#Jay got his lip scar from the operator as a kid

[solazu1]

i can finally focus on my au’s and school now that all my shows are overrrrr yay!! Anyway here’s a swap Au I made that I really like, It’s named wooden beetles :3

Feel free to yk.. give me asks about the Au… maybe… me thinks…I will lore and infodump gladly..

[sprucedarkstache]

You got any trans Damien and or trans Yancy headcanons?

Boy, do I have headcanons???

(Tysm for the ask sorry this took me so long)

Damien

I used to heavily headcanon him as trans, not so much anymore but.

I had this old post that (jokingly but also not) both Celine and Damien were trans and just ended up swapping identities.

I believe that Damien would feel emasculated simply by being around his other male colleagues.

Since it’s the 1920s, a lot of men don’t wear facial hair and keep their face quite clean (aside from a nice handlebar above the lip), which gives Damien an excuse to not have facial hair at all

It also makes his clean reputation very attractive to all the ladies in town

All in all, he feels very empowered when he becomes Dark, who (in my headcanon) can shape himself however he sees, giving Damien the liberty to make himself as big buff masculine.

But also, in my headcanon, Damien and Dark are two separate spirits, so this leaves some times where Dark has taken a more feminine form that day, it catches Damien off guard when he’s in control and leaves him dysphoric.

Yancy

TW// mentions of mvrd3r and transph0bia

Yancy I feel more strongly about. He is trans. 100%

My entire interpretation is that him being trans the reason he murdered his parents (paraphrasing)

Essentially, Yancy got incredibly bullied in the small town he lived in, and it only got worst as his best friend Jay ran off to become a geologist (iykyk)

Eventually it got to a point where he couldn’t take it anymore, and when he got home one night after rehearsal, he ran to his room for an hour, and went downstairs, had a screaming fit at his parents from built up anger and sh0t them when they tried to soothe him.

Thing is, there was a sudden surge of acceptance from his fellow prisoners when he arrived at Happy Trails

Despite being surrounded by big burly tough men, he was treated as the head of the pack essentially.

I don’t know if it’s a thing that prisoners can get operations while in prison but since this is the MarkCU lets say at Happy Trails they can.

Yancy has some badass top surgery scars, which he has tattoos around for decoration

Going back to his childhood, there were a lot of “transmasc theater kid” things he did

(What im not projecting nooo)

For instance, he would exclusively play the male parts when he sang songs from his favorite musicals (specifically “Maria” from West Side and “Johanna” from Sweeney Todd”)

He would do a lot of one man plays on the school playground sometimes, and clearly wouldn’t like singing the female parts

It’s also in my headcanon that he’s (in this current year) 29, which would make him a teen between 2007-2013. Definitely believe he had a quirky transmasc ukulele phase.

Not theater kid related but when he was little, he was definitely the “girl who always offered to pick up chairs when a teacher asked for a strong boy to help” type transmasc

Back to prison

When he first got into prison, he used binding tape for so long until he was literally wheezing any time he ran so the warden was like “look son let’s just get you top surgery and that’ll do it.”

Absolutely made a joke about giving himself top surgery with a shiv he found

Warden was not too happy abut that

Another defying the logic of reality thing, but after he got top surgery, he gifted his chest to Tiny who is transfem

Now that he’s out of prison, he bought a lot of greaser-type manly man things to fuel his euphoria (a motorcycle, smoking a lot more, a lot more piercings)

He also returns to his hometown every now and then to spite the locals and steal their wives.

He’s just such a bad boy >:) /j

[writingblock101]

White Flag (Jason Todd x Reader)

I’ve never written for DC before, but I’m a big fan of the Robins, especially Red Hood and Nightwing. This is long, so I broke it into two parts. The title comes from White Flag by Bishop Briggs. Rough sex is cool and all but you know what else is cool? Laughing during sex. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. 

Summary: One night, while staking out the Joker who’s making moves in Gotham, you get captured. 

Word count: 5,000 

Warnings: Unprotected sex, violence 

There are defining moments in one’s life: falling in love, getting married, graduating from college, having a child, but unfortunately, they aren’t always happy memories. You experienced your first defining moment when your brother was murdered. 

Gotham was an infamously dangerous city, crawling with thugs, thieves, and criminals. Murders, rapes, and bombings were a common staple on the news, but despite the well-known danger, no one ever expects them or a loved one to be the next victim. 

As you stood over the grave of your beloved older brother, your parents made plans to leave this forsaken, wretched city, but you knew you couldn’t leave. This city owned a piece of your soul and buried it six feet underground in a coffin. You stared at your brother's headstone and made a silent promise: You would do everything in your power to prevent this tragedy from happening to anyone else. 

Your parents left years ago, but you stayed and finished your college degree. In the wake of your brother’s death and your parents' departure, you withdrew from everyone. Your world paused, stuck in one spot while the rest of the world, the real world, continued to move. Your friends graduated, your parents left Gotham, and your brother’s body decomposed in a pine box six feet under, leaving you as an empty husk of a person. 

Then you discovered your powers. 

Ironically, in one of your lowest moments, you discovered your ability to emit a blinding light from your whole body. The initial discovery was an accident that left you temporarily blind for two days, but then you learned control and slowly began to crawl your way out of the six-foot hole you dug yourself into. 

You took fighting classes, graduated from college, and bought a gun. You had watched your life pass by for two years where you played an inactive role and passively watched murders, robberies, and rapes continue to plague the news, but now, you had a promise to keep. 

The Lightning Strike was born. 

Although the Lightning Strike filled your life with new purpose, it didn’t chase away your demons, but things got better after you met Jason. 

You’d just finished loading your car with groceries and was going to return your cart when a thug snuck up behind you and held a knife to your throat. 

“Give me your money, lady!” The man demanded. 

You sighed with an eye roll but raised your hands in surrender. I should’ve just waited to go grocery shopping until the morning. 

You grabbed his wrist, yanking the knife down and away from your throat, then stepped backwards and flung the thug over your shoulder. He slammed against the ground with a grunt then you pulled out your handgun, pointing it in the man’s face. His eyes widened at the sight of the gun and he froze in place. 

“Fuck off,” You growled. 

The thug nodded frantically and stumbled to his feet then sprinted away in the opposite direction. 

“Well,” A voice interrupted. “I was going to offer to help, but you don’t seem like the damsel in distress type.”

You turned to see a handsome man smirking at you with dark hair, deep blue eyes, and tall broad shoulders wearing a worn leather jacket. You chuckled, clicking the safety on your gun. 

“I always hated those stories as a kid, besides, there’s no such thing as damsels in distress in Gotham, only dead bodies.” 

The man raised his eyebrows. 

“You’re not wrong. It’s always nice to see when someone fights back.” 

“I can’t let Batman have all the fun.” 

He chuckled. 

