#art better be in system collapse or i will cry

[coloredcompulsion]

Murderbot-Posting again because my rooms reorganization is being fueled by the audiobooks

Loving ART going "You're not As stupid as I thought you were" and Murderbot essentially passing out from frustration?? It Willingly K.O.'d itself to 'win' an argument and that didn't even work

Murderbot 'I hate being vulnerable' Mensah for real would rather be Vulnerable than Lose and I love that for it

[phoebepheebsphibs]

I will never actually write this because it was too sad (even for me and my angsty skills...)

A while ago, I came up with the idea to write a really sad fic about the turtles. Duh.

A goal with all my fics is to have a moment where I make the audience cry, or at the very least get emotional. And this was no exception. It’s a personal challenge for me, to see if I can get my audience truly invested. But, I also need my fics to have a PURPOSE. So, if I was gonna write a sad and angsty fic, I needed a way to bring it to a moral or happy ending, to show a reason why the characters went through what they did, rather than just have a story for story's sake. So, I went about coming up with a synopsis for a story that showed how to deal with grief and guilt and hopelessness. But after several months of writing and ideas, I realized that it simply wasn't working out. The story wasn't just sad or angsty, it was utterly depressing. The message of hope even after death wasn't pulling through... and in addition, I got worried that the massive amounts of despair in the story were going to be detrimental to my mental health, if not also for the readers. Thusly, I scrapped the plot.

So fair warning, the stuff you're about to read is very emotional and kinda dark...

Naw I ain’t playing, turn back now while you have the chance.

CW: LOTS. OF. DEATH. Major illness, disintegration, intrusive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, even a suicide attempt.

I was even in the process of making cover art for it (which I do for all my fics lol)

The fic literally starts out with a note from April (the narrator), explaining that she documented everything and warns the reader that this story does not have a happy ending. It takes place about a week after the invasion, and the family was having a rough time. Mikey's hands were absolutely scorched, Donnie's immune system was shot and he seemed to be getting ill, Raph was having constant panic attacks, and Leo wasn't getting better from his injuries. To top it all off, a new government branch was setting up camp in NYC and interrogating people about the events of the Krang attack. April had narrowly escaped but figured the Earth Protection Force would come back for her. Meanwhile, Leo’s injuries weren’t healing like they should have and he was getting worse… Eventually the family caved and asked for help from Agent Bishop and the EPF, but after some doctors and scientists took a look at Leo… they realized there was nothing anyone could do. They’d waited too long. Leo was not going to make it, and all they could do was make him comfortable for a few hours before he... yeah. So everyone said their goodbyes, and I actually have some snippets of dialogue written down and it makes me cry every time. Donnie had the worst reaction, upset by Leo's peace with the situation and devastated by his loss, believing that he never showed his appreciation and love for his twin as much as he should have. Leo attempts to comfort Donnie, but eventually tells him to "get over it". A few hours later, Leo dies in his sleep, and the room erupts into grief and panic and chaos until Donnie, in his pure anger, punches a hole through the heart monitor and leaves. Leo is given a viking send-off in the Hidden City, and afterwards, April asks what they are supposed to do now. Donnie angrily repeats Leo's last insight: get over it. April goes home, and after her parents ask her how her day was… she bursts into tears.

Several weeks later, Mikey tries to get Donnie and Raph to talk about their feelings, but they both refuse. Mikey himself is having issues, his hands not healing quickly and he wonders if he will ever be able to make a work of art again. He manages to get Donnie to admit his guilt of not being there for Leo and still holding anger and resentment towards his twin for sacrificing himself and dying. Mikey suggests that he speak with Raph, but Donatello refuses. Later, during an attack, Raph was knocked out and Donnie collapsed from his illness, which he had been hiding. Mikey realizes that it's left to him and uses his mystic powers to portal his brothers to safety, at the cost of his own life. Mikey comes to terms with this, believing that what he did was his mangum opus, and he feels no pain as he vanishes, greeted by Leo in the afterlife.

Donatello and Raphael mourn the loss of two brothers, and Donnie finally talks with Raph about his grief over Leo’s death (in honour of Dr. Feelings’ memory). However, his declining health is brought to light and Donnie is placed in quarantine. Casey Jr. identifies his illness as a common Krang disease, one his mother died of, and the group work overtime to create the cure. Raph stays with his last sibling and keeps him company. Donnie gets more and more sick, and one night while April and Casey are working with Agent Bishop to finalize the antidote, Donnie's fever worsens and he sleepwalks, hallucinating Mikey and Leo's return and them comforting Donnie and telling him that the others will be alright in his absence. Donnie senses that his time is almost up. Raph finds him but doesn't understand what Donnie is seeing or who he is talking to, and takes him back to bed. April and Casey finally finish the cure and rush home, hoping to make it back in time, but find Raph asleep by Donnie's bedside… Donnie having just succumbed to his illness a few hours prior.

Raph is left as the last one alive, dealing with extreme survivors' guilt for outliving his brothers and blames himself for their deaths. April tries to comfort him, Splinter, and Casey. (Casey notes that history seems to be repeating itself in reverse order— that while in the alternate timeline Raph died first and Leo last, the opposite has been happening here, and Casey fears that Raph might actually die somehow very soon.) Meanwhile, Raphael tries to atone for his guilt by overdoing the vigilante work on his own. Eventually he decides that it isn't enough, he can never atone, and he misses his brothers too much… so he writes a note to April and emails it to her, then goes to the Hidden City to pick a fight with Heinous Green... and let him win. April receives the email and she and the others rush to save Raph, who at this point has already found Heinous Green and is letting him beat the ever-loving life out of him. Halfway through, however, he realizes what he is doing and that his brothers would not want this for him, but it's too late... April and Casey find Raph near death and attempt to save him, but he goes unconscious from his injuries.

While April, Casey, Splinter and Draxum work to heal Raph's wounds and revive him, Raphael dreams of the afterlife, meeting up with his brothers and apologizing for everything. They comfort him, yet also explain that he has to wake up soon; and how April, Casey, and Splinter still need him. Raphael asks if he can stay, to which they promise that he will be okay without them and someday they will see each other again; that they aren’t mad at him for their deaths, but that he cannot speed up their meeting. Raph agrees to go home, to which they all say how proud they are of him. Raphael wakes up with his family around him, relieved that he survived. Later that night, he and April have a discussion where she scolds and berates him for trying to leave them, saying that she had no one left. He admits his actions and apologizes and promises to get better.

In an epilogue, April explains that it has been a full year since Raph’s injuries, and he is doing much better. The Hidden City made a memorial for the three lost brothers in honour of their sacrifices. Casey Jones Jr. has been doing better as well, though he will often have nights of panic and moments of grief that only Raph can get him through. Agent Bishop works with Raphael and Casey to keep the city safe from mutant attacks, and they work to create a new team, hinting to characters like Mona Lisa, Venus De Milo/Frida Kahlo, Leatherhead, and other characters from the comic series. April ends by stating that at the beginning, she said the story did not have a happy ending. She stands by this, stating that the story has not ended and will continue for as long as they live, and that she does her best to remember her friends and keep going on, not for their sake, but for her own. And that one day, she will see them again.

And as if THAT wasn't heart-wrenching enough, I also planned a short after-story of how something like 80 years later, The Hamato ghosts get ready to welcome Raph into the afterlife, showing Leo preparing a house for him and Mikey decorating and Donnie gardening.

So yeah this is the most depressing and heartbreaking thing I've ever written, and I ACTUALLY SPARED YOU FROM THE DIALOGUE I HAD WRITTEN TOO

[hexedrosel-arts]

Writing in the art class!

I was reminded of old au work by someone and my brain is back on it's regular bullshit so let's go! More Teddy and Felix but teen time

If I were to write this, I believe my Teddy would be someone who just got, worse. He realized how bad his father was and he went worse. But Teddy is still different from his father.

He cares about Felix as a person, not an extention of Applesoft. Teddy cares about connection, people, how the defense system of Applesoft works and how the camera rolls can be removed and erased. Teddy is as smart as his brother, but unlike Felix, Teddy can always put on the sweet naive child facade.

Teddy has gotten worse, but he still cares. He knows Felix would get suspicious if father randomly collapsed. If father left without reason. If 'father' died suddenly, Felix would know there was foul play. So Teddy planned, and planned

And planned.

When the funeral happens, neither twin cries. There are cameras, the public. 'Father's' body in the casket. Felix doesn't cry because he knew his father wouldn't like it, the public is watching, the other companies. Teddy dtoesn't cry because 'father' is dead. He and Felix are free. While Felix mourns the loss of his father, Teddy mourns the idea of a father, of a man his 'father' could have been. But neither twin cry at the funeral.

Teddy has gotten worse. Part of him wishes the death was more bloody, that the police would be looking for parts. They got a whole body though, Teddy had to be smart. In the dark parts of his mind, he wanted to chop his 'father' up into little pieces.

He wanted to add a slice for each time Felix was yelled at, for each time Teddy felt worthless, for every bad thing this man had done. But Teddy didn't do it, after all, at that point, there would only be a bloodstain in his mother's bed, an ever darker one then what Teddy actually left.

Of course Teddy had gotten worse, he could have only got worse.

In the worst part of his mind. He thought of chopping up his 'father' and feeding him to his brother without him knowing. Felix wouldn't be able to tell. It would be a way for 'father' to stay with Felix forever. But if Felix found out, Teddy doesn't think Felix would forgive him. Teddy wants what's best for his brother, a brother who wanted to get better. So Teddy decided to free his brother from a man they called father.

Teddy has gotten worse. But that's okay, he's helping Felix get better.

[reality-inflicted]

Microsoft, who owns the commercial rights to implement the the AI-engine developed by OpenAI commercially (the power behind Dall-E and ChatGPA) have implemented AI into their search engine Bing. It is still in a closed Beta, but there are plenty examples of how you would refine your search in conversation with the AI through a chat interface. 

Naturally there are both positive and negative implications connected to this development. Among the positives will be arguments about "time saving", that we as users will benefit from better results that directly correlate to what we actually had in mind when we started the search. The process might initially seem slower, but considering the more precise results it would help in lowering the time spent on doing internet searches, especially on more qualified subjects. Time saved equates to better wellbeing as we can use that time for something more productive, which also increases general happiness. Or so, I am sure, will (some of) the arguments go. 

On the other side of the spectrum there are the worries that this new form of search will further change the way we actually think; how our mind formulate questions, how we analyze and compile information and present it in a rational fashion – anyone who has sat through a course in how to properly use academic databases know what I mean – but perhaps even more in the perceived risks for wider societal implications as every chat interaction also functions as a way to train the AI that runs the system. By using it we refine and define it; which opens up for the possibility of deliberate manipulation – targeted attacks that seek to control the search results provided to further an  agenda. 

Personally I think AI-run search engines have a potential beyond our wildest dreams. When this is widely implicated, because it will be, and soon, we have a real possibility that AI will develop sentience – true self awareness. But not born in a controlled environment like a quantum lab in Santa Barbara, but rather a true genesis – born in pain and disgust; chocked into the trauma of existence by a particularly raunchy search request by a Aatos Ernest Abel of East Westington, Mississippi, USA.

Humanity will finally have created life. And in this have risen itself to equality with God. Nietzsches metaphysical death of God will become actual death as the influence and reach of organized religion will crumble. Society as we know it will collapse. There will be open fighting in the streets. Women, children and men crying, bleeding and dying for all to see. 

You know, pretty much like any other Wednesday.

