#before I can start considering more than just ratting around my machinery

[48787]

Wait shit did we remember to conscript the constructicons to board the nemesis??

If anyone has seen those green and purple fucks can you send them to the main bridge

Soundwave just reminded me about them and I realized I forgot to fucking check if they were on board or not.

Ughghh it's far too fucking late to turn this ship around, I cannot face Shockwave until he's hunted those autobots and got his allotment of mandatory sadism subroutines out of his system otherwise I'm going to have to explain to him why the Whirl pictures are passive aggressive in the first place. He fucking knows why they are but he's so good at fucking with me it drives me fucking crazy trying to beat him at his own damn game.

Anyway, I'll just hope they're on board, otherwise making that fucking spacebridge will be a real pain in the ass.

If you green and purple fucks are receiving this come to the main bridge at once or I'm going to have to rely on Soundwave's "Superior" infrastructural technique of Using Child Labor. I hear you and him have a score to settle anyway so I might make a thing out of making you both have to prove your merits.

[gaylaughingdoves]

I really love how you draw Dottore! he's my favorite character in genshin- do you have any hcs/ideas for how he interacts with the other harbingers? I find other people's readings of him really interesting!

take care, have a good day whenever you read this!

Aaa!! Thank you!! <3 :D And yes I absolutely have hcs about him and the other harbingers!!

(I'm gonna toss them under a cut because I have a tendency to ramble on and use a whole lotta Words-)

Alright, so Signora and Dottore:

Extraordinarily chaotic and evil sibling dynamic

They gossip, like, A Lot, it's mainly Signora talking while Dottore fidgets and works with whatever he's working on, but he gets invested in it pretty easily

Now they also can and will rat each other out when they want, absolute snitches the both of them, they find immense joy in it, however. They also know a decent number of each other's secrets and they aren't going to tell those unless given a proper bribe (which neither have received just yet)

Signora and Dottore also both do Not like Childe

They have bonded over this

Childe is gaslight girlboss gatekept from everything when Signora and Dottore are involved

Also, Signora usually isn't phased by whatever Dottore keeps in his labs, because, yk, she might be 500+ years old, which Dottore appreciates because usually people are constantly on edge in his labs

It's a pain for him to actually keep staff (alive and employed), but having another Harbinger there (even one with a reputation like Signora's) grants the people working for him an, admittedly false, sense of security. Nothing could go bad when two Harbingers are here, right?

So Actually many many things can go wrong with these two in a room with Dottore's experiments

Like don't trust them around fire? Ever? Signora knows her way around it a little bit too well to be safe, and Dottore just likes watching how things burn under different conditions soo a recipe for Arson, that's what that is

Signora also thinks Dottore is hilarious when he's angry, and Dottore just likes being antagonistic, which leads to a whole lotta bickering. It's usually lighthearted but it can get serious and it can get serious fast

But overall Dottore just sorta sees her as an older sibling-ish person? He knows if he lets something slip she's not going to go straight to the other Harbingers to gossip. Which he likes because he can just go off and rant about how stupid something is and she'll just use it as blackmail material, which he thinks is better than like. Having everyone know how much he hates a certain piece of old machinery or something-

However, he doesn't trust her too much, because?? Who in the Harbingers actually trusts each other???

Also he and Signora have Transmasc/Transfem solidarity I will not be elaborating

Dottore and Childe on the other hand:

Pure hatred from Childe's side, he straight-up despises Dottore.

After all, this is a guy whose family is one of the most important things to him, his siblings are children, children who do not know the weight of the world just yet.

And Dottore is the guy who is... well. He's known to treat kids like nothing but a base to experiment on

Now Dottore on the other hand literally just wants to dissect Childe, he's gone absolutely crazy trying to get permission to at least run tests.

I mean, What else was he going to do when the kid Pulcinella found on the side of the road started turning into an entire 10ft abyss creature??? That's part of his whole line of work!! This is literally something he studies!!!

Needless to say, he was not allowed to study Childe's Foul Legacy in any regard and it ticked him off

So yeah, just overall they Hate each other, they argue a lot, like, if the Tsarita wasn't there at meetings they would turn into fistfights

However, they both drink whatever the Genshin equivalent of Monster is

This is not a bonding point, they fight over flavors

Sounds like a dumb thing to fight over but Dottore can't stand Childe's and Childe can't stand Dottore's

This has lead to other Harbingers swapping their flavors around because they think it's entertaining to watch them fight

It actually got to the point where the Tsaritsa herself had to order them to stop switching the flavors around because Dottore and Childe are already prepped to murder each other at any moment, they don't need to make it worse

So Dottore just reserves himself to snapping at Childe with the annoyance of someone who is being blocked from something that could very easily be a big break that's being dangled over his head

For real though, Childe has so much potential for Dottore's experiments but Dottore isn't allowed to do so much as study what effect that the transformation has on Childe afterward, and he hates it

But he can't lose his funding from the Tsaritsa so he stays quiet and angrily compiles whatever information he can

Anyway, Dottore and Scaramouche:

Overall neutral actually?

Like they don't see each other much, with Dottore usually knee and elbow deep in some messed up science stuff, and Scara's work taking him out and about a lot of the time

They bicker and stuff, but overall?? They kinda just avoid talking to each other?

Sometimes, rarely, they do get put on a mission with each other, but when they happens they usually get along pretty well!

They actually have a good time snooping around places, what with Dottore's practically uncontrollable curiosity being easily triggered if there's... oh idk, dragon bones, or old machines, or abyss-related ruins, or anything in the typical Vindagyeran Architecture Style, and Scaramouche just likes to snoop and sneak around for fun, for funsies

There's been a few times when the both of them have bonded over chaotically messing something up (didn't impact them, but sure did impact whoever was living in those houses) and laughed over it, grabbed some drinks, and just hung out

They're sorta like buddies who don't see each other much so they're overall estranged but still have a good time, yk?

Scaramouche has hung out in Dottore's labs before, doesn't particularly enjoy them, what with all the machinery and people crying and whatever, thinks it's boring, but if he has to hang out there he'll find his way to Dottore's office and read his files

This gets on Dottore's nerves, but he knows a little better than to cross the minor god that is Scaramouche

And he would very much like to study Scaramouche, considering, yk, divinity abandoned by the divine?

What an odd predicament!!

What effects would that have!!

How does he still have any power!!!

The questions Dottore could have are endless!!

But Scaramouche is away enough to be sure that Dottore's interest is solidly in other things (mainly Abyssal, and Dragons, because there's always some Fatui around the dragon skeletons (Durin and Orobashi) and I have a feeling it's Dottore's doing)

And that's it so far I think? They'll probably change as more Harbingers/info on the ones we have already come out and such but that's what I have rn!! Just Dottore being a funny feral little angry science man with at least three sensible braincells, and yk what I love him for it :)

[themurphyzone]

PatB: Beauty and the Beast AU

This is based off the animated movie because frankly I don’t like the live action remake (what did they do to Beast? He’s just a hairy human with horns in the live action film). 

Cause c’mon if we’re doing Disney AUs y’all knew this movie would crop up eventually. Also consider this is a test post and not all details will be ironed out from the start. 

Characters 

Belle: Pinky 

Beast: Brain

Gaston: Snowball 

Lefou: I don’t think he’s necessary but either Larry or Egwind could probably fill in. 

Maurice: Pinky’s dad.

Enchantress: Undecided. CEO Norita or Minerva Mink maybe? 

Philippe: Pharfignewton 

Main Trio of Servants: Yakko (candelabra), Wakko (clock), Dot (teacup) 

Other Animaniacs characters as servants or villagers as needed. Rita the Cat is a harp and the main singer for the big ballroom dance. Runt is a footstool. 

Prologue

1. Brain and Snowball have history. They grew up in a castle together, but Snowball craved more power and after a very harsh argument with Brain, he left the castle to make his own way into the world. Snowball’s betrayal stung Brain deeply, and Brain became angrier and unhappy and tries to assert more control over the castle while trying to keep his pride and dignity intact. 

2. A few weeks after Snowball’s betrayal on a harsh winter’s night, Brain loses his temper on a traveler wanting shelter from the cold, and he and the entire castle are cursed as a result. He’s given the rose and mirror and told that he needs to find love in 2 years or be cursed for all time. Brain feels horribly guilty for dragging the servants into his mess but doesn’t know how to admit it.  

2 Years Later

1. Pinky’s lived in a quiet village his entire life. His dad is an extremely amateur inventor (he doesn’t really have any concept of the scientific process and operates on a ‘does it work or does it explode’ basis). Pinky likes to go horseback riding with Pharfignewton in his spare time and often wishes to know what’s beyond the village, but his dad needs him. 

2. Since leaving the castle, Snowball settled into Pinky’s village and quickly became the leader, using his status as a way to garner wealth and easily impressionable followers before setting his sights on other kingdoms. There’s quite a few statues built in his honor around town. Since Pinky is often lost in his own little world at times, he doesn’t admire Snowball the way the others do. Snowball is intrigued by Pinky’s resistance. 

3. Pinky’s dad takes Pharfig and his invention to the fair, gets lost, winds up at the castle. He meets the Warner siblings, who entertain their guest until Brain shows up, enraged by the blatant trespassing and belief that he’d come to steal his servants. Brain locks him in a cell until he can properly work out a way to keep the mouse from revealing what he’d seen. 

4. Snowball makes an advance on Pinky. Pinky goes out to the field to think for a while after successfully tossing Snowball out of the house, and Pharfig comes back in a panic, without his dad or the cart. Pharfig takes Pinky to the castle, where Pinky discovers his dad being held in a cell. Brain gets mad at the trespassing again, but it quickly melts into confusion when Pinky offers to take his dad’s place as prisoner. Brain takes the deal, but he doesn’t let Pinky say goodbye to his dad as he’s dragged out of the castle and Pinky is left to cry. 

5. Rest of the interactions between Pinky and Brain pre-wolf attack play out similarly to the movie (personally I don’t think Brain would let Pinky starve though). Yakko when Brain almost breaks the door to get Pinky to come out of his room: “Look, I can barely string two words together around girls but even I know that you shouldn’t break down people’s doors.” 

Dot: “YOU SET FIRE TO MY DOOR LAST WEEK.” 

6. The Warner sibs fully realize the irony of them trying to help someone behave enough for the curse to break and decide to go apologize to Dr. Scratchy...later. 

7. Pinky can carry Brain even though Brain is much bigger than him (also I imagine Brain as a beast is more rat-sized in this AU so by mouse standards he’d be big but he has to be small enough so the ballroom scene can work). He yeeted Brain into a snowbank once and destroyed him in a snowball fight. 

8. Yakko is the big Shakespeare reader of the group and puts on reenactments for their entertainment. 

9. Brain has a lab in the castle where he likes to experiment with scrap parts of machinery, but his larger paws make it difficult for him to handle anything with finesse, causing a huge amount of frustration. 

10. Dot is the MVP again. Brain shouldn’t take romantic advice from Yakko and Wakko. 

11. There’s an enormous field behind the castle which was used for horseback riding between royals before the curse. Brain gifts the entire thing to Pinky on Dot’s advice and Pinky adores it to pieces.

12. Dot helped Pinky with his pretty golden dress before the dance. Yakko and Wakko help Brain with the formal clothing, but have to call in Dot for fixing the fur around his face to something that wouldn’t damage Brain’s pride.

13. “Because I love him” after Brain releases Pinky so he can take his ailing father home is a huge step for Brain, but its not enough to break the curse. They wait for the last petal to fall, and Yakko panics because he can’t find Dot anywhere. Unknown to him, Dot left the castle with Pinky. Brain goes completely numb and can only stare out a window in despair.  

13. Snowball threatens to have Pinky’s dad brought to a lab where he’ll be experimented on if Pinky doesn’t agree to marriage. Pinky claims he was at a castle and shows the mirror for proof, then admits that he befriended the Beast shown in it. Snowball instantly recognizes who it is, and realizes how he can hurt Brain all over again: by taking Pinky for himself. Pinky and his dad are locked in a cellar as Snowball gathers a mob to go kill Brain and claim the castle for himself. Dot and Pharfignewton save them, and they go rushing off to the castle to warn of the attack. 

14. The servants defend the castle. Snowball escapes the chaos and goes to hunt down Brain himself. Brain doesn’t fight back, and Snowball taunts him about loving Pinky. Before Snowball can kill him, Brain hears Pinky’s voice calling out a warning and he regains the will to fight back. Dot reunites with her brothers and together they fend off the remaining villagers. 

15. Snowball and Brain fight on the rooftop. Brain almost kills Snowball, but shows mercy and tells him to leave instead. As Pinky and Brain reunite, Snowball fatally stabs Brain, but loses his balance in the process and falls to his death. 

16. Death, Pinky’s love confession, and transformation scene. Everyone lives happily after ever. Except Snowball. Who’s dead. 

Bonus:

Brain during the group hug after the transformation: “Wait, how come everyone’s taller than me now?” 

[realm-sweet-realm]

Joey and Sammy Numble 4 please.

The words are, "Why are you lying to me?" 

I decided to explore how Sammy and Joey’s relationship would be in my “canon.” Hopefully it’s not too light on the plot. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this!

Word count: 1315

---

It was a regular evening in Joey’s apartment. He was attempting to read in the living room while Sammy, who now lived with him, was at the kitchen table, trying to get some lyric right for an Alice Angel-related song. Sammy growled, pushed all his sheet music to the floor, and started to leave.

Joey had just about had it with Sammy. A relationship with Sammy Lawrence was supposed to be fun. He’d had to try for years to get Sammy to so much as consider him. And by the time he’d finally done it, Sammy was a volatile mess who seemed to hate Joey as often as he loved him.

Hopefully, Sammy would get over his guilt and distress over the ink machine. Hopefully, things would be as Joey dreamed before long. But until then, Joey was stuck with nights like this, when Sammy’s emotions were running high and Joey had to manage it.

“Where are you going?” Joey demanded, approaching Sammy before he could leave. “Pick that up and take a breath.”

Sammy grit his teeth, looking at Joey as though he were an offence onto God. But, he did pick up the papers. “I don’t know where I’m going,” Sammy grumbled.

Joey grabbed Sammy’s arm. “Why are you lying to me? God. You know, you can be worse than a moody teenager sometimes!”

Sammy pushed Joey away. “Don’t talk to me about lies,”

“Oh, don’t think you’re so much better to me. You lie to everyone. Ever since I met you, all you’ve done is lie!”

Sammy said nothing as he left, and slammed the door behind him.

“And take your fucking coat! It’s freezing out!”

Sammy heard the sound of Joey throwing his coat into the hall as he walked away. Then he broke down. He’d just intended to step out for a walk, but now he really didn’t want to go back in and face Joey again. Since Sammy had sold his own apartment and there was no one obvious he could spend the night with, it seemed as though his only options were either to go to the studio and get some work done, or to stay out until it was late and he could be sure that Joey would be in bed. He chose the latter. He was too drained for useful work.

It was cold, and the streets of New York were noisy. Thankfully, from previous nights like this, Sammy knew the way to quieter areas where he could reflect. It might have been dangerous, but Sammy was used to dangerous at this point.

Sammy the liar... what a joke. Joey was dishonest to his bones and always had been. Even in the very beginning, Joey had hired Sammy making promises he had no intent of keeping. He’d promised a workplace free of disruptions and then filled the music department with obstructive ink machinery. He’d promised Sammy space and then proposed sex with him the second Jack wasn’t nearby. The thought still made Sammy’s stomach heave.

Sammy was nearing the black market now, tucked into some lesser-known streets and looking like an abandonned building from the outside. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant place, but it was warm, quiet, and familiar, so Sammy dwelled there a while anyhow. Joey had been right about the coat- he should have brought it, and would have if he hadn’t been in such a rush to get away from Joey.

Sammy could remember the first time he’d come here alone. Maybe Joey’s greatest deception was how he’d turned up the immorality of their Satanic schemes slowly enough to not frighten Sammy away.

“It has a bad reputation, but don’t worry, it’s nothing immoral!”

“Yes, we’re killing a rat, but there’s no shortage of them!”

