save a cat stuck in a tree’ and took off not long after you left,” Chat said with air quotes. “I’m a little offended I wasn’t the top cat on his list.”

Ladybug looked at him, bewildered. “What? Why would he leave when I said I was going to get help?”

“He was purr-obably too nervous to be alone with me. You know the saying: ghosts want me, fish fear me. I was just too pretty for him to handle.” He smirked. She rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Well come on pretty kitty, we don’t have much time. Nightingale looks like he can’t make any more arrows.”

---

The duo pulled off a successful sneak attack and Ladybug purified the akuma and amuk. As the gate and the ghosts disappeared, Loudspeaker turned back into Jazz and Ladybug threw up the red and black spotted Fenton Keychain, letting the miracle cure do its work across Paris.

Nightingale landed in front of them and the heroes bumped fists. “Pound it!” They said in unison.

Ladybug nodded to Chat as she twirled her yoyo. “Me and Nightingale will head out first, can you—”

“Chirpp, let’s roost.” A sparkling white line travelled up from Nightingale’s boots to the tip of his hair and solidified into a white, grey, and red kwami with small grey wings in place of the front flippers.

Chirpp looked at Danny, Ladybug and Chat Noir, Jazz, and then back to Danny. They slapped their forehead as their master tried to hold back a grin.

“Oh no,” Danny said loudly as he put his hands on his cheeks. “Jazz and Chat know my identity! I guess you’ll have to take the hairpin back and never give me a miraculous ever again.” As Jazz stood and dusted off her pants, she jabbed him in the gut with her elbow and he clutched his stomach with a groan.

“What he means to say is he is sorry for breaking your trust and it will not happen again. Right, Danny?” she said in stilted French. Danny grumbled something under his breath before sighing and holding out a hand.

“Yeah, sorry about that Ladybug.” Danny chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I’m just not used to having a secret identity.” Jazz pursed her lips and clasped her hands together tightly. Now it was Danny’s turn to jab her in the gut.

He pulled off the hairpin and held it out to Ladybug. “We’ll only be in Paris for a few more weeks, but if you need me, my family’s staying at the hotel across from that one really good bakery.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “The Dupain-Cheng bakery, Danny.” She smirked and tapped her chin. “Also, Danny does not have anything to do on this trip since his friends are not around...”

---

“Hey there Bugaboo, Boy Wonder.” Nightingale only groaned.

As Chat accepted a croissant from Ladybug, he whispered loudly. “What’s up with the early bird?”

“I’m a night owl,” Nightingale grumbled from his slumped seat at the roof’s edge. “And whoever suggested early morning patrols is a dead hero.” Chat chuckled and sat down beside the other boy, swiping a take-out coffee with a small cat drawing from the tray in his lap.

Ladybug finished her own breakfast and stretched her arms before coming up to Nightingale’s other side. “Oh come on Gale, tell me you don’t feel anything looking at this view.” She gestured at the sunrise in the distance illuminating the early morning mists.

“I don’t feel anything looking at this view.” Nightingale said, then proceeded to chug the other three coffees on the tray in seconds. His hand automatically reached for the cup in Chat’s hands, but the boy quickly held it away. Nightingale narrowed his eyes at the other boy and nearly tackled him in his haste to snatch the drink away.

As the boys wrestled over the last coffee, Ladybug sighed at the three empty cups in the forgotten tray, two of them marked with little ladybug drawings.

#dannymay #dannymay2021 #nemo the writing ho #hit enter coward #dp ml crossover #danny phantom #ml #miraculous ladybug #danny fenton #jazz fenton #Nightingale and Loudspeaker #ladybug #chat noir #heyoo #4am and its hereee #i wrote and rewrote this so many times guys #but yknow what that doesnt matter! bc now its posted and i dont have to see this again #:D #btw the robin miraculous is not canon #DPxML

[thebonggirll]

chapter thirteen

< previous: chapter twelve

Up on the rim, the Cupid statues were drawing their bows into firing position. Before they could suggest taking cover, the cupids shot, but not at them. They fired at each other, across the rim of the pool. Silky cables trailed from the arrows, arcing over the pool and anchoring where they landed to form a huge golden asterisk. Then smaller metallic threads started weaving together magically between the main strands, making a net.

"We have to get out," Percy said.

"Duh!" Annabeth said.

He grabbed the shield and ran, but going up the slope of the pool was not as easy as going down.

"Come on!" Grover shouted.

Y/N and him were trying to hold open a section of the net for them, but wherever they touched it, the golden threads started to wrap around their hands.

The Cupids' heads popped open. Out came video cameras. Spotlights rose up all around the pool, blinding them with illumination, and a loudspeaker voice boomed: "Live to Olympus in one minute ... Fifty-nine seconds, fifty-eight..."

"Hephaestus!" Annabeth screamed. "I'm so stupid.' Eta is H.' He made this trap to catch his wife with Ares. Now we're going to be broadcast live to Olympus and look like absolute fools!"

They'd almost made it to the rim when the row of mirrors opened like hatches and thousands of tiny metallic ... things poured out.

Annabeth screamed.

It was an army of wind-up creepy-crawlies: bronze-gear bodies, spindly legs, little pincer mouths, all scuttling toward them in a wave of clacking, whirring metal.

"Spiders!" Annabeth said. "Sp-sp-aaaah!" She fell backward in terror and almost got overwhelmed by the spider robots before Percy pulled her up and dragged her back toward the boat.

The things were coming out from all around the rim now, millions of them, flooding toward the center of the pool, completely surrounding them.

Annabeth and Percy climbed into the boat. They started kicking away the spiders as they swarmed aboard.