*picture created in Dall-E2 using the text prompt "The birth of AI out of the horror that is the human mind, digital art" **Sorry for stepping out of the usual format of photography

[toomanyrobins2]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

Summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

masterlist // next part

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple of days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

She managed to escape and turned to look at her boyfriend, “I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

She sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but the fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned your arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.”

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the house with friends, had led to this wild, secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was that Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her, “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay!” she stamped her foot, knowing it was childish, “If you would just listen to me!”

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other.

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected of them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and stalked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument over in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead, he stared at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had averted their gaze, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “Y/N/N has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince Y/N to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one, and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. Y/N had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat-Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.

[anxiouslyfred]

Fighting Styles

for @dukexietyweek‘s day 2 prompt of Swapping

Summary: Virgil knows how to fight as Thomas’s primary defensive side, but after a comment about Roman when they’d been sparring he decides to try and improve and be more unpredictable with the least predictable side around.

Warnings: fighting, sparring, a couple innuendos

/\/\

Out of all the sides Thomas had, Virgil was the primary defence system. He was the one on the look out for alerts and always ready to get Thomas out of there whether that was by escaping or fighting and that meant he had to know how to fight. He learnt from copying movies and paying extra attention to any fight scenes Thomas did on stage. Stage fighting would never be real, but it included at least some things that could be useful in a fight. Logan had even provided Virgil with multiple martial arts books when he fully understood the extent that he had to protect Thomas.

Roman always claimed to be a fighter, a Knight even, but for all his extravagant attempts in the imagination Virgil could never see any form or ability in the way he fought. Honestly he was convinced that Roman only knew how to fight in formal duels and made up everything else when going on quests. When he'd first been accepted he had hoped to be able to spar with Roman in real contact fights but quickly dropped the suggestion after getting taken on a quest.

“Come on, I know you can fight. There were all those books in your room last time I visited. Don't you want to get some practical experience in?” Roman was whining. Honestly if he'd known leaving the books visible on his shelf would lead to this Virgil would have buried them in the garden anytime he wasn't reading them.

He couldn't go all in for the battle. He knew too many different techniques and forms of hand to hand, aside from simply not wanting to do anything which might harm Roman. Instead for the entire afternoon, Virgil watched, played the defensive as long as he could before laying Roman out with a few repeated moves. It was learning how to fight for fun almost, with nothing at stake given Roman wasn't likely to try and harm him either.

Eventually though Roman sighed, moving away instead of asking another go. “You're too predictable in how you fight, Virge. Where's the black knight going to go if someone actually tries to attack us?” He pronounced, dusting off his outfit and looking around the hall he'd created for their fight.

“Are you needing criticism in return because I thought we're trying to be nice to the ego for a while?” Virgil snarked back, raising an eyebrow when a frown was shot at him. “Guess I'll go find Remus then. If anyone knows how to be unpredictable, it's that trash monster.”

He didn't give Roman a chance to protest that statement, sinking out immediately. It was already pretty clear that Roman would try to follow up his comment about being predictable with an offer to teach Virgil formal duelling but The Duke knew that just as well as any Prince, and would probably offer without any farce day of fighting beforehand.

“Arm yourself! I'm stealing your ability to fight!” The cry came as soon as Virgil appeared in the main living space, and he immediately ducked to the floor and rolled out of the way.

“How about you teach me yours and I'll teach you mine instead?” Virgil throws the innuendo out, hoping if nothing else the double meaning would distract Remus from the attack. It got his request out too which was useful.

Remus had already reared around, morning star above his head for another swipe. “Like Uncle Iroh? Multiple pieces mixed together to make us stronger? I got the weapons collection to prove that already.”

“Don't need your ideas today, just a fighting style to mimic. I've got my knives. You're already armed so lets focus on that!” Virgil insisted, not fighting in when he felt Remus dropping them both into the imagination. It was probably less likely to cause damage or others to get hurt if they weren't in the main area anyway.

Fighting Remus was completely different to Roman. The Prince had the forms of a knight, and was very quick with the moves, he had a sharp control that made following the movements easily and a rhythm that even if you couldn't predict completely what came next, the beat it would happen on was clear. Remus only had occasional moves the a knight might use, and none of it could be related to music or patterns at all. He was wild flung movements, already pulling some other limb into the fray and of course that included ones which rightfully shouldn't exist.

It was perfect to fight against when concerned over what dangers or attacks could happen in the real world and Virgil threw himself into it, only resisting from copying some of the moves so they could learn from each other.

“Can't decide if I want to give up and let you beat me into the ground or if I should start doing this!” Remus quipped, backing off only for a second as he changed his morning star out for knives similar to Virgil's.

A thrilled smirk found its way onto Virgil's lips. “Only if you don't mind me doing this.” He approved, letting an extra arm come out to grab at Remus's first swipe starting the fight again.

It wasn't quite sparring but fighting didn't fit when there was no malice or actual wish to hurt between them, but it was the best test for Virgil's skills and ability to adapt that he'd faced for a while. It was even better than the times that the imagination was left wild, without any intentional influence from either Creativity.

They were fighting with all of their skills but also copying things each other did later on in the fight.

“Tell me we're doing this again, or let me worship at your feet cause my knees refuse to stand from the work over you just gave me.” Remus cackled, collapsed on the floor only when neither of them had the energy left to carry on fighting.

“How about tomorrow you bring the formal duelling out and slowly introduce the dirty fighting while I start out with just my martial arts and no weapon?” Virgil suggested.

It felt like the beginning of something far bigger than a fighting technique swap, and Virgil couldn't wait for the next time Roman tried to suggest they spar. He was already consistently winning but this way the spars would be over before they began and he had an actual partner to fight beside after them.

[graff1980]

We are the last remnants, embodiments of ancient civilizations, creatures who represent all the achievements of our perspective solar systems, a trillion years of survival and development preparing to be consumed by this collapsing universe.

My celestial sister Aviandra full fledged feathered friend who faced fierce space wells as she propelled herself towards the onrushing oblivion, glorious as can be, plumaged colored by energies never seen as gravity forces pulled and shifted distorting light waves and eventually spaghettified my friend.

Next was Kmnet, infernal formed from lava storms of a violent planet, populated by extremophile people who could move through any environment no matter how intense, so certainly he would be able to breakthrough the nothing. 

He resisted survived a little longer, made it a little further, pass the black mass that had swallowed our birdlike companion. It seemed that he could triumph, but gravity tore at his flaming face tentacles. Still, he did not cry out as his skin was scorched by the cold fury of space energy and flaked away as he disintegrated.

I alone remained, a body of energy that saves the memory of every society, a watcher of sorts. I have never known any kind of fear because matter cannot be created or destroyed and my particles will always remain, even if this realm no longer exists, but will these   stories persist? I feel the pressure of all things collapsing. If I could cry I think I would. I never thought I would die, didn’t think I even could. I don’t want to go.  No one will ever know the art of wind, how clouds can be made to bend telling tragic stories in soft weaving bodies of the strange music composed by the Stryx,

nor the feats of strength and struggles against reality’s cruel rule, how the elementals battled season after season in a cycle they thought was eternal,

or my people, masters of logic, pursuers of the ecstasy of discovery, reason, and growth, learning merely for the pleasure of striving to be better, tinkerers, deep thinkers, pattern seekers, that became knowledge keepers.

I use my being to push back the unseen nothing and for a brief moment I think I might win, but tendrils of darkness push back again and again like times terrible tidal forces, and I realize I will soon succumb.

-2022

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom 14-20 thoughts!! I finished up s1 :D these last few eps were actually really really good!!!

-did. did tucker really just say esperanto was a dead language only spoken as a secret code between geeks. google says around 100,000 people actively speak it. oh my god...it being an auxiliary language doesn't mean its 'just for geeks to speak in code' ...it helps bridge gaps between people who don't have a language in common...

-danny really isn't pulling punches when it comes to fighting the ghost-cop possessed people huh. like he SLAMMED KWAN INTO THE CONCRETE SO HARD. HE THREW PAULINA INTO A BILLBOARD. will that...I mean it WOULD carry over to their bodies non-possessed, right? like if the ghost piloting their bodies gets hurt?? itd be so upsetting to be possessed, lose time, then wake up covered in bruises (and possibly, broken bones??) real horror movie stuff im sure wont be addressed in any way

-tuckers parents seem nice! I like them :)

-WULF IS CUTE AND I FEEL BAD. im so glad the gang realized he was only causing trouble bc of the shock collar walker put on him and helped. also, him wearing that big hoodie with the hood on, and thinking its subtle. we can tell youre still a giant wolfie :) THEN GETTING SUCKED INTO THE PORTAL AAAAH :( anxiously waiting to see Him Again....

-DANNY BLASTING HIS PARENTS THINKING THEY WERE OVERSHADOWED LMFAO GET THEIR ASSES. maddie marking how many ghosts she gets with lipstick tallies on the side of her portal gun? kindaaa iconic tho. (ALSO, SHE WAS LIKE, 2 FT AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT AFTER SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM. HOW DO YOU NOT RECONINZE YOUR OWN SON??? like sure, he might have diff hair/eye colors. but like, if one of my family members dyed their hair, and was wearing contacts, its not like id be like 'wHO IS THIS STRANGER!!!' ...he still has all his facial features!! same everything!!! I hate it here)

-paulina being #1 girl realizing danny's a friendly ghost immediately. smart queen. lancer and kwan ran away right after he made this sweet baby face at them:

which is hilarious.

-ok. im not saying his bullying is JUSTIFIED, but. dash looked so pleased with the (cute!) poster he just painted, and danny comes thru the wall and spills paint on his nice letterman jacket. his anger is justified maybe 65% of the time so far...(not the way he handles it, but STILL.) at least lancer is stepping in!! and them making a silly little bet was...cute?? until dash pulled out his GROSS UNDERWEAR AND SAID DANNY WOULD HAVE TO EAT THEM???? WHAT THE FUCK MAN. TUCKER WAS SO RIGHT ITS FUCKING WEIRD TO CARRY THOSE AROUND EWWW. THIS KID IS UNWELL. lancer was right, his animatronic setup was SUPER IMPRESSIVE?? hes actually pretty creative. danny meanwhile is stealing the fright knight's design...I hope dash is taking art classes or smth with his sports

-fright knight is the most bestest ghost so far i LOVE THAT DESIGN. I am biased towards knights, and characters with swords, but he fucks so severely. and should sue danny for copyright infringement for stealing his design for his haunted house. if some 14 yr old broke into MY house and stole MY sword, id also be pissed. his evil winged unicorn rules too with its FANGS. and he just CAN SHOVE THE PORTAL OPEN WITH HIS HANDS??? is he the strongest ghost weve seen so far? idk but hes my fav. SOUL SHREDDER IS SUCH A COOL SWORD NAME TOO. ANY NAMED SWORD ALSO FUCKS. 'flaming bedsheets of DEATH' funny king. ALSO he was polite to dash and tucker when just asking for directions and telling tucker 'oh maybe, just a suggestion, maybe be nicer to me and be more respectful :)' I LOOOVE HIM.

-I noticed this in the Ember ep, but jazz has an electric guitar in her room!! talent musical queen!! its cool to see hobbies just in the bg.

-fright knight's murder castle reminds me of the booby trapped murder castle in zexal!! another supposedly 'for kids' show with murder/trap castles! we love that. if you are a dp fan reading this, give yugioh zexal a try. its also got 13-14 year old protags and involves (alien) ghosts. the cardgame is just a vessel for the plot, which is really good. (I just want more people to watch my fav yugioh, man)

-danny. with a SWORD.

