#fought with this a bit & can’t say I entirely like it but it’s good to finally get it out of my wip folder at the very least LOL

[knightforflowers]

Drawing something for every episode of Ethersea - Episode 11 [bonus] (prev - next)

already drew something for this episode but the sketch for this piece has been in my drafts since like last April and now seemed like a better time than any to finally finish it up a little bit 👍

[missqhughes]

ON THE RECORD | Q. HUGHES43

-> quinn hughes x fem!reader

-> contains: dom!quinn, unprotected pnv, m!oral receiving filming sex, physical fighting, bruises and blood, sexual acts and themes, exgf!reader x vince dunn

-> IN WHICH: it’s the first canucks vs. krakens game of the season; and for quinn, this time it’s personal. when y/n’s ex has some words to say about their relationship, he shows both of them exactly who she belongs to.

-> locked in to this fic so hard bc i haven’t written in forever, so i finished writing it in the shower BUT NOT LIKE THAT I PROMISE. also there’s 100% discrepancies in real game play vs in this but please bare with me for the plot. (hope you love it as much as i do!)

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

y/n was never nervous for a game.

but nothing could take away the ache she had leading up to this one.

it had been a while since her and quinn started dating, and he had it out for her ex since she told him all the horrible things he did to her; cheating, lying, hooking up with multiple women during the season, making a fool out of her publicly. however, she begged quinn not to start something; let bygones be bygones and leave it be, arguing how she left it all behind her. he agreed, knowing he didn’t want any bad press on himself; as captain and as someone the media knew wasn’t a fighter in the league.

y/n sat with her friend in the suite , fiddling with the sleeves of quinn’s jersey, eyes following where he was skating; he looked calm, focused, attentive to warm ups.

“dude, you need to calm down,” her friend laughed, noticing her obvious stress, “nothing is going to happen between them, i promise.”

y/n looked at her friend, “i know, i know. it’s just… quinn hates him. i know vince, and i know he can’t help himself from a fight. i’m just worried.”

“think quinn can’t handle himself?”

“no i know he can, i don’t want him risking getting hurt over something as stupid as a fight,” she retorted, gaze still fixed on the ice, “especially with vince.”

“i think you’re being dramatic,” her friend chuckled, taking a sip of her cold beer, “it’s just another game, no big deal.”

y/n sighed, shoulders relaxing a bit, allowing her friend’s reassurance to ease the tension in her body, “yeah, you’re right. just another game,” she said, cheering her cup with hers.

——————————————————————————

CANUCKS 3 - KRAKEN 2 / 3RD PERIOD

quinn was good at keeping his cool.

he had to, after all.

he ignored the glares from vince, his attempt at intimidation lingering through the entire game.

they didn’t come close in contact, until during a time out, quinn heard a voice call out at him,

“y/n here tonight? bet she came just for me,” vince chirped, a sinister, smug look on his face as he skated past him.

quinn stayed stone faced.

further into the final period of the game, he felt a body slam into his, nearly losing his balance and almost falling into the boards,

the whistle blew, and quinn was met yet again with vince’s hubristic stance,

“saw you’re with her now, how’s that goin for you? bet i come up a lot,”

vince spat, quinn skating closer to him, his temper beginning to spark in his body,

“get over it bud. she’s done with you.” quinn said calmly, the other players around the ice not aware of the situation brewing beside them.

“look hughes, you’re not special,”

with each word, the kraken gets closer and closer to quinn, puffing his chest and spewing hate, the hands in his gloves in the beginning of curling into fists,

“it was just you to get over me,”

quinn’s jaw tightened,

vince laughed bitterly, “she’s a slut, you tonight someone else tom-”

vince couldn’t even finish his sentence before quinn shoved him hard, both their gloves dropped as they fought, quinn bringing him down to the ice, delivering blow after blow to his face.

it all happened so fast, y/n heard the pounding on the glass, cheering on a fight, and feeling her stomach twist when she saw 43.

oh god.

none of the refs were able to get quinn off of him alone, his fists not stopping until they were bruised and bloody, matching the wounds on vince’s face.

quinn was panting with anger, face tinted crimson, a light bruise forming on his cheekbone where vince had landed a punch. he couldn’t feel the near splits in his knuckle, too riled with adrenaline to feel anything but rage.