"God just scream already Y/N!" Grover shouted. She whipped her head towards him and he said, "Dude I know what Apollo kids use as weapons. Just trust yourself and do it! We can just tell them to shut their ears!"

"Thirty, twenty-nine," called the loudspeaker.

They were walking towards the diner parking lot where Ares was waiting for them.

Too much happened but the important thing is that Annabeth and Percy were safe. Ofcourse, at the end of it, it was a combined effort. But Y/N felt happy after a long time.

"Hey," Percy cleared his voice, "That was cool, what you did there."

"I'm just glad that you guys are safe...and your ears are working fine." Y/N said. When Percy and Annabeth were on the boat and the spiders were surrounding them, many getting into the boats they were in, Y/N yelled them to cover their ears. Ofcourse, Percy immediately screamed asking why but after Annabeth told him to do as said, he covered his ears.

And after that Y/N screamed. Yes, that was her offensive power. Her voice was as sweet as a nightingale but she can use it as a weapon at times too. Her voice was loud and the soundwaves blew most of the spiders away. Some of the screens of the cameras also broke because of her pitch. She was finally feeling relieved to be of some help in the quest.

"Uh, I guess we didn't have time to thank you...so.." Percy said.

"Oh so other than that you aren't even bothered to talk to me right?" Y/N asked teasingly.

"Wait, that's not what I meant," Percy stuttered, "we wanted to thank you but-"

"You've been using 'we' a lot Percy," Y/N smirked looking forward, she had the same teasing tone, "Is there something you wanna tell?"

"Well uh.." Percy hesitated, and then remembered that she was Annabeth's best friend. "N-Nothing. What are you-"

"Percy, both of you are my friends. I won't snitch around~" Y/N said, "Besides, neither of you are good at hiding it."

"What do you mean?"

Y/N looked at him - the same sea green eyes looking into hers - she looked away quickly, "Both of you are too egotistic to tell this to each other. But," she sighed, "I feel like you are much less than her. You will...tell her right?"

"Yeah...I think so," Percy smiled looking at her, "Grover told me..she felt the same. Yes."

It didn't matter how much she wanted to feel happy for them. A part of her still selfishly wanted it to not happen. But Percy just confirmed it. She smiled bitterly, and said, "Look, Ares."

Percy walked towards the god of war.

"Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed."

"You knew it was a trap," Percy said.

Ares gave him a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."

He blushed and shoved his shield at him. "You're a jerk."

Annabeth and Grover caught their breath.

Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.

"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."

The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which he could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

Percy said, "You're kidding."

Ares snapped his fingers. The back door of the truck unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."

He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to him.

Inside were fresh clothes for all of them, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.

Percy said, "I don't want your lousy-"

"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving me his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."

"You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, trying to keep his voice level. "You promised me information about my mother."

"You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "She's not dead."

The ground seemed to spin beneath him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept."

"Kept. Why?"

"You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."

"Nobody's controlling me."

He laughed. "Oh yeah? See you around, kid."

Percy balled up my fists. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues."

Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. They felt a hot wind in their hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your back."

He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street.

Annabeth said, "That was not smart, Percy."

"I don't care."

"You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not that god."

"Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but..."

He pointed toward the diner. At the register, the last two customers were paying their check, two men in identical black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck.

"If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need to hurry."

After they ran out of the truck and released the animals captured inside it, the demigods found themselves at a dead end, standing in front of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and blinking. No one was going in or out, but the glittering chrome doors were open, spilling out air-conditioning that smelled like flowers-lotus blossom, maybe.

They got in, but Percy noticed something strange after some time. The people in this casino never got out. He managed to shake his friends out of the trance and obsession they were in and escape the timeless casino.

They ran to the nearest newspaper stand and read the year first. It was the same year it had been when they went in. Then they noticed the date: June twentieth.

They had been in the Lotus Casino for five days.

One day was left until the summer solstice. One day to complete their quest.

next: chapter fourteen >

book one: the lightning thief

percy jackson x reader series

MASTERLIST

Tags: @the-natureofme @jumpingtrainsandflyingskies​  @idk-bye-no​

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percabeth #percy and annabeth #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy x annabeth #annabeth pjo #annabeth chase #annabeth x luke #pjo #pjoverse #pjo apollo

[onlymywishfulthinking]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @hazelestelle about her WIP Polli Ballet AU fic and it reminded me of how many Jarry WIP fics I’ve got going and have been writing on sporadically for 2 years now with only a few seeing the light of day on AO3 so far. So here’s a few excerpts, that still have no titles!

1. James/Harry - Canon Compliant Holiday AU

"Sir, we are going to have to close the gate now."

"Give me that thing." He snags the loudspeaker from the flight attendant's hand, pushing the button on the side. It crackles and hisses. "Romeo Nightingale!" his angry voice echoes through the Manchester airport. "If you’re not at Gate 9 in 30 seconds I will disinherit you!" He hands the device back to the shocked woman. Needs must.

Harry has, for the most part, kept calm and optimistic the whole time they’ve been waiting on Romeo but even he’s reached his limit. “Listen, we’re off to a family wedding. Okay? Can’t you just hang on for one more minute, please?” Harry pleads, one foot firmly planted onto the walkway down to the plane, trying to hold off the gate crew. 

***

He drags a hand over his sweaty forehead and opens his eyes again, gazing straight into the green ones. "Ahh, James," he sighs out happily, his laboured breath almost making it hard to speak. James still takes his breath away, every single time.

His boyfriend crawls up over him, tall body ascending quickly until they're face to face. He wraps his arms around James's neck, running one hand through the damp, dark hair. He's happier than ever. For once, none of them have to rush off anywhere. They have a whole week to just enjoy themselves, spending the full 24 hours of each day together.