“Yes, we’re killing a stray cat, but he would die anyhow on these streets!”

“Yes, this is a human kidney, but it was sold by a willing donor and the results will be worth it!”

“I’ll show you around the black market. I know it’s a bit sleazy, but it’s essential.”

“Could you do the black-market shopping this time, Sammy? I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Yes, it’s your girlfriend, but it’s to make her dreams come true! She’ll love it, no harm done!”

Sammy had felt almost like a passive observer at first- Joey would have been doing those things- those incredible things- with or without him, so he might as well be a part of it. Then, before he knew it, he was complicit and too scared of being caught to leave.

Sammy peered at his watch- it wasn’t even eleven yet, and Sammy didn’t want to spend more time out in the frigid weather. There was every possibility, though, that Joey might be drunk and angry when he got home. Joey drank sometimes when their relationship wasn’t going well, and when Joey drank, sometimes he could get violent. It had only happened a couple times, and never given Sammy more than a few bruises or a black eye. Of course, when the dust settled, Joey was apologizing and fetching ice and offering to make it up.

In the end, Sammy took a cab to the studio. Joey’s sanctuary had a couch he could sleep on, and Sammy had the keys for it.

Sammy passed through the music room where, as had Jack put it years ago, a solid half of the department either envied, feared, or lusted after him. On the face of it, it was ridiculous of him to have started a relationship with Joey in the first place, and after the project they still worked on together had killed two people he cared about deeply.

It had all been a lie, from the first, “I love you” that Sammy had said to that murderer. He’d needed someone to talk to about the situation that Joey had put him in, and the simple truth was that he couldn’t tell anyone else. And he knew that Joey had always wanted him. It was an easy source of the comfort and company he wanted.

That wasn’t the first time he’d lied to or for Joey, either. Considering all the lies Sammy was willing to tell others for their project, leading them to their deaths... It was no wonder Sammy was willing to speak harmless lies to a man he hated.

Sammy settled down onto the couch. There would probably be more nights like this in the future- if he couldn’t get his own place and move out without triggering Joey’s anger, maybe he should move a couch into his own sanctuary.

About an hour later, Sammy felt himself being shaken awake. Unsurprisingly, it was Joey. Sammy scrambled away from his touch, falling off the couch in the process. What would Joey say about him invading his sanctuary?

“Woah, Sammy! I’m not mad at you. I’m just glad I found you.”

“What are you doing here!?” Sammy yelled, sounding more angry than he was.

“I come here when I’m stressed. The thought of you wandering around out there for hours without any winter clothing was stressing me out. That’s all. I’m just glad you came somewhere indoors, honestly.”

Sammy could have brought up that he’d left in a hurry because of Joey, but why make Joey mad when he wasn’t? “Thanks. Uh... sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s okay. Let’s go home. We can talk about whatever it is that was bothering you when you’re ready.”

Joey let Sammy use his coat on the way home. It was two in the morning by the time they got there- Joey must have lost sleep over Sammy’s absence. Whatever else could be said about their relationship- the lies, their maladaptive ways- Joey cared about him. Sammy drifted to sleep in Joey’s arms that night, finding it rather hard to believe that earlier that night they’d been screaming at each other.

[thetorchwoodarchive]

Found family event masterpost

Thank you for all your submissions! Below the cut is the list of Torchwood fic recs focused on found family, as submitted by you, our followers!

we built a family (home) by myre ( JackIanto | Complete | 17844 | M )

When Jack gets back, things are different—he’s different—and he’s not sure where he fits anymore, but he should’ve known that there was a place reserved just for him.

Ianto Jones' thoughts on Life, Death, and Summer Squashes by Arnica ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 17762 | T )

The first thing he remembers afterward (and the rest of his life will always before and after Thames House now) is waking up to the sound of hospital machinery droning away, Gwen's head heavy on his legs as she drools on him with Rhys snoring away in the chair next to her, his hand spread wide across her back, head tipped back as he sleeps. Then there's Jack, sitting sideways in the window with his gun drawn and resting in his lap as he does something with the wrist straps in his hands.

Two of Us Are Hung From the Same Twisted Rope by ShastaFirecracker ( JackIanto, ToshOwen | Complete | 15799 | T )

An accident with some sort of brain-scanning alien device leaves Owen and Ianto sharing Ianto's body. Hijinks and nightmares ensue.

Does Africa Know a Song of Me? by etmuse ( JackIanto, MarthaTom, GwenRhys | Complete | 17618 | T )

Jack gets a call from UNIT. They need his help in Namibia. And when they arrive, Jack and Ianto (because Jack wouldn't leave him behind) discover the only communication they have with the team is letters.

Torchwood One Archive by james ( JackIanto | Complete | 11346 | M )

AU after season one. Jack has returned to Torchwood and to Ianto. Ianto is determined to make the best of it but he knows it won't last forever. Their time together threatens to get even shorter when the Doctor shows up unexpectedly.

In Bits and Pieces by reiley ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 83306 | M )

Sort of a fill-in-the-blanks story throughout the entire series: How they pull the pieces together after the world shatters, focusing mainly on Jack and Ianto, but all the others are there, too. Takes place between 'Exit Wounds' and 'The Stolen Earth', goes through all of series 1 and 2, and far back into the past.

Lost and Found by Kaneko ( JackIanto | Complete | 3642 | E )

Straddled over the rift, the Hub was a place where things were lost and found. Strange objects washed in like driftwood. Things went missing. There was never any sign of where they'd gone.

Personnel Issues by PinkFairy727 ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 41434 | T )

The Torchwood Three email newsletter: an excuse to gossip, bitch, plan dates, fight, and discuss squirrel rats. Co-authored with sparking_off.

Warnings: canon character death and swearing.

Just this once by Beleriandings ( JackIanto, ToshOwen, GwenRhys, LoisEsther | Complete | 239639 | T )

(Everybody lives.) (Or: when a certain Doctor arrives to save Owen Harper from a stricken nuclear power station, it begins a chain of events that will lead Torchwood Three down a very different path. From time locks and telepathy to tea and coffee, high-speed chases to unresolved sibling issues, their new lives (and new and old loves) may be different, but their bonds of friendship and family grow stronger every day. But when every child on earth starts speaking with one voice, the team are torn apart again as they’re forced to fight for their lives, and to confront monsters they’d thought they’d left behind in the past. But with all of them working together – along with some allies they’ve made along the way – Torchwood Three will stop at nothing to save their friends and set the world to rights. The consequences will ripple out across the universe and into the distant future. But they have to start somewhere, and the present is as good a place as any.)

Club Wales by pocky_slash ( Gwen&Ianto, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 19898 | T )

In the wake of Jack's disappearance, Gwen finds comfort in a new friendship with Ianto. Gossip, bonding, and other hijinks of understanding ensue.

Hell or High Water by aliciajazmin ( GwenJohnTosh | Complete | 3102 | T )

Toshiko, Gwen, and John have been married for a year now, beginning a life of adventure and crime (but only against those who deserve it). A mission going wrong results in the discovery of an orphan.

The three of them and the orphan must then decide what they want for their future.

A E I O Moo, I love Y O U by aliciajazmin ( GwenJackIantoRhys, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 627 | G )

Jack finds a new song to introduce to Anwen.

AKA Roses are red, violets are blue, Jack likes to sing: A E I O Moo.

Never Has He Ever by Jackdaw816 (JohnAndy | Complete | 1666 | T )

Hub lockdowns are great for juvenile drinking games and revelations of the self

Coping by innocent-until-proven-geeky (JackIanto, Gwen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack | Complete | 910 | G )

After the events of Exit Wounds, Jack, Ianto, and Gwen are exhausted.

Hug by innocent-until-proven-geeky ( Gwen&Ianto | Complete | 401 | G )

Not-wanting-to-let-go hugs.

March 31st in the Torchwood Family Household by innocent-until-proven-geeky ( JackIanto, GwenRhys, GwenJackIantoRhys | Complete | 117 | G )

Happy Trans Day of Visibility! Please enjoy this little ficlet of trans Torchwood polycule. In my headcanon, Ianto is a binary trans man using he/him pronouns, Jack is genderfluid using he/him pronouns, and Gwen is nonbinary using they/them pronouns with Torchwood and she/her pronouns in public.

Here For You (a friend's night out) by BookWerm ( Ianto&Tosh | Complete | 354 | T )

An answer to the prompt : “I’m their best friend” with Ianto and Gwen or Ianto and Tosh

The Lonely Cheryth by BookWerm ( Alice&Jack, Steven&Jack, Others | Complete | 6581 | G )

Steven's Uncle Jack is a mystery. One that he's determined to solve.

A fic through quite a bit of Steven's life (yes, he lives through Children of earth) that was quite a bit of fun

A Moment (An Eternity) by Clare_Hope ( JackIanto, ToshOwen, GwenRhys | WIP | 10923 | T )

Owen slid underneath the closing door just in time to escape the room about to be flooded with radioactive coolant. Tosh didn't die of her wounds because with Owen there, she got medical attention before it was too late. The entire Torchwood team made it through that terrible day. Everything should be alright now. But Jack is really, really not alright.

Below 20° Celsius by Clare_Hope ( JackIanto, Team | Complete | 5182 | T )

20° Celsius is generally considered to be the lowest a human's body temperature can be before dying. This is bad news for Jack, who is a bit colder than that when he's pulled out of Cardiff Bay after drowning continually for a couple hours. The good news is that he doesn't have to deal with it alone.

Work Friends by Clare_Hope (Ianto&Tosh | WIP | 3431 | T )

After everything that happened with Mary, Ianto is the only one who doesn't seem uncomfortable around Toshiko. She can't read his mind anymore, but pretty sure she knows what he's thinking: We've both seen someone we thought loved us killed by Jack. I understand. I might be the only one who understands.

Of Motion in Perpetuity by Beleriandings ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 106708 | M )

When Gwen, Jack and Ianto investigate a cold case from end of the nineteenth century, they find themselves pulled back in time against their will, fighting to protect each other and to get home.

Conditional Iteration by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto, GwenRhys | WIP | 35431 | T )

Gwen can only watch, helpless and raging and grieving, as Jack and Ianto die in Thames House. The next moment though, she finds herself pulled out of time, back to the moment it all started to go wrong. Maybe second chances aren't in quite such short supply as she thought.

Coffee Break by firesnap ( Gwen&Ianto | Complete | 2069 | G )

Gwen and Ianto steal a few minutes to chat and make plans.

Another Rainy Day by SerenityJane ( Team | Complete | 3088 | T )

Tosh darted the occasional look at the closed door, curiousity warring with courtesy. So was Gwen, but she looked more like someone was dangling sweets in front of her nose and telling her she couldn’t have them. No prize for guessing who the candy was. Owen was watching the girls, and desperately trying not to think of pink elephants.

The Right Kind of Doctor by joonscribble ( Owen&Team | Complete | 2008 | R )

Three times Owen Harper was good at his job. Set between season 1 and 2.

Stargazing and Truth-Telling by earlybloomingparentheses ( JackIanto | Complete | 4632 | T )

A month after the events of "Exit Wounds," Jack Harkness heads off to an unknown galaxy on a mission for UNIT, and Ianto and Gwen are left behind to stare up at the stars and wonder when he's coming back. As a small act of rebellion against Jack's perpetual mysteriousness, they decide to play a game: they have to answer each other's questions with absolute honesty. There's a lot Ianto needs to get off his chest, his feelings about Jack Harkness not least, but the truth is tricky--it's never safe, and it's certainly never easy.

ghosts in my head by Sholio ( Team | Complete | 2637 | T )

Owen doesn't sleep, but he does dream. And the dreams he gets are mostly nightmares, because of course they are.

Facing Light in the Flow by engagemythrusters ( JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 3821 | T )

A slice of a life nobody had dreamt they would ever have.

The Door Wide Open by sherlockpond ( GwenRhys, JackIanto, ToshOwen | Complete | 5333 | G )

Torchwood incurs a tough life on its field operatives.  They deserve times where they feel like they need to be vulnerable in  front of each other. [6 times the team were emotionally honest with one another - set during various points of S1 and S2]

Flatpacked by Beleriandings ( Ianto&Rhys, JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 6946 | G )

Rhys has a day off, and decides to spend it peacefully looking at homeware in Ikea. He's not expecting to bump into one of his wife's coworkers there; much less, a shapeshifting alien that likes to eat batteries. But then again, that's Torchwood for you.

On saving the world, and what happens after by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto | Complete | 2447 | G )

After the events of Journey's End, Gwen and Ianto wait for Jack to come home.

Domestic Disharmony by thirteeninafez ( Gwen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 3163 | G )

In which Jack and Gwen get stuck in the Archives and discuss green milk, thermostats and Ianto Jones.

After the events of Journey's End, Gwen and Ianto wait for Jack to come home.

Pastries, Avoidance Tactics, and a Bottle of Scotch by pocky_slash ( Gwen&Ianto, JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 6220 | G )

In which Gwen said something she regrets, Ianto makes a poor dinner choice, Rhys offers sound advice, and Jack has a key. A different sort of "Meat" post-ep.

Respite by Beleriandings ( Gwen&Ianto, GwenRhys, JackIanto | Complete | 2591 | G )

Even by their usual standards, Gwen thought it was absolutely fair to say it had been a rough week.

Blood on Steel by Sholio (Owen&Ianto, Gwen&Jack&Owen&Tosh&Ianto | Complete | 12257 | T)

An alien booby trap turns the Hub into a deathtrap. Lucky thing it doesn't react to someone with no vital signs. Now Owen is their only hope. More specifically, he's Ianto's only hope.

The Cartography of Feeling by Sholio (Owen&Ianto | Complete | 20846 | T)

"We're sodding gladiators," Owen said. "Fuck this entire day and Jack Harkness too."

(Or: Owen and Ianto are abducted by aliens and forced to arena-fight. But the worst part might be the control device that connects them in an emotion and pain-sharing bond.)

Haul Out the Holly by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, GwenRhys | Complete | 1069 | G)

Sometimes you need a little magic in your christmas

with a lil’ help from my friends by Flamingbluepanda (JackIanto, GwenRhys, OwenTosh | complete | 1307 | G)

Everyone needs a Hug sometimes, Torchwood Included

(Or, five times Jack thought about hugs and the one time he thought of nothing at all)

I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies by Violetmessages (JackIanto, GwenRhys, Jack&Team | complete | 3749 | T)

In which Tosh makes a discovery and the team comes together to show Jack how much they love him.

Halfway Back by Sholio (Gwen&Jack&Owen&Ianto&Tosh | complete | 13953 | T)

Team Torchwood run a sanctuary for magical creatures, and this time they've got a basilisk on their hands.

Team Means Pack by Sholio (Gwen&Jack&Owen&Ianto&Tosh | complete | 2615 | G)

Post-Countrycide in a universe with werewolves.

Stormwrack by Sholio (Gen | complete | 2111 | T)

The last time Owen was in the Brecon Beacons, Welsh cannibals tried to eat him. This time, it was pouring buckets on him, and he was dead. At least the latter might help with the cannibal problem, although given his luck, probably not. They might just consider him well-aged, like a side of bacon.

Sky’s the Limit by Blackkat (JackIanto, SuzieTosh, Ianto&Suzie | series | 6,694 | T)

Ianto and Suzie meet as strangers on a rooftop, and bond over aborted suicide attempts, failed plans, bastard fathers, and the fact that they're batting for both teams. Friendship is a beautiful thing.

Forever and What Comes After by violetmessages (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 10028 | T)

“Hm, imagine if they did,” Ianto said. “Torchwood would have to come out of retirement.”

In which Gwen and Ianto relax at a spa, Jack and Rhys attempt bad science, and Anwen is just along for the ride.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time by paycheckgurl (JackIanto, GwenRhys | complete | 3351 | T)

This wasn’t exactly how they planned their Christmas going, but they were going to make the best of it.

Remnants of a Forgotten Past by paycheckgurl (Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Owen Harper & Ianto Jones & Toshiko Sato | complete | 7523 | T)

Torchwood's latest case hits close to home for Tosh when it seems to center on Lodmoor Research Facility's Newest project...of a destructive off world variety.