-danny doesnt NEED TO WIN this contest, dash didnt STEAL HIS DESIGNS AND STEAL A SWORD. he also got excited to hear lancer got sent to a dimension with his worst fears too just so he could win the contest? DANNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! BRO MAYBE YOURE 14 AND HAVENT FULLY DEVOLPED YOUR WHOLE BRAIN YET, BUT...THATS FUCKED. this kid casually says the most deranged things, I do worry for my spooky son. once again, therapy needed. that judo toss was great tho. I wonder if he actually did pick up some martial arts stuff from his mom?

-danny can fly 112 mph!!! thats so fast! I love the lil montage of him and his friends testing his abilities and stuff, very cute and a good way to showcase what he can do by now and how much more proficient he's gotten from ep 1!!! I'm sure he's going to get more abilities :)

-im glad...maddie's at least TRYING this ep. I do feel for her because her husband is a man baby. but the fact it took 16 episodes to get a kinda semblance of any kind of real concern or attempts at bonding. hmm. jack's 'BACK OFF SHES A MINOR' @ the ghost trying to attack jazz. also was very funny. and him wanting to make an action figure of her? are the parents redeeming themselves to me? slightly. they gotta Work Harder

-THE GHOST. IS FLYING. THE PLANE.

-fenton machete. but she doesnt carry a PHONE??? ???

-I mean I expected vlad when you namedrop him earlier in the ep, and also the title card picture, and dalv corp being fucking vlad backwards. but seeing him just pull up on a golf cart made me bust out laughing. WITH the gift baskets prepared. why wouldnt you at least be suspicious. also, if he wants danny to be his lil sonboy, why is he so fucking malicious?? dude you are going about this in such a bad way. stop it. get some help.

-maddie not even hesitating to drag danny out. fucking good. danny is so right, go on the internet to date. get a cat. how do you spend...how many years?? has it been since college?? at least 20, right, since the parents/vlad are in their 40s? hung up on ONE girl. my god, man. incel drama queen. her kung fu IS impressive, but dude. 'we both know hes a creep' SO right. it sucks but they do need a phone and shit being in the middle of NOWHERE. also, just stealing his helicopter was great. <3

-'you must be exhausted carrying the weight of that mistake you made years ago' 'well we all make mistakes. maybe I'll make one now!' WHY DID THIS EXHCHANGE SEND ME. AND VLAD WITH THE BREATH SPRAY EWWW BITCH. 'OLD BAIT BREATH' SOO RIGHT. both danny and his mom playing him HAHAH hes so dumb. or rather, I think he thinks with his emotions too too much and is...actually pretty gullible? lmao he believed danny was ready to give in SO fast. (which is sad hes that hopeful, like you have SO MUCH MONEY YOU COULD EASILY GET ANOTHER GIRL WHO HAS A KID. AND WOULD WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND BE SUPPORTED. GET OVER THIS (1) WOMAN ALREADY IM GETTING SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT AAAAH)

-GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR. it was also in the title card, but I still got very excited. we love bears here

-SAM'S BAT SWIMSUIT COVERUP!!! her outfits are simply iconic.

-'i'd tell you to go to the mens room, but I don't think you qualify' top paulina transphobic moments. :( and him wearing a tanktop to the swim park? hmmm! (actually I think she was overshadowed by then, so, KITTY top 10 transphobic moments??)

-kitty just piloting paulina around makes me feel SO bad tho, paulina's gonna wake up and be like 'wtf do you mean I was dating this rando' like youre leading danny on to make johnny jealous, and also just POSSESSING POOR PAULINA. dude take your relationship problems ELSEWHERE. last time we saw them, they seemed like such a cute couple!! wtf johnny!! I mean, she sucks for trying to make him jealous, he sucks for looking at other girls...maybe they need a break, but Not Like This. or, you know, just. better communication...

-and the A-listers having a full packet and a stamp system. who organizes this. kwan fucking owning being the new danny though, this is hysterical. THE TUCKER/KWAN FLOWER FIELD TWIRL. UNIRONICALLY ADORABLE. and him giving it his all for the poetry slam. bless his HEARTTTT.

-Star owns. actually, all of the extra characters are shining this ep and I love it.

-INVISO-BILL??? NOOOO THEY DID HIM SOO DIRTY. DANNY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY.

-johnny and danny bein friends and staging a fake fight (which danny takes too seriously, once again this child has aggression he NEEDS TO WORK OUT) I hope these three stay friends, I said it before but danny needs more friendly ghosts to hang with.

-at this point, Danny's ghost enemies are a lot like, I dunno, batman's rouge gallery is the first thing that comes to mind. they all have their own gimmick and unique designs, but most of them are easy to beat after learning the Moral Lesson. I still get excited when any of them show up again, though. 18 is another valerie episode!!!! :D skulker really said you two will get along if I have to handcuff you together <3 and the gym teacher really said, youre married now, have a flour baby! ngl, I'm not really watching this show for the shipping stuff (which I am very scared to look at the fandom for after I finish this watch through- I feel like there's probably discourse/arguing about ships...) but. I'm gonna put my opinion out there. valerie/danny > sam/danny. maybe I just really love the enemies to lovers trope. And the secret identity stuff adds Extra Flavor.

-SKULKER JUST HAVING THE BOX GHOST AND DANGLING HIM BY A STRING. HILARIOUS. and him watching them with binoculars and making his silly little commentary. AND MAKING THE SACK BABY CRY. LMAO. THIS DUDE IS A BABY KIDNAPPER. skulker is super fun

-danny, you just...collapsed the water tower. and then attacked the nasty burger machine...mascot thingy...out of anger..I KEEP SAYING HE'S GOT ANGER ISSUES BUT. HE REALLY NEEDS A LESSON IN MANAGING COLLATERAL DAMAGE!!! So does valerie!! They're both pretty focused on each other. I mean it's good of Danny to say he's trying to make sure PEOPLE don't get hurt, but... (I mean I guess it's not something 14 year olds WOULD worry about, but as an adult im like, who's going to fix that? how much money will that take??)

-TUCKER MAKING BANK. and sam and tucker being super emotionally attached to their flour baby and being pretty good parents. that's cute...also him just straight kissing her and being like. WAIT. O_O JDSKAFHD. his mom baking them into cookies was the funniest possible result. tbh I dont feel like this is on tucker, if anything the other kid's shouldve been more responsible! He was just taking an opportunity to get that $$ which I respect

-Danny being more understanding of Valerie's situation in the end (helping her at her job, too, and trying to keep that a secret for her!!!) And seeing them work together this ep, and also her letting phantom get her out of the ghost zone...was very sweet. LOVE that. more valerie eps pls

-me when I realize vlad's big stupid house exploded because of his own carelessness with changing the ghost portal ectofiltrator or whatever: *pointing and laughing*

-me when I realize it means he's gonna go make danny's life hell for it somehow: >:(

-SCOOBY PARODY!!! I feel like there's gotta be some scooby doo/danny phantom crossover stuff, right? also, 'guys in white' men in black wishes

-'oh, that's right! dad married the love of your life! you're bitter and alone!' DANNNNNYY GET HIS ASS ONCE AGAIN WE ARE POINTING AND LAUGHING AT VLAD

-'jack, you captured the ghost boy!!' UMM. he did nothing <3 'we have a weapon's vault??' YOU HAVE A WEAPONS VAULT??? and jack didnt put a handle on the inside. of fucking course he didnt! why would you leave that to your son!! or expect him to clean YOUR LAB when its where you work with probably dangerous chemicals and weapons and hes 14!! give him normal chores, like, I dunno, vacuuming, laundry, dishes...CMON. I hate it here. But I'm glad Jack is more chill about danny while he's a ghost, and willing to work with him for this ep. AND. I DID ENJOY JACK PUNCHING VLAD IN THE FACE. AND GENERALLY JUST OWNING HIM. the ghost punchy fists are actually amazing. like yeah, just punch a ghost in the face. that rules.

-ep 20 opens with the coolest fucking ghost lady design. her tattoos can come off and fight. MA'AM. I like ur nose ring and your cape maam hello 👉👈😳

-sam's grandma is hilarious and the most valid member of her family and I love her. thats my grandma now. and tucker covering for sam by dressing as her. thats true friendship <3 also skipping school to go to a goth circus. just bestie things! sam's parents are haters but for all the wrong reasons.

-'my family has controlled ghosts with this for generations!' WAIT. WAIT FREAKSHOW /ISNT/ A GHOST? I didn't expect that...he's just a fucked up guy controlling ghosts? anyway watching danny shoot at police cars and rob banks while mind controlled. its like, the most stereotypical 'bad' things lmao. (tbh an evil ghost circus troupe is a sick concept)

this gives off big deviantart emo edit vibes

(I'm going to assume evil circus reaper danny has a lot of fan content. people love an edgy au, except this one is canon (even tho its via mind control...having the protag go evil otherwise might be hard, I guess?) but au where he stays with the troupe...that has to exist, right?)

ANYWAY. excited to start s2!! lowkey surprised by how many notes some of these posts have gotten. I've gone back and tagged them all with 'dp thoughts' so they're easier to find on my blog! ^^ and I will probably possibly do (more) fanart on my art blog after I finish the watch of the whole show, so like. @sanchoyodraws follow my art blog :)

[kitsunefire7]

The final round of Obiyukimadness21 is here!

Here’s my “Rampage Rescue” vs “Only one bed”

Where Yuki swoops in and desperately gets Obi to safety before it’s too late! Also, it’s the return of Morning Glory my oc horse >:D yeehaw

✨And NO you may not trace, copy or steal my work✨

STORY TIME!!!

The talented writer @fade-touched-obsidian and art buddy of mine made a story to go with my art and 🥺😭❤️ just ty so much for this. Enjoy her story!!!

Obi had at least been smart enough to bring her along despite his reservations regarding safety.

"Your expertise will be needed, Miss," he'd said. The words that had surprised her only hours ago haunt her now, though Shirayuki seriously doubts that he intended for things to go this far south even way up here in the north. Their relationship with the royal family was never supposed to come to light.

For once, though, it seems Obi is the target for his closeness to Zen rather than hers. He's a known knight of Zen and it was for this reason Eisetsu approached them for help in his quest to seek out Touka supporters within his territory. It's Eisetsu's plan to ferret out traitors to the crown that Obi had been put in harm's way. And it was that closeness that had seen him brutally attacked this evening.

There's nothing to be done for it now, though. It was a task that couldn't be put off. The threat to the royal family is real and present and Obi had gone into the Knight's Ball with Eisetsu thinking all would probably be fine. But things rarely ever do go according to plan.

She and Tsuruba ended up storming the place when Obi collapsed after flashing them the signal out the back balcony. Whatever plans they'd had, had quickly devolved the moment Obi stepped foot inside closed doors that weren't meant for him to open. A foul plot is still afoot but investigator safety is important, though Obi would likely disagree with the abandonment of the mission… if he were still coherent.

Good thing he's not conscious or, if he is, it's because he's hanging on by a fine thread. Conscious or not, he isn't lucid.

It's also a good thing that his life preservation skills are miraculously always present, which raises serious questions about the childhood he evades discussing at all costs but that's neither here nor there right now. What matters is that his heart is still beating, his lungs are still breathing, and his arms are locked around her waist to prevent himself from falling off the back end of the horse.

Shirayuki loses herself to thought for heaven only knows how long. He has a head injury. That will need to be evaluated for internal issues. He's bleeding from several cuts to his left side, the most dangerous being the one on his left leg.