James's fingertips trail down his cheek and land on his lips before they stroke through the hair around his ear. The soft smile that follows makes Harry’s heart soar. They kiss slowly, tongues sliding leisurely together in the morning sun streaming in through the gap between the curtains.

2. James/Harry - Canon Compliant Birthday AU

He recalls a fleeting moment two years ago, before he found out that Romeo was his offspring, seeing a reflection of his younger self had made him feel ancient, making him wonder what Harry even saw in an old, bitter, and twisted man like himself. But the wet lips and exploring hands and whispered promises of a future together pushed all those thoughts aside whenever they met up for their incandescent affair.

Their affair was one of the best times of his life but he doesn't miss it. The turmoil he had found himself in during those 3 months: having Harry but not being allowed to have all of him had been excruciating. He wouldn't wish that upon anyone.

It seems so long ago now as they’re both standing in the Hutch kitchen together, finishing off the final preparations before the guests arrive for his son’s birthday party. Their son, he smiles to himself.

3. James/Harry - University/Harry & Romeo BFF AU

The teenager looked down to him now, gesturing his hand between Harry and the man standing next to him. "Dad, Harry. Harry, Dad," Romeo said, making the introduction and turned, walking off in the direction of the village.

Harry swallowed hard and rose from his seat, having wiped his hands clean the best he could on his small dirty napkin. He looked up at the blue-suited man, standing in the streaming sunlight, tall and imposing. And his jaw dropped. He was so young. And so hot.

"Dad?" Harry exclaimed like an idiot.

"I prefer to go by my professional name, James Nightingale." The solicitor smirked at him and held out the hand he had admired moments earlier. "And you are?"

4. James/Harry - Canon Compliant Harry Amnesia AU - fix-it-fic

He's staring. He can't help it. Harry's staring right back at him too. The familiar blue eyes twinkle with desire as they study him. Can this really be true?

There's a pregnant pause until the barmaid presents them with two brimming full pint glasses. "I should introduce myself, I'm-"

"Wait, wait," Harry holds up his hands to stop him and looks like his playful old self. "Don't say it. Okay? I wanna guess." Harry twists closer to him and the big blue eyes scan across James's face and body. It feels surreal. "You look like a…James."

His gut wrenches. Maybe he does remember? "Yes," he breathes out. Hearing Harry say his name again is the most beautiful sound in the world.

"I was right? Sweet." Harry fistbumps the air and laughs. That cute little laugh. How he's missed it. There's no denying it. It's his Harry. Harry. Not Tommy.

He holds his hand out for Harry to shake. "James Nightingale. And you are, Tommy… ?"

Harry presses his hand into James's. It fits the same way it's always done. "Tommy Harrison, at your service," Harry grins with that flirty glint in his eyes. Tommy Harrison - Harry Thompson.

***

He needs to keep their relationship friendly but platonic. He can't misuse Harry's trust by falling into bed with him when he doesn't even remember who James is or what he did.

He turns around pretending to admire the garden view through the living room window. "It's not too bad. My mother's far too busy running the local coffee shop and I'm at court or the office all day so we don't cross paths too often."

Harry comes to stand next to him. From the corner of his eye he can tell that the younger man is gazing up at him longingly. He needs a new diversion.

"Now how's that coffee you promised me coming along?" he asks, raising his brow at Harry. "I'm gasping."

"Oh, right. Coming right up, Nightingale," Harry chuckles. His hand strokes down James's arm before he turns and leaves for the kitchen.

The sparks that fly through him from Harry's touch makes his heart race. He missed him so terribly. Having Harry touch him again is overwhelming. Every second they're together he has to fight not to pull his former boyfriend to his chest and wrap his arms around him and cry. He wants nothing more than to sink his nose into Harry's neck, to smell him again. To kiss a path from his neck to his lips and taste him again. To feel the press of those perfectly shaped full pink lips until the end of time.

5. James/Harry - Reverse cheating AU (Assignation)

“Funny how your mouth says one thing but your face tells me something else,” Harry says. 

He's never been cornered like this before. “You’re dreaming.”

“Yeah, about you.” 

The reply comes instantly and makes him break out in an exasperated yet flattered laugh. There's no end to Harry's comebacks and he can’t help but smile. The worst part is how thrilling he finds it, how much he enjoys it and how much it turns him on when he knows he shouldn't. He can't. He is not his father.

“I like your smile,” Harry says softly, seductively dragging his hand along James's lapel. One step closer and that naked body will be completely pressed up against him.

“Enjoy it. It doesn’t happen very often.” He still can't find the power to move, to leave before he does something stupid. Is this the man he really wants to be? A man who cheats?

“I’ve noticed." Harry tilts his head and smiles crookedly, looking up through his long lashes. It's unbearable. Now both hands are holding on to James's lapels and the young man swings slightly from side to side as he's standing in front of him. "So why don’t ya let me make ya smile tonight? I promise I’ll blow your mind… among other things.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows and James feels his resolve is about to break. But he's not a man who cheats. 'Not yet', the annoying voice in the back of his head reminds him.