“That would certainly be a crime. I would hate for that Glock to get dusty.” 

You raised your eyebrows, impressed. 

“You a gun guy?” 

He shrugs. 

“I know my way around. What’s a pretty girl like you doing out late in Gotham?” 

You glanced over at the grocery store with a smirk. 

“Oh you know, doing what anybody else would be doing at a grocery store… Hunting for elephants.” 

The man laughed with a shake of his head. 

“I guess I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?” 

You shrugged with a smile. 

“A little bit, but you’re cute enough that I can let it slide.” 

His eyebrows shot up at the compliment and another confident smirk crosses his face. 

“Yeah? Well, I am cute enough to get your number?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t usually give my number to random strangers in grocery store parking lots,” You trailed off with a coy smile. 

“Stranger danger,” He agreed then held out his hand. “My name is Jason.”

“I’m Y/N,” You introduced, shaking his hand. 

“Well, Y/N, now that we aren’t strangers, how about that number?” 

You tossed your head back laughing, a blush crossing your face. 

“Sure, Jason.” 

Giving Jason your number was one of the best decisions you ever made. While your relationship isn’t perfect, you make it work. Jason helped you reform who you once were and you taught Jason he is worthy of love. It seemed almost like fate when you two discovered both of your shared “hobby”.

For a long time, you did the vigilante thing by yourself, then a close friend, Mia offered to join the operation as a second set of eyes from behind a computer screen. While the addition of Mia was nice, having Red Hood as an extra layer of protection set your mind at ease. Despite handling crime in Gotham with different methods, the other is always there to help in a pinch. 

. . .

You wake up on Jason’s chest, morning light filtering through your curtains. You lift your head to check the time (9:45 am), then sighed and lay back on Jason’s chest. He shifts, his arm curling tighter around your back. Your thoughts drift to your mental list of errands to complete before either of you patrol tonight. 

We definitely need more groceries, I’ve got to drop my mom’s birthday present off at the post office, and I need to pick up my dress and Jason’s suit from the dry cleaners… Maybe Jason can do that and drop the package off for me then I’ll get groceries. Ugh, our apartment is a wreck, we need to clean. 

Jason’s arm flexes, pulling you closer to him as he takes a deep breath then opens his eyes with a groan. He looks down to see you lying awake on his chest and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Good morning,” You smile, tracing your fingers across Jason’s autopsy scar. 

“Good morning,” He whispers back in his hoarse morning voice. 

Jason catches your hand tracing across his scar and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“How long have you been up?” He asks, linking your fingers together and running his other hand up your spine. 

“Not long, I was just thinking about what we need to do before going on patrol tonight.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, trailing his hand under your shirt and kissing the top of your head. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly. 

“Is that my shirt?” Jason asks. 

“Maybe,” You tease. 

“Hm, looks good on you,” He whispers, and leans in for a long kiss. 

You kiss back then Jason releases your hand to run his calloused hands up your thighs, pulling your body flush against his. You run your hands down his chest, your thumbs pressing into his pecks then one hand slides down his body and begins rubbing his morning wood, trapped in his boxers. 

Jason groans into your mouth, his grip on your thighs tightening and his hips pressing into your hand. You smirk through the kiss then feels Jason’s tongue running along your lower lip. You open your mouth, deepening the kiss then Jason pulls you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. His hands slip under your shirt, following the curves of your sides before finding your breasts and gently kneading them. 

You pull your head back, your eyes closing with bliss and a soft sigh falls from your lips as Jason continues to rub your breasts, his fingers playing with your nipples. He uses one hand to guide your neck to his mouth and begins sucking a hickey on your soft skin. You sigh again, tangling your fingers into Jason’s thick hair and grinding your hips down on Jason. 

He smirks against your neck, and slides his hands down to your hips, guiding your thrusts, breathy sighs falling from both your lips. You push back against him hard, the head of Jason’s dick brushing against your clit through the fabric of his boxers. 

You sit up, bracing your hands on his chest and press against Jason harder. He groans, running his hands up your muscular thighs. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He asks. 

You smile with a light blush, continuing to push down on Jason. Jason drags your hips against him, adding his own thrusts. One particularly hard thrust causes your body to jolt and you let out a breathy moan. 

“Oh, Jay,” You breathe out. 

He grins in satisfaction, pulling you down for a kiss. 

“Absolutely gorgeous,” He mutters against your lips. 

You giggle, kissing him deeply. 

“Thank you, handsome.” 

Jason’s eyebrows rise as a cocky smirk graces his features and you sit up again, continuing to roll your hips. 

“Handsome, huh?” He asks, driving another hard thrust against you that causes both of your breaths to catch in your throats. 

“You-you heard me,” You sigh, your voice stuttering. 

“I don’t know about all that,” Jason trails off. 

“Well, I do” You hum, laying on top of him and pressing kisses down Jason’s jawline. “I think you’re gorgeous,” You press a kiss to a scar on his eyebrow, staring into his pretty dark blue eyes. 

“Thank you,” He whispers back, kissing you on the nose. “Let me up.” 

You roll off him for a moment, allowing Jason to sit up with his back against the headboard and push the covers down to his knees, revealing his boxers before pulling you back onto his lap. You cradle his face then presses a long kiss against his lips. Jason’s hands slip under your shirt again, stroking your sides and breasts then drags a hand down your body, his fingers finding your clit. 

You gasp into his mouth, bracing your hands on his shoulders and grinding against his hand as he rubbed small circles against the sensitive nub. Your hips twitch, pressing down hard against Jason who presses against you equally as hard. 

“Fuck, Jay,” You moan, tossing your head back. 

Jason takes the opportunity to suck another hickey onto your neck continuing to rub your clit then his hand slides down to your entrance, pushing a finger into you. He strokes your walls, just barely swirling his finger around. 

“Mm, so wet, who got you like that, baby?” Jason asks into your neck. 

“Some guy,” You smirk, sitting back to look Jason in the eye. “Really sexy.” 

“Really?” Jason hums then leans in and drags his teeth down your earlobe. “Tell me about him,” He whispers then sits back with a cocky smirk. 

“He’s got a jaw that could cut glass,” You run your finger down Jason’s sharp jaw. “And the body of a Greek god,” You press your hands against Jason’s chest. “The dark, brooding type, you know?” 

Jason chuckles kissing you. 

“You’re a dork,” He grins. 

“And you’re my angsty teenager,” You boop him on the nose. “Did I mention he’s got a stubborn streak a mile--” Jason crooks his finger inside you, rubbing your G-Spot causing you to choke on your words and gasp loudly. 

“What was that, princess?” Jason asks, kissing your jaw and adding another finger. 

You moan, digging your nails into his shoulders. 

“You seem to have choked on your words there,” He murmurs, speeding up his fingers. 

You moan again, your eyes squeezing shut before Jason slows his fingers and pulls out. 