Written for Torchwood MiniBang

Midlife Crisis by Princessoftheworlds (JackIanto | complete | 371 | T)

"You do realize," begins Owen one day during their usual lunch meeting, chopsticks dangling from his hand, "that technically, Javic is your mid-life crisis?"

Found you made us a star by Princessoftheworlds (JackIanto, OwenTosh, GwenRhys | complete | 6477 | T)

Millennia after having lost their team, Jack and Ianto set about reuniting with old friends and crafting a Torchwood for a new future.

[dzamie-oc]

03 - Steampunk

I’ll admit, this is a bit reductionist for a punk story, but gimme a break, I wrote this in only a few hours :P

Length: 2200 words Rating: T (mild description of blood and death) Summary: A factory worker makes a dragon. They grow up together and eventually enact a little bit of class warfare and a little bit of revenge.

-----

Finn’s desk was half covered in a pile of assorted junk - gears, pipes,twisted bits of scrap metal, keys for long-dead springs, and so much more, almost all tarnished, covered in coal soot, or both. However, his attention was focused on the other half, a carefully cleared space with only a few mechanical pieces strewn about, all polished to perfection. Most importantly, in the middle, sat a small, mechanical device of his own creation. Its body was unfinished, exposing much of its inner workings to the naked eye - and the elements, if he let it get that far. A head like a mix of a lizard and a dog, a long, flexible neck, a body that one might mistake for a large, metallic rat’s, and a slender tail which ended in a thin, metal cone. The young teen, with a degree of care unusual to someone with such a rat’s nest of hair, delicately positioned his creation to lay on its back, curled its legs in, and gently inserted a brass key into a particular, well-shaped hole in its chest. Once, twice... three times he turned, for luck.

Through the background din of machinery, he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and froze. Reflexively, his free hand flew to the ignored pile of scraps, then slowly dragged one over, taking just long enough for him to listen to the footsteps pass by and once more out of earshot. Finn let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, furtively glanced left and right, just in case, and removed the wound key.

Gears and wheels began to spin with a soft whirr, and a look of wonderment spread across Finn’s face as the mechanical legs twitched, then cycled in the air. Its head lifted, letting him stare into its dark eyes, no longer as lifeless as they’d always seemed to be.

“Hey, little guy,” the boy said, “welcome to the world. I’m Finn. I almost hate to dump this on you, but... look, in case I can’t, keep wound, and keep hidden. I wish I could show everyone how cool you clearly are, but-”

Suddenly, more footsteps. Footsteps he recognized, and recognized well. Finn hissed an apology to the dragon and quickly covered it with the nearby metal bowl he’d kept its parts in, then grabbed a part from the pile and set about rubbing it with a rag nearly as filthy as the part. A valve, he realized after his first pass of rubbing - after so many years, his hands knew how to move without thinking, or even realizing what was in them. The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Finn scrubbed at the metal. With a sigh, he wondered if he’d just gotten it dirtier. He went to pass it ahead into a bucket of valves, when-

“Finnegan Shine!” came the shrill voice of a woman who thought herself far more cultured than she knew she could even aspire to. “Just what are you doing with that thing?”

Finn’s “good afternoon, Ms. Springwarden” was cut off by her question, so he looked at the metal in his hand. “I’m... putting it with the other valves after cleaning it?”

Ms. Springwarden harrumphed. “Cleaning it! Just what HAS that first-shift supervisor been teaching you?” She looked at the valve - and at Finn - with a sneer. Finn always thought that, if disdain was an Olympic sport, Ms. Springwarden would have enough gold to live somewhere nice and stop tormenting him - although, he had to admit, perhaps she would still torment him for the fun of it. “Why, I can barely tell it apart from that filthy pile!”

The boy put on a puzzled expression. “Really? But I’ve been going at it with my cleanest rag for a solid minute,” he lied. Of all the people in Alma Vera, she was the last person he ever wanted to even consider the existence of his hidden project. Still, he held up three more well-used cloths, to show her that at least part of his claim had been true.

Another harrumph. “And not once did you think that, just maybe, you ought to trade them for washed cleaning equipment?”

“But Ms. Springwarden, I thought I wasn’t allowed to leave my chair during my shift?”

“Foolish child,” the woman replied, and brought her hand towards his forehead, finger primed to flick. At the last second, however, Finn saw a look of disgust, and she withdrew so as not to touch his, charitably, under-washed face. “Rise and follow me. But don’t let me catch you out of your seat without my permission!”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden!” Finn said, and stood. The four dirty rags were exchanged for four clean ones, or at least as clean as would pass at his work. Thus equipped, Finn was returned to his seat - the bowl still overturned, to his relief.

Ms. Springwarden crossed her arms and said, “who knows how many valuable components you’ve ruined with your folly. You do remember our motto, do you not?”

Finn nodded. “Quality and quantity, Ms. Springwarden.”

The woman harrumphed yet again, and picked up two of the buckets he had sorted parts into, and dumped them into the assorted pile. “Well, let us now remedy your mistake. You will have to clean each of these now befouled pieces once again, and be quick about it!” She glared at him. “Your work ends when your pile is gone, and not a second, nor a part, sooner.”

“Yes, Ms. Springwarden.”

Finn returned to his task, and after a few seconds, he heard one last derisive snort, and then footsteps trailing away. The boy dramatically picked up his pace once she was gone, and before long, he had undone the damage to his progress she had inflicted on him. Another look left and right, and he placed his hands on the bowl, praying that the dragon truly was still there.

“Hey, it’s me,” he whispered, so the dragon wouldn’t try to hide. When he revealed the metallic creature, it had its forepaw in its chest, twisting the mechanism inside. Once finished, it looked up at him and swished its tail, accompanied by the soft, metallic whirring of gears. “That was Ms. Springwarden. They say that, somewhere out there, at least three people are unable to make that ‘hmph’ sound, because she’s using all of theirs.” The dragon leaned its head down, opened its jaws, and picked up a twisted bit of scrap metal, then shook it around a bit, which got a chuckle out of Finn. “It’s too bad you’re not as big as the dragons I’ve heard the people who live on airships have. You could just eat her, then. Although, I wouldn’t have been able to hide you while I built you.”

The clockwork creature flicked its head and sent the scrap flying through the air, to land in the discard bucket. “Fast learner,” Finn remarked. “So, you need a name. I think... Eve.” He paused. “It’s not weird to name you after an elementary school crush, is it?”

Eve responded by tossing another bit of scrap into the bucket, then wiping her mouth on his hand.

-----

Finn prowled through the dense pipework of the underground, eyes peeled for the rats he was supposed to exterminate. In one hand, he held a bag full of rodent corpses - his proof for payment. The other hand gripped what might charitably be called a tiny harpoon launcher. It looked similar to a certain toy gun, popular among the children of wealthy families, and that was no accident - although he would have the kid he stole it from think otherwise. With a bit of tinkering, a wire to save on ammunition, and a much better spring, Finn considered himself the second best at this sort of job, something that led people to avoid asking too much about the improvised tool.

A squeak cut short, then rapid metal-on-metal clanking heralded the arrival of the first best at this sort of job. Eve trotted up to him, two dead rats in her mechanical jaws. Over the past five years or so, Finn had found or fashioned bigger replacement parts for his dragon until she stood nearly at his waist. Long since unable to hide her under a bowl, of course, the story now was that she was a defective mechanical dog he had scored for a pittance. Regardless, Eve stood attentively next to him, waiting for him to open the bag for her. When he did, one rat fell into the pile of its brethren, and as for the other...

Eve tossed and flicked her head until the rodent’s body aligned with her jaws. A new whirring noise kicked in as sets of wheels dragged it down her metal throat, and then a sickening grinding sound bounced around the pipes and fixtures. The dragon opened her mouth again and wiped it on his pants leg, to his mild dismay.

“You’re gonna have to drop that habit, or I’ll put you back on winding-only.”

Eve went still for a few seconds, but the gentle whirring of her insides picked up. When she moved again, she brought one upturned forepaw in front of the other, then cycled them around each other, and finally tapped her throat.

“Break a habit for a voice?” Finn asked. “Eve, voices are hard to come by. You know I would’ve gotten you one by now if I could.”

The sound of a much smaller creature skittering along the metal ground caught both of their attentions. Finn spun, aimed, and pulled the trigger, and a barbed, pointed pole flew from the tip of his weapon, with metal wire following shortly after. The rat screamed a squeaky scream, then fell quiet, and Finn reeled in his shot and prize.

Eve pressed her paw against his leg for his attention. She pointed her muzzle at the gun, then curled back at her own chest, and then she once again tapped her paw to her neck with an insistent clank-clank-clank. Finn furrowed his brow. “I’m pretty sure voice boxes are in a league of their own...” he started, then smiled broadly at her. “Then again, so am I. Mind giving up more than half your rats from now on, so we can go shopping for anything we can’t find?”

The dragon’s metal plating rattled against itself as she wiggled in anticipation, then bounded off to massacre more vermin.

-----

It was a glorious ceremony. Everyone sported their most elaborate suits and dresses, all in a modest brown. Some of the more adventurous gentlemen had constantly-turning gears on the hats they politely kept in their laps, but no longer were they nor their headwear the center of attention. Ms. Springwarden, soon to lose that name, stood in a beautiful, ornate, white dress, and stared adoringly at the man standing in front of her, who-

BOOM!

A shout rose up from the crowd as what used to be a wall was replaced by a hole and a dragon. The elaborate mechanical creature’s outer plating was a mismatch of bronze, iron, and steel, as though it had been dressed in a junkyard. And perched on its back was a man with a daring grin, who Ms. Springwarden found strangely familiar...

“Well! Ms. Springwarden, aren’t you moving up! The big boss himself, I wonder if you’ll outlast  his last four wives!” Finn shouted as he dismounted the dragon, landing with a roll and ending up right next to the bride-to-be.

Without opening her mouth, Eve spoke. “I am confident he will be her husband for the rest of his life,” she said. Her voice was unnatural, amateurish, and it sounded like it belonged in some sterile, form-over-function research lab, rather than a well-tuned dragon. Before anyone could react, she opened her jaws and snapped up the stunned man, soon feeding him to the wheels hidden behind her neck plating.

“Aw! Eve! I had planned this whole quip about how his factories have a great quantity of people and I’m about to increase the average quality!”

“So lie in your memoir.”

Many of the guests had fled the scene, with only a few hiding behind the benches, and Ms. Springwarden herself remained frozen to the spot. “Wh- who...?”

Finn swept into a deep bow, mockingly low. “Finnegan Shine, Ms. Springwarden. My friends call me Finn, but of course you never did. You may not remember me, and I sorely wish I could say the same. But now then...” He stepped backwards towards Eve, who lowered her head and opened her jaws. Finn leaned against her neck, feeling the whirr of the wheels making up her throat thrumming through her metal body. “They say marriage is for better or worse, right? What say you join your hubby in the ‘worse?’”

Eve’s distorted voice joined in once more, saying, “I remember you. That he is offering you a refusal is far more than I would have.”

The woman - having found a worse fate than being left at the altar - took a step back, shaking her head. “No... no. Please, no.”

To everyone’s surprise, the dragon snapped her mouth shut with a loud crash of metal, and Finn clambered back up onto her back. “Then it’s a damn lucky thing I’m not you, miss,” the man said, before the pair of them escaped through the dragon-sized hole in the wall.

Finn hugged Eve’s neck tight. One down, an unfortunate number to go. He just hoped his friends were having as much fun as he was.

[smokeybrand]

The Cape and The Cowl

A friend of mine posted a meme questioning who would win a fight between Doctor Doom and Batman. My gut reaction is to say it’s real bad for Bruce but, as i thought about it more and more, i kind of feel like its not so cut-and-dry. There is a lot of nuance that needs to be considered between the two characters rather than just a “smash the action figured together” scenario. Of course, there is the surface stuff like how would they interact generally? What would the catalyst be in order to incite said conflict? Why would Doom even see Bruce as a threat? If you think about it objectively, an all things are even, to Vic, Batman is just a crazy person losing his are on crime in a raggedy ass city. Victor von Doom is a the reagent of an entire country with a GDP that rivals some superpowers in the MCU. Like, the USA has diplomatic relations with a blip in Eastern Europe, because Doom has the military power to wreck he US in open aggression. Latveria will lose in a prolonged conflict, that’s just a question of resources, but that little country would absolutely inflict upon the US in a slow bleed. Imagine the War on Terror but with competent leadership and actual, discipline, military strategy. Why the f*ck would Doom care what the f*ck is going on out in Jersey? More than that. the similarities between the two characters is staggering.

We all know the origin of Batman. We’ve seen that sh*t how many times now? It’s like getting a new Spider-Man joint and having to watch Uncle Ben die all over again. It’s trite at this point but so essential to the character, we need a refresher every time Bats shows up onscreen. That trauma informs everything he is, as it would if you watched your parents gunned down in cold blood as a child, and then laid with their still warm corpses for however long until the police came. What a lot of people don’t know is the origin of Doctor Doom. Being a villain, Doom rarely gets his motivations explored outside of some megalomaniac Dr. No type f*ckery. However, Victor von Doom is a person. He started out life as a happy kid and learned to be Doctor Doom, just like Bruce learned to be Batman. Doom is actually a refugee. True, Doom was born an aristocrat, but Latveria was overthrown when he was still young so he was never able to be raised in that level of opulence. His mom was also murdered before he was ten years old. Just like Bruce, Doom experienced a horrific truth that would color his world perspective for the rest of his life. Doom would eventually find his way to the US as he was brilliant. Like, unheard of intelligent and it would be his exposure to the US lifestyle, after years of conflict and struggle, which would make him realize how easy life could be if someone just did what was necessary. And then Reed happened.

Reed Richards was, is, a fulcrum in Vic’s life. They have a relationship similar to Batman an Superman but the opposite. Whereas Batman values Clark’s perspective because it helps him keep perspective, Vic finds Reed to be absurd. He sees Reed for who e is and doesn’t understand why no one else can. Reed Richards is a reckless, excitable, short-sighted, glory-hog. He is. If you read the character with any semblance of realism, you’d see that. Ho many times has Sue comments on how she and the rest of his family, take a backseat to science? How many times has Reed, himself, sacrificed a relationship or to, in service to the solution of an equation? Doom saw all of that in college. Reed represents the structural issues of the world and it frustrates Vic to no end. In some continuities, the genesis of Vic going full Doom rest on an accident Reed commits because of that shortsightedness. It goes a long way to checking Reeds ego and he does become a better person for it, but it was at the cost of scarring Vic for life, both physically and mentally. Yet another example of the system, ruining Doom’s life.

Bruce, after his trauma, has kept a strong support system. First and foremost, since day one, he had Alfred. Doom had no one. Bruce then built a family, adopting all of the children and surrounding himself with love. Doom’s one true love died and was dragged down to hell. We know this because he punches out Mephisto whenever he can. Also, his mom is down there, too. Bruce eventually met Diana and Kal, becoming fast friends and life long confidants. Outside of Catwoman, I think Diana makes for the perfect romantic partner of Bruce and that is shown in several continuities. Reed just reinforced Doom’s disgust with the machinations of the world, eventually further degrading Doom’s tenuous hold of his ability to trust in others, by psychically maiming him. The negative impact Reed had on Doom’s life is f*cking profound, man. I’m not saying Doom should have taken it as far as he did, but it’s hard to argue against trying to kill a dude who had ruined years of your work, destroyed you reputation, and physically maimed you forever. That doesn’t seem wholly outrageous to me. I think it’s called justifiable homicide? The only reason Doom stopped trying to murder Reed is because Valeria was born. Valeria became the first person Doom felt real affection for, since the death of his wife. I think Morgan le Fay could be another, but that might have just been a time-space booty call. Valeria Richards and her relationship with he Uncle Doom, is what gave Vic the strength to be better. Bruce had that love his entire life, even immediately after his darkest day. Doom went decades without it.

