#On the reasoning of “my henchman needs drip”

[stephaniebrownslover]

[Kieran Valentine Backstory Headcanons—Part 1/?]

Timeline: Him becaming a vampire and his first days as one

Okay so I was thinking about Valentine's backstory before everything, and I saw someone saying he was a war veteran (?) but when I searched for it, I couldn't find it anywhere.

So. I kindaaaa designed my own headcanon backstory for him and I swear I wasn't planning to add this much angst. (if I'm not exaggerating, this one is a bit angsty)

Anyways, this is suck and so OOC and I hateeeeee it.

Edit: omggggg why this shit is pure angst I HATE it, I wanted to make hurt/comfort with some cute moments, not hurt/no comfort and this took so that I couldn't add anything nice in it and this sucks:(((

Trigger Warnings: blood, manipulation, mention of death, self-hatred, general vampire themes

Note:

Monster High wiki says this about vampires

It also says this about Valentine

So I like to think he doesn't drink blood, that's why his eyes are pink :3

How he became a vampire

Valentine hated vampires with a burning passion. His father, who was his role model, who he wanted to be just like him when he grew up, died during a brutal attack by a vampire in hunger crisis when he was just 10 years old. Little Valentine, who witnessed this with his own eyes, hated vampires.

Until he turned 17, he began to kill vampires, who stole his life from him, by his own capabilites. Although he was still very young, he was hunting vampires without caring about what would happen to himself, thanks to his heart burning with hatred.

Of course, he wasn't as good at this as an adult, he couldn't even get close, but back then, Valentine's name was easily heard at the vampire council, since no one dared to do what would happen to them after killing a vampire. Most people didn't know the existince of vampires, and the ones who knee, were feared of them.

Stoker, who was assigned to take care of this business personally, decided to pay a visit to this novice hunter.

Completely headcanon: In order for a person to turn into a vampire, vampire blood must be mixed with their own blood.

There was a fight that lasted quite a short time, in which Valentine was deadly wounded. Stoker dropped his guard when he was about to suck the blood of Valentine, who was on the verge of death. Stoker had underestimated Valentine's hate too much.

Stoker's blood dripped on Valentine, who stabbed his sword into him just as the vampire's teeth were about to touch his neck. And Valentine, who does not know how people turn into vampires, was unaware that the vampire blood smeared on his open wounds would change his life forever.

He had turned into something he hated. He had become a terrible monster that he would have preferred to die a thousand times rather than to live as one.

He hated himself. He hated that his wounds healed so quickly, he hated some of his teeth fell out and new ones came out instead, he hated that his vision was getting better and better. He hated, hated, hated it.

But more importantly, he was afraid of himself.

Valentine, who started sobbing, did not know what to do. He was frozen. He had reached his hands to his teeth, trying to make sense of what was happening. But he couldn't even think of anything.

Valentine, who accidentally turned into a vampire, did not know what to do, he was in such a scared state that Stoker decided to show mercy for the first time in the hundreds of years he has lived and will live. The main reason for this was that he was quite impressed by Valentine's stubbornness.

However, of course, the older vampire would not deign to be nice to someone who did not have his own interests for no reason.

Stoker had agreed to take the young one between his poisoned arms in order to make him his henchman, who was charged with doing his own work. And there was no need for the boy who was standing in front of Stoker's, and disgusted with himself to know about it.

When Stoker bent down and held out his hand to him, Valentine looked at the gloved hand that was standing in front of him in tears. He did not know what he was supposed to do. He didn't know what was the right decision. Time had stopped for him, and it would never flow the same way again. At least, for him.

Stoker said a few sentences to convince him. But when he saw that Valentine was still looking at him with the same confused and undecided gaze, he was sure what he should say.

He told Valentine that he no longer had a place among people. He talked about how everyone would mention Valentine's name with pure hatred and not daring to approach him out of fear.

And he didn't forget to add that no matter how hard Valentine tried, he would always be subject to prejudice. The person who told him this was Stoker himself. Valentine could never be a part of society again.

As the tears that were slowly flowing from Valentine's eyes accelerated, Stoker knew that he had put his finger on the right point. He also talked about how Valentine didn't have to live like this.

If Valentine came with Stoker, he would be accepted among other vampires. No one would judge hin and hate him just because he was a strong creature. He would be free. And more importantly, he could be himself without being exposed to fearful eyes.

Valentine took the hand extended to him. And as he walked slowly towards Stoker's vehicle ahead, he left his old life behind along with his soul.

It was not going to be easy for him to adjust to his new life. He didn't know what kind of life awaited him when he got into a luxury car that he had never even dreamed of before.

At least he wasn't crying anymore, instead, hhe was just watching out of the window with curious eyes that they hadn't managed to take away from him. He was surprisingly calm as he watched his house, which he could never return to, disappear from sight every second.

The inside of the car was quiet, too quiet. The vampire, who had radically changed Valentine's life, gave his attention only to the book in his hand. Although he seemed to be paying no attention to his surroundings, Valentine knew Stoker could prevent him from making the slightest escape move. Valentine knew this because he could do the same thing himself now. His reflexes were highly developed compared to before.

When he entered the Council building for the first time, he felt some vampires' contemptuous, some vampires' curious, and others' only pity-filled stares on him. For the first time in his life, he had become the very centre of attention and strangely, he liked this.

Stoker took him to a room, and then said he could stay here until he was done and then they could go home.

So, Valentine did as what he was told until he learned every little detail in the room. And when there was nothing left that interested him, he decided to tour the council building.

He didn't expect to see the vampire who brought him here just as he opened the door. When they got into the car again, there was silence again, but this time it was the kind of silence that was uncomfortable for any type of creature.

Valentine had given all his attention to the road, which he could still see even though it was quite dark. That's why what Stoker said caught him off guard.

They also turned his mother into a vampire. Vampires cared about traditions, and being connected to each other was one of those traditions. Besides, their population had already decreased quite a lot and they needed new nobles. Of course, they couldn't make everyone they see a vampire, but they could turn a vampire's close family member who was still alive.

Valentine said nothing, he only blamed himself. His mother's life had been ruined by his own stupid stubbornness. Ruining the lives of everyone who was near him was probably the only thing he was good at.

They didn't speak at all the rest of the way.

Learning how to get fed

When Valentine first arrived, he was bombarded with intense teaching sessions. Vampires were noble and elegant creatures, so it was more important than anything that he received a proper education.

Fortunately, thanks to his sharp intelligence, he was able to understand his lessons quickly. In fact, he was learning so fast that if he continued like this, he might even go to the Vampire Academy next year.

Meanwhile, things weren't that decent between him and his mother. It wasn't good, but at least it wasn't bad. His mother wasn't angry at him or anything, she even thanked him for saving her life.

There was just something that Valentine couldn't quite put his finger on it. She was distant. She was cold, and it was as if she wasn't there even when she was with him. What had happened to his old loving mother?

His skin was cold. His skin was as cold as a dead person's and his heart wasn't beating. He couldn't see himself in the mirror. He couldn't even go out into the sunlight without taking the necessary precautions. And he didn't like it at all.

He could have been richer than ever before, he could have had more books than he would ever get in his whole life despite his dreams, and he could have even gotten a great education, but it was all just a sweet illusion.

Still, he thought that if he kept acting, one day all this wouldn't hurt so much anymore. If he never took off the mask on his face, he could forget who he was and integrate with the mask. That's what he should have done anyway, just like his mother.

He easily adopted the aristocratic clothing style of that period. The only thing that made him feel like the person he was was his clothes, which were extravagantly stylish and perfectly groomed. Moreover, many vampires also liked the style he had. He could even communicate with them if he felt ready. At least, this could have helped him feel like he belonged somewhere a few years earlier.

After about a month had passed, everything had started to go well for him. He felt that he was getting used to being a vampire, and he was scared crazy about it. But he was learning to drown his fears.

Gradually, he also began to get rid of his timid and helpless personality. He knew he was not the weak boy he had been the day he first came to Stoker's castle. He was trying to learn something new whenever he had the opportunity. He had a really curious personality, the kind of curiosity that would put him in danger.

He might have started acting like a vampire, but there was one thing he could never do. Valentine refused to drink blood.

Strangely, he believed that if he started drinking blood, he would never be himself again. And since that's what he really wanted anyway, he should have been able to drink blood. He didn't realize that he was lying to himself.

(it's a ridiculous headcanon because I don't exactly know how emotional vampires born)

Valentine, unlike his mother, had become an emotional vampire. Stoker attributed the reason for this to the intense emotions he felt before and after becoming a vampire.

Because he hadn't been fed in any way for the last month since he arrived, or used anything to support his iron needs, he had started to lose strength more and more.

He had huge eyebags that were growing day by day, his skin had taken on a too pale tone even for a vampire. He couldn't use his powers, he couldn't go out in the sun despite all the precauiton items he used. He felt so tired most of the time.

He was desperate, he felt weaker than ever, and he never once thought about drinking blood. However, since he was an emotional vampire, what he really needed were emotions. Blood would only give him energy. If he wanted to be strong, he had to feed on emotions.

In fact, Valentine didn't actually make up the information that he had to break a heart to be strong on his own. The person who told him this was Stoker himself.

Valentine's refusal to drink blood in defiance of vampire traditions was getting on Stoker's nerves. And that's why he believed that if he led Valentine to a rather difficult way of eating, he would have no choice but to drink blood. He also used hatred because it was the most intense emotion that the young vampire felt.

According to Stoker, Valentine was a vampire who fed on hatred because of his previous life, and he needed people's hate to be strong.

Valentine, who was still very new to it and was suffering from a lack of strength caused by not eating anything, asked how to do it. He had been hungry for so long that he no longer cared about opposing his own personality as long as no blood included.

Stoker said the first thing that came to his mind, who could be more hateful than a girl whose heart was broken into a thousand pieces by her darling love?

And Valentine believed it. Moreover, for hundreds of years, he continued because no one even cared to offer him another option.

After the first heart he broke, he gained the ability of hypnosis thanks to his vampire powers. It was actually quite an ironic situation. He had acquired the ability to make people love him by making them hate himself.

Stoker saw that despite all the hearts he had broken, the stubborn vampire still insisted on not drinking blood. That's why he gave up on his goal.

He was looking with disgust at the iron supporters who entered his castle for the first time because of Valentine. Although feeding on emotions restored Valentine's strength, he still needed more blood or iron supporters for some features, such as being able to go out in the sun.

After Valentine learned to eat, he had only one thing left in front of him; getting used to his new life.

And Valentine still hated vampires with passion.

..................................................................................

Bro listens Malice Mizer because I say so(I'll say this in my every Valentine writing)

SOMEONE TAKE THE WORDS AWAY FROM ME WHY DID I WRITE THIS I HATE MYSELF I WASN'T PLANNING TO MAKE HIM SO SO MISERABLE I'M SO SORRY THAT WASN'T MY INTENTION

I KNOW THIS WHOLE POST SUCKS SO HARD I KNOW AND I'M SORRY FOR STEALING YOUR TIME

I'M SORRYYYYYY I SWEAR I'LL MAKE HIM HAPPY ONE DAY IF I WON'T STOP WRITING FOR HIM AFTER THIS

I kinda want to write him with Spelldon to make this up but I know nothing about Greek Mythology, not even the basics so it would be really weird lol

[shywhumpauthor]

Day Off - Part Two

Part One

Back by popular demand

Cw: noncon touch, abuse of power, mistreatment in a workplace setting, past torture, unrequited crush, humiliation, dehumanization, implied upcoming torture, injuries, exhaustion, overworking

“Don’t worry, pet, I’ll make sure you get the day off tomorrow.”

Hero was many things, but they weren’t a liar. Henchman thought back bitterly, biting the inside of their cheek as they glared at the folders on their desk, their laptop open to their work email which was flooded with over thirty new messages.

“I’ll even be generous.”

Henchman wasn’t sure what they said to Villain, and honestly Henchman was sure that they didn’t have to say much—a few smooth words from Hero and the criminal complied to almost any desire of theirs. Expensive jewelry, some bought with stolen funds and others snatched right out of the case from the lavish boutiques that sold them. Rings adorned the Hero’s fingers, collars of diamonds around their throat that they wore for no reason other than to flaunt what they owned. It only took a minute, after they had slipped into Villain’s office, before Henchman received the text to take the next two days off.

Whatever it was, they weren’t going to protest. That evening, after they had worked up the energy and the will to practically drag themself out of the van and back to their room, they had all but collapsed into their bunk, not bothering to change out of their torn, bloody clothes, or even pull back the sheets. They were so exhausted, tears and blood dried alike on their face.

It fucking figured.

Henchman wasn’t sure why they hadn’t realized it before. How it had never become apparent until that moment. How they hadn’t heard of Hero’s ability, hadn’t witnessed it during any fights or just in freaking general. The more they thought back, the more it made sense, though. All of the times they knew they wounded Hero in a fight, only for them to be chasing them across the rooftops later that same day, fine.

“Let’s keep this between you and I for now, alright pet? Villain doesn’t need to know just yet.”

Of fucking course the hero would have healing powers. Every slash, every stab, all Hero had to do was drag their fingers across the fractured skin and it would mend, which was about the time Henchman lost consciousness. It hurt, holy hell it had hurt, worse than it had when the wounds were inflicted.

And it barely left a scar. Slightly raised across their skin, like a wound inflicted years before, given the time to heal and settle.

Hero had been an asshole, though. Henchman didn’t know there were stages of healing abilities—as far as they thought, when they heal something it’s just healed. At least that’s how villain’s medic worked. Hero, though, left it in stages. They healed everything against their face, their neck and their hands, leaving only faded scars in their wake. Their collar bones, the rest of their arms, and the very top of their chest, they left some bruises and scrapes, healing the worst but leaving all else.

Their torso and abdomen, Hero didn’t touch—except for the gash they sliced straight across Henchman’s stomach, which went a bit deeper than expected and they quickly had to mend lest Henchman’s internal organs became external. Everything else was left.

Everything else. Down to the deep lines carved in their side, about halfway above where their elbow touched their midriff to their shoulder, the initials dripping blood despite being together just under the size of Henchman’s pinky finger.

“Now, Henchman, you’ll keep your mouth shut, won’t you? I’ve sentenced criminals to life for less than what you’ve done, if the agency were to somehow get their hands on you, oh my pet, you’ll be in for one hell of a time.”

Yeah. A hell of a time alright.

Henchman flipped through the file, eyes barely skimming over the words, flicking across the diagrams without comprehending a single letter. Part of them nagged that they should be paying better attention—this was Villain’s newest plan, after all. They couldn’t risk missing something and potentially compromising the mission.

They’d check it again later, when their head wasn’t pounding and their ribs felt like they were going to snap with each breath. While Henchman knew Hero wouldn’t turn Villain in themself, a direct infiltration into the agency’s headquarters was beyond risky.

They set the folder aside, scribbling a note to themself on a post it and sticking it onto the front. Their words looked more like scribbles than strings of letters, Henchman’s hands had been shaking a lot recently. Sometimes they could barely focus enough to keep the tip of the pen on the page.

Next… next… Henchman squinted at the front of the next file, and leaned in slightly, but the words refused to focus in their vision so they slumped back in their desk chair, setting down the pen with enough force to make a small clatter, a hand rubbing at their eyes.

Hell, they were a mess.

Yesterday they had gotten nothing done. They wished that was an exaggeration, but it wasn’t. They sat at their desk and stared at their laptop waiting for the ache in their bones to settle enough to allow them to focus. It hadn’t.

And all Villain did to check in was text them, a simple “you up for working?” That was it. Henchman had looked at the text for over an hour, waiting for a follow-up “are you alright?” or “how’re you doing?” or even a “why’d you need days off?”, but they had set their hopes too high.

They saw Villain the day before. In the hall, walking back to their bunk, and all the criminal had offered them was a nod and a small smile. The same small smile that made Henchman lose focus every time the Villain looked their way. They always thought it was too kind for the face of a thief, a killer.

Once Villain passed, they had to glance back over their shoulder to make sure there was no one else in the hall. Confirming that the smile had been for them.

And they knew why they didn’t quit.

A knock on the door drew Henchman’s attention back to their small office, and they twisted around in their chair to face the door as it opened. A small flicker of hope sparked in their chest, anticipation dancing across their face as they expected the kind eyes and the soft smile that was about to enter. Only Villain ever interrupted them during the hour—the other henchmen knew to save all regards until either ten, twelve, two, or six. Urgent situations were a different matter, but this knock was much too gentle to be of great importance.

The warmth in their chest, the soft heat of the embers quickly turned to cold shards.

Henchman was out of their seat in a moment, their movements driven off of instinct alone as their mind seemed to sputter to a stop. They weren’t sure what they were going to do, whether they were going to fight or flee or cower to the corner. They never got to find out, either. All Hero had to do was take a single step forwards and they had squared up to them, their boots inches away from Henchman’s own feet as they placed a single hand against Henchman’s chest and shoved them back into their seat.

“All that looks important, doesn’t it?” Hero tilted their head, glancing over Henchman’s shoulder to the documents spread across their desk. “It doesn’t look like you can afford to get distracted, now, can you?”

With their other hand, Hero reached behind them and pushed the door closed.

Henchman wasn’t sure what to say that would spare them from whatever Hero’s intentions were, so instead of biting their tongue and biding their time, words spilled from their lips, a disorganized mess of emotions bleeding into half formulated thoughts.

“No, hero- yeah, I, I need to get these done—Villain, Villain needs me to get these done by the end of the day-”

“Do they now?” Was all Hero hummed, their hand still pressed to Henchman’s chest, keeping them down despite Henchman’s lack of struggle. They didn’t miss the small stutter in their breath as Henchman began to process just how close the hero’s hand was to their neck, a single finger brushing over the high neckline of their uniform to trace the unmarked skin just above their sternum. As untouched as it seemed, Henchman shuddered as the memory of a knife dragging across their throat seemed to overlap the present.

“Hero, please. Just- just leave me alone. Not now, I- I need to get this done, for- for Villain,” Henchman was silenced a moment later as Hero’s hand suddenly drew back, them glancing back towards the door.

Henchman wasn’t given a moment of relief, before Hero’s gaze was back on them, a grin twisting across their lips. They reached around Henchman and snatched the first file they got their hands on, a few loose papers scattering to the ground as they skimmed over the open page. Henchman couldn’t help the clench in their jaw, all the time they had spent organizing everything perfectly so that Villain wouldn’t have any difficulties navigating their reports.

“Planning a heist, I see…” Hero clicked their tongue, a soft hissing sound of undistinguishable emotion. “You know it’s my job to prevent these kinds of things, don’t you?”

Henchman felt trapped. The arms of their chair keeping them boxed in, Hero’s legs barely inches from their own, one of them almost sticking between Henchman’s knees, their presence nearly suffocating. Something twisted Henchman’s stomach into a tight knot, the overwhelming sense of overpowering crushing them beneath the Hero’s strong stare.

“It’s Villain- Villain’s plan, Hero, I need to finish this-”

“Villain’s plan, you say? I wonder how your boss would like knowing you just ratted them out to a city official…”

The file fell carelessly from Hero’s hand, scattering across the office floor in such a perfectly chaotic manner it seemed like it was pulled from some iconic scene in whatever movie. Henchman bit their tongue, though they weren’t sure whether to hold back a curse or a cry. Literal hours had gone into organizing that, making sure the plan was clearly comprehensible and laid out in a careful order.

“Stop- Hero, please, just let me finish this,” Henchman felt a flicker of heat in their chest, creeping up their neck but they didn’t let the humiliation become apparent in their face. Or at least they tried not to. They didn’t need to hand Hero another means for torment.

Not that Hero seemed short of those.

“Oh, pet, are hoping Villain will give you a treat for your obedience? Maybe if you roll over, they’ll toss you a bone.”

The taunt was childish, insolent, but Henchman couldn’t fight the burning as it crawled across their cheeks, flushing all the way to the tips of their ears. Hero’s grin was devilish. It was exactly the reaction they had been looking for, and Henchman had all but handed it to them on a fucking platter. Goddamn it, they were really just as fucking pathetic as Hero said.

“I wonder, do you do tricks for anyone else, or is it just Villain? I didn’t get the chance to test that out the other day,” Hero continued, now that their hands were free of the file able to lean forwards and grip either of the armrests, drawing in close to Henchman.

“Hero- stop.” Henchman’s voice broke into something small, any shred of authority they managed to muster in their tone spilling through the cracks, splintering like a branch under increasing weight, inching towards the moment where it would become unbearable and the limb would simply shatter. “Leave me alone.”

Hero’s face was inches from their own, even as Henchman retreated, shrinking into the chair. For a moment, instinct urged them to kick out, but the stirring thoughts hesitated their actions. Villain made one thing clear on missions—they weren’t to hurt Hero. While Henchman doubted a blow would do little more than annoy the city’s protector, they were sure Hero would twist the situation beyond the bounds of reason that fueled them now.

Hero must have seen the twitch in their leg, muscles itching to lash out and knock the other away, because they moved their foot a few inches, and the heel of their boot was digging against Henchman’s shoe as Hero shifted their weight. Henchman felt the touch like electricity, prickling their skin through their unostentatious uniform, Hero’s other leg shifting to shadow Henchman’s knee, shins touching along the side as Hero smirked.

The same static stung across their legs, up their bones throughout their body. A new kind of fire kindled in their chest, but these flames were as cold as stone, dropping to their stomach. Their hands clenched, itching to push away but there was nowhere they could go. Their ribs a cage around their lungs, closing in and sealing their breath in an unyielding embrace.

There was something in Hero’s eyes. A look, a glint of something darker than the industrial office light’s unrelenting white glare.

“Here’s one trick I know you can do,” Hero’s voice was pulled with a cruel delight, dancing along each syllable a calm that Henchman’s growing panic strictly contrasted.

“Beg.”

————————————————

Tag list: @pickleking8 @zillobeastrevival @urmyhopeeee @d-cs @fluereaux @roblingoblin285

And like the 5 other anons who requested a continuation

[the-girl-who-didnt-smile]

BARON DE LA MORT [1][2][3]

Trivia & Notes

TRIVIA

An attempt was made to sketch his human form, but there are many problems with his design:

Full size

This pisses me off, so much… He literally looks like a background character.

Seriously, why is he wearing a generic purple paisley tie? He should totally have little skull details there. I think I went a little too far with the “less is more approach.” He’s so drip-less, it’s not even funny…

Two major problems with this design is that he looks too similar to François Duvalier, and that he must have a skull tattooed on his face. I was actually just drawing him cosplaying Don Corleone, but I realized too late that Duvalier dressed quite similarly to The Godfather. I have still chosen to show what he looks like without the skull tattoos, to make his facial structure visible. 

Full size

Here is another shot of his face, from a different angle. My intent was to differentiate his facial structure from Duvalier. Changes to his facial structure might be necessary, but steps must be taken to differentiate his features from the former dictator.

Previously, I had planned for him to dress similarly to Gustavo Fring in his past human life. However, I do not think that Fring’s style fits his character, as I want him to have a unique and original look. In his past human life, his distinguishing traits are supposed to be his tattoos, his taste in suits, and habitual smoking of cigars; these carry over into his next life as a god. 

The skull tattooed into his face must be a very distinct design that is visually striking when the contrast is maximized in his face. This is how he forces those in his presence to look upwards–up at his face, and nowhere else. I was envisioning something somewhat like this, where he has the individual teeth inked into his face.

Full size

This should only be viewed as a placeholder for what should actually be tattooed onto his face; this is a horrendous concept. 

His sunglasses were originally supposed to resemble Gustavo Fring’s glasses, but this sketch made me realize that the shape of his sunglasses needs to be redesigned.

Full size

In this second sketch, I tweaked the shape of his glasses, and attempted to make the pattern around his eyes resemble tattooing instead of face paint. Again, this is merely a placeholder for what his face should actually look like, as it still looks very bad; a competent character designer is necessary to come up with a viable concept. His wife, Maman de la Vie, must also have a matching skull. Although both of them have the ability to shape-change the tattoos on their body, they can never display this ability, as they have never changed their tattoos since The Beginning of Time. For this reason, it’s very important to get the design right from the start.  It has to be immediately visually apparent that he and she are the ‘boss’, the other characters are ‘underlings’.

While he is intended to be very tall, I made the height gap between him and his youngest brother too large. Big Papa likes to shapeshift his height, but in his default state he should only be about half a head shorter than Baron de la Mort. I failed here too, but his silhouette is supposed to resemble an ominous obelisk, in the form of a large rectangle. 

As far as introductions go, I think the coolest way to introduce this guy would be to build up to him ripping someone’s soul apart. The character remains shrouded in mystery, as one of his henchmen is revealed. The henchman is very powerful, but nothing more than a tool who is trapped in a horrible soul deal with his soul owner. After revealing the henchman, many other details can be revealed about The Baron, including his powers, personality, and backstory.

Although his Signature Move has a name (“Eternal Torment”) he does not call his attacks; it’s just something he might say during his monologue before executing the attack.

The parts of his suit that appear to be grey are actually a dark and desaturated shade of purple.

The Baron’s ability to scale his height is inspired by the following description of Baron Samedi[32]:

“Loi Ba-un-Samedi (? gives or for Saturday). He is like Ogun, but “worse”, he is a grande diable. He makes all kinds of motions to make you laugh, but you must not laugh at him, for if you do, he makes you " stop laughing ", which means inversely that he makes you go on laughing forever against your will. Anything you touch, he takes and never returns, and you have to give him more and more. He smokes cigarettes, not cigars. He wears a coat and hat, and carries a stick. He can make himself short or tall, " as tall as a mast”.” 

However, he smokes cigars instead of cigarettes, to make him look like Andre Pierre’s portrait of Baron Samedi, and a One Piece character. 

Although his D&D Alignment is ‘True Neutral’, he is supposed to look like a One Piece villain—specifically Donquixote Doflamingo and Crocodile (One Piece). This is why he laughs. He is also inspired by Gomez Addams and Don Corleone, as he is portrayed in The Godfather novel and films. His skeleton form is inspired by Skull Knight (Berserk).

According to Milo Marcelin’s description, Baron Samedi is said to have a notoriously bad temper. Underneath his outward persona, Baron de la Mort actually has near-perfect control over his emotions… unless you kill his wife. Then he completely loses his mind. In this sense, he also has a horrible temper.

Several things differentiate Baron de la Mort and Maman de la Vie from their siblings, including (1) their names, which break the song-themed naming scheme (2) their tattoos, which normally hide their skin color (3) their status as pariahs among the gods, where they dwell in their own realm, and so on. These differences serve to signify their special status as The gods of Life and Death. It was also to facilitate pulling them out of the Original Seven Creations, if necessary, to make them something like “secret bosses” – the only two other beings to achieve godhood, who were created at a much later time: when Lucifer gave humanity Free Will, creating the realm of Hell.

As the two "Devils", Baron de la Mort is designed to contrast with Big Papa; the former is mostly inspired by mythology from Haitian Vodou, while the latter is mostly inspired by folklore from New Orleans Voudou. Big Papa has a canine motif; Baron de la Mort has a feline motif. In spite of his name, Big Papa is not a good father figure; Baron de la Mort surprisingly is. Big Papa is the least interested in marriage; Baron de la Mort and Maman de la Vie are not just married in their present immortal lives, but in their past lives as humans. They are also the only two who have children–adopted, as they are forbidden from conceiving another god. 

