#based on that one Wonder Woman poster

[karo-draws]

Thereeeee goes my hero…… watch her as she goes…

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny can't sleep alone! Wonder Woman gets angry! Batman gets yoinked like a sad cat! Informational breakthroughs are made!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny is in a different medical room than usual.

There are five white boards.

His hands are shaking.

Danny doesn’t want to talk about what happened to him, but this isn’t talking. It’s just Danny, a bunch of white boards, Diana, a blonde doctor woman he doesn’t know, and that one kid’s stinky cat dad.

Danny draws.

He draws The Box. He doesn’t know how big it was in reality, but he remembers it being cramped, and dark, and hungry. He was always hungry. He draws a granola bar and uses a red marker to strike through it a half-dozen times to really emphasize how much nothing there was to work with.

It feels bad to put a marker-drawn Danny in the box.

Marker-Danny looks scared. He looks sad.

Danny hands that board to the blonde doctor without looking at it.

Danny draws a bunch of gloved hands with scalpels and forceps and beakers and tubes, but to be honest, he was so out of his mind by that point he doesn’t actually remember a lot of it. He remembers being tied down, and he remembers scream—

...But he mostly remembers the visuals of hands in a bright spectator spotlight above, a dozen gleaming instruments poking inside him to see what of him was ecto-based and what wasn’t.

They always acted like Danny didn’t know what he was made of. Danny’s wondered if it was true ever since, and sometimes the thought pulses in his skin like a bad bruise.

There’s almost no detail in that drawing. It's only hands. It's only tools. Danny hands the board off without looking, again.

Danny draws Operative O, with his stupid chin and his stupid suit and his stupid earpiece and his stupid gun. He tries to get all the details from memory, but honestly, who cares if the guy’s lapels look right or whatever. He wipes the G I W initials off the man’s breast pocket before anyone can see the detail, and keeps his little black boots and sunglasses, and…yeah. Pretty much all of their stupid agents look like that.

He adds on a number of skulls and angry faces to that drawing before handing the board over.

He draws the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle as he mostly remembers it—and Danny remembers turning on at least some of the equipment as he tried to flee the building, leaving the hard steel shell of the GAV as scuffed and miserable as he’d found it abandoned in that garage but bristling with weapons. His parents are—they’d been so good at cramming weapons into every possible nook and cranny. Whatever engineers the GIW had been able to hire to dismantle it had never had a chance. The thing had been locked onto Fenton DNA, and Fenton DNA alone.

Danny isn’t sure where the GAV is now, but he remembers turning the rockets on. Maybe he’d…maybe he’d landed on the moon…in the Fentonmobile?

He still isn’t super clear on how he’d gotten here, or what of the truck’s defenses he’d gotten up and running on his way out.

But he remembers a clear line of sight down the barrel of Dad’s newest—and last—blaster he’d ever made, the hands on it a stranger's.

Danny remembers his flesh and ecto sizzling as his face bubbled off.

…Danny remembers his first driving lessons in the GAV with Mom in the passenger seat, encouraging him to brake carefully at stop signs if there were police at the corner. They went out for burgers after each driving session, since she knew it would make him happy to have something different for dinner. Danny remembers all the road trips they’d gone on to go visit Aunt Alicia, half-camping in the woods on her property while Dad taught Jazz and Danny how to fish.

He hands off the whiteboard, but he already knows what he wants to use the last one for.

Mom and Dad and Jazz stand around the intact GAV and smile, frozen in a dry-erase marker wave to a Danny that isn’t there.

Danny’s here now. In a chair. In space.

…With strangers.

When Danny doesn’t immediately offer the board to the blonde doctor like she expects, she only takes a picture of it for further discussion.

Danny is very, very careful not to smudge any of his family's faces or their suits or Jazz's dark sweater as Diana wheels him back to his cot in the medical wing.

He misses them.

He doesn’t know if they’re capable of missing him, wherever they are, but he misses them.

[badlywritingmagazine]

Wanna help a by-and-for transfem journal?

Wanna get involved?

Thank you everyone for your interest so far! If you have a sec, I’ve written a quick post about a few ways you can help. 

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Let your girl friends know. Share it amongst your networks. 

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Can you think?

If you’re a trans woman and you have feelings about something, send it to us. If you’re developing an idea, come chat with us over email (or arrange a phone call) and let’s figure it out together. 

Do you sell books and zines? 

Wonderful. Email me. Stock it. Perfect. I can also send you a poster version of our invitation to submit to print out. 

Have you written?

If you’re a trans woman who writes about things relevant to our lives, send it to me. If it is online and you worry that it won’t stay up forever, it’s affecting your job and life prospects, or that it is a reflection of its time and not 100% wise anymore, send it to me and get it archived. Archiving is part of the goal here. We’re not uncurated, but that doesn’t mean you should shrug and let the internet, time, transmisogyny and linkrot eat your hard work. 

If you’re a trans woman with jobs and obligations and you don’t like having your essay ‘Why dickgirls should commit more assassinations’ or ‘transgender materialism: towards a de/coterminous understanding of post tipping point transmisogyny’ or whatever attached to your name then send it to me and get it re/published under a pseudonym.

If we get a large number of submissions like this we will publish it as a separate supplement, but else it will come as a section within WBM.

Do you know grants?

Rates for unfunded zines and pamphlets suck. We want to pay the women well. Let us know if you know of funds or grants you think we fall under. We’ll be sending off applications. 

Can you help us host a launch party in a major city?

We envision low-cost evening events with discussion, trans women, and piles and piles of essays to talk about. (Can we crash on your couch?) We’re based in the UK, but are happy to come anywhere Ryanair goes where there’s a willing audience. 

Got an idea I don’t have? 

Ultimately, I want to keep this dirt simple. Essays come in, paper goes out. No columns, shite graphics. Couple core editors. Schedules loose enough to spend half the year depressed and still get it out. Stolen printer paper. Something that won’t collapse after two years. Posterity. 

That said, if you have an idea (and maybe if you want to do it), email us. Think you know enough people to get this translated and shipped somewhere else? Can you translate and know of a non-English language transfeminist text that’s not got much attention in the anglosphere? Maybe we can submit an application for a grant and distribute your translation? Understand distribution better than me? Do you have the wherewithal to manage a personals board? Something else? Anything except an agony aunt section. I’ve called dibs on that one. 

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Write to the agony aunt. writingbadlymag snail symbol gmail dot com.

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Addendum: Can you help us set up a website?

Websites we think are beautiful are dirt simple. Low-tech Magazine has a beautiful low-energy website. Filmmaker Margot McEwan has a lovely fitting website. Any thoughts or suggestions should be sent to the same email.

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Thanks all!

Forthcoming posts: information for writers, extracts from the issue.

[teaboot]

What are "transmasc" and "genderqueer"?

I just woke up so bear with me, but like

Western society has invented this idea of "man" and "woman", right? And we SAY it's actually real, and based on tangible things like sex characteristics- primary, like dicks n' hoo-has- and secondary, like tiddies an facial hair an cellulite.

Well, it turns out that those things ain't divided "correctly" into the man and woman categories all the time.

People with dicks sometimes get tiddies, people without dicks sometimes grow beards and chest hair, beauty standards like "woman thin and hairless and short with small nose and tiny feet" and "man tall and muscular with a beard and broad shoulders" aren't appearing in nature the way we say they should.

(These gendered standards also change over time, but that's a different post.)

What's more, some people have multiple primary characteristics, and it's not even super rare! (Again, worth a different post, and not one I'm really in a position to make.)

So, we say that we didn't just "invent" two exclusive boxes to sort a wide variety and spectrum of characteristics into by pure brute force, but evidence says otherwise. So do we change the rules of our society to fit that evidence?

No, we pick something else to support our beliefs.

Learning about genes and DNA and chromosomes came much later in the game, so most people's grasp of it is this: Men have XY chromosomes, women have XX chromosomes, and no matter what your body is shaped like, that determines which box you go in. Whatever you look like should be padded or amputated or shaved away until you fit in your box.

Except.... we now know that people who outwardly appear to be the perfect ideal poster children of "man" and "woman" are living full, natural, healthy and unbothered lives totally unaware that they have the "wrong" chromosomes. No visibly "mixed" characteristics at all. So there goes that idea out the window.

Unless we say that no, our invention which is fact still holds up- there's just a few mutants and freaks and dysfunctional anomalies that just sort of happen sometimes, like factory flaws that wouldn't exist if things were running as they should.

So what do we do with factory flaws? We "fix" them. Or pressure them to fix themselves. Or, if they can "pass" one way or another, shove them into that box and tell them to shut up about it. Don't fit into either? Then pick one, and make yourself fit.

But... then, if we can pick... if hairy women with flat chests and small hips can shave themselves down and throw on some padding and powder her face to be accepted.... why can't anyone else?

Or, if that same "woman" went, fuck it, cut his hair short and embraced all the "man" characteristics, went by different pronouns and stepped into the "man" box... wouldn't that be okay, too?

And, he'll, what if they changed nothing about themselves and decided to opt out? We've proven that these "universal facts" don't *actually* exist and exceptions are everywhere, so fuck it, right? "Man" and "woman" don't really mean anything tangible anyways, so why not do what makes you happy?

And since, again, evidence shows that "man" and "women" aren't perfect binary boxes with perfect binary traits- why bother living up to those traits at all? Why can't someone assigned to the "woman" box live in the "man" box with long hair and heels on? If I makes him happy, what's the harm?

We don't like this, though, because when you build two boxes that contain the whole world, and people start escaping, or slipping out to live in the one they like more, or switching, or building their own, people begin to wonder why they're living in boxes at all. If we even need boxes.

And the people who maintain the boxes tell us, it's because the boxes are safe, and the boxes are natural, and the boxes have been here exactly as they are since the beginning of time anyways, and NO, they aren't just terrified of life outside the shelter of the box, you're the weird one.

Meanwhile, if we really looked into it, I imagine we'd find more people who don't fit their box criteria, or don't even like their box, at least as often as we find people who do.

Transgender means "someone who isn't in their assigned box".

Genderqueer means, "someone who isn't in their assigned box", but in a the same broad way that "transgender" is- Maybe a him, maybe a her, maybe both, maybe a they, perhaps a xey, and sometimes some of us move around.

I say I'm genderqueer, 'cause that fits me, but "Transmasc" to me personally means, "I know I'm not a woman, and I'm closer to the "man" box, but I'm happier wandering outside the "man" box than I am stepping fully inside. (Dysphoria is part of that, but again, in my opinion it's not vital to the experience.)

And I'm not one for destroying those two boxes entirely- they bring joy to a lot of people.

Just, you know. Maybe making more, different boxes. And maybe little camps out between them. And not treating people who roam the wilderness instead like rabid animals. Is the thing.

Long answer

[pyro-les]

Agatha Harkness X Reader

1.2K words - warnings: none

Based of an anon request

Taglist: @thesharkwhalewhoohooooo @thecavalrywife @hannah-0730 @believe-in-magic13 @jenniferjareauwife

"And then Dottie had the nerves to say I was the one who messed up when she clearly put the wrong date on the poster!" Wanda exclaimed, for someone just trying to drop off her kids to Agatha for babysitting she sure did spend a long time talking to Y/N about Dottie's meetings.

Y/N still leaning against the doorway as she had been for the last 10 minutes talking to Wanda gasped "Really?" A bit over the top if Agatha was honest but it's not like she had been settle in her role of Agnes either.

Wanda just nodded at Y/N's exaggerated reply. "Well I knew she was a bit of a bitch but that's ridiculous! How can she blame you for bringing the cakes on the wrong day if she advertised the bake sell as being on Saturday?"

"See you get it!" Wanda happily exclaims putting her hand on Y/N's arm. Right that was enough of that, it was time to intervene.

Getting off the sofa from where she had been watching the two witches interactions she turned her head to the twins playing in the living room "you two are alright here for a minute aren't you?" They both turn to her giving her a smile and excited mod before quickly turning back to their game too caught up in it to really care what else was happening.

Making her way towards the door Agatha pretends she hadn't heard the rest of the conversation "Wanda! How are you? It's been awhile since I saw you."

Chuckling Wanda replies "You only saw me 15 minutes ago when I dropped the boys off."

Settling in besides Y/N at the door Agatha puts her hand on her back as she continues to talk to Wanda trying to persuade her to leave "Exactly! A quarter of an hour. How much you could do in such time, and what exactly have you been doing for so long?" Her friendly demeanor may have fooled Wanda but it certainly wasn't fooling Y/N, she knew her partner too well to not realise what she was doing. That being said she wasn't going to do anything to stop Agatha's attempt to make Wanda leave. She may have been a nice woman but there was only so much one could hear about Dottie's comitee meetings before getting bored, besides it was kinda hot when Agatha got all protective over her.

"Why I was just talking to the lovely Y/N here all about the bake sell!" Wanda replies cheerfully clearly not catching Agatha's hints for her to leave.

Pulling Y/N closer to her by her waist Agatha smiled at Wanda again "Oh how fun. Speaking of the bake sell, shouldn't you be heading off to the committee meeting now? I'm sure you said it was supposed to start at 12." Really if Wanda didn't get the message by now she might not at all.

Laughing Wanda replied "of course! But I'm sure a little more time chatting couldn't do any harm could it Y/N?" Wow she really was oblivious, how could she not get the message.

"It is 5 to twelve now Wanda and I'm sure you said earlier the only way to appease Dottie was to always be early and go along with whatever she says." Y/N replied leaning into Agatha more. She was really getting quite tired of this conversation and she would much rather be sitting on the sofa with Agatha watching the twins play then listen to Wanda any longer. Really how much could someone complain about something she's controlling?

"What a wonderful point darling." Agatha replied. "Once I was 2 minutes late all because Señor Scratchy got out of the house and she banned me from attending the meetings all together."

"So that's why you don't go to them huh?" Wanda asked, simply receiving a humm in response from Agatha. "What about you Y/N? I've not seen you in any meeting at all."

Still trying to talk to Y/N, would the woman ever stop? "I got banned for defending Aggie for being late. I don't mind, it was pretty boring there anyway." Y/N replied with a chuckle.

"Not a chance of you coming along with me then, that's a shame. It would have been lovely spending more time with you." Wanda said dejected.

Agatha had zero sympathy for her, Y/N was hers and no one else's. If there was one thing about Agatha it was that she did not like to share and there was nothing she was more protective over than her Y/N.

"Yes what a shame indeed." Agatha spoke with mock pity.

"Well, it's been great seeing you, have a nice time at the comitee" Y/N said as Agatha started to close the door.

"Oh, um-" Wanda started to say before Agatha cut her off.

"We'll look after the twins no need to worry for them. We'll see you later." She said as she finally closed the door.

Y/N put her head back against the door sighing "Why was she here so long?"