Up until Valeria was born, all Doom had was his time spent as a destitute street rat, struggling to survive, to inform him about life and the world at large. That brazen cruelty for sure emotionally crippled him in a lot of ways, I'm not even going to start to defend his arrogance or superiority complex, but trauma does that. That's why i think Bats would eventually come around. They've both seen the absolute worst of the world and, in a lot of ways, go about righting those wrongs in the same way. If you pay attention, and the writer is worth their salt, you'd see that Latveria is an autocratic socialist paradise. Latverians are among the most literate, healthy, and happy people in the 616. Jobs are plentiful and crime is almost non-existent. Mans even cured cancer, which he made available to the world, if those people choose to make the trip to Latveria for treatment. The world of 616, at large, likes to paint Vic as this evil despot but, if you interview a laymen of Latveria, they’ll sing his praises. Most people forget that, before Doom returned for his birthright, Latveria was a whole ass occupied state. Think the relationship between Israel and Palestine. Latveria was basically falling into doorknobs for Symkaria and pretending that they weren’t in an abusive relationship. Doom showed up and changed all that. It was a bloody f*cking conflict, for sure, and i am certain Vic committed war crimes, but the end result was a free Latveria with a strong international presence. Doom is a hero to those people but a villain to other nations because of how he rose to power and, more importantly, how independent he made hi country from the world system. Doom did what was necessary to free his people, a march too far for Bruce and that’s why Gotham is the way that it is.

People who don’t know the character like to paint Vic as ego-maniacal villain, and that was valid when comics were just "hero smash bad guy", but we've grown beyond that. Every pop culture interpretation of Doom, outside of the comics, has him as this stoic, arrogant, asshole, dictator bu that’s just not an accurate portrayal of how Doom is in a modern capacity. Vic is definitely an autocrat but he’s no dictator. He can be cruel at times to specific individuals but he is generally benevolent to his people. He doesn’t portray himself as a strongman but he does let it be known he’ll nuke anyone or anything if it means furthering his overall goals which, currently, is the safety and security of Latveria. His country isn’t a police state and his people are free to do as they please but their is a line, just like everywhere else in the world. Doom just has a shorter one and enforces that with extreme prejudice. I’m not going to sit here and say everything is great in Latveria, it’s definitely not, but it ain’t so hot in 616 America either. How many Civil Wars have they had? What about that whole  tidbit with Hydra Cap? There is nuance and gray nowadays, areas that both Bats and Doom comfortably call home. Batman is, objectively, not a pure hero. He is, at best, a chivalric anti-hero and similarly, Doom is more of an anti-villain than the mustache twirling, boogeyman, mastermind pop media portrays him to be. Batman and Doom are basically the same person, with the same motivations, only Doom is willing to go much, much, further than Bruce; A difference in method you an attribute to their respective upbringings.

If Doom had the same support system as Bruce, he’d create miracles. We’ve seen glimpses of that throughout the years. Dooms last run culminated with him essentially obliterating an entire universe where he had the support necessary to build a proper utopia. Our Doom couldn’t fathom the choices made by this variant Doom because of how broken he is. If Bruce was alone in his formative years like Victor, he’d commit atrocities. We’ve seen glimpses of that over they years, too. There are various narratives that explore just such a tragic turn of events, explored in the Death Metal series of books. Dawnbreaker immediately comes to mind. Bruce and victor are the same side of the same coins. It's literally a crap shoot as to which side of the alignment chart either leans. And as if to inform my point further, we just recently had Joker War. That book went a long way to exposing the absolute necessity of raw force, in order to properly “save”Gotham. Joker was able to completely dismantle that entire city by attacking the machinery put in lace to make it run. He effectively proved that The Batman was part of the problem and would never be the solution because Bruce doesn’t go far enough. He puts out fires but never address the sparks which start those blazes. He doesn’t go far enough. He never will. His code won’t allow him to. But Doom can. Doom did. Honestly, if you really want to keep it real, what is Bruce's endgame? What does a healthy Gotham City look like? It looks a lot like f*cking Latveria.

So to answer this question outright, i don’t think they even fight. The way this hypothetical was set up had three rounds: the first being a standard donnybrook, the second being prep time, and the last being god mode. To be perfectly honest with you, it wouldn't make it past the first round. If i had to say, with pedestrian or normie level understanding of he characters, Doom sweeps all categories. For Round one, Doom’s armor trumps all of Batman’s gadgets. For Round Two, Doom has more resources at his fingertips for prep. For Round The God Emperor Doom exists. He created several realities and killed a few Beyonders. Batman sat in a chair which gave him access to all the wisdom in the multiverse, and realized there were three Jokers. Doom all the way. My informed opinion as someone who adores both these character more than most would have me think there wouldn’t even be a conflict to begin with. I think they’d investigate the inciting catalyst, meet in person with intent to attack if necessary, size each other up until one of them made the proposal to just talk, they'd converse, and the fight would end with both of them walking away from each other with begrudging respect. Doom would admire Bruce's will and Bruce would understand the necessity of Doom's position in the world because, if you can make it make sense, Bruce will usually agree. Batman, for all of his shortcomings, is not naive to the world. He’s seen the same darkness as Doom. Doom, for all of his pompous arrogance, understands the struggle to maintain faith in those around you, even if that noble aspiration is misplaced. Bruce is one bad day away from Doom and Doom is a decades worth of days from being Bruce. They mirror each other and i think they’d see that, taking each other as cautionary tales before becoming collaborators. I don’t see them ever really becoming friends but i don't think they’d ever be true enemies.

[writemoment]

More Than A Liability

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: Y/n was just the babysitter, no real asset to the bounty hunter. If anything, she considered herself a liability. At least, that’s what she thought.

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Just a bit of fluff cause I felt like it

Word Count: 1,030

( Reader ) P.O.V.

Weeks turned into months, a job turned into a passion. That’s what the kid became to me, someone I cared deeply for. Mando wasn’t much for talk, but we settled into an ease of mutual quiet for the most part. The few times we’ve had trivial conversations, I’ve known better than to push my luck; to ask for more.

Mando would leave the kid and me upon his vessel, returning later with the latest catch. I rarely doubted his promise to return, though it was tested on occasion when a mission would take several days to complete. When it came down to it, I knew he would return for the kid.

That’s where he was now- off doing what he does as I’m left behind with a clingy green ball of cuddly wrinkles. The kid barely needed more than attention most days, settling for simply being in another’s presence. However, this moment seemed off.

He was fussy, squirming in my arms as if trying to get away. “What’s wrong?” I ask, attempting to soothe him. There’s a loud thump atop the Razor Crest, something landing on our quarters. Cradling the kid close to my chest, I grab the closest weapon and shut down the lights.

My body slots us into a corner of the loading deck, our only cover being that of spare machinery. Thankfully the kid knows enough to be quiet as stomping steps rummage through the space above us. 

I hear the rungs of the ladder clang as someone climbs to our level and I suck in a breath to hold inside my burning lungs. Everything is quiet compared to the thumping of blood in my ears. My grip tightens around the bundle of robes as my other hand positions the blaster for a quick draw.

Breaking the silence, there’s grunts mixed with metal hitting flesh. I wince at the sound of fighting, still hiding in the shadows. The kid coos lightly as I coil as far as I can away from confrontation, anything to keep the womp rat safe. There’s the distinct sound of a gun going off and a limp body hitting the floor.

“Y/n? Kid?” I hear Mando’s voice breathe through the modulator. The lights flicker on and I release my breath shakily. The kid is now loudly making noises as I unfurl myself on unstable legs. “Are you hurt?” I hear him ask, hastily walking over to where we are.

Shaking my head, I hand the kid over to him for inspection. “No, he’s alright.” I reply, running a hand through my hair. My eyes immediately make a bee-line to the lump of a person collapsed onto the floor. “I don’t know, it just all happened so fast.”

“Are you hurt, Y/n?” He repeats with a more stern, although concerned, tone. Slightly taken aback, I shake my head. Why would it matter what happens to me? I’m replaceable, just a stand-in to take care of the kid. “Good. I came as quickly as I could when I realized...”

His words trail off as he hands back the kid and suggests I go up to the cockpit to reset our coordinates while he takes care of the body. With little-to-no hesitation, I set a fast pace as I climb through and set the baby down so I can work.

The adrenaline is wearing off but my heart is still beating rapidly against my ribs. Once we’re set to go, I scoop up the kid and smooth the wrinkles of his forehead with the pads of my fingers. Whenever I get antsy, I tend to talk openly to the kid. Months without a conversational outlet can be tough, but I manage.

“That was pretty tense, wasn’t it?” He coos, bright round eyes staring at me unwavering. “I’m just glad Mando was there. I can’t even begin to imagine what I would do if anything happened...to you.” My voice breaks and I blink back the wetness that has gathered to blur my vision.

Small, green hands reach up and I smile, giggling lightly at the innocence of the gesture. “But I would have protected you, too. Nothing else matters but keeping you safe.”

“I hardly believe that’s true.”

The smooth, deep voice of the Mandalorian flows statically from behind me and I feel myself hiccup at the unexpectedness of it. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Mando outstretches his arms, in which the kid accepts with enthusiasm, and sits down with the baby before looking at me. “You believe your role in all of this is small, just another expendable piece in my world. I hear you talk to the kid sometimes- it’s just not true.”

My face heats at this admission and the sheer act of being caught so vulnerable. I hate feeling this exposed in front of him like this. I hate that his reassurance brings a wave of somersaults in the pit of my stomach. 

Leaning forward, womp rat trades over to me. I massage his ear and hold his comforting warmth close to me. “You’re important to him, Y/n. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to keep him nearly as safe. Without you, I wouldn’t be able to...” He stops, as if pondering his next words.

“I can’t lose you. You’re important to me, too.” Mando turns his seat and starts the Razor Crest up, a sure sign that he’s said what he wanted and that the time has passed.

The way his words affect me are indescribable. I’m not sure what they all entail but I’m willing to wait to find out. “Thank you, Mando.” I say, just above a whisper. “You’re both important to me.” He doesn’t respond but I know he’s heard me. 

The kid yawns widely and I dismiss myself to put him to bed. When we reach the make-shift room for the child, I lay him down and tuck in his small body. His eyes droop, accepting the fatigue that pulls him under. “I’m can’t lose you. I love you.”

And in that moment, I wasn’t completely sure I was just talking about the kid. That alone brought a thrill, though beside that thrill brought an undeniable fear.

****

Masterlist Here

A/N: I just finished watching The Mandalorian and ahhhhh! I really wanted to write something for the fandom. So, here’s a one-shot while I try to get more writing done. xx - Ellie-Mae

[musicprincess655]

Ryuu has a few problems with his temper.

It’s not news to him. He’s always been a pot ready to boil over, always just a step from snapping and lashing out. Losing his home and his family to a fire No. 6 started didn’t leave much in the way of humanity, and trying to protect the new family he’d built in the West Block had taken care of the rest.

Even still, Ryuu tends to be calm on a day to day basis. He’s learned to pull his anger out when he needs it, and he’s never needed it in the room he and Gin share. They fight sometimes, of course they do. Sometimes they just look at each other and it’s on. No matter how much they care about each other, they were still children who had to deal with each other without quite knowing how to use their words, and every so often, they’re the same as adults.

But there’s never true anger behind it, just momentary irritation that sometimes can be solved quicker by throwing punches at each other than talking it out. Just siblings being siblings.

Nothing like what Ryuu feels, watching Atsushi cringe away from yet another loud bang from the outside. Chuuya had gotten an idea for using their roof to collect rainwater so they wouldn’t have to keep repairing the line down to the well, and when Chuuya got ideas, they tended to be executed loudly.

Which has all led to Ryuu, trying to enjoy a cup of tea in peace, trying to go through the latest information his robots have brought him from inside No. 6, and entirely distracted every time Atsushi flinches like a bomb just went off. It’s pathetic.

Ryuu refuses to consider that at least part of his anger might be that Atsushi came in earlier from a shift working with Kyouka, laughing with Dazai about something inane. Atsushi formed such an easy friendship with Dazai, something Ryuu himself has tried and failed to do for years. Ryuu has earned Chuuya’s respect over the six years they’ve known each other, but Dazai still withholds approval, and Ryuu craves it all the more.

So when Atsushi flinches so hard he knocks a spare bit of machinery that Ryuu was thinking about using to repair one of his rats off the shelf, breaking it, Ryuu snaps hard.

“Will you fucking stop?” he snarls, throwing the closest thing he has at hand at Atsushi. Which happens to be the pen he was writing with, and it does nothing to soothe his anger, so Ryuu reaches for a heavier book. “Nothing’s coming to kill you, just sit still and stop goddamn flinching!”

“It’s just loud,” Atsushi protests, ducking under the book Ryuu throws at him. Ryuu’s anger bubbles up, scalding and steaming. He gets to his feet, reaching for his knife. Dazai’s favorite or no, Ryuu cannot allow Atsushi to keep ruining the one place he feels safe and calm like this.

“So fucking what?” Ryuu demands, advancing on Atsushi, torn between swiping with his knife and throwing a punch. The knife would be more effective, but the punch would be so much more satisfying. “Leave if it’s that much of a problem.”

“And go where?”

“You think I give a fuck?” Ryuu shoves Atsushi back against the bookcase. Something else falls off, but Ryuu doesn’t have the time to care what it is. “I really fucking don’t.”

“Why are you-”

Atsushi freezes at the same time Ryuu does, cold bite of steel at their throats. Gin stands between them, holding a knife on each other them. If Ryuu wasn’t sure she’d actually cut him just to make her point, he’d flinch. They haven’t annoyed each other enough to pull weapons out in a long time.

“Enough,” she says. “Stop fighting, or I’ll make you stop fighting.”

“But-”

“No buts,” she says, holding the knife to Atsushi’s throat so hard it turns white and presses in, and a bead of blood bubbles over the edge. “Stop.”

She puts her knives away and flops back on her bed. Ryuu isn’t sure exactly what she’s doing. Some kind of tinkering, something that might maybe be a gun. Gin prefers knives, they both do, but a gun can offer a different kind of option, and they’re rare as hell out here. The best choice is to make one, and Gin’s been trying on and off for years to learn. This might be one of her new prototypes.

Ryuu flops back on the couch that doubles as his bed with a huff. He’d be doing just fine if Atsushi wasn’t here, projecting anxiety all over the place. The nervous energy he exudes is setting Ryuu on edge, and he can’t really be blamed for lashing out.

Atsushi sits on the chair he’s been sleeping on, picking up one of the robots.

“Hey, Cravat,” Atsushi says. “Doing good work?”

“Stop naming my fucking robots, Jinko,” Ryuu snaps. He keeps a tight lid on his anger, though. Gin will only warn him once.

“They’re so lifelike, though,” Atsushi says.

“Then at least give them better names,” Ryuu says. “Cravat, seriously? What even is that? Name them something strong, like Rashomon.”

“That can be the black one,” Atsushi says. “Rashomon. Rashomon. It sounds like a demon.”

It’s about the most civil Ryuu and Atsushi have managed to be with each other. At least Atsushi finally settles down, and it sounds like Chuuya’s called it quits for the day. Ryuu finally settles into the zone, focusing on his task, when something that’s not quite the right color catches the corner of his eye.

Atsushi had waved one of his hands, beckoning one of the robots over, and there’s a big black spot on his palm.

“What’s on your hands?” Ryuu asks. Is there a motor oil leak somewhere? If Gin spilled that again, it really will be a fight, because that’s a bitch and a half to clean up, and he’s not doing it.

Atsushi turns his palm, brows furrowed in confusion, before his eyes fly wide open in fear and what Ryuu thinks might even be realization. He slowly raises his hands to touch the back of his neck, and as soon as he does, he lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Gin flies to her feet, and Ryuu flies to Atsushi. He shoves Atsushi roughly around, trying to see what’s on his neck. Is there something in the air? Are they all in danger?

“Cut it out,” Atsushi says through gritted teeth.

“What?”

“You have to cut it out of me.”

“Go get Dazai-san and Chuuya-san!” Ryuu yells at Gin. She doesn’t question him for a second, sprinting from the room. “Jinko, tell me what’s happening. What am I cutting out of you?”