His adoptive family is supposed to be a cross between the Addams Family and the Don Quixote Pirates. Except, not exactly the Don Quixote Pirates (Doflamingo literally had Senor Pink on his pirate crew…) They all have wildly different personalities and silhouettes, as they are inspired by Milo Marcelin’s Mythologie Vodou. Each of these adult children has two outfits (1) a black outfit, where they all match; more formal and used for family portraits (2) purple outfits, which express their unique personalities; more casual and frequently worn. They do not tattoo, but paint skulls on their faces. The face paint washes off, to the point where it doesn’t even look like a skull anymore; for lack of better word, it just looks like a “blob”. They are much more comedic than their adoptive parents, and would fit a lot more easily into a light-hearted tone. As they are essentially a comedy band, the individual members have funny personalities, which is enhanced by how they clash with each other. Because of this, it is easy to forget how powerful they are; they are basically a set of Ten Superweapons.

Baron de la Mort’s name is written in French for an English-speaking audience, who knows his real-life counterpart as Baron Samedi instead of Bawon Samdi. Should his name be localized to Kreyòl, it should become Bawon Lanmò; in a sense, this is his true name. So not to give them the same name, the name of his underling should be changed in the localization from Lanmò to Mouri.

The Baron’s staff was visually inspired by artwork from the In Extremis display at the UCLA Fowler Museum. Also inspired the In Extremis display, Baron de la Mort and Maman de la Vie are supposed to resemble ‘skeletons’, while their children and underlings resemble ‘rotten flesh’.

He adopted ten adult children, named after the capitals of the departments of Haiti. The duration of adoption and power level of each child is ranked according to the land area of each department, with the exception of Port-au-Prince, who is the weakest and most recently adopted.

When he collapses them down into particles, the Black Holes of Torture are actually sent to the Dungeon of his Castle in the Underworld. It is a room full of Black Holes, kind of like the Bubble Room in Steven Universe, but full of people screaming in agony for eternity. At intervals, he randomly selects some of the Black Holes and expands them, then crushes them back down into single particles, causing excruciating pain to whoever is trapped inside. Sometimes, Maman de la Vie does this instead, as she also has this power. This was inspired by Crocodile (One Piece)’s Conference Room, which is actually a torture dungeon.

Whenever he takes off his sunglasses, another pair of sunglasses instantly appears under his sunglasses.

He is called “Heavenly Judge” because Baron Samedi is referred to as “juge di ciel” (“heavenly judge”) [33]:

Baron Samedi quembe n’homme na! Pinga langue’l n’homme na! Pinga lague’l, juge di ciel, quembe n’homme na! Pinga lague’l, Baron Samedi, quembe n’homme na! Pinga lague’l, juge di ciel, quembe n’homme na! Pinga lague’l, Baron Samedi, quembe n’homme na! Pinga lague’l, juge di ciel, quembe n’homme na! Baron Samedi quembe n’homme na, pinga lague’l!

Baron Samedi hold that man! Don’t let him go! Don’t let him go, heavenly judge, hold that man! Don’t let him go, Baron Samedi, hold that man! Don’t let him go, heavenly judge, hold that man! Don’t let him go, Baron Samedi, hold that man! Don’t let him go, heavenly judge, hold that man! Baron Samedi hold that man, don’t let him go!

NOTES

Herskovits, Melville Jean, and Herskovits, Frances Shapiro. Dahomean Narrative: A Cross-cultural Analysis. United States, Northwestern University Press, 1970. Originally published in 1958. p. 124. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/dahomeannarrativ0000hers/page/124/mode/2up 

For the origins of the Gede rite, see: Hebblethwaite, Benjamin. A transatlantic history of Haitian Vodou: rasin figuier, rasin Bwa Kayiman, and the Rada and Gede Rites . Univ. Press of Mississippi, 2021.

For a theory regarding the origins of Baron Samedi, see: Smith, Katherine, and Donald Cosentino. "Genealogies of Gede." In Extremis: Death and Life in 21st-Century Haitian Art (2012): 84-99.

In several of his writings, the American novelist Harold Courlander claimed that Gede Nibo is considered the same as Baron Samedi in some regions of Haiti: “In Mirebalais, Dr. Herskovits received the impression that Gede Nimbo and Baron Samedi are different loa. In the south they are considered the same.” SOURCE: Courlander, Harold. Haiti Singing. United States, Cooper Square Publishers, 1973. Originally published in 1939. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/isbn_0815404611/page/34/mode/1up; Similar comments were by the American authors Maya Deren, Zora Neale Hurston, and Katherine Dunham; however, this was not observed by Dr. Elsie Clews Parsons, who recorded folklore from the southern coast of Haiti and clearly distinguished Gede Nibo (“Gede-nibo”) from Baron Samedi (“Ba-un-Samedi”) SOURCE: PARSONS, Elsie Clews. “SPIRIT CULT IN HAYTI.” Journal de La Société Des Américanistes, vol. 20, 1928, pp. 157–79. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24720068. Accessed 26 Dec. 2024. Due to inconsistent information, I am uncertain whether this is a real regional difference, or a foreign misconception.

Several people disagree with how Beauvoir classified all of the lwa; other sources still separate Baron Samedi from Gede Nibo, but may define fanmi differently from him: Beauvoir, Max. Lapriyè Ginen. Haiti, Edisyon Près Nasyonal d'Ayiti, 2008. pp. 187-196. https://archive.org/details/beauvoir-max-g.-lapriye-ginen-2008/page/n97/mode/2up.

For a description of Papa Gede, see: Brown, Karen McCarthy. Mama Lola: A vodou priestess in Brooklyn . Vol. 4. Univ of California Press, 2010; See also: Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. 2. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. pp. 181-190. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/180 

Mocombe, Paul C. “Practical Reason in Haitian Idealism: Anti-Dialectics, Reciprocal Justice, and Afeminism Epistemology.” Race, Gender & Class 25, no. 1–2 (2018): 31–47. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26649532.

Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. II. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. pp. 153-171. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/152 

Brown, Karen McCarthy. Mama Lola: A vodou priestess in Brooklyn . Vol. 4. Univ of California Press, 2010.

"Lesson Two: Gede and the Cemetery." In Extremis: Death and Life in 21st-Century Haitian Art – Curriculum Resource Unit. Retrieved from:  https://fowler.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/InExtremis_CRU.pdf  

Cosentino, Donald. Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou. United States, UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 1995. pp. 406-407 https://archive.org/details/sacredartsofhait0000unse/page/406/mode/2up  

Anderson, Jeffrey E.. Voodoo: An African American Religion. United States, LSU Press, 2024.

Puckett described this figure like so: ““...Most of the time, however, when going about on the earth, the Negro devil has the appearance of a gentleman, wearing a high silk hat, and a frock coat, and having an "ambrosial curl" in the center of his forehead to hide the single horn which is located there. Mrs. Viriginia Frazer Boyle tells me that when she was first taken to church by her father and mother she used to scan the congregation eagerly for a man with that "ambrosial curl" and one with the "evil eye", which her old Negro nurse had told her were to be found in every crowd, even in church. In most cases this Negro devil has cloven feet, a characteristic also credited to him in European circles. Possibly the black cat is the animal most chosen by the Negro devil for impersonation...Nevertheless the devil is not limited to this particular form but may appear as a rabbit, terrapin, serpent, housefly, grasshopper, toad, bat, or yellow dog at will. To the Mississippi Negroes he often appears as a black billy-goat; a view strictly in keeping with his custom at the English witches' Sabbath. In New Orleans it is thought by some that snakes and black cats are incarnations of the devil…” SOURCE: Puckett, Newbell Niles. Folk beliefs of the southern Negro. University of North Carolina Press, 1926. https://archive.org/details/folkbeliefsofsou00puck/page/550/mode/2up; An additional description is provided by Jacobsen: “A figure very similar to the Haitian Ghede and Puckett’s Negro Devil appears in many Woodruff County folktales. He is commonly seen near a crossroads, a cemetery, or, as is often the case, both simultaneously. Sometimes, as in Haiti, he holds a cane.” SOURCE: Jacobsen, K. (Nov. 1, 2002). The Society for the Study of Southern Literature, Volume 36, Issue 1: https://southernlit.org/volume-36-issue-one-fall-2002/; although Jacobsen likens him to Ghede, his manner of dress actually matches Milo Marcelin’s description of Baron Samedi: “Baron-Samedi, père et chef des Guédé, est le maître des cimetières. On le représente sous les traits d’un noir robuste, qui porte une longue barbe blanche; il est vêtu d’une redingote, coiffé d’un melon ou d’un chapeau haut de forme, ganté de blanc; il a toujours en main un bâton coco-macaque et une bouteille de clairin ou rhum blanc. Une croix noire, sur laquelle figure parfois un crâne, est son Emblème.” SOURCE: Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. II. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. p. 153. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/152 

This song is from the following play: Déjoie, Menès. (2016). Masuife. Createspace Independent Publishing Platform. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/masuife/page/n26/mode/1up 

Milo Rigaud described Jean Zombi in the following terms: “Jean Zombi est un des prototypes les plus curieux de la Tradition voudoo. Il fut un de ceux qui, d'ordre de Dessalines. massacrèrent le plus de blancs pendant la libération d'Haïti du joug français. Jean Zombi est actuellement un des mystères les plus influents du panthéon voudoesque : comme loa, il appartient au rite Péthro”. Source: Rigaud, Milo. La tradition voudoo et le voudoo haïtien: son temple, ses mystères, sa magie. FeniXX, 1953. P. 67. https://lib-ufdcweb3.uflib.ufl.edu/AA00002240/00001/70x; Milo Marcelin described Captain Zombi in the following terms: “Cap'taine Guédé ou Cap'taine Zombi est un loa élégant et sinistre. On se le représente comme un homme vêtu de blanc, bien cravaté et badine à la main. Sa mâchoire est bandée comme celle d'un cadavre et il a du coton dans les narines et les oreilles…” Source: Marcelin, Émile, and Alfred Métraux. "LES GRANDS DIEUX DU VODOU HAIÏTIEN." Journal de la Société des Américanistes 36 (1947): 51-135. https://www.persee.fr/doc/jsa_0037-9174_1947_num_36_1_2357; Jean Zombi (Jan Zonbi) and Captain Zombi (Kaptèn Zonbi) are also listed in Beauvoir’s Lapriyè Ginen, under the Gede rite: Beauvoir, Max. Lapriyè Ginen. Haiti, Edisyon Près Nasyonal d'Ayiti, 2008. pp. 187-196. https://archive.org/details/beauvoir-max-g.-lapriye-ginen-2008/page/n97/mode/2up

These lyrics can be found in: Anderson, Jeffrey E.. Voodoo: An African American Religion. United States, LSU Press, 2024; according to Anderson, they were reported in a newspaper from New Orleans. A similar song is described in Helen Pitkin Scherz’s fictional novel An Angel by Brevet, although instead of “Pou fé mouri” the lyrics go “L’appé vini, li grand Zombi, L’appé vini pou to gri-gri”. The novel also contains a second song that seems to connect “Zombi” to “La Mort” (Death). As other songs in this novel are attested by non-fiction sources, it is possible this too was a real song. See: Schertz, Helen Pitkin. An Angel by Brevet: A Story of Modern New Orleans. United Kingdom, J.B. Lippincott, 1904. p. 61 & pp. 285-286. Retrieved from: https://www.google.com/books/edition/An_Angel_by_Brevet/35PUAAAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0 

The book El vodú en Cuba describes how vodou was practiced by Haitians who immigrated to Cuba during the early 20th century. One of the lwa is named “Zombí”, who is an old, wrinkled man who lives in the woods, wearing a torn hat and rolled up pants. Source: James Figarola, Joel, José Millet, and Alexis Alarcón. El vodú en Cuba. Santiago de Cuba: Editorial Oriente, 2007. Originally published in 1998. pp. 174-175. https://archive.org/details/elvoduencuba0000jame/page/174/mode/1up 

Luisah Teish identified Grand Zombi with the rainbow serpent Dan Aidowedo: Teish, Luisah. Jambalaya: The Natural Woman's Book of Personal Charms and Practical Rituals. United States, HarperCollins, 2021. Originally published in 1985; Curator of The New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum, Jerry Gandolfo, claims to have witnessed a secret ceremony in which Grand Zombi (“Le Grande Zombie”) was represented by a live serpent: Crocker, Elizabeth Thomas. A trinity of beliefs and a unity of the sacred: modern Vodou practices in New Orleans. Louisiana State University and Agricultural & Mechanical College, 2008; Denise Alvarado describes Grand Zombi as “the primary serpent deity of New Orleans Voudou”: Alvarado, Denise. Witch Queens, Voodoo Spirits, and Hoodoo Saints: A Guide to Magical New Orleans. United States, Red Wheel/Weiser, 2022; Carolyn Morrow Long proposed that Grand Zombi might be derived from “Nzambi Mpungu, the supreme being of the Kongo people”: Long, Carolyn Morrow. A New Orleans Voudou Priestess: The Legend and Reality of Marie Laveau. United States, University Press of Florida, 2007. 

Schertz, Helen Pitkin. An Angel by Brevet: A Story of Modern New Orleans. United Kingdom, J.B. Lippincott, 1904. pp. 273-275. Retrieved from: https://www.google.com/books/edition/An_Angel_by_Brevet/35PUAAAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0; The novel describes a song for Charlo on pages 273 and 274, in which he is referred to as “Charlo, ‘tit’ frère.”

See: Garrigus, John D.. A Secret Among the Blacks: Slave Resistance Before the Haitian Revolution. United States, Harvard University Press, 2023, p. 92. https://www.hup.harvard.edu/books/9780674272828; For historic descriptions of Charlot, see: Charles Fournier de la Chapelle, “Mémoire pour servir à l’information des procés contre les négres devins, sorciers et empoisonneurs” (1758). Retrieved from: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10112297j/f6.item; and: Sébastien Jacques Courtin. “Mémoire Sommaire Sur Les Prétendus Pratiques Magiques et Empoisonnements Prouvés Au Procès Instruit et Jugé Au Cap Contre Plusieurs Nègres et Négresses Dont Le Chef Nommé François Macandal a Été Condamné Au Feu et Exécuté Le Vingt Janvier Mille Sept Cents Cinquante Huit,’ 1758, ANOM F/3/88,” January 20, 1758. Archives Nationales d’Outre Mer. Retrieved from: https://ecda.northeastern.edu/key-text-memoire-sommaire-sur-les-pretendus-pratiques-magiques-et-empoisonnements/; I have attempted to transcribe excerpts of these documents here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54861145/chapters/156619222 

Albert J. Raboteau describes evidence of Shango or Xɛbyoso in Slave Religion: Raboteau, Albert J. Slave religion: The" invisible institution" in the antebellum South. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978. pp. 80-81. Retrieved from https://archive.org/details/slavereligioninv00rabo/page/80/mode/2up; The lightning stones seized from the home of Betsy Toledano might have been sokpe, possible evidence of Xɛbyoso worship. See:  Ellis, Alfred Burdon. The Eʻwe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa: Their Religion, Manners, Customs, Laws, Languages, &c. United Kingdom, Chapman and Hall, limited, 1890. p. 38 Retrieved from: https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_E%CA%BBwe_speaking_Peoples_of_the_Slave/Ak9M8SXJlekC?hl=en&gbpv=0; Xɛbyoso also appears in the pantheon of Haitian Vodou, as Kebyesou Danle (Xɛbyoso dans l’air / Xɛbyoso in the air) or Kebyezo. Granted, Toledano was not necessarily a priestess of Xɛbyoso, as similar stones were also used in the worship of Shango. See Courlander’s description of “loa stones” / “thunder stones” in: Courlander, Harold. The Drum and the Hoe: Life and Lore of the Haitian People. United States, University of California Press, 1960. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/drumhoe0000unse/page/21/mode/1up; Alvarado also proposes that Toledano might have worshiped Shango instead of Xɛbyoso in: Alvarado, Denise. Witch Queens, Voodoo Spirits, and Hoodoo Saints: A Guide to Magical New Orleans. United States, Red Wheel/Weiser, 2022; For more information about the central role of Xɛbyoso in the Dahomean pantheon, see: Herskovits, Melville Jean. Dahomey, an Ancient West African Kingdom, Vol. II. Evanston, Northwestern University Press, 1967. pp. 150-169. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/dahomeyancientwe0000hers/page/150/mode/2up; and: Herskovits, Melville Jean, and Herskovits, Frances Shapiro. Dahomean Narrative: A Cross-cultural Analysis. Evanston, Northwestern University Press, 1958. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/dahomeannarrativ0000hers.

Ahoga, Cossi Augustin. Vers un modèle africain de dialogue interreligieux: Le cas de Vodun Xɛbyoso et de l’Église des Assemblées de Dieu dans la région Maxi au Bénin. United Kingdom, Langham Creative Projects, 2023; As described by Ellis, “flint implements of the Stone Age” were believed to be the thunderbolts of Xɛbyoso, and were thusly called “so-kpe” – “thunder stones”: Ellis, Alfred Burdon. The Eʻwe-speaking Peoples of the Slave Coast of West Africa: Their Religion, Manners, Customs, Laws, Languages, &c. United Kingdom, Chapman and Hall, limited, 1890. p. 38 Retrieved from: https://www.google.com/books/edition/The_E%CA%BBwe_speaking_Peoples_of_the_Slave/Ak9M8SXJlekC?hl=en&gbpv=0; This is just speculation, but worshipers of Xɛbyoso and their descendants might have identified the flint implements of Native Americans with so-kpe, establishing another connection between West African and Native American cultures through the “thunder bird”.

Owen, Mary Alicia. Voodoo Tales: As Told Among the Negroes of the Southwest. United States, Putnam's Sons, 1893. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Voodoo_Tales/H_kLAAAAYAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0 

In describing the contradictory narratives surrounding Marie Laveau, Kodi A. Roberts mentions that “She was also remembered as sheltering both African slaves and Native Americans at her home. Some of these, especially the Native Americans, are remembered as traders with whom Laveau had some kind of business relationship, adding the role of entrepreneur to her other accomplishments”. Source: Roberts, Kodi A.. Voodoo and Power: The Politics of Religion in New Orleans, 1881-1940. United States, LSU Press, 2015.

The “Mardi Gras Indians” are part of the Black masking tradition of New Orleans, as a tribute to the positive history between Native Americans and African Americans: “In 1722, the first known escape of a slave from a plantation took place. It is said that tribes such as the Choctaw, Seminoles, and Chickasaws in Louisiana were responsible for freeing some of the Africans from slavery.  With Indian help, the Africans learned to survive off the land and lived in the forest camps that came to be known as Maroon Camps…They relied on the Indians to help negotiate the swamps and continued cultivating their relationship with them, even establishing a sort of Underground Railroad to the maroon camps where possible. At this time, the Africans were very thankful to have such allies, and in 1746, archives began to refer to slaves dressing as Indians as the Africans began to celebrate Mardi Gras in their unique customary fashion.” Source: The Mardi Gras Indians, a story. African American Registry. 13 Feb. 2024. Accessed December 29, 2024 from https://aaregistry.org/story/the-mardi-gras-indians/; The article also describes how hundreds of enslaved Africans and Indians (enslaved and free) joined forces in the “Natchez Revolt” of 1729. Marronage is a key aspect to the history of Louisiana Voudou, with San Maló being one of the most important saints. See: Voisin, Erin Elizabeth. Saint Maló Remembered. Louisiana State University and Agricultural & Mechanical College, 2008.

The word zonbi might be African in origin; see: Hans-W. Ackermann, and Jeanine Gauthier. “The Ways and Nature of the Zombi.” The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 104, no. 414, 1991, pp. 466–94. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/541551. Accessed 30 Dec. 2024.

Davis, E. Wade. “PREPARATION OF THE HAITIAN ZOMBI POISON.” Botanical Museum Leaflets, Harvard University, vol. 29, no. 2, 1983, pp. 139–49. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41762846. Accessed 30 Dec. 2024.

Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. II. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. pp. 156-157. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/155 

International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission (IGLHRC) and SEROVie. "The impact of the earthquake, and relief and recovery programs on Haitian LGBT people." (2011). Retrieved from: https://iglhrc.org/sites/default/files/505-1.pdf 

Quoting Charlot Jeudy, the former President of KOURAJ: “After we were in 2010, with the massive earthquake that struck the country and brought destruction on all of us. And we saw a large number of Western evangelicals, especially from the United States, arrive under the pretext of preaching the gospel and the return of Christ. This soon became preaching homophobia and hate towards our community M, blaming the earthquake that had struck the country on sex between men, between women. Don’t forget that 65% of the country was illiterate and didn’t have any deep understanding behind the cause of seismic movements.…Many other friends found themselves in the camps for 2 or 3 months after the earthquakes and in them our Republic became more of a theocracy run by the religious. Everyone was preaching and the preachers were foremost attacking gays and transsexuals…Those in the camps were being heavily persecuted and forced to leave to find shelter elsewhere due to what was coming from these preachers (saying they were sinners, etc.).” SOURCE: A Cases Rebelles’ conversation with Charlot Jeudy, President, Executive Committee of Kouraj (Haiti), Retrieved from: https://www.q-zine.org/non-fiction/kouraj/ 

Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. II. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. pp. 194. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/193 

PARSONS, Elsie Clews. “SPIRIT CULT IN HAYTI.” Journal de La Société Des Américanistes , vol. 20, 1928, pp. 157–79. JSTOR , http://www.jstor.org/stable/24720068 . Accessed 18 Sept. 2024.

Courlander, Harold. Haiti Singing. New York, Cooper Square Publishers, Inc., 1973. Originally published in 1939 by University of North Carolina Press. pp. 87-88. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/isbn_0815404611/page/87/mode/1up

[nel-world]

hi--

Scene 1: Arthur Discovers the Letters

INT. PENNY AND ARTHUR’S RUNDOWN APARTMENT – NIGHT

The room is dimly lit, cluttered with old furniture and papers. Penny lies weak in bed, her breathing shallow. Arthur, cleaning up, discovers a stack of letters addressed to “Thomas Wayne.” Confusion clouds his face as he flips through them.

ARTHUR (holding up the letters) Mom... you’ve been writing to Thomas Wayne?

PENNY (weakly, with effort) He owes us, Arthur. He promised your father. He’s the only one who can help now.

ARTHUR (frowning, flipping through the letters) Why didn’t you tell me?

PENNY (her voice frail) He was supposed to make things right... your father trusted him. Wayne’s the reason we lost everything... but he’ll come through. Just remind him. He’ll help you.

ARTHUR (conflicted, anger building) You’ve been waiting all these years, and nothing’s changed. You still believe he’s going to help?

PENNY (desperate, clinging to hope) He will, Arthur. You’ll see. Just go to him. He’ll remember.

Arthur, holding the letters tightly, glances at his mother, unsure whether to believe her. His face hardens, and he storms out of the room.

Scene 2: Arthur Confronts Wayne About the Past

INT. WAYNE’S PRIVATE OFFICE – NIGHT

Arthur sneaks into Wayne’s lavish office, his steps unsteady but determined. He holds the stack of letters in hand as he approaches Wayne’s desk. Wayne sits, sipping whiskey, calm and indifferent as Arthur enters.

WAYNE (without looking up) What do you want? This is a private office.

ARTHUR (voice shaky, stepping forward) You destroyed my father. He trusted you. You took everything from him!

Wayne glances up at Arthur, now recognizing him but showing no concern.

WAYNE (calm, condescending) Your father? Right. He was one of those men who couldn’t handle this city. Weak. Happens all the time.

ARTHUR (voice trembling with emotion) He thought you were partners! You ruined him. And you left us with nothing. My mother... she’s been writing to you for years, waiting for you to fix it.

WAYNE (leaning back, amused) Your father’s failure isn’t my responsibility. He wasn’t strong enough to survive Gotham. That’s how this city works. You either crush, or you get crushed.

Arthur’s fists clench as the weight of Wayne’s indifference sinks in. His eyes flash with a mix of anger and disbelief.

ARTHUR (gritting his teeth) You destroyed us. My mother still thinks you’re going to help. But you never cared.

WAYNE (cold, standing up) I did what had to be done. And now you come here whining, expecting what? Sympathy? You’re no different than your father—another nobody who couldn’t survive.

Scene 2.5: Arthur Posts About Wayne on Social Media

INT. ARTHUR’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Arthur sits in front of his old laptop, his face tense and focused. His hands hover over the keyboard as he begins typing furiously, exposing everything he knows about Wayne’s betrayal of his father. He posts the letters his mother wrote, along with pictures of Wayne and his father together, attaching bitter captions accusing Wayne of greed and corruption.

ARTHUR (V.O.) (whispering to himself as he types) People need to see the truth. They need to know who you really are. You can’t hide behind your money forever.

Arthur clicks “POST,” and within minutes, the post starts gaining attention. Comments flood in—some mocking, others in agreement. Arthur stares at the screen as his mind swirls with a mixture of rage and satisfaction.

Scene 3: Arthur’s Fight with Wayne’s Men (Abandoned Warehouse)

EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

Arthur is dragged out of a black SUV by two of Wayne’s henchmen. His hands are bound behind his back. They shove him into a dark, decrepit warehouse. The space is empty, cold, and filled with the sounds of dripping water. One of the men lights a cigarette, tossing a match onto the ground where gasoline has been spread.

HENCHMAN 1 (mocking, as he pushes Arthur to the ground) You thought you could post that crap about Mr. Wayne and get away with it? He owns this city. You’re just a bug he’s about to squash.

HENCHMAN 2 (laughing, flicking the match onto the gasoline) Enjoy the show, freak.

The fire ignites, spreading quickly around the room. Arthur, tied to a chair, watches as the flames grow closer. His face, though panicked at first, starts to relax. He laughs quietly, then louder and louder as the fire inches toward him.

WAYNE (V.O.) (echoing through Arthur’s mind) Your father was weak. You’re weak. People like you get eaten alive in Gotham.

Arthur grins wildly as the flames reach him, but he remains unfazed. His ropes burn away, freeing his hands. He stands, walking through the fire toward the henchmen. His laughter echoes through the warehouse.

ARTHUR (grinning, voice calm) I’m not afraid anymore.

Scene 4: Arthur’s Escape and Transformation

INT. BURNING WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

The fire rages around Arthur, but he moves through it with newfound confidence, fighting off the henchmen one by one. He grabs a metal pipe and swings it with savage precision, taking them down with brutal efficiency.

He pauses, looking at his reflection in a broken mirror on the wall. His face is smeared with soot, and his eyes burn with a manic intensity. The fire illuminates his features as he realizes that the flames, like his rage, have consumed him but not destroyed him.

ARTHUR (V.O.) (whispering, grinning at his reflection) I don’t burn. I rise.

He walks through the warehouse’s flames, leaving the destruction behind.

Scene 5: Final Confrontation – Joker vs. Wayne

EXT. WAYNE MANSION – NIGHT

Arthur, now fully transformed into the Joker, stands outside Wayne’s mansion. He watches as Wayne exits his car, oblivious to the figure waiting in the shadows. Wayne pauses when he sees Joker standing there, smiling menacingly.