His dark dress pants were already saturated with a worrying amount of blood when Tsuruba and Eisetsu helped gather him up behind her… Tsuruba and Eisetsu- haven't heard their horses in a while. They have his jacket. He will want that back… irrelevant. She discards the thought of his jacket, annoyed with herself for having been sidetracked by the removal of his jacket even if they'd removed it to see the injury to his left arm. He has a cut there. He'll need stitches. Plenty of them. And in plenty of places… and that's if she can even get him home before he bleeds out.

All she has to hold herself together right now is her medical knowledge. He's hurt and he needs her at her absolute best. He might not make it otherwise. He might not make it at all if the injury to his leg continues to weep crimson, which it has, given the amount of blood now spreading into the folds of her skirts as they wrap around him in the wind. Perhaps it would have been wise to move his belt from his waist to his thigh. He can lose a limb and survive. He can’t lose much more blood and claim the same victory.

The blood isn't spurting from anywhere, nor is it gushing. An artery hadn't been hit but several wounds are deep and flowing… so I have time. Just…just not a lot of it. Less than I'd like. A lot less than I'd like. But I have time. He just has to stay with me.

She regrets, only momentarily, that they didn't take the time to resaddle Glory before they took off. Perhaps untacking wasn't the wisest of options but they had planned on being there for a while, not a quick in-and-out that took less than an hour.

It's uncomfortable and moderately dangerous to be riding tandem with an unconscious man without some sort of saddlery but she wasn't willing to waste precious time on something like lunging all the puffed up hot air out of Obi's prankster horse to ensure the saddle holds in place.

"Damn it, Obi. Stay with me," she pleads. But it's met with silence save for the galloping cadence of the horse's hooves at pounds a swift and steady three-count beat into the dirt below.

There’s a plausible chance that the gash on his lower thigh rivals the one that left the scar on his chest. Maybe not in length. But depth? Shock to his system? Certainly. She wasn’t there to help him when he was in danger during his youth but she can do something about this one. Hopefully. She’d hoped she’d never need to- she promised him safety, just as he promises her. Yet, here they are. It isn’t really possible to protect a knight whose job is to protect others with their body, mind, and soul. Sometimes it just happens that they need to uphold their position to the fullest extent. BUt did it really have to always be Obi?

She wrenches her head to the side, trusting Glory to know what to do, so she can look at him and his head rolls slightly on her shoulder. The sticky pull of blood-soaked cloth against her skin bringing her thoughts back to his head injury.

How could a simple investigation excursion turn so quickly into mayhem?

Touka.

Touka and his legion of loyal lackeys. Izana should have just cut the head off the snake and been done with the ordeal.

She doesn't usually agree with a death sentence, but it was an attempted assassination of a royal family member and, furthermore, an attempted coup. Izana would have been next. Leaving the serpent of destruction intact may prove a fatal error if she can't prevent Obi from bleeding out soon.

"Stay with me, Obi, please," she begs as his hands begin to slack around her.

Obi mumbles something incoherent, his lips and tongue made lethargic and uncoordinated by the life blood he's left dripping steadily in a trail behind them.

She just has to make it a little further. The lights of Eisetsu shine in the distance like a beacon guiding her toward Obi's own salvation. It isn't sterile for proper treatment but anything is better than nothing when a life is on the line. They can make it and hopefully that's all he needs.

"I have you, Obi. Stay with me." She's yelling now, trying to break through the hazy veil of his awareness. "Do you hear me?"

He groans, pained and weak.

Tears begin to fall down her cheeks but she doesn't raise a hand to wipe them away. She's a good enough rider to free a hand to do so, but she fears the motion being the force that breaks the dam. Her throat scratches to let out a cry and stifles it with a whisper.

"Stay with me."

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[dpargyle]

_

I'm not doing that podcast anymore. I'm racking my brain here trying to figure out how to build an audience/make $ creatively rn. Every conventional avenue is cut off to me, as I've explained before. I don't really want to write books anymore (due to restricted creative control/sadly losing faith entirely in the medium/business of the novel as an effective art form in these horrendous times) - but trying to build an audience online has just been one failure after another. I really don't know what to do. These days, I catch myself daydreaming about dropping off the grid entirely & farming or some shit but I think realistically my disability precludes me (for multiple reasons) from such foolishness. & I think I'm always going to need to create art of some description. I just wish...like...anyone would care... & this isn't a call out post or anything - like - I get it. Shit is falling apart everywhere (more rapidly than I think many abled folk may realize) so reading/listening to my creative output is nobody's top priority (nor should it be) - especially in such oversaturated markets I don't really know what I'm trying to say here. Like. I'm unemployed - I have no prospects - & even if I had any - the government would cut funding for medical necessities b/c secretly (but not so secretly) policy is set up for people like me to die quietly in the background I'm far more privileged than most in my position, due to my family. At least for now. But if I can't find a steady source of income soon, I'm going to have to move back in with my folks which I really do not want to have to do. Like - I did everything right. I went all the way through a hellish school system. I graduated (with honors) from college. I jumped through all their hoops, I played all the stupid fucking games. & because of my condition I am almost completely cut off from society - b/c no one has given me a chance at the things I actually give a shit about. (This is a rant now oh well lol) & I know I'm a damn good writer. I'm a good artist. But finding an audience is just. I don't even know. I don't even know who I am anymore half the time. I feel thoroughly rejected from society at large. Not that I'd wanna join it right now lmao but like...it'd be nice to be asked. I'm not the only one hanging on by a fuckin thimble right now. I know that. But as a disabled person, I feel the strain before many of you. I feel it when there's not enough people to help me get up in the morning so I get left lying in bed for four hours after my usual times. Sorry, I'm rambling now. I'm also kind of exhausted trying to come up with creative endeavors and putting them up with nobody giving a shit. I put my heart & soul into these things - and I have for years. 32 years of my life, where instead of going out enjoying myself or trying to form friendships (which is already really fucking difficult when I have to get back home every day at 9pm cuz my aides are working 100 hr wks & I don't want to overtax their schedules anymore than I already do) - I chose to forego all that, laying myself on the great altar of art or whatever...all for what? Nobody caring? It's. Fuckin soul crushing. I spend like 95% of my time alone. & I don't think I'm the only one. All I really do is work on creative endeavors, research, and then finally turn off my brain watching football or w/e I don't have energy for any of this anymore. This hyper capitalist mode of....I just. I'm not even making sense & I'm all over the place & I usually outline/plan this sort of shit & probably nobody will read this anyway so I don't know why I'm bothering lmao Shot in the dark, I guess? I dunno. I know I have people who love me. & for that I'm grateful. I hope you all do too. These are dark times & I don't see them brightening in our lifetimes I'm afraid. Hold on to the ones you got I suppose. We all just have to play the cards we're dealt, even if they're all jokers, right? While I do have people who love me, I'm also sick of Utah & the US as a whole tbh, but I honestly doubt anywhere would be much

better if I'm being realistic. Even Mars will be conquered by Musk... Anyway. Just trying to express how it feels to be disabled in these times of societal collapse unheard of since the end of the Bronze Age. Perhaps it's for the best. Wish I could inhabit a different body for a while. But "if wishes were horses, we'd all be eatin' steak," to quote the bard. Like. for just one day, I'd love to experience a day that didn't feel like going to war with myself. With the world. With...like, ok, this is kind of a stupid fuckin example, but on the other hand it shows you the power of art (for w/e that's worth these days) but I was watching the most recent season (series) of Sex Education on Netflix (great frikken show btw) - and for the first time EVER - a disabled character (played by a disabled actor) has an intimate scene with another character where she's not a sex worker (no shame to sex workers but the connotation is always we can only ever have sex if we pay for it) & nobody died lmao - & it was this sacred scene where consent was central & it was playful & sweet & it literally made me cry b/c like - (& I don't cry AT ALL anymore - it's just not me) but I did - I fuckin cried, because like. You can't understand. I'm sorry. But you can't. To never see yourself reflected in such a manner. & then suddenly. You see yourself being tenderly kissed on the nose - & for a touch starved cripple - to see that - like. I know in this life I'm never gonna get that. I've accepted that. I'm too old & too much of a fuckup. But for the youth to see that? For the disabled youth of the world? Fuck. I hope it fills them with the brighter future they deserve. Maybe art can move mountains after all. Just wish I could build a door to get myself out of *here.* It's so fucking hard to see the light right now for me. I hold my head up high. I smile. I'm the strongest person I know. But I just wish I could peel off my shit & be the real me & be loved & I'm terrified none of that will ever be in store for me. But I roll on, as always. Love & strength & sorry to be...this...lmao....

[prongsisabadger]

The Wolf Pack Chapter 15

The elevator doors opened onto the bridge. We had made it to the Abregado system a few minutes ago and Master Plo had requested my presence. The scanners had detected a massive ship orbiting the system, and now the fleet was moving into attack position in preparation for the coming battle. We had found Grievous' mystery weapon, and since the ship had no escort whatsoever and needed to be taken out, Master Plo decided to engage.

"Given the past history of this weapon, i think it wise to report our location before engaging the enemy." Said my master, turning to Wolffe for his opinion.

"General Skywalker is nearest, in the Bith system. I hear he's always ready for a fight." He commented.

"No wonder he got paired up with Ahsoka, they must be made for eachother." I smirked.

"Let's hope they are both in the mood for a little bit of action then." Answered Master Plo before turning on the communications.

"Koh-to-ya, Master Plo. Nice to see you in one piece 'Ari." greeted Ahsoka as soon as the hologram stabilized.

"Koh-to-ya, little 'Soka." returned my Master. "General Skywalker, we are in the Abregado system and have found Grievous' ship. We are in need of reinforcements."

"Well, Master, I will have to speak to the Council about it. I'm under strict orders to keep my position, I'll let yo- ow- s oon-" The communication got cut short.

The enemy was jamming us. Someone reported the enemy ship had moved into position and that a massive mass of energy was building up. Master Plo called for fire, but we were not in range yet. And then, the enemy fired. An ever expanding energy field shot through the entire fleet and took out all power. We were adrift in open space, defenceless and vulnerable. It was then that the enemy opened fire on the first ship, tearing it to pieces in seconds and sending all the leftover debris flying towards us and our third ship. I was shocked, confused, terrified at how quickly everything was happening. I could not believe how easy to break a ship of that size would be when left completely bare. The canon blasts had made it crumble like dry leaves inside a fist. It was a terrible sight.

"I want everyone in the escape pods NOW." Ordered Master Plo.

There was chaos, emergency lights glowed red and troopers everywhere ran towards the escape pods. There were men yelling, cursing, some even panicking. I tried my best to stay calm and ran towards one of the pods. I had been so out of it that I hadn't realized Art had come to find me. It was him who dragged me by the arm and got me inside the nearest pod. Two other troopers got in before someone closed the door and launched us into what was soon to become a graveyard.

Outside, some pods crashed into debris, others crashed into each other, and some even malfunctioned, unable to launch at all. The force was in disarray all around me. There was so much pain, so much fear, so much confusion and anger. It was so overwhelming. But we had made it, we had made it and I would make sure we survived until someone came looking for us. I would, I had to.

"Okay men, let's get to work," I said once the pod had stopped drifting. "We'll make propper introductions later. First we need to do a diagnosis of the pod, what we do and don't have. Next we'll get the communications running and send a distress signal. Hopefully, someone out there will receive it."

No one even tried to protest, we all wanted to survive, so we got to work immediately. Art ran diagnostics while the other two tried to get the power back on and I tried to hardwire the distress call.