“You’re an ass,” You breath, resting your forehead against his. 

“And your ass,” Jason slides his hands to the back of your thighs to squeeze your ass. “Is spectacular.” 

You grin. 

“Must be all the jumping off buildings,” Your hands find Jason’s muscular thighs. “It’s probably where you got these bad boys.” 

Jason chuckles. 

“You know, I never expected you to have a thing for my thighs,” He admits. 

“With thighs like these,” You squeeze his legs. “It’s hard not too.” 

Jason grins then kisses you again. 

“Sit up, baby,” He murmurs against your lips, helping pull you to your knees. 

You comply, sitting up on your knees long enough for Jason to pull his boxers off, freeing his erection. He squeezes your thighs again and gives you a long kiss as he guides you down. You slowly sink down him, both of you gasping once you reach the base. 

“Shit, baby,” He moans. “You feel amazing.” 

You pant for a moment then Jason pushes up into you, causing your eyes to fly open and dig your nails into Jason’s shoulders. Your mouth falls open as Jason does it again, staring you in the eye, the eye contact turning you on more. 

You push down on him, smirking when Jason’s mouth falls open, cursing quietly. He presses a searing kiss to your lips as he thrust into you again, you pushing down equally as hard. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” He groans, bitting your shoulder. 

You let out your own moan, bracing your hands on Jason’s shoulders and slowly bouncing. He pushes into you, the two of you working in slow tandem. One of Jason’s hands trails down your stomach, finding your clit again and rubbing slow circles on it. You curse, grinding down harder against Jason. Your hips jolt with each circle and your forehead rests against his shoulder as you continue grinding down against Jason. 

“God, baby, you feel so fucking good, so tight.” 

You lean back again, your movements getting shorter. Jason speeds up his fingers and thrust into you harder, knowing you’re getting close. 

“Ah, fuck, Jason,” You moan, your hips moving in their own accord. 

Then you pause, your nose itching. You stop, sinking all the way down on Jason again and pushes his hand away from your clit. Jason frowns. 

“You okay?” He asks, running his hands up your sides. 

You frown, your nose twitching and eyebrows furrowing. 

“This is going to be an interesting sensation,” You comment, feeling your face scrunching up. 

“What?” Jason asks then you sneeze into your elbow, causing your whole body to clench around Jason. “Holy shit!” He curses, digging his fingers into your sides. 

He pants for a moment, leaning his forehead to rest against your shoulder, his fingers still digging into your skin. 

“Sorry,” You giggle, running your fingers through Jason’s hair. 

He takes another breath, loosening his grip on you then chuckles and leans against the headboard. 

“Bless you, I guess.” 

You giggle. 

“Gotta say, that was a first,” You chuckle. 

“Me too,” Jason agrees. “Holy shit. I almost busted my load. How lame would that have been?” 

You grin, biting your lip. 

“You’re sexy enough that I think I could let it slide.” 

“Good to know my looks are good for something,” He rolls his eyes with a smile. 

You grin. 

“How’s that for keeping things interesting in the bedroom?” 

Jason throws his head back laughing, smacking a hand against his forehead. He straightens up, still grinning. 

“I don’t think there is anyone I could enjoy sex with more.” 

You lean in and kiss him, long and sensually. Jason slides his tongue into your mouth again, pulling your hips forward. You moan into his mouth, rolling your hips again. His fingers found your clit, rubbing it again and the two of you found your rhythm one more. 

Your kisses morphed into bumping teeth as you both grinned through your kisses then Jason catches your bottom lip, tugging on it playfully. He pulls your thighs up and thrusts into you at a new angle, brushing against you G-Spot causing your breath to hitch. 

“Fuck, right there,” You breath, digging your nails into the back of his neck. 

Jason complies, moving his lips to your neck, and thrusting at the same angle. You push down, feeling Jason’s fingers move faster on your clit as your organsm rapidly builds. 

“I’m close,” You say, gasping again. 

“Me too,” Jason groans against your neck. 

He pulls back from your neck and pulls you in for a long kiss. Your hips stutter and your back arches, pressing your chest to chest with Jason as his thrusts become sloppier. You gasp into Jason’s mouth then moan as you cum, your forehead against his. 

“Ah fuck, Jason,” You curl your fingers into Jason’s hair. 

He bites down on your shoulder and thrusts hard into you before cumming as well. He presses a weak kiss to your lips to which you reciprocate with an equally blissed-out kiss.  Jason pulls away from you, leaning his head back against the headboard as he pants, coming down from his organsm. You, also breathing heavily, lean forward and rest your head against Jason’s chest. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to your forehead before barely lifting you to let his rapidly softening dick slip out of you. 

You two lay against each other, Jason running his fingers through your hair while you trace Jason’s autopsy scar. He leans down and kisses you, then reaches for the covers, and pulls it over the two of you. You shift your legs to drape over one side of Jason’s legs, one of his hands resting on your thigh, the other wrapped around your back. He rests his chin on your head, occasionally pressing kisses to the top of your head. 

“I need to go grocery shopping,” You say. “Can you pick up our dry cleaning?” 

“Yeah,” Jason’s chest vibrates as he talks. “What about that present for your mom?” 

“Do you mind dropping that off at the post office for me?” 

“Does it have the address on it?” 

“Yeah, it’s good to go.” 

“Then consider it done,” He turns to his cheek on top of your head. “You patrolling tonight?” 

“Mhm,” You hum. 

“You still watching the Joker?” 

“Mhm,” You say again and feel Jason’s jaw tighten. 

You turn so your straddling Jason again and look him in the eye as his hands find your hips. 

“I’m not going after him tonight, just gathering intel,” You clarify. 

“Why bother? Let’s just take him down.” 

“I’m waiting to see if he’s working with anyone else.” 

“He doesn’t usually play well with others.” 

“Yeah, but since getting out, he hasn’t been making any noise which is weird because he always wants to make sure we’re the first to know he’s running around again. I’m making sure I’m not about to go in unprepared.” 

“Why don’t I go with you? Just in case.” 

“There’s no need,” You reassure him, running your fingers through his hair. “You’d just be wasting your time.” 

“I wouldn’t be wasting my time if it meant I knew you were safe,” He tightens his grip on your hips. 

“I’m not going after Joker tonight,” You slide your hands down to settle on Jason’s waist. 

“Not until I’m there with you,” Jason stares you down. “I’m serious, Y/N.” 

“I won’t,” You promise, brushing his hair out of his face. 

“Good, because I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you,” He pulls you into a tight hug, kissing the top of your head. 

“I’m going to be okay, Jay,” You tell him, kissing his ear. “I’m going to be careful, just like I always am,” You sit back, cradling his face. “Okay?” 

His hands come up, holding your wrists, and staring at you for a long moment. He finally sighs, giving in. 

“Okay. But if anything starts to go even slightly off-plan, you call me.” 