——————————————————————————

fortunately enough, the canucks ended the game with a win, but that didn’t change how fired up y/n knew quinn was going to be when she saw him.

she was allowed to be in the locker room during post game interviews, and she watched nervously as interviewers swarmed and crowded quinn, bombarding him with questions.

he was asked about the fight, detail, if vince had said anything to set him off, the why as a captain, he would start something on the ice.

quinn’s expression remained nothing short of blank, refusing to answer any questions regarding it, pursing his lower lip, “nothing to say about that. keep it about hockey and that’s it.”

after post game reports had finished, y/n waited outside by the doors for quinn to come out.

she didn’t know how he was going to be when he came out, pacing with worry about what the media would twist this game in to.

y/n heard the heavy doors click open, quinn in a lazy rendition of his suit, walking over to her; the bruise on his cheek deeper in color than when she initially saw.

“hey baby,” she said softly, opening her arms for quinn to embrace without hesitation.

“hey,” he replied, tightening their hug before pulling away, “cmon, we need to go home.”

quinn didn’t give y/n a chance to respond when he hooked his hand into hers, leading her to his dark tinted car in the lot.

y/n slid into the passenger seat while quinn loaded his gear into the trunk, she looked out the window until the driver’s side door clicked shut.

she looked over at quinn, an unreadable look on his face; he said nothing, instead putting the car in drive to go back to their shared apartment.

the drive home was silent.

the only sound being the hum of the car engine and their steady breaths. quinn always had his hand on her leg when he drove, but this time his hand was a little higher, his grip a little tighter, all whilst he kept his gaze fixed on the road. y/n’s breath would hitch ever so slightly when his fingers kneaded into her skin.

——————————————————————————

quinn was still quiet even after getting home.

frustrated, y/n spoke out, “quinn, what did vince say to you?” she said with a sigh,

“shit about me. about you. us.” he mumbled, taking off his suit jacket and undoing the black tie he had on.

“so, that’s reason enough to give me the silent treatment all the way home? you’re acting like that was my fault,”

“i never said it was your fault.”

“you don’t have to! it doesn’t take a lot to know you’re upset,” she retorted,

“y/n,” quinn started, walking over to where she was standing, holding her by the neck when he kissed her roughly, biting her lip when she moaned lightly into his mouth.

he tapped the back y/n’s of legs, and she jumped hooking her legs around his waist without objection.

quinn waltzed them to the bedroom, their kiss nowhere close to cooling off. quinn lightly tossed her on the bed, lips peeling off hers to suck and bite on the exposed skin of her neck.

y/n groaned lightly, beginning to unbutton his collared shirt, when quinn pulled off of her, leaving y/n with furrowed brows.

“quinn, what’s wrong?” she said, propping herself up on her arms, looking up at her boyfriend, confused.

“wait here baby,” he said, leaving the room.

she nodded, and about 15 seconds had passed when quinn returned to the room, his phone in hand with the camera app already opened.

“you want to make a movie huh?” she said, beginning to peel off the jersey that housed quinn’s name.

“only for our number one fan. leave the jersey on,” he said, “but everything else, off. now.”

y/n nodded, slipping down her pants and thong, her pussy already aching with the desire quinn had filled in her.

quinn swiftly undid his belt with one hand, lowering his pants and boxers to leave his hard length exposed.

“c’mere, suck.”

y/n obliged, moving down to her knees to meet quinn at hip length, the phone flash shining brightly in her face when she took the tip of his dick and swirled it around her tongue.

quinn groaned, moving his free hand to pull y/n’s hair into a ponytail with his fist. his breath quickened, y/n taking all of him in, bobbing up and down; quinn’s hips matching her rhythm.

he had almost forgot he was recording her, but when her lashes fluttered up to perfectly view the camera whilst she sucked him, quinn knew he was close to cumming.

quinn groaned louder, fucking y/n’s face, her moans sending vibrations on his dick that pushed him to his release. he pulled out of her mouth right when he was about to cum, y/n sticking her tongue out to collect his release.

god he was loving this.

he stopped the video as she wiped the leftover release from her face, pulling her up for a sloppy hot kiss.

quinn pulled away, the two panting with puffy lips, “bed, ass up, baby. now.” he instructed, reopening his phone for the perfect view.