WAYNE (irritated, but slightly uneasy) You again? What now? Come to beg for help?

JOKER (ARTHUR) (smiling darkly) Beg? No. I’m done asking for anything. It’s time you see what happens when everything you built starts to burn.

WAYNE (mocking, stepping closer) You don’t understand how the world works. It’s about power, money, control. People like you don’t matter.

JOKER (ARTHUR) (laughing, shaking his head) No, you still don’t get it, do you? It’s not about money. It’s about chaos. And I’m here to watch it all burn.

Joker flicks a lighter, setting fire to the bushes surrounding the mansion. The flames quickly spread, reflecting in Wayne’s eyes as he stares in shock. Joker walks away, leaving Wayne standing in the growing blaze, his world collapsing.

[liquid-luck-00]

The Adventures of Miss Mischief 1

Chapter 1

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 23: Enemies to lovers

Ao3 *** Here *** Part 2

Obviously this turned out way to long, and it kindof went in its own direction so here is part one of i have no idea how many.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette Todd was never one to back down from anything. When her parents died leaving both her and her big brother orphans she didn’t cry. In fact, she became tough and nails. She could use her size and innocent features and be able to pickpocket and manipulate situations on her favor. But that was all turned in its head the night her big brother didn’t cone back. She knew it was dangerous and beyond reckless to go out and look for him, but she did. She went out and looked, for him anyways.

As she was running across the rooftops when she was hit and grabbed. She looked around quickly before her eyes landed on Joker.

“Shit!” Was a breathed trough her teeth.

The maniac clown walked towards her laughing.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He laughed as he spoke. “What’s your name girly?” The henchman holding her tightened his hold on her neck effectively choking her when she didn’t answer. Mari knew she had to do something, she let fear wash over her features tapping the arm of the thug. “Let her go.”

She fell limply to the ground gasping for breath. “Not on your life.” She knocked the legs out from under the bench man and ran. She jumped off of the roof, the moment she landed she heard the crack and knew she broke her leg, but she didn’t stop. She wasn’t about to stop so she ran, turned corners, jumped over what she could, but did not stop.she would have continued to run had someone not pulled her out of oncoming traffic and in turn her flight state.

“Hey are you okay? Can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying?” She finally nodded at the last question. “My name is Jim Gordon what’s your’s.” She stayed quiet. “Can you speak?” She nodded. “Do you have a name?” She stayed quiet. “Do you have someone to call?” Quiet. “Are you a street kid?” Quiet again. He pulled out a phone and spoke. “Commissioner Gordon here, I have a street kid needing medical attention, broken leg.” He hung up after giving their location. “We are going to help you okay.”

Marinette stayed quiet. When officers came, she kept quiet about herself. She only told them about her injuries but stayed quiet on the rest. If Jay was still out there, I don’t want him caught by child services.

She would have gone into child services had a couple not asked what was going to happen to her. She had noticed the couple often in the hospital but never reached out.

They ended up adopting her, unfortunately they were from Paris meaning she would have to leave the place she called home. On the flight over she would have cried leaving Gotham, but that only would have brought up questions about her past, so she fell asleep.

- - -

Five years she had been living in Paris, the city of lights, and she still missed Gotham. It’s shadows and perpetual darkness was her home. It was surprising when her class was interrupted by a villain but growing up in Gotham prepared her for that. What it didn’t prepare her for was the magical mini god named Plagg who was supposed to give her powers.

“So, can you explain this to me more.”

“Sure kid. Your powers are cataclysm, you destroy whatever you touch, but you have five minutes afterwards before you transform back. Your weapons are one ore two batons, that are extendable, but weapons depend on how comparable you are me.”

“Okay so what about that partner you mentioned?”

“They will most likely have the ladybug miraculous.”

“What does that miraculous do, as in powers wise?”

“They have lucky charm and cure, but…”

“But what Plagg?” She questioned needing to know what she was going into.

“Since this seems to be the butterfly, they also need to cleanse the butterfly.”

“Okay I think I’ve got all I need to know for now, you?”

“Hungry.”

“What do you like?”

“Cheese!”

“How do cheese danishes sound?”

“Acceptable.”

She let Plagg eat comfortably before transforming and heading out. Her partner was unbearable the moment she met him, then again that wasn’t too hard to accomplish seeing as he captured the two of them in his yo-yo string. Then during the battle, he used his lucky charm but didn’t know what to do with it. In the end she ended up taking it and defeating the akuma.

“We make a pretty good team together don’t you think?” He leaned towards her.

“Catch the butterfly.”

“What?”

“Catch the butterfly, Mister Bug!”

“Okay,” he sounded defeated and he did as he was told. Releasing a now white butterfly.

“Now cast your cure.”

“My what?”

“Did your kwamii not explain anything to you?” A sheepish smile spread across his features. “You have to be kidding me. Cast your cure by tossing your Lucky Charm but do it quick you don’t have much time left before you transform back, I’ll talk with the victim.”

“Who are you two? Are you new heroes? What are your names?” The new girl who sat next her earlier appeared spewing questions. As a swarm of ladybugs covered the scene.

“I’m Mister Bug, see you around partner.” He winked at her as he swung away.

“I’m Miss Mischief. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to check up on the victim.” She moved past the reporter and towards Ivan, she gave him a small pep talk and with his confidence up she left.

It took her almost a month to pluck up the courage to approach Nightrunner to train her.

“Excuse moi, Monsieur Nightrunner.” She had approached one night while they were both patrolling.

“You are one of the new heroes, Mischief, right?”

“Oui. Um I was wondering, wold you be willing to train me?”

“Merde how did you become a hero then?”

“Magic jewelry appeared in my room.”

“Do you know how it appeared?”

“Apparently there is a guardian, but I don’t know who they are.”

“Do you know who your partner is?” She shook her head in response. “Merde! Okay why don’t you run patrol with me, and we’ll figure something out from there.” She nodded and the two left to finish the patrol.

- - -

To say she was surprised that she still remembered some of the things and moves she learned from living off the streets of Gotham was a huge help.

But that Bug still annoyed her to no end, they had talked the night after the first akuma, and apparently the reason why he didn’t know anything was because he was so exited to be a hero that he didn’t let his kwamii explain anything. She gave him an earful after that. Unfortunately, the red annoyance got it in his head that the two of them were soulmates.

It came to a head when during the akuma Mr. Pigeon. Bug simply summoned a lucky charm handed it to her and walked out. Sure, she defeated the akuma without using her power, and sure the bug caught the akuma and purified it, but she was so done with this. She walked out holding the luIcky charm guiding Mr. Ramier out when he approached.

“Nice work Kitty Cat.” As usual reporters surrounded them, he held out his fist for a fist bump.

She simply crossed her arms, “Thanks for the help, Bug.” Sarcasm dripped from her words like venom.

“What’s with the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” He responded.

“You left me alone to fight the Akuma on my own. Do you really expect me to sing your praises when you sat out here and did nothing?”

“But…” he thought for a moment before arriving at this sentence. “We are soulmates though don’t you trust me?”

“Yes, I trust you bug, you are my partner, but that does not answer my question. The part that we are soulmates is irrelevant and incorrect. Just because our miraculous are two halves of a whole does not mean that I have to have romantic feelings towards you. I’ll see you later for patrol” she vaulted away leaving him to stew.

Luckily, they split for patrol and she shadowed Nightrunner, and after they trained outside of the city. Which helped calm her down a bit.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug @astoriaandroses @icerosecrystal @t1dwarrior-of-earth @moon5606 @zalladane

[luminnara]

The Dismemberment Song | BOP Victor Zsasz x Reader | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey

Words: 3,791

Summary: Zsasz takes a liking to one of the burlesque dancers at Roman’s club.

PART ONE | PART TWO |

WARNINGS: graphic blood/gore/violence, reader may or may not torture and murder a guy, alcohol, all that good Gotham stuff, reader is kinda fucked up

Seriously, don’t read this if you don’t like blood

Based on The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid! 

This is written as a kinda vague fem!reader, but if there’s interest I can always write alternate versions for different genders, more specific body/personality types, or whatever else might tickle your fancy! Just hit up my ask box!

Requests are open!! Pls, I really wanna write more Zsasz or Zsaszmask x reader, gimme ideas!

The Black Mask was a club that boasted only the best of the best. Top shelf booze, luxurious furnishings, and entertainers that Gotham’s other club owners wished they could get their hands on all came together to form the East End’s trendiest spot. You were lucky enough to be one of those very entertainers, and you had been performing onstage at Roman’s club ever since one of his goons saw you dancing at another spot across town. Roman Sionis had bought you easily, promising a good nightly wage and all the free drinks you could stomach, and a few years later, you were still enjoying the nice gig at the Black Mask. 

Most nights were the same; you showed up around seven, hung around in the dressing room with the others while you all got ready, and enjoyed a drink or two before your first number. You were always in the chorus, not that you really minded--Roman paid you more than enough to keep you happy, even though you knew the stars got more. Girls who did solo numbers, especially if they could sing, those were Mr. Sionis’s favorites. You never really expected to achieve that kind of status, not when people like Dinah Lance were around and holding his attention, so when Roman pulled you aside one night to tell you that he wanted to give you the chance to do your own routine, you nearly dropped your drink. 

“Full creative control,” he said, a hand resting at the small of your back as you gaped at him. 

“I--what?” you managed to choke out. “I-I mean, thank you, Mr. Sionis, really--”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Roman.”

“Thank you, Roman,” you smiled, swallowing down your fear. “I won’t disappoint you, I swear.” 

“I know you won’t, doll.” he motioned for someone to bring him a drink. “Full creative control, like I said. I want to see what’s swirling around in that pretty mind of yours. Put some heart into it for me, k doll?”

You nodded. “You got it, boss.”

He grinned, hugging you to his side and pressing a kiss against your temple like he did with all the girls he liked. “Looking forward to it, beautiful.”

He let you go, turning to leave, and Zsasz slunk after him, but not before casting you an almost annoyed look. 

“Don’t disappoint,” he teased, whistling low before he followed his boss. 

You gulped. You were sure he wouldn’t mind peeling your face off, but you rather preferred staying alive.

“I won’t!” you called after him bravely. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes practically boring into you as if were sizing you up. He thought you were just some prissy little girl, didn’t he? Just like Roman, just like everybody else. But you would show them. They wanted to see what kind of shit really ate at your brain? Oh, you’d give them a nice little glimpse.

And so, only a couple shorts weeks later, here you were, getting ready in the dressing room like usual, only you were far more nervous than you had been for any other shift. You had busted your ass getting everything ready, even taking a few nights off to work twice as hard on what you hoped would be a good debut. You had given the band their sheet music, you had learned your lyrics inside and out (because you were absolutely determined to go that extra mile for Roman Sionis and show him that not only could you prance around onstage, but you could sing, too), and you had spent hours upon hours hand-decorating an old corset and lingerie set you had sitting around. Roman wanted this to come from the heart, he wanted a passion project, and you were gonna give it to him. 

You just had to pray that he was in the right mood to enjoy it.

“Think you’re good to go, my love,” the house mom said as she finished with your hair. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror. So far, so good...your hair was in big barrel curls, still warm to the touch as your house mom gave it a couple more passes with the hairspray for good measure. 

“You sure I don’t need--”

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” she interrupted, retreating to her usual chair. 

You kept staring at your reflection. “Do you think it’s too much? I mean...”

She laughed loudly. “Hon, this is Gotham. There’s no such thing as too much.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you weren’t so sure. “But...”

“But nothing. Now go on, go show Roman why he stays in business.”

You stood on shaky legs, nodding to her as you made your way towards the door. “R-right.”

“Break a leg,” she called after you. 

All you could do was nod. You knew what you were doing. You had practiced for hours every day to get ready for this. With a deep breath, you made your way down the hall leading to stage, shaking your hands out as you stood in the wings. You could do this. You were ready.

As soon as your stage name was announced, you stepped out, ruby encrusted heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. The lights were harsh, the crowd quiet as you came out to face them. The stage was set for you, a few props already waiting for you as you stood there, ready for the music to start.

Then, the band began playing, and you sprang into action.

“Hold still, my sweet. I’m tryin to measure the space between your molar and your jaw...” You sang, lunging forward to grab the medical-grade calipers sitting in a metal bucket for you. You trailed them down over your victim’s jaw, smiling as you did so. “...This caliper, no cause for fear. No it...it doesn’t hurt, it only helps me measure how much skin you have...”

Across the club, Zsasz looked up. He was standing near Roman, his boss sitting in a booth while he chatted with some business associates. He was far more interested in you than their conversation, his dark eyes tracking you as you moved across the stage. He was absolutely enthralled by your outfit, your tightly-laced corset covered in blood red rhinestones that glimmered under the stage lights, your matching bra and thong shining just as brightly. You looked like you were covered in blood, the gems catching his eye in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“--and the topmost layer of fat, but I won’t make an incision till you’re nice and numb...” There was an operating table on the stage, where one of Roman’s lowest-ranking goons was tied down. If Zsasz remembered correctly, this guy had fucked up pretty monumentally recently, so seeing him strapped down and struggling brought a grin to his face.

You ran over to the man, the crowd laughing as you leaned across him. “...Oh, and laughing gas can be so much fun, please don’t doubt my decision...”

The scene you had set was both comedic and sexual. In all honesty, Zsasz hadn’t expected you to do anything like this; you were a chorus girl, someone he had thought would go for something overdone and classic. Maybe some old school stupid, annoying, Singin In The Rain type shit, yet there you were, dressed in an outfit that was obviously meant to emulate dripping blood while you flitted around a man on a gurney. 

Zsasz couldn’t look away. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee!” you squealed, teasingly pressing your sawblade to the goon’s torso. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

You grabbed the goon as he struggled against his restraints, holding him down. Zsasz was sure the man was in on your little number, and he thought it was cute; you were pretending to be some sort of killer, maybe trying to appeal to Roman’s face peely urges. Maybe you were trying to make the boss happy by scaring his lackey like this.

“So don’t you squirm, don't you fret, I'm not gonna hurt you...yet.” You grinned, leaning down before you shoved the man’s face to the side, letting him go as you ran back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of blood lettin’, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading...”

You pranced back to the gurney, moving with that little extra theatrical oomph that made everyone think you were just playing. You smiled as they clapped and laughed loudly. They would figure it out soon enough. 

“Cutting you up will be so refreshing for me...” you cooed, discarding the calipers in favor of a scalpel. You traced it down the goon’s bare chest, a little line of blood following the blade as it pierced his flesh. 

He let out a scream, just as you hoped he would, and you gave his little table a shove, sending it wheeling a short distance away. 

“Now don’t you cry,” You sang, “And don’t call Miriam, she’s my alibi...oh let me check your toes out!” You picked up a set of pliers, taking hold of his big toe. “Aren’t your toenails cute?” you grabbed one and pulled, the goon screaming as you removed the nail, leaving a bloody pulp behind. “...and red is such a lovely color on you!” you leaned down in his face, grabbing the opposite foot’s big toenail and yanking. “...But you won’t be needing those!”

Roman began clapping, giving a loud “Whoo!”  as he watched you. He had no idea that when you had asked him for the name of his least favorite henchman, this would be the reason. Now, watching the man suffer onstage in front of everyone while you were dancing around him in six inch heels and a scandalously skimpy outfit, Sionis was more than entertained. He was impressed, absolutely astounding by the cruelty his little burlesque dancer held inside of her. He couldn’t have hoped for more. 

“When you’ve got no knees!” you sang, dropping your weapons in favorite of a crowbar. “...Or shins, or pinky fingers, or arteries....”

You brought your weapon down on each of the man’s legs, somehow still managing to poise yourself perfectly as you did so. You gave him a few good whacks, then dropped the bar, leaning down to pick a knife up out of the bucket and run it over his hands teasingly. 

“...so hold still while I remove them!” you trilled. 

The man tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints, but you shoved him back down with a sweet smile. 

“...Oh, and don’t fight back,” you sang, hopping up to sit next to him. “I think you’ll find you’re missing the point, with that.”

Meanwhile, Victor Zsasz was grinning, showing off his gold teeth while he watched you. He kept a close eye on your hips as they swayed, his trained eyes following your ass as it moved across the stage. Were you really carving a man up right then and there? He wanted it to be true. He wanted to smell the overwhelming tang of blood as you plunged a knife into your victim. But he was too far away, and so he had to settle for watching instead. 

Your victim tried to scream, and you shoved his head to the side playfully. 

“That’s enough outta you!” you sang, holding his jaw tightly.

As you repeated your chorus, your knife returned to the man’s flesh and he grunted in pain, pleading to an audience that didn’t care about him. The Black Mask was a fucked up place for fucked up people, no matter how trendy it was, and nobody in the audience was going to protest when someone was torn apart onstage. Besides, Roman Sionis was far too powerful for the GCPD to go after, and as you heard him laughing loudly in the audience, you had a pretty good feeling that he wasn’t going to send anyone after you for carving somebody up in a way that only you could.

You kept going, peeling your underbust corset off with the same grace and dexterity that Zsasz peeled faces with. As you stood in only your bra, thong, garters and stockings, you felt exhilarated, powerful, as if you had been born to cur people up in front of an audience. 

It’s not like this was your first time chopping a body up, anyways; there was a reason you had to move to Gotham and get a new gig, after all.

Zsasz watched you. In fact, his eyes were glued to you, even when Roman walked away to chat with a few mob bosses in a nearby booth. Were you seriously killing this man right in front of everyone? Victor didn’t necessarily care for all the theatrics, but he could appreciate how seriously you took you took your craft, and he had to admit, he was surprised that this was what you had come up with when Roman told you to give him something good.

“‘Cause I’m all out of hurt, you’ve used up all I’ve got,” you taunted, sneering down at your victim as you brought your saw down on his leg. “So I’m chopping you up and still coming up squat! If I want it to bleed, I’ll just roll up my sleeve and saw and saw and saw...”

The blade cut back and forth, and Zsasz’s eyes followed it. Blood was spurting up, drenching your arms as if you were wearing red opera gloves. 

“And saw, and saw, and saw, and saw....”

“Zsasz, can you believe this?” Roman asked, leaning towards him.

“No, boss,” Zsasz said with a little grin, shaking his head. 

“She’s good. We may have to give her a new job...”

You paused, giving your victim a break as you tossed the saw back into the bucket, drops of blood spattering across the stage as you pulled out a large butcher knife. Before it could touch Roman’s henchman, you used it to flick open the clasp on your bra, tossing the thin little piece of lingerie out into the crowd. You didn’t really care where it went; you were too busy enjoying yourself. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee,” you purred, trailing the blade down the side of the man’s face. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

“So don’t you squirm, don’t you fret, I’m not gonna hurt you, oh no, no, no, not...yet.” you plunged your blade into his chest, between two of his ribs, not close enough to knick his heart but definitely deep enough to cause him immense pain despite all the adrenaline that was sure to be running through his system now.

You pulled the knife back out, blood dripping off the metal blade as you held it tightly and pranced back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of bloodletting, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading but there’s one thing you’re forgetting...”

Turning back to him, you brought the blade to his throat, and in the crowd, Zsasz’s eyes lit up. He was delighted. He was enthralled. His pants were getting a little tight, but whatever. The rest of the audience was gazing up at you with wonder, disgust, amusement...but Zsasz was absolutely admiring the way you so confidently played with your victim. The theatrics were starting to grow on him, he decided, and he wanted nothing more than to go right up there and lick all that blood off your face.

“There’s nothing like the thrill of a shredding,” you sang, almost snarling, “but this is no orthodox beheading...”

You destroyed the man on the gurney, carving through him, drenching yourself in blood in an almost comical way. 

“Cutting you up,” you sang as you made an absolute mess. “Cutting you up...”

“Cutting you up is gonna be....” you finally stepped back, catching your breath as the song slowed. “...so refreshing for me.”

As your routine finished, you took a little bow, still holding the knife as you crossed your ankles and bent at the waist in a delightfully fancy gesture. The man on the gurney was very much dead, blood dripping down onto the stage, and the audience was still eating up every second of it. You could hear Roman cheering, and as you spotted him standing there amidst the crowd with Zsasz at his side, you blew them both a little kiss. 

“How about that?” you heard Roman’s voice boom above the clapping as you strode offstage. “I would call for an encore, but unfortunately, I think we’d need a new victim....”

Your head was still abuzz with the rush of killing, and you walked back to the dressing room in a daze. You were vaguely aware of Dinah Lance wrinkling her nose as you passed her, but you didn’t pay her any mind. Absolutely nothing could kill your good mood now. 

“Well?” the house mom asked as you made your way to your mirror. “Sounds like it went well, judging by those cheers...”

You smiled and hummed to yourself, nodding as you reached for something to clean your face with. You were going to need an entire shower to get all this blood off yourself. 

“Told you.” the house mom snorted a laugh. 

“He loved it,” you grinned. 

She shook her head in amusement. “You are one fucked up girl, I’ll tell you that much.”

“That’s showbiz, baby,” you joked, raising a towel to start working at wiping your face. 

“Oh, pussycat?” a singsong voice made you freeze. 

You could see Zsasz in the mirror. 

He was leaning in the doorway, smirking as he watched you. “Boss wants to talk.”

You paled. Had you fucked up after all? Did Roman get his shits and giggles and now planned on having Zsasz peel your face off? Sionis was infamous for his fickle moods. You’d watched him have plenty of people dragged off into back rooms just for speaking at the wrong time, and you had just done way worse than interrupt him. 

 You gawked at Zsasz, still staring at his reflection. What were you supposed to do? Run? He was blocking the only door, and there was no way you’d be able to get past him. You had no choice but to follow him to Roman. 

“O-Okay,” you managed to stammer out, finally turning towards him. “Lead the way.”

“Might want this.” he held up the bra you had tossed, twirling the strap around his finger while he gave you a smile that showed off his gold teeth.

“Give me that!” you snapped, rushing towards him.

“Ah.” he held it above his head, leering down at you. “Think I like this view more...”

“Zsasz!” you protested, scrambling against his chest and practically trying to claw your way up him to get your lingerie. 

He froze. He finally smelled the metallic tang of all that blood covering you, and coupled with the feeling of your tits against his chest...oh, he was so fucked. 

When he dropped the bra, you grabbed it from him, tossing it back to your mirror and moving to pick up a silky red robe off a nearby hook. You shrugged it on, tying it shut while Zsasz cleared his throat and offered you his arm. 

“Such a gentleman,” you sneered, taking it anyways. 

“When I want to be.” his voice was low and rough, as if his vocal chords were scraping against each other with every syllable. 

You looked up at him, a bit dumbfounded, as he led you out into the club once more. The band was playing as a few people cleaned up the carnage you had left behind, the bar’s patrons all chatting and drinking again. It was as if nothing had even happened and they hadn’t just watched a man be torn apart onstage a few minutes prior. 

Zsasz took you to Roman, the crowd parting before the two of you easily. Sionis was sitting in his favorite booth, sipping his drink and laughing, still seeming to be in a very good mood.

“Ah, there she is!” He said when he saw you, standing up and spreading his arms.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” You asked nervously as Zsasz let you go.

“Yes, yes, I had Mr. Zsasz grab you so that I could congratulate you on a thrilling performance.”

You stared at him. “You liked it?”

“Liked it? I loved it, darling! A bit messy for my tastes, but a lovely show, truly, though I suspect our dear Mr. Zsasz here wishes he could have been the one to take care of your victim. Isn’t that right, Zsasz?”

You glanced up at Zsasz. He grunted, not necessarily in agreement. He didn’t hate watching your performance by any means, and as much as he enjoyed helping little birds fly away from the world, he rather enjoyed watching you do it, too. 

“I’m glad, Mr. Sionis,” you said. 

“I told you, call me Roman.” he took a sip of his drink. “You know, normally, I don’t enjoy it when someone kills the people that belong to me, but I must admit, you certainly have a way with a knife.”

“I would have asked your permission, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” you gulped. 

“And what a lovely surprise it was!” Roman laughed loudly. “You’re very talented...in fact, how’d you like a promotion? Yes? Perfect, perfect! No, no, don’t shake my hand, you’re...well, you’re covered in blood. Quite frankly, it’s disgusting.” He snapped his fingers. “Mr. Zsasz, take her up to the penthouse so she can clean up, I don’t want all this blood getting on the new carpeting in here.”

“Oh, Mr. Sio--Roman,” you cleared your throat, “I can use the shower in the dressing room, really, it’s no trouble--”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” he waved you away. “You’re part of the team now, aren’t you? Besides, a job well done deserves some sort of reward. Zsasz will show you upstairs. Don’t worry, he’s completely harmless.”

As Zsasz put a hand on your lower back, you had your doubts. Harmless wasn’t really a word you would choose to describe Roman’s right hand man. 

“Come on, princess.” Zsasz purred, guiding you through the crowd before you had much of a chance to protest. 

He took you to the elevator in the corner, the bouncer standing guard in front of it stepping aside with a nod. The man hit the up button, and soon, you were pressed up against Zsasz in the small space, on your way up to Roman’s spacious penthouse. 

[the-widow-sisters]

Defending Honor

Summary: When Yelena and Steve go out on a mission together to capture some targets, Yelena ends up returning covered in blood but fortunately mostly unharmed. Natasha is terribly worried, and it ends up being revealed that Yelena killed every last one of them. Why? Because no one is allowed to say anything bad about her big sis.

Word Count: 2633

  Natasha nervously played with the remote, flipping through the channels and valiantly attempting to resist the temptation to call her sister and check on her.

  Steve and Yelena had gone to capture some henchman from a Russian mafia for questioning and interrogation about their leaders. It was originally meant to be something that Steve and Nat did together, but Yelena had begged to go in her sister’s stead so that she could have the immense enjoyment of telling Alexei that she went on a special mission with Captain America. Of course, Natasha had also known that the blonde was jumping for an opportunity to show that she was just efficient as her sister and to try for being an Avenger so she could fight side-by-side with Natasha all the time.

  Natasha hated to send Yelena on a mission where she would not be with her, but she knew her sister was extremely skilled. Also, the heartwarming sentiment that was behind Yelena’s excitement and insistence melted Natasha’s heart and her resolve with it.

  The redhead was quickly stirred from her thoughts as footsteps resounded outside the door. Natasha listened carefully, and easily recognized that it was two people. One of them had a heavier stride and the other was quicker and much softer in the delivery of the steps. She quickly had a good idea of who the two were. She stood up swiftly, and started heading to the door, standing not too far from it so that she could see who was coming in for sure when they entered.

  However, to Natasha’s shock and initial horror as the pair entered the door, she found herself looking at her baby sister being practically dragged into the room by Steve with her head bleeding, the cut dripping from above her eyebrow. The majority of her body had blood peppered all over it, but judging from the way she easily moved, Natasha assumed that the majority of it was not her own. This brought her some comfort, but the air surrounding the blonde did not reassure Natasha.

  “Nat, you need to take care of her,” Steve informed the redhead as he held on firmly to the blonde’s arm. She jerked herself from his hold, looking almost feral as she seemed as if she would strike at anyone or anything. Natasha could see just how angry her younger sister was, and she knew something was not right with the girl.