“I promise I will call you.” 

Despite your promise, Jason still looks unsure, but you know he will never be fully on board with your plan. It’s the Joker, he’s always extra cautious when it comes to that deranged clown. You lean in and kiss him sweetly. 

“I love you,” You smile. 

“I love you too,” Jason smiles back, giving you another kiss. 

“Come on, let’s go take a shower,” You say, swinging off Jason’s lap. 

He tosses his legs over the bed as you stand up then smacks your ass as you walk by. You jump then roll your eyes. 

“Come on horndog, we got shit to do,” You call over your shoulder.

. . .

After stopping a few muggings, car robberies, and preventing the rape of an extremely grateful teenage boy, you make your way to Joker’s warehouse. Once arriving at the warehouse, you scale the building to reach the long row of windows that run along the perimeter of the warehouse.

“M, you copy?” You double-check your comms. 

“Loud and clear,” Mia responds. “Any movement?” 

“Nothing I can see yet.”

Despite the lights being on, there appears to be no one inside, then the west side doors burst open and the Joker skips in, followed by two armed men dragging someone between them. 

“Shit,” You curse. “He’s got a hostage.” 

They drag the rather small hostage further into the room, but your breath catches in your throat once catching sight of the hostage’s face. 

“Fuck! It’s a kid!” 

“What?!” 

The little girl the two men are dragging can’t be any older than five. They toss her on a chair positioned in the middle of the room and tie off her hands and ankles, her head slumping forward. One of the men says something to the Joker that you don’t catch, but it causes the Joker to clap his hands together with delight and leave the room. 

“M, find me a way in,” You order, climbing to the roof. 

“Don’t you think you should call Red—” 

“I’m not going after Joker, I’m just grabbing the kid.” 

“But the Joker is in there! You know what he’ll do to you!” 

“Yeah, and I know what he’ll do to that kid the longer we argue!” 

“I don’t want you to get killed!” 

“I can handle myself!” You argue. “Geeze, you’re worse than Jason!” 

Mia sighs but you hear her typing in the background. 

“On the right corner of the roof, there’s a row of grates. The third one is the ventilation shaft that’ll take you directly to the room she’s in.” 

“Got it,” You confirm. 

“Be careful.” 

You jog over to the grates then lift the covering off the ventilation shaft before carefully lowering yourself down. 

At first, it’s a tight squeeze and awkward angle, but you manage to maneuver yourself into a crawling position and follow Mia’s directions to the main space of the warehouse. A few turns later and you are staring down at the top of the little girl’s head through another grate. The two armed men that brought the little girl in stand nearby on guard.

You lift the grate off the opening as quietly as possible then set it aside and reach for your gun in your thigh holster. You dig into one of your jacket pockets and pull out a silencer. The silencer won’t completely quiet the gun, but it’ll hopefully quiet it down enough to not alert the Joker. 

Once screwing the silencer on, you quickly shoot both men then gracefully swing down so you are dangling from the edge of the vent. You swing your legs then release and catch one of the iron support beams along the ceiling. You then fire your grappling hook and swing to the floor.

You rush to the little girl, squatting in front of her and cradling her face. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask, but the little girl doesn’t lookup. 

You frown, figuring she may be in shock, then use your other hand to lift the little girl’s head to check for injuries but your eyes widen at the maniacal grin on her face.

“Joker Toxin!” Mia yells in your ear.

“Shit!” You curse, as the little girl starts giggling and slowly stands up, seeming to have never been tied to the chair. 

You jump to your feet and yanked your Joker Toxin antidote out of your jacket. Once you started staking out the Joker, you were sure to stock up on the antidote, knowing it’s one of his deadliest weapons, but any plans to injected the little girl go flying out the door when she pulls her hands out from behind her back to reveal a large revolver and pulls the trigger. 

“Oh fuck!” You curse, diving out of the way of the shot. 

The little girl shoots again, but you dodge it again, your mind racing about how to disarm the little girl without hurting her. She tries to shoot again, but luckily for you, the little girl isn’t a good shot and misses, probably because she’s five. 

“This is so fucked up,” You mutter to yourself as you dodge another shot then rush forward and yanked the girl’s arm holding the gun into the air. 

She fires another shot at the ceiling, but you snatch the gun from her before she can shoot again. Now unarmed, the little girl giggles wildly then bites your arm. 

“Ow!” You yell, not used to your opponents trying to bite you. 

You nearly smack the girl but remember she’s five and instead yank your arm out from the little girl’s mouth and inject her with the antidote. The girl stumbles away for a moment, becoming disoriented from the antidote then a shot rings out, hitting the girl in the stomach. 

“No!” You yell, grabbing your own gun from its holster and shooting the armed man who just entered the room, but another man appears behind him and shoots, this time hitting the little girl in the head. 

The little girl hits the ground, blood leaking from her head as more men wearing tactical helmets flooding the room. You shoot one of them with your gun then try to fire the revolver, but it seems to be out of bullets, so you instead pistol whips the next closest man and toss the gun to the ground. You take a running jump and kick two men simultaneously in midair then emit a blinding light, attempting to blind the men, but their helmets seem to protect their eyes. 

You growl to yourself, shooting two men. One tries to tackle you, but you flip him over your shoulder and shoot him in the arm. Another tries running toward you but you jump up and drive a powerful kick to his collarbone, sending the man to the ground. 

“M!” You yell. “Find me a way out!” 

You throw four explosives that stick to four of the men then it blows up, taking out a few surrounding men with them. One man throws a strange gadget at you. You raise an arm to shield your face, but the gadget buzzes and pops then falls to the ground before hitting you. You lower your arm, confused by the gadget but then the comm in your ear starts to sizzle and pop. You yank it out of your ear and throw it to the ground, watching as it self destructs. 

“Son of a bitch,” You curse, searching for an exit yourself.

You spot a door that none of the men seem to be entering through on the opposite side of the room, of course. You roundhouse kick a man in the face then pull out your grappling hook, but before you can fire it, someone shoots your hand. 

You drop the hook in pain and use your other hand to shoot the man that shot you. You holster your handgun then fire your grappling hook with your opposite hand and swing to the other side of the room. Before you can open the door, it flies open, revealing two gigantic men. 

You grit your teeth and spring up to jump over the men but one of the men moves faster and catches you midair, holding you up by your neck then slams you into the wall. You claw his hand with your nails and kick your feet out, attempting to kick the man, but he’s too big. He tightens his grip on your neck, cutting off your airway. You cough but manage to get both your legs around his arm. Before you can finish the move, the other man slammed his elbow down on your knee.

You cry out, hearing a loud snap then the man slams you into the floor and pins your arms down under his heavy boots before you can grab your gun and begins repeatedly punching you in the face. Your head slammed against the floor repeatedly with more force each time then you hear a loud crack along with an explosion of pain along your nose after a particularly hard hit. You struggle under the man, attempting to free your arms, but he presses down harder, grinding your elbows into the floor. 