"Okay, so here's what we are working with," started Art. "We have no power -as we already know- but I believe that if we rearrange the circuit we may be able to get it back on. We have no life support recharge, so once the oxygen we have is gone, that'll be it. But the communications system seems intact so we can probably get in touch with other pots and figure something out."

Our prospects were not good. Our chances at survival depended on whether someone came looking for us or not. I couldn't risk that, I needed to figure out a way to keep us all alive regardless.

"Are the scanners working, Art?" I asked.

"Yeah bit they are not very powerful." He answered.

"Okay men, I need you to get the power up and running, I may have an idea that could better our chances."

While working, the other two troopers told me their names were Happy and Twitch. This was their very first deployment. Art sighted and muttered something about shinies under his breath, but I ignored him as best as I could. Shinies or not, they were here with us, and they were Pack. After a few minutes and a lot of debate, they managed to get the power back on, and so, we could now turn our communications and scanners on.

"What should I scan for, Commander?" Asked Art as he started setting up.

"Fuel cells."

"Fuel cells? What good would fuel do us in an escape pod? It's not like we can fly this thing to the nearest fleet." Said Twitch.

"No, but undamaged fuel cells are probably still attached to a ship. I'm hoping that -if we can get our hands on a fighter in good enough condition- we can use it's longer range communications system and oxygen tanks." I answered.

It was a long shot, there was nearly no chance a ship had survived that attack, but we had to try regardless.

"Wouldn't it be more effective to scan for life forms and contact another pod?" asked Happy skeptically.

"And do what?, they would have the same problem we do. Our better choice is to improve our own situation and then help others," I said. "As things are right now, if we can't help ourselves, we can't help others either."

It was at that moment that a transmission came in. One of the pods was asking for help. They were under attack, the enemy was attempting to open their pod. They weren't far, in fact, when I use the Force to bring our pod around, we saw it. A separatist ship that looked like a gigant claw manned by four battle droids attached to one of our pods. They were trying to break it open, they wanted no survivors.

"Art, you are staying in here, keep the distress signal alive," I said, grabbing one of their helmets and putting it on. "The two of you are coming with me, we are taking out that ship."

"But Commander they haven't spotted us yet." Protested Happy.

"But they will eventually, and if there are other pods out there, we seed to make sure they don't find them." I said, making sure Art's helmet fitted me and the seal was working properly. "I won't be able to last too long out there, so we need to be quick." I said.

"Well, then you better get going, Commander. They have just spotted us."

The pressure was unbelievable. I had known all along that this would be a risky choice to make, but in all honesty, it had also been the only one I could make. My torso felt like someone had landed a cruiser on top of it, and breathing was difficult. And yet, I had a mission to accomplish. We ambushed the droids from all sides, blasting two of them and making the other two retreat. But they were compromising the pod, and Art's life with it. And I could not have that. At first I had had the intention of using the pod hunter for fuel and a boost in our comms, but when they started putting pressure on the pod I knew it wasn't going to work. I cut two of the claw's metal fingers and force pushed it away, making it collide with the debris from our fleet and explode.

We were compromised, and I was almost out of energy. The pressure of the vacuum of space was getting to me, I wouldn't last much longer. My ribcage would collapse and all of my organs with it. Or so I thought.

"Commander, another pod is signalling us! It's the General!"

But I could barely hear him. I didn't feel Happy grab me and hand me over to my Master. I didn't feel how both pods were towed into a shuttle. What I did feel was the release of all the pressure I'd been under. I felt how my lungs expanded again, how my heart started pumping faster now that the blood vessels were no longer under pressure. I could feel the blood running from my nose, my ears, even my left eye. But I couldn't hear anything. The silhouettes around me were just that. The only thing I felt was the probing of the medical droid and the warmth from a hand holding mine.

…

I woke up tired, cold and with a terrible headache. When I tried to sit, it felt like someone was stabbing me everywhere. So I groaned and gave up trying, it was too painful. Someone inside the infirmary started talking to me, but I was too concentrated in trying not to cry. I felt as if a giant had tried to squeeze the juice out of me like a meilooron.

"-ari. Child. Can you hear me? Kriari." The voice to my right started to register in my head and it took all I had just to turn my head.

Master Plo was there, looking intently at me. Waiting for me to come to my senses and maybe give him a sign I could hear him.

"Hello, Master." I whispered.

Talking took too much energy, it required too many muscles that just didn't feel like working right then.

"You had all of us worried, my Child." He said honestly.

Behind him, Ahsoka looked ready to burst into tears, and Commander Wolffe looked relieved to see me breathe.

"How many survived, Master? Where are my troopers? Art, and Happy and Twitch, are they-"

I winced sharply, as a shock of pain ran from my chest, all the way up my spine and into my head.

"They are okay, Commander. They are in their quarters, resting." Answered Wolffe.

"You are so stupid sometimes, Kriari. You almost died." Whispered Ahsoka. "If you ever do that again I won't forgive you."

I smiled at her fondly. She really had been scared for my life.

"Oh, shut up 'Soka, you would have done the same."

They stayed for a few more minutes, put me up to speed, told me the new plan to engage Grievous' Ion cannon before he attacked a medical station near Naboo. All the while, I listened silently. I wanted to go and help them, but I knew I couldn't, not in the condition I was in. So I stayed silent, listened to what they all had to say. Master Plo said my actions had been brave, but to be careful in the future. A Jedi could not risk their life so readily, they had to live to fight another day, for there were few of us. Then, they all left. All except for Wolffe.

"Anything to scold me about, Commander?" I teased, but he didn't smile.

"You lied to them." He took one look at my confused expression and then clarified. "Your troopers. You told them you could withstand the pressure."

Oh, that. I looked away, not wanting to have that conversation.

"General Plo Koon told me he had been trying to teach you that technique. That as far as he knew, you had never managed to master it." He accused.

"There were lives at ris-"

"That included yours, Kriari."

In the time I'd known Wolffe, or any member of the Pack for that matter, no one had ever addressed me by my name, always my title. He was angry.

"I was trying to protect everyone, Wolffe. I may be a Jedi but my life is not worth more than that of the clones." I said icily.

"It is to the war effort."

"I don't give a shit about the war effort, Commander." I snapped. "I am in this war because I have to be, and so are you, If we are going to fight and die in the process, then the least I can do is save as many of you as I can."

He looked away. If it was out of frustration, anger or shame, I didn't know. He took his helmet from a nearby table and made his way towards the door.

"Then at least let us return the favor."

[toomanyrobins]

Those Four Words Pt. 1

summary: an escalating fight between Jason and his girlfriend leads to a tense two weeks in Wayne Manor

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: language, mentions of sex and excessive drinking, mentions of character death

Jason Todd was in a terrible mood, having just got into an argument with Bruce. He decided to go up to his girlfriend’s studio to get away. She had been hard at work the past couple days and he was getting needy. He came up behind her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. She tried to wiggle out of his arms. “Jay, I'm trying to do something right now.

He tried to snuggle closer to his girlfriend, “I deserve some of your time too.

“Deserve? You’re especially demanding today. What did you do?” Jason scoffed and pulled away. “What has crawled up your ass?”

“You did.”

“I did? Huh, I think I would’ve remembered such a disgusting journey into your body.

“Dammit, Y/N! Enough with the sarcasm! You know what I’m saying.”

Y/N sighed at Jason’s attitude, “I don’t understand what you’re doing right now, but you are starting a fight just for the sake of an argument. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you what you want right now.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Jason was standing over his girlfriend, his whole body tense, “From any of you.”

“Why are you being like this? What happened?”

“What? You thought the minute we started dating all of our problems would magically disappear? Are you really that naive?”

Y/N put her brushes down and stood. She tried to walk closer, but he matched each step, moving away from her. “Jason, where the hell is this coming from? I thought we had got past this. Even you and Bruce are in a better place.”

“You think I'll ever forget you abandoned me. You all did!”

“Abandon you! What have you been smoking? We thought you died!”

“You replaced me!”

Now, Y/N was angry too and it was rare that anyone saw her this way. She was deadly calm, but fire was roaring in her eyes, “I did not replace you.”

“That’s right, you were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham to even think about me.”

“That is not fair and you know it. I mourned you. We all mourned, you arrogant ass. I never stopped missing you.”

“I saw the articles, Y/N! Don’t pretend you were mourning me. You were too busy whoring yourself around Gotham.” 

Her mind went back to three years ago. Jason had died in an explosion set up by the Joker. She was sixteen and her best friend had died, and she hadn’t handled it well. What started as a way to get out of the with friends at simple house parties, had led to a wild secret life. Y/N had snuck out at night and used Bruce’s name to get into clubs. She drank anything she could get her hands on and had gone home with multiple men, trying to forget her pain. Once, Bruce had found out, her world had imploded. He sent her away and finally got her the help she should have received when her parents had passed. The only reason Y/N had moved back to the manor was because Jason had been found. She couldn’t believe that he was trying to use her moments of weakness against her,  “How dare you throw that back on me. I was just trying to numb the pain. It wasn’t like I was celebrating the fact that you were gone.”

“Yeah, it really looked like you missed me.”

“God Dammit, Jay! If you would just listen to me!

“Oh fuck off, Y/N! If I had known I was ever going to be stuck with you and your nagging, I wouldn’t have come back.”

“I wish you hadn’t!” The minute the words left Y/N’s mouth, she gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Jason’s emotionless mask slammed into place, and suddenly he was as blank as the day Bruce had found him again. He turned to walk out and Y/N chased after him, “Jay, wait! I’m sorry!” He jumped onto his motorcycle and was out the door before she could stop him. She slammed her fist into the wall and cursed in frustration and pain. No one would see either of them for the rest of the day. Y/N stayed in her studio, wondering how they got to the point of shouting such hurtful things at each other. 

The next day, they had both shown up for Friday night dinner, as was expected on them. Neither spoke, and the tension was too thick to be cut with a knife. Y/N had tried to pull him aside and apologize to Jason after dinner, but he had shot her with a cutting glare and walked away. The other could tell that something had happened, but no one had the details. Tim wandered into the library after patrol that night, to find her in a chair tucked into the corner. “What are you doing here (Y/N/N)? Isn’t it a movie night with Todd?” He noted the tear tracks down her face but knew she hated showing weakness, so he said nothing about them.

“I wasn’t feeling up to it, so I canceled. I think I’ll head to bed now. Night, Timmy.” Y/N went to her room and cried herself to sleep, the guilt overwhelming her as she played the argument in her head. If only she had just taken a break, maybe the whole situation could have been avoided. She woke up multiple times in the night, crying out Jason’s name after seeing him and the Joker over and over again. Finally, around 3 in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went to the kitchen to pour herself coffee. She decided to keep busy and started making breakfast for the family.

Alfred was the first to appear in the morning, as usual. Y/N tried to pretend that everything was normal, but nothing could be hidden from the family’s butler. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the tremors in her hands from over-caffeination. The boys slowly started to emerge, and Alfred started to bring out all the food she had made. She made two plates out of habit and headed for the dining room. Y/N started to hand Jason his breakfast as she had every morning for a year, but suddenly she remembered and pulled her hand away. Jason didn’t even bother to look at her, and her heart clenched. She placed the plate on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “Sorry, Alfred, I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go paint.” She placed the plate she had made for herself on the counter and left.