  “What happened?” Natasha demanded, her eyes worriedly looking between Steve and Yelena. Yelena looked as if she could kill someone, and Steve was not particularly happy himself. However, his irritation seemed to be directed at Yelena, and Yelena’s fury seemed to be directed at anything that moved or looked at her wrong.

  “Things got completely out of control, and she lost her cool. I think it’d be best to take some sort of disciplinary action,” Steve answered, and Natasha just looked at her sister, feeling love, concern, and care overtaking anything and everything else.

  “Steve, we’ll talk about this later. Thank you for bringing her back,” Natasha finally told him, ensuring that her tone was quite dismissive. There would be no further discussion of this matter, and Steve seemed to sense that they would indeed not be talking about it later if his deep sigh was anything to go by.

  He muttered something in response to her and headed out the door, shutting it behind him as he left the two alone. Natasha wasted no time in reaching out to Yelena and seeing if she would be willing to allow the redhead to touch her. To her surprise, despite the intense anger within the blonde, Yelena did not react when Natasha gently took her arm.

  “Where are you bleeding?” Natasha asked, and Yelena did not even look at her as she answered.

  “Just where you can see,” Yelena informed her. Natasha could hear the shortness in her voice and the way that she seemed fully tensed. Natasha let her go, heading to the kitchen to look for the first-aid kit underneath the sink in the cabinet.

  She could hear Yelena trudging behind her and pulling out a chair to sit in. Natasha found the kit and placed it on the counter, digging through it and finding all that she needed. Once she had prepared everything, she turned around and pulled out a chair, moving it closer to her sister’s so that she could inspect the blonde better.

  Yelena still was not wanting to look at her, and Natasha breathed out carefully before asking the burning question that was running through her.

  “What happened?” Natasha gently questioned, and Yelena just shook her head stubbornly.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Yelena told her firmly and Natasha could easily read the discomfort in the other girl’s body language. She could also see the intense anger that was very much still within her just from the way that Yelena’s hands were shaking ever so slightly.

  “Yelena,” Natasha insisted a bit more, and Yelena’s eyes flickered in Natasha’s direction but did not settle there. Natasha just watched her carefully for a long moment, trying to catch her gaze. However, when it became clear that she was definitely not going to meet the redhead’s eyes, Natasha just started in her task of wiping the cut on Yelena’s eyebrow.

  She gently placed her hand on Yelena’s cheek, guiding her so that the injury was more easily accessible. Yelena leaned her face ever so slightly into the contact, and the corners of Natasha’s lips curled upward just the tiniest bit as she stroked her thumb across the younger girl’s cheek and put down the watery rag in favor of lifting the with the alcohol-covered one to Yelena’s face. Yelena hissed as Natasha placed it there and dabbed at her wound quickly.

  “They insulted you,” Yelena finally spoke, her voice quiet and low. Natasha furrowed her brow, considering the words.

  “They called you lewd, inappropriate names, and I killed them,” Yelena stated it as if it were the simplest of facts, but her entire being was alight with fury.

  “Yelena—"

  “And I’d do it again,” Yelena cut her off with just a fraction of the barely unbridled rage within her coating her voice. She quickly moved her face out of Natasha’s hold as she folded her arms across her chest. Natasha just watched the blonde carefully.

  The words made Natasha’s heart ache, and the sensation could have been attributed to the pain she felt at her sister being hurt and the fact that she would be willing to get hurt all over again. Adding to those reasons, Natasha also felt some amount of awe, amazement, and adoration at the fact that Yelena cared so much about what people said about her big sister.

  “Little one, they’re just words,” Natasha spoke softly, remembering all of the many times she had been called things such as that actually to her own face.

  “They were disrespectful, and I will not tolerate it,” Yelena informed her, finally meeting Natasha’s eyes, and the redhead could see the pain, the love, and the rage within her honey-green pools.

  “Honey, I’m sure it was nothing I haven’t heard before a million times,” Natasha assured her, and Yelena looked almost even more hurt at the thought.

  “You don’t need to get yourself hurt for me,” Natasha quickly added before Yelena could have an opportunity to truly mull over her previous words.

  “Would you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Would you do it? If you were in my situation,” Yelena demanded, and Natasha sighed deeply, looking away from the blonde. She knew she could not lie to her, but she truly did not want to answer her and validate Yelena’s actions. Natasha could not stand for Yelena to get hurt any more over something as silly as Natasha’s pride and honor. She had no honor truly. She was doing the best she could, but she would always be all of those things people said she was.

  “You know the answer to that. But you—”

  “But what?! No one gets to insult you,” Yelena told her, and Natasha could hear the fire rising in her voice as she stood up from where she was sitting in front of the redhead. Natasha looked up at her, feeling a tiredness come over her as she met her gaze.

  “Sweet girl, you don’t need to go throwing yourself into danger every time someone says something about me,” Natasha told her, her voice quiet and tender as she stood up so she could face Yelena more efficiently. Yelena’s cut had started bleeding just a bit, and Natasha eyed it worriedly before turning around and grabbing a band-aid from the bag she had nearby.

  “Besides, they’re always going to say and think those things about me. Everyone that has met me does or has thought those things at some point,” Natasha stated plainly, and she turned back to face the blonde, unwrapping the band-aid as she met the girl’s eyes. To her surprise, Yelena looked almost heartbroken as she gazed at Natasha with an uncharacteristic softness in her.

  “I’ve never thought that,” Yelena told her, and they just stared at each other for a long moment. Natasha blinked quickly, swallowing before carefully sticking the band-aid to Yelena’s head. Something about the sincerity in the younger woman’s voice brought Natasha to tears.

  While Yelena could sometimes be so hardened and cruel, she could also be one of the softest, most marshmallow-like people that Natasha had ever seen.

  “Natashka… Did you really believe everyone thought that about you?” Yelena questioned, and it hurt Natasha’s heart to hear all of the concern and seriousness in her voice that Yelena so rarely showed. Natasha shifted her gaze from Yelena’s eyes to the floor quickly as she let her hands drop.

  “Not exactly… It just feels that way sometimes, y’know?”

  “I will kill whoever has made you feel that way,” Yelena expressed, and Natasha knew that it was a definitive and wholehearted promise. Natasha shook her head, stepping closer and taking the back of Yelena’s head in her hand before pulling her forward and kissing her forehead.

  “I know. It doesn’t matter anymore,” Natasha spoke against Yelena’s skin, and Yelena stepped closer, raising her head and meeting Natasha’s eyes.

  “It matters to me,” Yelena assured her, and Natasha could see that she meant every single word. Natasha just eyed her carefully before gently tugging her baby sister into her arms. She almost wanted to cry just from the sheer love that she felt from the girl.

  Natasha had never really had anyone be so quick to defend her and so willing to do anything it took just to protect Natasha’s feelings of all things. It was so selfless and so caring that it made Natasha feel the prickles of tears in her eyes just from the sheer adoration that was welling up within her.

  “I love you,” Natasha simply settled upon saying finally, and Yelena melted into her further, her arms wrapping around Natasha firmly. Natasha could not even really bring herself to care that Yelena’s bloody clothes were staining her own.

  “I love you, too,” Yelena immediately reciprocated. Natasha ran her fingers through Yelena’s hair, gently combing through it with her digits as she reveled in her younger sister’s closeness and just everything about her.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Natasha muttered under her breath, and at first, she was not sure if Yelena heard her. However, she quickly felt Yelena press her forehead against her shoulder firmly, her nose squished against Natasha firmly as she squeezed Natasha impossibly tightly. Natasha pressed her cheek against the side of Yelena’s head and just held her securely.

  “Thank you,” Yelena murmured, and the pure gratitude and awe in her tone broke Natasha’s heart. She rubbed Yelena’s back with the hand that was not running through her hair, and she tried to communicate all that she felt through that simple gesture.

  “Please don’t get hurt for me,” Natasha gently requested, and Yelena just shook her head in reply.

  “I can’t promise that, Natashka,” Yelena quietly replied, and Natasha honestly had not really expected her to promise such a thing to her.

  “I just want you to try. For me,” Natasha expressed, and Yelena sighed a bit, breathing in deeply.

  “I can try,” Yelena noncommittally conceded, and Natasha accepted the answer, knowing that was the best that she was going to coax from the younger girl.

  After a moment, she pulled away from the girl, bringing a hand up and cradling her cheek fondly before letting her hand drop.

  “C’mon. Let’s go get some clean clothes,” Natasha told her, and Yelena nodded as she cast a bit of a sheepish glance toward Natasha’s now bloodstained garments.

  The both of them headed to Yelena’s room, and Natasha started to search through the dresser. To her horror, everything inside of it was haphazardly stuffed in and looked completely opposite of her own dresser.

  “I thought I told you to clean up your dresser?” Natasha questioned, looking over her shoulder and noting the wicked grin on Yelena’s face as she took off her shirt and shifted her gaze between her older sister and the dresser.

  “You did. But this is my room, so my rules,” Yelena cheekily proclaimed, and Natasha just quirked an eyebrow.

  “It’s my house and that trumps everything,” Natasha informed her, chucking a clean white tank top in Yelena’s direction and aiming for her face. Yelena quickly lifted her hand and caught the shirt just before it hit her. The blonde narrowed her eyes a little as she slid the tank top over her bra-covered torso.

  “I hope that blood on your hands is dry,” Natasha spoke, her voice completely deadpan, and Yelena pulled her tank top out a bit from her body to examine the pristine, white fabric.

  “No stains, so I would assume so,” Yelena replied, and Natasha fondly rolled her eyes.

  “Go wash your hands, you gremlin,” Natasha told her, and Yelena stuck her tongue out at her before heading to the bathroom with a spring in her step.

  It was easy to see the blonde’s complete mood change that occurred after Natasha’s praise, and it made the redhead hurt just a little to see how much Yelena obviously needed to be told these things. She understood it, but it still injured her somewhat to see how starved Yelena had been of all good things.

  She kept digging through the clothes in the dresser, trying to see if she could find some comfortable sweatpants in the midst of the huge mess in the drawer. Natasha could hear the water turning off. After a few moments, Yelena’s footsteps sounded almost silently from the bathroom and across the floor.

  However, to Natasha’s surprise, Yelena ran her hands underneath Natasha’s shirt and placed her freezing cold palms against the redhead’s stomach as she wrapped her arms around her big sister. Natasha quickly gasped, turning her head quickly to look at the little turd holding onto her. Yelena was looking up at her with an almost evil grin, and Natasha rolled her eyes, starting to get used to the chill. Besides, she was not going to let Yelena win the battle of the wills.

  But her younger sister’s contact soon turned softer and more affectionate as she wrapped her arms more fully around Natasha’s waist and rested her head between her older sister’s shoulder blades. Natasha smiled a little, enjoying the feeling of Yelena hugging her.

  Yelena took in a breath as if she were about to say something, but quickly exhaled and just snuggled closer.

  Even though she never said anything, Natasha knew what she meant, and in reciprocation, Natasha brought a hand up to squeeze Yelena’s arm fondly.

  Thank you.

[lover-of-skellies]

For october prompts, maybe Shattered and Cross, 9?

Ok so,, Cross isn't immediately in this, but he is talked about quite a bit, and I hope that's ok

As it turns out, Shattered can be quite possessive at times, and Cross hasn't seen that side of him yet. As long as it can be helped, he never will, either

((Since I know they're really into dark cream stuff, ima tag @zu-is-here ))

"What is the meaning of this, Dream? Why are you here?"

Looking to the one who'd addressed him, Dream sighed, his gaze focusing itself entirely on Nightmare, "Oh come on, dear brother. You know why I'm here. Don't play dumb with me." Nightmare's brow bones knit in confusion and he watched his now corrupted twin, "I really don't, I assure you. Now state your reason for showing up, unannounced and uninvited, or I'll have to have you removed from this place."

The now shattered Dream arched a single brow bone in amusement, "Oh, really? Who's going to remove me? You?" The guardian of negativity narrowed his sockets, "State your purpose here, Dream. I'm not in the mood for games right now." The goop covered guardian of positivity sighed, his arms folded behind his back and his head held high as he approached his twin, his single golden eye light constricted into no more than a tiny pin prick, "I'm here to speak to you about Cross. I know you still have your eyes on him, and I figured that little issue needed to be cleared up as soon as possible."

Blinking in confusion, Nightmare looked to Dream, visibly dumbfounded, "Just what in the hell are you on? I don't care about Cross. He's an idiot who betrayed me. I couldn't care less where he is or what he does. He's your problem now." Dream leaned down, resting his elbows on Night's desk. As he laced his gloved fingers together and rested his chin on them, he sighed, "You're such a liar, Nightmare. You don't have to be, though. Just be honest with me, and maybe I'll forgive you."

Nightmare's violet eye lights watched the golden and onyx tendrils that swayed idly behind the other skeleton and persisted, "Dream, I'm not being a liar. I really don't care about Cross. I meant it when I said he's your problem now. Why is this such a big deal to you? You never cared for him, either." Dream scoffed, holding one of his hands up just enough to display the engagement ring he wore, "It's a big deal to me because he proposed to me, and I accepted. He MARRIED me. I can't have anyone coming between us and tearing him away from me, can I?"

Nightmare's expression remained dumbfounded and he leaned back in his seat, "...My god, you're delusional. See, I knew you couldn't handle the corruption. I WARNED you not to do it!" Dream hummed, shrugging his shoulders, "None of that matters anymore... What matters most is that filth like you doesn't try to wedge between us. If you try to take him away from me, there'll be consequences, Nighty."

The guardian of negativity refocused his attention on Dream's face, "Fine, whatever. Even if I WAS interested in him, you don't scare me. I'm Nightmare, and I do what I want, when I want." A tendril shot forward, capturing Nightmare's neck vertebrae and slamming him backward into a stone wall, and Dream tsked, "So... there's your roundabout way of admitting it. Maybe he's not your priority right now, but he was at one point, and that still pisses me off."

The office door slammed open and Killer's sockets widened upon the sight he was greeted by. Withdrawing a knife from within his jacket, he began to approach Dream. Well aware of the henchmans’ presence, Dream let out a deep sigh, his gaze settling on the approaching monster, whose sockets narrowed and began to drip liquid hate as he snarled, "Put 'em down, Dream, or so help me-"

Dream scoffed, a second tendril whipping around and striking Killer, sending him crashing into another wall, "Or what? You'll kill me? Pfft. How predictable." Eyes widening as he watched Killer pick himself up off the ground, Nightmare began to struggle against the tentacle that held him, "Fucking STOP already. He's not the one you came here to deal with. You came here to handle some imaginary issues with ME, Dream! Or did you already forget I was here?!"

Shifting his eye light back to Nightmare, Dream hummed, "What's this?... Does Nighty have a soft spot for his ever obedient pawn? How sweet." A tendril shot toward Killer again, breaking several of his ribs with ease and causing him to cry out in pain. In response, Nightmare's sockets widened further and violet tinted tears threatened to drip down his cheekbones. Noticing this, Dream tugged his brother closer and cooed, lowering his voice, "Stay away from Cross. Forget he ever existed. I don't care what you do. As long as you stay away from us, Killer will be fine." He paused, lifting a hand and offering his pinky to Nightmare, his tone becoming mocking, "Pinky promise, even."

Night scowled at him, growling lowly, "You're a psychopath." Sighing, Dream suddenly flung his brother aside, chuckling as he crashed into Killer and caused him to cry out again. Folding his arms behind his back again and approaching the pair of skeletons on the floor, he hummed, a twisted grin stretching across his face as he tilted his head, "Cross is mine, Night, and he will be until the day he dies. For Killer's sake, I hope you don't forget that."

[taiblogcomics]

I Can’t Pet Force You To Read This One, But...

Hey there, high school crushes. Well, it's finally here. Can you believe it? Yes, counting from the original Xanga site (which, yes, still counts. It's like our own Golden Age publication or apocryphia), this is our 10th anniversary of reviewing comics. That's fantastic. I'm excited, can't you tell? I can tell, since I'm writing this preamble a good two months before the actual anniverary~

So, last year we reviewed the absolute pile of dreck that is Heroes in Crisis. And while that was worth ripping into, I'd rather not spend the 10th anniversary hating on something. I'd like to do something actually meaningful to me. I've teased about this one for many years, probably for as long as I've been doing this blog, and I think it's time we stopped pussyfooting around and reviewed some Garfield. But not just any Garfield. It's finally time, my friends. This... is Garfield's Pet Force.

I dunno how many people will remember this one. Maybe you recall the direct-to-DVD movie adaptation from 2009, or at least advertising for it. I never saw it, but apparently it differs a bit. They also appeared a few times in those Garfield comics from back in the day. We even reviewed a couple (some were on the Xanga blog). But what we're looking at here are the original novellas published between 1997 and 1999. So yeah, these really are from my childhood. And since I've long espoused that Garfield was always funnier 20 years ago, this must be actual premium Garfield content, yeah? By golly, I hope so, because we got five whole books here today. So we should probably get into them~

Book 1: The Outrageous Origin

This is a classic sort of superhero cover. Standard team shot of poses, and that's fine for a first volume. In fact, that's great. Later editions of this would replace the lightning-filled gradient background with a pure white one, but I have this original version. We'll get to specifics about these characters in the meat of the story, but let's talk about the costumes for a bit. Very classic early-'90s sort of look, before the Dark Age kicked in. Reminds me a lot of Jim Lee's X-Men designs, actually. Making all your characters visually distinct is important in a team book. The heavy lean into secondary colours is unusual for heroic characters, but not unwelcome.

So we actually start with a cold open in the superhero universe. This is pretty much to introduce us to the characters as soon as possible, and thus I'll do the same for you here.

*Garzooka, team leader, super strong, has a razor-sharp claw, and can shoot radioactive hairballs from his mouth. That's... at least a unique power, I don't think anyone on the Justice League can do that~ *Odious, the dumb muscle with the accent on the "dumb". Possibly even stronger than Garzooka, and possessing a "super-stretchy stun tongue", an elastic tongue that can scramble the minds of whoever it adheres to. *Starlena, the team girl. She can fly, and she has a siren song that can put those who hear it into a hypnotic trance. Garzooka is the only one immune to its effects, for reasons that are never explained. *Abnermal, the kid-appeal character. He has ice powers, forcefields, and an ill-defined "pester power" that means he can annoy people on a greater scale than normal folks. It's pretty much only used for comic relief, but that could be a brilliant power in the right hands. *Compooky, the brains of the operation. Other than flight, his powers are limited to super intelligence, which means he's usually the exposition guy. There's probably a reason they left him out of the movie adaptation~

You got all that? Don't worry, we'll introduce you again later in the book. What actually happens in the intro chapter isn't really important, it's just setting up the universe. In fact, it's all taking place within Pet Force #99, a comic just enjoyed by Nermal. Yes, we quickly cut over to the main Garfield universe ("our universe", the narrator calls it), where Pet Force is just a comic book. The Garfield gang is all outside, enjoying a cookout prepared by Jon Arbuckle. Nermal is extremely enthused by his comic book, and brags about how he has all 98 previous issues sealed and polybagged, and this one will soon join them. Sorry, Nermal, this came out in 1997, the speculator boom already went bust~

Garfield dismisses comic books as stupid because you can't eat them or use them as a blanket, and declares that none of the stuff that happens in the comic could possibly happen in real life. Uh oh, irony! Because these things can happen, and do! It's a parallel universe, baby! This might be one of my earliest introductions to a "parallel worlds" concept. Much like Earths 1 and 2 in pre-Crisis DC, the events of the comic are essentially the real life adventures of their super-powered counterparts in another dimension. Most of the action in these stories will take place there~

So here's the setup: Vetvix (the parallel equivalent to Liz the veternarian) is an evil sorceress and scientist, who essentially wants to experiment on animals in peace, and possibly subjugate the universe while she's at it. You could argue that Liz is an odd choice for villain, since our universe's Liz isn't particularly evil. But then, our universe's Garfield isn't particularly heroic either. She operates out of a deadly space station called the Orbiting Clinic of Chaos, and at present she's waiting for the arrival of her henchman, Space Pie-Rat, who is a six-foot-tall anthropomorphic rat dressed in stereotypical pirate getup. Vetvix has just finished inventing a levitation ray, and she'd like Pie-Rat to go out and use it to steal all the food in the universe. Vetvix doesn't think small, is what I'm saying.

The counter to Vetvix is Emperor Jon, ruler of the planet Polyester. He's kind and benevolent, even if he's a little dippy and his fashion sense atrocious. Having gotten wind of Vetvix's latest plan, he contacts Pet Force in their ship, the Lightspeed Lasagna. Upon learning the problem, Pet Force gives chase to Pie-Rat. They eventually corner him on some desolate planet, landing and entering an abandoned factory. Unfortunately, they're not safe amongst the dangerous machinery, because this turns out to be a trap. Vetvix has been busy as hell, because she's also invented a metal that's impervious to their powers. And that's not all, because she's also basically invented the Phantom Zone, where she traps Pet Force forever. It specifically mentions it doesn’t kill them, because it wouldn't be kosher to murder the heroes in a Garfield book~

The Lightspeed Lasagna has both onboard cameras connected to the heroes' belts as well as automatic return protocols, so within two days, Emperor Jon knows exactly what's happened to Pet Force. He needs help, so he calls upon his most trusted and powerful advisor: Binky the Sorceror. Binky's just as loud and obnoxious as in the main universe, but he's also a powerful magician. He conjures up a spell for Emperor Jon that lets him pierce the veil between universes. It's basically Equestria Girls rules: parallel universes have similar characters between them. So to replace Pet Force, they need the nearest genetic equivalents from another universe. And that's the versions of Garfield, Odie, Arlene, Nermal, and Pooky that we know and love~

Back in the main universe, it's another day entirely. Another cookout is taking place, and Nermal has received his special anniversary issue of Pet Force #100. The cover's really special, dripping with '90s cover gimmicks like glow-in-the-dark and embossing. A rarely used one, though, was "portal to another universe". That was pretty expensive to print, so you won't find many comics like Nermal's. Maybe he had something there with the collecting after all. The cover glows, and while Jon is distracted by the grill, Garfield and Friends disappear~

They reappear in Emperor Jon's wood-paneled throne room, now transformed into Pet Force. Emperor Jon and Sorceror Binky try to explain the situation, but Garfield--now Garzooka--is disbelieving of the whole thing. In fact, even the idea that Jon can now hear him talk absolutely floors him. Since he's about to deliver the exposition for everyone, can we talk about Compooky for a minute? This spell has just granted sapience to Garfield's teddy bear. I don't expect deep philosophy from a children's novella, but the ramifications of this are really under-explored. Like, never mind the whole idea of a teddy bear having the same genetic makeup as an alternate universe equivalent. He goes from inanimate object to fully conscious being, and he just rolls with it.

Anyways, once everybody gets caught up on what's going on and accepts the new reality, a training montage ensues so the group can all learn to use their powers without killing each other. Once at least reasonably trained, the reborn Pet Force is sent out to stop Pie-Rat. He's gotten sloppy in the times with Pet Force dead, so they track him down easily. After a brief scuffle where Garzooka takes his eyepatch, Pie-Rat flees in his ship. They follow Pie-Rat back to the Orbital Clinic of Chaos, but they can't go in the front. That led the original Pet Force into a trap. Finding an unguarded maintenance hatch--standard on any big space station--they enter Vetvix's lair for a final confrontation!

After dealing with the Waiting Room of Doom, which slowly fills with outdated magazines, they enter Vetvix's inner sanctum. Frustrated with Pie-Rat's failure, she uses her magic to turn him into an ordinary mouse. Vetvix then attempts to use her same weapon on this new Pet Force, but thanks to story contrivance, it only works on beings born in this universe. As other dimensional visitors already, they can't be banished to another dimension. She then pulls a Dr. Claw and runs off cursing Pet Force's name while her base self-destructs. Vetvix is a very "discard and draw" sort of villain, it seems. Pet Force, of course, makes a harrowing escape just in the nick of time.

Returning to Emperor Jon, they vow to be ready to return whenever they're called on, since evil never stays dormant for long. Odious even gifts Emperor Jon with the mouse-ified Pie-Rat as proof of their victory. Well, I'm glad they remember that, so they didn't accidentally murder a major villain in their first superhero outing. They're returned to their own universe, and the time differential between them places them back with Jon having not had time to even look up from the grill. Garfield begins to doubt the adventure even happened--until that night, when he finds Pie-Rat's eyepatch still on his person. Ah, definitive proof of... eyepatches, I guess~

Book 2: Pie-Rat's Revenge!

You have to wonder where, in a space-faring superhero setting, Pie-Rat got the inspiration for his classic pirate motif. It's a little incongruous is all I'm saying. And hey, remember when I said earlier that Garzooka's purple-and-green colour scheme was odd for a hero? Well, here he is as a villain! That'll catch your eye. This would be a terrific comic cover, which is what you want in a series like this.

The book opens with a brief recap of the previous story's events, then moves into the new plot. See, Emperor Jon has opted to keep the polymorphed Pie-Rat as his pet. How very Ron Weasley of him. That's pretty apt, actually, because similarly Pie-Rat has maintained his intelligence in his new mousey form. Pie-Rat gets sick of being Emperor Jon's pet and plans a daring escape, exploiting the emperor's dimwitted and loving personality against him. Pie-Rat jams the lock with a food pellet and makes his escape that night.

Once free from his cage, he encounters Binky's cauldron, still left in the throne room from when the sorceror summoned Pet Force from Garfield's universe. Figuring he has nothing to lose, Pie-Rat jumps in the leftover brew. Suddenly he finds himself growing. He returns to his original anthropomorphic state--but with a twist. He's now twice his original height, a staggering twelve feet tall. He scoops up the rest of the remaining potion for later, and sneaks out of the palace as best as a 12-foot rat can sneak. Desiring revenge on both his former employer and his longtime foes, he steals Pet Force's ship and makes his escape from the planet, headed for Vetvix's newest base.

After his guards help Emperor Jon put the pieces of the problem together, they decide they must once again call upon the powers of Pet Force to recover their missing vehicle and stop the newly embiggened Pie-Rat. Fortunately, Garfield and friends have been watching movies all weekend, so Jon doesn't notice when his pets disappear from the living room in a bright flash. Of course, once returned to the alternate universe and the situation explained, they still have a problem: how do they give chase to Pie-Rat when he's got their ship?

And speaking of Pie-Rat in their ship, he's followed the trail of a mysterious energy output, and it's led him right to Vetvix's new base, the Menacing Moon of Mayhem. See, this is why you don't blow up your base: the backup base is never as good. if it was, it wouldn't be the backup. Given that it's such a shoddy base, Pie-Rat is easily able to get inside and get close to Vetvix. She's expecting a technological attack, so she's unprepared when he pulls out that vial of magic potion and sprinkles her with it. And naturally, the potion that made him grow 12 feet tall makes Vetvix shrink to 5 inches. It's magic, we don't have to explain it!

Pie-Rat takes the magic crystal that Vetvix uses to fuel her powers, which of course didn't shrink because magic is just bullshit. See previous paragraph's last sentence. And while Pie-Rat takes over the base and begins plotting a further revenge against Pet Force, we cut over to them. They're at Sorceror Binky's own castle, and it's clear he's a bit of a hoarder. This is to their advantage, though, as they eventually piece together a working spaceship out of old car parts and other things, all patched together between Compooky's know-how and Binky's magic. This seems like the sort of book where I could use that "it's magic" quote every other paragraph. But craft a new--if small--ship they do, and speed off in the newly christened Planetary Pizza.