You emit another light, blinding the man, then bring your legs up to your chest and kick the man as hard as you can. He goes flying backward and you stumble to your feet, your head now ringing, your version blurry, and your knee throbbing. The other huge man dives at you but you easily duck under him, but you don’t duck in time for another person to tackle you to the ground. 

You try to free yourself again then your eyes widen when you look up to see the Joker had you pinned to the ground, holding a crowbar and grinning maniacally. He lifts the bar and you try to duck out of the way, but you’re pinned and the bar comes slamming down on your face. Your vision blurs again, your face burning, but the Joker swings again. You feel skin tear off your cheekbone, everything getting darker. It only takes one more hit for your world to go black.

We love a good cliff hanger, hope you enjoyed! I apologize for any grammtical errors, I originally wrote this with an OC but I think I changed everything. 

Part 2 will be posted tomorrow! Let me know if you would like to be tagged! 

Part 2

[spectralscathath]

In Another Perfect Life

Fair Game Week, Day 4: Soulmates/Birds

Everyone on Remnant has a leitmotif, a soul melody that they know from the moment they’re born. It was said that singing or humming your leitmotif causes it to play in your soulmate’s head. It was lucky to have a soulmate, some said. Someone who had a deep tie to you, beyond the limits of friendship and family and even romance, in some cases.

Qrow, since the universe saw the word ‘lucky’ and cackled maliciously, had no less than three damn soul melodies in his head, aside from his own.

He wanted to file a complaint.

Ao3 Link

Qrow heard Tyrian’s stupid fucking soulsong start up in the back of his head and viciously kicked the wall. Stupid fucking murder soulmate. Raven’s bitch ass tune he could deal with, she was his twin, even if she was a goddamn fucking harlot who fucked off and also tried to kill him. At least she almost never hummed her stupid melody.

Tyrian, though? Every. Fucking. Day.

It wasn’t until Qrow had heard Tyrian humming it under his breath as they tried to kill each other in Oniyuri that the creepily cool leitmotif had turned into a source of unending annoyance.

Apparently murder soulmates were definitely a thing, and Qrow was going to wring Tyrian’s neck until he never had to hear that damned tune in his head again.

It would be nice if Number Three could start doing their thing again. Qrow hadn’t heard that person do anything with their melody in a while.

Knowing his luck, Person Three would also try to kill him.

Tyrian started in again on another rendition of his stupid theme song and Qrow gritted his teeth, pursing his lips as he whistled his own melody to try drown out Callows, and maybe annoy him as well.

The next reprise of Tyrian’s soulsong sounded smug. Qrow was gonna rip off what was left of his tail and shove it so far up Tyrian’s arse the faunus would be tasting his own venom for weeks.

Screw it.

He stomped past the briefing room where everyone else was waiting, shoved open the nearest window, and jumped out without the slightest hesitation. If nothing else, he could at least try to clear his head with a flight.

Or, he thought as he shifted forms with a touch of magic, he could hunt down the maniacal bastard and pay him back for the poisoning.

His wings flapped in the cold breeze as he headed off, unfortunately missing Clover looking outside the briefing room with a confused-yet-hopeful grin.

------------

In the Xiao Long household, there was a bookshelf that was stacked with books that were all about animals. Lots of illustrated guides and glossaries. At least three were about bugs, Ruby had a fascination for creepy-crawlies as a kid, with another devoted specifically to the different species of arachnids. There was a book on dogs, birdwatcher guides to just about everywhere Qrow had visited when he’d had the lien to pick one up, a couple of others about wildlife in general, and then there was one that sat, not on the shelf, but on the coffee table.

The Illustrated Encyclopedia Of Remnant’s Corvids, by Dr Jay Jackdaw.  

A gift from Summer, once she and Tai had calmed down about the whole ‘turning into birds’ thing. She was such a brat.

He’d ended up reading it, cover-to-cover, just to make sure that nothing would surprise him about any possible side effects. Ozpin had said there wouldn’t be, but hey, turned out he was wrong.

Qrow didn’t know if it was his natural thief tendencies, honed from being raised as a bandit and a scavenger, or if it was bleed over from his corvid form, but he had a fascination with shiny trinkets. One look at a small treasure hoard stored in a box in Tai’s room gave that away.

But it wasn’t just his tendency to purloin new sparklies, it was all the other random stuff. The way he liked to mess around with people’s hair if he liked them, from messing up Ruby’s do to scruffing Tai’s mop with both hands, gentle carding of calloused fingers through Yang’s golden locks as he treated it with the same care that she did.

Even James got it, with playful flicks to that one piece of his hair that always fell over his face. Then there was the slightly weirder things that couldn’t be brushed off as normal quirkiness, like how he had a tendency to squawk when he got surprised in a sound that was way too similar to a caw.

There was the way his pupils pinned when emotional, which wasn’t technically a crow trait, it was a parrot thing. Tai, resident nerd, had brought that up with Ozpin and gotten a shrug and the answer of ‘it’s magic’. Summer had always liked how his hair fluffed out sometimes, like a bird’s feathers. Head cocks were fairly standard, and he couldn’t really complain about the other eccentricities either.

Not when the usefulness of his bird form far outweighed literally any downside.

It was a weird, nonsensical train of thought,stupid and really irrelevant to his current hunt, but thinking about bird facts and the effects they had on himself was still better then Tyrian’s fuckin-ass clown music. 

He hated that guy.

He broke out of his musings as he heard Number Three’s soulsong enter his head, clear as mud, the sound dimmed by his different form. He flapped his wings as he scanned for a good perch, landing on a streetlight as his talons clicked on the cold metal. He cocked his head, listening to the melody in his head.

It was a lot more jaunty and triumphant to Raven’s dirge and Tyrian’s whatever-the-fuck. He knew his own was able to be both victorious and melancholic at the same time, depending on how fast he strung the notes together in his head.

Number Three reminded him of an honest-to-gods sea shanty, sometimes. Made him think of rolling waves or still waters. Raven’s put him in mind of cold shadows and moonlight scattered by clouds, and Tyrian’s was fucking clown music or something stupid like that, fuck, Qrow hated that slimy bastard.

It was nice to hear Person Three was still around though.

Speaking of, it would be smartest to head back to Atlas. He’d missed whatever mission he was assigned for today, instead hunting down Tyrian himself from the skies. Nothing, not that he expected to spot the faunus when the sun was out. Tyrian was a predator, he’d probably stick to the natural advantage the darkness gave his faunus eyes.

Not only that, but people feared the night, as a whole. Night time was when people were vulnerable, when they slept, when they locked up their homes and tried to avoid the unsavoury types lurking out in the shadows.