“yes captain,” y/n said, just ready for whatever quinn had in store for her, her wetness beginning to seep down and stick to her inner thighs, burning for him to touch her.

after hitting record, quinn wasted no time aligning himself with her, pumping in and out a few times before going fully in, his hips meeting her ass, eliciting moans from the two of them.

his pace was rapid and brutal, moving her hair away from her and back into his hands, revealing to the camera the “hughes” jersey she was wearing.

“fuck, quinn! mm, so good— my god, fuck,” y/n moaned, echoing with the sound of their skin slapping against one another, her noises music to quinn’s ears.

he continued to pound hard into her, y/n’s knuckles white from how hard she gripped into the sheets, feeling her stomach tighten, about to reach her high.

quinn felt her pussy tighten around him, knowing she was close, “gonna cum baby? go ahead, cum,” he husked, coming to his second of the night.

she screamed in pleasure, her cunt coating his dick, mixing with his as he filled her up with his release.

quinn pulled out of her slowly, giving time to show the camera a view of her dripping puffy pussy, ending the video with a hard smack on her ass.

y/n yelped, falling into the bed. quinn turned her around, gently kissing her in her dazed state.

“you okay baby?” he asked gently, caressing her face with his thumb,

“mhm, but i think you killed me. i’m exhausted,” she laughed, quinn smiling and bringing his lips down to peck hers, “sorry, want me to go start a shower for us?”

“you know me so well,”

quinn crawled off of her, grabbing his phone before slipping into the bathroom,

he opened instagram, typing in vince’s username into the search bar, itching as he opened their messages tab.

——————————————————————————

© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Big Guy Big Belly

König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.

At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 

Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 

He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.

Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.

It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.

See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ��you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.

Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.

If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.

The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?

But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.

He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.

All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

NEEDY — A DRABBLE

Also on AO3

Pairing: Will Graham x Fem!Reader

WC: 1.0k words

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors dni), verrrry light petplay (more implied than anything tee hee), thigh riding, dom/sub dynamics, aaaand that’s it i think!

A/N: PHEW i needed to get this out of my system…. Short and sweet but here u go!! Enjoy!

—————

Will wasn’t entirely sure what you were up to, but he had a pretty good idea based on the anxiousness of your movements. Your heavy sighs as you rested your cheek on his knee. The shift of your weight and the press of your torso against his leg. He could feel your intense gaze even if his book covered your face.

He pet your head absently, pretending to be too engrossed in his reading. You didn’t want to actually say something, not wanting to disturb him, but the need within you would not cease. You shifted your hips once again, an insistent heat in your lower belly, your panties sticking to your cunt.

And you couldn’t even think of snaking your hand between your legs, not unless he gave you permission too. You couldn’t help another tortured sigh.

“What is it, hmm?” He asked, turning the page. “Can’t find a comfortable position?”

He glanced down to see you shake your head. “Then tell me.”

“I need you,” you said, voice soft.

Finally, he set his book aside and looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. There was an undeniable glazed look in your eyes, as well as a pleading pout to your lips that confirmed his suspicions.

“Oh, you need me, do you?” He hummed in thought, then patted the couch next to him. “Come up here, let me see.”

You did as told, climbing onto the cushion and presenting for him on all fours across his lap. Your body jerked at the first contact of his hand against the skin of your thigh, making him chuckle slightly. His fingers trailed upwards slowly, teasingly, but you didn’t dare move.

A sharp inhale as his fingers reached his destination, touching you over your underwear and secretly marveling at the wetness he found there.

“Now this is interesting,” he mused. “What’s got you all worked up, hmm? You must be in heat…”

You said nothing, hyper aware of where he was touching you, your hips wiggling almost imperceptibly into his hand. Then his fingers slipped under the fabric and your eyes fluttered closed as you whimpered.

His own desire flared, but he did not heed it, focusing on you instead. Wanting to get you so worked up you couldn’t even think anymore. You were nearly there already, so it wouldn’t take much more. It had been a wonder you had waited so long, but he hadn’t minded dragging it out for a bit.

“I know how to help,” he said, voice low and husky. “Take these off first.”

You pulled back and slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside without another thought. He spread his legs and adjusted his hips, patting one of his thighs to indicate you should sit there. He held your gaze as you swung one leg over his, slowly lowering your body onto it. You gingerly placed your hands on his shoulders, and he placed his on your hips.