Agatha stepped closer to her, Agathas hands going straight to her hips "I don't like her." She practically growled.

Letting out a small laugh Y/N looked up to her "Hmm I wonder why you don't like her. Definitely not got anything to do with how long she was talking to me has it?"

"And what if that is the reason?"

"Then I'd say your jealous" Y/N starts as Agatha playfully glares at her before she continues "but you have no need to be, I'm all yours."

Agatha smirks at her before before leaning down to kiss Y/N. It was short but sweet, Y/N only pulling away as she heard the laughter of the twins who had just walked into the hallway.

Y/N laughed again as she saw the expression on Agatha's face at being interrupted. "What do you need boys?" Y/N asked with a sweet smile on her face, giving them her full attention despite the way Agathas hands held even tighter onto her hips, gods this woman really was possessive.

"You said we could watch a movie!" Tommy spoke excitedly, a bit too much considering they had only been playing monopoly 5 minutes ago, how had they grown bored of it already? "Yeah! And we want popcorn." Billy added on.

"Okay, okay. You two go pick out a dvd and we'll go get popcorn, right hun?" Y/N spoke, Agatha humming in response as she reluctantly head towards the kitchen as the boys head off back to the living room excitedly.

Y/N made her way over to help Agatha with the popcorn. Well she said she was coming to help yet all she did was watch Agatha make it and steal a peice the second it was finished cooking before promptly complaining it was too hot much to Agathas amusement.

Making their way back towards the living room Y/N leaned over to Agatha whispering in her ear " You know, it's pretty hot when you get all possessive like that."

Agatha just smirked in response as they settled close together on the sofa to watch whatever ridiculous superhero movie the twins had chosen this time. Even with Wanda's attentions often being directed at Y/N it was actually quite nice in the hex, Agatha could get used to this.

[wonderlandsakura]

I have a Zosan fic inspired by a post I think I saw on Tumblr, but it being Tumblr, I can't find it to reblog it, but I'm gonna post it anyway (just a heads up, it's kinda long)

Sanji Accidentally Reveals Who His Partner Is During A Livestream! (NOT CLICKBAIT)

“Welcome back to Cooking with Sanji, this time we’re Live! Thank you my mellorines for being such sweet, loyal and gorgeous fans and taking time out of your busy schedules to attend my livestream today!” Sanji crowed, making finger hearts at the camera.

He was in the location of all his videos and livestreams, his kitchen, which straddled the line between cluttered and cosy and straight out of a magazine, with its industrial grade appliances and overfull cabinets and refrigerator covered in random memorabilia, such as postcards, polaroids and for some reason, an absurd amount of fish related pictures, magnets and posters.

“Today we’ll be cooking my partner’s favorite, Onigiri!” Sanji continued, going on to list the ingredients while chatting with the stream and answering any questions that pop up and highlighted by his mods.

Sanji’s partner was an elusive mystery his fanbase (and that of the Straw Hat Pirates, the group of content creators he was part of) had long wondered about.

It was no secret the man was married, the man in question having made comments mentioning his partner more than once and flaunted his wedding ring on occasion when it was brought up, though he didn’t often wear it on his hand when he was cooking, choosing to wear it on a chain around his neck.

They knew the man lived with his partner, as he often made mention of them while filming and streaming through snarky comments that would nevertheless dissolve into lovestruck looks and loud confirmations of his love whenever one of the audience (usually a newer fan) wondered why Sanji stayed despite his complaints.

Many of his fan base assumed that the person in question was female, what with Sanji’s womanizing tendencies, believing it to be one of the female straw hats or their associates, though this was quickly disproven as they came out or started dating other people.

However, some fans still held onto this conviction, many of them shipping Sanji with his female friends, or with Pudding, a baker that Sanji had collabed with before, who had then insisted she was Sanji’s partner, despite not having a ring or being mentioned by the Straw Hats, who had confirmed they had long met Sanji's partner, before that moment.

Sanji had long since spoken out to disprove these rumors about their relationship, but still, some of his crazier fans insisted on shipping the two, along with many of Pudding's hardcore fans.

Most of Sanji's fan base however, couldn't care less about when or if he would ever reveal who the person was, or even their gender, respecting his right to his privacy.

They were more than fed on the scraps they were given, after all, as the look Sanji would have on his face and the way he gushed over his partner spoke volumes about his love for them.

At some point, Sanji’s dad, Red_Leg_Zeff, pops up on the stream’s chat and starts scolding Sanji through his comments, urged on and enabled by his mods and audience, who cheer him on and highlight his comments for Sanji to read, much to his chagrin. He complains loudly about how his old man needs to stop worrying and get off his stream and isn’t he supposed to be getting ready to open up his restaurant, the Baratie?

The stream adores the interaction, though some of the newer viewers need to be reassured that this is just the way the father-son cooking duo interact, and that they truly adore each other.

It was just the way Sanji showed love, whether to his adoptive father, his friends, or when he spoke about his partner.

Eventually the stream settles down and Zeff leaves to work, as Sanji continues to deftly shape onigiri balls as he chats with his audience.

The stream runs longer than usual, thanks to Zeff’s appearance, but it is just about to end when they hear a door opening off screen.

Sanji however doesn’t seem to notice, wrapped up in excitedly explaining what the All Blue he mentions in his bio on all his social media is to a new fan. This distraction would be his undoing.

From out of frame, a very familiar man to those who were fans of the Straw Hat Pirates as a whole appeared, sending those that noticed him into a tizzy.

It was the half naked, sweaty form of one Roronoa Zoro, the group’s resident sports addict, or as he was better known in the words of Sanji himself, ‘Directionally Challenged Mossbrain’, who often got lost and ended up being dragged back to the group by Sanji. He was also known to most as Sanji's rival.

The two were known for their spats, spitting insults and jabs at each other at the slightest slight or provocation, the arguments often devolving into brawls with kicks and hits thrown by Sanji and Zoro respectively. So it was a surprise to see the man so casually ambling about the house that was known to be shared by Sanji and his partner.

This surprise and interest continued as the man, who seemed to have just finished one of his morning workouts, walked up to Sanji as he used the towel around his neck to wipe away the sweat on his forehead.

The chat waited with bated breath for something to happen, for Sanji to snap and shout at him or something to break the tension created by the man's appearance.

And break it did, as the man bent his head down towards Sanji and tilted his face towards him, kissing him right on the lips, cutting off the man's words with the action.

The chat started screaming, filling with comments that rushed by quicker than the eye could catch. More viewers started appearing as people called their fellow fans in to see the shocking moment, the mods struggling to tame the hoards.

All this went unnoticed by the two lovers as Sanji melted into the kiss, seeming to forget where he was for a moment.

Finally they broke apart, a look of lovestruck bliss on Sanji's flushed face as he stared into his lover's eyes.

Only for him to redden furiously and start to bluster, flustered as he realized what just happened.

He started screaming, as a fans had foreseen, hitting Zoro as he shooed him away, the man calmly avoiding the hits as he scooped up an onigiri and moved away. Only to double back, calling Sanji's name, making him shout.

“What do you want, Marimo!”

At which his head was cradled and another kiss was bestowed on to his forehead, causing his squawking to redouble in its intensity and resulting in Zoro leaving his haloed kitchen chased by whatever objects were in reach that Sanji could throw.

Sanji finally calmed down at his disappearance, breathing heavily as he stared after the other man.

Finally he turned back to the screen.

A bright, furious blush creeped slowly across his face as he realized who exactly, had just seen the chaotic interaction.

He lunged forward, over the countertop and the stream ended abruptly, sending the viewers back into the waiting room, where they tittered to each other about what they had seen.

It was a moment that would not soon be forgotten, against Sanji's best wishes, and it was the most talked about, dramatic and chaotic coming out of any content creator.

Though despite its suddenness, all Zoro and Sanji's fans would agree that it was utterly, irrevocably, them.

-

We've come to the end, thank you for reading :) you might want to take a moment to rest your eyes before moving on

[abitohoney]

Jealousy

Pt 1 - Innocent || Pt 2 - Guilty

AO3 Link

Ambessa x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.8k NSFW, MDNI, Explicit Warnings/tags: Jealousy, mentions of blood & death (not graphic and only to minor background character) Smut, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dom/sub Undertones, Possessive Sex, light marking, Aftercare

Summary: Ambessa catches you on the receiving end of some flirtations. Needless to say, she's not too pleased with it. Just be thankful she finds you innocent this time. Basically just a lil ficlet based on this post regarding the prompt for "Jealous Ambessa".

AN: So this is my first time writing for Ambessa and I’m praying I didn’t fuck it up because it would be a disgrace to this wonderful woman. If y’all are digging my portrayal of her, I would gladly write more. So please do comment, reblog, tag with thoughts, etc if you enjoyed this, otherwise I will take your silence as a “I did not enjoy it but am being nice and not saying so.” 😄

"My lady?" you call out, voice soft with concern.

"Yes?" Ambessa calls back from where she sits at the edge of her large, ornate four-poster bed.

Stepping up beside her, you watch her expression as she turns the sword in her hands over several times, inspecting it- for what you aren’t exactly sure, but you have other pressing thoughts on your mind. With one hand resting beneath the other across your front, you wring them together in concern. "Have you seen Cecil?" you ask.

Ambessa's eyes flick to yours briefly, then quickly back to her sword.

You swear for a moment that you saw some sort of realization in her gaze, but it’s gone so fast you can’t be certain you hadn’t just imagined it.

"Who?" she asks, her tone indifferent, uninterested.

"Cecil. The young servant boy you hired about a month ago. He was supposed to bring me back a dress he offered to take to get cleaned and repaired. That was quite early this morning though. It's nearly nightfall and he hasn't returned."

"My dear girl, I have many servants,” she replies with a shake of her head. “You can't possibly expect me to keep tabs on all of them.” After wiping off a small smear of blood from the tip of her blade, she side-eyes you, taking in your furrowed brows. She slips her sword into its sheath on the bed beside her before turning her full attention to you, dark red lips curling into a smile. Placing a warm hand gently on your arm, she speaks softly, “Don’t fret. We'll simply buy you a new dress."

“I’m just worried about Ce-” Your words come to a halt as Ambessa rises to her feet before you and takes your chin between her thumb and forefinger, gently forcing you to look up at her. Your mouth hangs open, lips slightly parted mid-sentence as she runs her thumb across the plush of your bottom lip.

It seems Ambessa is about to speak, but she too is interrupted- by the sudden appearance of one of her maids.

“My liege, forgive the intrusion, but we’ve found one of the servants, a young man, lying face down in the courtyard.”

Ambessa turns toward the doorway where the maid stands, but you only do so as well once she releases your chin. And your worry returns full force when you spot the maid’s own distress. She looks absolutely shaken to the core.

Oh no! Cecil?!

“And why is this of my concern?” Ambessa asks coldly.

You turn to glance up at her stony expression in confusion. She couldn’t possibly be oblivious as to why he is in that position, could she?

“My liege, he- he’s dead. He was- he was-” The maid’s voice starts to tremble and your stomach sinks.

“He was what, girl? Do you expect me to guess?” Ambessa snaps impatiently.

“He was decapitated!” the maid finally chokes out.

Your eyes go wide, hands flying up to cover your mouth and muffle the gasp threatening to escape. Ambessa however, much to your surprise, is completely unphased, or at most mildly inconvenienced by the news.

“Well, then why are you here? Get one of the guards to clean it up!” she snaps and waves her hand dismissively at the maid.

The poor maid, near tears, mumbles a quick apology, curtsies, then scurries off.

Your lady is known for being rather… callous at times, but she seems oddly apathetic over the fact that one of her servants was just brutally killed on the palace grounds. And as your eyes slowly drift up the muscular arm beside you, your gaze freezes when you spot something on her silver shoulder pad. Something dark red.

Blood?!

Your eyes dart over the rest of her uniform, and sure enough, there are small spatterings of blood over the black leather and red fabric that hug her front. You hadn’t noticed it from a distance due to the dark colors, but it's clear as day now.

“You know-” Ambessa begins slowly, her voice eerily calm and low- lower than usual even. “-I do seem to recall a Cecil now. The boy who seemed rather fond of you. Got rather-” She pauses to run the back of a large finger down over the curve of one of your breasts. “-touchy with you this morning.”

You tilt your head back, pleading eyes searching Ambessa’s frighteningly dark ones as realization starts to sink in. And the gravity of your situation weighs heavy in the pit of your stomach.

She- she killed him for…

She peers down at you, her lips curled into a soft smile, but you can see something beyond that feigned gentleness. You can see the ire burning behind her gray eyes. She’s not happy.

“My lady I did not know- I- I wouldn’t-”

“Yes, my foolish girl. You did not know. But he did. And I fear it could very well happen again. You are quite the catch, you know. I think perhaps there needs to be a reminder. Of who you belong to. What do you think?”

You gulp, throat bobbing as you struggle to swallow the lump that quickly forms.

You know your lady to be ruthless, unforgiving, and maybe even cruel to her enemies, but surely she wouldn’t punish you for something so- so frivolous, so meaningless.

Would she?

As you find yourself suddenly backed against the edge of her bed your confidence in the answer quickly wanes. And when the back of your knees hit the mattress, causing you to lose your balance and sit, she only drives that doubt further with how she cages you between two muscular arms. Her large body towers over yours, encasing you completely in her shadow. Suddenly you know what it feels like to be the tiniest mouse trapped beneath a terrifyingly large lioness.

Slowly, deliberately, she leans down to bring her mouth to your ear.

“We will show them that you are mine. Isn’t that right, my pet?” she hums.

She may have posed it as a question, but you know full well it’s not a question.

It’s a promise.

You lie back on the expensive silk sheets of Ambessa's bed, completely oblivious as to how you've utterly soaked them with your sweat, tears, drool, and slick. Mind too lost in the myriad of sensations overtaking your body, you simply stare dumbly up at the gold and crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling above you through half-lidded eyes. Two deliciously large fingers pump deep inside your dripping cunt, repeatedly dragging along that sweet spot, pulling desperate and pathetic mewl after mewl from your slack mouth.

You've lost track of just how many times your lady has brought you to that delicious peak, but you're certain that even if you'd told her you'd had enough, she would relentlessly continue until you either dried up or passed out. Unable to fathom a universe in which she couldn't keep you endlessly wet, you place your bets on the latter being the end to this sweet torture.

Your lids finally flutter shut when you feel the press of Ambessa’s soft lips against the top of one thigh while the other is grasped and held in place by a large, strong hand. The pace of her fingers pumping inside you never falters, even as she digs her nails possessively into your skin and her lips slowly ascend. It’s a struggle to focus on just one feeling when everything just feels so good.