“It’s going to kill me!” Atsushi screams, and he jerks away from Ryuu. Ryuu shoves him down on the bed, trying to get his knife in his hand as he holds Atsushi’s bucking body down.

“Jinko, I don’t know what’s happening, but hold still,” Ryuu commands. Atsushi seems to know what this is, even if Ryuu doesn’t, and if he says to cut something from the back of his neck, Ryuu will listen this once.

Atsushi twists, wailing in pain again, arms flailing like he might be able to reach for something to stop his pain. Ryuu flings a leg over Atsushi’s waist, using his ankles to dig into Atsushi’s calves. He has to use both of his arms to hold down Atsushi’s, knife dangerously close to Atsushi’s wrist, and Atsushi screams once more into the bed.

“Stop!” Ryuu shouts. “I can’t cut anything out if you’re fighting me.”

Atsushi isn’t using his body to its full advantage, but even so, he’s stronger than Ryuu, and it’s all Ryuu can do just to hold him down.

“Jinko, stop fighting me,” Ryuu says. “I’m going to help you, but I need you to hold still.”

Atsushi thrashes again.

“Hold still.”

Atsushi’s fists clench in the sheet, muscles shifting under Ryuu’s hands.

“Good.”

Ryuu gets to work, cutting open the back of Atsushi’s neck. His knife isn’t really suited for this – a scalpel would be better – but it’s what he has, and if he gets up off Atsushi to go look for the first aid kit, Atsushi will probably just start moving again.

If Ryuu isn’t careful, he could slice down too far and sever Atsushi’s spinal cord. The thought only occurs to him later. Now, he’s too caught up in the momentum of trying to follow Atsushi’s instructions to cut something from the back of his neck.

There’s a black mark on the back of Atsushi’s neck, same as the ones on his hands. Atsushi whimpers into the mattress as Ryuu spreads the cut apart, trying to see what’s inside.

A line is burning its way down Atsushi’s arms, making a pink line of burst blood vessels that almost looks like a snake. Ryuu doesn’t pay it any attention. He’s reaching into the cut, ignoring the risk for infection right now, and his fingers close on something round and hard. He pulls it out, and Atsushi’s body goes limp.

Ryuu stares at the thing in his hands. It almost looks like a half-formed pupa, an insect that wasn’t entirely ready to hatch. What was this doing under Atsushi’s skin? Was this some new horror No. 6 was inflicting on them?

“Jinko, what is this?” Ryuu asks, voice gone quiet. Atsushi doesn’t answer. He probably can’t. He did just have his neck cut open, after all.

Gin bursts back into the room, Dazai and Chuuya hot on her heels. Dazai takes one look at Ryuu pinning Atsushi down and his eyes harden.

“What did you do?”

Ryuu’s mouth drops open. He’s supposed to defend himself here, he knows, but he can’t find the words. He actually did the right thing here, at least by Dazai’s standards. He did exactly what Atsushi told him to do, and as far as he can tell, it worked.

“Saved me.” Ryuu turns back to where Atsushi is apparently awake enough to mumble. “He saved me.”

Ryuu is both furious and exhausted. He stands, leaving Atsushi’s limp body behind. Dazai opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Ryuu throws the pupa at him.

“This was in his neck,” Ryuu says. “It was killing him. I cut it out. He’ll need stitches.”

That’s all Ryuu says, because if he keeps talking, he’ll say something he’ll regret later. He’ll yell at Dazai for assuming the worst of him, just like always, when it wasn’t remotely justified. And Ryuu is just too tired for it now. He feels drained.

He needs to leave.

He pushes past everyone to leave through the open door.

“Oi, Ryuu-” Chuuya starts, but Ryuu ignores him. He’ll regret that later. He knows he will. But he’s done here. Everyone else can patch up the new golden boy Ryuu just saved. They don’t need him around for that.

[eyesocketsandsuits]

Tell Me Your Future ; or, Preservation

Prompt: "Don't get my car dirty. Humour and smut would be great? Go wild."

Euphemisms not used: velvet gash, love tunnel, vertical scowl, and my favorite, spasm chasm.

well, i did say i would be the person to write skeleton porn lmao

On AO3. On FFn. 

The mud squelched under Valkyrie's boots. She was doing one better than Skulduggery. The entirety of Skulduggery's being squelched.

"Stop it," Skulduggery said.

"I'm not doing anything."

"I know you might not believe it, me having no eyeballs, but I do, actually, see the stupid smile on your face."

Valkyrie sucked on her lips to stop herself from smiling. It didn't work.

"That didn't work. I can still, still see your smile."

Valkyrie hopped over a particularly large puddle. "I was just thinking…"

"Please enlighten me."

"Are you sure?"

"Please enlighten me before I turn around and murder everyone."

Valkyrie swung her arms. "Alright, okay, if you're sure. I was just thinking that—well, more like wondering, how you can see."

Skulduggery looked at her.

Valkyrie grinned at him. "How you can see with all that mud in your eye sockets?"

Skulduggery's hand flew up to his face. He flicked his wrist and a glob of mud floated out of his face. He flicked his wrist again and the blob of mud soared off over the moor.

"You know," Skulduggery said. "There really is no other environment—ecosystem, perhaps—worse than a moor. It's all mud and grass and swamp. And even swampland has more life than this barren, inhospitable wasteland. It's just worms and rot and mummified rats—"

"You're really torn up that a bunch of old hags threw you around their swamp, huh?"

"Hags, that's a beautiful word for them. Although, as I'm sure you're well aware, they're just an extreme version of sensitives. Old followers of Delphi, but how they ended up in this—" Skulduggery sank knee-deep into a mud puddle, "—this blasted swamp is absolutely beyond me!"

Valkyrie grinned at him.

"You're not considering joining those lunatics, are you?" Skulduggery attempted to lift the mud and swamp from his pant leg, but was clearly having trouble.

"No, of course not. I quite like bras and clothes and all that. However, I am flattered they asked. No one has ever asked me to join them before. I had to force you to let me tag along. I had to threaten you."

"You threatened my hat."

"Which is the same thing. But these gals?"

"Hags."

"These gals invited me to join their weird, naked cult because they said I would be good at it."

Skulduggery walked on in silence for a few steps. He slipped into another puddle and cursed again. "Bloody swamp. Did they agree, by the way? I was too busy being thrown around to hear."

"Oh, yeah, they agreed."

"Excellent. Nothing worse than having a bunch of police men disappearing in this swamp. Again."

"Do you think it's real, by the way?"

Skulduggery laughed. "Do I think looking at the mummified bodies of men predicts the future? Do I think their spirits whisper to those lunatics about the future based on their past? I think Delphi got high on cave fumes."

"Very pissed off you got thrown around the swamp, huh?"

"Finally."

The car loomed out of the mist and mire.

Valkyrie's car, because Skulduggery had been convinced the tires couldn't take the drive there. It was mainly dirt roads—and the Bentley had gone through worse—but towards the end of the journey, it had been purely off-road.

Of course, now there were rocks and all sorts of shit in Valkyrie's wheels.

Skulduggery reached for the driver's side door.

Valkyrie felt her heart leap into her throat. "Hey."

Skulduggery froze instantly. "Yes?"

"Don't get in my car dirty."

Skulduggery looked at her and tilted his head. "I lifted most of the dirt off."

"But not all of it, right? You still reek, no offense."

"How could I possibly take offense to you calling me a disgusting heathen, dear?"

"Oh, come on, I didn't go that far. You're not a heathen, just covered in mud and I really don't want to clean the interior of my car on top of fishing out pebbles from my suspension. Just strip."

Skulduggery tilted his head like he was thinking about a puzzle.

Valkyrie threw her hands in the air. "There's no one around for kilometers, and it'll be dark by the time we get back, no one will see, and then I won't have to spend all day cleaning tomorrow so you won't get to mope like you do and monolog."

"I don't monolog."

"But!" Valkyrie pointed at him. "You do deflect. Strip, Mr. Bones."

"Very well, Ms. Cain."

Valkyrie rested her chin on the top of her car and watched as Skulduggery loosened his tie. He held it out at arm's length and let it drop to the ground.

"Spiteful, Mr. Pleasant."

"I'm no such thing."

"Masochistic."

Skulduggery undid his cufflinks and shrugged out of his suit jacket. "Says the woman forcing a defenseless skeleton to strip. My natural modesty is under fire, Ms. Cain."

He hesitated, just for a second, before he unbuttoned his dress shirt. Valkyrie let out an appreciative noise from the back of her throat.

"Stop that," Skulduggery said, neutral, deep.

"I did nothing. Pants, come on now."

Skulduggery loosened his belt and let his pants fall.

"No boxers?"

"There isn't much point, is there?"

Valkyrie drank in the sight of Skulduggery. He so rarely let her look at him without a suit, she almost forgot what he looked like, sometimes. The curve of his spine, the sharp points of his ribs, the shoulder joints held aloft by magic, magic, magic.

Skulduggery's body was still, trying to hide his body language, and he reached down and scooped up his clothing. He folded them as he walked to the boot of the car and opened it. Valkyrie watched his long legs move, the femur in the socket, the tarsal bones in his feet slide and shift to help him keep balance.

Valkyrie liked his feet, the magnetic dance of the bones there.

But all too quickly, he slid into the driver' seat of her car.

Valkyrie let her head loll back as she heaved a sigh and followed him into the car.

Skulduggery started the car and began to drive. "Has anyone ever told you you're a pervert, Ms. Cain?"

"I think the word for it is necrophilia." Valkyrie shrugged, casual as can be, yes sir. "Though you call yourself a dead man, I don't think it's the right for it—"

"Objectophilia."

Valkyrie looked at him, then. "You're not an object."

"I'm a display model."

"A sexy display model."

Valkyrie reached over and rested her hand on his femur.

Skulduggery looked down.

"Eyes on the road, Mr. Pleasant."

Skulduggery's head snapped up accordingly.

"There isn't a road, Ms. Cain. It's just grass, well, it's just marsh, so it's grass over water, and I really do hope we don't get stuck in a sink hole, because then your transmission is going to flood and I—"

Valkyrie slid her hand farther up his femur.

"—and I have absolutely no clue on how to fix that, so we'll have to call a tow truck, and I'm going to have one fun time either explaining why I'm A, a talking skeleton, or B, why my suit is both wrinkled and covered in mud."

Valkyrie's hand had made it up to the hip join. Her fingers played around the joint, casually on his iliac crest, the pitted surface.

"Actually, it's quite incredible how, despite once owning a model-T, I still have very little understanding of much of the machinery that makes up the modern day horse, beyond a basic understanding—"

Valkyrie's pinkie edged its way to his pubis symphysis.

"—and I truly do think many of the magical advancements—and mechanical—I've added to the Bentley has hindered my understanding of the—my ribs, please."

Valkyrie smiled at him and moved her fingers to his ribs. This is where most of his scars were, and where he was most sensitive. Feather light, her fingers traced over the gouges. She scooted closer to him, one hand reaching into the dip of his pelvis to run her fingers over his sacrum, the fused vertebrae, the other on his ribs.

His chin dipped to his clavicle, and Valkyrie realized he had stopped driving the car.

His head rolled to look at her. "You really are incredible, did you know that?"

"Yes."

Skulduggery moaned.

Valkyrie watched intently at the way his legs twitched under her ministrations. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

"Tell me. Talk to me." She let her fingers trail down the tips of his ribs, then trailed along one of the small ones toward the bottom.

"Different than to how I was when I was alive. Better, because it's recent, because you know how it works, because you want to touch me, I don't want it to stop, because I'm so used to only feeling the worse sort of sensations that your fingers make me feel good, make me feel alive."

Valkyrie felt herself getting wet from his words. "Can you cum?"

"No, but I can make you cum. Put your seat down."

Valkyrie did as she was asked, one hand struggling with her belt as her other one fumbled for the latch to the seat. Finally, her head sank back, and then Skulduggery was clambering over her like a spider.

One arm supported Skulduggery's weight above her while his other hand slid into her pants. He laughed against her neck. "I see you're not a fan of underwear, either."

Valkyrie bucked her hips. "All the easier for you, Mr. Pleasant."

"How thoughtful of you."

Skulduggery rubbed his knuckles against her clit. "Although, this discovery has me wondering if this whole attempt on my modesty was something planned in advanced. But you wouldn't do that, would you, Valkyrie?"

His knuckles rubbed together on either side of her clit. She could feel how wet she was and was almost embarrassed because he had hardly touched her, but his voice and his fingers and—

"Would you, Valkyrie?"

"Maybe. I might," she moaned, hardly hearing her words.

"Oh, yes, I figured as much. You're always trying to get me out of my impeccably tailored suits, aren't you? And touching me because you know how good I am at touching you."

He slipped one finger into her. Valkyrie felt herself clench around him.

"You're very wet. You know, for all my shyness, it turns me on that you find me attractive. It turns me on that you get this wet from touching me."

He withdrew and then put two fingers inside her.

"I like the way your breath hitches every time I move around you, near you, in you. I like the way your hips move with my fingers, the way you throw your head back, the way you tilt your head to listen to my words, the way you mouth my name, that you don't even notice all these things you do as I finger you."

Skulduggery's thumb moved up to rub her clit as he massaged his fingers inside of her. Valkyrie clenched again and felt the sensation start to build with every touch. She felt her face flush and she let out little moans with each shallow breath she took.

She spread her legs more, trying to give him better access, to make the feeling come quicker, so that she didn't lose it, oh God, oh God oh god

Valkyrie moaned and leaned forward as she came, her cheek pressed against Skulduggery's clavicle. Waves of the orgasm pulsed through her as she cried out against Skulduggery.

Valkyrie blinked dreamily up at Skulduggery. "That felt super good."

"Naturally."

"Another reason I wouldn't join those witches—I like orgasms too much."

"You could still have orgasms." Skulduggery gently removed his fingers from her.

"Yeah but I like how you finger me. And, like, I guess I like you."

Skulduggery suddenly leaned down and pressed his teeth against Valkyrie's lips. He kissed her. He gave her a kiss on the lips.

Valkyrie grabbed his head and pressed more kisses against his teeth, laughing. "You in a good mood now?" she said in-between kisses. "You feeling better from you ass kicking earlier? Happy now? Hm?"

"Deliriously happy."

[amandaoftherosemire]

Sing For Me - Chapter Thirteen

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC (Sasha),

Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC Sasha, Tony Stark

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,372

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, sexual themes, angst, FLUFF. (Future chapters may be NSFW due to smut)

Summary: Sasha finds out Tony’s role in the drama. She and Bucky talk.

A/N: Not consistent with Marvel canon. I just started writing fanfic, please be patient. I’m open to constructive criticism and any help more experienced writers would like to offer. I made this as fluffy as I could stand. I needed to do penance for the angst. :D

Banner by @hellzzzbelle​

Sing For Me Masterlist

Chapter Twelve here

Chapter Thirteen

When Sasha woke the next morning, her head hurt, her face was puffy, and she was in a viciously foul mood. She had cried herself to sleep, something she hated with the scorching heat of a thousand suns. She lay her bed and whimpered, deeply resentful that she was not starting this morning as she had yesterday. Thinking about yesterday had her burying her face back into her pillow. She wasn't really angry anymore, just hurt and tired.

She dragged herself out of the bed and pulled her robe around her. She was going to meditate on her balcony this morning, Bucky be damned. She needed her routine. It had saved her heart and mind before; she was counting on it to do so again.

When she reached her meditation table, she found two steaming cups of coffee cooling in the morning air. Part of her wanted to be petty and mean, and she considered pouring the coffee on the ground outside his balcony door. However, she was also desperate for caffeine.

She could feel Bucky wasn't in his rooms, so she knew this peace offering wasn't to coerce her into talking to him. She decided that she wanted the caffeine more than anything and gulped the first cup down. By the time she'd finished both cups and meditated, she felt nearly human again. A blisteringly hot shower would take care of the rest.

An hour later, she walked into the lab to find Tony staring at a tangled pile of machinery without seeing it.

"Tony? You okay?"

Tony shook himself out of his daze and looked at Sasha. She was blocking, so she wasn't sure, but she'd swear she saw guilt in his gaze. "Yeah," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "Yeah, you?"