“Good girl,” he praised with a satisfied grin. “So wet for me…Come on, I want you to get off on me like this, alright? Don’t hold back.”

You let out a desirous sound, raising your arms to help him take the shirt you wore — his shirt — off. He palmed one of your breasts lazily, his other hand aiding the motion as you rocked your hips forward.

You leaned back to give him more access to your chest. His mouth watered as he fought the urge to lick the more sensitive skin, keeping you on edge. You continued to move your hips back and forth, your pussy sliding easily against his skin.

“Just like that,” he praised. “Feels good doesn’t it?”

You nodded mindlessly, finding a particular rhythm that seemed to work really well. You craved more closeness, his heat against you, so you leaned forward and pressed your chest against his. You nuzzled his neck, breathing him in, lips against his skin.

His grip on you tightened as you kissed and sucked on the sensitive flesh, your motions not stopping but instead becoming faster, more erratic. Every drag sparking little bolts of electricity that had your muscles beginning to coil tightly, your legs trembling.

Then you felt him lift you slightly to tug your hips to the side. Before you could protest, though, he settled you down against the outline of his hard cock straining against his boxers.

“Keep going, you were so close, weren’t you?” He rasped, urging your hips to move against him, his cock pulsing in response. “I want to feel you on my cock when you come.”

“Yes,” you moaned wantonly, pulling back to look at him.

You resumed your motions almost frantically, his eyes drawn to the way your breasts bounced as you sought your release. His brows knitted together, expression crumpling into one of agonized ecstasy. He wanted to be buried inside you, but that could wait until later, after he’d left you wanting more for a little while longer.

You leaned your forehead against his, your harsh breaths intermingling with his. It didn’t take long for you to get back to that peak you’d been so close to, pleasure running through you like liquid heat.

You tensed against him, clinging on for dear life, as your climax rippled outwards from your core. You let out a choked sob as you shattered completely and utterly, all the pent up arousal finally released.

“That’s it… Good girl,” he murmured, pulling you in for a slow, sloppy kiss that made your head spin even more. “That was just what you needed wasn’t it?”

You nodded, nipping at his lower lip playfully. He chuckled, patting you on your lower back. You slid off his lap and curled up next to him on the couch, your head on his lap.

He grabbed his book once more, absently petting your side with his free hand.

“Now let me finish reading this, alright? I’m sure you can find ways to entertain yourself in the meantime… but don’t distract me.”

Oh, but you intended to. After all, you had left quite a mess on his underwear, and you figured it was only polite to help him clean it up after being so generous to you.

———-

[hmsdoodlin]

(22) Heart and Soul <3

Long ramble under the cut

I’ll be honest I have no idea why these two resonate so much with me, they barely interact in the album one on one. But I think they’re really cute and I’m kissing them on the tops of their heads. They have so much potential.

(Please don’t crucify me for any of this, I acknowledge that some of my takes may be ooc. This is all based on interpretation and whimsy. Soul is hard for me to characterize.)

My version of Soul is tired. He’s driven to drastic decisions that he does not want to do. He loves his Heart and his Mind with his entire being just as much as he hates them, they’re him! They’re a package deal! But in Cacophony Heart and Mind are far too absorbed with their rivalry to really acknowledge him unless it’s to turn the argument in their favor. He feels ostracized and used, more like something to be fought over than a friend. I think he’s really lonely.

And then you have Heart. Someone who yearns to be understood but struggles to express himself in a healthy way. He craves for unity just as much as Soul and Mind do, but ultimately crumbles beneath his own perception of the others and his loathing. He wants to love, he has the capacity to if he is the entire emotion spectrum, he just can’t express it right now because of everything going on inside his head.

Soul really needs a hug and to feel loved -> Heart really needs a hug and to feel understood

Both are incredibly lonely in their own ways, but they also have the ability to be mutually beneficial for each other in Cacophony.

Assuming Soul is half and half of both sides, he’s able to understand and at least sympathize with Hearts point of view. He doesn’t agree with it, he can see past all of the twisted perceptions, but he’s able to provide the sympathy/understanding that Heart needs. No matter how small. And in turn Heart is able to provide that brief feeling of togetherness and unity. Heart is most likely the easiest to connect with on a surface level, and therefore the best option for when Soul is feeling down and hopeless.