Only two people worked at night, in Qrow’s opinion. Criminals and Huntsmen.

He flew in through his own window, always left open just in case, and landed in a crouch, straightening up and fixing his hair before he opened the door to a set of seafoam green eyes and a shiny clover pin.

Sometimes he really wanted to nick that pin, but he refrained. Personal trinkets to others were something he’d long since made off-limits to himself.

Still, this was a surprise. “Clover. Hey. What’s up?”

“You missed briefing,” Clover’s hands were folded behind his back, but there wasn’t accusation on his face. Rather, he looked pleased and like he was trying to hide it. “Any reason why?”

“Went looking for Tyrian.” There was a vibrant purple scar on his side that was going to be a permanent reminder of their first duel. “Didn’t find him.”

“You should be more careful, instead of going off alone. Our records show that he’s a very dangerous individual.” Clover’s hidden enthusiasm faded to concern.

Qrow shrugged it off. “Yeah, I know. He and I had a fight.”

“In Oniyuri? That’s what Ren, Nora and Ruby said after the rally.”

Qrow crossed his arms. “Bingo.” He should probably invite Clover into the shoebox that James had given him access to. Letting him stand in the doorway seemed weird. “You coming in?”

Clover blinked and recovered. “Oh- yeah, sure, of course.” He stepped in and waited for Qrow to give him the nod before sitting down. “You fought him and he apparently nearly killed you. Next time it would be best for you to bring back up.”

“We had a mutual aura break.” If Ruby had just stayed out of the way then he would have won, or at least taken the freak down with him. “I’ll get him next time.”

“I see. Well, next time, make sure you call it in so that-” there was a moment’s hesitation as Clover seemed to skip over whatever word he was about to say, before continuing smoothly like the break had never happened, “there can be back up ready to cover for you.” Clover looked him in the eye. “Alright?”

Qrow looked back, and realised that Clover was offering to be that back up. That he was asking Qrow to promise not to go in alone. Qrow’s mouth felt a little dry as he nodded, before deciding to not be a jerk and actually answer. “Yeah. Okay.”

Clover’s determined look softened a little as he smiled, laugh lines creasing in his face. They were similar to the crow’s feet that were forming at the creases of Qrow’s eyes, and they suited Clover, made him look steady. Steady was good, compared to Qrow’s life of unpredictability.

Qrow realised he was maybe staring a little bit when Clover quirked a brow curiously, his greying hair fluffing up as he dropped his eyes to his hands, fiddling with his rings and spinning one on his finger. “So. Anything else?”

“No, that’s everything.” Clover was still smiling, and Qrow had a mad thought of inviting him to stick around and hang out for the night.

He shook that off too. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea. “Cool. I’m gonna head out, check on the kids. See you at the briefing?”

Clover looked almost put out by that, but he smiled gracefully and stood, brushing off his uniform and flicking his pin. Weird. Qrow thought he only did that when he wanted to be extra lucky. Clover paid no heed to Qrow’s cocked head and raised brow as he spoke. “I’ll see you there. Enjoy your evening, Qrow.”

“You too, Shamrock.” He gave him a wave off as the ace operative walked by, hands folding behind his back as he stepped out. Qrow couldn’t help but watch him go, noticing a faint bounce to Clover’s steps before he heard the man humming something, the sound fading into the ambient noise as he left.

That was Soulmate Number Three’s tune.

Qrow grinned. Son of a bitch.

-----

I’m very excited for tomorrow. Thought you ought to know.

[anousiemay]

The Angel & The Devil Ch. 5 His Guardian Angel

Arriving in Mexico looking for Red Hood, Guardian attempts her first mission outside of Gotham. Running out of time, she must rush to help her estranged lover who is choking on his last breaths. Sihuanaba watches with a smile. The last chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed hehe, let me know if you’d like to see more of these two <3 - - - - Mèrida, Yucatán: 15 minutes earlier

Guardian dropped from the top of a spire connected to the Mèrida Cathedral. This was her first time operating out of Gotham and to say she was nervous was an understatement. Her long wings sprung from her back and caught her falling form, flapping up and down to cradle their owner into the dark sky above. The cathedral's external lights were now on and the few people walking by most definitely heard the gush of wind her wings created. Reading over the case file Jason had created showed that 16 children and 13 teenagers had been found dead from Sihuanaba’s take on fear toxin. It was made primarily from plant-based chemicals and would paralyse the victim before the acid would slowly melt the internal organs of the unlucky bastard. It didn’t make their deepest fears come to life, but many victims were recorded screaming and rolling around in their final moments of life. Sihuanaba: the shape-changing spirit that takes the form of a beautiful long-haired woman from behind but once lured, transforms into a hideous horses head or skull.