The rickety little ship does eventually find its way to Pie-Rat's base, saving him the trouble of being proactive as a villain. The magic thing keeps happening, and Pie-Rat basically becomes Discord for a bit while he fights them, doing things like turning Starlena's siren song into actual living music notes. One by one, the members of Pet Force are taken out, with only Garzooka is left. He and Pie-Rat struggle, while Pie-Rat tries to aim the magic crystal at Garzooka. Garzooka uses his claw to rip the crystal from Pie-Rat and defeat him.

Unfortunately, here's where the cover comes in. It seems the moments Pie-Rat was focusing the crystal during the struggle affected Garzooka's mind. He puts the crystal around his own neck. which turns him evil. He helps Pie-Rat to his feet, and the pair escape in the Lightspeed Lasagna. While Pet Force pursues them in their ramshackle ship, the new criminal duo strikes the storage planet of Deli to steal their food. Pet Force manages to catch up as the villains celebrate their spoils, and use a magic blast from the systems Binky installed to short out the Lightspeed Lasagna. This enables them to dock with the ship and climb aboard for a contfrontation.

The group fights, and once again the bearer of a bullshit magic crystal subdues the heroes easily. Annoyed now, Garzooka takes hold of Starlena and prepares to kill her or something. She taps into the one thing she has left: she's not fighting just Garzooka, but Garfield in his body. She drops some heavy put-downs, which resonate with Garfield, and he hesitates long enough for her to cut the crystal off him. The crystal hits the floor and shatters, undoing its evil magics on Garzooka's mind as well as on all his teammates. With Pet Force reunited, Pie-Rat is easily subdued and locked up.

The group waits for the ship to power back up, then speed off to apologise to the planet Deli. Following that, they head back towards Vetvix's moonbase. That night, though, the magic that was making Pie-Rat 12 feet tall wears off, and he escapes from his cell. He steals the remaining shards of the crystal, climbs into the Planetary Pizza, and makes a getaway. As a bonus, he also repeats the power-down spell against the bigger ship, giving him ample time to escape. And he's not the only one. Over on the Menacing Moon of Mayhem, Vetvix also returns to her proper size, and abandons this base as well. And when Pet Force fails to find her, they simply return to their own universe, ready to be called on once again in the future~

Book 3: K-Niner: Dog of Doom!

Another very basic comic book-style cover. K-Niner is a much more typical villain in style. This one's actually a wrap-around, and features the rest of Pet Force reacting to K-Niner on the back cover. Which is good because, other than the first cover, the covers all have a heavy Garzooka focus. Which makes sense for a book series, I suppose, you wanna assure the kiddos that Garfield's gonna be in the book. But as a comic book series, this would be a bad look for a team book~

So after our standard introduction and recap, we start off with Vetvix in yet another new base, the Floating Fortress of Fear. I'm sure it's very intimidating, if she can keep hold of it for more than a single book. She's picking up from the epilogue and putting the last touches on K-Niner, mostly enhancing his intelligence. Now, you look at the cover and tell me what kind of voice you'd expect. Some sort of German or Austrian accent, like the doberman on Road Rovers? Does anyone remember Road Rovers~? Anyways, but no: he speaks with a posh British accent. You know, the "I say, good chaps, looks like we're in a bit of a sticky wicket, eh wot?" type. Trust me, you can tell. But just because he sounds refined doesn't mean he's not evil.

I also love that after the initial "trapped them in the Phantom Zone" bit, the villains just go whole ham. K-Niner here demonstrates that he is indeed evil by threatening to rip out Vetvix's throat. Let your villains be villainous is all I'm saying. She's pleased he's so vicious, but feels he needs to learn his place as well. She force-chokes him until he complies. She then gives him his assignment: she thinks dogs should be liberated. The Boy Mayor of Second Life would approve, and so does K-Niner. Turning pets on their masters is just his style.

K-Niner takes a portable evolution gun, and immediately sets off. He begins on the planet Kennel. Isn't it neat how every planet is named after an English word that describes its function? K-Niner quickly takes over the dog population and turns them against their masters, because boosting their intelligence also makes them evil, of course. They use enslavement collars on their former owners, and within a few days, the dogs now run the planet. We cut over to Emperor Jon on Polyester, where a man has crash-landed a ship. He's an escapee from Kennel, and he's here to report the events so we can get the plot moving and once more summon Pet Force!

And summoned once more they are, Garfield and Friends once more conveniently disappearing in a split second while Jon's back is turned (this time they're outside playing volleyball). And once back in the parallel universe, Emperor Jon fills them all in on K-Niner's dastardly doings. Garzooka, naturally, takes great offense to dogs being in charge, and takes his duties as a hero completely seriously for once. Pet Force takes off for a confrontation with K-Niner in the Lightspeed Lasagna. And speaking of Pet Force's ships...

The Planetary Pizza, piloted by Pie-Rat, plants its pads down on polar planet Glacia. Pie-Rat is here seeking a way to restore his magic crystal and regain his mighty magic powers. He's sought out the home of a legendary evil wizard, who's known by the name of... Barfo. I see why Barfo keeps his location a secret. But anyway, Barfo is the one who made the crystal, so naturally Pie-Rat reasons he can restore it as well. Suprisingly once on Glacia, Barfo's evil lair is pretty easy to find. His manservant, Hobart the Gnome, brings Pie-Rat before the wizard, and within moments the crystal is restored! Pie-Rat turns to thank Hobart, but Hobart suddenly turns into Vetvix!

Yes, Vetvix knew all along that Pie-Rat's quest would lead him here. And as she was once Barfo's student in the ways of evil magic, she knew she could get the old coot to go along with her plan. Barfo returns the crystal to Vetvix, restoring her powers. And so Pie-Rat, a recurring villain in three whole books, is unceremoniously done away with, as Vetvix teleports him inside an asteroid, trapping him in solid rock. Even if the asteroid were hollow or he displaced the interior when he teleported in, no doubt he'll suffocate within moments. That's pretty harsh.

With that over, we rejoin Pet Force as they approach Kennel. K-Niner's battle cruiser spots them incoming, and shoots the ship down, even in spite of Abnermal's forcefields. Pet Force bail out of the ship, and Abnermal uses his powers to make snow to cushion their fall. Upon landing, a contingent of mutant animals attack. The mooks aren't much, but K-Niner himself puts up an impressive fight. However, one of the mooks pulls a gun and points it at Compooky. This is why Compooky usually stays aboard the ship, but that wasn't an option. Rather than let their friend get hurt, Pet Force surrenders.

Pet Force is held prisoner separately from Compooky, with both the cell's technology making it freeze-proof and threats of "don't break out, or we'll shoot your compatriot". Their imprisonment is not long, though, as suddenly the power goes out. Pet Force takes advantage of the situation and make their escape, quickly running into Compooky. K-Niner didn't think the hyper-intelligent teddy bear needed a high security cell, and just locked him in the basement. It was easy for him to then break out and shut down the local power grid. This also has the side effect of turning off the control collars the humans were wearing. How convenient!

With control of the planet now tilted in their favour, Pet Force now has time to both fix their ship and reverse the polarity of the brain-boosting weapons, turning the dog population of Kennel back to their normal selves. Though the experience did change the pet owners of Kennel. Having experienced life in their pets' shoes (so to speak) for a bit, they've resolved to treat their canine companions a bit more equally. More being allowed on the furniture, less stupid tricks for treats. Still, Pet Force can't stay long, and they head off in pursuit of K-Niner's battle cruiser. This is why most superheroes don't have spaceships (Jedis don't count): if your enemy also has one, they can flee way more easily than on foot.

Not willing to let another place go to the dogs, as it were, Pet Force catches up with K-Niner. With his previous success, Vetvix has stepped up the timetable and sent him after Polyester right away. Emperor Jon is in danger! They enter the planet's atmosphere, and are attacked by fighter craft. They fend them off, but their weapons system is damaged in the fight, so they can't simply use the reverse brain-rays and solve it quickly. The team splits up instead: Garzooka and Abnermal will go after K-Niner, while the other three will find the planet's power source and knock out the collars, since that worked so well the last time.

The two heroes quickly make short work of K-Niner's guards, and then turn the battle to deal with the Dog of Doom himself. While the struggle goes on, the rest of Pet Force reach the planet's power grid. Using a clever tactic, Compooky overloads the power and causes and electrical storm that simultaneously undoes the brain-boosting effect and shorts out the enslavement collars. There's only a few pages left, after all, and we have to wrap this up.  K-Niner is reverted back into an ordinary dog, and the emperor is reverted to an ordinary non-enslaved person. The day is saved!

And now once again, Pet Force prepares to return to their own universe. However... when the spell clears, the five heroes are still standing there. Something is blocking the passage between dimensions, and Pet Force is trapped. And while Pet Force's adventures have taken place between mere moments in their own universe, they have always returned quickly enough that Jon didn't notice a thing. But this time, as Jon retrieves the volleyball and turns around to his pets, he's surprised to find they've all vanished into thin air...

Book 4: Menace of the Mutanator

This one's very striking because of its more painted look compared to the heavy black outlines the rest of the covers have. Does this one count as having the whole team on the cover? Because, spoilers, that's what the Mutanator is: the rest of Pet Force mashed up into a villain. Again, though, that's definitely a striking image that'd draw in readers to a comic cover. In fact, while Garzooka may be over-used as a cover focus, several of these also show him imperiled in some way, and that's nice for character stuff. That helps balace it a bit~

I wanna say, before we start, that I'm impressed by the continuity for the series as a whole. They could've just written each story as a standalone, but for a series of 100-page children's novellas starring Garfield characters as superheroes, things happen in these books. Like, maybe not sweeping status quo changes, but events affect the plot of each next book down the line. And that's where we pick up! Right where the last book left off, with Pet Force now stuck in the alternate universe, unable to return home to Jon. But if they can't go home to Jon, well, maybe then events will conspire to bring Jon to them~

Yep, because Jon happens to wander into the room where they keep the copy of Pet Force #100 that acts as a portal to their universe, he gets transported into the Pet Force universe. And since Emperor Jon is still an extant entity, there's just two Jons now. Jon, of course, is a bit freaked out, and it takes several pages to explain the whole deal to him, and also have a showcase of all their powers to pad out the book some more. Eventually, they decide to call in Sorceror Binky to examine the problem. When he has a go of it, a sudden tornado emerges from the cauldron and whisks away Pet Force--save for Garzooka, whose prodigious strength keeps him anchored.

Garzooka heads out in the Lightspeed Lasagna to track Pet Force's signature, glad to get away from a double trouble Jon. And while he's searching, the scene cuts to Vetvix's Floating Fortress of Fear. Hey, one of her bases actually lasted more than one book! This is where Pet Force has been transported to, once more in a power-proof cell. Vetvix monologues to the heroes, as she is wont to do, explaining that she's the one who cast the spell to keep them from returning home. And further, she's brought them here to mutate them into her servants.

While Emperor Jon exposits about his backstory (turns out he is not of royal blood, and has about as much legitimate claim to the throne as you or I do), the search continues. Sorceror Binky detects Pet Force, giving them all a view of what happens next. The trapped members of Pet Force are literally broken apart and reassembled: Odious' body, Compooky's brain inserted into the chest, Abnermal's hands, and Starlena's head. She christens this beast "Mutanator", and it is soullessly obedient. I also wanna say, Mutanator's kind of a non-binary icon, aren't they? (The comic uses "it", but it was 1998 and alternative pronouns weren't really a thing yet.) Muscular, masculine body, but confident enough to still wear lipstick. It's a look, is all I'm saying~

Mutanator continues to possess the combined powers of Pet Force as well. Vetvix sends them to attack the planet Armory to gear up before attempting to conquer Polyester. And meanwhile, thanks to the convenience of being able to scan all of Compooky's memories now that his brain is part of Mutanator, Vetvix has the perfect trap to spring on Garzooka--or should she say Garfield. Yes, she really knows the whole origin for Pet Force now, and now she knows all Garfield's weaknesses, likes and dislikes, and probably blood type and other dating profile stats~

Thus, when Garzooka receives the coordinates from Emperor Jon and arrives at the Floating Fortress, he finds himself menaced by giant spiders. Vetvix couldn't think of a way to get Mondays to attack him, so the Giant Spider Invasion will do. Spiders are apparently very formiddable foes, Garzooka's personal fears aside. They can swat gamma hairballs out of the air, they can construct webs as quickly as certain Marvel heroes, and their hairy exoskeletons are resistant to both claw and strength. But despite his fear and Abnermal's running commentary, Garzooka manages to trounce the spiders with a carefully applied flame--taking Vetvix's blueprints with them.

Garzooka heads out once again to track down the Mutanator, leaving his less-than-all-together friends in the safety of their forcefield prison. While he's off, we return to the perspective of his target. Using their combined powers, the Mutanator swiftly conquers the planet Armory and sets their sights on Polyester next. It's not a bad plan, honestly. With the stockpile from Armory, not only will the Mutanator be more powerful, Polyester won't be able to use the planet for backup. Fortunately for the two Jons, though, Garzooka intercepts the Mutanator before they can leave Armory.

The fight's actually pretty good. Very back and forth. But even despite Garzooka's great strength, the Mutanator wins in the end. Thankfully, Vetvix puts her conquest of Polyester on hold to take the time to retrieve Garzooka and add his power to the Mutanator. This, of course will be her undoing--in a completely ridiculous way, of course. For back in the palace, our universe's Jon is watching Pet Force's struggles with the scrying cauldron. And he leans in a bit too close. Sowhile Vetvix is prepping the machine to divide Garzooka's body like she did the rest of Pet Force, Jon suddenly tumbles through the dimensional warp caused by the cauldron and lands on Vetvix, which causes her to put the machine in reverse. A real Jonnus ex cauldrona there, eh?

The Mutanator disappears, their existance as a unique being wiped out as their pieces return to their proper Pet Force owners. With Pet Force reassembled, Garzooka takes out Vetvix with one of his gamma-radiated hairballs while she's distracted by Jon. Pet Force decides that the vile veternarian should have a taste of her own medicine, and stick her in the body-splicing machine with some of her guards. This divides them all up and mixes them into bizarre combinations. It also has the side effect of disabling Vetvix's magic, so they can return to their own universe now.

The book wraps up here. Pet Force first returns to Armory to both return the stolen weapons and also make repairs on the buildings that were damaged in Garzooka's fight with the Mutanator. That's the sort of thing I'd like to see in more superhero stories in general. The two Jons part ways, with the Emperor believing the other Jon's heroism to have been deliberate. And thus are Garfield and friends returned home. And just like the end of their first adventure, where Garfield couldn't be sure if it really happened, so too is Jon's memory fading. Had he really witnessed all that? Only his pets know for sure--and in this universe, they can't talk~

Book 5: Attack of the Lethal Lizards

This one's another wrap-around, showing the rest of Pet Force engaging the remaining Lethal Lizards on the back cover. This is one advantage books have over comics: a front and back cover you can use for your story-telling. The Lizard designs are pretty good for a villain group too. Like Pet Force, they don't adhere to a particular theme, but they do look good individually. Garzooka roasting a hot dog on a stick might be a bit too comedic for a superhero story, though. It sets the tone wrong. How "lethal" can they possibly be if Garzooka is out here roasting hot dogs in the middle of battle?

So here we go, last book. After the usual recap, we open with Jon explaining to Garfield and friends his latest plans: they're going to WackyWorld, a theme park dedicated to Jon's favourite cartoon, The Wackies. Both Garfield and Nermal think the show is lame, and if those two agree on something, you know it must be so. In less lame universes, however, trouble is once more a-brewing. So it turns out Vetvix's Floating Fortress of Fear has been orbiting the swamp planet Reptilius this whole time. And her various experiments in the last two books have been radiating the planet in magical energy...

From that magical power, three reptiles find themselves uplifted in intelligence and granted fantastic powers. Please say hello to our three main villains for this book: Snake, an enormous snake (the only one without an anthro design) with stretching powers; Chameleon, who can shapeshift; and Dragon, a komodo dragon with fire breath and the bad attitude to match. While Snake and Chameleon figure out their powers, Dragon declares himself the leader as he's clearly the smartest, strongest, and most powerful. They name themselves the Lethal Lizards and start plotting how to rule the planet.

After that exciting intro, though, the book kind of slows down. First we get a whole chapter of Emperor Jon also deciding to go on vacation, to planet Funlandia. With Vetvix out of commission for a while, there's no better time. In short, he's out of the castle and Sorceror Binky is in charge. This is followed by a chapter of Jon and his pets at WackyWorld. It's certainly an accommodating amusement park to allow pets on its grounds. Garfield at least gets along with the food, but if you know anything about amusement park food prices, the amount Garfield eats will make your wallet weep. Jon takes his mind off it by dragging the pets along to a ride. Surely they have to be under the height restriction~

Fortunately, we get back to the actual stars of this book, and we see a bit more of their dynamic. Snake is the sort who sucks up to whoever's calling themselves "Boss" at the moment. Dragon is power-hungry, and it's clear he'll sell out his allies at the drop of a hat. Chameleon is Starscream. Anyway, they trek through the jungles of Reptilius until they find a downed spaceship. Reviewing the logs reveals it was a scout ship from Vetvix, and they also learn of Vetvix and her mission. However, they don't know where Emperor Jon lives, so they crowd into the the newly christened Rapacious Reptile and set course for the stars.

The first planet they come across is a world called Klod. Quickly the Lethal Lizards beat up the populace and find the local government. Chameleon shapeshifts into a dignitary, pretending to be an advance entourage for Emperor Jon, schmoozing with the governor until he learns both what Jon looks like and the name of his planet. With this information secure, Chameleon nips out suddenly, and the trio sets forth towards Polyester. Governer Klutz calls up the palace as soon as the reptiles depart, and reports the incident to Sorceror Binky.

Binky wastes no time, and he dials up Pet Force. Since all five are in one place, he's able to pull them through even without them being near the gateway through issue #100's cover. Convenient! Pet Force, however, does waste time, as a lengthy comedy scene eats up several pages before we just get on with it. Eventually, the situation is conveyed, and they figure it's safer to keep Emperor Jon on Funlandia for the time being. Compooky stays behind to help plan some strategies, while the rest of Pet Force boards the Lightspeed Lasagna to intercept the Lethal Lizards before they even arrive.

Pet Force spends the next few minutes both scanning for incoming ships and bickering with each other, so I'm very glad when the Rapacious Reptile appears on their detectors before too long. Dragon threatens the ship, telling them to move or he'll knock them aside. It's a spaceship, dude, you can move in three dimensions. The ships trade shots, and while Chameleon's piloting is actually pretty good due to his independently-rotating eyeballs, eventually both ships crash land on whatever planet is nearby.

Both ships crash right next to each other, which is improbable but less ridiculous than some of the contrivances in these books, so I'm okay with it. Now you'd think what with the enemies being reptiles and Abnermal having freezing powers that this battle would be over really easily, but no. In fact, Garzooka and Dragon are pretty evenly matched. Snake turns out to be immune to Starlena's siren song because snakes don't have external ears. See, now there's a contrivance I find a bit weird. Snake swallows Abnermal whole, and Chameleon and Odious get literally tongue-tied. The Lethal Lizards actually live up to their name pretty well.

As the fight continues, half of both sides are laid out when Compooky comes rushing up, saying he has an urgent message from the emperor. And that's when he sucker-punches the team. It was actually Chameleon in disguise, having gotten knocked away when he and Odious separated. So yeah, round one goes to the Lizards, and they make their escape first. Pet Force regroups, and they give chase. The Lizards have enough head start to really lay siege to Polyester before Pet Force arrives, though. They even get access to the palace using Chameleon's shapeshifting, leading to Sorceror Binky letting slip the real location of the emperor just as Pet Force arrives.

Another fight ensues--see, now it's really a superhero story--and the Lizards leave again 2 and 0. This time Snake uses his venomous fangs to attack Starlena. This leads to the weirdest contrivance yet. Maybe not the worst, but definitely the weirdest. They have only minutes to save Starlena. So how do they do it? Well, they notice that Odious drools quite a lot. It's very "fluid output". So they have Binky magically reverse Odious' drooling, so that he has "fluid input" on his tongue instead. It becomes a big suction sponge and sucks the poison out of Starlena. They then restore the drooling, and he just harmlessly drools out the poison. What.

With their teammate saved, Pet Force pursues the Lethal Lizards to Funlandia. They get there just in time to rescue Emperor Jon from their clutches, with Garzooka and Odious combining their strength to literally rip a kiddie ride out of the ground. Starlena corners Chameleon in a hall of mirrors, turning his own trick against him. Snake is undone by Odious' strength. And Garzooka fights Dragon to a standstill, finally trapping all three on a roller coaster still operating. When the ride comes to an end, Abnermal freezes them all until the authorities can retrieve them.

Naturally, Emperor Jon thinks it's all part of the show (because Jon is dimwitted in any universe). The Lizards are sent to a lizard-proof prison (seriously, it specifies this), and Pet Force returns to their own universe. As usual, Jon didn't notice his pets go missing during the dark amusement park ride. The book concludes on an ominous note, however, as the ship carrying the Lethal Lizards makes its jump to lightspeed just as it passes the Floating Fortress of Fear. The shockwave knocks over some debris that reactivates the combining machine, restoring Vetvix to her full evil might once more!

The end!

No, really. Those five books are all there was. I hear it may have continued into the comics, but I don’t know how accurate that is. I didn’t really look into it.

But boy, what a ride, huh? Let’s dissect the books one at a time, since it only seems fair to take them as individual stories.

The Outrageous Origin: It’s a fairly basic origin story, I’d say. It kind of has to be. I guess my main gripe is that, like Rita Repulsa’s entire run on Power Rangers, the heroes never fight the main villain directly. In fact, there’s barely even an evil plot in this one. You have henchmen and some traps, and that’s about it for the menace.

Pie-Rat’s Revenge: A cautionary tale about why you treat your minions with respect. This one’s pretty good, but the events depicted on the cover make up such a small part of the book. Wouldn’t it have been more fun if Garzooka was turned at the beginning of the story? Book 4 would at least do the reverse of that, so it’s not a major complaint~

K-Niner, Dog of Doom: I think this one’s about as middle of the road as you can get. What a coincidence that it’s also the middle of the series! Like I said in the recap portion, it’s a shame that Pie-Rat’s story ended here. This one definitely feels more “villain of the week” than most.

Menace of the Mutanator: This one might be the best book in the series. Garzooka, alone, battling against the best parts of his team? That’s gripping stuff. I guess the main problem is that the Mutanator isn’t really a character in and of themselves. Like, K-Niner, he may have been a generic rent-a-villain type, but he had a personality. Mutanator is little more than an extention of Vetvix’s will.

Attack of the Lethal Lizards: I’m a bit split on this one. The bits with the titular Lizards are great. They steal the show! But the parts where it focuses on either Jon kind of drag, and Pet Force is a bit too jokey here. Like, I get the point is that they’ve relaxed into their roles now, and there’s not much point of doing it as a Garfield story if they don’t actually use the character personalities, but... I dunno. It’s good, but it could have been better~

And that’s it! Like, I dunno how to wrap this up. Pet Force was neither my first exposure to superheroes nor my first introduction to the Garfield brand (you can thank Saturday morning cartoons for both of those). But for some reason, maybe just the absurdly goofy premise, it always kinda stuck with me. And I think that’s a good enough reason to make it my 10th anniversary review, don’t you~?

[morallygreyprompts]

Hi! I absolutely love your prompts, your writing is incredible! I was wondering if you could possibly write a prompt with a villain who's henchmen all treat like their child (as in they're all overprotective of them and kinda go all motherly over, if you know what I mean). This is super random and all, so if it's too much hassle then feel free to ignore. Thank you so much!

Alright, finally I can get some writing done, here you go. I hope this is what you were looking for.

Henchman should have known that Villain’s last mission had been too big of an ask for them. That had only been crystal clear after Villain had fought Hero again, fighting well enough to scare them off for the night.

Villain dragged themselves over to their henchmen, those who hadn’t gone on ahead with their target. Henchman furrowed their brow as they saw Villain limp, cradling their ribs with blood dripping from their lip. They swayed so badly that Henchman knew what would happen next. Henchman ran toward them. “Boss!”

“[H.Henchman]...” their voice was so weak and fragile. Villain’s eyes rolled up into their head and collapsed, but Henchman was only just able to swoop in to catch them, at least enough to protect their head. They lowered them to the floor and cradled them in their arms. Too much. It had all been too much, but Villain refused to listen to them. They’d been determined to see it through and take that person. Henchman didn’t know their importance yet.

It was a rush after that to get them back to base and treat their injuries, the broken ribs, their sprained knee, the cuts and gashes that littered their body. At no point was Villain left alone as they slept. They’d used too much of their powers, and now their body needed to heal. That would take time, time, they all knew, Villain wasn’t willing to accept.

“Move,” Villain demanded when they’d tried to get out of their room. Sweat glistened on their forehead and they couldn’t even stand on two legs. Henchman stood their ground.

“You’re not healed enough yet. You’ll hurt yourself more, aren’t you in pain?”

Villain clenched their jaw. “I need to see them.”

“Absolutely not. You look awful. Please, go back to bed.” 

“I said move!” Villain shouted, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in their wrists. “O.or else I’m not paying you this month.”

Henchman didn’t hesitate. “Then go ahead and take it. Take it for the year. I am not letting you out in this condition, you’ll hurt yourself. You need to rest your knee.”“Oh for fuck’s sake!”“Don’t swear. You’re better than that. Come, you’re being unreasonable.“

More Henchman were drawn to them through the noise. They understood at once and none of them took Villain’s side in this.

Villain scowled and tried to push past them, but Henchman held onto them by the tops of their arms, the restraint quickly turned into a support as their leg wobbled and they fell to the floor. The other henchmen were quick to help where they could, doing their best to support Villain’s battered body. 

“Please, boss. Go back to bed. We can bring them to you if you’re that desperate, but you’re in a bad way,” Henchman reasoned.

“I’m not weak!” Villain snapped. “Please, just let me go to them! I don’t care how I look, but I have to see them.”

The henchmen worked together to carry Villain back to bed despite their protests. They fell back upon their bed, exhausted. Henchman doubted they’d even have been able to walk down the hall. The henchmen stood by Villain, ready to push them back down.

“It’s alright, boss,” Henchman2 said. “Take it easy. There’s no rush.”

Villain clenched their fist but they were too tired. “Fine… bring them to me- gently.”

Henchman stayed as the others left. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard? Who is this person?”

Villain struggled to take deep breaths. They winced in pain. “Y.you’ll find out when they get here.”

Henchman pursed their lips and did what else they could for Villain’s pain in the little time they had left.

Henchman shook their head to themselves. Would they ever learn patience?