Heart thinks the entire world is against him, he believes that Mind and by extension Soul hate him and want him gone. Soul is able to quell the moons worries, at least for the night. Soul believes that his sides hate him just as much as they hate each other, he wants them all to get along. Heart can provide that feeling of unity, physical touch acting as a form of reassurance and communication. He can pretend that everything is good for a moment and that the warm body beside him is how it’s supposed to be.

I headcanon Mind as touch adverse and Heart as very physical, so Soul is the perfect middle ground! Heart and Soul are able to connect on a very emotional level, and therefore have an easier time showing affection and being close. Lots of cuddles! Lots of comforting! They don’t have to talk, there’s no pressure, they can just hug and everything melts aways. They want to keep each other safe and happy.

Their relationship is so appealing because there’s no barrier between them. They can connect with and understand each other on a very emotional level, switching seamlessly between comforter and comfortee in most scenarios.

I have a lot to say about them in an angst sense, but it delves a bit too far into headcanons and is incredibly long. That’s a discussion for another time, I’m trying to focus on the positives of their dynamic here. Heart and Soul angst absolutely cooks though, trust.

I may be delusional. But in my HEART and in my SOUL they are very close. They share the same night sky! The moon orbits the earth and controls the tides! You can only see the stars when it’s night time!!!!

(Quickly going to clarify that I personally accept a lot of different interpretations of Hearts blindness as canon, I generally like and accept most headcanons even if they conflict with eachother. Soul blinded Heart? Cool. Mind blinded Heart? Epic. Heart was always blind? Awesome. I personally don’t really care and I think all of them can be true simultaneously. Why the hell not, time does not exist on a linear scale. I don’t agree with Soul being 100% an abuser though, he’s just as much of a complicated victim as the other two.

I personally like the idea that Heart did it to himself in apathy the most. Doodle Heart has subscribed to that, as will all/most of my interpretations of him. My Soul didn’t hurt him in that way. And I think he was actually quite mortified when he found out.)

Be silly be goofy, do whatever the hell you want, at the end of the day this is my own personal point of view. They swim in my brain like little amoeba and have rerouted all my nerves. I’m definitely more inclined to be soft on them so take everything I’ve said with a grain of salt. My ass is biased. On my hands and knees begging for more content of them though. PLEASE.

On a less serious note. I think Heart is Souls little guy. He love him :(

[luminique]

I read through your entire Lighter zzz tag over the last few days bc the brainrot is real, lol. Thanks for the food, and I have some (potential) brainrot for you in return: Girl Dad lighter

I just know that man is sobbing at every milestone she hits. First steps? He gets misty eyed. First word? Literal tears streaming down his face. Bonus points if baby’s first word is about Lighter, i.e. “papa,” or maybe “song,” but she’s pointing at Lighter in a way that makes it obvious she means “strong” but just can’t say it yet. And Overlord help him when she starts learning to drive.

Also, whether she’s bio, step, or adopted, it makes no difference to him, that’s his baby girl either way!!

Anyway, those are (some of) my thoughts, lol.

i watched a vid of a little kitten imitating a golden retriever that had helped raise the kitten and it reminded me of lighter and i remembered this. girl dad lighter is so real and especially with his character theme video where he’s trying to take care of his comrade’s little sister….. this could be seen as a continuation of some sorts to another post of mine here !!

being a dad isn’t easy, not that he thought it would be. it’s physically demanding with how often he has to get up at night to cradle the baby to sleep, or how much he has to entertain her (he is not raising an ipad kid). what he didn’t consider is how emotional he could become over the course of a few years.

he remembers when she took her first steps. carefully crawling around his room, playing around with her toys but particularly close to a small stool he had. “come here, pretty” lighter’s hands were open for his little girl to crawl over to him. his voice was much sweeter and higher pitched, a change that you only hear when he’s talking to her. he initially thought that it would just be another fun play time but didn’t expect what he saw next.

as her small hands gripped the stool’s legs, she pushed herself up and was able to stand on her two feet. okay okay, nothing too surprising there, he thought. she turned around to him and began to take one step, then another, before tripping and falling down. his eyes widened at the sight, not knowing whether to be happy or be worried as he went over to her, coddling her with reassurance. “does it hurt anywhere? it’s okay, daddy’s here.” he gently wiped away her tears before it clicked in his head.