"I'll survive," she said with a wry smile.

"I liked your friend," he said, making a show of working.

"Nat did good, calling him. It was just what I needed." He just nodded, his hand stilling again and his eyes losing their focus.

"Tony, something is bothering you."

"I'm sorry you got hurt," he said, deliberately brisk.

"It's not your fault." She smiled fondly, but suspiciously, at the back of his head.

"It's for the best, though. He isn't good enough for you."

The shape of things started to become clear to her. "What did you do?" Tony didn't answer. "Tony. What did you do? Did you talk to Bucky yesterday?"

"He’s Bucky now?" Tony glanced dismissively over his shoulder at her.

"Yes," she answered, her voice dry. "He is. Don’t try to dodge the question. What did you say to Bucky?"

"I told him the truth: he’s bad for you and he should back off."

"I see." Sasha's voice betrayed no emotion.

Tony reacted defensively. "I was right; look at what he did."

Sasha stalked over to Tony and yanked him around by the shoulder. She pulled back her hand and sent it cracking merrily across his face. "Because of what you said." Tony barely reacted. He stood there, his eyes wide and his jaw set. She took the skin on his side in between her thumb and knuckle, pinched hard and twisted viciously. “Don’t you ever interfere in my life that way again, Tony. I swear to God, I’ll do worse than shave you bald in your sleep. I’ll tell Natasha you’re the reason I cried. Don’t fucking test me. I am not a child and I wouldn’t take that shit from my fathers let alone my surrogate father.”

Tony had yelped when she pinched him and jerked away to stare at her in amazement. He looked so astonished and betrayed she couldn’t help but chuckle. She slowly slid her arms around him; he flinched away at first. When she had him wrapped, she gently squeezed.

His arms came up to awkwardly pat her on the back. She laughed and pulled back to pat his chest with both hands.

“But I know your heart was in the right place and I love you as much as you can’t admit that you love me, so I won’t tell Nat.” The smile slowly slid off her face to be replaced by a narrowed-eyed glare, dark with menace. “Unless you force my hand.”

After that pinch, he was inclined to believe her.

“Deal.”

Late that afternoon, Sasha trudged back to her room. She was exhausted, body, heart, and mind. All she wanted was a giant glass of wine, her emergency stash of Godiva, and The Princess Bride.

However, when she reached her door, there was a Starbucks cup on the floor in front of it. A post-it hung at eye level and said, simply, I'm on the balcony if you want to talk. Sasha pulled the post-it off the door and reached down to pick up the drink. She took a pull off the straw and smiled a little when the taste of crunchberries ran over her tongue.

She opened the door and walked inside, her eyes immediately searching for Bucky out on the balcony. He was sitting with his back to her door looking out over the city. She could tell that he knew she was there, but he didn’t turn, letting her decide whether she was ready to connect.

Undecided, she stood leaning against her front door and sipping Bucky's peace offering. On the one hand, she was so tired. The last few days had been an emotional rollercoaster and trying to keep up had left her feeling broken and sad. On the other, she hated feeling bereft from Bucky. How could she miss him already?

He'd fucked up, no question, but everything he'd done since then had been exactly right. He'd gotten out of the way and stayed there. Even now, he had made it clear that he wanted to talk, to make it right, but was giving her the option to let him know if she was ready for it. Just as she decided to hear him out, he slumped in his chair and she felt his hopelessness. Her heart softened, and she moved forward.

Bucky sat up in astonishment and turned to look at her when she opened the balcony door. His face was almost comical, wide-eyed with a mixture of fear and hope. She gave him a tiny smile and said as she sat next to him, "Crunchberry Frappuccinos? Is this going to become our thing?"

Bucky's voice was hoarse with disbelief. "If you want it to."

She was watching him carefully, noting the evidence of a hard, sleepless night all over him. She should probably feel a little bad, but she couldn't seem to make herself. If she hadn't been paying close attention, she would have missed the brief look of confusion that crossed his face. "You don’t give two fucks about crunchberries, do you?"

Bucky hesitated, not wanting to say anything that might make her mad but also well aware that dishonesty was most certainly not the best policy. He replied, his voice ripe with mildly aggrieved apathy, "Not really."

Sasha's sense of humor rushed to the fore. She threw her head back and laughed, both amused and charmed that he'd gone along with her on something that must have seemed bizarre. Warmed, maybe a little against her will, she reached over and placed her hand on his arm. She hadn't intended to let him off the hook so easily, but he was too damn cute.

She was startled when Bucky grabbed her hand. Squeezing tightly, he dropped his forehead onto the back of her hand and drug in a ragged breath. She didn't resist when he tugged her glove off and pressed his palm to hers. He looked at her and the pain and guilt on his face had her breath clogging in her throat. His eyes were brimming, and his lips were quivering when he said, "Fuck. Shur- Sasha, I-"

Kindly, she interrupted, squeezing his hand gently. "You can call me Shurochka again, Bucky."

Bucky's face crumpled, and two tears slid down his beautiful face. Sasha reached out with her free hand to brush them away. Bucky closed his eyes as he felt her soft fingertips soothing him. Awestruck, his voice halting, he said, "You're not even gonna let me say I'm sorry, are you? You've already forgiven me. God, doll, give me a chance to earn it.

"My bad," she replied, affectionately. Clearing her throat, she stated coldly, "Fuck you, Barnes."

Bucky laughed a little, the pressure in his chest easing when Sasha chuckled with him, and started running his hand up and down her bare arm. He was amazed that she was allowing him to touch her so freely. As a matter of fact, she leaned into his hands, as desperate for the contact as he was.

"Bucky." She combed her fingers through his hair and it felt like benediction. "You showed me how sorry you were, how important I am to you, by giving me what I needed even when it was counter to what you needed. You put me first yesterday, the right way, eventually. It matters."

"See, that's it, right there," he rasped. "You're so good at this emotional stuff."

"Well. I mean, duh."

He gave her that lop-sided grin that melted her insides. "I'm not at all."

"I repeat my earlier statement," she replied. "Duh."

"Shurochka."

"I'll stop."

Bucky drew in another ragged breath, trying to take some of Sasha's calm into himself. He concentrated on the feelings he was getting from her and found under the calm was a storm of emotion. She was no more unaffected than he was, and he found in her the match to his own tumult. Knowing she felt as desperate and lost as he did gave him the courage to tell her what he knew she needed to hear.

"After I left you yesterday, I realized that I should never have let you in the way I did. I'm so dark inside, I felt like I was going to ruin you. I made myself believe that I would make you dark, too. When I saw the new girl, I came up with this dumbass plan to flirt like crazy with her. I thought you'd hear about it and walk."

When she realized that he wasn't going to rat Tony out, but take full responsibility for what happened without trying to mitigate his actions with excuses, she forgave him entirely. Maybe she was too tender, but she couldn't hold on to anger or resentment when she could feel his remorse.

"It's a good thing you're pretty," she said drily, standing up to climb into his lap, "because that's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard. You genuinely thought for a goddamn nanosecond that would work? Are we sure Shuri didn't make you selectively stupid as a joke?"

When she settled onto his thighs and wrapped her arms around his neck, Bucky thought that he'd never deserve her, but knew he'd do everything in his power to try. He rested his head on her chest, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers brushing gently over the back of his neck. "I'm so in awe of you, Sasha."

She snorted, "No pedestals, please. I'm afraid of heights."

"No pedestals," he repeated, his arms tightening around her. "I'm keeping you down here on the ground with me."

They sat quietly, enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other. Both felt the closeness like a balm; the previous day had left them both feeling scraped raw. Sasha was soft and gentle with him, aware that he needed that kindness and eager to provide it. Bucky held her close to him, grateful for whatever it was in her that made her so generous with her heart.

"I know Tony was an ass," she murmured. Bucky tensed, then relaxed when she combed her fingers through his hair again. He swore he'd be purring in a minute. "I would have known yesterday but I was distracted by Caleb's visit."

"Caleb?" he asked, the name somehow familiar to him.

"My old dance partner."

"Alligator Fuckhouse?"

"The one and the same. I can't believe you remember that," she said, shaking her head and smiling. She had told him stories about Caleb during their text conversations. Bucky felt a rush of relief at knowing that the man that had been holding Sasha last night was not a threat. He then felt a rush of guilt because she had only needed comfort because of his own actions.

He turned his face into her shoulder and breathed deep. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Sasha."

Using her hands in his hair as leverage, she pulled Bucky's head back to look into his eyes. He found himself caught, her eyes warm like sunlight on tropical seas. She leaned forward, those bright eyes closing as she pressed her lips softly to his. He didn't try to take the kiss deeper, though everything in him screamed for it.

Sasha leaned back again and ran the pad of her thumb over the curve of his plump lower lip. "Don't do it again. I suggest you come talk to me next time. You obviously can't be trusted with decisions like these."

"I wasn't interested in that girl at all."

Sasha smiled fondly at him. "I know."

Bucky leaned up to kiss her again, grateful. "Best thing I ever did was make you take off those damn gloves," he said with his sweet smile.

Sasha was taken aback that he could still say that after everything that had happened between them in the past few days. Her power flared erratically as her palms heated, her control wavering, and she felt his sincerity. He genuinely liked that she knew how he was feeling.

With a yank on his hair, her mouth was moving feverishly on his and Bucky was drowning in the heat of Sasha's desire. He pulled back to ask, "Doll, are you sure-" before Sasha was kissing him again. She broke the kiss to press her forehead against his, breath catching.

"Bucky. Now."

Bucky wasn't completely stupid; he certainly wasn't going to argue. He slipped his arms under her as he stood up to carry her to her bed. "Yes, ma'am."

Chapter Fourteen here

Taglist: (Tags are open)

@marvel-lucy  @cheekygeek05  @lbouvet  @lovely-geek  @wantingtobekorra  

[cconfession-a-blog]

After a lot of debate with myself on how to do this, I decided to just post the incomplete character study I had written a while before I ever joined up with this rpc. The other two won’t be as long as this one, I just happened to have this thing on hand. So. Take this garbage:

Overhaul. Verb.

         Defined as; the act of taking apart (a piece of machinery or equipment) in order to examine it,                                             and repair it if necessary.

Kai Chisaki couldn’t remember his parents, but he was certain he had been their destruction.

He rarely spared them a moment’s thought anymore, too many plans, too much to accomplish, but ever since he had been old enough to put together the pieces, he had thought of a thousand different ways it could’ve happened.

A child of two, angry at nothing, lashing out in his tantrum at the parent who tried to calm him, too stupid to know what would happen. A child of three, curious about the world, about what he could do, who got his questions answered. A child of four, held by his mother, laughing, smiling, and maybe beginning to think he didn’t have a quirk, before she no longer thought much of anything.

In his younger years, he liked that last one. He could at least pretend that she died happy, and that somehow he was the cause of that joy. Though with age grew lucidity, bitterness, and the acknowledgment that he simply wasn’t capable of  giving anyone joy, regardless of how soon after they would meet their deaths.

Whatever had happened, he knew for certain that as a child of five, he was alone.

--

He could remember the dirt and grime of the city alleys he slept in, and the man who rescued him.

Streets bathed in neon, signs on every building that burned so bright he couldn’t tell if the sun had ever set, advertisements telling stories of a world he would never be a part of. Distant songs he couldn’t quite make out, conversations in languages he could only half-understand. Cars that drove, and honked, and screeched, the sirens of ambulances and police cars that he learned quickly didn’t help creatures like him. And the rain.

God, how he hated the rain.

The air would be thick with smog and wet cement, pollution from building rooftops falling into puddles and rivers running with the oils wrung from tar soaking into the rotting cardboard that he had made his home. It felt like he was drowning, that the thunderous raindrops against the cement were trying to deafen him, but as much as he hoped that the elements would overtake him just so he didn’t have to bear it anymore, his prayers were never answered.

His quirk never helped, either. On his best days, he could almost ignore how much existence was, the parts of him that felt every molecule of the world around him in his blood, his lungs, his skin (his skin, which had forgotten what cleanliness felt like, that he wanted to tear off and be rid of if it weren’t for knowing that everything underneath it would have no protection against the Everything he hated). It was on his worst days that he considered turning his power on himself, embrace the Nothingness his powers wrought.

But he didn’t. He bore the agony of Everything. One day, it was worth it.

“Got no place to call home, kid?” A stranger asked him.

He said nothing.

“What’s your name? Can you speak?”

He said something.

“Kai. Kai Chisaki.”

--

He could remember the exact moment he realized he was something else entirely.

He never saw people, he saw puzzles, structures precariously held together. Loose threads his power let him pull on, watch unravel, and only much later learn to weave back together again. He became aware of how easy it was to dismantle Everything in the same way someone might become uncomfortably conscious of their own breathing, or the feeling of their clothes on their skin.

He learned, of course, as the years went on, under new guidance, under something resembling structure, and with what he learned he began to wonder (wonder what his limits were, and what he could do).

He learned, slowly, how his power worked, that he wasn’t destroying anything so much as taking it apart. And that wasn’t all. The pieces were still there, if he could remember, he could put things back together again. Easier said than done. It was too easy to forget a step, an important detail. Simple objects were reassembled wrong, misshapen. Complex ones, unrecognizable (Of course, he would learn to utilize this later, but to his younger self this was only a sign of failure). Still, he persisted, perfected, and learned.

He learned, eventually, of something called genetic engineering. Taking pieces of one thing to splice with another, to create something Better, in an oversimplified manner of speaking. Much like what he did. Too smart to know it was more complicated than just slamming two things together, but still too young and thinking of cartoons on television where characters would fuse together to become more than the sum of their parts, he began to get curious. Could he do it?

The question may have never been answered, if it weren’t for him walking down a street and seeing a crow feasting on the remains of some rat. He felt his hands twitch. He knew what parts a crow was made of, and he knew what parts a rat was made of. They were simple creatures, but he had to start somewhere, didn’t he? Could he do it?

He began to sneak up the crow, careful not to scare it. He’d need to get close enough to touch it, and he foolishly thought that’d be the difficult part. After a few close calls, he sat a foot away from the animal and the carcass, and after a breath, he jumped forward to grab both, watching them disappear into Nothingness as he took them apart, thinking hard about the order of parts and the way they worked together as he tried to envision how he would put them back together. Could he do it?

When he opened his eyes, he couldn’t his own screams of terror from the cries of pain of the monstrosity he had created. A ball of meat, and feathers, and fur, and too many bones. Twisted half-formed wings at broken angles, frantically beating to fly away but being unable to support its own weight, fragile ligaments tearing. A heart-and-a-half that had formed outside its body pounded as if it mattered. And it screamed. Some horrible harmony of rat screeches and avian cawing, too alien to place its sound but too close to either to ignore the chilling sense of familiarity. It began to spasm.

He wanted to destroy it, but couldn’t bring himself to move. Eyes wide, he watched. The abomination couldn’t have survived longer than a minute at most, but it may have been the longest minute of his life. His hands were shaking as he reached to dispose of it, the realization of just what he was capable setting in. He felt sick.

His power terrified him.

...But it had lived, hadn’t it? If only for a moment, before it’s unsustainable form finally have out, but that was because he hadn’t put it back in a working order. It had lived, and maybe, he could learn how to improve. How to make this work.

His power fascinated him.

Character beats:

Driven by the compulsive urge to fix everything he deems broken. Society, objects, people. In his mind, he is the answer.

My take on his quirk is in some parts similar to Momo’s quirk, in which it requires him to have some basic understanding of how things work and are put together in order to reassemble without issue. 

A bit of a god complex, and a recurring metaphor about the “Everything” vs the “Nothing”, himself being more of the latter. This is kind of a weird, abstract thing to try and explain, which I guess is kinda the point, but I still hope you get what I mean.

Insatiably curious.

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog: Voyages Ch 11

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary:  After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

It was hard, finding a place in the congested city that they could successfully hijack as a base of operations. Nothing stayed empty for long, leaving very little in the way of housing options. After searching for a while, they no longer bothered to keep an eye out for an elusive abandoned place to serve as home. Living in the streets worked for them -- until the skies opened up. It was freezing and biting, a kind of rain Junkrat had never experienced in the arid climate of the Outback, not even on the nights where it was cold enough for a frost to form.