Even amongst all the wonderful sensations, you know in the back of your mind that there is more to this than simply bringing you pleasure. She’s teaching a lesson. For you, it’s to prove that she is the only one who can please you like she can. That no one knows your body as she does. To your potential attempted wooers, it’s to leave her mark, label what is hers, and leave a warning. And as you feel her lips travel across your spasming stomach, over each breast, and finally along your exposed neck, you know all those lovely dark red lipstick stains she’s leaving behind are only just the beginning. What you don’t know is where exactly it will end.

When you feel her heated breath tickle your ear, her lips nearly touching the sensitive flesh, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and hold your breath. She’s about to speak, and you know better than to be too loud, but she isn’t making it easy on you. Not when her thumb is now rubbing circles around your swollen clit in rhythm with the fingers dragging along your walls.

“You are too soft. Your skin too perfect. Too untouched,” she purrs. “You look… unclaimed. We must fix that, mustn’t we, dear?”

You release your lip in hopes to answer her question, but all that slips past is an incoherent sob as she flicks the pad of her thumb across your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Hmm? What was that, dear?” she taunts lowly.

You don’t hear her though, your head buzzing as you feel another orgasm fast approaching.

“Answer me!” she growls, teeth nipping at your earlobe.

Your eyes fly open at the startling pain, a yelp pulling from your throat. “Yes, my lady!” you nearly scream.

“That’s right. That’s a good girl,” she purrs.

If that praise hadn’t been enough to push you over the edge, the euphoric feeling of her nails possessively raking up the side of your body, clear from your thigh to your neck, certainly would be. The broken moans that fall past your parted lips die into a breathless gasp as she wraps that large hand around your neck, pressing just hard enough to leave your vision as hazy as your mind. The pleasure that wracks your body is unlike any other. You tremble beneath her as you ride through wave after wave, nearly missing the sensations of her mouth descending your body, sucking and biting harshly, covering every inch of your sweat-slick skin with little reminders that you are taken. That you are hers.

As you lie on Ambessa's bed, right where she left you after finally taking mercy on your overstimulated and exhausted body, you struggle to remain conscious. You hear and see only bits and pieces, little snapshots that may or may not commit to memory. Your lady, the one you normally take care of, wiping down your sticky thighs, washing away the sweat that coats your now tender and marked flesh. Her touching each mark, pressing into them just hard enough to watch you flinch and sigh when she then gently caresses them. You catch only blurred glimpses of her face. Her beautiful dark skin decorated with pale scars. Her dark red lips pulled into a soft, satisfied smile while she admires her pet.

Just before you slip away into blissful sleep, you feel her warm body over yours and her mouth beside your ear.

"Count yourself lucky I found you innocent."

[rallamajoop]

Mia Winters in Shadows of Rose

I really did think I was done talking about (read: furiously defending) Mia Winters when I made all those other posts earlier this year. I’ve even touched on the misconceptions about her in Shadows of Rose before, at least in a reblog. But someone reblogged one of those posts recently with a comment that mentioned this particular aspect of the hate she gets in passing, and I had such a strong response to it (and for what is honestly in no way that poster’s fault) that I had to accept that maybe I wasn’t as done as I thought he was.

So there’s the idea in fandom that Mia voluntarily gave up her daughter to the government after RE8. It's bullshit and obviously so, but it's still going to take me another whole post to get into why seeing this ‘fact’ parroted about her annoys me so damn much.

Because this is not an outside take. I’ve seen people claim they didn’t have any particular opinion on Mia until this was the tipping point that pushed them into hating her. I’ve seen "sympathetic" takes on Mia which suggest that really it’s not her fault at all that she couldn’t love her own daughter, because [elaborate bullshit]. "Mia abandonned Rose at the first opportunity after RE8" is one of those takes that gets repeated ad nauseum.

First question: based on what, exactly?

No really, if there’s some obscure, mistranslated press release out there as the source, please, someone point me to it, because nothing in Shadows of Rose tells us anything of the sort.

Excluding Eveline’s horrifying Mia-puppets, the real Mia is mentioned all of twice in Shadows of Rose. The first mention comes when you find young Rose’s diary, which tells us that she found regular school a bit basic, because she’d already learned all that stuff with ‘Mommy’. So we can safely assume Rose was home-schooled by Mia for much of her childhood, though now Rose is attending a regular school. "Home schooled with enough care to put her ahead of her same-age peers" sure says "abandoned" to me!

The other mention of Mia is more ambiguous, and is easily missed, heard only if you read her letter about baking a cake for Rose’s half birthday in the Winters’ home sequence. After reading it, Rose sadly says, "I haven’t seen Mom in ages." Why she hasn’t seen her mother in so long isn’t explained (though she certainly sounds like she'd like to), nor do we have any idea how long ‘ages’ really is. It’s certainly enough to make the player wonder, but no answers are ever supplied, or even really hinted at.

And that’s it. That’s everything we’ve actually got on Mia’s place in Rose’s mid-teens life. I have played this DLC multiple times and poured through the game files ‒ trust me on this.

Unlike so many other bits of slander thrown at Mia’s feet, the idea that Mia ‘gave up her daughter to the government’ sometime after that first diary was written is at least theoretically possible, given the very little we know. But why the fuck do people treat it like it’s the only possibility? Do we really have so little imagination?

The only thing we can positively say about Mia in Shadows of Rose is that she’s not in it. Mia could be in a coma for all we know! She could be in prison! The government could’ve taken Rose from her against her will! She could be deep undercover in some criminal organisation who represent a real threat to her daughter! She could be in some mental institution after the stress of losing Ethan proved too much! Those experiments Miranda performed on her could’ve had horrifying long-term side effects! ALL of these things are at least as possible as ‘Mia gave her daughter up voluntarily’. And they’re all a whole fuckload more plausible.

Because lemme tell you what we actually know about Mia's relationship with her daughter. In fact, you know what, have a whole mini gallery of what we know.

Mia ‘nothing else matters as long as my family is together’ Winters – the woman who advanced on Chris demanding where is my husband? Where is my daughter? – who positively lights up when she sees her daughter safe at the end of RE8 ‒ the one with the whole photo album full of pictures documenting her pregnancy or where she's gazing happily at her newborn daughter… you’re telling me this woman would just give Rose up? Come on.

Even Shadows of Rose contributes to this take on Mia: to get that one line from Rose about not having seen her mother, you have to read the one document in the game written from Mia’s perspective, which is full of joy about making a cake for her daughter’s half-birthday celebration.

Heck, even the Baker Incident Report makes clear that Rose is the most important thing in Mia’s life. Mia loves Rose more than anything in every other part of this canon.

And someone still went, "Oh, well Rose hasn’t seen her in a while in SoR, and the government seems to have their sticky fingers in her life, so clearly Mia just gave her up"? And the rest of fandom has been repeating it ever since? What is wrong with people?

In fact, while we’re talking the adults in Rose’s life as of SoR, why on earth does Chris get a pass? The only thing we hear about his current ‘relationship’ with Rose, a girl who’s still in high school and hasn’t even begun learning to control her powers yet, is that he’s apparently pestering her to join his para-military squad. Her first assumption when a member of his squad comes to talk to her is that this is what it’s about. I mean, that’s objectively pretty fucked up.

In all seriousness here, I’m not trying to start some #cancelchrisredfield movement, because I really doubt those lines were written with the primary goal of establishing Rose’s relationship with Chris – they’re just clunky exposition. They’re here to let us know a) Chris is still working with his Dog Dog Squad, b) Kay, the guy we’ve just met, is a member, and c) Chris is aware that Rose’s powers are going to be a big deal – and presumably he’s still as weirdly intense about everything as he is in the rest of RE8. Rose does seem happier about Chris’s role in her life in her diary, where he seems to have pulled some strings to allow her to go to a regular school (but presumably even Chris draws the line at recruiting pre-teens, so that’s yet to start), so we've got some friendly interactions between them, but Chris seems no more involved in Rose's teen life than Mia is.

I don’t know how the RE8 writers did expect us to interpret the idea that Chris is apparently trying to recruit untrained under-18s to his team, but I’m sure with enough imagination, you can come up with some way to spin it that doesn’t paint him in a completely irredeemable light (maybe he just wants her involved in training and self-defence or something, or maybe it’d give him the power to tell other government departments with an interest in her to take a hike, who knows?) What really stands out to me, however, is that I don’t have to defend Chris over how his non-part in this DLC is so under-explained. So why the hell does Mia get both barrels, when we know even less about her current relationship with Rose than for Chris?

Oh wait, I know this one. It’s because she’s a woman, and we’ve already decided she’s a bad person. Any mother whose life doesn’t seem to revolve entirely around her sad daughter is obviously an irredeemable human being, amirite? [Insert table-flip here]

As I’ve said before, I’d really like for there to be a more interesting explanation for why we hear so little about Mia in Shadows of Rose. I would love for the reason to be that they’ve got big plans for Mia in RE9, and don’t want SoR to pre-emptively spoil whatever’s going to happen to her. I would kill for a whole game about Mia, starting way back before RE7 and filling in all those big holes in her story, before picking up again post RE8 and beyond. I’m realistic enough to realise that’s not likely, but gdi, I can dream. It’s certainly possible that one of the reasons we hear so little about her in Shadows of Rose is because the writers are trying to leave their options open, just in case.

But putting all my pipe dreams for RE9 aside, I'd bet good money the main reasons why Mia has so little presence in Shadows of Rose are thematic. The whole story depends on Rose feeling isolated and lonely as motivation for why she wants to be 'normal', before she finally decides it's worth giving that up for the chance to meet her Dad properly for the first time. That all hits a lot harder on a thematic level if we downplay the few positive relationships Rose does have in her life ‒ her mother included. I mean, you may as well ask why all the teachers in any Harry Potter novel are so useless most of the time: because it’s easier to tell the story they want to tell that way. Chris’ part in Rose’s life is almost certainly downplayed for the very same reasons (plus possibly some resistance to making fans face an incarnation of Chris who might well be in his 60s by whatever year this actually is).

So, yeah. Maybe Mia as-long-as-we're-together Winters did home school her beloved daughter all through her early years, and then one day just decided "y’know what, I’m done with this" and signed Rose over to the government without a second thought. God knows I’ve heard of worse cases of random character assassination from franchises I’ve trusted. And the moment Capcom actually gives us any reason to believe that’s the intent, I’m sure someone will let me know.

But in the meantime, Jesus Christ, people – this DLC is like three hours long, and it’s all on youtube – it is not hard to check this shit, c’mon.

[petrichorium]

I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT EX HUSBAND SHANKS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Okay I was thinking a relationship that’s like SUPER chill and casual. Like literally fuckbuddies turned lovers; u stay on ur home island and he’s off most of the time. Was based close by in the first year or two y’all met and got close so he was around more often but eventually it becomes him stopping by every few months for a few weeks and the two of you keeping up contact while he’s gone. The progression from just messing around to a committed relationship is slow and largely unsaid until Beckman tells you his captain has turned down every other woman for the past two years and you realize you aren’t much searching for other men yourself; soon enough you’ve got matching rings and as untraditional as it is it works.

And I’m just thinking abt how like…….. ur happy w ur life on ur little island, it’s relatively safe all things considered under his protection and you’ve lived there your whole life and all you rlly wanna do is keep your head down and stay there. Getting involved with Red-Haired Shanks puts a major flaw in that plan but it’s easy to forget who exactly he is. He doesn’t hide it, ofc not, but he’s so… unremarkable seeming that it’s difficult to remember, especially when your interaction with him is isolated to a scant few days or weeks when he’s most at ease and the only thing he’s thinking about is you.

But………. then you’re reminded otherwise. It’s silly really, because of course you know. It’s been years since you first met him, you’ve seen the wanted posters and you’ve heard how people talk about him, but knowing in abstract—contrasted by the man who’s managed to marry you, all wide smiles and incessant drunken love confessions and never dodging a well-placed swat from your hand—is far different from seeing in person.

You board his ship for a little trip; something small, only a few days to go retrieve a gift for you that Shanks had foolishly left a few islands away, low-risk and entirely in his territory. But it all goes sideways and you’re forced, quite suddenly, to realize just who you’ve managed to fall for—and exactly what kind of power and prestige he wields—while trapped with nowhere to go but remain on his ship with him and his crew for the days it takes to return.

You feel stupid more than anything, balking like this after one (frankly minuscule) fight. You don’t leave his cabin the whole trip back. He brings you meals, holds you when he can, tells you how much the crew misses you, but he doesn’t understand just how much you’re questioning. How much, you wonder, do you really know Shanks? Bordering on ten years is quite some time but when you only see him a scant few weeks out of those years, how much does it matter?

The ring on your finger, the way he looks at you—they settle on your shoulders more like a noose now, no longer making you giddy. How long until some bitter rival of his storms your home searching for you because they can’t touch him?

How much is he worth it when the lives of everyone in your hometown stand at risk?

You’re smart enough not to pick the fight until you’ve returned. You have it at the door of your home, long overdone and frankly terrified, all but melting down once you’re truly alone with him for the first time in a week. He doesn’t yell back—doesn’t do much, after attempts at soothing you fail, except watch you with a mildly surprised expression on his face.

For the first time in years you don’t let him stay the night, or see him off when he leaves the following day. You sit up on your roof and watch his ship disappear over the horizon and assure yourself that clearly you aren’t cut out for being his.