“wait… you just walked. that’s my girl.” chuckling as tears of joy welled up in his eyes. she didn’t quite understand but she saw his smile and laughed too, her own crying beginning to turn into laughter.

her first words were more of a group effort? ever since lighter became a dad, he hung out less during the sons of calydons night time gatherings around the fire. wanting to prioritize her sleep time and stay indoors at night, however the girls were able to convince him to hang out for a bit. they also wanted to see his little girl more then him but they wouldn’t directly admit it.

with the baby on the overlord’s lap, fascinated by caesar’s mechanical arm, she’s blabbering out nonsensical noises. then all of a sudden “dada” and “papa” comes out of her when she’s looking up at him. “d-did she just say papa…?” all of them turned towards the little girl that was grabbing at caesar’s grey-ish green hair.

“can you say burnice? burn like let’s burn this place down!” “burnice! she is NOT learning your name like that!” as the two blonde haired girls fought over the baby’s attention, lighter gently scooped her up into his arms. her happy babbling continued, calling him “dada” in between the incoherent words.

it felt like a dream come true, having her recognize him as her dad. even if not biologically but the sleepless nights, the many mistakes, the never ending crying. the feeling of pride swelled up inside of him, making even the undefeated champion cry. it’s not much now, but he can already see how proud he’ll be when she grows up surrounded by good family that will shower her with all their love.

[velarisdusk]

The Crown's Command

Day 14: Boot Worship | Eris x Reader word count: 1.5k author's note: LISTEN. evil high lord eris is.... whew ! im not saying i LIKE it. however i am also not saying i HATE it. what i AM saying is that i love it and i would let him do whatever i am not ashamed ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

He was every bit the tyrant his father had been — perhaps worse.

You had known this when you approached the Autumn Court’s throne with your grievances, but knowing and experiencing it were two different things. Eris Vanserra lounged on his throne, his posture deceptively casual, though his eyes burned with all the fury and cruelty of the High Lord he now was. The court was teeming today, filled with nobles, advisors, and petitioners, all eyes heavy with judgment as they watched the exchange unfold.

“I’m not asking for your approval, High Lord,” you spat, your heart hammering in your chest. “I’m asking for fairness.”

Eris’s lips curled into a smile, though there was no warmth in it, only sharp edges. “Fairness?” His voice was a slow, dangerous drawl. “You dare speak to me of fairness. What is unfair is having ungrateful citizens unable to grasp their rightful place.” His amber eyes narrowed as he surveyed you, the weight of his disdain pressing down like a physical force.

You opened your mouth to argue again, but a single flick of his wrist silenced you. The guards stationed at either side of the room moved before you even had time to process the order, their hands clamping around your arms with brutal strength. 

“Bring her up here,” Eris commanded, his voice calm and unhurried as if this were all some game. “Let her make her case from her knees.”

The guards dragged you up the dais toward him, the strength of their grip biting into your skin as you were forced down in front of him, right at the base of the throne. You could feel the eyes of the court on you — dozens of them, silently watching, waiting to see what Eris would do next. Your cheeks burned with a mixture of rage and humiliation as you were shoved onto your knees, the cool stone beneath you a stark contrast to the fire that lit Eris’s gaze.

He stretched out one leg, his polished boot catching the light as he planted it firmly in front of you. “Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate your… respect for your High Lord. Right here. In front of everyone.”

Your blood ran cold as his words echoed through the chamber. “What?” you breathed your voice barely above a whisper. 

Eris leaned forward slightly, the smugness radiating off of him. “Worship. My boots.” His words were quiet but sharp enough to cut through the murmur of the crowd. “Or you will have no place in this court — my court.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” he said smoothly, his lips curling into a smirk that made your skin crawl. “I won’t repeat myself. Kneel lower, and show me the respect I’m due.”

A ripple of quiet laughter spread through those assembled, their amusement clear as they watched you hesitate, their eyes filled with cruel delight. Eris’s boot gleamed before you, the leather polished to perfection, a reflection of his vanity and power. You glanced up at him, your stomach churning with the weight of the humiliation he was forcing upon you, but the look in his eyes was clear: defy him, and there would be consequences far worse than public shame. 

Your throat tightened, rage boiling just beneath your skin. But you were not foolish enough to cross him here, not with the entire court watching. Slowly, painfully, you lowered your head until your lips were just inches from the dark leather of his boot.