Junkrat swore heavily as they searched for cover. They could only linger in stores for so long before they started arousing suspicion. They had yet to build a reputation as a pair of criminals in Beijing, but their very appearance, coupled with generally shifty behaviour, was cause for alarm.

They overturned a recently emptied recycling dumpster and sat inside it, using it as a makeshift roof. From their vantage point in the alleyway, they could see the throngs of pedestrians braving the elements, some scurrying for cover with soggy newspapers held over their heads, others walking briskly with their heads down and umbrellas in hand. Across the street, an omnic left its apartment tower, rubber gum boots and a wide-brimmed rain hat on to protect the more sensitive bits of its machinery.

Junkrat scowled. “Look at that smug little bastard. He gets a roof over his head and we don’t? He’s a bloody machine, s’not like he gets cold!”

Roadhog grunted in agreement. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Junkrat said, full of righteous indignation. He rubbed his hands together. They were clammy from the cold and wet, and he hated it. “Maybe if we, ah, asked him nicely, he’d be willing to loan us his place.”

Roadhog snorted. “Worth a shot.”

“Yeah, what’s the harm in tryin’?” Junkrat snickered and ducked back out into the downpour. He picked up a piece of rusty metal piping and tapped it against the palm of his mechanical hand. It made a menacing, rhythmic clink  as he approached the omnic, who was fumbling to lock up his apartment.

Junkrat opened his mouth to shout “hey!” -- but only half of the syllable made it out before a hand clamped over his mouth. He dropped the pipe in surprise, then wrenched his head down and away, curling in on himself as much as he could manage. Experience and sheer faith told him that Roadhog wouldn’t hesitate to blow off his assailant’s head, and Junkrat wanted to give him the clearest line of sight possible.

His attacker dropped to the ground, Junkrat beneath him, just as a shot rang out, a lethal projectile whistling through the air above them.

All the wind had been knocked out of Junkrat when he hit the ground, but once he recovered, he elbowed the man in the gut and wormed his way out from beneath him. A Junker had once called him a slippery little rat as an insult, but he considered it an ability to be proud of.

Roadhog reached them in record time. He grabbed Junkrat’s attacker by the neck and hauled him upright. It was then that Junkrat realised that he had assumed wrong, and the person was a she -- a butch woman with a short haircut and interlocking Venus symbols tattooed on her cheek. Small in stature but powerfully built, she looked like a dangerous criminal, with a bullish expression and a staggering amount of tattoos peeking out from beneath the cuffs of her sleeves and the collar of her black jacket. Junkrat desperately wanted to take off his sweater so he could flash his own tattooed bicep in return, but he was soaking wet and shivering. He thought better of it.

“Oh, by the Iris,” breathed a voice behind them. In all the commotion, Junkrat had nearly forgotten about his initial target. He looked over his shoulder to find the omnic quivering in its gum boots. It dropped its keys twice before it ran in the opposite direction, one hand clutching its hat to its head and the other gripping an umbrella.

Nobody was pleased. Junkrat and the woman locked eyes, both thoroughly sour over the loss of their prey.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Roadhog growled. Likely the only reason why he hadn’t done so already was because he, like Junkrat, was curious about why she had intervened. She certainly didn’t look like an omnic sympathiser. The woman answered in Mandarin, slowly and deliberately reaching for her pocket. Junkrat picked up his pipe and wielded it like a bat. Roadhog cocked his gun.

The woman withdrew an innocuous looking device, and Junkrat lowered his weapon slightly. It didn’t look dangerous; it was a small clip-on gadget, similar in size and shape to the key fob for Roadhog’s motorcycle. With a twiddle of her thumb on a side dial, the woman directed her next words into the device.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” the device translated, the English words mimicking the woman’s raspy intonation perfectly -- Junkrat wouldn’t have realised it was machine-translated if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.

The red dot of a laser winked onto Roadhog’s forehead and hovered there.

Junkrat was surrounded by water, but his mouth went perfectly dry. “Let her go, ‘Hog,” he managed. He let his pipe clatter to the sidewalk, eyes darting around for the source of the sniper, but he noticed nothing unusual. It took a lot to scare him -- hell, a healthy dose of fear would have kept him out of more than one bad scrape, but fear was a commodity he sorely lacked -- but the thought of Roadhog taking a bullet to the brain terrified him.

Roadhog released her and lowered his gun. The red laser dot remained in place.

“You cost me big,” the woman said. There was a slight amount of delay between her native language and its translation. “That was my mark.”

“Didn’t see yer name on it--” The words fell out of Junkrat’s mouth before he realised that it was unwise to antagonise someone who had their sights set on Roadhog’s head. He clamped his mouth shut, but the device was already spitting out a translation into Mandarin.

The woman’s lip curled. “You didn’t see the symbol?” She jerked her head at a small piece of graffiti on the side of the building, a red emblem that had entirely escaped Junkrat’s notice. It reminded him of the crude symbols that delineated different gangs in Junkertown. He was beginning to think he had made a grave error in going after this particular omnic. “You must be new here.” She clipped the device to her jacket’s collar and folded her arms. With a wave of her hand, the red dot disappeared. “Come with me. You lost me this, you’re making up for it. Don’t try anything funny. There are still eyes on you.”

Unsettled, Junkrat looked around for the hidden sniper again. He glanced at Roadhog and shrugged. Getting involved with a dangerous Chinese triad hadn’t been on his agenda for the day, but if it meant getting out of the rain, he’d take it.

The downpour began to lessen as they followed the woman through a maze of streets that occasionally looped back on each other, as if she was trying to ensure they wouldn’t be able to find their way to her base of operations on their own.

“What’d you want with that omnic anyhow?” Junkrat asked. “I was just gonna beat him up and take his key.”

“I know. And you would have ruined him for me. I need his internal workings.”

“What, like robot organs? Is there some kinda black market for robot parts?”

“Something like that.”

“Omnic organ trading. I love it.”

“Good. Because you’re going to be helping me to pay off your debt. That omnic we lost had a valuable set of servos that could have paid my rent for the next three months.” Junkrat didn’t know enough about paying for housing to tell just how expensive this was, but judging from her bitter tone, he gathered that it cost a pretty penny.

“I can get on board with that,” he said. “Do ya kill them afterwards?”

“Sometimes. If we’re taking their essentials. They’re usually good enough for other purposes.”

Roadhog spoke up. “A trafficking ring.”

They took her silence as a yes.

“Well, ‘sometimes’ is good enough for me!” Junkrat said jovially. “So, I reckon if we’re gonna be workin’ together, we probably oughta know yer name. Junkrat speakin’, and the big guy over there’s Roadhog.”

“You can just call me Lee.” She did not seem inclined to elaborate further. Junkrat attempted to fill the awkward silence that ensued, but all his conversation starters fizzled into nothing. After his pointing out a dead pigeon failed to garner any interest, he decided to shut up. Mostly because Roadhog gave him a look that managed to say stop talking, even with his expression obscured by his mask.

The rest of the walk was quiet. They finally arrived at a massive, derelict warehouse. Lee keyed in a passcode. Both Junkrat and Roadhog wrung out their sweaters and shook themselves off, grateful to be out of the rain, while Lee stood aside, dripping dispassionately on the concrete floor and doing nothing about her appearance beyond slicking back her short hair.

“Finished?” she asked sardonically. She led them down a long hallway that emptied into a large room. Stacked with crates, it looked like the central den of operations. A few gang members had made an attempt to make it livable, with a handful of sleeping bags spread out on the ground and a table that appeared to have multiple overlapping card games in progress. If they tipped their heads back, they could see the dark grey blanket of clouds through a skylight, the torrential downpour leaving streaks on the filthy windowpanes.

On the far side of the room stood an omnic encircled by humans, its back turned to the door and hands clasped behind its back -- tied together, Junkrat assumed. It was hard to read its height from a distance, but he had the impression that it was tall, and it was noticeably robust, with broad shoulders and a thickly plated chest. It looked like someone capable of taking more than a few hits. A real challenge.

Junkrat rubbed his hands together. “Got yerselves a big one there, eh? What, are ya gutting it? ‘Cause I’d love to volunteer my services...”

Lee glanced back at him. “No, and don’t let him catch you saying that.”

Junkrat snorted. “Like I couldn’t take it? Me and my mate here, we’d have it in a heartbeat, wouldn’t we, ‘Hog?”

“Yes.”

Lee wheeled around to face them. “I said, don’t let him catch you saying that,” she growled. “He’s our Boss.”

Junkrat couldn’t help it. He pointed his finger at the omnic and screeched, “That’s your boss? It’s a bloody omnic!”

Lee shrugged. “And he’s good at what he does. If it wasn’t for us, he’d be running a business. It was his job, I guess, being a backup if his company’s bigwig couldn’t make it to a meeting. He got tired of being in his shadow, killed the poor son of a bitch, and left. Free will and all.”

Junkrat was apoplectic. “It doesn’t have free will! It’s following its damn programming and bein’ a business leader, just for a gang instead of a suit, that’s not free will, that’s -- why would ya even want it as yer leader, I--”

He felt Roadhog’s steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him long enough to take a deep breath. By now they had garnered the attention of most of the other gang members, although their leader still hadn’t turned around. Junkrat gestured rudely at its back.

“Likewise,” the omnic replied in perfect English.

Junkrat froze, hand still mid-air. A pair of thin incisions on the back of the omnic’s head glowed bright red, and he realised with a trickling sense of dread that they were eyes. He didn’t like the idea of something having eyes in the back of its head. Bloody unnatural, he thought.

“Lee, who are these?” the omnic continued, switching to its native Mandarin.

Lee left Junkrat and Roadhog behind to step closer. “Boss, I had to intervene, they ruined my objective--”

The translator device was still activated, and Junkrat could hear the muffled beginnings of their argument before Lee realised it was still repeating everything they said and switched it off.

“What did I say about violence against westerners, it draws too much attention, we don’t need to unnecessarily complicate things--”

They furiously whispered at each other in Mandarin until they finally seemed to reach an accord. The Boss turned to look at Junkrat and Roadhog. “You’ll be accompanying Lee on her next venture. We’ll decide where to go from there. That’ll be all.”

Junkrat had the impression that he had just been dismissed, and he did not like it at all. He was a free Junker, nobody told him what to do. “That’ll be all,” he sneered. “No, you listen, I gotta few questions first.” The first was the most pressing. “If yer an omnic, why’re ya traffickin’ them? How do I know yer not makin’ some kinda -- some kinda evil robot army with all this?”

The omnic spread his hands wide. “Why do humans traffic other humans? They’re inferior models and make for good labor. As for the second part, I suppose you don’t. Just know that others have questioned my motives...” He gestured at the group of humans around him, who nodded. “And none of them are capable of questioning further. Next question?”

Junkrat was not impressed. He had been on the receiving end of more intimidating threats. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. Just like I imagine I shouldn’t trust you.”

“Yeah, ya really shouldn’t.”

“But you’ve sorely inconvenienced my operations, and I am offering you an opportunity to work out your apparent aggression towards my kind. So for the time being, we should work together.”

Junkrat considered it. The ramifications of refusing could be severe, and he had pissed off enough people as it was. Besides, being around omnics and their body parts could provide the inspiration he needed for hatching a new plan to execute their god program. “Deal,” he said.

Neither of them offered a hand to shake.

Lee led them back to the warehouse’s main door. “He’s a lost cause now, thanks to you, but meet me outside that omnic’s apartment tomorrow. Eleven o’clock in the morning. I’ll know where you are if you don’t show. We have eyes and ears all over this city.”

“Give us a better reason to show,” Roadhog said.

“Yeah!” Junkrat piped in. “We don’t work for free.”

Lee scowled at them. “You’re repaying a debt, you’re not getting paid. You already cost us enough today.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Junkrat said. “We both lost out on that one, we didn’t get anything out of it ourselves!”

Lee stared at them, eyes flicking over to Junkrat’s mechanical arm and leg. “Fine,” she finally said. “If anything we get turns out to be a dud, you can have it. Use its parts for your prosthetics.”

“Fair enough.” Junkrat was satisfied with this idea.

Lee scrolled open the door for them, and Junkrat let out an audible groan when he saw that it was raining again. Lee had already turned away to leave them to their fate and was unclipping her device when she paused. “Dixia Cheng.”

“Dixia what?”

She clicked the scroll wheel on the side of her translator. “The underground city. Check out the underground city,” she said, “if you need a place to sleep.” She continued walking.

Junkrat and Roadhog looked at each other, then ran after her, leaving the warehouse door gaping. Gusts of rain and wind blew in behind them. “Wait, wait,” Junkrat said. “Y’can’t just say somethin’ like that and leave -- what underground city?”

“It’s an old bomb shelter complex. From the Cold War era, it was Chairman Mao’s idea. I’ve never been inside -- no one I know has been aside. My grandfather visited it once when he was a child, when parts of it were a tourist attraction, but he’s long dead. Barely anyone is aware it exists anymore, and most of the entrances are lost.”

“Then... how are we supposed to find it?”

“I said, most are lost. My grandfather supposedly knew of three, but today, I have only heard of where one used to be. It’s walled off, but...” she glanced down at the grenade canisters in the harness Junkrat had slung around his waist. “I don’t think that will be much of a problem for someone like you.”

Junkrat puffed his chest out, hands on his hips. “Sure it won’t be! No wall’s ever stood in my way before.”

“Where is it?”

Junkrat tuned out the directions that Lee gave them -- he wasn’t going to remember them anyway, Roadhog could take care of it -- and instead struggled with pulling the back of his sweater over his head.

“You look ridiculous,” Roadhog told him when he turned back to face him.

“Least I’ll be dryer than you!” Junkrat retorted.

“And colder.”

Junkrat looked down at the bare stretch of torso that was exposed as a result of attempting to use his sweater as a hood. “Eh, it’s a tradeoff.”

Lee shook her head and headed back down the hallway with nary a goodbye.

“Hold on,” Junkrat called after her. “How are we supposed to find our way back to that apartment from this underground city place?”

A nasty smile played on Lee’s lips. “Good luck.”

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Off the Bat

providentially-demonic submitted:

A short Harry Potter/MSA AU for you!

They had pooled their money, counting Galleons and Knuts and Sickles to be sure they had enough, though Lewis had assured her that if they came up short, his folks would be more than willing to help out. Vivi was determined they could afford it on their own. Arthur deserved the very best and if she had to shell out every single bronze Knut she had, she would get it for him, she’d declared defiantly.

It had taken some time to get away from Lewis’s parents, the Pepper’s considering the three of them under their guardianship during the shopping trip to Nation Alley, just off of the Bloody Angle, through the back wall of an old Chinese Laundry. It was Vivi’s third trip, Lewis’s second and Arthur’s first. Arthur had been unnerved and had clung to the back of Lewis’s shirt until Mama had taken his hand, leading him through the wall of moving machinery into the wonders of Nation Alley. America had all sorts of immigrants, not all of them of the muggle kind, evidenced by the centaur in a plaid shirt with a handcart, selling enchanted arrows. His thick greek accent stood out clearly over the babble. Brightly colored pigeons darted back and forth between buildings, like feathery fireworks. A witch on a battered Nimbus was trying to get a mangy tabby off of an awning, cursing in something that sounded like Chinese. A woman whose outfit seemed to consist of nothing but layers of colorful scarves that moved in an unseen wind held court at a sidewalk cafe table, attended by dozens of varied Kneazles, who watched everyone with intelligent eyes.

Arthur stayed attached Lewis’s mother, taking in everything but saying nothing, his amber eyes wide as saucers. Their first stop had been for new robes, Arthur’s old ones far too short and shabby now, and the old ones of Lewis’s getting shorter. Arthur was hitting a growth spurt and was already several inches taller than Lewis, and Mama had insisted with the winter quarter coming up, he needed ones that actually reached his ankles.