(But two months later that ship appears again, and an hour after docking there’s a knock at your door, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when you see that red hair beyond the peephole…)

[littlefanficprincess]

I want to see your pretty face

Oneshot

Pair: Tord (post end) x reader

Song: One woman Army (Porcelain Black)

Part 2

(A/n): Tord doesn't appear yet, but I want to first bridge the gap between meetings.

~~~~~~~~

How long has it been since I've seen Tord? 2...3 years, maybe 4?

It doesn't really matter to me, I just hope that he is alright. To keep my mind off things, I began to work out. Run around the block a few times every morning, do some yoga and going to the gym atleast twice a week.

I never got the answer on why Tord was on that wanted poster, there were more wanted posters everyday. Makes me wonder what he did to be wanted for that much money.

It was currently morning, I was on my morning run when I noticed a flyer on the ground. I grab it from the concrete floor and let me gaze glide across it. It seemed old, it had small tears and faded colors.

Red Army

+47 12345678

'Red Army? I don't think I've ever heard of it. It wouldn't hurt giving it a call, I'm kinda curious' I fold the flyer and stuff it into my pocket.

Once I had finished my jog, I enter my house and sits down on the couch. I pull put my phone and the flyer. I carefully type in the number into my phone.

Ring...Ring..."Hello, this is Senna Akuna from the Red Army. How may I help you?" A woman voice was on the other side, she sound like she was in her mid-thirties.

"My name is (Y/n) (L/n). I found a flyer on the street about the red army, I was curious on what the Red Army is" I chimes, fiddling with end of my shirt.

The woman on the other side lets a groan "Paul said he got rid of them all. Well the Red Army is an organisation which has the goal to change the world. It has existed for many years"

"Is there anyway to join it?"

"There is indeed ons, I could set up an appointment to see if you're fit. It's alright if you refuse. I will warn you that if you leak this information, you will be assassinated" She informs.

"Well, isn't that just comforting. I am intrested in joining"

"Ofcourse. I have a spot for you on Monday the 27th at 2:30, Is that a good time for you?"

"Yes, where should I go?"

"Go to the abandoned walnut factory outside town, there you will be picked up by a car. Which will bring you the base, you will be escorted to my office. I will see you then, have a nice day"

"You too" I press on the hang up button, and let out a huff. The idea of being in an army sounds thrilling and also exciting. I'd say I'm pretty fit and thanks to all those times where me and Tord went to the shooting range. Even if I was rusty, I still knew how to use a gun.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

(Y/n) taps her foot against the concrete. She has been waiting for a few minutes, feeling the breeze blow past her.

A car pulls up, the windows were too dark to see inside. The window of it slightly lowers, just enough to hear what is going on inside, but not see inside.

"(Y/n) (L/n)?" A voice inside questions.

"That's me" (Y/n) answers, nodding.The back door opens, inviting her in. She enters the car, sitting down on the seat. She closes the door as the car takes off.

┏━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┓

Timeskip

┗━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━┛

She was dropped off at a big building, it was black and red. She carefully the approaches the enterance, noticing a red button next to the door.

Reaching out, she presses it. A click could heard and the door opens. (Y/n) enters, cautiously, looking around.

"You must be (Y/n)" A voice says. Making (Y/n) turn towards the source finding a man. He was wearing a red sweater, with a blue overcoat over it. He had brown hair with split bangs.

"The one and only" The girl responds. She eyes the name tag on his uniform 'Patryck'.

"Follow me" Patryck turns his back, using his hand to motion for the girl to follow. He leads her to an office, it was a silent between them. Patryck found the girl familiar but couldn't place his finger on where he saw her. He knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" (Y/n) hears the same voice she spoke to on the phone.

"It's Patryck, I have (Y/n) (L/n) with me" Patryck speaks."Right, Patryck, you can leave. (L/n), please enter"

Patryck gives a small wave, before walking off to somewhere. (Y/n) turns to the door, opening it and walking through it.

There was a desk with a woman sitting behind it. She had dark colored hair and a suit with a red tie. She motions for the girl to take a seat infront of the desk, which she does.

"I have looked at your portfolio, I'm quite impressed. I heard that you often visited a shooting ranch, is that correct?" Senna explains, looking at the person on the other side of the desk.

"Oh yeah, like...6 years I think. It was mostly with my friend Tord, I haven't seen him in a long time, so I stopped visiting" (Y/n) replies, scratching her cheek.

Senna hums "interesting" she writes something on a paper next to, she puts the pen down "Your future will be discussed, I'll give you a call next week"

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (VII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and this is lucky number seven baby 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Martian Manhunter did a Whoopsie. Things are better than they were though, so...success? YJ got in trouble with Batman but Danny wasn't exactly cognizant enough to notice so that got relegated to the tags.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

The debriefing team meets J’onn in a meeting room not too far from the cafeteria. By the time he makes it to the correct floor, the team has clearly been waiting on him; on the table are a pack of Chocco cookies, a large order of fries, and a ten pack of chicken nuggets. 

J’onn inclines his head. It’s nice to see that his favorite meal is remembered. “Thank you, Batman.” 

Batman’s nod is equally as formal. The human is already most of the way through his italian sub. “No thanks needed. Were you successful in your contact with the entity?” 

Ah. Right to the details, then. J’onn obliges the question with a seat at the table. Black Canary, a chair to his right, gently scoots over to provide him more space. 

In the end, J’onn is relieved to have a prop in his hands. It creates a small, if flimsy barrier between himself and the images the boy had shown him. 

What he knows now…

J’onn sighs. 

The room is peaceful— likely intentionally so, in order to ease the oncoming conversation. Wonder Woman and Black Canary sit beside each other, their individual meals open and half-eaten between them. As the facilitator of the conversation, Batman sits at the end of the table; as the secretary of the meeting, Superman sits beside him, his sloppy joe in one hand and a keyboard beneath the other. 

J’onn quietly tears open the packaging of his pack of cookies. Plucks one from its plastic insert inside. Chews. Swallows.

“The first thing to note is that although the entity's primary language is not known to me, he is extremely familiar with humans— and, likely, with Earth.” 

Superman swallows the rest of his sandwich in one gulp, nods, and begins to type. Batman turns to face J’onn directly. “How so?” 

“He has many memories of flying freely in Earth’s atmosphere, specifically; the stars line up with the star patterns as viewed from this planet. He is intimately familiar with several aspects of Earth’s culture, including the idea of ‘a bedroom’, which he identified as his own, and a childhood toy, which was a scale model of an Earth spacecraft. If I was shown a variety of options, I could likely pick out which craft specifically. He has a mind for detail.”

Superman’s fingers flick rapid-fire over the keyboard. J’onn happens to be aware of the Krytponian’s career, as the local telepath, but rarely is the man's passion so clearly shown; the focus and quick hands certainly project an air of professionalism around an otherwise at-ease debriefing room.

“You’re using he/him,” the Kryptonian observes, making additional notes in the margins of the in-progress report. “How did that come about?”

“He does have an understanding of the most common gender identities of Earth, and has a favored one. How he came about it…” J’onn inhales. It is a very human gesture. “…I do not know his origins for certain, but I have several theories.”

Batman cuts off an oncoming question from Superman with a silent wave of his hand. “Base information first. Questions and theoreticals at the end.”

Superman’s face at the hindering of his professional instincts is perhaps less than completely mature. “Yes, yes.”

J’onn takes a second cookie.

It’s easy to report on certain things; the entity's initial inability to communicate without acute pain, the subsequent reaction of the teenage team, the eventual discovery of clear communication and transference of emotion.

“Not all of his thoughts were particularly clear.” J’onn nibbles on the edge of his cookie. Black Canary pushes aside her empty tray of California rolls to give her pen and notepad space. This portion of the debrief necessitates more of her skills. “Most of the memories that he aimed to show me were value-neutral, or otherwise unrelated memories, likely due to the stress of his current and deeply traumatic situation. He preferred memories that did not have pain or distress associated with them. When prompted—I displayed my own perspective of the crash we had found him in— the associated memories that were brought up implied that not only was he the pilot of the craft, but that he had a hand in building it.”

Superman’s rhythmic tapping undercuts the soft conversation. “So he is sapient, then, despite the difficulties in communication,” Wonder Woman confirms softly.

“More than. There are echoes of formalized schooling and other instruction in his mind, although I couldn’t discern the topics of the lessons.”

“Were there other beings like him? Anyone we could reach out to? Family members, friends…?”

J’onn hesitates. There’s no way to confirm what he saw. However…

“…There are memories that he has of his own person, in which he looks very human. His self-conceptualization is of an adolescent human boy.”

The grief in the room is palpable. J’onn doesn’t have to look up to feel it press in on him from all sides.

“I suspect that…in the same way that Superman has largely spent his life on Earth, this boy has at least spent several years on Earth as well. There are glosses of memories of an adapted human house, though I was unable to safely explore how far back they went. There are humans who prominently play a role in his self-image and expected worldview, although the mental representations of them have scarred over with some form of psychological trauma. Overall, despite his current form, there was likely a time this child felt safe around both humans and human scientists.” 

Silence rules over the room. 

“...Do we know what changed that?” Black Canary asks, without looking up from her notes. Her pencil eraser taps quietly against the table. 

J’onn sets the package of cookies to the side. “Not…so exactly. There were hints of memories threaded throughout the recalled moments that he did not wish to pin down. Claustrophobia. Fear of incarceration. The fear of physical harm done to him— and the psychological harm of knowing with exact certainty that there were those willing to hurt him. …Intimate betrayal.” 

Superman and Black Canary’s eyes quietly close. Batman looks hardly moved under his cowl; if J’onn could not feel the man’s stress spike in the air, he might not have ever known how worried the human was. 

J’onn isn’t actually meant to know Superman’s circumstances as to his arrival on planet Earth, but there are equally few ways that any of the league can hide the entirety of their thoughts from him— especially at the time of his initial arrival into the League, when mental defenses had yet to be erected in a comprehensive manner. This situation smacks strongly of the story of Clark Kent, son of his human parents. 

“There is no way to confirm my guess without further conversation on the topic. However, it is incredibly likely that he lived under the radar, on Earth, for a lengthy enough span of time to acclimate to human society. The discovery of his non-human biology would have spurred further action, and the result would have given reason for his fear of medical professionals, scientists, and adult humans. Likely, the other humans in his memories meant to support him, and were prevented from doing so or injured in the process. The vehicle that had crashed back to Earth would have served as—”

“—An escape route,” several voices overlap together. 

J’onn nods. His fingers steeple together. “There is no way to know how far into space he had gotten, or if his escape was aided by others of his species, or even if the point of origin was in low atmosphere or Earth's orbit. Either way, our patient is alone now, is in extreme background pain, has lost perception in several of his senses that exclude taste, and has reluctantly bonded with the junior team due to a lack of more familiar presences.”

Batman’s emotional presence circles into a silent exhale of frustration. “That would be Impulse’s under-the table operation,” the human correctly identifies, dry as the desert. 

(J’onn is certain that the vigilante will never reveal it, even to himself, but the exhale has its own quiet, microscopic tinge of reluctant amusement.)

“I don’t think it qualifies as under-the-table if you have a running file on his activities, dated and timed by every individual interaction,” Superman points out, not even bothering to glance at the now-slightly-peeved Batman. 

“Hn.”

“Oh, very mature.” 

“It was not league sanctioned.”

“Neither are the majority of your movements,” Wonder Woman points out. The fork from her salad punctuates her sentence with a tease and a wave. “If you informed us your security plans for the Watchtower any earlier than a week after you had already installed the new measures, I would assume you were an imposter and prepare for battle.”

Batman hardly looks put out. He achieves deception with his whole body. J’onn genuinely admires how discordant his behavior and churning thoughts can be. 

“Hn.”

 “Oh, very well-spoken,” Black Canary flatters insincerely, toying with her pencil against her paper. 

It would be very immature of Batman to sulk. Therefore, he does not. 

“Returning to the point of this meeting�� Are there any other pertinent details we ought to know?” 

J’onn considers shrugging. He packs three chocco cookies into his mouth instead, chews, and swallows. There are only two cookies left in the pack, now. 

“The biological mechanism utilized for his empathic sense is vibrationally-based. That would be why my initial attempt at communication failed so tremendously; if he does have a neurological center, it is too deeply damaged to interpret telepathic input. He has a fondness for astronomy, can recognize the color red with greatest ease, and likely needs high contrast if we would like him to recognize any materials we provide. He imprinted on Impulse likely because the boy’s presence in the Speedforce mimics the energy readings he expects to see in those of his species.” 

Superman hums. His fingers fly. “So he must have met others of his species before.” 

J’onn makes a so-so motion. “There is no way to be certain. His abilities may be instinctually pre-programmed, or he may have had access to outside materials to teach him.” 

Batman’s arms cross. His sandwich, which had been sitting on the table, is now entirely vanished— wrapper and all. “Was there any evidence as to either particular theory you were able to pick up on?”

“...No.” Hadn’t he indicated such?

“Was there any personal information you were able to pick up on?” 

J’onn has to think about that one. The topic hadn’t come up during their mental exchange, when so much more of the focus had been on creating basic understanding of the Watchtower, his presence within their base as a patient and not as a prisoner, and his current location on the moon. Anything else that J’onn might have gleaned would have to be determined on supposition and analysis. 

“...He enjoys astronomy.” J’onn tries to recall the exact memories he had seen, and only ends up reiterating what he has already said. Perhaps highlighting certain moments will make the narrative clearer. “His childhood dwelling had little stickers on his ceiling. They would stay lit even when the room went dark—”

“...Glow in the dark stars,” Superman whispers under his breath. J’onn exhales. This isn’t a familiar point of human culture for him. He’s glad his description is recognizable. 

“Yes. He organized them to mimic Earth's constellations. He had smaller, handheld versions of rocket ships. Even if he had not known of extraterrestrial origins, he was drawn to the cosmos.” 

Batman coughs. The gesture is a reflex to suppress some welling emotion. J’onn pretends that it works. “Both items are…markers of a young child,” Batman admits. “Indications of a quite young, very human childhood.” 

Ah. J’onn can more deeply recognize the sense of tragedy welling in the air. The items are astronomy-based yes, but they equally highlight his age. 

“When he donned a human appearance, he matched the coloration of the human family who took him in. As fleeting as their acquaintance might have been, he modeled his human form after them— solidly enough and surely enough that, if he feels strong enough to form a mental self-representation, I can see the outline of it in his memories.” No details, beyond vague hints in the entity's mind of his hair and her eyes and their skin.

“Very loved,” Wonder Woman murmurs. 

“Very young, and very loved,” Black Canary reiterates with a sigh. Her notes are a black mess of graphite. “And now he fears adult humans.” 

“Yes,” J’onn admits. The cookies are gone. He sets the wrapper to the side. He reaches for the chicken nuggets. “That said, he has an instinctual familiarity with black and with red hair, will likely experience less fear with a female profile as opposed to a male, and responded favorably when offered the chance to interact with an adult who did not mean him harm. The fact that we have largely indestructible adults at our disposal works to our advantage.”