#jarry #james nightingale #harry thompson #hollyoaks #james x harry #jarry fanfics #*jarryfanfics #*fanfics #mine #Im still editing the plus one epilouge! #quite sad that none of these are near finished so can't post any yet :/

[micaelabrody]

transcription below:

    Favorite child of mine     now free and yet     not free of my blood;     moss-surface of the breeze;     soft spray to the rains of spring,     coral island rising through my tears     and hours felled by pain…

In this city of my poem there is no gull nor sea, nor dawn deft and graceful as the greyhound, no flower, no star of snow and jasmine; the city of your dream cannot be here in my poem; instead, here is the tear of some sonless mother, some suburb full of howling dogs and industry, some tiny plazas and depths like wounds and oil and grease-stains of suffering. Here the needled mandibles of maddened spiders; here hunger and the sonorous mist sound together like the shriek of gears and armatures, sound like the shriek of your murdered father in the silence of the solitary door and lonely window, the bridles garden, the childless school, the doll sprawled over the rubbish heap, lying among the worn-out shoe and the still-warm china plate. Here the cold loudspeakers of fear and solemn bells, the cement: here everything meant for life and met with death but freedom is not here, nor song, nor river, not half a wind with its lark-like heart and its inner storm; but there is one flower here, though torn in blood and fermented in smoke and the calcium dust of a worker’s bones:     You, child of my bones,     child of my pulsing blood.

Numerous and naked the city of my poem is here an underbrush of tortured eyes and shipwrecked hair; city of rancor and mask of death, of rifle, plane and man, with its river loosed from his veins and bright roses growing out of the brains of some dead farmer weeping in the wheat or crying in a star, and bread is here and milk and air and a dream that gave you birth, joyous and painful as all these other dreams like daisies scattered on the sky.     Oh, bright daughter of my dream,     flower of such sky and brain…

Beside the crime you raise a river and a city and when this is done you make yourself known on a day made of petals; you are all color, green like the earth, brown and blonde and red, light and dark like the wounded earth; and the gull is there with you, the nightingale and moss, hope, not in my poem, is there with you and my grim anguished comrades are with you, the dawn, the city and the star; with you the water and a river that will never be still…     Oh, little girl,     made of my blood where horizons meet!

José Portogalo (Argentina) tr. Lloyd Mallan

#poetry #josé portogalo

[chromium-siren]

Nightingale (Part 4)

(A/N: After writer’s block, I can finally continue the story! Yaaaay! Also, a big thank you to @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls for helping me with ways to continue the story!) 

TW: bomb threat.

PHASMA 

Brendol’s visit brought us some reassurance, but of course, we didn’t know who to trust. What if Brendol was still working for Vader? No, that probably wouldn’t be reasonable, especially since I literally just met him today. Nonetheless, Hux and I waited for that Tuesday Brendol said he would arrive with the equipment. 

The days seemed to inch by, almost as if some higher power was intent on tormenting me- a fact made obvious by the nightmares I was beginning to have about Vader. He would loom above me holding a machete, a sadistic grin twisted on his face, or I would watch him set fire to Nightingale packed to the gills with patrons. Just as soon as he was about to push me into the flames, I woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of my alarm and Pudge’s concerned meows. 

“It’s okay, Pudgelet, Maman had a nightmare,” I cooed, gently petting him as I looked at my phone lockscreen. It was a picture I took of Hux, one of him in deep thought with his sax across his lap- until I took note of the day. Tuesday. It was here. Brendol was supposed to meet us at the club to set up the cameras at around four, which meant there was just enough time for me to prepare everything (mainly my costume) for Friday’s ball. Immediately, I slid my finger across the lockscreen and texted Hux. 

[txt]: today’s the day brendol comes 

[txt- Armie]: four o’clock, right? 

[txt]: yes. set up and everything, maybe a tech rehearsal 

[txt]: is your costume ready?

[txt-Armie]: working on it. making white tie look like a mess is tough. 

[txt- Armie]: also, fake blood and saxophones don’t mix. I think I ruined a mouthpiece. 

[txt]: ditch the blood or put it somewhere else?

[txt-Armie]: probably. see you, love. 

[txt]: xoxo 

Sighing contently, I made my way downstairs to have breakfast, feeling the satisfaction that we might as well be getting our revenge on Vader soon enough. Or so I hoped...

HUX 

Life at the law firm went on as usual- meetings, marking sheet music, Krennic looking like his usual shifty self. Hold up- Krennic being shifty? This was new, even for me. Hesitantly, I stood outside his office door, expecting to hear music- instead, I heard a frantic phone conversation. 

“It’s at seven p.m., but we can afford to be fashionably late. Yes, Nightingale. I have all the information, I picked it up a while ago. Do I have to come in- oh, fine, it is a Halloween Ball anyway. I figure I’ll wear the cape. Yes, I’ll see you then. Thank you.” The phone hung up and I heard footsteps. Immediately assuming the worst, I tried to get away as soon as possible. Almost luckily, Krennic made his way out of his office in the opposite direction. But I was still so nervous, that when my phone vibrated, I almost yelped in shock. Looking down, I noticed it was my dad. Thank the Maker. 

[txt- Brendol]: Just checked into my hotel, will be at Nightingale at four. Athena reminded the staff ahead of time. 

[txt]: Thank you, dad. See you then. 

I put my phone away, but not before reminding myself about the meeting at four. 

“Adelaide?”

“Yes, sir?” 

“I’ll be leaving a bit early today for, um... an appointment.” 

“Noted,” she said, typing away at her laptop. Obviously I couldn’t say what I was doing, otherwise someone would hear and get suspicious. At around three or so, I got out of my chair, shut down my computer, and made a beeline for my car. Within a few minutes or so, I was at Nightingale, facing my father. I noticed Kylo and Poe were there as well, they had explained that they were volunteering as wait staff to help catch Vader in the act.