- - - - That’s what the quick google search had said and for Anita, it was more than enough to give her goose bumps. She just prayed Jason wasn’t being as reckless as Artemis had implied. No one deserved to go through that, especially not Jason. All the data Artemis had given showed a major lead the Red Hood was meant to follow tonight. Gerardo Bernal had been boasting of a new business him and his brother Antonio Bernal were investing him at a bar not too far from the cathedral. With the two frequently entering and exiting nurseries all around the area for the past 4 weeks. Sifting through even further, Anita noticed that all the bodies had been found within a 2km radius to one specific nursery: Vivero El Ciprés. This could only mean one thing; this new business venture was with the Sihuanaba, a trade of young impressionable children to test on for a bag or two of Sihuanaba’s finest batch. “Disgusting.” Anita had uttered as she put on her knee length white boots and mask. She couldn’t wait to take these bastards down. Landing a minutes’ walk away from the nursery, Guardian spotted two, young children running her way. They stopped when they saw her and the little girl hollered: “Leave us alone!” Guardian laughed, kneeling down to their height with her hands out in surrender, “Whoa, slow down there missy. I’m here to help.” “Red and white?” The little boy asked, holding out his hand for Guardian to take. Guardian nodded, squeezing his little hand. “That’s right, I’m with Red Hood. Have you kids seen him?” The two kids looked at each other. “Are you an angel?” The girl asked, pointing to Guardians wings. “To good kids like you I am! Red Hood says I’m his guardian angel.” She doted, they seemed to be warming up to the winged woman. “Well then he needs your help! We got in the car and then he told us to run and he stopped moving.” “Was it near the nursery?” “We’ll take you!” The girl said, tugging on Guardian’s other free hand. “How about you guys stay here instead? It’ll be safer, ok?” The two kids pouted but let her hands go, pointing the way to the nursery. Guardian smiled and gave a little wave before flying down the street. To say Red Hood needed Guardian’s help was an understatement. The vigilante was writhing on the floor, his helmet off his head and a tall, robed woman standing over him. “You should have stayed out of this, Señor. Now you face the wrath of Sihuanaba.” She uttered, having taken one of his guns and aiming at his exposed head. Jason groaned and coughed up blood, trying to reach for his other pistol but feeling his limbs grow stiff. “I don’t think I’ll need to waste a bullet on you. But just in case.” The woman moved the barrel of the gun to his knee and Jason closed his eyes, waiting for the pain that never came. Instead a rush of wind ruffled his hair and a white blur threw Sihuanaba into the nursery wall. Moving his eyes, as his neck had fallen asleep, Jason spotted the auburn coloured hair that could only belong to one woman. If his face wasn’t paralysed, he’d smile right now. “Get off him, you stupid horse bitch.” Guardian growled, throwing up a wing when Sihuanaba started firing.  Realizing it was useless, the villain threw the gun aside and opened her robe to pull out a needle gun. “Let’s see how you handle these!” The woman howled, shooting her toxin at Guardian. The winged woman dodged them effortlessly, snaking a wing around Sihuanaba and closing it around her long form. Squeezing her left fist, the wing began tightening around Sihuanaba and she screamed something intelligible. “I think you were much better as a myth.” Guardian quipped before lifting her wing and slamming Sihuanaba into the ground, her body going limp as she fell unconscious. Guardian grinned, that had gone better than expected. But a gargle from Jason quickly snapped her out of her reverie. Rushing over to his side, Guardian ripped off her mask and began checking Jason’s pulse. The man was trying to say something even with his mouth full of blood and eyes bulging. “Shit, Jay! Stay with me, okay? Artemis gave me a few vials just in case. Fuck, fuck where did I put them? I need a bigger utility belt.” Another choke left Jason and Anita pulled down the zip on his Kevlar top, exposing his scar-littered chest. “Hey it’s gonna be okay, please just keep breathing. Please.” Anita pleaded as she finally found a vial of the antidote and filled a syringe with it. Then she pierced the vein on his neck and administered the cure. Time seemed to slow as Anita waited. "Please, handsome. Don't die on me." Then Jason gasped, lifting his now free body and puking on the pavement. Anita cried in relief, slowly rubbing his back and saying soothing things. “Artemis sent you?” He asked, wiping his mouth of puke and zipping up his Kevlar top. “Nice to see you too.” Anita mused, running a hand through his hair. Jason hummed, missing her touch after all this time apart. “But no, she didn’t send me. She told me you were being reckless, and I wanted to check up on you.” Anita admitted, grabbing his helmet so he wouldn’t see the blush on her face. “I-I’m glad you came.” Jason started, God he had so much to tell her. In what order should he? “Thank you for saving me and I’m sorry, for everything.” Anita smiled, taking his gloved hand and squeezing so Jason continued, “I understand if you don’t want to be together anymore, Angel. But if there’s even a slight chance then I want to fix things. We can go at your pace, but I want to earn your trust back. You mean… So, fucking much to me. I would quote Shakespeare, but I don’t want to hide behind someone else’s words when I say I love you.” Anita laughed then, helping the nervous man up and cupping his cheek. “Thank you for your apology, Jay. I appreciate you acknowledging your mistakes. I must admit, I said some terrible things up on that roof and I’m sorry. But it’s gonna take a lot for us to get back to where we were.” “I’ll do it all, Anita. Just name it.” Looking into his eyes, Anita knew he meant it. She hung the stars for him just as he hung the moon for her. Overwhelmed by the giddy feeling in her chest, Anita gave Jason a soft kiss on the lips, trying to ignore that tell-tale smell of puke. Jason huffed softly, obviously wanting more. “How about an ice-cream date at Hoops & Scoops?” Anita giggled. “Done.” Jason couldn’t hide the grin on his face. “Good. Also, there were two kids down the street. We should go get them.” “Shit, are they okay?” “Oh fine, I think they’re your biggest fans.” Anita smirked, fixing his jacket as he slipped back on his helmet. “I thought you were?” The mechanical voice cooed. “Hmm, buy me a few more Banana Splits and I’ll think about it.” “You’ll make me broke, Angel.” The two laughed, it felt nice to be near each other again. Neither realizing how much they missed the banter. Beginning the trek back Violetta and Jorge, Anita suddenly had an idea. “Hey, handsome?” “Yeah?” Jason turned, happy to hear the pet name again. “I think it’s bridal style time.” “No.” “But you said you’d do anything!” Anita pouted, holding her arms out for him. Under his visor, Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile on his face. Walking over and letting her carry him. “Just until we get to the kids.” He stated, wrapping his arms around her neck. Anita grinned cheekily, that was more than enough time.

[beerandpresentdanger]

Anthem for Doomed Youth

Note to readers: Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita is presented as the memoir-cum-confessions of a maniac hiding behind the ominous pseudonym of Humbert Humbert. The other players and settings in the story have, we are told in a foreword by the briskly useful John Jay Jr, been masked with false names and re-ordered places, to protect those innocent parties “that taste would conceal and compassion spare”. The only true name in the book is its titular figure, Dolores, Dolly, Lo, Lolita; “her first name is too closely interwound with the inmost fibre of the book to allow one to alter it”.

As it is with poor unfortunate Dolores Haze, so it is with the pub that forms the topic of this piece. While I too would like to protect those who need it, the name of the pub is too central to what it is to keep it out, and in any case, as William Burroughs put it - perhaps there are no innocent bystanders. What I do need to say, though, is that this all happened more than a decade ago, in a small town far away, and if anything was ever less than legal, it was my fault and mine alone, and no single venue, landlord, management company or anyone else should be held responsible. What’s more, I’m sure that nowadays, this pub is an upstanding institution of great moral character, that has long ago shed any of the seedy connotations it carried back in the heady days of the post-Millennium. I wouldn’t know. I’m not going back.

***

Because I was a particularly nerdy 16-year-old, I asked my father’s permission to go out drinking for the first time. And, because I was a particularly nerdy 16-year-old, and there was in his view very little trouble that I could wind up getting into, he said yes. So, one Friday night, dressed in my finest shirt and shiniest shoes, we headed down town to a pub where my mate Will guaranteed we could get served.

We couldn’t. As it turned out, they’d been raided the week before by the police, who’d checked the IDs of all the furtive drinkers huddled in the back room, and given the owners a very stern talking to. As soon as we’d opened the door, a very large man with a very bald head asked to see our papers, and even though we insisted that we were just there to meet a friend, who was already sat inside, conspicuously avoiding our nods and waves, the door was closed to us, the merry lights glowing behind the bullseye panes of glass like the light Gatsby yearns for at the end of Daisy’s dock. It was slightly humiliating, but also, in some ways, a relief - what exactly were we going to do once we got inside? What were we meant to order? A whole pint of it? But something about the experience was scarring enough that we never tried to go back there again. I don’t even remember the pub’s name now, but it wasn’t long until it turned into restaurant serving British classics. It has mediocre reviews.