Like my stuff and want to support what I do? Then maybe consider buying me a Kofi? Ko-fi.com/morallygrey

[stories-by-rie]

87 Rooftops

Glenn Finlay van der Meer had always dreamt of becoming the boss of a shady crime organization ever since he had been a young child. When everyone else was aspiring to become a veterinarian or astronaut, he had already committed to lay out plans and schemes to overthrow the economy, because – as he once explained on the school’s play ground to the nine friends he tried to recruit – the only true rule over the world would be through marketing and catching jingles.

One of those kids, Sibylle, had put her hands on her hips and yelled at him that he was a brat and that she would quit their friendship at that very moment if he didn’t stop speaking about it. At her brave words, the other eight kids felt infected with her heroism and joined her, as kids at such a young age often did.

Now, he hadn’t been successful in winning those friends over, but at the age of only seventeen he had managed to pitch the concept for several products that were especially designed to make people’s lives a living hell. The first was a dust wiper which looked useful, but you actually had to purchase new pads for it very frequently, and now it was popular all around the world. This had been his first step to world dominance and by the age of twenty four he had become some sort of urban legend.

Known as The Money’s Advocate, he did not like to make his hands dirty anymore. Seeing his rising, two of his old childhood friends had changed sides and were happy to place a deadly threat there, steal some scandalous information there and do his bidding ever so loyally.

The finest black suits designed were always sent to him first. The newest laws always lay on his desk before they were passed. He had every judge on speed dial.

The few who actually knew more than romanticized myths hated him more than they thought possible, more than refill pads for ugly dust wipers, more than a winter full of dirty muddy snow, more than the sound of forks and knives scratching over dinner plates. But there was one among them who had taken that hate to an entirely new level.

Sibylle had only to spare a glimpse to a new product to know if it had been designed by Glenn. She also had to find out very soon that the only way to overthrow his cruel rule, she had to become better than him. More cunning, faster, better, even more evil if that meant to beat him.

Without hesitation, but with grief that didn’t weigh any less, she gave up on her dream to become a tenure and land degradation specialist consultant and gave in to her true call.

After highly competitive years, it had now come to this very situation that no one could have seen coming, but which was inevitably bound to happen.

Her blond locks flew elegantly in the wind upon that skyscraper’s rooftop, her cape’s hood had long been blown down and gave away her masked face that sternly looked down to the man at her feet. His expensive suit was ripped at his shoulder from their fight, but he still upheld his composure.

  “You’ve changed for the worst.” Contempt dripped from her words as her face screwed up in a painful sneer. No matter how much time had passed, the years they had spent in deep friendship still felt too fresh.

  “Coming form you, that is the best compliment I have ever received.” He grinned back at her, ignoring the pain in his bound wrists.

She shook her head woefully and turned back to face the city’s lights.

  “You know,” Sibylle muttered, “I really thought back then that our friendship was worth more than this. Than being rich and having friends, power and glory.”

Muffled yells from Glenn’s accomplices sounded outraged and furious, but Sibylle ignored them nonetheless.

  “I have the need to remind you that it has been you who quitted our friendship first, Sibby.”

  “Don’t call me that name,” she hissed back at him, but he only laughed.

  “Oh, Sibby, Sibby, Sibby. You’re still so full of anger and – heroism? So much that you pretty much took the full curve back, didn’t you? That all those years, you have been my biggest competitor, I still can’t believe it!”

  “It was the only way to get close to you.” She turned back to him, had taken her mask off now and this only undermined the hurt she was struggling with. “And you’re right, I will never know if it was worth it, bringing all that doom to humanity.”

Glenn laughed again, though this time it was mixed with disbelief and maybe even hidden despair.

  “Doom indeed! I still can’t wrap my head around it. All those social media algorithms. Written by you? You put a veto on self cleaning glasses! Ingenious! And here I thought I had finally thought that I reached my goal to become the worst of the worst.” His smile faded a little and a reminiscent look appeared instead. “But I suppose, I have, in the end, only become the worst version of me. Not the worst of the worst. I’m still too-,” a silent sob tied his throat to a knot and his cheerful facade cracked finally. “I’m still too good.” When he looked up to her, tears were filling his eyes, and an apologetic deepness laid in them.

  “That’s not true, boss!”, one of his friends yelled in the back, he had managed to get rid of the handkerchief Sibylle had pushed in his mouth to silence him. At those self-shattering words, he could no longer stand to idly sit back. “To me, you are the actual worst! The worst of the worst! There had never been anyone more evil in both mind and heart!”

But Glenn might have been villainous, but not dumb. There was no other choice than to admit that he had lost. Sirens started to sound in the distance, coming closer and closer.

  “Please, Sibby, let at least my friends go. They have done nothing wrong, whatever they did in the past, it was only my bidding. They don’t deserve any of this.”

  “You know that I can’t. All of us will turn ourselves in, so evil won’t be any longer.”

  “But boss!,” the other man yelled now, “There’s still time left! We can do even worse than her! Just trust in our organization, we will surely be saved in any second. The Green Gloved Fixer and The Snaky Henchman will come to your aid. You just have to trust them!”

It was then that Glenn truly listened to their words. The realization struck him like a lightning.

  “Do… even worse? Composing more super annoying jingles? Paying more internet trolls?”

  “Yes!”, both of his friends chimed and finally, hope returned to him. Ultimately, his look fell back on Sibylle.

  “How about we join forces? This is your chance to get high class suits! We could follow my dream together just like I wanted back then!”

But she just shook her head.

  “No, how could I give up on my plan now? Ever since then I just wanted to be your friend, but for what price, Glenn?”

  “Be… my friend? But Sibylle, I thought you hated me all this time. I did dream of this life, but partly I just wanted to prove to you that it was possible. That I could do it!”

  “But you never had to prove yourself to me! I knew all along that you had the guts for this! That was the reason why I wanted to stop you!”

For a short moment there was silence until they both erupted in laughter.

  “You know, I guess even if you denied my request back then, you did join me in a way. Being my competitor has driven my creativity to find new places, broadened my horizon! And you were evil all this time. Who knows what else we could achieve together?”

Sibylle kept giggling and put back on her mask.

  “I would love to be your friend, Glenn. Let’s keep working together then!”

And thus, the two childhood friends became close once again, pushing the world into even more doom. Glenn did not keep it a secret that Sibylle was partially responsible for his success, and when he introduced her to others he proudly announced her as his partner in crime.

~20.07.2020~

Based on this prompt  by @givethispromptatry

[thegreenfairy13]

No Country For Heroes (Part 6)

A Gobblepot fic originally written for the prompt ‘beg’ by @justsimplymeagain this escalated into a full story. Contains mature content. TW for psychological torture. Dark!Oswald. You can read the full fic here on Ao3.

Plot: the GCPD turns Jim in in change for the mobster’s protection. 

“I always wondered,” Oswald starts. He’s way too casual, too relaxed for Jim not to be instantly terrified. The Penguin is at his worst when he’s seemingly lackadaisical, flippant.

Jim already learned the hard way he’s most interested in the answer to his questions when playing it cool. The way he holds his head, how he seems to look at anything but his counterpart, studies the walls, the dripping tap - it all sets his teeth on edge.

The blonde holds his breath, waits for the Penguin’s interrogation, hopes he can drag it out by telling him what he wants to hear. He has long since given up on fantasizing about Harvey breaking down the door and freeing him, knows nobody in this city knows enough about his fate, and even if, wouldn’t care enough to as much as lift a finger.

He’s been given a much-needed break, has been allowed to rest for the past couple of days, floating in a blissful state of being half-conscious. For once, there have been no nightmares, no hallucinations, no excruciating pain splitting his head in half.  

Jim suspects he has been drugged, and he’s thankful for it. He thinks he remembers Oswald apologizing for that and him waving it off. He needs the sleep, needs it so badly since arriving in this city.

“That was a bit much too quickly,” he informed him them, flushing a bright shade of pink that highlighted his freckles, like a little boy apologizing for eating raw dough.

Jim thinks he smiled back, unable to resist the monster’s charm. It’s why everyone always underestimates the Penguin, this inherent cuteness. Jim saw through it, though. Back in the beginning at least, when he still had his wits about him. The polished exterior, the perfect manners, the innocence, they are just scenography, a delicately crafted play, made to lull all of Gotham in. And then he’d pull back the curtain and reveal his true face.

“Strange would be very disappointed in me,” he would elaborate when Jim drifted off to sleep. “But you know me, Jim. I’m impatient. And I’ve waited for you so long already.” He chuckled, even fluffed his pillow, and made sure the blanket would cover his entire body. Jim had been grateful for that, too.

It’s hard to shake this feeling now. Even when he’s lucid again, fighting once more against the conclusions Oswald wants him to draw.

“Don’t look so scared, Jim,” he mocks. “I won’t play with you today.” He arches a curious eyebrow at the cop, walks over, pulls out a chair, and takes a seat. “I just thought, since you had the pleasure of interrogating me so often in our shared past, I should be given the same courtesy for once.”

Jim wishes he could have contained the sigh of relief escaping him, he doesn’t want to add to the Penguin’s entertainment.

Oswald chuckles, waves his finger in the air. “Ah, ah,” he tuts. “I didn’t say this is going to be an idle conversation, Jim.” He pauses. “Or well, it could be,” he says, tilting his head. “Given you answer me, for once,” he adds, looking eager and hopeful. “Our conversations have been rather one-sided in the past, haven’t they?”

Jim considers the thinly-veiled threat, debates if he should indulge the mobster. It’s true, he was never keen on talking to Oswald, always too afraid of letting the man into his head, of following his twisted way of thinking.

The thing is, Oswald’s, the Penguin’s, reasoning always made sense, Jim could never truly deny that. In his own right, he is right.

His machinations keep the citizens fed and safe, even though they are being cut off from the mainland. It had been his corrupt way of establishing a new way of organized crime that brought the city stability, it had been his mayoral reign that brought Gotham an extended time of peace.

He is right. On the surface.

Nobody talks about at which costs the Penguin’s offers come, though. It’s always a quid pro quo with him. He doesn’t leave the Gothamites alone out of the goodness of his heart. Today, he might be content with them worshipping him, tomorrow, he’ll ask for a bit more. And then some.

Oswald’s benevolence never comes cheap.

And once they’re unable to pay, the Penguin will crush them remorselessly.

Jim always saw that, fought him, even and especially when everyone around him begged him to just team up with the mobster, to just let it slide, to see the bigger picture.

That was always the problem, though. He saw the bigger picture, saw how allowing Oswald to reign freely would end in pain for the ones unlucky enough to get on his bad side. That’s why he used him, played him, without much remorse on his part either.

Would Jim have been able to guide him if he had been better? Convince him of rethinking his actions? Would a true friendship have made a difference?

Jim doesn’t know. He knows he shied away from the gangster in the past, didn’t want to come too close to his darkness, least it changed him as well.

But it’s too late for such thoughts, isn’t it?  

“What do you want to know?” Jim asks, at last, rolling his shoulders defiantly. Oswald looks so pleased the cop could vomit.

The mobster takes his time again, allows for the silence to stretch between them. Maybe he’s lost in his own fantasy of them being old friends sharing time together.  

“You never told me why you want specifically me,” Jim states, taking his chances.

Oswald looks up, momentarily unable to mask his surprise. “I thought I did,” he says then haughtily.

Jim shakes his head. “You said you wanted someone . Why it must be me, I don’t know. Because I’m your type? Blonde?” He scoffs. “Surely, you must have underlings tripping over themselves to get your attention, minions, ready to worship the ground you’re walking on. So why the effort of putting me through the wringer?” Jim wonders.

Oswald’s face falls before he closes off. “As if I don’t see through that charade,” he hisses. “What I want is something real, genuine.” Sucking in a deep breath, he regains his composure. “This is not about me, not right now at least,” he adds, looking sharply at the detective.

“But it is,” Jim urges. “You want me, particularly me, to love you. You’re ready to dissect my mind, as you put it. Should you succeed, how is that genuine affection on my part?”

The slap echoes through the tiny room before Jim has a chance to react, letting him instantly know he touched a sore spot.

It’s not much of a victory, though, leaves him biting back tears, and rubbing his reddened face.

“You want something genuine?” the mobster hisses through gritted teeth as he grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking him from the tiny bed.

“Follow me,” he orders harshly, pulling the weakened man to the floor.

Jim miscalculated, he realizes, thought he’d be better off at this point. In truth, he lacks the strength to put up a fight entirely. He’s on his knees, staring up at a snarling beast, all tenderness gone from the kingpin’s face.

Jim yelps in pain, can’t mask his immediate fear as he stares up at the Penguin, the apology already rolling from his tongue. He’s being pushed forward then, mercilessly, right into the arms of a henchman waiting outside the door. Sweaty hands reach for his arms, pull him forward.

“Please,” he stutters out, fear overtaking his power to think. He’s not begging, not really, but not far from it.

He ends up on all fours in the main hall.

Oswald snaps his fingers, gestures for a nameless peasant to draw back the curtains, allowing Jim a magnificent view over the city.

“This! This is something genuine,” he bursts out, pointing at the crumbling skyline.

Where once Gotham stood tall and proud, there’s now cinder and ashes. An endless landscape of grey, bleak, and unforgiving - just like the yellow hills of the desert. “This is what you brought upon my beloved home,” he screeches. “They were dying, Jim!” he accuses, and the cop can’t argue with that, knows it in his heart, it’s true, that he failed his home, her , everyone who counts.

Oswald turns his back on him, stares at the ruins of the city they would both sacrifice their lives for, head and hands pressed against the cool glass. Jim watches his shoulders rising and falling rapidly, and then the anger just drains.

He turns around, sighs at Jim’s pathetic sight, and motions for his minions to leave them alone.

Crouching down beside him, Oswald looks Jim in the eye. He’s trembling when he speaks.

“You were supposed to be different,” he chokes out, tears clouding his vision. “When you arrived in Gotham, you brought us all hope - even me. Hope, that things could be different, that finally, there could be someone to look up to.” He clutches his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You saved my life, Jim. You spared even the unworthiest among us,” he confesses between sobs.

“Tell me,” he presses. “When did that change? When did you become like the rest of us? When did you become a hypocrite? When was the first time you used your fists instead of words during an interrogation? Hm?” He releases him then, almost disgusted.

Panting heavily, Jim closes his eyes, attempting to block out the truth behind those words. It’s correct, all of it. But Jim tried, didn’t he? Doesn’t that count for anything?

He stares at a building burning in the distance, looks back at Oswald, tears streaming down his pale face, smudging the mascara.

Jim reaches out, wipes the black streaks from his face.

“You know when,” he whispers.

Of course, he knows. Knows it had been him who gave his everything to seduce Jim to go out of his ways, to become a little bit more like everyone else in this rotten city.

Oswald leans into the touch, nuzzles into the palm of Jim’s hand. “But I was supposed to be your only exception,” he mumbles brokenly.  

[halorocks1214]

roa: side stories - the good, the bad, and the hydrofoil

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5423

Summary: Gordon just wanted to spend time with his dad, even if it meant fake smiles and boring conference parties. He didn’t want to think about his traumatizing past, especially not during a hostage negotiation.

AO3 Series Link

oh my god i really just vomited this out. holy crap. i originally was planning to write, like, all of the character parts before i started this no lie. ‘side stories’ was really supposed to be a tiny bow on top of a nicely wrapped gift, buuuut then shit started happening and i felt crappy and just needed to do what i do best and beat the fuck out of fictional characters. hope you enjoy this one! i sure as hell did lmao

Warnings for mentions of minor suicidal idealization

Gordon hated tuxedos.

They were stingy, uptight and physcially tight things that made him look like he was some asshole snob that complained when the champagne wasn’t the right temperature. He would rather wear his awesome shirts or cool tennis shoes any day of the week, also, did he mention these things were tight? Holy cow did his threaten to choke him more than once tonight, and if you made a drinking game based on how many times he readjusted his collar you would need to go to the fucking hospital.

He felt this was important to bring up because the damn thing was choking him, again, but he couldn’t adjust it like he wanted to because he didn’t want to look like a dumbass to all the eyes that were on him suddenly. He wanted to hang out with his father and they both promised to be on their best behavior. Gordon can’t help but wonder if he messed up somehow if his dad’s horrified face was anything to go by.

Gordon hated tuxedos because they had to be the reason he was choking right now. Not the man holding an AK at his face, or the men doing something similar to the other guests. The guests and his father were watching him with beady eyes because he was sweating like a dumbass monkey in a rental bowtie, not because the leader was simultaneously glaring at him while eyeing him down like a piece of meat.

Seriously, suits suck.

Hahaha.

Fuck.

Gordon shoved his hand further out in front of him, “Guuuuuuys, please. I’m sure we can talk about this like reasonable adults--”

The man jutted his gun further out like Gordon did his hand, not budging in the slightest, “Yes, Mr. Adult, I want to speak with you specifically. My boys and I here weren’t expecting there to be a huge party at this establishment right as we robbed it, must have been a last-minute planned one, so we need some extra help getting out of here. You, boy, seem to be our best bet.”

Jeff, in all of his fatherly grace, tried jumping past the two men keeping all the guests at bay, “Leave him out of this you animals!”

Gordon glanced over at his father with a look of indignation in a way that said Really?! You’re gonna do this now?! Rolling his eyes and hoping his dad got the message, Gordon gave the leader one of his best ‘IR Operative Smiles’, “Please, ignore my--”

“Augustine Holland Puckett.”

And there went that grin for the rest of the night.

Gordon found himself choking again, and he couldn’t even blame his outfit. He knew that name. Now he had a look of fear on his face, and he made sure to not look at his father right this moment. His trembles were small, but damn if they weren’t obvious. So not representing IR well right now, panicking in the middle of a job, heh.

Puckkie was his partner during WASP.

The only other partner in crime Gordon had outside of Alan.

Virgil had met him one time when visiting Gordon, made an offhanded comment about how Puckkie could have been his long lost twin.

Gordon scraped through his accident. It fucking sucked, but he eventually started living again.

Puckkie was dead on impact, never suffered, never was in pain. It was one of the few solaces Gordon had throughout all of his bullshit therapy.

The leader was oblivious to that turmoil, assuming it was just because Augustine was freaking out over his identity being known, “You thought you could escape us, huh? Got into WASP, thought the military could protect you, as well as some facial surgery along with it. Thought you could leave your past behind, right? We might have dropped tabs on you when you got accepted, but we always knew where you were.”

How in the fucking coincidence-- Gordon was suddenly aware of some horrifying truths. Puckkie, you little shit, is that why you knew how to lockpick? The fuck? If they never thought to look Puckkie up after they knew he joined it at least explained why they didn’t know the man was fucking dead--

The man suddenly barked, and Gordon felt ten times smaller than before, “Answer me!”

“Yes!” Gordon snapped before he could help himself. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He could easily tell them they were wrong, that he was Gordon Cooper Tracy, his father right over there could prove it, but he was playing along. At the same time his mind was telling him he was an absolute fucking dumbass, the other was telling him that he could save these people. He might not be the person they were expecting, but he was in WASP. He knew how to do what they probably wanted.

Jeff, however, didn’t know what he knew, which didn’t help at all, “What? No, Gor--”

Right before his real name could be spoken out, one of the henchmen got tired of this man being rowdy. Before Gordon could blink or send another nonverbal shut the fuck up to his dad, Henchman #1 raised the butt of his gun and brought it down, knocking Jeff out cold.

“HEY!” Rage filled Gordon’s veins before he could help it. Not only did he just watch his father get beaten, who knew what that one hit could cause. He’s been back for a few months, but they could never be too careful. Could never avoid a repeat of the Zero-X enough.

The leader didn’t like how Augustine was fighting back, “Excuse me? Why do you give a shit about that man?”

Gordon’s stomach was turning inside out and doing somersaults in his gut. His hands were back down to his sides, fists clenched as his shaking was from a mixture of barely controlled anger and terror, “Don’t beat up the civilians, sir. They haven’t done anything.” Don’t let your true relations show too much. They will abuse that weakness until it doesn’t exist anymore.

The leader simply smirked at the display, “Ah, trying to play protector, are we? Fine, here’s a deal: you come with us quietly and help us escape, and we’ll leave these poor hapless civilians alone. Sound good?”

Gordon felt like he swallowed a giant rock. With sweat dripping down his face at the speed of bullets, he rapidly nodded.

With that response, the leader was suddenly in Gordon’s bubble and gripping his upper arm, shoving the gun under his chin, “Now then, we’re right next to the bay, as well as right next to a hydrofoil dock. That’s our exit.”

The man tried yanking Gordon alongside him, and, for the most part, was successful. He just probably wasn’t expecting to drag such a deadweight. As soon as the word ‘hydrofoil’ was said, Gordon blanked and his ears were ringing. He was subconsciously aware that was what they wanted him to do, but to actually hear it… God, the last time he even thought about touching one was when he and Puckkie were asked to test them. Then he ended up in the hospital for a couple of months, followed by the chair of utter helplessness.

Hell, Gordon was so out of it he wasn’t aware of when the salty air started blowing his hair in every direction, nor the actual vehicle getting closer and closer. The leader gave him a shove, which was enough to give the strawberry blonde clarity to hear his next order, “You get in first, don’t think about running off.”

Gulping, Gordon shakily made his way into the vessel. He looked over at the cockpit and felt a jolt of electricity rush through him. Before he could think about what this all meant, the gun was jutted into his back roughly, “Get moving, August. If we get out of this alive we might consider letting you back in.”

The men’s evil chuckles did absolutely nothing to ease his frazzled mind. He wasn’t even sure how he heard them to begin with. The blood rushing to his ears was as loud as the sea outside, and the ringing his mind was making only minorly quieted since it started.

Another jut of the gun, “Move.”

Juggling the empty air in his hands out of panic, he was suddenly in the seat with the steering wheel, the leader’s AK-47 poking the back of his neck just a little bit more than he would’ve liked. He aggressively took off the jacket part of his suit and ripped off his bowtie for maximum flexibility, leaving only his suspenders over his dress shirt.

He wasn’t sure how he remembered as much as he did, but he wasn’t even thinking as he flipped the switches and turned all the knobs to get this baby roaring. Muscle memory, what a finicky beast. The boat was suddenly purring, and it brought a strange mixture of relief and horror to Gordon’s ears.

Brushing his hands over the top of the steering wheel, he shakily gripped the circle of rubber and exhaled. He was here now and there was no going back. They all sat with bated breath, but before Gordon took off, he managed a cheeky smile as he turned around ever so slightly, “So, about that weather?”

The tip of the gun brushed his nose, “You think this is funny?”

Gordon flinched in on himself and refocused on the world outside, “O-Okay, geez. Tough crowd...”

And with that, they were moving. It was slow going at first, Gordon had to get re-used to the sensitivity of such a craft, but the leader wasn’t happy with it, “Hey, are you stalling?”

Gordon barely heard the question, “W-What? No, I just--”

The leader was as up in his face as much he could be without obstructing his vision to the outside, “Then why the hell are you driving like my mother is the one behind the wheel?”

Where the hell was Gordon getting his bite from? And why was it only coming now? “Dude, I promise to get you out of here, but if I start pushing it now we could break something. Hell, we’re still in the harb--”

Damn, don’t poke his eye out with that gun if you want him to see to drive, asshole, “I don’t care. At this rate, we’re practically sitting ducks. Start moving it or we can dump your body with one bullet hole in it for them to find instead.”

Gordon was left no choice but to listen. The hydrofoil was gunning it as they exited the docks, the already huge and vast sea getting bigger and bigger.

Henchman #1 was whooping in excitement, “Woah, look at this baby go!”

Henchman #2 was utterly seasick, “God, why did you want to join this branch…”

The leader groaned. He must be used to working with idiots, “Both of you shut your asses up and let little August here do his job.”

Gordon was going to retort with something to lighten the dark cloud in his mind, to make these guys regret forcing him to help them by being an annoying little shit, but instead, he took one teensy moment to blink, and with it, a GDF ship was in their way, them careening right towards it.

The three robbers were screaming behind him. Gordon autopiloted to try and dodge, but it wasn’t enough. They crashed right into the side, stopping them in their tracks.

What really happened was that Gordon’s attempt to dodge was enough to make the vehicle only scrape the side of the boat for a few seconds, the friction slowing it down. The hydrofoil and the gigantic ship were parallel-ly touching one another, both sitting as still as they could in the crazy waves of the ocean.

But Gordon didn’t know that. All he knew was that he crashed.

Was this it?

Would he be able to walk? Would there be more therapy?

Or were his hopes dashed? You could only have one miracle a lifetime after all.

“--et him go! Put down your wea--”

“--re not suicidal! Let us leave and may--”

Oh God, everything hurt.

His spine, his chest, his arms that gripped the parallel bars.

All the poking and prodding and scraping and surgery-- he can’t do it again. He can’t.

“--ot breathing! Jesus, let him g--”

“--ts his problem, not ou--”

The only thing he couldn’t feel were his damn legs, the most important limbs he had.

God, he was useless. No more swimming. No more running away after a prank.

It would’ve been better if he was the one that died.

“--t an oxygen mask! Quickly! Gor--”

“--ght away, sir! You heard the ma--”

Dammit, he wanted his dad.

His dumb, stubborn father who was dead like Gordon should be.

His father could fix anything, even this mess, yet he was gone, out of this world, never to return again--

“--sus, Squirt. Gordon, hey--”

Hands and arms were suddenly gripping him, laying him down on gravely ground, except these arms were familiar. Safe and warm. Gordon gained enough clarity to at least see who was holding him. The sight made him choke even more.

Dad.

He wasn’t dead, he was right here. Regardless if he could make it better, Gordon just wanted to see him again. Hallucination or not, he was going to abuse this moment till the end. Springing up from his back, he wrapped his arms around his father and held on tight. His fingernails were sharp, he forgot to clip them last week (couldn’t worry about clipping them when he needed to focus on walking again), so he was probably causing an ungodly amount of discomfort in his father’s back, but he just couldn’t help but feel everything in front of him.

Meanwhile, Jeff just simply returned the favor, keeping his arms around Gordon in an attempt to ground his son. He wasn’t sure what he was wincing over, his son ripping the skin off his back through his shirt or the way he just wouldn’t stop sobbing. Gordon was practically screaming in his arms and there was nothing he could do except try and squeeze him back to reality.

Eventually, the squad of GDF soldiers was back with an oxygen mask and a hypodermic needle. The highest-ranking one gestured toward the needle, “It’s your decision, sir.”

Jeff could barely think over the way his son was losing it in his arms. He was going to snap himself if he had to listen to the heartbreaking noise any longer. He placed his chin on Gordon’s head, jaw clenching in emotional pain, “Do it.”

It was a blur what happened next. All Jeff was sure about was that the squad got to work as he told them to. It hurt as Gordon was taken from his arms, his sobs getting worse at the loss of contact. Still holding his hand, Jeff grimaced at the way Gordon tried finding him again, “D-Dad, no--” he cried out, and he only got more hysterical at the sight of the needle coming toward his arm.

God, he was a terrible father.

Holding Gordon down, they were finally able to give his son the sedative and slip the oxygen mask over his face. Tear tracks were dripping down his face, the snot tracks not much better, but at least his eyes were closed, and the constant murkiness of the oxygen mask reminded Jeff that Gordon was still breathing, albeit very heavily.

The next few hours were an even worse blur. At some point, paramedics came and put his son on a stretcher. He doesn’t really need a hospital, but we’re being safe. Unless you object? Jeff remembered blearily shaking his head no, not letting go of Gordon’s hand at all, not even as they situated him in a private hospital room.