"Okay, everyone, thank you for coming ahead of time. As some of you know, Nightingale is in trouble- Vader wants to take control of the club in the name of some Emperor," Brendol said. "We'll need to set up cameras throughout the club, because we'll have evidence to send Vader to jail. Sound good?" Everyone nodded and got straight to work setting up the cameras. For a while, I glanced at Finn, the staff supervisor and our maitre d', stealing a kiss with Rey, our tech person.

"Will you two be at the ball?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm letting Thannison have maitre d' duties so Rey and I can go on a proper date," he said before whispering in my ear. "I'm also hoping I'll propose to her, Maker willing."

"Good luck," I said, smiling at him as we both placed and set up cameras, making sure to keep them in inconspicuous places. But little did we know, we were being watched. 

PHASMA

After preparation, rehearsals, and all that jazz, the Halloween Ball finally came. Thursday's technical rehearsal went off without a hitch, and it was relieving to know the lights (and cameras) worked properly. As for me, I made sure my ghostly flapper costume looked fabulous- and it did. A white dress I found was tattered and stained with dirt and blood, with a high enough slit showing one of my garters- and the skeletal leg! At the center of my feather headband, instead of a jewel, there was a skull, and a strand of black pearls made for a fabulous lavaliere rather than the classic white pearls. But what I prided myself on was my makeup- I had made my face look pale, and painted my eyes and cheeks to look sunken in, and topped it off with a ruby red pout. 

The team was also ready for the evening, made obvious by their elaborate costumes- Rose wore an elaborate steampunk ball gown, Poe was dressed as a goth, Kylo wore hippie togs, Thannison wore an elegant pirate's costume, and Mitaka was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera. Now, I knew Hux and I looked good in our zombie Jazz Age couple costume, but Finn and Rey certainly took the cake. Rey's arms were wrapped in gauze, and a bejeweled white dress shimmered in the faint light. Next to her was Finn, a mighty pharaoh who commanded respect. Right next to Thannison was a skeleton toting a double bass, as well as Frankenstein's monster with a guitar. Along with a wolfman with a trumpet, an evil clown on trombone, and a ghost on drums, Hux introduced them to me as friends from a band back in his college days who would be accompanying us. I was glad to see everyone present, but I worried about Brendol. Why was he running late? Hux then took me aside, still looking handsome in his destroyed white tie and tails.

"My dad will be here in a minute or so, darling, so don't worry," he said, gently placing a kiss on my pale forehead. Like a miracle from God, Brendol's car pulled up to the curb and stopped. He emerged from the car with a bow, wearing an elegant baroque ensemble that would make him the envy of the Sun King or any other monarch.

"Forgive my lateness, but thank you all for arriving on time," he said with a nod. "Now, waitstaff," he said, turning to Rose, Poe, Kylo, and Thannison, "you are equipped with pens that can record conversations, which would come in handy when around anyone that seems suspicious. But remember, this is no easy task since everyone will be in costume."

"Understood," Rose said.

"Rey, you and Finn are our spies. Both of you have hidden microphones and cameras in your costumes, so as you mill around, you'll be taking pictures discreetly by touching the red gem on your collars." Both of them nodded. Brendol explained the rest of the plan to the staff as I made double adjustments to the cameras hidden within the plants. "Very well then, are we all prepared?" Brendol asked. Everyone nodded in agreement as we all got ready for the ball to begin. "Wonderful. I'll be helping tend bar ut needed. Best of luck, everyone," he said, as we all walked into Nightingale. All the staff (including Pudge, our resident mouse catcher) was equipped with cameras to see if anything suspicious was going on. Once the ball ends, we would probably be sifting through footage to see if anything of interest popped up.

I sat at my vanity, warming up my voice and putting on the last of my ghostly makeup when I heard a slight jingle and the sound of Hux's shoes tapping on the floor. The door then creaked gently open, and Hux appeared before me, his white tie and tails destroyed and covered in dirt and fake blood. His face was painted pale green and adorned with nasty looking scars, and a biohazard symbol was “etched” into his forehead. Hanging from his neck strap was an alto sax that looked like it had seen better days, the shine gone from Hux playing it so often. Despite that, I smiled sweetly at him. “You look dapper.”

"It's almost time," he told me, offering me his arm as Pudge nudged my leg, his black bowtie collar jingling merrily. I walked out onto the dark stage, the audience silent as corpses (ha, ha), waiting for what I had in store for them. I nodded at one of the backstage technicians, and he began to play a custom CD we had made for the beginning of the concert. With help from Hux's co-worker Kylo, we made a perfect voiceover welcoming out guests to the ball. Now an ominous voice boomed throughout the club, startling many of the patrons (I swore I even heard a few screams!). 

Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Gory Twenties. Blood flows like bootleg liquor, the jazz is hotter than Hell, and the dead walk the Earth once more. There is no escape from this possessed speakeasy- no one has survived to make it out and tell the tale! Keep your wits about you, otherwise you may be cursed to remain in this prison forever among restless flappers and murderous mafiosos! Like we said, there's no way out!

Psychotic laughter, followed by ghostly sounds played over the loudspeakers, along with clanking chains and cries of desperation. All was silent as a fog rolled across the stage. Then my disembodied voice rang out.

Those fingers in my hair/That sly come hither stare/That strips my conscience bare/Ooh, it's witchcraft...

The lights go up, and we are revealed with wild applause to the audience, creatures of the night welcoming our victims to an Art Deco bloodbath. I sang on, scanning the audience for some sign of Vader, but there was no gas mask in sight. During the bridge, I did my usual routine- flirt with Hux and anyone else in the audience, vocalize a little, and do a sultry dance in place. It was during this that Rose gave us a confirmed sighting.