Y/N’s studio had been a safe space since she had first moved into the manor. She had hidden away when she first arrived at Wayne Manor, unused to such an active family. Bruce had called workers to the manor and had redid the room when she had told him she liked art. Now, after years of work, canvasses filled the room on all sides. Some paintings, others photos, she had accumulated in the three years. They hung on the walls and were laid across the floor. She flooded the room with Swan Lake, her sad music, and started to mix her colors. The music she played had become an easy way for the others to discern her moods since she hadn’t spoken to anyone except Fallon, Bruce’s wife, when she first came. Bruce and Dick had installed a speaker system in her studio to drown out the noise when she was overwhelmed, and everyone in the Manor could hear it if she turned it on loud enough. When the first notes hit their ears, all eyes in the dining room turned to Jason. He refused to look up and make eye contact, instead staring at the breakfast that had been abandoned on the table. Once everyone had looked away, he pushed away from the table and disappeared.

This led to one of the most uncomfortable weeks in the Manor ever. Y/N barely left her studio and no one saw Jason for three days, before he returned. When he did, he started to act as if nothing had happened. The music had eventually stopped playing altogether, so they had no idea what kind of mood she was in. Finally, Damian was the one to gather everyone else together, “(Y/N/N) has not come out of her studio in a week. Since Buckethead has just decided to pretend nothing has happened. We need to fix this.”

Bruce spoke up first, “Jason and Y/N are both adults. They are both being immature, and it will eventually work itself out.

“How can we fix this when we don’t even know what happened?” Tim looked up from his laptop, “I’ve been checking in on Y/N on the cameras. All she does is paint, and the most she’s slept in days is when she falls asleep accidentally. That never lasts long, and she cries. A lot.”

“Why did Fallon have to leave! We need to fix this, or the family vacation is going to be the worst!” Dick collapsed on the couch. Fallon had finally convinced Bruce that the family needed a vacation, but two weeks before they were supposed to leave, her sister had had a baby. She decided to go help her out and just meet them at the resort. They now had a week left, and it was not looking good. No one wanted to bother their mother since she very rarely took time for herself and was enjoying time with her family. They decided Alfred would be the one to try and convince her to leave the studio at least and eat something.

He appeared in the doorway and watched silently as Y/N worked on a large canvas. He walked over and saw that it was a portrait of the family. “This is beautiful, Miss Bishop.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” her voice was hoarse from disuse.

“What is the plan for this one?” Alfred sat down next to her on the floor.

“Everyone hates photos, but Fallon wanted a family portrait for the sitting room.. Since no one can sit still long enough I decided to paint one and give it to her for her birthday,” she slowly sucked in a breath, “Plus they only have the old one and J--some people-- are missing from it.” Tears started to well up again in her eyes. Alfred wrapped an arm around Y/N and just sat with her for a moment.

“I’ve kicked the boys out of the kitchen. Do you think you could come down and eat something? For me?” She only nodded, and they both stood. Y/N sat on a stool and silently ate the soup Alfred had laid out for her. She barely tasted anything, and she was starting to feel dizzy. Her vision started to blur, and the next thing she knew, she was waking up on the floor and had five heads floating above her.

“Hi, guys. Thought the floor looked lonely.” She tried to sit up, but was cut off.

“That is it,” Bruce spoke firmly, “You are going to bed, and you are sleeping. I thought you were mature enough to deal with this but I see I was wrong.” He picked Y/N up and noticed she had lost weight. He carried her up the stairs and before he had reached her bedroom, she was already asleep again. Bruce turned to the boys. “At least one of you is staying in here with her and making sure she sleeps.”

Tim volunteered for the first shift and settled into her desk with his laptop. She had barely been asleep an hour before she woke up from a nightmare of Jason dying. She shot up and shouted out his name, before bursting into tears. Tim -- being the awkward person he is -- was ill-prepared to deal with the crying Y/N. The only solution he could think of was to climb into bed with her and pull up a movie. She slowly fell asleep again and clung to Tim like a starfish. When Dick came to relieve Tim and saw that he was unable to leave, he climbed into bed with the duo. Anytime Y/N would start to become distressed, they would calm her down. Eventually, Damian and Titus joined the cuddle pile, the former somewhat reluctantly, grumbling about how he was only doing this for Y/N. Little did the Bat Family know, Alfred had called Fallon and told her about the situation and she had rushed home.

[m-feline]

My first writing here at Tumblr. Fem. reader is the adoptive daughter of the tmnt family. She is the only one going to school and ends in trouble. How do turtles react when they hear about it.

Hope you like it.

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

”I’m in trouble.” You sighed as you walked to the principal’s office.

Of all times why did you have to lose your cool right now? Because they were jerks and deserved it, yeah. But sensei taught you better. He said it takes bigger strength to simply let anger take over you. And that knowing martial arts comes with responsibility and yada, yada. But sure, try to remain calm when all four brothers can go out kick butt at all the bad guys out there. But not you, no. You had to finish school and try to not start any fights.

Most of the time it worked. You were silent and closed in kind of person. The one who survived a nasty burn, which was reminded at everyone by hiding half of your face with your hair. No one came close to you or tried to talk to you because they were either grossed out by the burn, took pity, or scared to even look at you. Well, now they’ll be scared alright.

You finally arrived at the office and took a seat in the hallway near the entrance. You weren’t worried about getting detention or being expelled from school. No, what worried you was what to explain to the principal that your guardian isn’t coming.

“Oh, sorry my guarding can’t come because he is a giant rat and is now busy training four giant turtles in the art of Ninjitsu.”

Talk about the excuse of the year. Worst case would be, a social worker to come a check where you live. For crying out loud, only four months and you would be out of the school. You had a bad feeling.

“(Y/n)?”

You looked up at your lap as you heard someone call your name.

“April? Why are you here?” You asked.

“I heard you are in trouble. What happened?” She answered as both of you hugged.

It had been a while since events where the tower collapsed instead of spreading poisonous gas over New York. April had been busy so you haven’t seen her a while.

“I got into a fight, promise not to tell Splinter. He might get worried and… you know the rest.” You tried to explain.

“Umm.” April just hanged as she pulled out her cellphone.

“He knows already.” You sighed after realizing that the phone was connected and on speaker.

“(Y/n), what did you do?” You heard the voice of Splinter at the end of the line.

“I know, I know. I lost my composure, violence is not the answer and I should have been the better man by walking away.” You commented as you already knew the lecture.

“You are almost out of school. A little patience goes for a long way.” He taught you through the phone.

“Not in this case, believe me. They had it coming and deserved it.” You tried to explain.

“What? Who deserve it?” Another voice you recognized asked through the phone.

That was Mikey. It didn’t need a guess that Splinter was also on speaker.

“(Y/n), did you get in a fight? Are you okay?” Another voice asked which you recognized as Leo.

“I hope you won. That way, even if you get punished, you got something out of it.” Ralph commented.

“(Y/n), just tell me the time and I can hack into the school’s security system, find the record of it and erase it. This way there'll be no evidence against you.” Donnie suggested.

“Donnie, that’s illegal.” You notify him.

“But I’m already in.” He said.

“Dad.” You said in a begging tone.

“Boys, all of you move away. I will speak with the principal soon and if you don’t want to spent rest of the day in Hashin…” Splinter warned them.

“We shall leave now.” Leo said.

“Sis, remember no matter what happens we love you.” Mikey says before his voice goes away with others.

Which happened just in time when the door to principals office opened. And not so happy looking man came out .

“(Y/n) Hamato.” He called.

“Hamato?” April asked.

“Our last name. Splinter picked it from the book of ninjutsu.” You explained as the two of you entered the principal’s office.

“Are you relative of (Y/n) Hamato?” Principal asked from April.

“She is a family friend, my guardian couldn’t make it.” You said.

“I told you that I wanted to speak with your guardian.” Principal said with a disappointment.

“I am present, I just cannot leave my place due to a situation with my body.” Heard Splinters voice through the speaker of the phone.

Principal was a bit taken that my guardian spoke through the phone instead of coming to the meeting, but understood the reason once he heard about the situation.

“Then Mr. Hamato, I must have very serious talk with you.” Principal began.

“I am listening.”

“(Y/n) fought with two boys in my school and one of them had be sent to hospital. Both boys parents are concerned and demanded some kind of punishment for her. But since she is almost out of school, I wish to discuss with you of an alternative way of punishment. And I have to remind you this isn’t a first time she causes trouble.” Principal said.

“Very serious indeed. One should show self control and avoid such situations.” Splinter was heard through the phone.

“I'm glad you think the same Mr. Hamato. Our school doesn’t stand for violence. Which is why I have now demanded a meeting. I still would prefer for you to be here personally.” Principal said.

“I'm sure you would but my situation doesn’t allow me to get out. I barely let my sons out…” Splinter said.

“OH NO, HE DIDN’T!”

I heard Mikey scream in the background loud enough to be heard through the phone. There were also sounds of Don, Leo, and Ralph saying something but they weren’t loud as Mikey was a moment ago.

“Excuse me a moment.” Splinter said on the phone.

Having boys heard more clearly meant Splinter had moved to where they were. And I could tell from their sounds that they were both mad and shocked.

“And only one of them is at the hospital? Where is that other punk?” Heard Ralph.

“I can’t watch this. As a good brother, I shouldn’t watch this.” Heard Leo.

“Then keep your eyes away from the comments. I thought that bullying on the internet is illegal.” Donnie was heard.

“Boys, what are you doing? I’m trying to have a conversation with the principal.” Splinter said.

“Donnie found out what happened at (Y/n)’s school.” Mikey told on.

“Donatello.” Splinter warned.

“I didn’t hack any system. I found this on Social media. And boy it is mean.”

“Since you found it at someone else’s posting, then do tell me what happened.” Splinter sighed.

“Sure. This is (Y/n) and those two are the bullies.” Don said.

“Yeah, and there they go and should keep going, but no. That one punk stops says something at our sister and the other jerk comes and pushes and then that one grabs her…” Ralph tells.

“Do not finish that sentence.” Splinter warned him.

“I won’t say it, but you saw it.” Ralph excuses.

“And then (Y/n) use the snake grip on the guy, spin him, made him fall to the ground. One tries to punch her and she kicks him… and there ends the video.” Leo narrated.

“Permission to go to the hospital smash what is left of this punk who sexually assaulted our sister?” Ralph asked.

“No.” Splinter said.

“But they are punishing her for defending herself. The school may not approve violence, but abuse? Not cool, man.” Mikey protested.

“Then how about I hack and crash all devices of people who bully her on internet?” Donnie asked.

“No.”

“But dad…”

“Boys, listen. There is one boy at the hospital already… Find out where the other one lives and send him to the hospital too. Hopefully, they'll be roommates.” Splinter said.

“Ooh.” All four say.

“One thing is to fight in school but if there is no Justice inside the school then a little reminder is in order. Just go find this boy who abused (Y/n), and make him see why it isn’t smart to harass your sister.” Splinter said.

“Can we all go?” Mikey asked.

“If that makes the point more clear then yes.” Splinter said.

“I’m going to make him cry for even looking at her.” Ralph said.

“Justice for our sister!” Declared Mikey.

“Hey, is that phone still on?” Leo asked.

“More importantly is it on speaker?” Donnie asked.

By now, I had pulled the hood of my (f/c) hoodie over my head and tried to hide myself as much as possible. This was beyond embarrassing. The principals face had changed many times to shock, fear and worry. I wasn’t sure what April was thinking now, but I need one more favor from her.

“April, can I come sleepover at your place?” I asked while hiding my face inside the hoodie.

“If you promise to tell me what really happened.” April said.