After this early setback, our drinking plans were scaled down. We knew we could have pints of gassy Cobra in the local balti house, but after one awkward evening where it was made clear we had to order main courses, not just keema naans, before we could have the beer, it was an expensive proposition for a boy on a dishwasher’s salary. If we wanted to drink in a pub, there was only one other option - the Doom.

The Horse & Groom, known locally as the Doom & Gloom, or just the Doom for those in the know, was that pub - the one in town with a reputation for serving any school kids who had the foresight to take off their tie and blazer. It should have been our first port of call, but something about its reputation - a slight edge, an air of danger - meant we wanted to build up some experience in advance of wading in.

After nearly bankrupting ourselves on lamb saags, a decision was made: we would invest in fake IDs, purchased from a website of questionable repute, and present ourselves down at the Doom in the time-honoured fashion - sneaking into the “beer garden” (a concrete yard with two picnic tables overlooking the bus station), making our way into the pool room, then finally, nervously, desperately, heading up to the bar.

The plan had teething problems. In the first instance, my fake ID arrived with the wrong date on it - it actually made me seem younger than I actually was, which was very much against the point. Surprisingly for a website which peddled questionably legal products, the customer service was outstanding, and a couple of emails later saw a replacement winging its way to me in no time at all. I remember it was pink, vaguely like a driving license, but with some dodgy holograms that said something like “European Identity”, which didn’t quite have the racist connotations it does now. No bouncer with more than a primary-level education would have been fooled by it for a second, but it was the thought that counted - if only we looked like we were meant to be there, we thought, we’d be accepted.

And so, one fateful night, we headed down town again. We might have bought chips first, or maybe hit up the Chinese (noodles were a whole meal in themselves - far more reasonable that the balti house). But at some point, under cover of darkness, with the smell of cigarette smoke wafting across the car park, we approached the Doom.

Furtively, we opened the gate and slipped into the yard. A crowd of students from the year above - some of whom may have even been of legal drinking age - were knocking back pints and smoking with a vigour only teenagers possess. They didn’t seem to notice us. We had passed the first test.

Next, into the pool room. We opened the door and stepped into the pub’s back room, where a dented and defeated pool table, slightly too large for the space that held it, was the focal point for another group of people familiar from school. We made out like we belonged. Lots of nods. Lots of “alright?”s. Chuckling nervously as we ducked under pool cues as they banged off the wall as every shot was lined up. Into the corridor between the pool room and the bar. A tactical decision - into the gents.

“How are they doing?” Shit. I hadn’t expected an interrogation at this early stage. In fact, I didn’t even know what I was being interrogated about. “Huh?” I said, uselessly. The man at the stainless steel trough nodded at my shirt. “Liverpool? How they doing?”

I wasn’t wearing a Liverpool shirt. Was this a test? What the fuck was he talking about? I tried to recover. He seemed slightly drunk, but not paralytic, friendly rather than aggressive. My top was a plain, red polo shirt, nothing to do with Liverpool, but I guess it was an easy mistake to make, if you ignored the fact lots of teams plays in red, we were nowhere near Liverpool, and I obviously wasn’t wearing a football shirt. “Not bad!” I said, despite not knowing a single thing about the recent performance of Liverpool FC. He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and refocussed on his urinating. I tried to do the same, which wasn’t easy, as I braced for further football chat. Thankfully, the man finished and shambled out. The next trial was over.

But the biggest challenge was still to come. The dreaded bar. The front room was a large space, with two raised areas either side of the front door, which made the bar seem sunken and low in comparison, a kind of illuminated trench, mobbed with people. It ran across a whole wall, with repetitive fonts offering the same few beers in the same pattern, and a similarly small selection of spirits on the wall behind. A concerningly large amount of real estate had been given over to some sort of Jagermeister machine, which I never saw in operation. For all I know it had never been used at all, perhaps had never been purchased with the intention of use - it had merely manifested itself one Friday evening, a malignant entity that grew out of a collection of congealed shot glasses and was now too cumbersome to remove.

I made my way up, fake ID clutched nervously in my sweaty palm. The crowd in front of me seemed to part in a way which would have been miraculous nowadays, but then felt like a kind of omen - all of a sudden, I was face on with a barman, not much older than I was, who was staring me down with a practiced eye that practically screamed “Nope” at me. I approached the bar. Nodded. He nodded back.

“Can I ge-”

“ID, please.”

Shit. That wasn’t good. Hadn’t even let me order my Fosters (it was that, I think, Guinness, or Worthington Creamflow - not an inspiring selection, but more than enough for me, even if I’m still not entirely sure what Creamflow is).

I handed it over, still clammy from my paw. He raised it to the light, turned it over, turned it back again. His lips moved slightly, as if he was sounding something out to himself. After a moment, he laid it on the sticky bar.

“That’s fake.” The words hung there for a second. The pub was loud, but in that moment, all I could feel was the deafening silence as I fell into the hollow of a skipped heart beat. He said something else, something I couldn’t hear over the deafening void.

“What did you want?”

“Fosters, please,” I croaked, and he began pouring. Shit. I’d done it. I’d been found out, and he didn’t even care. I had conquered the Doom, and I’d only had to shred my nerves and embarrass myself to do it. I had made it. I had achieved the sweetest victory of all. I was drinking underage.

That night was my initiation. I was part of the Doom now, and the Doom, for all its faults, was part of me. I learned to play pool on its table, where every shot had to be taken at an odd angle so you didn’t hit the wall. I developed a lifelong fondness for bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale, once I realised every tap in there poured something that tasted either like vinegar or batteries. I saw my first stripper, entertaining the world’s saddest stag party, who did something unmentionable with a bottle of Budweiser and made me very upset for some time to come. I watched my friend get in a fight with a man with a neck tattoo over a question of darts etiquette, that didn’t involve any thrown punches, but did feature lots of aggressive chest barging, like two novelty wind-up toys lined up against each other. I sat in there all day on my friend Rob’s birthday, while he drank endless pints of Guinness, and we couldn’t believe how much he was putting away, until he stood up to go to the loo, fell over, and didn’t get up again until the next morning. Then there was Nick’s birthday, where we all chipped in for a dirty pint, and the barman returned a glass of brown evil, that put Nick on the floor like a sack of wet cement. I worked my way through all of the bar’s dubious shots, with names like Slippery Nipple and Flatliner, which featured a layer of Tabasco between two things even worse. I was there on A-level results night, when Jonesy stood on a table and hit his head on the TV bracket above, knocking it clean off the wall, and it wasn’t clear how someone hadn’t been killed by the massive appliance collapsing on top of them. I was there through it all, good times and bad.

I don’t think I ever went back once I turned 18. When I was free to go to any pub, the one pub that had welcomed me before seemed less enticing, less sexy, less cool. Maybe also because it was a really shit pub. But for a time, it was my pub.

My refuge.

My Doom.