"He's here. Do you see the mobster guy in the white cape?" she asked. I silently replied, making sure to step away from the microphone. "That's where Vader is sitting. I'll notify Brendol and the others ASAP. Tell Hux." I slid close to Hux, whispering in his ear about the bad news while Mitaka played a solo.

"Mafiosos, over at table twenty," I said, and then that was when I noticed his face turn pale as a sheet.

"Krennic."

"What?"

"The man in the white cape is Krennic. I know him, and I hate that bastard," he said angrily. "I have the great misfortune of him being my co-worker."

"Should Kylo investigate him?"

"I would think so, but he'll have to use a fine-toothed comb to go through it all." Mitaka cleared his throat at us, and that signaled me to start singing again, all the while shooting death glares at Krennic.

HUX

I was angry. Angry at myself for telling Krennic, angry at Krennic for having the gall to show up, and angry in general because I had an untrustworthy co-worker I had confided in who would probably betray me! Nonetheless, the police were called, and would be on their way to, eventually, remedy the situation. But for the time being, nobody did anything suspicious or out of the ordinary, and the performance went off without a hitch- the crowd loved it!

Despite our situation, we were having a good time and the patrons enjoyed themselves. The fun kept going when one of the other musicians handed Phasma his trombone. Knowing the direction this was taking, she smiled and laughed- as did I. 

“I only have experience with piano, ukulele, harp, and some percussion so I’d like to apologize for this trombone concerto,” she said with a joking smile. “Armie, will you accompany me and make this a duet?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Yes indeed, my love,” I announced, readying my alto sax with great ceremony. Both of us nodded at the drummer, who picked up a woodblock. The drummer began tapping out a light beat on the woodblock, keeping time. Phasma flashed a dainty smile, and raised the trombone to her lips. What followed was something that sounded like a Wookiee getting in a fight with a porg- I was the porg. From my spot, I could see that despite her lack of trombone experience, Phasma was having fun and getting into it. Inspired by her, I got into it as well, punctuating her notes with trills, awkward squawks, and glissandos, even adding an altissimo scream. I played the part of the stereotypical cool jazz musician, lifting my saxophone up, swinging it forwards and back, and swaying it from side to side with every crappy note we played. Phasma and I played our final sour notes, and the woodblock assumed the role of the metronome one last time. The audience applauded (either because it was funny or out of relief-maybe both) as I bowed and she curtsied, an angelic smile dancing on her face. She handed the trombone back to the original owner, a faint ring of lipstick on the mouthpiece.

“And for my next performance, I will attempt to play Armie’s sax,” she said jokingly, as I dramatically clutched the alto to my chest.

“Oh no you won’t!” I joked, and she laughed in response.

“Just kidding! I can't play it anyway," she replied, kissing my cheek gently. “Now we’re going to be a bit more serious for this number,” she said, lowering her voice an octave or so, perching on a bar stool. In her ruined white flapper dress, crystals and sequins glittering, she looked like a dove, but also like an angel. None of the other musicians played as I closed my eyes and played a slow, yearning (and in tune) melody. Like she tended to do during these sensual numbers, she closed her eyes and did a breathy hum before beginning the lyrics. The others joined in as I played a sensual phrase just as soon as she lifted her eyes and sang.

“The moon was all aglow, and heaven was in your eyes/The night that you told me/Those little white lies…” Just then, she stopped short and let out an audible gasp of fear. Standing in the foyer of the bar, looming like monsters in a bad dream, the mafiosos stood, smirking. In a stark black pinstriped suit, Vader stepped forward, dark glasses making him look even more sinister than he was.

"Lovely ball you've put together, Miss Phasma," he intoned.

"You don't belong here, the police are on their way," Phasma hissed.

"Not anymore," Vader argued. "We've brought you a gift." Krennic stepped forward, holding one of the cameras, and proceeded to pour his expensive glass of champagne on it, dropping it to the floor. It sparked like crazy, and burst into flames as Brendol ran forward with a fire extinguisher.

"You won't get away, Vader!" Brendol hissed, as they laughed viciously.

"I believe we have, and for that, your deadline got shorter and shorter. You have until the first of December to scrape up that ransom money. We'll be watching," Vader said, but not without leaving a suspicious box on his table. Immediately, I whipped out my cell phone.

"I need the police."

PHASMA

With that, Vader left the club, along with his goons. I looked nervously at the box, which began to tick ominously, fearful for what might happen. Police sirens wailed, and a squad car as well as the bomb squad showed up just in time.

My mind immediately went to Vader and Krennic. how somehow, he must have known- or someone had tipped him off. Who could I trust? After all, Vader wasn’t just a threat to Nightingale, but to the town as well. And frankly, not knowing what his plans were scared me. Desperately, I looked at the anxious crowd, my eyes meeting Brendol’s. I thought I was being paranoid when I assumed that Vader might have placed something like a bomb in the club, but the box confirmed my fears. In the best interest of the patrons (and because one of the police officers advised me to do so), I decided they would have to evacuate for their own safety.

“Ladies and gentlemen, due to safety reasons, we’ll have to end the celebration earlier than we expected.” I awaited the boos and demand for refunds, but no one said a word. Sure, there were a few groans of disappointment, but those were halted by firm words.

“Last call for drinks!” Thannison said, getting into his role of a Caribbean pirate, and a steady stream of people made their way to the bar, hoping to get in a last drink order before the fun would have to end. Immediately, I had an idea. I whispered something to Mitaka, and he played a longing piano line. The bassist and drummer picked up the tune, and Hux played a wistful tenor moan. Bowing my head and closing my eyes, I took a breath and sang into the microphone.