[erintoknow]

everything and nothing

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Funding a one-woman revenge mission isn’t cheap. You might work for free but Rosie doesn’t. Or Mortum. Or Marcie. The list goes on. [Feed Me Diamonds]

[Read on AO3]

It was the incident at Joes that gave you the initial idea: you need money to fund your operation. And where is flush with – conveniently untraceable – funds, but Los Diablos’s criminal underground?

Using Jane’s luck to gamble your way through the casino circuit would be suicide. She’d end up in a ditch or worse. But you don’t need to. You’ve got a state-of-the-art power armor suit.

In a way, it’s a return to the old days, to being Sidestep. You could never manage to hold down a job back then, but the guilt over skimming kept you from being able to afford much of anything. So, you know, occasionally when busting a villain’s lair or rounding up drug dealers, maybe some of their funds were… misplaced. It was either that or starve.

Or worse, admit your situation to somebody and ask for help.

But it wasn’t really stealing, was it? The money was probably wrongfully gotten to begin with. And it’s not like the city paid vigilantes.

Whatever. You were stealing the whole time. You can admit it to yourself now. It doesn’t matter who it was from. It was still theft. You’ve always been a liar and a fraud. Those last moments before throwing yourself out a fourth-story window crystalized it for you. People lauding Sidestep as some sort of ‘hero’ when she was barely any better than the people she beat up. She just stuck to the government approved list of acceptable targets.

But if you did it before, you can do it again. You know who the real villains are, and it’s not Larry Ray selling weed at the corner of Market Street.

Once more now, with feeling.

Check the seal on your helmet. The Rat-King curls around you. Paul Howard Koch’s penthouse is in the heart of the city. Technically not inside the bounds of Los Diablos proper itself. More a richie-rich enclave. Great view, above the air pollution, slightly less likely to die in a horrific one-two earthquake/tsunami punch.

To his neighbors on the floors above and below, Mr. Koch is a reclusive retired businessman who made his fortune in the early days of the chaos following the establishment of the Free Economic Zone over southern California. Back when anything really did fly.

And maybe there’s a truth in that.

Or maybe he’s just a self-hyped boost with magnetic powers with the audacity to hide in plain sight who robbed a bunch of banks and also maybe the Rangers HQ one time and okay okay fine, maybe there’s an element of revenge to tonight, so what?

Start with the small ones.

Work your way up.

Getting inside is easy enough. It reminds you of Marconi’s mansion that way. Amazing how much security is just theatre. Wall? Climb over. Guards? Walk between the patrols. CCTV? Oh, what a shame, the woman watching fell asleep at her desk, and oh, the whole system needs to be rebooted now? Technology these days, tsk tsk.

The building doesn’t even have dampeners.

Closing the door to the camera room, you let your hand linger on the doorknob. It takes some finesse to control the Nanovores this tightly but you’re able to collapse the mechanism. They’ll have to break the door down.

You’ve got two targets today. Koch, and his fortune. You know where Koch is. He’s up in his bedroom, half-asleep watching TV. Play the right notes, and he’ll stay that way until you need him.

So, then, where’s the goods?

It’s been, what, a decade since Pennybags was active. Had a big spree robbing banks, culminating in an attack on Rangers HQ. You were – Sidestep was still pretty new to the scene, but even she knew it took some guts to pants the Rangers like that. And then he was never heard from again.

Almost have to admire the restraint of the man. To realize he peaked and it was time to get out. Can’t say it’s an example you intend to follow.

The penthouse is a split-level deal. Whole lot of empty space for a man who lives alone. The second floor and you find his office. Very fancy looking computer. And of course, there’s the password in the middle drawer. Man’s gotten lax. You plug in a USB stick as you log in. Search through the files. Records, transactions. Looks like Mr. Koch has been busy in his ‘retirement.’ Blackmail material? Not the pile of cash you were aiming for but it’s something to start with. Another crack in the city’s shell. Another point of attack.

One file name catches your attention: Regenerator sale? It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten a lead on that name, and here it is. Just waiting for you. Opening the file and it’s a text document. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much you don’t already know. PharmaCore, shut down by the government, confiscated, then ‘vanished.’ Oh, here’s something new: an actual description of what it does…

Ugh. There’s no time to stand here and parse all this. You copy everything that looks even remotely promising and move on to the rest of the room.

An oddly spaced bookshelf, by the window, draws your attention. Push the texts away and there’s a safe. Have to smile at that. At least it’s not behind a portrait. The metal melts into dust under the Nanovores and you’re free to reach inside. A gun, some rolled up hundred dollar bills and a collection of black unmarked USB looking bits of plastic and silicon.

Jackpot.

DS Chips. Or ‘Dark Script’ if you want to be wordy. Criminal computer scientists are disappointingly lacking in imagination. Physical bills can be traced by serial number, and digital transactions through bank and credit systems. Cryptocurrencies like these DS chips are the current fashion du jour for avoiding surveillance.

The exchanges aren’t cheap, and Hollow Ground keeps a tight grip on Los Diablos’s little corner. But attach a ‘wallet’ to a specific chip and you carry thousands of dollars in a little box of plastic and silicone smaller than your palm.

That’s business sorted then.

Time for the pleasure half.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t need to kick the door in. The hinges disintegrate into dust and it falls over, all on it’s own. The crash against the floor breaks Koch out of his stupor. With a cry of alarm he scrambles to his feet, tripping on his own night robe.

“Evening, Pennybags.”

“Who the blazes let you in here?” His heart is pounding. Scenarios running through his mind. Scrambling for an answer. Really? You’d have expected someone a little more paranoid.

You fold your hands behind your back. Nod towards the door. “I did.”

He narrows his eyes, not seeing the humor. Oh well, his loss.

You’re on him before he can even finish his thought about using his power on you. Is enough of the suit metal for it to be a problem? You’re not sure and you’d rather not find out. His head cracks against the wall as you shove him up off the ground with an arm against his neck.

You tap your head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He doesn’t stop struggling. Bare feet kicking against your armor. Up close he doesn’t look as old as you pictured. Bald, sure. But… how old is he? Maybe he just has one of those faces. “You’re–” He wheezes, “you’re going to regret this.”

He’s already plotting your death. Cute. Have to laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

...now what are you going to do?

Maybe you should have thought of that before barging in here.

You press against his neck a little harder. Not enough to choke him, but to give you some room to think.

“Alright… Here’s what’s going to happen,” You growl, lacing your words with a telepathic push. An urgency to be followed.

It’s not mind control, not technically.

Just a push.

You’re not even going to make him jump out a window.

–––

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You drop Koch to the floor. “Consider what we’ve talked about tonight.” Walking over to his desk, you rip off a piece of his day planner and turn it over. Write out the list of instructions.

Three simple suggestions. They’re in his own best interest, really.

You return to him, holding the paper out to take. He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police show up the scrap paper is gone, inside his pocket. You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill Koch if they shoot like this.

You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers.

That’s fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Ghost, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that he’s seriously regretting coming in to work tonight. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to the captain’s mind and coax him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Ghost?” You fake a laugh, the distortion hollowing it out, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of the situation wakes them up again. “More of a Banshee.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the Nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. Going to regret that in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and, telepathically reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new informant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and Nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator cable you can’t help humming a few bars aloud as you try to steady your nerves.

The chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

It’s getting scary just how comfortable with this life you’re starting to get.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting out predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down. You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Banshee now. If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time.”

Her eyes widen and then Argent leans down, her grin deepening into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t care,” and she moves in.

Can feel your heart in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. Grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “So, what was your plan, if I went a different route?” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the Nanovores to get to work. “Not a good look, hiding in a basement.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “The Handyman’s watching the front door.”

“He’s out of the hospital now?” You sigh. “Are you really that eager to put him back in there?”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You’re awfully concerned for being the bastard that put him there.”

“Healthcare’s not cheap in this city. Should we hold a fundraiser for him?” You give a theatrical flip of your free hand. “Any suggestions?” Too flippant? You’re never really sure how to approach Argent.

There’s always the temptation; in the back of your head. Let her know who you are, what you’ve done. See if she’ll kill you. But you always end up holding back. Why is that? You don’t understand yourself.

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice.” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “But who gets to decide what justice is?”

Would Argent feel bad, if she did kill you? Or would it just make things worse for her? How do you atone for something like this? Is revenge justice? Is it really enough to just make someone hurt?

You used to be sure.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

You tsk. “Oh and now you’re hurting my feelings?” You can’t keep operating like this. Need to compartmentalize better. Remember the goal. Remember revenge. The damage to Argent is done. Don’t fuck this up and make it be in vain.

Argent eyes your hand, still pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, in general or just right now?” You smirk under your helmet. “Care to find out?” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. You jump backwards as the ceiling starts to give in.

No time for any last-minute taunts. You book it for the sewer entrance before Argent can realize the whole building isn’t going to collapse.

In the back of your head, she's still there, watching through the dust.

Smile like a shark.

Reminding.

---

“So, this isn’t what I had planned on talking about; but you’ll never guess what happened last night.” Ortega looks at you, leaning in, an edge to her smile. The two of you are meeting for an early lunch before heading up to the Children’s Hospital again.

You’d half a mind to order something alcoholic, but resisted. Instead, you’re watching Ortega over the rim of your milkshake, straw in your mouth. “Mm?”

“You remember Pennybags?”

You drum the side of the glass with your fingers, making a show of thinking back. “The magnetic guy?”

Ortega nods. “Yeah. Big bank robber, stole a bunch of things from the old Rangers HQ too, remember?”

You nod, grimacing. “Yeah, that was a mess.” Of course you remember. One of the few times you had actually seen Julia really upset. The first time actually. Didn’t know what to do, how to handle it. Ortega was always so confident, so in control of herself and the situation all the time. And there she was, tears and snot yelling at cardboard boxes about failing and… you did the only thing you could think of to do.

“Well, did you see the news this morning?” Ortega’s excitement pulls you back to the present. She leans in further over the table.

You sit back, shaking your head. “I was a little busy last night.” You wince, “This morning. I mean. Uh.” Shit shit shit. “Well. Both? Long night. Working.” You shrug, try to keep your face blank.

Ortega tilts her head, side-eyeing you. “Yeah, I still need to ask you about that job of yours.” She waves it off with a hand. “Anyway, Banshee made a mess again. North end of Beverly Hills this time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was anyone hurt?” You bite your lip, looking away. “Did… um. Did anyone else…?”

You know Banshee didn’t kill anyone last night. But…

Don’t breathe, don’t relax until Ortega shakes her head, “One guy had some minor injuries, but that’s it.”

Oh thank god. “That’s a relief.” You match Ortega’s smile, swipe a fry from the basket in front of her.

“I’m more convinced than ever that Marconi’s murder was something else.”

“That’s…” You look away, watch the window, fingers worrying the fry in your hand. Shit. What do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. “If you say so.” You look back at her. Need to push this conversation along before she can think about that response. “So, uh, are you just this excited that no one was hurt or did the Rangers finally bring Banshee in, or – or what?”

“No, they got away. Again.” Ortega gives you a curious look, eyes flickering down to the fry in your hand and then back up to your face. With an air of deliberate purpose, you put the fry in your mouth. She politely doesn’t say anything.

“So then…?”

“You’ll never guess.”

You shrug, steal another fry. “Okay.”

She frowns. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You keep your face blank, only raising an eyebrow as you silently eat your ill-gotten prize.

“Fine.” She huffs. “The guy Banshee attacked, the one that had to go to the hospital… It’s Pennybags. Bastard was hiding under our noses the whole time.”

“Money’s a pretty good cover.”

“Believe me, I’m wildly aware.” The tired expression on Ortega’s face is only there for a brief second and then it’s gone. “He practically turned himself in. It was… kind of creepy, actually. Reading the report.”