Now Jeff wasn’t holding his hand. The hospital had insisted on checking out the father’s head, which he begrudgingly let them do, but as soon as they were done, he was right back in his son’s room waiting for him to wake up, This time, however, he was afraid to regrip his son’s hand. As if Gordon were fragile, made of glass.

The thought made Jeff chuckle. Gordon? Fragile? No way in hell.

The chuckles ever so slowly turned into sobs before Jeff could help himself.

He’s cried a lot since being back on Earth when learning what his sons have been up to. Crushing hugs given to his no-longer kids in the spur of the moment, but as selfish as it was, he never remembered outright sobbing at any of the admissions of horrors.

At least, not until right now.

---

Each brother had a turn to watch over Gordon, even Alan, who had the excuse of still being able to do homework in a hospital room, but now it was Scott’s round to brave the uncomfortableness of these damn chairs.

He was reading one of those awful gossip magazines to get a good laugh. What could he say, some of the shit they came up with was priceless. The laughter distracted him from everything that threatened to take over his mind. His despair at Gordon’s physical state, his rage at The Chaos Crew for causing this: he read something about the latest Bachelor of the Year’s secret weight loss trick and forgot all about it.

It was as peaceful as the situation could be, that is until Scott heard moaning from the bed.

Subconsciously gripping the magazine a little tighter, probably leaving permanent creases, Scott slowly looked up with wide eyes, and he meant slowly. Some bleak part of his mind hoped that if he took long enough what he was expecting to see wasn’t actually happening. Too bad, it was.

Gordon was laying in his hospital bed (as if he could go anywhere else), bandages and casts adorning just about 90% of his body. What made this sight different was the glassy, whited-out eyes to go with his white medical garments. Scott was pretty sure Gordon would be shaking his head even more if there wasn’t a neck brace in the way, “No… can’t… stop… no feeling… anything…”

Dammit dammit dammit-- worst older brother ever.

Shooting out of his chair but carefully meandering to his little brother’s bedside, trying not to scare him any more than he was, Scott gulped as he tried bringing his brother back to planet Earth, “Hey, buddy… it’s going to be okay. You’re not…” That word shouldn’t be dirty, why was it dirty? “Paralyzed... You’re in a lot of pain, and you’re gonna need a lot of rest, but you won’t need therapy.” Not this time, thank God.

For a second, Scott thought he did it. Gordon’s eyes were still glassy, but his eyebrows were more creased in a way that said he was thinking about something, not in that way that said he was in pain. Scott inhaled, but then choked on that breath as he watched Gordon’s crease immediately go back to the latter kind, “No, I can’t… not here… please… no more…”

Gordon hated hospitals ever since WASP and Scott was an absolute fool for not thinking that it would come down to this.

Taking a deep breath and leaning back away from his brother, Scott panickedly pulled out his watch and conceded, “John, fuck, help me out.”

The ginger shook his head and blinked. He was about to try and joke, after all, Scott called him rather abruptly, but then he saw the way Scott was practically disheveled and got serious, “Okay, what’s the situation?”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, “Shit, it’s Gordon. He’s stuck in a pretty bad flashback of some sorts and it seems like I’m not making it very far, or maybe I’m not trying hard enough. God, fuck, I’m awful, I just can’t--”

“Woah, okay, back that right up, Scott,” John held his hands in a surrender position. The last thing anybody needed was two brothers deep in a panic attack, “First of all, you’re not awful, pretty sure seeing Gordon in that state would freak anybody else out, you just have the added benefit of knowing that it feels like absolute shit, and second of all, back to the important thing you literally called me for: is he struggling in a way that is hurting himself or destroying his surroundings?”

Scott swallowed the metaphorical rock in his throat. He knew John was probably reciting stuff he and Virgil did for the eldest when he had an attack and he hated it, but John didn’t need to know that, “N-No, he’s just glassy-eyed and can’t hear a damn thing I’m saying.”

John sighed. Or maybe hissed. Scott wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to really find out. The astronaut explained, “Alright, this is going to suck a lot, but the only thing you can do is watch Gordon and make sure he doesn’t break himself or anything around him. If you’re feeling lucky, you can maybe touch him if you don’t think it’ll make it worse, but otherwise, murmur quiet reassurances and don’t leave him until you are one hundred percent sure he’s back in reality, okay?”

Scott could feel the sweat dripping down his back as he nodded, “Okay. Thanks, John.”

The ginger simply nodded before flinching at the alarms that blared in the background, “Dammit, got to go, Scott, duty calls. Virgil, Alan, and Kayo are doing just fine, just so you know and before you panic over anything else like you probably want to, got it? See you soon.” With that, John saluted and cut the call.

It took Scott a few seconds to bring his wrist down to his lap. Staring at said lap, he was reminded of the task at hand when Gordon mumbled more pleas. The only one Scott was able to make out absolutely ripped his chest in half, “Pls… jus’ wan’ Dad…”

Barely stopping the tears from falling, Scott shakily reached one of his hands out and gripped the wrist that wasn’t in a cast, gently squeezing his younger bro’s arm and immensely relaxing at how it genuinely calmed the swimmer down, “Just hang on buddy, you’re gonna be fine.”

He had to be. Scott couldn’t handle a repeat of the hydrofoil.

Nobody could, least of all Gordon.

“Just hang on…”

Scott hoped his thunderous steps didn’t scare anyone, whether it was the private landing strip employees or the hospital ones, he didn’t know. The Colonel called them about an interesting situation she had landed herself in. Notice: replace interesting with horrifying and you’ll get the gist of how Scott was feeling.

She professionally listed off all the facts: serial-robbers that were too sneaky for their own good robbed the place the business party that Gordon and Jeff were at was being held without knowing a dang party was happening. Scott’s father mentioned it was spur of the moment, so maybe that’s why they never considered it. Regardless, as they tried leaving, security saw them and that left them to panic and take control over the place.

They saw Gordon and mistook him for a different WASP officer (Scott desperately tried holding back a snort at that statement) and promised to leave everyone unharmed if he helped them escape in a goddamn hydrofoil. Those bastards were lucky they got locked up. Scott had such wonderful ideas for releasing stress if he ever met them in person.

It didn’t help that the Colonel said his father was injured in the process. Total killer stress relievers those men would have been.

Shaking his head, Scott asked the receptionist where Gordon Tracy’s room was and took no time getting over there. The door was shut, which Scott was grateful for. Taking a deep breath, Scott slowly entered the dark room and prepared himself for whatever he was about to see.

To be honest, it wasn’t as bad as he was expecting it to be. It was still a little rough, but he did have an entire plane ride to think of the worst to come, so if there was anything to be wrong about tonight…

Shaking his head once more, Scott tiptoed into the room and fully grasped the situation. Gordon was physically okay for the most part. He looked like he was thrown through a Kentucky Twister and back, and the oxygen mask only highlighted his paler-than-normal skin tone, but for the most part, he just needed some sleep and familial care.

Jeff was also okay. He was going to have an awful crick in his neck with how he was sleeping in that chair, but the square bandage that adorned his forehead was all that Scott could see was wrong. Realizing the world wasn’t ending, Scott exhaled a relaxing breath and walked over to sit next to his father.

Right as he did, Jeff stirred, and Scott simply waited for the older man to fully wake up. Once he did, he practically jumped at seeing Scott but also sagged his shoulders in the same movement. Scott could always help him form proper thoughts, “Scotty, thank God… it was--”

“Awful? Terrible?” Scott finished for him, and he was only partially right. The eldest continued for a little bit more, “Aunt Casey explained some things. Geez, one of your first business excursions back on the planet and it ends with you getting beaten over the head, heh, I… Father?”

Scott stopped at Jeff’s shaking head. The father looked at Gordon for a little bit before turning back to look at Scott with wide eyes, “Jesus, Scott, I-- he-- Gordon was practically screaming when we got him back from those robbers. Terrible is barely scratching the surface.”

Scott full bodily flinched at Jeff’s confession. God, he kept being bad at this. Of course, Gordon would have a major freakout over being forced in a hydrofoil again. Totally not like one didn’t nearly wipe him off the face of the Earth or anything, “Yeah… Listen, I know this gives off the wrong vibe, but sorry you had to see that. Man, you’re just having a bad time finding out about what we’ve been through while you were gone, huh?” Scott leaned back into his chair and formed a loose grin on his face.

Jeff somewhat relaxed at his son’s words. He was reminded that this could be a lot worse, and since it wasn’t, he felt that it was easier to truly let go, “Don’t worry, I get what you mean.”

Scott shrugged before sitting up again, just so he could make his words more professional, “This is Gordon’s story, but I will give the general details to ease your mind, as well as that concussion. Right after he got his gold medal and after his first few months into college, he decided to apply for WASP. Needless to say, he got accepted and it, uh, didn’t end well.”

Now it was Jeff’s turn to full bodily flinch. Trailing away from his eldest child, he absentmindedly examined Gordon once more. It felt odd seeing him so peaceful after what had to have been the worst panic attack of his life. Swallowing his spit, Jeff wasn’t looking at Scott as he spoke, “Thank you, Scotty. For watching over them. I know you probably think you didn’t protect them as much as you could, but from my eyes, you did more than enough, and I will never display enough gratitude for everything you must have done in my absence.”

Nodding, Scott wasn’t sure how much he believed those words, but they did feel nice to hear, especially from his father, “Thanks, Dad, that means a lot.”

The two men glanced at one another with toothy grins, telling one another that panic time was over and that everything was alright. Like a mirror image, the two leaned back into their chairs at the same time, both watching the bed in front of them the whole way.

Now it was time to wait.

---

Oi, hangovers were the worst thing on the planet.

Groggily sitting up, Gordon shook his head as he tried remembering what the hell happened and why he felt like he got squashed by Virgil in ‘Two. Right before asking himself how much he had to drink at that party, he was suddenly aware of the oxygen mask over his face.

Oh fuck.

That’s right. That happened.

…

What else was he supposed to say? Other than wanting to sag back into the pillows behind him, which he did, he was truly lost. He probably knocked off whatever few years his dad’s lifespan had left after his eight years in space, so that was great. Bringing his hand up, he rubbed his eye in annoyance.

Taking his hand away, he looked to his left to see two figures in his room with him: Scott and his dad. Heh, figures Scott would be here. Probably thought Gordon lost a leg or something. As for right now, the brunette was fast asleep and somewhat drooling on his chest, which brought momentary joy to the blonde. He shut his eyes and chuckled a few times.

Gordon abruptly opened them after realizing something. Looking back at his family, he blinked and finally noticed that his dad was, in fact, not asleep like Scott. He was awake, his wide eyes only rivaled by how hard he was gripping the chair’s arms.

Before Gordon could say one of his famous one-liners or potentially start screaming at the top of his lungs like a bad comedy, Jeff was over him and wrapping him in a giant hug. Oh. Not sure how to process the situation, Gordon simply hugged his father back, albeit much softer. He was still pretty exhausted from previous events.

It was a few minutes before Jeff’s voice rang out from his back. It was husky in a way that Gordon knew the man was barely holding back everything that wanted to spill out, “Before we go forward, before we decide what to do from here,” Jeff leaned out of the hug and kept his hands on Gordon’s shoulders. Gordon youthfully gasped at the sight of tears on his father’s cheeks, “I just want you to know how damn proud I am of you boys, how proud I am of you. You all became fine young men, and I couldn’t be any more excited to call you all my own.”

Gordon was glad the oxygen mask was still on. Tears were leaking down his face, and his waterworks tasted significantly salty, so that could at least be averted for now, “Thanks, Dad, I’m happy to call you my father too.”

Jeff could only grin and squeeze his shoulders. They stood there in that position for a while, neither wanting to move or look away from the face in front of them out of fear the peace would be shattered. Gordon was going to need to tell Jeff how the man nearly came back to one of his children in a wheelchair, and Jeff was, of course, going to cry his heart out just like he did over Scott’s mission or John’s isolation.

But for right now, everything was okay, which something all of the Tracys wondered if they would feel again.

The click of a camera could be heard. Jeff turned his head slowly while Gordon peered around his father’s side.

Scott was cheekily grinning and holding his phone horizontally, “Oops, did I accidentally take a picture? My bad.”

The other two men rolled their eyes, and before Jeff could tell his eldest off, Gordon shook his shoulders to loosen them and reached behind him, “Alright, fair enough, Scott, you got me on that one. But can you,” with the speed of a dolphin, Gordon yanked one of the pillows out from behind him and chucked it right at Scott, “Take this?!”

For one with such good reflexes, Scott didn’t do much in avoiding the soft projectile that nailed him right in the face, nearly making him drop his phone. Gordon started laughing his ass off as the fluffy object slowly slid off his brother’s face like badly made slime, and Jeff couldn’t help his laughter either.

Scott always did lower his defenses around his younger brothers.

Too bad those same younger brothers loved abusing that fact.

Jeff grinned to himself.

Nah, not abuse. Playfully take advantage of.

That was more Gordon’s style, and Jeff was just glad that didn’t change about him, no matter what he’d been through.

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 12

Read Ch. 11 | Masterlist

SPOILER: We’re nearing the end of the Hassaikai Arc. It’s gonna be a helluva emotional ride, folks.

Blink’s body went on auto-pilot as she zipped on ahead of Deku and Eraser Head. Her heart raced nervously as the unsettling feeling at the pit of her stomach churned. As the group came up to yet another wall, they saw a henchman laid unconscious on the floor.

Deku made use of Full Cowling and kicked the barrier down without hesitation, revealing Chisaki and Lemillion facing off with a little girl with long silver blue hair hiding behind him. Two of his retainers were on the ground unconscious.

Blink went into an immediate rage and teleported at Chisaki. Deku shot an uppercut at his arm high up while she went low and hit him in the torso with the hilt of her staff.

“Secure the girl, Nighteye!” Eraser directed and neutralized Chisaki’s quirk.

An exhausted Lemillion huffed, “She’s… behind me,” before collapsing in Nighteye’s arms. He shook, holding his sidekick tightly and praised for how brave he was. Meanwhile, Blink, Deku and Eraser Head rushed to a now powerless boss.

“Chrono, you done sleeping?!” he shouted.

Sensing the immediate danger, Eraser Head immediately pushed Deku and Blink aside and took the attack for them. The black-cloaked hero slowly fell down on the ground and closed his eyes.

“Chisaki!” the two remaining heroes screamed.

He slammed his palm on the ground, creating pillars of spikes all around. The impact knocked the wind out of both Deku and Blink’s bodies and temporarily incapacitated them.

“I cannot… I will not… allow my plan to be ruined by you damn heroes!”

Slowly getting back up, the two separated and weaved their way around the spikes to get a better view. With the current vantage point they had, the two heroes assessed the situation.

Nighteye was with Lemillion and Eri. They’re safe for now.

Eraser Head disappeared with the white hooded guy who attacked him.

And Chisaki was healing himself by fusing his subordinate’s body with his, flexing his arm to get a feel for his new limb.

“What a tragedy, Lemillion,” he boasted. “If you didn’t get involved with me or with Eri, you wouldn’t have lost your quirk forever.”

Everyone froze upon those words echoing in their ears.

Lemillion… got hit with the Quirk Eraser?

Blink and Deku’s heart dropped to the depths of despair, refusing to believe it.

“You would’ve still been able to pursue your dreams! You got your friends involved in this and now they have to die.”

Chisaki slammed his palms on the ground again, aiming his attack at Nighteye this time. Deku jumped from where he was and attacked him by throwing a rock at his arm. Blink zipped from the opposite direction and did the same as a distraction. With emotions running high between the two heroes, each with their own reasons and resolve to take him down.

For Eri. For their senpai. For her dad and brother.

The two got close enough to launch a direct attack, only to have Deku blown back by the impact from one of his arms with rocky spikes; his other arm swung at Blink, knocking her to the opposite direction. The trajectory of her body had her right side graze an earthy spike. She let out a groan of pain at the moment of impact and gripped onto the shallow, bleeding wound. Using the current destroyed landscape to her advantage, she hid behind several sharp pillars before teleporting away to a safe distance.

“Power and speed… is that it from you two?” he asked in a bored manner.

A sudden attack came from the far end. Blink saw Nighteye rushing to Deku’s direction, firmly stating, “I’ll take him on! Take care of Lemillion and Eri!”

Remembering his instructions before making contact, Blink reverted her staff back to bangles and took a breath to concentrate on the dim light refractions around her. Feeling a tingle take over, she reopened her eyes and looked at her hands; they were near invisible. It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do, she thought and made her way to regroup with Deku stealthily.

One of her other defensive moves, Reflection, allows her to turn semi-invisible. She can’t permeate through physical objects like Lemillion when in this form though nor could she use light attacks like Hagakure. Her teleportation radius is also reduced because of the amount of concentration she needed.

At her maximum output, she can hold this form for two minutes. It was more than enough time.

“Eri-chan! Senpai!” Deku called upon meeting up with the two. “Can you move?”

“Yeah… no sweat!” Lemillion panted out.

“Still with the tough guy act, as always,” a voice called out, startling the three. Before they could react, Blink re-emerged back to the physical plane and let out a breath.

“Oh, you got that move down finally,” the blond boy remarked with half a smile and looked back down. “This is making me feel sad after all.”

“We should leave,” Blink hastily requested, with Deku agreeing.

Blink threw Lemillion’s muscular arm over her shoulder and slowly carried him to where Deku made a hole for escape.

“This was the way we came to get here. At least it’ll put some distance between us and Chisaki for now,” he said and suddenly felt a small pair of hands grab his costume.

“Please…” the small voice quivered out. “No more… I’m sorry…”

As they entered the hole, Lemillion’s gaze held onto something.

“Sir!!”

The two turned and saw the worst outcome possible: Sir Nighteye was impaled by one of Chisaki’s pointy rocks through the torso. Shaking in rage, Deku dashed right into the fray, leaving Blink with Eri and Lemillion.

“How many more people does this bastard have to hurt? To kill?” she growled out, gripping Lemillion’s arm tightly.

What could she do now?

Get them to safety and regroup with everyone?

Fight alongside Deku against Chisaki?

“Go.”

She looked up at Lemillion as he gave her a strained smile.

“Help Deku… I’ll protect Eri.”

“You’re in no condition to—”

“GO!” he shouted. Perspiration pooled at the tip of his nose and chin, dripping down to the floor. He gritted his teeth to fight his frustration in the form of tears that dared to come out. “I can’t fight anymore, but I can still protect her! Go be a hero!”

“Lemillion…” her voice shook out in rage and clamped down on her fists. “I’m… gonna be selfish here. Please… be safe.”

She let his arm drop from her grasp and ran like hell to join Deku. Her resolve and determination screamed with each step. If she couldn’t take him down herself, she could at least help him get closer to doing so.

The current her didn’t have the strength to; he did!  And that hurt.

Everything hurt.

Watching Lemillion struggle on with every fiber of his being hurt Blink’s heart.

Watching Deku fight Chisaki in her stead hurt her pride.

Everything’s that’s happened led back to Chisaki’s selfish actions.

This man who took nearly everything away from her.

No, he was no man.

He is the rot from garbage.

Hearing the collision of rocks get louder, Blink used several falling debris headed her way as stairs by zipping through them until there was no more. And there he was, Chisaki battered and bruised from fighting.

Within a millisecond, she saw an opening and went for it. Teleporting down and behind him, she swung her leg around in the form of a roundhouse, knocking him off balance for a moment. One of his arms managed to grab her leg and threw her to the other side. Deku ended up next to her seconds later.

Both were a little battered, but hanging in there.

“What have you seen so far?” she panted out.

“He’s fast… But he has a weakness,” Deku replied in a gruff voice and wiped some sweat dripping at the tip of his chin. “He has to take a pause when he disassembles something with his quirk.”

Blink staggered back up to her feet and ripped off the now half destroyed mask she was wearing and threw her battered hood off. There was a small gash at her head from the previous impact with now coagulated blood staining her skin; her face dirty from the risen earth around her. Deku slowly followed and winced at the small piece of sharp earth embedded into his leg.

“It is true I can “repair” things,” Chisaki spoke while healing himself. “But it hurts a good amount when they’re disassembled.”

The multi-armed man slowly made his way at the two, not letting up on the assault. One of his arms jutted out with a mouth, screaming, “I had to die again because of you! Is this want you wanted, Eri?”

“Blaming a child for your fuck ups?” Blink taunted in between breaths. “Pathetic.”

“That’s… not what I wanted,” a familiar small voice shook out. The two turned to see the little girl with fear and hurt in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?!” Blink shouted.

“Eri, you need to stay with Lemillion!” Deku ordered.

“Eri… do you think this boy can overcome this on his own?” Chisaki questioned, his voice laced with venom.

The girl hesitated before answering a “no.”

No… Blink thought.

“In that case, what is it you should do?”

Not like this… Not when everyone’s laid their lives on the line for you…

“I’ll come back… And in exchange…” Her voice was a little stronger now. “You need to fix everyone back to normal!”

“Yes, rather than others getting hurt because of you, it’s easier for you to get hurt, Eri.” Chisaki menacingly replied. “You placed your hopes for a short time in Lemillion, but even he’s broken now. Your actions caused this and for that… you aren’t needed anymore.”

Deku stood wearily and ripped out the rock jabbed up against his left leg and crushed it in his palms.

He screamed, “Even so, you were crying! No one will die today! I will save you!”

The two readied to jump into action, only to have Team Ryuukyuu plummet down from above, immediately leveling the terrain Chisaki laid followed with a giant cloud of dust and debris flying about. Just as everyone was just trying to figure out what happened, Deku dashed toward Eri and shouted, “Uravity! I’m leaving Nighteye to you!”

Blink realized what he was doing and reacted a second too late as a stone pillar launched the girl in the air. She looked up and zipped up at full speed, using what falling debris she could as a foothold.

Finally getting the right piece she needed, she launched herself up in the air and met Chisaki face to face.

“You bastard…” she growled out. “This is where you end.”

Losing herself in her rage, something dark and concentrated formed in the palm of her hand. She dove down and her hand made contact with one of his arms, consequently tearing it apart into nothingness. Chisaki howled in pain while still having a firm grip on Eri.

Blink glared with wild malice and prepared to attack again, only to be immediately grabbed by Chisaki’s free arm by her neck. Gagging aloud, she tried to fight him off by clawing at his flesh.

“You’re all worthless trash!” he bellowed and tightened his grip on her neck. “Every each one of you!”

“But we’re trash…” She coughed out and gasped with a wry grin. “Who’ll take you down.”

In an instant, Deku caught up to them with Lemillion’s tattered cape in hand on one side, Eri on the other. He quickly saw Blink on the other end losing consciousness and all she could give him was a serene smile and a loosely clasped thumbs up.

Deku… give him hell.

[amyscascadingtabs]

still i will love your shadow

She’s used to being there for him when he’s disappointed over a case lost to Major Crimes or a negative review on his self-insert Die Hard fanfiction; she’s done that since the early days of their partnership. This is different. This anxiety runs deep, unveils ugly scars of abandonment issues and separation anxiety she can’t make disappear, and it scares her.

When Jake returns home after his time in the safe house with a resurfaced fear, Amy helps him handle it.

Set after 5x12.

(thank you to @dmigod for suggesting post-safe house fic!)

He changes clothes the minute after he’s stepped inside the door and Amy is grateful. Her fiancé may be able to rock a lot of styles, but weird pervert did not quite make her top ten list of them.

Sweatpants and jean jacket are quickly switched for a checkered pair of pajama pants she gifted him for Christmas last year and a NYPD t-shirt, paired with one of his signature blue hoodies, and then he’s safe and home and looks like her Jake again.

Her Jake who almost died today, risking his life for their dads - ahem, their boss and his husband - and then showed up at the precinct in a peculiar outfit and with an action-filled story, one he happily recounted to all present squad members.

It's been a long day.

She busies herself with making coffee while he changes to a more reasonable outfit, enjoying the simple sensation of making it for more than one person and pouring the steaming liquid into not one but two mugs. Milk in one, an absurd amount of sugar in the other. She carries both cups to the couch table, places them on the geode coasters she purchased post the disastrous party at Holt’s over four years ago, and sits down at her chosen favorite end of the couch.

“Jake?”

“Mm-hmm?” He’s walking laps, back and forth through their apartment, eyes darting around as if he’s trying to take in every single detail.

“Coffee.”

“Oh, sure.”

He keeps on walking. She takes a sip from her own mug, hears him turn around at the end of the hallway only to wander back the same way. He turns, then does it again.

“Jake?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you doing that?” She tries not to put any judgement in her voice.

“Restless”, he shrugs, changing direction once more. “Needed to be reminded of what this place is like. I missed it.”

“That's nice”, she smiles, “but can you sit down and have some coffee with me? I missed you, too.”

“Did you change the curtains?”

“What?”

“The curtains. Are they new?”

“The others were Christmas curtains. These are regular winter ones.”

“Huh”, he mumbles, watching them with some wistfulness. “And the bathroom - did you change something in there, too?”

“I reorganized the cabinets so we can get a better overlook - Jake, please just sit down.”

He stands still, fidgeting with his hands. “Is there orange soda at home?”

“Duh”, she says, watching him go to grab one from the fridge and hold up another with a questioning look to her. She shakes her head. There's the familiar click and fizz of the metal can, and then he finally, though it is with reluctance, moves to sit down at the end of the couch.

She starts going through the wedding planning binder nearly on reflex. While he was at the safe house with Kevin, she's spent hours hunched over it at the dinner table, planning the few miniscule things she felt okay deciding without him and asking him about everything else in the letters Holt let them exchange. Still, he’s not seen it all in person, and she's bursting to tell him all about her new idea to name the tables at the reception after characters in Die Hard.

“Obviously our table would be the John McClane one”, she assures him, binder in lap and struggling to keep her excitement at socially acceptable level. He should love this. “And then if there's people we didn't really want to invite, we could put them at the Hans Gruber table.” She looks to him to see his reaction.

“It sounds great”, he tries, drinking the orange soda and mustering a smile she knows to be nowhere near the grin usually apparent on his face upon any mention of Die Hard. “It'll be perfect, babe.”

“I know, I'm actually really proud of it.”

“You should be.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She knows these answers, she realizes. They’re the same type of short, emotionless responses she’d sometimes get out of him back when he returned from South Carolina, traumatised despite his attempts to laugh about it. Even the way he avoids eye contact, keeps a slight yet notable distance between them on the couch, reminds her of the days when she felt powerless, unfit and handcuffed trying to wrestle his demons for him when neither of them knew how to defeat them. She’s learned her methods now, learned to differ between when he needs her to hug him tight and tell him she’s there versus when he needs to go through all the anxiety-ridden thoughts in detail, but seeing this blank visage on the man whose laugh and grin she’s missed so much brings her back to the feeling of helplessness.

For someone who’s lived with anxiety as her henchman since she started school, spotting it so visibly in him still makes her nervous. She’s used to being there for him when he’s disappointed over a case lost to Major Crimes or a negative review on his self-insert Die Hard fanfiction; she’s done that since the early days of their partnership. This is different. This anxiety runs deep, unveils ugly scars of abandonment issues and separation anxiety she can’t make disappear, and it scares her.