“There’s a good girl,” Eris murmured, just loud enough for only you to hear. “Go on, you can kiss it.”

You hesitated, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you fought to keep your pride intact. But pride was a luxury you could not afford right now, not when his gaze was so predatory, so eager to see you break. Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the cool leather, and a wave of shame crashed through you. 

Eris hummed in approval, his hand resting casually on the arm of his throne as he watched you. “I said worship, not just kiss,” he corrected you, his tone deceptively soft. “Get on your hands and knees. I want to see you work for it.”

The laughter in the room grew louder, though Eris never took his eyes off you. You felt the weight of the crowd’s judgment, their sneering amusement, but none of it compared to the dark satisfaction that shone in Eris’s gaze as he waited for you to comply. 

Your hands trembled as you lowered yourself further, pressing your palms to the marble floor, your body now fully prostrate before him. Every fiber of your being screamed in protest, but you pressed your lips against the toe of his boot once more, this time lingering longer, kissing up the length of it. 

“That’s it,” he purred, leaning back on his throne as if settling in to enjoy a performance crafted just for him. “Let everyone see how eager you are to please your High Lord.”

You gritted your teeth but obeyed, pressing more kisses along the edge of his boot, feeling the leather beneath your lips as if it were a brand marking you with his authority. Every kiss was a reminder of the power he held over you, a reminder that in this court, Eris was absolute. 

“Look at you,” Eris mused, his tone rich with smug satisfaction. “All that defiance, all that fire… and yet, here you are, on your knees, kissing my boots like the obedient little subject you are.”

Your lips hovered near the heel, each breath shallow. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, not with the way your pride had been shattered into a thousand pieces. But then his voice came again, sharp and commanding: “Say it.”

You swallowed hard, barely managing to speak. “Say what?”

“Say you’re grateful for the honor I’ve given you,” Eris drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Say it loud enough for my court to hear.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the humiliation away as you forced the words from your lips. “I… I’m grateful, my lord.”

“Grateful for what?” His boot pressed lightly against your shoulder, urging you down even further, though it was hardly possible. 

Your breath trembled, the heat of his gaze suffocating as you tried to steady yourself. “I’m grateful for the honor of worshiping your boots, my lord.”

Eris smirked, but his boot didn’t move. “Mmm, not quite convincing enough. I don’t think you’re really grateful yet.” He nudged his boot forward, the gleaming leather catching the light. “Perhaps you should lick that spot clean, it’s a bit…” His voice was casual, as though it was a simple request, but the edge of cruelty was unmistakable. 

You blinked, your eyes darting to the boot. It was spotless, the leather shining from a recent polish. There wasn’t a single blemish on it, but that didn’t matter. Your mouth went dry as you stared at it, heart pounding as the weight of the command settled over you.

Eris’s boot nudged you again, his tone growing sharper. “Don’t make me ask again.” From where his arm rested lazily on the armrest of his throne, a flame flickered to life in his open palm, the heat radiating toward you. The fire curled and danced over his skin, a casual display of power that served as a clear threat. 

With a shaky breath, you hesitated only for a moment before your tongue darted out, gliding over the boot’s surface. The taste of leather and polish filled your mouth, bitter and foreign, as your tongue traced a slow line across the gleaming surface.

“There it is,” Eris murmured, a pleased hum rumbling from deep in his chest. “Lick it clean, darling. I want it to shine from your devotion.”

You did as he commanded, dragging your tongue over the same spotless patch, knowing full well it was already as clean as it could be. The court was silent, save for the soft murmurs that rose with each touch of your lips to his boot. Your cheeks burned with humiliation. All this, simply for deigning to ask for better food rations for the people in your town. You had pleaded for basic decency, for fairness, and now here you were, on your knees for even suggesting such a thing. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eris withdrew his boot slightly, but the smug smile never left his face. “Good. Now let’s hear it again. Tell me how grateful you are for the privilege of licking my boots.”

Your throat tightened as you struggled to form the words. “I’m… I’m grateful, my lord,” you whispered, your eyes glued to the glistening marble floor. 

“Louder,” Eris commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. “Let them all hear how much you adore being on your knees for me.”