“I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places…” The party atmosphere slowly dissipated, thanks in part to Vader’s surprise appearance, and all that remained was a somber mood. It seemed more like a funeral than a Halloween celebration. I heard the sound of someone sniffling and holding back tears, and noticed that my own eyes were starting to mist and tear up. My voice quivered as I continued to sing the melody, making the song sound even more melancholy than it was. At the end of the verse, I composed myself as Hux and Mitaka took a solo. Pudge knew I was sad, and ended his mouse catcher duties to rub up against me and comfort me. The rest of the musicians fell silent as they were evacuated, leaving me singing as I made my way out of the club, makeup ruined by my tears- but I didn't care. Just as I sang the last note, the police came running out, the suspicious package being revealed to be a smoke bomb which was recently defused.

Patrons milled about outside, confused and desperate for answers. One of the police men handed me a megaphone, and I began to confess everything to the patrons.

"Ladies and gentlemen... Nightingale is in danger. Vader is demanding five hundred thousand dollars by the start of December, and if we don't make it," my voice began to quaver, "Nightingale will be no more." More murmurs resounded through the crowd, and I handed the megaphone to Brendol.

"But... we'll find some sort of way to catch Vader in the act and get the club back. Mark my words, it will be done!" he said, to the cheers of the patrons. Someone took up the chant of "Save Nightingale!" and the crowd roared the chant in unison. It was a powerful scene, one that empowered me- and sent the wheels turning in my head for a plan. If we were going to get Vader out of the way and Nightingale back, then we might as well have to do an old-fashioned heist. Because Vader should have known better than to cross paths with me.

#nightingale #my writing

[china-hifi-audio]

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[bigjoe11]

Focal Aria K2 936 loudspeaker $5990 Review

Focal Aria K2 936 loudspeaker $5990 Review

https://www.stereophile.com/content/focal-aria-k2-936-loudspeaker It is, as well, a speaker of paradoxes. Like those mighty Grand Utopias that sang like nightingales at that Montreal audio show, the K2 936 combines qualities that would seem to work against each other, but here they work together: smooth and dynamic. Power with finesse. Rich and detailed; warm and transparent. The K2 936 played…

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[gryz]

luna!

(ie playlist plz 🥺👉👈)

here you go 😄

l - loudspeaker by muna

u - unstoppable by lianne la havas

n - nightingale by low

a - all that i really wanted (hope version) by manchester orchestra

send me your name and i will make a playlist out of the letters!

#asks #davidkrejcisguccipurse

[biofunmy]

To Reduce Hospital Noise, Researchers Create Alarms That Whistle and Sing

In 2012, Yoko Sen was in an emergency room, tethered to a machine bleating relentlessly in her ear.

She was “freaked out,” she said, and felt helpless.

When a nurse returned to the room, Ms. Sen asked if it was O.K. the device was screaming.

“Yeah, this thing just beeps,” she recalled the nurse saying.

Ms. Sen, an electronic musician, was stunned. How could something “so loud and so jarring” be considered normal?

“The fear of not knowing amplified the feeling of anxiety,” she said.

And how, she wondered, could clinicians withstand the clangor?

As she lay there, she said, a cardiac monitor rang out in a tone close to the musical note of C, clashing with a distant device wailing in a high-pitched F sharp, creating what’s called the devil’s interval, a dissonance so chilling that medieval churches forbade it.

Hospitals today can be sonic hellscapes, which studies have shown regularly exceed levels set by the World Health Organization: droning IV pumps, ding-donging nurse call buttons, voices crackling on loudspeakers, ringing telephones, beeping elevators, buzzing ID scanners, clattering carts, coughing, screaming, vomiting.

Then there are the alarms. A single patient might trigger hundreds each day, challenging caregivers to figure out which machine is beeping, and what is wrong with the patient, if anything. (Studies have shown that as many as 99 percent of alarms are false.)

The proliferation of pinging and bleeping can contribute to patient delirium and staff burnout. And because caregivers know that many devices are crying wolf, they might be less responsive or apathetic, a potentially fatal safety issue known as alarm fatigue.

From 2005 to 2008, more than 500 patients in the United States had adverse outcomes, mostly death, because an alarm was ignored, or a device was silenced or mismanaged in some way, according to the Food and Drug Administration, which tracks adverse events involving medical devices.

‘The cruelest absence of care’

“You don’t need to have alarms scream at you,” said Judy Edworthy, a professor of applied psychology at the University of Plymouth, in Britain.

But, she said, “people take a lot of convincing” that alarms don’t need to be so startling.

For device manufacturers, sound is often an afterthought in the design, Dr. Edworthy said, and they are worried about being sued if a machine had failed to cry out.

So, without an enforceable, universal standard, alarms have run riot.

They are also using sounds based on an outdated set of international safety standards, which have, paradoxically, perpetuated the din.

Dr. Edworthy, who has been called the godmother of alarms, is leading a passionate group of specialists, including Ms. Sen, who now works with device manufacturers and hospitals to incorporate the needs of patients and clinicians, and Elif Ozcan, who leads the Critical Alarms Lab in the Netherlands.

Together, this group is developing tones that replace the anodyne blare of the current alarms with signals that mimic electronic dance music or a heartbeat.

They are working to make alarms quieter, combining audible alarms with visual cues like interactive screens that look like paintings, and working to develop a new standard that is likely to go into effect early next year.

“Unnecessary noise is the cruelest absence of care,” Ms. Sen said to a room full of medical professionals at a conference last year about end-of-life management. The words came from the mother of modern nursing, Florence Nightingale, who worked in the Crimean War in the 19th century.