It is very, very clear who exactly fills that description. Wonder Woman sits up straight, laces her fingers together, and very kindly curtails her smugness. If Superman and Batman would like to be jealous of her current position, they may do so at their own discretion.

[gilbirda]

Friendly neighborhood vigilante. Chapter 22

BatmanxDP crossover. JasonxJazz

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Based on this post

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---

“Forgive the mess,” Jason murmured as he carried Jazz into the room. “They did leave everything just like I left it, huh.”

Jazz lifted her head from its hiding place in the crook of Jason’s neck. She didn’t expect to be carried in his arms, and even if she should find it funny given how she got injured in the first place, she couldn’t deny it made her heart flutter a bit.

Jason’s childhood room was… what you’d expect from a teenager. It wasn’t messy, but clutter was everywhere — books, comics, more books and what she assumed was a handheld gaming device. Her eyes roamed over the Wonder Woman posters and pictures on the wall, spying a signature in a big one placed safely far from the window and sunlight.

Jason had always been a nerd.

She giggled.

“Cute.” She said, rubbing her cheek against his when he blushed.

“‘m not cute.” He contested halfheartedly. He huffed softly and walked closer to the bed, letting her down on the mattress. “Cass left some clothes for you.” he reached for the neatly folded pajamas and handed them to her. “Do you need help, or…?”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “I have a twisted ankle, I’m not unable to dress myself.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, I’ll change in the bathroom.” He walked towards the drawers, opened one and cursed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was fifteen years old when I last stepped into this room,” he pulled something from the drawer to show her, “and I was a small child.”

Jazz tried really hard to contain her laughter, but the tiny rock band t-shirt over his broad chest was just hilarious. She threw back her head and gave a hearty laugh, not worrying about if he saw her fangs for once.

He chuckled with her, turning back to check the rest of the drawers, rummaging around for a bit.

“Nothing?” She asked softly.

“Nope. And I’m not going to go back out and ask for clothes if I don’t really—” He stopped in his tracks, his cheeks blooming a bit of a blush.

Jazz picked up what he didn’t say. “Do you usually sleep naked?”

She watched his shoulders tense and how he consciously relaxed them before answering. “Yeah. Or just with some boxers or shorts on.” He pointedly wasn’t looking at her.

Okay.

Jazz hummed, controlling her thoughts and what to say. Was this one of those situations she had to be careful to navigate? She didn’t want to send the wrong signals and make the situation more uncomfortable than it needed to be — she knew he was not happy with their sleeping arrangements and Bruce’s pushiness was not welcomed.

“I don’t mind if you want to sleep in your underwear.” First step: vocalize. Don’t leave things unsaid, since not-saying things usually lead to misunderstandings, as she had come to learn.

Jason turned with a confused frown, finally looking at her in the eyes. “Okay?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.” Second: appear calm and collected, safe to be around. “It doesn’t bother me.”

She fiddled with the soft fabrics of the provided pajamas, distracting her hands as she waited for his reaction. What was he thinking? Did he consider this as her making some kind of move? They were going to share a bed for the first time, and she was trying very hard not to feel too self conscious about that fact.

“If you say so…” He finally nodded and walked closer to the desk on the other wall, picking up his stuff from his pockets — keys, wallet and phone — and placing it next to a book pile.

Jazz took this as her cue and picked up the pajamas, quickly hopping towards the ensuite bathroom before Jason caught her and told her she shouldn’t walk on her injured foot. When he finally realized she had made a run for it, she had already closed the door.

Jason dramatically sighed, making her giggle.

She made quick work of the clothes and put on Cass' pajamas, admiring how they flowed over her skin. She suspected some kind of silk blend, but didn’t recognize the brand; not that she expected to recognize it, since she always bought clothes on sale and never worried about stuff like if they were in season or their fabric blends.

She splashed her face with cold water, noticing that the soap brand name was French and with fancy letters. She knew the Waynes were filthy rich, but she guessed that it kind of took a second place in her mind the whole evening. She was more focused on making a good first impression.

Jazz finished getting ready for bed and walked back into the room, her folded clothes in one hand, and hopped towards the same desk Jason left his things. On top of the book pile was Mansfield Park.

“Interesting literature for a fifteen year old.” She picked it up, opening it in a random page, admiring the same sticky notes and annotations she had seen in the books he kept at the apartment, confirming he had always been such a nerd.

“Austen is hilarious,” Jazz could hear the shrug in his voice, “what can I say.”

She put the book back down and turned, finding her boyfriend watching her with those intense blue eyes. He was sitting on the bed, but hadn’t gotten under the covers, opting to rest against the headboard to comfortably watch her every move.

Was he trying to make her self conscious on purpose?

“What?” She confronted him.

“Nothing.” He quickly said. Too quickly.

When he didn’t add anything else, she shrugged and hopped towards the free side of the bed. If he didn’t want to comment on it, she wasn’t going to push the topic. If this was about being self conscious about sharing a bed, or about his nakedness, he didn’t have anything to prove or worry about.

Also, she was very sleepy. Whatever it was, it could wait until morning.

Of course, the bed was gigantic and very comfortable, a wild contrast to her shitty single back at the apartment. Maybe she should invest in a good bed, like she did with her couch.

She turned on her side, careful to not upset her injured ankle, and smiled at Jason, the “good night” on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you…”

“Hm?” She encouraged when he stopped.

Jason cleared his throat and tried again: “Do you not… find me attractive?”

Oh.

Hm.

It was time for that conversation? Well, not the time she would have picked, given that they were sharing a bed in his childhood room; but it is true that one does not pick where conversations happened.

Jazz shuffled around so she was sitting against the headboard too, and picked the hand that was closer to her. She played with his fingers for a moment, admiring how rough his palms were — vaguely remembering when she thought he was an athlete — thinking how she was going to approach this.

“Do you know what an asexual person is?” She tested the waters.

She saw him nod in the corner of her eye. “Yeah. Some of the working girls at the Alley once explained to me.” Jazz nodded. This would make it simpler. “Are you that? Ace?”

Jazz hummed, tilting her head. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Never actually cared about labeling things. I just know that there are things others care about that I don’t.”

“So you never…?”

“Being ace and having sex are not mutually exclusive.” She finally looked up at him. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but his intense blue eyes made her blush and look away. “But no. I haven’t slept with anybody before.”

“Not interested?”

His voice was soft. And didn’t let her guess what he thought about it.

Jazz wasn’t going to lie, she had never considered that her lack of experience in sex, or lack of interest whatsoever, could become an issue in their relationship. She wasn’t looking for a relationship in the first place, so she didn’t plan for the scenario that her partner thought her disinterest in sex would be a dealbreaker.

Would it be for Jason?

“I don’t know,” she admitted out loud. “I’ve never— I was always too busy, and investing time in something I don’t actually need always felt like a waste of effort.”

He snorted. “Nerd.”

“But it’s true!” She giggled, letting her shoulders relax. She resumed playing with his hand. “It’s not that I wouldn’t have sex, ever; but more like I don’t… care? Sexual attraction was never in my priority list when looking for a partner.”

He hummed, considering her words.

“But I guess if you are interested I wouldn’t mind it? If it’s with you it’s fine.” She shrugged. She knew there were names and labels for the nuances of how she regarded sexuality, but she didn’t research a lot. Once she understood what she felt was normal and had a term, it was enough for her.

He gently dislodged his hand from her to move his arm around her shoulders, trapping her into a half hug, and squishing her face against his naked chest. She placed a hand on the skin, admiring how warm he was, and vaguely tracing a few of the scars she found there. Mostly healed cuts and barely visible scratches, but she spied a gunshot wound closer to his shoulder.

“That’s enough for me.” He finally said, his voice rumbling in her ear. “And if that changes let me know.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, making her cheeks burn and her eyes water. Any worry she managed to amass since the conversation started had completely vanished, washed away by those simple words. Fearing rejection over something so simple felt silly after what they have already been through, but the confirmation that he cared hit her like a freight train.

“For the record,” Jazz said, her voice a bit choked from emotion, “I do find you very attractive.”

He squeezed her a little, his soft chuckles vibrating under his skin. “Of course, I’m such a catch.”

“A complete snack.” She smiled up at him.

“A straight up hottie.”

Both giggled, faces close. Jazz was leaning more onto Jason, relishing on his warmth — seriously, this man was a furnace — shuffling a little bit so she could reach his lips.

They kissed softly, not really in a hurry to take things anywhere else.

“I’ve been wanting to do that the whole afternoon.” He said when they parted.

Jazz smiled, readjusting herself so she could kiss him more comfortably, grabbing his hair with her free hand. “Me too.” She said against his lips. “You look so cute when you are annoyed.”

“I’m not cute.” He bit her lower lip. “And you should warn me the next time you go all Dracula on me.”

Jazz groaned and moved away, back to her place under the covers, flustered. “I already said I’m sorry!”

He followed, also getting under the blankets so he could pull her body closer to his chest, successfully trapping her in his arms.

“Just saying, if you need to bite someone I’m game but I need to be mentally prepared.”

He was ready for her fight to get out of his arms, so he trapped her lips when she turned to retaliate. Jazz made angry noises against his lips, but eventually caved and kissed him back, relaxing a little.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And she really didn’t, she thought, deciding to drop the topic and let herself be distracted by what he could do with his mouth.

***

Saturday morning in Wayne manor was peaceful. Jason was having shapeless dreams he wouldn’t remember when he woke up, comfortable in the warmth provided by the body in his arms.

And then that peace and quiet was completely shattered.

“What the hell?”

Jason opened his eyes, already cursing himself for sleeping so deeply he didn’t detect the presence in the room.

“I haul my ass as fast as I can because of a worrying and cryptic message,” the voice continued, getting angrier and louder as he spoke, “to find you like— Like— ugh!”

“Danny?” Jazz sat up on the bed, rushing to get out of the covers.

“And he’s naked. Great.”

Jason tried to make his brain work, but it felt like it had been replaced with cotton. He reached for the night table, but of course he didn’t have his knife. Because this wasn’t his apartment. Right. They were at the Manor.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when I couldn’t find you?” Jason turned to look at the new person, finding Jazz's brother standing there. He was shorter than he expected, and also scrawnier. “I thought— Jazz, do you know where you are exactly?”

“Danny—” She stood up, yelped, and immediately fell back to the bed.

“What happened?” He pointed at her very obviously bandaged foot.

“I fell.”

Danny looked unimpressed. He raised one eyebrow. “And it hasn’t healed?”

“It’s a long story.” Jazz sighed, turned towards Jason. “He is—”

“You know what? I’m not awake enough for this.” The brother interrupted, raising his arms to make a statement. “See you downstairs.”

With that, Danny stomped towards the bedroom door, walked outside and stomped down the hallways without caring about closing the door behind him.

A few tense seconds passed.

“Charming.”

Jazz huffed. “He’s not usually that cranky.” She stretched her arms over her head, sighing. “I guess it’s time to face the music.”

Jason nodded and told her to wait on the bed as he got dressed again.

Weird. Last night he felt like his skin was going to burst when he got undressed, waiting for Jazz to come out of the bathroom. Maybe it was the conversation they had, or maybe it was how easy things became when Jazz was with him; but right then he couldn’t see how sharing a bed with her managed to make him so nervous. It felt silly and childish to care about something like that, especially when he had been intimate with people before.

Jazz felt different. Like he had more to lose. He already had decided he would do and would be whatever she needed and if that meant not ever sleeping together he was ready to accept it.

He knew the conversation wasn’t over regarding the topic, and he had a million more questions, but they could wait for when they weren’t about to walk down for breakfast in his childhood home.

Once he was ready, he picked Jazz up in his arms like the previous night, enjoying her red cheeks and sneaking kisses just because he could.

She mostly stayed put, but right before he made the turn towards the kitchen, she grabbed his head and pulled him down for a deeper kiss, her tongue teasing his lips briefly before she let him go.

“Whatever happens,” she whispered, “please remember I'm the same person.”

Huh. Ominous.

The kitchen was the same as it always was — Alfred's personal haven, where he only allowed the worthy to enter or even assist with cooking.

Right then, the old man watched, entranced, as Danny made wide gestures and huffed and paced around the enormous kitchen, one of Tim's gigantic coffee cups in hand.

“ — and I told him he could shove it where the sun doesn’t shine!” Danny took a sip of the coffee. He looked stressed and not really aware of his surroundings. He probably just picked a cup and got absorbed into his monologue. “But guess what, there’s no sun in the Realms! So he just looked at me like I was an idiot!”

Alfred hummed, a smile teasing his lips.

“I know right?” Danny grumbled, looking at his cup. “Hey do you have a refill, Mr… oh crap I forgot to ask for your name.”

“Alfred Pennyworth, mister.”

“Alfred.” The young man nodded enthusiastically. “Very british. I’ll remember that.”

Someone snorted, coming in from behind Jazz and Jason frozen at the door. This made Danny turn towards his new audience, grimacing when he saw his sister in Jason’s arms.

“You!” He shouted, pointing a finger at his sister.

“Me.” She answered, letting Jason place her on one of the stools at the big kitchen island.

Danny stomped towards the other side of the island.

“You!” He growled. “Don’t you ever do this to me again!” He slammed the empty coffee cup on the marble surface. Miraculously the porcelain didn’t even crack. “I thought another crazy billionaire had kidnapped you to make you fight me to the death, and I find you canoodling with this— this— this guy!!”

Jason didn’t even take offense. The display was entertaining enough. Also, what was that about “another” crazy billionaire kidnapping Jazz? To fight to the death?

“Hello Danny.” Jazz said calmly. “As I was trying to tell you before, this is Jason,” she made a gesture towards him, but didn’t tear her eyes from her brother, “and he’s my boyfriend.”

The younger man’s face went through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. His eyes flashed green for a moment, before he closed them and swallowed. When he opened them again, he was glaring at Jason instead.

“Jazz.”

“Yeah?” She answered, giving her thanks to Alfred when he placed a fresh cup in front of her.

Jason accepted his own cup, vaguely registering Dick taking a seat next to him. Or Bruce choosing to become as invisible as he could and shuffle around the kitchen toward where Alfred observed the showdown from a safe distance.

“Jasmine.”

“Daniel.” She sipped her cup, grimacing a bit. She wasn’t a huge fan of coffee. “Hey, did you bring my medicine?”

Still glaring, he reached inside his chest, casually pulling out a little white box. There was something made of glass inside clinking when he slid it across the island for Jazz to catch. When she opened it, six fresh vials of Lazarus Waters glowed inside.

“Six?” She noticed. “They look really good.”

“Had a good batch this time.” He nodded, his glare losing intensity under the praise. But immediately glared at Jason again as if remembering he was supposed to be mad. “And don’t change the topic.”

“What topic?” Jazz ignored her brother while she picked one of the vials, uncorked it and poured the contents in her cup.

Jason crossed stares with Bruce, speechless as both watched Jazz drink the whole thing in one go. She made a face.

“It’s better with tea.”

“Oh don’t you start.”

“Start what?” She winced. Her eyes started glowing a bright green. She looked in pain for a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone.

“Jazz.”