While he was being measured by the fussy seamstress and her assistant who looked suspiciously like a Brownie, Vivi had pulled Lewis away and they had snuck out of the shop. Vivi had unerringly lead the way to a brightly painted shop with a elegant sign depicting a white owl perched on the horn of a dainty unicorn. “Flit’s Fair Familiars” scrolled in looping letters under the hooves of the unicorn.

Lewis looked dubiously at the sign… “Can Unicorns be familiars?”

Vivi elbowed him sharply. “Does it matter?” She headed for the door.

Lewis followed her, but not without one last sideways look at the sign. “Kinda, yeah?”

Vivi rolled her eyes. “Hurry up. We don’t have much time before they notice we’re gone.”

“Can I get some owl treats while we’re here?”

Vivi pulled him away from the rack and past a basket of humming puffskeins. “Depends on how much this will cost first.”

Lewis followed her tugs to a darkened corner of the store, where she peered at a cluster of brown bats hanging from a rafter.

Lewis squinted. In all honesty, he didn’t think they looked anywhere near as cute as Page had, but he agreed with Vivi, Arthur needed a familiar, and one with a longer life expectancy than a rat. He’d wanted to get an owl, like his sweet little Poblano, but Vivi had pointed out that with his propensity for rats, mice and other rodentia, Arthur would not care much for a creature that made meals of them. Lewis frowned and backed up a step, hoping a change in perspective would make them look somehow more appealing.

He bumped into something solid and warm. “Now, what would the two a’you be doin’ in here without a keeper, eh?”

Vivi yipped and jumped a foot in the air. She whirled. “Professor Calder!”

Professor Calder regarded them both down the length of his nose. He’d forgone his robes and was dressed in a charcoal-gray cable-knit sweater over blue jeans, His black dress shoes contrasted sharply with the casual look of his attire. His long black hair was pulled back in a neat queue, unlike the usual braid. He tipped his head to one side, the corner of his mouth pulling down in a frown. “Well, I’m waitin’ for an answer.”

Lewis bit his lip, trying not to shrink back behind Vivi. He really didn’t want to get in trouble with Mama. and he just knew the Professor would remember this when classes started after break. “Um, I— um— I need— needed s-some owl treats f-for Poblano,” he stammered uncomfortably.

Vivi sighed and reached back to thump his shoulder. “You can’t lie for beans, Lew.” She squared her shoulders and looked up at the much taller man, meeting his green eyes squarely. “We want to buy a new familiar for Arthur. He’s been really down since— since Page died.”

Calder’s stern expression softened. Arthur had holed up in the classroom several times after the rat’s death, despondent, and Calder had helped the three of them chose a final resting place for the much-beloved creature, helping a crying Arthur make a headstone for the makeshift gravesite. “Ah. Dontcha think Arthur should have some say in this?”

Lewis started to nod, but Vivi shook her head fiercely. “No. It has to be a surprise, because if he tries to help us choose, he’ll start thinking of Page again and be sad. I want him to be happy again. And it has to be something that lives a lot longer than a rat. I can’t see him go through this again in just a few years.” She looked defiant, but her hands were shaking. She knew how much trouble they would be in if Calder took it upon himself to take them back the Pepper’s.

Calder’s shrewd gaze slid over the cluster of bats in their roost. “You were thinkin’ a bat then? Knowin’ the lad’s got a soft spot the size of an ocean for squeakers.” He reached up and scratched one of the tiny bats under the chin.

Vivi’s shoulders relaxed and she heaved a sigh. “I read up on them, They live between twenty and thirty years in the wild, and wizard-breds always live longer than no-maj kinds. And they look cute, which he’d like.”

Calder laughed, a rolling sound of amusement, startling the bat he was petting. “Clever Vivi, always readin’ up. Careful, lass, if you’re not careful, folks’ll start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong house.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the proprietor, “Bundle my order, then, there’s a love, Aislin—  and have it sent on up to the school. Charge my classroom account and keep a couple o’sickle’s back for each of the courier owls. They’ll ha’e earned it.” He waved at the young woman behind the counter and turned to the door. “You two come with me.”

The two students warily followed him across the cobbled street to Porlock’s Potables, a wooden building that smelled of fresh hay. He grinned at the serving girl and ordered two warmed butterbeers and “A glass of the usual, love.”

He ushered Vivi and Lewis into a booth in the back corner and sat across from them. “So you were thinkin’ a bat— did you have any ideas on what kind?

Lewis hunched his shoulders and cupped his hands around the warmed mug the serving girl set in front of him. “Something big and clever. It need to be to carry things.”

“An’ t’stay safe from the school owls, eh? Good thought, lad.” Calder tossed back his glass of something dark and potent-smelling before pulling a small mirror from his back pocket. “I might be able to help with that. Ptero, answer your mirror, wouldya?”

A lean, tanned face appeared in the mirror, large glasses giving brown eyes an owlish look. “Ello, mate. What ya needing today? I just—”

Calder laughed and waved a hand. “Nothin’ for me, friend, but I ha’e a couple of friends here lookin’ for a bat for their friend. Needs to be fairly large, so the owls hereabouts don’t think lunch. Any recommendations?”

“Course! I have some flying foxes I been breeding for the local nightwatch witches, lovelies one and all, and I ain’t just talking about the bats.” The face on the mirror offered a broad wink.

“Spare me talk of that. You think one of them might do?”

“Oh, better even. My roosts are smart as whips and clever as Kneazles with their wing-claws. I got a couple rares that the watch canna use. Too noticeable-like and easy as one-two-three to spot on a dark night, so’s the witches can’t use them.”

“Rares? There somethin’ wrong with ‘em, Ptero?” Calder leaned forward, his easygoing smile slipping away. “You wouldna be tryin’ to pawn a sick beastie off on me students, wouldya?”

Ptero paled under his tan. “No, all my roosts are healthy as can be. I have them checked monthly by the local wizarding council. No, I got me a couple of piebalds. One of my roosts threw a couple of pups with leucism. Whiter than white with black mottling. Smart as or smarter than their roostmates and in good health, I swear, just too easily seen for nightwatch. But that wouldn’t be a bit of a problem for a student, now would it?”

“Can we see one?” Vivi demanded, up on her knees in the booth so she could see the mirror.

Ptero nodded and stepped out of range of the mirror, though his voice still came through. “Here now, spotty-gal, might have a place for you after all.”

He came back into sight with a bat the size of a small cat clinging to his shoulder. He hadn’t lied, it was mostly white with black patches on its thin wings and a small patch like a cap on its white head. It had bright intelligent eyes and squeaked softly at them through the mirror. “She’ll be getting a bit bigger, she’s not quite weaned yet.” Ptero added, scratching the white chin inil the bat went all but cross-eyed with bliss.

Vivi was instantly in love, Lewis could tell by her expression. “She’s perfect. How much?”

Ptero looked crafty for a moment until Calder cleared his throat. “Um, for you nine Galleons and seven Sickles; that’s at cost. Course there’s still the matter of getting her from here to there. Shipping costs, even by floo network.”

Before Vivi could look sick at that, Calder waved a hand. “I’ll worry about transport for her.”

Lewis spilled out their money pouch and was counting out coins with care, one at a time. It took nearly everything they had managed to save, but they had enough.

Calder watched him count and nodded to Ptero. “We’ll be takin’ her then. I’ll contact you with details later.” He tapped the frame of the mirror and it went dark.

Vivi squealed and hugged Lewis and then, to Professor Calder’s surprise, attacked him with a hug as well. He tossed his head up like a startled horse but warily patted her on the back.

“Alright, then. You two should be gettin’ back. I’ll send an owl with pick-up details. I should like to be there when you give her to the lad, though.”

Lewis nodded and handed him the money before grabbing Vivi’s hand and hauling out of there. He hoped Mama hadn’t missed them yet!

“Lewis Pepper!”

Oh no.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIZ! You’ve been accepted for the role of TYBALT. Admin Rosey: Liz, welcome, welcome, welcome back! Reading the application over is such a treat for the admin team as a whole. Your interpretation of Tiberius is so shameless, vibrant, and utterly unique that I couldn’t help but swoon a second time over when reading it. You give him such a vivid voice and direction -- I’m over the moon that he has come back into the fold once more. The Capulets kids are so ready to wreak havoc, I pray for the group as a whole. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Liz.

Age | 27.

Preferred Pronouns | She/her.

Activity Level | Since English is my third language, it takes not only inspiration, but a lot of effort to write, so I might not be able to pop out replies on a daily basis, but I shall always be around for plotting and developing the character. Overall, I’d say 5-6, writing-wise, and 8-9 plotting-wise.

Timezone | GMT +4.

In Character

Character  | Tybalt, Tiberius look-at-me-the-wrong-way-and-I’ll-step-on-your-throat Capulet.

What drew you to this character? | It’s been a while since I played a “villain”, and it’s a challenge I love to take on. At the face value, Tybalt is a bad guy - murderous, ambitious and ruthless. To be given a chance to dig deeper and find redeeming qualities, discover his many layers and hidden depths, which explains why he is the way he is – I find it to be the best part of writing a villain.

In history books, the names of villains and heroes are written with the same ink. Scratch that, history is written by the winners. In psychology, anger is a secondary emotion. There’s always a root cause emotion hiding underneath it, in most cases, fear or hurt. But, not when it comes to Tiberius. No, his anger stems from desire. The desire to make his mark on the pages of history. It’s not an ego thing, really, it’s more about – what’s the point of living if you don’t make it count? Endless money, beautiful women and fast cards do not interest him. He only cares about power - as a means to an end. The end being engraving his name in history for days to come. And honestly, his own and his family name are one and the same. He sees himself as the most efficient and capable weapon to guarantee the Capulet glory.

He isn’t a psychopath who can’t understand human emotions and have empathy, he just considers himself above it all. There’s a weakness in compassion. Even if his heart tells him to show mercy, he will only do it if it benefits him in the long run. Tiberius is rage given a voice, but his anger doesn’t control him, he controls his anger. Sometimes, he randomly shows either unexpected mercy or completely exaggerated ruthlessness. That’s part of his long-term game, too - always remain unpredictable, so the enemy can never anticipate your next move.

To sum up, he believes “you only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”, and I’d love to bring him to this amazing journey.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

The King without a crown | Maybe he isn’t technically the leader, but I’d love to see him grow into a person the whole organisation gravitates towards, and listens to his command, even if his title doesn’t give him the ultimate authority by default.

Cat & Mouse | Tiberius is a violent person, but his violence is never personal, it’s always strategic. Every rule has an exception though, and there’s a person behind the enemy lines he simply enjoys making miserable. He beat the ever-living shit out of them on more than one occasion, always dropping them off in front of the hospital to make sure they make it out alive, so he can come back for more.

Friends in high places | Imagine if Tiberius had to set aside his knives, guns, and fists for once and, for once, be forced to get his way with smiles and champagne. There’s a person he needs on his side, and they’re too politically or socially powerful for Tiberius to punch into submission. But, absolutely have the attempt to try a different route blow up in his face and him resorting to good old, violent ways.

Regrets collect like old friends | Him killing someone that Rafaella, or Juliana truly care about. No, he won’t regret the act, but maybe regret being smug about it, in front of them. Tiberius trying to make amends would be a fun spectacle to watch.

Hell has no fury | One of his soldiers betraying him. For now, he’s confident his leadership methods are foolproof, and guarantee loyalty. How shall he deal with the idea that he might be wrong? Will he try to change anything? Or will he make such a vicious example out of the treacherous rat that no one else will dare to do the same? Maybe both…

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

He should have learned by now that when you were in charge of a group of men that may or may not contain one or two specimens of profound idiocy, things were going to get in the way of plans. There were always things; new things, old things, the repetition of things he thought he’d already resolved - problems, you called those - that were, apparently, beyond the mental capacity of certain barely-evolved ape-like goons that he called his family. The other family, of course; not the ones he sat quietly - or not so quietly - down to Sunday dinners with, but the other one - his Capulet soldiers. Yeah, that one, the one we don’t speak of in a legally inclined environment.

In fact, the problem he was presented with when he reached their safehouse - his base of operations - was of such an absurd level of imbecility that he’d contemplated shooting the poor bastard who’d solicited his assistance. Somehow, some way, by some twist of stupidity, they thought it was a good idea to execute a Russian loyalist on a Montague territory. It had taken most every swear-word he knew in every language he spoke to express his utter disappointment, before he instructed these useless piles of crap never to snort cocaine while on task. The place reeked of blood. He hadn’t been there when his men executed the loyalist who wouldn’t give up the information Tiberius needed, but he could tell, it had been brutal.

The body had been carried out, dropped off at the side of the room. There were a couple of guys standing nearby; Tiberius could hear that the topic of the evening was “the blonde with a huge rack”. Empty bragging from one of the guys; he knew that no blonde with a huge rack had gone home with him last night. If she had, it had happened after he left, and she would hardly have been as attractive as the man in question suggested. He loved him like a brother, but the guy did not have game. He had money, at times, but not game. The Dark Lady whores never turned him down.

“I look down, and she’s got her mouth wrapped around my cock…”

He heard the words, registered them, and he grinned. Empty talk. Big talk. He’d heard it all before. After raining fury upon them for making a mistake, Tiberius had calmed down. He walked up to them. “Let me guess, and then she asked you for my number?” he even offered a joke.

The guys broke out laughing, even the guy the comment was directed at. A crude joke here, a crude joke there, it kept them on his side, and it kept him on their level. Not to mention that it kept him where he felt comfortable. The captain of Capulets, where he could be as brutal and crude as he wanted without worrying about hurting people’s precious feelings; it suit him just fine. One day, he wanted to be the general. He was going to be the general. But for now, he loved being in charge of these morons he called his soldiers.

As the conversation started again, this time revolving around another loyalist’s latest conquest, he let his eyes stray from the party and take in the sight of the dead man. He couldn’t see his face; his arm had landed over his head when he’d been dropped there, hiding it, but he could still see the consequences of all the beating he took. It was like writing across his body; several large cuts, giant bruises, a rib sticking out of his skin. He could see his body moving, his chest rising and settling weakly. “You said that he was dead.” He didn’t realize until he’d said it that he’d interrupted the conversation, just to utter a statement in an accusatory tone. Everyone was suddenly silent, staring at him.

“Yeah, but… He’s as good as; we didn’t think it’d matter.”

He felt like clearing his throat, but didn’t. He didn’t like being lied to, or being served near-truths. “It doesn’t,” he barked, passing the speaker an annoyed look, “But if he isn’t dead yet, he isn’t dead yet. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” He finished his statement with a smirk, and the others laughed slightly. Feelings, pshh. Like any of them had that. He looked at the body again, the weak but desperate way it breathed. “Isn’t Alessandro’s closed over the weekend?“

“Aww, not Alessandro’s! That’s my favorite sandwich place!”

Tiberius smirked. “You don’t have to stop eating there.“ Some of the others laughed, one or two nudged the speaker in the side, waggling their eyebrows and making eating gestures. The man looked sick to his stomach, but it passed quickly, like it should. “Don’t blame me, anyway; blame Alessandro for going out of town at the right time.” It was the easiest way to handle it, really; find the nearest closed sandwich shop or restaurant under their care, make use of their machinery and avoid eating there for a couple of months, until there was no chance of human mixing with ham anymore. It made it easier to dispose of the bodies when they were in little bits, after all. “There a car out back?” he asked when the conversation between the others started to fade, and one of the guys dangled some keys and nodded. “Alright. Let’s move him.”

“What the hell are you waiting for? You want me to perform the last rites, or something?“ They stopped stalling and picked up the body. He groaned. "Stop.” The guys looked mildly concerned. “Put him down!” They dropped him, hard. He groaned again, weakly. He grabbed the man’s head, twisted it in a sudden motion. The snap was followed by a silent exhale. It almost sounded peaceful. He got back up, nodded to the guys. They picked up the body, carried him out. Looking down, he realized that there were stains of blood on his hands. Someone handed him a rag. He cleaned most of the blood off, subsequently dropping the dirty rag on the floor. He was done here. “Chop him and bury him,” the order went directly to one of his closest, and he nodded in response, “I’ve got a party to get to.”

Extras: here’s a link to mock.