An international standard that perpetuates the din

Deep in the rule book for safety and performance of medical devices is IEC 60601-1-8, which sets the standards for medical device alarm sounds. The particulars of the code were hashed out over many years by a joint working group, assembled by the International Electrotechnical Commission, a nonprofit based in Switzerland that publishes guidelines for electronic and technical equipment used by hospitals.

Among other specifications, the standard sets forth tones for six critical functions: cardiovascular, drug administration, ventilation, oxygen, temperature and artificial perfusion (the flow of blood and oxygen), also known as “the six ways people die.”

At one point, the popular melody “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” was floated as a possible signal for cardiac problems, but ultimately, it did not make the cut.

“The songs are not supposed to be the Billboard top 100,” said Dr. Frank Block Jr., an anesthesiologist and musician, who was on the committee that passed the 2006 standard that is still largely in place.

Among the tones that were approved was a tune reminiscent of the old NBC chime, meant to mimic rising and falling lungs, Dr. Block said.

And the sound for mechanical blood flow and oxygenation was modeled after the “yo-EE-oh” of the Witch’s guards from “The Wizard of Oz,” a musical tritone known as the devil’s interval.

The sound for drug infusions was intended to mimic drops falling and “splashing” up, represented by a jazz chord called an inverted ninth.

But each ditty has the same rhythm and the same number of pulses, making them difficult to tell apart and difficult to learn. And they were never tested. Dr. Block later issued a public apology on behalf of the committee for approving the sounds.

“We did the best we could,” he said recently, “but the sounds were basically terrible.”

Now, Dr. Edworthy is spearheading the creation of a “revolutionary” set of tones, Dr. Block said.

Audio technology has changed drastically since the eight tones were created, said Dr. Edworthy, who has created sonic alerts for nuclear plants and train systems.

“It’s now possible to produce pretty much any sound you want from a medical device,” she said. “Of course, that’s a new set of problems.”

The proposed sounds, called auditory icons, are representative of their functions, like the crumpling paper sound that your computer makes when you throw files in the trash. In this case, the sounds represent critical organ functions and imitate the lub-dub sound of a heartbeat, or a rattling pill bottle for a drug infusion, or a whistling teakettle for temperature.

“We’ve amassed a load of data demonstrating that these sounds work very well,” said Dr. Edworthy, who is collaborating with other researchers, including Dr. Joseph Schlesinger, an associate professor at Vanderbilt University, to test how quickly clinicians are able to learn and respond to the sounds, how easily they can be identified, and how loud they need to be.

She has presented her findings to the current committee, which has been described as a “United Nations of medical sound,” and includes representatives from medical device companies and from countries with differing philosophical and cultural perspectives on alarms.

“You’re asking people to make changes that are going to cost millions of dollars, and some just don’t want to,” she added.

That said, the strength of the standard varies between countries, which can adopt all, parts or none of the written guidelines. In the United States, Dr. Block said, the Food and Drug Administration usually follows the standards, but it may add further requirements.

But the bottom line is that no device manufacturer wants a dead patient tethered to one of its machines.

Dr. Edworthy said she was confident that the new sounds would be adopted, provided politics don’t get in the way.

Alarms that do more than beep

At the Critical Alarms Lab, Dr. Ozcan recorded rattling pill bottles and running water to effect Dr. Edworthy’s concepts.

Dr. Ozcan, who has had practice translating vast quantities of data into audio cues for the European Space Agency’s mission control dashboards, said her group at the lab was developing devices to hush the intensive care unit, which can be louder than a vacuum cleaner, and challenging conventional device design, possibly even making alarms “beautiful,” she said.

One of her group’s projects, called CareTunes, is a speculative, even quixotic, melodic design.

The device transcribes a patient’s physiological condition into songs that sound a bit like chill electronic dance music. (Ms. Sen was an artistic adviser to the project.)

The melody is derived from a patient’s vital signs: drums for the heartbeat, guitar for oxygen saturation and piano for blood pressure. When a patient is stable, the tune is harmonious, but it becomes dissonant when a patient’s status changes for the worse, ideally grabbing a caregiver’s attention.

The device would not replace a “code blue,” Dr. Ozcan said, but it could potentially reduce the number of beeps, as caregivers would be alerted that a patient was veering into a danger zone before an alarm is triggered.

The challenge, said Dr. Ozcan, is balancing the needs of patients and clinicians, who would have to learn and integrate new devices into their work flow.

Dr. Ozcan said she was hopeful that the research done at her lab could be applied in other settings, such as air traffic control rooms, or would be relevant for research on how sound influences health in general, especially in work environments.

“We owe it to the community and health care,” she said.

Yoko Sen has since recovered from her illness, but the bleating monitors are still “the soundtrack of my life,” she said.

Through her start-up Sen Sound based in Washington, she has collaborated with medical device engineers to create new tones for home heart monitors, and with interior designers to build a so-called tranquillity room, where clinicians can relax, making them less likely to slam doors or talk loudly.

During a person’s last moments, her eyes might be closed, his nose covered by a ventilator, her food ingested by tube. Unless someone is holding her hand, she might feel nothing.

“For patients who die in the I.C.U., that sound of the alarm might be last sound they hear,” she said.

As part of a project with OpenIdeo, Ms. Sen interviewed hundreds of people about the last sound they would want to hear during their final moments.

Many people said they wanted to hear sounds from nature, like the ocean, or voices of family members.

No one, she said, mentioned bleating alarms.

Sahred From Source link Health

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[audiophilepure-blog]

Aerial Model 5T Loudspeaker $3795 Review Read here "Low-level resolution was also very good. During Harry Connick, Jr’s rendition of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square”—a tasteful, intimate track for voice, sax, and bass—the textures were velvet, relaxed, and forgiving.