“Danny.” She checked her cup was empty, turning it upside down over her waiting open mouth. A few drops fell on her tongue.

The younger brother slammed his hands on the marble. “Stop ignoring me!” He complained. “And explain yourself. What’s with Mr Muscles over there? What the hell have you been doing?”

Jazz softly placed the cup on the island. She folded her hands, and finally looked at her brother. “I told you. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Jazzy, Jazzy, we talked about this,” Danny grabbed his hair in despair. “You have terrible taste in men.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is this going to be like Johnny? Is that it? A bad boy with a motorcycle and leather jacket makes eyes at you and that’s all it takes?” Danny glanced at Jason. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He wasn’t sure he was supposed to speak, but did anyway. Danny was hilarious.

Dick choked on his coffee.

“He’s not like Johnny.” Jazz defended herself. “Jason is—”

“Or maybe like the other one?” Danny interrupted. “What’s-his-name— David! Yeah. Is this a repeat of that one?”

It was Jazz’s time to slam her hands on the marble. “He is not like him!”

Danny bristled, a soft hissing sound blooming in his throat. “Are you sure? Because that one— what was the report? Dislocated shoulder and a shattered hand?”

“I told you I didn’t need your help!” Jazz bristled as well, exposing her fangs in an angry hiss. “And he is not the same!”

“That’s what you said the last time!!” Somehow Danny became taller. Was he floating? His pitch black hair moved like hit by an invisible breeze, too. “No offense.”

Jason didn’t know if he should laugh or intervene. “None taken.” He assured again, controlling his smile.

“And you the one to talk?!” Jazz’s hands tensed. “Should we talk about your horrible taste in women? Huh?”

“Don’t you—!”

“Paulina!”

“It was in highschool!” Danny growled. “What are you—”

“Valerie!” She growled back. The sound wasn’t animalistic, but still not quite human. Jason had never heard something like that, even less coming from the chest of his sweet girlfriend.

“What about her!”

“She tried to kill you!”

“But she never succeeded!” Danny bared his fangs. “And we are cool now!”

What was even happening?

“Sam!”

“Hey!”

“She killed you!” Jazz’s hair started to float, too, right the moment her eyes glowed green again. “Twice!”

That was apparently going too far. Danny’s growl escalated to a full on roar, his body now floating closer to the ceiling. They could see his tapered ears and sharp fangs on full display.

Jazz glared at him from her seat, her hair rising and falling on beat with her heavy breathing; fangs bared and clawed hands raised, ready to fight her own brother. She opened her arms and exposed her chest, making Jason wonder what was about to happen.

In a blink of an eye, all hostility was gone from Danny as he floated towards his sister faster than the human eye could follow — one moment he was on the other side of the island and close to the tall ceiling, and the next he was hugging his sister like his life depended on it.

“I missed you.” His voice was choked and muffled, but the emotion in it was obvious.

“I know.” Jazz circled her arms around Danny like it was the most natural thing in the world. She pressed him tight against her body, her head on top of his, rubbing her cheek against his hair. “I missed you too.”

Everyone held their breaths, waiting to see what Danny would say, but the young man was out cold. Soft snores resonated in the otherwise silent kitchen.

Jazz cleared her throat. Her smile was radiant and warm, like they usually were, as she turned to look at Jason. “Can I put him in your room? He will probably nap for a few more hours.”

Dazzled, Jason just nodded and watched as she hopped down the stool on her — previously — injured ankle and quickly made her exit from the kitchen while easily carrying her brother.

Bruce cleared his throat when they stopped hearing her soft steps. “So…”

“Yeah.” Jason licked his lips and decided to take a sip of his own cup of coffee. It was lukewarm. “That’s, uh... That’s her brother.”

He looked down to where Jazz slammed her hands, finding a crack on the marble. It wasn’t enough to compromise the structure, but it wasn’t small either.

Choosing not to bring attention to that fact, he just sipped his coffee and ignored the barrage of questions from the others. It wasn’t like he knew the answers anyway.

---

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[lintwriting]

i think i really love how visceral the politics of signalis is. not just in the in-your-face propaganda aspects. but like, the way it dooms the narrative.

the whole plot of signalis is based around two entirely disconnected settings -- the Penrose ship and the Sierpinski prison. They are so disconnected from each other across time and space that you spend the whole first half of the game disoriented by the whiplash these two locations give you.

and personally? I stayed confused until I realized what connected them:

they're the two branching paths of Ariane's future.

after her military service, she gets a state letter informing her that if she's not accepted into the Penrose program, she'll be sent to Sierpinski, a "re-education" camp that's actually just a prison mine.

And, to her luck, she "somehow did end up joining the Nation's Penrose Program, the same one on the posters she had seen years prior."

I love and hate the way the wiki frames it, because yes the Penrose space expedition program seemed preferable to the prison camp.Yes, she had seen posters of it and glamorized it as a new start for her. After all, she was an art-obsessed outsider in a world where people molded into being unfeeling machines, where art is frivolous and degenerate except for how it serves as propaganda. Why not dream of a new planet?

But it's all a lie. The Penrose program sounds too good to be true for Ariane-- how can this under-qualified, ostracized freak get accepted into such a prestigious program? -- because it IS too good to be true.

The truth of the program is that it's a glorified propaganda tool, and a useful way to get rid of political enemies. Just send them off into space and tell them it's for the good of the empire, to find new planets to colonize. Then, after 7.74 years of loyal service to the program, tell them:

If you have not found a suitable world for landing by this point, accept that you will not. Find solace in the thought that others might be successful where you failed.

Remenber, you will die having served your Nation by partaking in a glorious demonstration of our power. --- End of decrypted transmission ---

As you are probably aware, your ship's spare parts and rations will soon be depleted.

Penrose is ostensibly about founding new colonies on different planets, but the reality is that these vessels seem to have very little planning put into them, like throwing darts at the wall and hoping one of them will stick. Some people wonder about the efficacy of wasting ships of supplies for this seemingly useless endeavor, but they're missing the point and buying into the propaganda.

The truth is that Ariane was just a pawn for their political power play, quite literally a demonstration of their power, like a horrifying version of The Tallest sending Invader Zim on a useless quest to conquer Earth to keep him out of their hair, like Ozai banishing Zuko off to chase a hundred year old myth. And it cost Ariane her future.

And like, that means no matter what, Ariane never had a future. Penrose is death by space, and Sierpinski is death by mines. She never had a choice, only the illusion of one, because she was doomed by the political reality of living in under an authoritarian state that would never value her.

And like, it's so impossible to ignore the similarities of this to the Cultural Revolution in China. I think the retro aesthetic of the nation references that, along with the Chinese characters littering all the walls.

Ariane's story reminds me a lot of Ye Wenjie's story from the 3 Body Problem, as a similarly powerful woman who also dooms the whole world because of the ANGUISH of the Cultural Revolution destroying her future.

Except, unlike Ye Wenjie, we're not going to get a bunch of assholes calling her an Eve, doomer of mankind. Instead, the story actually succeeds at portraying Ariane as a tragedy doomed by the narrative.

[sednonamoris]

vienna waits for you

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: After a one-off meeting with a young Lieutenant Price, you assume you'll never meet again. A mission in Vienna proves you wrong.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, description of knife wounds, lots of blood, strong language, excessive dog puns, pre-relationship, pre-slowburn

Word count: 3,027

A/N: A little prequel action for hellhound (cross-posted to AO3)!! Thank you thank you thank you to the people who love this series as much as I do - your enthusiasm and joy has written this series just as much as I have 🩷

—

Ever since Belfast they’ve called you Hound.

Ever since Price, really. Hellhound, he had said, but it got shortened quick enough. One less syllable to trip through as they tease you.

Dog’s dinner again, eh, Hound? in the mess hall. 

Well sure, every dog has its day, when you make top marks in training.

Pretty as a speckled pup, you are, cooed mockingly on a rare night spent out of fatigues drinking with the lads just off base.

One of the newer recruits even tried whistling at you during a sparring match. He ended up in the med bay for that one, while you were reprimanded by Command yet again. 

In the dog house, your squadmates titter as you march out of your captain’s office with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and anger itching beneath your skin.

The teasing is fine. You like it, even, making your fair share of awful puns just to get a laugh out of the boys. What you can’t shake is the feeling of discontent with your superior officers. You joined up with the Irish Armed Forces at eighteen to do something. When they sent you up the ranks to the ARW just a few years later it was supposed to matter more. Save the good guys when you could, take down the bad ones when you couldn’t. ACTION had been promised by every recruitment poster in big bold letters. And yet, it seems like every time you take some all they do is give out to you.

You’re not good for much more than taking orders and pulling triggers, you know, but still it feels like something’s missing. Like you could do more if they’d just let you.

— 

Weeks later you get your chance: another team-up with the SAS. When it’s announced to the regiment you’re the first one geared up and ready to go.

For a silly, self-indulgent moment you let yourself wonder if Lieutenant Price will be there, too.

—

Between the SAS and ARW, a burgeoning terror cell has been tracked to Vienna. It’s being run by Wesley Martin, an English expat coming off a dishonourable discharge from MI6. Rather than fading quietly into obscurity, he’s taken the opportunity to sell out his country’s secrets and incite insurrection not just against them, but most of Europe as well. He staged an attack on Irish soil months ago, but the trail had gone cold - until now. England was the one to find him again, and Austria’s task force has offered its support, working out negotiations between the three nations as to who gets to make the arrest and on exactly what counts and which soil he will be tried. If the whispers up the chain of command are true, Ireland gets dibs on cuffing him. 

But that’s all above your pay grade. You’d just like to nab the prick.

When your boots hit the tarmac you have a stretch and breathe deep. It was a cramped plane ride with your squadmates. Jacks had snored on your shoulder the whole way, and Murph wouldn’t shut up about his latest shag, who apparently gave him quite a memorable experience in a pub stall over leave. He’d spared no detail. Lieutenant Doyle, of course, was the one who kept egging him on; even a glare from Captain Guiney hadn’t been enough to stop him from asking what color her knickers were. He produced a rather spectacular lacy red thong from one of his pockets in answer. 

Chatter cuts as you make your way over to where the SAS team stands in formation. 

“Pint short as usual, Guinness,” Captain MacMillan’s thick brogue snarks. “You’re late.” 

“They are early,” a less amused Austrian woman corrects. Anna Ebner, if it’s the same person who coordinated and shared all the intel reports.

“Only by Paddy standards, which is to say none at all.”

Ebner rolls her eyes. 

“Je-sus,” Guiney says in greeting, “how’d I get stuck working with you cunts?” His wide grin and open arms counteract the words. 

A series of warm handshakes are exchanged, but then it’s right to business.

 Ebner informs the group that Austria has opted to sideline its men with the promise of support only if things go very, very wrong. They’ll be on comms for the whole operation. That leaves two mixed-company teams to infiltrate the safehouse apartment; one from the front and one from the back. Once the ground floor is secured, Alpha Team will head upstairs while Bravo covers the cellar and makes sure no one gets in or out of the building. 

Team assignments are handed out with efficiency before everyone piles into the vans. Most of your squadron ends up with Alpha, headed by Guiney. You and Jacks are the only ARW soldiers on Bravo, which will be led by MacMillan and his lieutenant. 

“Looks like we’re top dogs today, Hound,” Murph crows, elbowing you in the ribs before heading over to join the others with Alpha.

You grin and flip him off while Jacks tells the lot of them to go fuck themselves, and turn to find Lieutenant John Price looking right at you. Your eyes go wide and your spine snaps straight.

“Hound, is it?” Barely-there amusement curls at the edge of his mouth.

“It is, yeah.” There should probably be a sir attached to that, but you’re too caught up in the starstruck realization that he remembers you to care.

It’s a stroke of luck that he doesn’t seem to mind. Just hums at the back of his throat with a twinkle in his eye before nodding his head toward the van behind him. “With me.”

—

It’s tight quarters inside the vans, so many soldiers pressed knee to knee. Price is seated across from you. At your side, Jacks is shooting shit with the other Brits in your temporary squad. Already he’s insulted the Queen - your favourite pastime, usually - but you ignore him in favor of quietly observing Price, who in turn is quietly observing you. 

He hasn’t changed much in the months since your last meeting.

His face is clean-shaven with an ever-present threat of stubble. The rest of his hair is tucked beneath a dark beanie that either hides a buzz cut or a seriously impressive cowlick - it’s hard to say which would suit him more. His broad frame fills his tactical suit, and the stars in your eyes make him seem that much broader. But it’s his eyes that strike you the most. Clear-cut, no-nonsense blue that sees straight to the heart of you.

What has he found there, you wonder?

In Price it feels like you’ve found the answer to a question that’s been difficult to put to words. He’s so sure. Sure of himself, of his team, of his mission. Every doubt you house is a certainty in him - it’s no wonder they’ve already named him a lieutenant while you can barely keep your rank as sergeant. 

“They didn’t court marshal you, then,” he breaches the silence between you.  

“Not for lack of trying.” Your smile is crooked and self-deprecating. “I’m fairly certain ‘loose cannon’ is at the top of my file in red ink.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Better than ‘temper management issues’.”

“Oh, please,” you say. “Yours has got to be something like ‘hero’ or ‘patriot’. Maybe ‘golden boy’. I bet the recruitment campaigns can’t get enough of you.” 

“They tried to get me to pose for a commercial,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Told them to sod off.”

You cackle. “Too right!” 

The rest of the van ride is spent trading quips back and forth, bantering like you’ve known each other for ages and not just from a one-off meeting months ago. In the time that’s lapsed between then and now you’ve imagined working beside him plenty— more than you should have, being honest. It should be impossible for the man to live up to the myth you’ve manufactured in your mind.

Somehow he exceeds it. 

Somehow you’re not surprised.

—

The muffled sound of Bravo team breaching the cellar door is the only thing that breaks the midnight silence of Vienna’s neighborhoods. Combat boots creak down wooden steps, guns at the ready and night vision gear engaged. Captain Macmillan leads the charge, sweeping the space with practiced authority. 

“Clear,” he announces. His voice is too-loud and rough in the cramped space. 

Though no targets are on this level, a wealth of information seems to be. There’s not an ounce of modern technology to be seen, but every inch of unfinished wall is covered in the paper trail three respective countries have been chasing in vain for months. 

“Seems like your man is starting to lose the plot, eh?” Jacks says with his crooked smile, gesturing to documents pinned on corkboards and clipped across strings that hang from the low ceilings. 

Your mouth snaps shut on your reply at MacMillan’s warning to keep quiet, but disagreement is plain across your features. Martin is paranoid, certainly, but you wouldn’t call him crazy. Though this organization system is beyond you, it makes sense in theory; Who better than a former MI6 operative can appreciate how insecure cyber storage is, even with encryptions in place? 

Paper maps cover one of the walls wholly, marked up in unfamiliar code you’re sure some poor interns will have a field day with. Whatever his next moves are, they must be hidden there. Many of the hanging sheets read like weapons orders, others like mercenary pay stubs, all in a myriad of languages. Everything else is too much text to be anything but a manifesto. You snag one of the sheets for yourself and read a few cursory lines of down with the status quo and death to the Other - nothing that hasn’t been done before.