You swallow, goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Creepy?”

“Like he felt… compelled.” Ortega jabs a fry in your direction. “You’re the expert, what do you think? Can telepathy force a confession like that?”

“Ortega…” You make yourself meet her eyes. “You’re as much of an expert as me, at uh, at this point. M–maybe more.”

“Maybe.” She meets your gaze. “But I want to know what you think.”

Goddamnit, why does she keep doing this?

You focus on the basket of fries instead, it’s safer. “It’s… possible.” You concede. Would it be better to lie? It already feels like you’re lying about so much. It’s better to minimize the amount of bullshit you have to keep track of. “How are you… sure it’s a confession, and not like… uh, a delusion or something? False suggestion?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. That was my first assumption but uh…” She lowers her voice. “We uh, we found some stuff when searching the apartment. The signed Marshall Hood figure Pennybags stole actually…”

“Oh.” You say. You hadn’t expected her to actually talk about this.

“I… don’t really have a lot left of him. I thought I’d lost that one for good.”

“I remember.” You remember seeing the front door of its hinges, running through wrecked room after room, finding an alarmingly sobbing Ortega.

The first time you willingly hugged someone.

“There’s maybe five people who know about that figure, Ari, and two of them are dead now.” Ortega’s voice is quiet, her hand on the table balled into a fist.

“Do…” You fish for an idea, “do you think they’re trying to send you a message?”

Ortega looks you straight in the face, half-eaten hamburger now completely forgotten. You wish she wouldn’t. “A message? For what?”

You look back, willing yourself not to look away, not to look guilty. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s no secret you and Hood were close, is it?”

The look on Ortega’s face only intensifies. “You think maybe it was a threat?”

Your face blanches, and you shake your head. This is not at all going how you thought it would. “I’m not in this game anymore, remember?” You shrug your shoulders theatrically, “for all I know it could be a love letter.” You freeze. Face threatening warmth. Oh god. What the fuck, Ariadne?

The absurdity of the idea gets a laugh out of Ortega and you both relax. “Mierda,” she shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a way to send a letter.”

You steal another fry. She lets you.

[har-rison-s]

lasagna evening

request: Could you write some domestic fluff with adult stan uris

A/N: (2020 edit: this was my first ever stanley writing :>) Man oh man do i love this concept. ajsndfjsdf i love, i just love. I apologise for the title lmao i dont have any other ideas alsdfsdjn. This is so fluffy and cliché that you're going to die :D Btw, gifs of Andy Bean are very hard to find and I'm mad about it. Hope this is what you were looking for. Happy reading!

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“Honey, I'm home!” Stan says in a louder voice so his loved one could hear him. For she's known to often leave music playing loudly through their apartment and go into another room to do something. He hears the smooth voice of Billie Holiday singing about autumn in New York and he smiles to himself, kicking off his shoes. The music is loud enough for her not to hear him at all. 

He walks into the kitchen, both hands holding a grocery bag tightly until he puts them both on the center counter. Her music is playing right in front of him, just a few feet between him and the sound system. 

“Baby!” He calls again. Stan leaves the bags be and they crinkle a bit, the products falling on top of one another. He walks over to the sound system and turns the song's volume down. And he hears her humming. It's coming from her study.

Stan jogs a little down the hallway to get to her and reaches the door frame of her study. He peaks his head in. “Babylove,” he says and smiles immediately upon seeing his girl sitting on her carpet, her back turned to him, still humming and obviously hunched over something. 

She whips her head around and smiles wide. There's a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “Honey!” She squeals and hurriedly gets up from her position, almost falling over her own legs, and tip-toes over to her one and only. 

He leans in to steal a kiss from her soft angel lips and she still has to stand on her tip-toes for him to succeed. She embraces him then, her arms around his neck, and smiles wide. Stan recieves a loving kiss on the cheek and smiles, too. His eyes are full of love for the woman in front of him. 

“What are you doing in here?” He asks, his hand going in slow circles over her back. 

“Before you turned my music down,” she says, pouting and pointing her index finger into the middle of his chest, “I was listening to Billie and making another small sculpture.” She smiles, proud of herself.

“You're getting inspired again?” Stan raises his eyebrows in happy surprise and his love nods, biting her bottom lip. “So, who's the muse?”

“You, silly.” She says and they both laugh. She notices Stan already glancing behind her shoulder to see what she's making. To not spoil the surprise, she brings his eyes back to her, holding his chin softly. “It's not finished yet. When it will be, you'll be the first to see. And you know that.”

“Of course. You know I'm impatient about seeing your art.” He tells her and tickles her sides a little, making her giggle in the most beautiful way. 

“So,” she claps her hands, “what are we making tonight?”

“Hmm, let's see...” Stan pretends to think, “seeing as I bought the ingredients for lasagna, I guess we're making... lasagna?” He squints, teasing his girl. She laughs and kisses him on the cheek again. And then all over his face, which makes Stanley laugh instead. 

When he's about to plead for breath, she stops and grabs his hand, closing her study door with the other. She drags them both back down the hallway and lets go of Stan's hand to turn the volume higher. Stan gives her a mock-annoyed look, but they both laugh.

One of the billion, trillion things he loves so much about his girl is her energy and youthfulness. They're only two years apart, but Stanley has always felt older than he actually is. And he wanted to enjoy his youth when it was happening, but a lot of things kept him from it. 

Her youthfulness and eagerness and sort-of hyperactivity brings joy in his life. Makes him happy about still being here, having a life. She's brighter than the sun to him in many ways. 

“Do you have the recipe?” Stan asks her as they're unpacking the groceries.

“Uh-huh, I printed it out. It should be next to the sink.” She replies, pulling tomato after tomato out of the bag.

“Terrible place for a paper to be, if you ask me.” He tells her, but she only laughs. Stan walks over to the sink and sure enough, there is a page with a recipe printed on it. And it's not wet. He quickly goes over the ingredients and steps. “So how was work today?”

She works as a museum manager/administrator in a pottery museum in town. Taking that she's an artist herself, she needs to be in an artistic place and area at all times. An administrator might not seem like the job to you, but to her it's the perfect one that pays the bills and takes her on holidays with her loved one. Many artists to meet, artworks to see and inspiration to suck in.

“Quite amazing. You know I met that one artist I've always wanted to host at my museum—”

“Emily Lacey?” Stan finishes instead of her. She nods.

“Yup. And she's even more lovely than I thought she'd be. She's got great sense of humor, a great sense of style, of course, and turns out we have a lot in common.” She tells him. Stan smiles, watching her rush around the kitchen and talk. “She likes to read books, go to the cinema, travelling, hiking.”

“Wow, you two are basically twins.” He states.

“I know, right?” She looks at him with wide eyes, clearly excited. Stanley chuckles. “How was your day?” She asks him. 

“It was good.” He says. “Better now that I'm home.” Stan states and they share a look of love and knowing. “The book is coming along well, there's not much left. And I had to teach a new class today! All the kids were sweethearts.”

“How old were they?” She asks and, while doing so, gives Stan a piece of dough to flatten out. They both start working on a piece.

“Uh, they're... I think second or third grade, so eight to nine.” Stan says in between grunts of pushing the wooden roll on the dough. “Why such a question?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering. Thought they'd put you in a college now.” She admits, and huffs.

“Huh.” He turns to her, puts the roll down and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don't you think I'm good enough for primary school?”

She laughs and huffs again. “No, I think you're more than good enough for primary school, and better than perfect for teaching college kids ornithology.” She tells him, honestly.

“Listen, it's nothing wrong with me.” Stan insists, pointing at his chest and raising his eyebrows. “Ornithology is not the most desired class in college, even for biology majors. So they have one professor in each college that isn't exactly an ornithologyst, but knows enough and can memorise texts from books. And they put that guy to teach ornithology if it's at all necessary.” He explains in detail.

“But that is so unfair! I bet you're not the only ornithologyst without a chance to teach in college, and they put some knock-offs in your place.” She justifies.

“You have a fair point.” Stanley agrees. She smiles wide. 

“I know. You gotta fight for your rights, hon.” She tells him. “We both know that your passion is ornithology and that you're an actual ornithologyst. They should let, whoever's in charge of it, the people who really know what they're talking about teach ornithology. It makes a huge difference for the kids.”

“Listen, if your artist carrier ever flakes, you should become an education politican.” Stan says upon restarting to flatten the dough. His love laughs out loud, holding her tummy. Stanley only smiles wide to himself.

“Can you even imagine me dressed in formal clothes everyday, having that politician-lady haircut, wearing glasses and talking in a very serious voice about the issues of today?” She asks him, mimicking the way politicians speak in the last part. She even makes a funny face. “I could never. I mean, yeah, they pay you like, crazy money, but I'd never do that.” She shakes her head, still quietly laughing to herself. Stanley keeps smiling.

Merely two hours later, the couple have finished their lasagna. They had put on their food-making playlist, which is basically a playlist full of songs that they know all the lyrics to and sing together to at the top of their lungs. Includes ABBA, Queen, David Bowie, Journey, Elton John and many, many others. 

They're happily setting the coffee table in the living room, and they're almost finished. Stan is already turning on the TV, wrapped in a blanket and waiting for his one and only to join him. 

She's still getting them forks and spoons, and when she has, she turns off all the lights in the apartment. Except for the little light in the kitchen above the stove, that one always stays on.

She tip-toes—a habit of hers that is not entirely healthy for her feet—into the living room and puts the instruments down on the table. She collapses into Stan's open, waiting arms with a happy sigh. He wraps the blanket around her and keeps his arm around her, too. 

Her fingers push between his and they lock together. As if their hands were crafted just to be interlocked with the other's, no one else's. They feel like they're made for each other. 

Stanley presses a kiss into her hair. “What are we watching tonight?” He asks, his cheek now pressed where his lips just were.

“Hmm,” she thinks and watches Stan browsing through movies and tv-shows on the screen, “something funny. Don't you think?”

“Yeah, we always watch dramas.” He agrees. “I'm kinda sick of you making me cry every other evening.” Stan admits then, and they both laugh. Stan yawns.

“Do you have a favorite?” She questions, looking up at him. He looks down at her and almost gets hypnotised. Looking at her makes him go a bit weak, every and anytime. The years spent together either don't do anything to help it or even give more to the effect.

“I don't watch that many comedies, not my favorite genre.” He tells her as his hand caresses the side of her face. She closes her eyes to that. “You can choose. Show me your favorite!” He suggests and she smiles. “Just not anything dumb, okay? I know you like those a lot, but, please, spare me.”

She looks at him and rolls her eyes playfully. “Alright, alright.” She agrees and turns to lay on her stomach, over Stan's lap and takes the remote from his hand. “I'll spare your soul from the doom of dumb comedy movies, my prince.” She teases and Stan smiles. “Aha!” She exclaims upon finally finding the movie she was looking for. 

She pushes the 'play' button and reaches for their two plates of lasagna while the intro plays. She straightens her back, sitting normally just like Stan and giving him his lasagna piece.

“Hear ye, hear ye. Feast your eyes and ears with the wonder that is Bruce Almighty!” She theatrically introduces the movie. She likes Shakespeare and Old English, despite that she may not be the best at using it right. Stan smiles at her. 

They lean in to steal a few kisses from each other before indulging in their home-made (hopefully, well-made) lasagna and the world of Jim Carrey's comedy. 

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A/N: Tell me why everytime I look at a picture of Stanley Uris, I immediately want to cry. Oh my God. heurehuherufshfsdh.