She places a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep her own expression composed. “Is something wrong, Jake?”

He still doesn’t meet her eye. “No, not at all.”

“Then what’s up?”

He opens his mouth, preparing to talk, and then he closes it again. She sits unmoving while he does, legs folded and lips pursed, waiting patiently.

“I left you again”, comes an eventual whisper. This voice is quiet, wavering in contrast to the artificial stability of the earlier one, and it’s a punch to the guts to hear it. “I said I wouldn’t. I promised I wouldn’t leave you again, and then I did anyway.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though. I did it willingly. I offered.”

“You didn’t want to feel indebted to Captain Holt. It was the moral thing to do.”

“I almost died.”

“You were doing your job.”

“I guess.” He shakes his head. “But I still left you, and it just - it keeps on happening and I can’t shake the feeling maybe it won’t stop. What if this is how it’ll always be, Ames? What if I’ll keep having to leave you and you can’t do anything about it? What if - what if I’ll always leave you?”

His voice is unnaturally fast-paced. Only thanks to years of substantial training can she register every word, each sentence stinging more than the last.

“You won’t”, she promises. “I know you won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Are you questioning what I can and can’t know?”

“I’m not - but face it, it’s becoming a pattern and I…” He grimaces. “It's not what good fiancés are supposed to do, you know? You deserve better than that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying maybe you shouldn't marry me.”

Everything goes black. Not in a literal way, because she sees the pain in his expression and how he turns away from her in perfect clarity, but figuratively she feels like someone pulled down the blinds and now she's fumbling in darkness facing a conflict she's never had with her fiancé before. She twirls the engagement ring on her finger, drinks another sip of the coffee. Her hands must shake a little, because a few drops make their way over the edge of the white cup and drip onto the geode coasters.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to”, comes the continuation. His words are slower now, allowing her instead to hear how quavery they are. “I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my damn life. But you deserve better than someone who leaves you and I keep doing it.”

There’s silence, heavier than silence should feel, tangible in the air between them. He looks numb, staring down at the wedding binder with empty eyes, and for the first time in a long time in the history of their relationship, Amy is scared for it.

It’s nowhere a long-lasting fear, luckily, because after many departmentally mandated therapy sessions and private ones on the side, after working next to him for long enough to learn how he handles relationships, she understands what he is doing. He’s giving her an option to leave before the imagined abandonment takes place. He’s saving his own skin in case he has to.

It stings and bites at her to know how even after almost three years, certain doubts refuse to leave. Part of her wants to take it personally. She wants to ask what she’s done wrong, why the belief that she won’t abandon him is not as deeply instilled in him as it is in her, but there’s another, rational part of her which knows this is all about his fear of abandonment and not about her. It’s making her rather tempted to walk up to Roger Peralta and aim a few precise punches to the man’s face.

She can't do that, though, so instead she says the one sentence her mind forms together on instinct.

“That’s literally the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He blinks. “It is?”

“Yeah. Including the time Hitchcock asked me if Kevin and Holt were brothers.” She shakes her head at the memory. “Not one of word of what you said there is true. It doesn’t work like that.”

“How does it work, then?”

“Like this”. She wraps her arms around him for the first time in weeks and lets him lean his head to her chest, her head resting on his and the fabric of her t-shirt made damp with a few tears. She feels her own take shape, slowly making their way down her cheeks. She makes no effort to blink them away in this moment. “It’s not about what I deserve, Jake. Believe it or not, but I make my own decisions about who I want. And I chose you”, she whispers, noticing her own voice has begun to shake. “I’m still choosing you.”

Neither of them speaks for a fleeting moment, breaths catching, evening out in tandem.

“There are no guarantees in this job.” By now, Amy is talking both to herself and to him. “You might have to leave again. But you might not. I don't know about you, but…” She combs her fingers through his hair, pressing a careful kiss to the top of his forehead. “I’m willing to take that chance.”

The warm air of his exhales makes its way through her shirt, heating up her chest.

“Okay. I am, too”, he mumbles right before she starts worrying he won’t, and even with the weight of his body against hers, breathing is easy again.

“You know”, she says once the anxious tension is not quite as expansive, once her shoulders drop marginally and Jake's breathing becomes less ragged. “I wouldn't want anyone else but you anyway.”

He laughs. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Oh no. Believe me, that is pure egoism. You think I’d want to go back to anyone else after you?” She snorts. “I couldn’t.”

“You’d miss the Die Hard jokes”, he teases.

“I would miss the Die Hard jokes.”

“And the Taylor Swift covers in the car.”

“Where would I be without them?”

“You’d miss always having orange soda in your fridge.”

“Well, I guess technically I could buy my own.”

“Nah, Ames.” He’s grinning again as he sits up straight, pulling her close into his side. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you’d miss the orange soda.”

“Maybe”, she admits, putting weight on the e, and then she’s kissing him. Her thumb traces his jaw, feeling a little bit of stubble, and he tastes sweet of orange soda and familiar and home. They’ve gone weeks without this, the stolen moment in the safe house bathroom seeming oceans away, and she wants to make up for it all at the same time but knows now may not be the perfect moment. Instead she lets her free hand link with his, his hand covering the stones of the engagement ring safely on her finger, making him smile against her moving lips. It's not a heated or a fervent kiss. Desperate is not the word for it, because although they are, this kiss is one of assurance and comfort. It’s a silent promise that they’re okay, reunited and together and forever.

They pull apart with reluctance, a silent promise of later continuation lingering in the air while he tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“I love you”, he tells her, a faint trace of worry left in his voice but a stronger conviction overpowering it. “So much.”

“I love you so much too.” She wrote it in the letters, but it hits her saying it out loud how much she missed telling him in person.

“I’ll try my best not to leave again.”

“I know.”

“You know”, he muses, “if we broke up, I actually think you’d miss my sneakers.”

“Now you're stretching it”, she mutters, but she can't stifle the laughter that ensues.

Charles comes by with dinner for them, making any excuse to see his best friend again after weeks apart. His suggestive wink when he tells them to have a good night is just as uncomfortable as it's always been, but at the same time, it's enough for them both to feel normal again.

The next time Jake spends the night at the precinct, trying to get a confession out of a suspect, she gets a text right before she goes to bed.

Not leaving.

She texts back a single,

I know. 

[harleyquilt]

The Sin Of Greed (9)

Summary: Touka now has Kaneki exactly where she wants him to be, all that’s left is to pull the trigger...

Words: 4514

Notes: This chapter is a little shorter, but I wanted to seclude this mood of the chapter to this particular part. Sorry if the quality is a little lacking -.-’ Hope you enjoy!

Despair was what was on Kaneki’s face at that moment. All the joy and relief drained from him, a bewildered confusion evidently taking over all previous thoughts. The gun was heavy in Touka’s hand, the metal cold and all the warmth from his earlier embrace quickly left her. Touka kept a straight face nonetheless, chin lifted and her raised arm steady. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger, her conscience clear. No words had to be shared in this moment - her intentions were clear and he knew what they were. Even so, she wanted to say something, perhaps clarify what he already knew. Not that it would make much of a difference now anyway.

His head bowed then, a sigh escaping him along with a defeated chuckle. Stepping back, he leaned against the nearby wall, his body heavy and a wry smile on his quivering lips. Touka wasn’t exactly sure what she expected; shouting, probably, and perhaps more aggression with this turn of events. He should’ve known it was going to turn out like this, knowing the things he has done and still, he foolishly came all this way to save her. It was all so stupid and still, there he was, his head hung in shame. He almost looked vulnerable like this. Still, the others came too and with the deal she made, she should be able to leave with all of them. She just had to keep her head clear and keep trudging on. Always trudge onwards. She couldn’t let down her parents now with this window of opportunity.

The door opened and Furuta appeared, a smug look of satisfaction written across his face and he shut the door behind him, eyeing Kaneki as if he was some kind of dessert. Clapping his hands together, he walked slowly to Touka’s side, relishing the sight of this expected betrayal before him. Touka glanced at him, sneering at his lit up eyes that were now entirely focused on his rival, though she was glad she was no longer the centre of unwanted attention.

“Well well well.” Furuta tried to keep himself composed, but he was laughing between his words, biting his thumb with a grin. “Who woulda thought it’d turn out like this, huh? I know where I placed my bets.” Kaneki raised his head then, his glare on Furuta. There was no challenge though. There was no reason to fight anymore. “First Rize and now this. It’s such a shame - you’re always being played by the women you love.”

Furuta then walked towards him, clearly not fearing any conflict or battle. Touka kept her eyes on Kaneki, analysing any movement as she listened to Furuta use this chance to insult him further. Despite her efforts, she was starting to become impatient with all this, her finger eager to put that final pressure on the trigger. Why was time moving so slowly now? All this time, everything had been moving in one big rush and it had all sped past her before she had any time to have a clear look at anything, leaving a trail of chaos behind for her to clean up. And now? Now time was teasing her, mocking her as she remained desperately close to her escape. They say patience is a virtue, but it only seemed like a cruel punishment that was testing her capabilities.

“So silent.” Furuta grabbed his chin, forcing his head up. He looked so pathetic. “Are you heartbroken? Distraught? Ah, but that wouldn’t be fair, especially not for this beautiful young lady. After all, you took part in ruining her life.” With Kaneki flinching at his words, he then placed a hand over his mouth, faking a look of surprise. “Oh my, was I not supposed to tell her about it? Gosh, how careless of me.”

“Are you done yet?” Touka snapped, Furuta smirking whilst pinching Kaneki’s cheek. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“Hm, I don’t know. Any last words, lover boy? I would rather have Rize do the killing, if I’m honest, but I just simply couldn’t resist after seeing you lust for the victim of your own crime. A little fucked up, if you think about it.”

“I said hurry up!” Touka took a few strides and violently tugged the clown away by his collar, pressing the barrel of the gun against Kaneki’s head, their eyes locked. “Wasting all this fucking time. Just let me kill the bastard.”

Kaneki sighed, his lips parted and his eye drowned in sorrow. For someone so emotional, it was hard to understand what he must be thinking at this moment, though she certainly didn’t expect such a broken man to be the answer. The gun soon felt heavy in Touka’s hand, her hands sore with how tightly she held it. One bullet was all that was needed. It was all ridiculous really - all this time, she tried so desperately to keep herself clean of the things that made this man a monster and yet here she was, not even hesitating to threaten him with the promise of his death. She was only doing what was necessary, but her eyes bore into his eyepatch, the missing eye reminding her of the lines Kaneki crossed that inevitably led him into this scenario. Unforgivable. Unjustified. Understandable. Was this merely the first step that would trigger her own demise? Would it haunt her in the ways that would corrupt her mind, just as his had become? There was too much uncertainty.

“Fine, I think I’ve made my point clear.” Furuta rested his hands on Touka’s shoulders, lips close to her ear where she could feel his cold breath against her neck. “Do as you wish.”

. . .

Yomo kept himself composed, slowly straightening with his hands held up in surrender. The man cocked his gun, glancing around him. This seemed more like a casual act for him than it being any kind of threat towards the intruder. Perhaps it was possible to reason with him, bribe him even - the mafia can’t resist the urges of money, after all. Then again, Yomo wasn’t as skilled at talking as Itori was. He should’ve asked her to tag along, considering how she thirsted for such riveting events like these, but it was of course too late to think of ‘what ifs’.

“Don’t move.” The mafia henchman spoke, saying nothing more. It was hard to tell if he was going to shoot him or not. He was certainly taking his time deciding.

Still, he was hesitating, which meant that if he was somehow lucky, Hinami may have seen them by-

“Mister Yomo?” Hinami called urgently through the earpiece. “I...I didn’t see him coming up, sorry, b-but I think I may know him. Take Hirako, an assassin. I saw him talk with Kaneki once. Um, maybe, uh, tell him you’re with him. Quick! I’ll try to find you, just keep him distracted.”

“I’m working with Kaneki.” Yomo spoke up, a hint of panic in his rushed tone. Take stared blankly for a few seconds, a slight twitch in his brow. Pressing his lips together, he slowly lowered his gun with some reluctance. “Is that so?” His voice was hushed, his eyes glancing around the hallway once again. “It’s not like him to be so straightforward and clumsy like this.”

“Guess you don’t know him that well.” They both glared silently, waiting for a chance to attack one another. Take’s face was...familiar. With that said, he was certainly not a pleasant reminder, especially at this moment. Even so, if Take did recognise Yomo, he didn’t give anything away. He wondered then if this frustration was what the others felt like whenever they tried to read his own face.

Take eventually sighed and looked back down to his gun, possibly reconsidering his actions, before holstering it away. Yomo allowed himself to smile in relief whilst Hinami quickly joined them, dressed in a spare security guard’s uniform she managed to find before. She looked between the two men, worried to find either one knocked out and bleeding on the floor, and rushed over to Yomo’s side with some exhilaration.

“Ah, I guess you were telling the truth.” Take examined Hinami, who stood her ground with a hand on her own holster. “You’re Kaneki’s apprentice, aren’t you?”

“What does it matter to you? Just walk on and pretend you never saw us.” Her tone remained firm. It held an uncanny resemblance to Kaneki’s usual voice. He couldn’t be certain if it was intentional or not, considering how it wasn’t exactly clear if she actually was his apprentice. Take only smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That girl isn’t in there.” He said as he walked away. “Though I’m sure you already knew that by now. It’s certainly quiet here anyhow.”

Hinami let herself relax, though the weight of Take’s words remained and Yomo immediately started towards the office Kaneki headed to earlier. Hinami hurried to his side, suggesting what they already knew. After a few failed attempts in communicating with Irimi, it seemed they were now on their own. Just what the hell was happening?

. . .

Touka stared at Kaneki, who was now facing her. He spent all this time wanting too much from her, but now he was just going to stand there? Perhaps that was for the better. It doesn’t matter, it’s not as if she was-

“Hurry up, sweetheart.” Furuta’s gloved fingers brushed against her cheek as he pulled back her bangs. She shuddered, Kaneki’s fist clenching at the gesture. “You were complaining just a minute ago. You’re not hesitating now, are you? This man was going to kill you. He already killed your dearest mother and father and now you show him compassion? Oh dear, what would your parents think in their rotting graves, I wonder.”

“Gross.” Her eyes roamed down and her arm lowered only slightly. “You mafia dogs are all the same.”

She threw her arm back, the grip of the revolver slamming into Furuta’s jaw. He remained hunched over whilst a hand moved up to his jaw, blood dripping out of his gaping mouth and she raised her arm again, bringing down her elbow against his back. Stumbling to the nearby chair, he managed to glance up at Touka with wide, infuriated eyes before she hit him with the grip once again, knocking him back. Kaneki stared, blinking slowly, with both shock and awe at the sight before him. He wasn’t sure how to process any of this. Touka stood over Furuta’s body, the mafia scum groaning at the large cut formed just under his eye. She pressed her foot against his head, almost wishing he put up more of a fight.

“Did you really think I was that stupid?” Before he could let out some snide answer or chuckle, she brought her foot down against his face, hearing a satisfying crunch of broken bones. “You really didn’t think I wouldn’t notice your name on the list, huh? I don’t know whether to laugh or pity you. I knew I recognised your face from somewhere.” She waited for a response, hoping for a new excuse to break his nose, but he remained uncomfortably silent. “Did you really not expect this after trying to make me do your dirty work for you.” She looked back at Kaneki then, face scrunched up in detestful disgust. “You’re both as bad as each other.”

“Touka-” Kaneki reached for her, his voice weak and pained, but she held up the gun towards him, yelling at him to stay where he was. The bitterness was still as strong as it was before, though it was ignorant of him to have expected otherwise. He just...wanted to feel that warmth again. But there was no more warmth to give.

“You stay right fucking there.” The anger she felt seeped into her words and for once, he feared her. “Don’t you fucking move. I won’t kill you for the fact that you saved mine and Ayato’s life that day, but after this? I don’t want to have anything to do with you, so keep your distance, you disgusting trash.”

Disgusting trash.

Kaneki stepped back, his hand receding back into himself. His body curled and leaning against the wall, he slid down onto the floor, nodding. He only murmured Touka’s name, squeezing his eyes shut with her words echoed in his mind. All the voices - they were becoming so confused - Hide, Touka, Rize, Yamori, Arima, they were all telling him the same thing. Keep your distance. Disgusting. Stop hurting the people you love. Disgusting. Just stop. Stop. He needed to stop. He told himself he’d let her go so he should just...stop.

Touka watched Kaneki fall back into his own tormenting insanity, but she had no more sympathy to share. Her debt was paid. A life for a life. She could now walk away - she knew he wouldn’t pursue her now, he wouldn’t dare try - and all that was left was to deal with one last pest. She never really believed in revenge, or at least not after maturing from her teenage years with her finding bigger priorities to cater to, yet she wasn’t sure if she could leave without doing this one last thing. Some evil acts are necessary for good reasons, her mother used to say. Then again, just how many ‘necessary evils’ did it take for these two to become the people they are now.

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart.” Furuta groaned, a bloody, broken smile on his bruised lips. “We’d just come after you again.”

Was that a fact or a challenge? She didn’t want the whole of the Doves and CCG always on her tail for some wild goose chase across the world because she killed their boss. There was the chance that would happen regardless, though it’d be easier if there was no personal vendetta on her head. Decisions never seemed to be easy anymore and she had the habit of always choosing the wrong choices.

“I suppose you would. But I’m a thief. It’s my job to disappear.” Touka sighed and pulled the gun down to her side, Furuta’s eyes lit up with her words. “S-So you’ll just leave me like that?” He laughed as she started to walk away, not daring to see if Kaneki was watching her. “You...You can’t do that! You have to kill me. Why are you-”

A loud shot silenced the room, Furuta’s body falling limp with the bullet knocking his chest back. Touka looked up to see Yomo, Hinami by his side. She wasn’t sure how to react at first, but a wide, sorrowful smile broke onto her face as she rushed into his arms, the tight embrace sending a wave of utter joy and relief through her. It had been too long since she had seen a familiar face and now, for the first time after weeks of anguish and pain, she felt safe.

Yomo squeezed her tightly, somewhat in disbelief that he was able to find her in one piece. He pulled back, grabbing her shoulders to turn her this way and that, eyes skimming over all her cuts and bruises, some of which were already treated. She looked up at him with tired, sunken eyes, but her smile remained bright. She was still alive after all this. She really did remind him of her mother, that undying strength pursuing no matter what. Regardless, just to see her again was more than enough.

Looking over her shoulder, he noticed Kaneki sitting on the ground, head bowed and his arm rested on one propped up leg. Hinami of course rushed to his side, asking if he was okay, though there didn’t seem to be any kind of injury that Yomo could see. Then again, it probably wasn’t anything they could see to begin with. Not that he cared much for any emotional toll he had to go through after all of this.

“Are you okay? We need to get away from here.” Yomo was already guiding Touka out the room, who reassured him she was fine. He looked back only briefly, Hinami staring with wide eyes. “Our business here is done. We no longer have anything to do with each other.”

“Ah, wait.” Kaneki dragged his body up from the ground, brushing his hair back as he did so. He seemed...composed. Or rather, not how he was the last day or so. Touka kept her back to him, sticking close to her mentor. “As thanks for everything you have done, I’ll give you a small reward. If you plan to leave the city, I will ensure the Doves won’t follow-”

“We don’t need your help.” Touka snapped, still keeping herself turned away from him. Though saying that, Kaneki wasn’t paying much attention to her to begin with, too busy asking Hinami to call for Tsukiyama. “Are you listening to me?” There was a slight edge to her tone now and she looked over her shoulder, teeth gritted. Yomo and Hinami stared with some uncertainty at the scene, not exactly sure if they were supposed to intervene. “We don’t have to owe you anything.”

“I don’t much care about that.” Kaneki scoffed and Touka lit up with rage, ready to step towards him with the intention of a fight. Yomo held her back, whispering to her that they needed to leave - not that she listened to him anyway. “We already said our goodbyes, little bunny. Just accept the parting gift and go.” His voice wavered and turning away, he cleared his throat, Touka tutting and walking away. “Go quickly before I change my mind.”

. . .

Before Yomo could tell Touka where to leave, she was already pressing the button for the lift. She explained quickly that Furuta made a deal that with Kaneki’s death, she’d be able to leave, Ui waiting to escort her out. As long as Kaneki wasn’t with them, he’d be none the wiser, considering how Hinami managed to get into the security system. As she spoke, he watched her carefully, noticing the dead look in her eye, her pale face and trembling hands. Her jaw remained clenched, head tilted down and her voice hinted at nothing but fatigue and...sorrow. Was it sorrow for everything she had to go through? Or rather was it to do with Kaneki, the man she has been tangled with for weeks now. It was probably a mix of all kinds of things, things she’d need time to heal from, that he hoped he could help with.

It had been a while since he last saw her like this. A few years ago, he had been searching for her and Ayato and he remembered one night, it was raining heavily. The kids were aware he was trying to find them and fearing the worse, they had continuously led him on a game of cat and mouse. He was still proud at their endurance, but they had simply lost the energy that night. It was in an alleyway that he saw them, Touka drenched in her ratty clothes that she stole, the blouse hanging off her and her hair too long, plastered to her panting face. She stood in front of a crying Ayato, who sprained his knee from running. She had no weapon besides a sharply edged rock and still, she stood there, demanding him to stay away.

Deprived would probably the most accurate term at the time. To see her in that same deprived state sent him pangs of guilt, of sympathy and of pity. She was so strong, yet the prices she has had to pay were too high. He feared that she was about to break, that one more step will leave her shattered, no matter how desperately she tried to keep the pieces together. He was here now, he could support her, though he wasn’t sure how he could at this point. Rest. That was what she needed right now and...a friend.

“Touka…” Yomo’s voice trailed off and she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the lifts doors. “Do you-”

“No, I don’t. I just want to go home and see Ayato.” She faced him, lips pursed. “We need to leave. Use the money Kane- that the mafia will give us and relocate.” Saying his name still left the pain of bitter emotions she wasn’t sure she could explain right now.

“Sure.” She turned back as the doors opened and she quickly stepped inside, Yomo sighing and joining her. Deprived wasn’t the state she was in. He wasn’t even sure if he knew the word to describe this. Emptiness, perhaps.

They remained in complete silence and when the doors slid open again, they saw Irimi standing with her arms held back behind her, Ui standing there with a raise of his brow. Yomo, with a furious scowl, reached for his weapon until Touka placed a hand on his shoulder, signifying she knew what to do.

“I’ll assume the deal has been fulfilled.” Ui looked at her up and down with his suspicious glare. “Considering how you managed to hack into our security systems.”

“Hey, you knew they would be coming. I’m just leaving with my partners, like you promised I would.” He sneered, Touka crossing her arms and he reluctantly let Irimi go, Yomo helping her regain her balance. “That’s not a problem,” Touka began as she walked past, “right?”

“Furuta better know what he’s doing. I didn’t expect there’d be so many of them.” Ignoring him, Yomo and Irimi followed behind Touka and they left the building, Ui assuring the receptionists that they were...guests. “Something’s wrong…” He stared at the lift, the doors shutting and he reached into his pocket to call Furuta for the signal. She was just a lousy thief, right? There was no way she’d do anything irrational.

Right?

. . .

“Kaneki? Are you…” Hinami was struggling to follow behind her brother, who was quickly heading back down the path they came from. “Please, slow down-”

“There’s no time. We need to leave. They’ll of course blame this on me and we have to prepare for that backlash.” He checked his watch, tutting. “We can’t compromise Goat any further.”

Goat? That wasn’t his priority just a few hours ago. It was worrying, in a sense, to see his loyalty change so abruptly. He was always known to be quite fickle, or at least, he had certainly proven that fact these past few days or so. His unstable mind was now seemingly in a state of clarity, despite his state when she first entered that room. There was no closure between him and Touka and now he acted as if she had never existed. It was clear he was pushing any pain he felt aside, it just failed to make any sense. Was he really able to let her go so easily on such bad terms? She supposed he did fulfill the purpose he had coming here though.

“Sure.” She lowered her head, voice small and Kaneki glanced back quietly. Neither said anything more. It was clear that whatever had happened here was now nothing more than water under the bridge.

No, that would suggest a solution, a sense of moving on, but that wasn’t what he was doing right now. He was just moving in a blur, pushing everything forward with him and eventually, they’re all going to crash in one fiery blaze. He likely already knew that, yet it did nothing but encourage him to keep moving. Whatever crash there was going to be, Hinami didn’t want to see it happen.

. . .

Rize dropped her cigarette, rubbing it into the ground with her heels. She was dressed in her black sheath dress, a purple kimono jacket on top and long silver chains draped across her chest. She took her earpiece out, turning off the audio transmitter she left in Furuta’s office. Smiling to herself, she walked to the door opposite her and she knocked twice, that tall, broad brute standing behind it.

“Why were you lurking around out there?” Shachi asked, clearly unimpressed. “What are you doing now?”

Rize ignored her mentor, sitting down in his favourite seat and taking his favourite drink, dropping a few ice cubes into it. Shachi sighed, shutting the door and he continued waiting for her to answer his question.

“I wanted a smoke and I know what you’re like. So disapproving.” She smiled into her drink and Shachi sat on the ground, continuing to polish his katana. Rize’s eyes lit up and licking her lips, she sat back, placing the drink aside.

“I do not like the sight of my daughter ruining her health, especially as some harlot.” He scoffed at the sheer mention of the word, though Rize only rolled her eyes at his sentiments. “Whatever, old man. I’m just trying to earn a living and some more.” She giggled, as if this were a joke. “Besides, I may have a way to deal with my little problem.”

Shachi didn’t respond, but his movements stilled. With a smirk, Rize crossed her legs, twirling the drink in her hand. Nothing but the clinking ice cubes could be heard in the room until eventually, the mentor stood up, taking the drink from her hand.

“No.”

“But-” Rize stood, almost appalled, though not exactly surprised.

“You did this last time and now you’re here dressed like this. Whatever plan you’re going to do, I want no part of.”

She was about to yell her protests, hoping her begging could sway his thoughts, even though she knew that was impossible with his stubbornness. Before she could, however, a loud shot rung through the room and a splatter of blood appeared before her. Shachi stared with wide, glassy eyes, jaw slack and a clean hole right through his hard head. Rize watched him drop with a heavy thud, her body frozen, and the door kicked open, a familiar figure standing there with a grin.

Rize, unable to have a moment to react, dashed for Shachi’s katana, the figure calling her name eerily. A shadow, that was what they were, a damn shadow taunting her. Why was she never able to escape them? And...And Shachi. They killed him, just like that. No, shadow wasn’t right. They were her demon ready to punish her for her sins.

“You can’t fight us with that silly thing. Just look at your dear old daddy.” She screamed to drown out their voice, pressing her hands against her ears. She stepped back as they moved inside, knowing they had no intention of killing her. Shit! What was she- “You can’t escape, silly girl. Come now.”

She gripped his sword tightly, holding it up to keep them away, not that they were taking her seriously anyway. With a mocking laugh, she spat “Go to hell” and sprinted off for the nearby window, smashing her body through it. Hearing another shot, she scrambled onto her feet, ignoring the several cuts she felt opening across the body, and ran.

Whatever plan she had, she needed to do it now.