With a nod from his captain, Price starts barking orders. Everything must be taken down and packed away; this kind of evidence is every operation’s dream. You all set about the work as quietly as you can in case things still aren’t clear inside. MacMillan radios Guiney for a sitrep off to the side before he joins in. 

In all of a second it isn’t necessary.

Shouting sounds from inside, then gunfire.

You hear the tinkling of broken glass and the impact of a body hitting the ground and the thunk, thunk of a flashbang falling down cellar stairs before it goes off. Harsh, blinding white overwhelms your senses and forces your eyes to close in a painful squeeze. There’s a ringing in your ears that feels like it’s coming from everywhere. Someone screams. You tear your night vision gear off in a blind panic and blink sightlessly at the chaos.

Fuck.

Fuck!

There’s a dark shape at the foot of the stairwell going up, and before you register what your body is doing you can feel yourself lurch after them. You’re not even sure if you have your gun.

You stagger outside to see Price giving chase to someone who can only be Wesley Martin - him or one of his close associates. Doesn’t matter now. You join in hot pursuit, the thick soles of your boots pounding across Vienna’s pavement. Your lungs burn and your vision is still blurred but you can’t afford to slow down. Price is still several metres ahead. 

Without breaking stride he takes aim with his gun and nails Martin squarely in the back. The crack of the shot echoes sharp in the night and lays him flat out in the street. Price continues his sprint, only slowing a few steps out from the body.

Except it isn’t just a body; he’s still alive. You see him move - he must be wearing kevlar - but before you can shout a warning he whips his body around and takes Price out at the legs. Moonlight flashes off the wicked threat of his unsheathed knife. He shoves the blade up hard into Price’s ribs and slashes a wide arc through his belly. You swear it’s happening in slow motion, like those nightmares where you run and run and run but your legs won’t move.

“Get off him, you bastard!” you shout. Martin’s head turns to see you come barrelling at him. He smiles. The knife drips blood. Price gasps and stumbles backward where he’s shoved aside, fingers clutching desperately at the wound. 

Your hands feel for the familiar weight of your gun only to find it gone. You must have lost it in the confusion. Martin could easily kill Price now - it’s what you would do, if the situation was reversed - but instead he takes your momentary distraction as a chance to take off again.

It’s his mistake. 

You’re close enough and determined enough now that it takes only a few strides to overtake him, and while you don’t have your gun you sure as shit have a knife. The collision happens all at once and in fragments. Your body against his. Your knife in his neck. The scalding spray of blood as you pull it out. The sluice of flesh as you drive it back in. You’re not sure when you stop stabbing, but it’s long after he stops twitching.

His body is limp and strange beneath you. You roll off and stagger to your feet only to retch in the street beside it. Bile bites the back of your throat and you wipe at your mouth with a grimace. Your hands are shaking. Command is going to fucking kill you.

Sirens sound in the distance, now, but the only thing that breaks your thousand yard stare from the man you just killed is the sound of Price’s labored breathing a few metres away. 

You blink and all of the sudden you’re knelt in front of him. It takes a moment for him to register that you’ve come back; his eyes stare unseeing, clouded with pain.

“You killed ‘im,” he slurs. “K-I-bloody-A.” 

“That’s not important right now,” you snap. “Focus on staying alive. One breath at a time, yeah?” You move his hands from the wound to assess the situation and nearly retch again. Martin stabbed clean through the kevlar, and now his guts are threatening to spill into the street. “Did you radio anyone?” 

He just blinks up at you, dumb with shock and bloodloss. 

You curse.

With one hand you fish around for the meager med supplies you keep on you, and with the other you call in for help. The radio is sticky with blood. You’re not sure whose. Price has gone so pale. Blood leaks at the corner of his mouth. His teeth are stained red. 

You’re only a block over from whatever remains of your squadron but it might as well be miles. They say they’re on the way, but there are so many wounded already. Looking at Price, you know it won’t be fast enough, anyway. You only have a disinfectant wipe, a needle, and surgical thread. Sutures have never been your strong suit, but if it’s not you and it’s not here and now then it’s lights out. You’ll just have to make do.

“No bloody dying,” you warn. “This is gonna hurt.” 

You lay Price back carefully, carefully, and smear the alcohol wipe around the edge of the wound. It stings - it must - but he only sucks a sharp breath in without complain. Pinching the skin together, hands slick with blood that isn’t yours, you poise the needle over him.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. 

He stares up at you with the most lucidity he’s managed since being stabbed. Clear-cut. No-nonsense. So very blue. “Ready.”

—

Your stitch job is crooked and atrocious, but the hospital staff inform you later that it saves his life.

“Be a hell of a scar,” Price laughs from the sterile white of his hospital bed. The sound wheezes out of him. You can tell it hurts, but he seems in good spirits.

So good, in fact, that he’s managed once again to talk you out of a court marshal. He didn’t let up until he’d convinced Command that Wesley Martin had to be put down. That there was no salvaging the mission otherwise and that your actions saved not just his life, but the lives of many. Once those interns deciphered the rest of his plans they were quick to agree. Now you’re all done up in your service dress for an award ceremony later this afternoon. You wanted Price there, but the hospital staff wouldn’t release him from their clutches. A visit just before will have to suffice.

“Something to remember me by,” you say. 

There’s something fond and familiar in his eyes that makes your throat hurt. “I would be hard-pressed to forget someone like you, Hound.”  

“Running with the big dogs, now,” you grin. He rolls his eyes at the pun. “Next time I kill a target I’m not supposed to I bet they promote me.” 

“I don’t doubt it. You do good work.”

“So do you, Lieutenant.”

There’s more you want to say, questions you want to ask him, but they all die in your throat the longer you look at him lying there. Even battered and beaten he’s still so sure. Certainty stinging in the creases of his eyes. Sunshine slatted past hospital window blinds. Dated rock music filtering grainy through the radio one of his lads must’ve brought in. Half-wilted flowers at his bedside. Sitting upright in an uncomfortable bed wrapped in starchy white sheets he is every inch the soldier you’ll never be.

“If you’re ever in England again…” he starts. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised he’s offering, but you are. A delighted smile lights your face. 

“I’m never in England if I can help it,” you say honestly. He laughs. “But give us a call if you hop the channel, yeah?”

“I will do,” he says.

It’s silly to think you’ll actually meet again. Truly, why would you? But it feels like he means it. Like you’re dogs of war, set on intersecting paths to hell.

Somehow, some way, the two of you are always going to find each other.

Somehow, some way, you don’t think you mind.

[metanarrates]

i have a lot of mixed feelings regarding trans headcanons in orv, or in general in fandom spaces because of how often its taking transmisogynistic jokes and bending them to actually have a cool and awesome meaning instead of just reading fiction with transgender characters. how do you feel about this as an everyone in orv is transfem poster (not accusatory tone i am genuinely wondering your take on this)

I think it's complicated because i Do agree that most trans headcanons in fandom are rooted in transphobic ideas, especially when it comes to transfem characters. I actually personally wouldn't trust most people who headcanon characters as trans unless they're able to point out when something in the text is transmisogynistic. and orv does have transmisogynistic stuff in it. the whole joke with nirvana and the entire scene with the pink kids is based around transfems being predators and men in disguise. I really don't want to hang around other orv fans unless they're able to point that out. (also, i would Definitely not trust anyone who refers to those characters as trans icons or whatever.)

I'll also fully admit that I don't remember the revolutionary arc all that well. at the time when I first read it, I just simply assumed that jang hayoung was meant to be a trans woman, and any issues kim dokja had with recognizing her gender was interesting because of how it tied into the metafictional elements about how characters can change beyond a reader's perception. from my recollection, and from the readings of other people in my life who have read the novel, it seemed canon that she was intentionally transfem. similarly, I felt like the plot point of "yoo joonghyuk has a female alter ego" was taken pretty seriously, rather than being a meanspirited joke. if I'm not remembering that right, though, please let me know.

orv in general has a problem in depictions of lgbt people. there's the abovementioned transmisogyny with nirvana and the pink kids, and there's also the undeniable fact that "kim dokja and yoo joonghyuk are gay but haha Not Actually" is leaned on a little bit too much as a joke. I have a similarly complicated relationship to the idea of shipping them for that reason - I think their relationship is meaningful and rich, but I really dislike that the fandom seems to just take that joke as an uncritical BL trope, rather than discussing how it's sometimes a bit homophobic. again, I don't trust joongdok shippers who aren't able to discuss this.

at the same time, though, I do think that if you're aware of the problems in the text, it's possible to construct a lot of rich meaning out of applying queer lenses to the text. there's a lot to dig into regarding how the story depicts gender, for example, and how it depicts transcendence and self-actualization. you can't credit the authors here - like I said, their writing has several issues with lgbt people. but as long as you aren't advertising the story as Queer Fiction, I find that it's extremely valuable to discuss how a trans reading might cast an interesting light onto a character. and on a more personal level, I think having these sorts of open discussions about both the problems and merits of trans readings, as well as the issues present in a text, do tend to make a lot of trans people feel more welcome in fan spaces. both are necessary for making a story and space that may be hostile towards them feel more welcoming.

yes, I do agree that it would probably be better to read fiction with better trans characters. those stories are out there! this is also why I am wary to praise singshong for jang hayoung's character - I don't think orv exactly Deserves a reputation as a trans inclusive story, especially when there's a lot more of those that are much better at it out there.

but at the end of the day, there are going to be trans people who do like orv, all the same. I'm one of them, though I will say upfront that I am tme and therefore much less affected by the story's problems. my fiancee is transfem and she likes it. a lot of my mutuals who like orv are trans. I don't think it's such a bad thing that we've constructed these community readings in a work we already liked for its other merits. we're going to be here anyway. as long as we do our best to be respectful and point out problems as they arise, I think it's a good thing that we're having these sorts of discussions.

[carewyncromwell]

"Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin' -- Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'... Don't let some Hell-bent heart leave you bitter! When you come close to sellin' out, reconsider..."

~"I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack

x~x~x~x

tagging @drinkyoursoupbitch because I know it's late, but here's some World-Building Soup! 🥣💚

x~x~x~x

Throughout the years, Carewyn Cromwell sent her mother Lane many letters and photographs. Perhaps she didn't write about all of her experiences -- her pursuit of the Cursed Vaults and hearing her missing brother's disembodied voice in her own head were conveniently side-stepped -- but even so, it was through these letters and photographs that Lane met most of Carewyn's eventually rather large friend group. Here are some of Lane's impressions of them, based on what her daughter told her about them.

I do have one dormmate who's nice, though. Remember Rowan, the girl from Flourish and Blotts I told you about? Yeah, she's one of them! She took the four-poster closest to mine, and we've started sitting in class together. She's absolutely brilliant, Mum.

Lane liked Rowan from the off-set. Not only was Rowan the first person who'd actively befriended "her Winnie," but Carewyn frequently (and favorably) compared Rowan to Jacob, and when Lane first encountered Rowan on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, she completely understood why. Both enthusiasm and intellect just rippled off of Rowan, just the way it did Jacob. Lane was heartbroken when she learned about Rowan's death in her daughter's sixth year, and learning that her father Charles's criminal organization was largely behind it infuriated her like nothing else could. Even now, Lane hates her father far more for what he's taken from Carewyn and Jacob than anything he ever did to her growing up, and despite being a very gentle and even-tempered woman most of the time, Lane thinks that Charles deserved to rot alone in Azkaban, just for what he did to Duncan Ashe and Rowan Khanna.

Ben Copper and I went outside to study next to the Black Lake today. Ben wasn't so sure at first, since he'd heard stories about the Giant Squid grabbing people and yanking them into the Lake, but once we put a Waterproof Charm on all his things, he felt a little better.

Lane honestly wasn't surprised that one of Carewyn's first friends was someone like Ben. Considering how sensitive Carewyn was and how much Carewyn herself had been bullied as a little kid, Lane couldn't have been more proud of how her daughter empathized with others who were bullied and stood up for them. When Lane met Ben on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters after Carewyn's first year, she found him a very shy and sweet boy. Needless to say, she was a little surprised when she met Ben again in Carewyn's sixth year -- especially since he now towered a good eight inches over her!

Penny Haywood sat with Rowan and me in Potions class today. Rowan was a bit starstruck, since Penny's the most popular girl in our year, but fortunately she's not stuck-up about it. I mostly just don't understand how she can be so good at talking about silly things -- I wonder if it's just something that comes more naturally to Hufflepuffs?

Carewyn befriending someone like Penny, though, did surprise Lane. Penny was the sort of person Lane probably would've never managed to befriend at school herself since she was so soft-spoken, but she was happy that Carewyn was opening herself up to different kinds of people. Still, Lane completely understood where Carewyn was coming from whenever she admitted having to turn down one of Penny's invitations -- the poor woman suffered from severe enough social anxiety that the thought of anyone being such a social butterfly was foreign to her.

The gamekeeper Hagrid invited me over to his hut for tea tomorrow. He said he remembers both you and Jacob from school, so I reckon he must be older than he looks. Maybe he's part Giant? Giants age differently than wizards, right?

Lane was delighted when she learned Carewyn befriended Rubeus Hagrid. Lane had only ever spoken casually to the gamekeeper when she was at school, since her family would've never approved of her speaking to the "hired help" with any familiarity, but she'd always had a favorable opinion of Hagrid, even if he came across as less than scholarly. Lane actually even ended up sending letters to Hagrid directly a few times, the way she did with Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape over the course of Carewyn's school career. Hagrid always gushed over Carewyn in his responses and occasionally even let slip some things Carewyn didn't tell her mother about in her letters, such as how much the new Professor Rakepick had taken to Carewyn.

I've made a new friend, though. His name's Bill Weasley -- he's a Gryffindor two years ahead of me, and we met on the Training Grounds, while he was practicing on some dummies. Rowan says most of the kids in our year know him for sticking up for younger students, and after meeting him, yeah, Bill seems like a really nice person! Bill's brother Charlie's in our year, also in Gryffindor. I gather from Rowan that most Weasleys have been in Gryffindor. She said one of them was even Gryffindor's Head of House at one point! I wonder if she was anything like Professor McGonagall...

Out of all of Carewyn's friends, Lane arguably heard the most about Bill over the years. His name was the most constant in her daughter's letters, and Lane loved him almost immediately, just based on how kind and generous he sounded. Lane was familiar with the Weasley family's reputation beforehand (the Cromwell Clan had always been very derisive about their stance on blood purity), but she was delighted to see what sincerely good people they were. Bill and his family being so upset that Lane was forced to spend Christmas away from Carewyn that they invited her to stay and celebrate with them at their house touched Lane like few other things have, and ever since that winter, Lane has kept in close written contact with Bill's mother, Molly. Lane saw Bill at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters more than any of Carewyn's other friends over the years, and so by the time she saw Bill at Carewyn's graduation, they greeted each other like old friends.

Bill's brother Charlie invited me to join in on a Quidditch friendly today. Andre Egwu was there too -- I don't know if you remember him, Mum, he's the one who gave me that pretty light brown coat? -- but I'm not surprised he was there: he's brilliant at flying. Charlie is too -- he became the Gryffindor Seeker back when he and I were still second years! I wish they were on the Slytherin team!

Just like with Bill, Lane liked everything she ever heard about Charlie. She especially loved whenever Carewyn would rave about Charlie's interest in dragons, since Carewyn's own interest in magical creatures would leap off the page every time it came up. Their shared interest in Quidditch Lane didn't jive with as well considering she wasn't much for sports, but that didn't mean Carewyn's mother didn't like knowing Carewyn had people she could enjoy it with.

Andre was another surprise for Lane. On the one hand, he was a Ravenclaw, same as Lane and Jacob had been, and he seemed like a very generous and talented kid. On the other, the interests he shared with Carewyn (Quidditch and fashion) were ones Lane didn't share as much herself, and Andre seemed so gregarious and out-going that Lane wasn't sure he and her daughter would have much common ground. That didn't mean Lane wasn't still very happy for Carewyn when they started dating, nor did it mean Lane wasn't sad to hear they'd broken up. After all, just because Lane wasn't sociable at all and didn't have the same interests as Andre didn't mean she didn't want Carewyn to socialize and try new things. Lane was just relieved that Carewyn and Andre broke up on good terms -- she would've been very unhappy thinking of Carewyn having her own "Evan" who had helped her grow so much as a person, but whose memory now only flooded her with regret.

Tryouts for the new Slytherin Chaser position are coming up really soon, and I want to be ready for them. Fortunately Charlie and Andre have been helping me practice, and now I've got Skye Parkin coaching me too. (She's Slytherin's Star Chaser -- a bit full-of-herself for my taste, but she's been helpful. Her father's Captain of the Wigtown Wanderers.) The main commentator Murphy McNully (just called McNully) also gave me some books on Quidditch strategy -- or, at least, he dropped them in my lap, thoroughly expecting I'd come up and talk to him more about it later. (I'm starting to get the feeling a lot of Quidditch people don't have the best communication skills.)

The last sentence of that paragraph had made Lane laugh. Neither she nor Jacob had ever been a sports fan -- the one most into sports in their immediate family had been Evan, and he'd ended up quite disappointed that he hadn't had anyone who would enjoy going out to cheer on Arsenal F.C. with him. It made Lane a bit sad to think that if Evan hadn't been so stubborn and if he hadn't been so upset about the revelation of their magic, he could've really bonded with Carewyn over their favorite sports in a way that Lane couldn't. Lane supported Carewyn’s decision to leave the Slytherin team after Skye publicly accused Erika Rath of stealing the Cleansweep she'd intended to give Carewyn, even if she'd really wished things had been resolved more peacefully.

As for getting a tryout, well, I've been meeting with Orion Amari every morning now, trying to do just that! He's been testing me, I think, though he won't flat-out say so. Instead he's been having me balance on my broom on one foot (which, trust me, is not easy!) and meditate with him for an hour at a time. Skye and McNully both warned me that Orion is a bit eccentric...and after meeting him, yeah! They weren't kidding! But still, I think Orion has good reason to not give me a tryout right away. I mean, I am only a third year, and I'm not exactly built like a Quidditch player. I know Skye didn't really think much of me when I said I planned to try out for the open spot either. And I can tell for all his weirdness, Orion Amari is good at what he does.

Ah, yes, Orion Amari. The one who would eventually, way down the road, become her daughter's romantic partner. While Carewyn was at school, she wrote rather admiringly of Orion, not just for his Quidditch talent, but for his calm and wise temperament. Orion's detached affect was very apparent in Carewyn's letters -- Lane was reminded of some of her old friends in Ravenclaw, just reading about him. Carewyn also on multiple occasions compared Orion to both Jacob and Lane herself, though, in her letters home, and usually in the sweetest ways. Like Jacob, he saw the world differently than everyone else and didn't feel the need to conform or change himself. Like Lane, he was soft-spoken, level-headed, and brilliant, and he was happiest when the world was calm and others were at peace. Carewyn even once admitted that Orion reminded her of Lane when he laughed. When Carewyn formally introduced Lane to Orion many years later when they were adults, Lane found she did like him quite a bit, especially when she saw how calming of an influence he had on her emotional, perfectionistic daughter. Admittedly Lane never understood her daughter's other half's "Orionisms" more than half the time -- but it still filled her heart up with such joy, seeing how in-tune Carewyn was with them, regardless. And it did amuse Lane, when she learned that Orion compared her to a Porlock.

I'll tell you more about our new professor in my next letter -- I promised Tonks and Tulip I'd meet them at Zonko's after lunch. (Not exactly enthused about the location, but Tonks said we could stop at the Three Broomsticks afterward, and I plan to hold her to that.)

Lane rarely heard about Tulip Karasu or Nymphadora Tonks as anything other than a unit, but she always smiled hearing about them, because Carewyn's huffy streak tended to come out more in her letters whenever she wrote about them. Lane gathered that Tonks and Tulip ended up giving Carewyn more than a few headaches since they were on the mischievous side, but for all of the minor griping she would make about them, it was very apparent that Carewyn loved them dearly. After all, no one as proud and sensitive as Carewyn would put themselves in the position to get pranked time and again if she didn't feel anything for the prankers in question.

I also made a new friend yesterday. His name's Barnaby Lee, and he's a Slytherin in my year. He was originally friends with Merula (if you can call it that -- I hardly would, considering Merula doesn't know the meaning of the word!), but after we had a friendly duel, we went to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer and talked for a while, and he's so nice, Mum. Way nicer than I thought he would be, hanging out with Merula so much! His family's rotten too -- I was reminded so much of your stories about your family, just listening to Barnaby talk about his awful parents and his nasty grandmother! But even with all that, Barnaby's still such a good person. He even introduced me to a Knarl he befriended at the Magical Creature Preserve this morning before class. (His name is literally just Knarl. Not the most creative name, but he's still really cute!)

Oh, Lane liked Barnaby. Not only did Lane's Mama Bear senses go off hearing about Barnaby's family situation, but she was happy that Carewyn had found people in her house who were just as sensitive and kind as she was. One of Lane's favorite pictures of Carewyn's time at Hogwarts was the one her daughter had taken of herself, Liz Tuttle, and Barnaby with their shared pet Lune the bat, who they'd rescued from the Hogwarts owlery -- that picture lived on Lane's bedside table for a good long while, alongside one of a young Jacob staring into the lava lamp in his room. Barnaby is also one of the few members of Carewyn's friend group who Lane actively invited over to their flat over the summer, and when he came over, the two of them geeked over some old handwritten notes by Newt Scamander that Lane had borrowed after a recent trip to the Scamander Museum archives in New York.

Mum, if it's not too much trouble, over the holidays, can we stop by the CD store down the road? I want to get Chiara something special for Christmas.

Out of all of Carewyn's friends, Chiara Lobosca was the one Lane became the most fond of, aside from Bill and Rowan. Not only were Chiara's and Lane's personalities very well-suited to each other, but Lane could see the pure, unmitigated love Chiara had for "her Winnie," and it just flooded her heart with so much joy. Chiara is one of the other few friends Lane invited over to her and Carewyn's flat over the summer, and they had a lovely visit over tea and pikelets. She also met Chiara's parents briefly when they came to pick her up, as well as at Chiara and Carewyn's graduation: Chiara's mother Donna in particular greeted Lane very kindly and gushed over Carewyn profusely. Lane was very flattering of Chiara in return, which made the Hufflepuff blush. Chiara didn't tell Lane she was a werewolf for a long while, since she was harbored some fears that Lane wouldn't want her around Carewyn anymore if she knew. Fortunately when she finally explained to Lane about her condition and that Carewyn had become an Animagus to keep her company during full moons, Lane responded very warmly and gave Chiara the biggest hug.

"I couldn't have asked for a better friend for my Winnie," she'd said.

In other news, Talbott Winger actually called me his friend the other day. It feels weird to hear him say it aloud, but really good, all the same.

Talbott Winger was the last of Carewyn's friends to be directly invited by Lane over to their flat over the summer, after Lane and Carewyn saw a flyer about a slam poetry session going on at a local Muggle bookstore and Carewyn offhandedly remarked that Talbott would love something like that. The three of them ended up having a really nice time, and afterward Lane invited Talbott over to their place for a proper Toad-in-the-hole supper. Lane enjoyed Talbott's wry sense of humor, which was very in-tune with Carewyn's -- Talbott appreciated Lane's extensive knowledge of History of Magic, which was a subject he'd never excelled in. He also borrowed a copy of Homer's Odyssey from Lane, after a long discussion they'd had over supper about Greek epic poetry.

I had my first Divination class with Professor Trelawney today. I wish I could say it was fun, but I found the class rather woolly. I wouldn't mind asking Torvus what he thinks about human Divination now that I've taken my first class, because I can't imagine that he and his herd throwing a hysterical fit over a clump of soggy tea leaves.

Lane was incredibly intrigued by Torvus. Although Carewyn neglected to tell Lane exactly how they'd met, her mother gathered that Torvus had known Charlie first. After learning Carewyn had befriended a centaur, however, Lane sent a very long letter back not only offering her what little she knew about centaur history, but also asking if Carewyn would pass along some of her own questions to Torvus as well.

I swung by the Prefects’ Bathroom briefly after doing my nightly rounds with Charlie. While there I saw the ghost who lives there, who’s named Duncan — I met him earlier this year, while Bill was showing Charlie and me around. He can be a bit of a prat sometimes, but you’d like him a lot, Mum. I hope I can introduce him to you someday.

Carewyn didn’t give her mother full context about who Duncan Ashe was, since talking about who he was to Jacob would’ve opened up the floodgates to Carewyn herself seeking out the Cursed Vaults, but she still couldn’t help but bring him up every-so-often. Lane got the impression that Carewyn felt sorry for Duncan since he was stuck haunting the Prefects’ Bathroom all by himself, and she was charmed by it, imagining Carewyn was so sensitive a soul that she even befriended ghosts if she thought they were lonely. Obviously there was a lot more to why Carewyn interacted with Duncan than that, and when Lane did get a full explanation about who Duncan was, she understandably was very upset, especially with the Hogwarts staff for not telling her that her son lost his best friend right before he was expelled. After the Cursed Vaults were dealt with and Duncan was finally laid to rest, Lane made the extreme step of actually reaching out to Duncan’s father asking for a picture of him and wanting to know where she could pay her respects. She was shocked and dismayed when Mr. Ashe informed her that he’d “shed” all of Duncan’s belongings after his death and so had no pictures to send her. He’d also had Duncan cremated and his ashes scattered at sea. After sending back a coldly disapproving letter making clear that Duncan had been loved dearly by her family and she at least would pay the respects that Mr. Ashe seemed determined to deny his son, Lane then went out of her way to track down as many photos of Duncan as she could from Hogwarts's staff and Jacob's school friend, Olivia Green. The best of these Lane framed and hung up near her small cauldron set up in the kitchen. When Jacob saw the little tribute his mother had made for his boy best friend, he threw his arms around her, unable to stop crying.

Thanks to Merula of all people, I actually have a new sparring partner: the Dueling Club's darling, Diego Caplan. I admit, I never really spoke to Diego before, as he always came across as overly flirtatious...after getting to know him better, though, all I can really do is laugh, because for however over-the-top and theatrical he is, I think he is actually sincere in his compliments! He acts like a total Casanova, but it really seems as though he's just the sort to wear all of his emotions on his sleeve -- the biggest, brightest, flashiest sleeve imaginable. And yet he'll roll up that sleeve and hand your arse to you on the Dueling Field, with no reservations. It's kind of hilarious, actually.

Diego was another friend that seemed completely opposite to Carewyn in every way, largely because Lane had so much difficulty imagining her overly sensitive daughter dueling seriously. It was one thing for Carewyn to duel with Bill, who Lane knew was also very nurturing and gentle with his friends and would never really want to hurt anybody, but to learn Carewyn was enjoying dueling with someone as hard-core competitive in it as Diego was surprising. It made Lane wish all the more that Jacob had considered joining the Dueling Club full-time when he was at school, since he would've enjoyed having an opponent as talented and yet amiable as Diego. When Lane met Diego in passing at Carewyn's graduation, Diego did not hesitate in turning on the charm even with her, which tickled Lane to no end.

"Careful, young man," she said with a wry smile. "I know plenty of younger women would swoon at such compliments."

One small advantage to being in detention has been the company. Charlie and Ben's dormmate Jae Kim is there right along with me, and we've been able to talk while we're working, so long as we're quiet. Oh yes, I’ve learned something new about Charlie today: apparently he sings Queen badly in the shower.

Carewyn was generally very understated in how she talked about Jae, aside from the fact that he was in detention often, so Lane surmised he was a “troublemaker” sort, akin to Tonks and Tulip. During the Second War, Lane also learned Jae was one of those friends of Carewyn’s helping keep other families hidden from the Death Eaters. Jae and Lane finally met when he catered the party Carewyn and Orion held after their partnership ceremony, and she took to him far more than she’d imagined she would after they ended up in an involved conversation about saving money on various food ingredients and household goods. Lane was very touched to hear Jae was so financially supportive of his mother, instantly reminded of how much Jacob and Carewyn tried to help her out around the house while they were low on funds. Jae now will reach out to Lane whenever he needs input on anything Muggle-related — no offense, Mr. Weasley, but Lane is that bit more experienced in this field than you are.

The Frog Choir’s been rehearsing hard for the graduation ceremony. Merula has a solo in their performance of In Noctem — I gather Snape likes the piece just as much as you do.

From the moment Lane first read about Merula Snyde, she really hoped that Carewyn and she would either find some common ground and make peace or that Carewyn would just put some distance between them. Yes, perhaps Merula sounded unpleasant, but the last thing Lane wanted for either of her bairns was for them to have "enemies." After Carewyn and Merula both stayed with the Weasleys for Christmas, Lane was a bit more hopeful that the two girls would be able to mend fences, but that hope persisted largely because she was unaware of just how much Merula was getting in Carewyn's way while pursuing the Cursed Vaults. This is ultimately why she encouraged Carewyn to consider letting Merula take the open spot on the Frog Choir after her daughter asked her for advice -- Lane thought that it sounded like Merula didn't have a safe space to sing happily at home the way Carewyn herself did, and perhaps the spot on the Choir could give Merula a constructive outlet for her negative emotions, the way that it often had for her while living at the Cromwell estate. By the time Carewyn and Merula both graduated, even if neither of them classified each other as friends, they had come together in large part because of them co-founding the Circle of Khanna with Bill, Charlie, and Ben. This made it so that when Lane saw Merula at Carewyn's graduation, she embraced her fully and praised her performance with the Frog Choir. Lane also noticed Merula eying the heck out of Jacob at the ceremony. Rather than feel any matchmaker-esque urges in response to this, though, she ended up trying to gently coax "her Blue Jay" elsewhere. The last thing Lane wanted was for Jacob to cause unnecessary drama at his and Carewyn's graduation by accidentally hurting Merula's feelings with his utter cluelessness.

"How long has Merula been sweet on your brother?" Lane murmured to Carewyn at one point.

Carewyn was unable to hold back an eye roll. "Since last year. She loved the fact that Jacob wiped the floor with me in a wizard duel."

Lane winced. "I see." She paused very briefly before saying, "...Well, that's not going to go anywhere."

"Nope."