Your heart pounded, the shame threatening to swallow you whole as you forced the words from your lips. “I��m grateful, my lord,” you said, a bit too loudly. You cleared your throat. “I’m grateful for the chance to serve you, to worship your boots.”

A pleased hum escaped Eris, and he withdrew his foot, sitting back on his throne like a king; the very image of arrogance. “Good girl,” he said softly, his voice dripping with condescension. “Now remember, darling — this is your place.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @randomgurl2326

@scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @fourthwing4ever

[kybercrystals94]

Letting Go

Read here on Ao3

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 6 | Battle Scars

Rated: G | Words: 903 | Summary: Story takes place just before Omega leaves to join the Rebellion.

Crosshair sits down next to Hunter on the sand. “Omega told me what happened.”

“I’m sure she did,” Hunter says. It comes out harsher than he means it to, but he does not try to take it back. It seems that age has worn down the barriers of his emotions, bitterness and hurt leaking through.

“She said you were being unreasonable, overbearing, and overprotective,” Crosshair continues. “Not to mention your listening skills need some work, because you only care about your side of the argument.”

Hunter’s frown deepens. “Good to know.”

“And I said,” Crosshair goes on, as though Hunter hadn’t spoken, “the same thing I said way back when she was only about this big.” He holds out a hand to demonstrate.

Hunter rolls his eyes, because they never knew Omega when she was that small, but he gets the point.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I said?”

Hunter sighs. He’s too tired to play this game. “What did you say?”

“Don’t hold it against him. He’s only worried about you.”

Hunter turns to look at Crosshair, surprised. “When did you tell her that?”

“When we were going to Barton IV,” Crosshair replies, digging a toothpick out of his pocket. He puts it between his teeth. “That kid’s always trying to prove herself, isn’t she? That she’s one of us.”

“She is one of us,” Hunter argues.

Crosshair huffs. “Of course she is, but she’s not a soldier, Hunter. She’s our kid, not our brother in arms. I don’t think she’s ever figured out the difference.”

“So she wants to join the Rebellion because she wants to prove herself as a soldier?”

“Not entirely, although I think that is part of it,” Crosshair says.

“And the other part?” Hunter asks.

Crosshair meets his eye. “She might not be a soldier, but she is a fighter. We raised her that way, didn’t we? To stand up for the defenseless, to do what’s right?”

“That’s not…” Hunter stops because his voice gives out, barbed anguish ensnared deep in his throat. He tries to swallow it away, but it is unyielding, so his voice cracks and breaks around it. “That’s not what I want for her. I want her to be safe. I want her to be here.”

A younger Crosshair might have looked away, trying to comfort from arm’s length. But just as time has made carefully constructed emotional walls brittle, time has softened the sharp edges of his brother. The former sniper moves closer, knocking their shoulders together. “I’m scared to lose her too.”

“We fought so hard to get away from war,” Hunter says brokenly, “to get Omega away from war. And she wants to throw herself into another.”

“I don’t want her to go,” Crosshair says. “But I think she’s already made up her mind. I don’t know where she gets her stubbornness from. Certainly not from me.”

Hunter chokes on the laugh that bubbles up through the mire of sorrow. “Hate to break it to you, Cross, but you’ve got a stubborn streak a hundred klicks wide.”

“Do I?” Crosshair muses, and Hunter glances at him in time to see a grin twitch his lips in the moonlight. “Because she reminds me an awful lot of you.”

“I see a little bit of all of us in her,” Hunter admits, “and yet she is still something all her own.”

Crosshair hums in agreement.

“What if she loses that?” Hunter asks. “What if joining the Rebellion steals that spark she’s always had? We changed so much from the time we were cadets and then soldiers. We didn’t have a choice. But Omega does. She doesn’t have to face the horrors we did, experience the pain and suffering. She’s safe here. Why can’t that be enough for her?”

“Omega already has battle scars, Hunter,” Crosshair says. “You think she went unscathed living the life she did before Pabu? The kid’s tougher than she looks.”

“I never said I didn’t think she could handle it,” Hunter argues, “She just shouldn’t have to.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Crosshair says. “She wants to. Whether we like it or not, she’s a grown woman. She needs to make her own decisions. She needs to have her own cause, her own life. She won’t have us forever!”

That last sentence is like a blaster bolt to the heart, a burning, white hot sensation that drives the breath from Hunter’s lungs. But he takes the pain and shoves it deep, turning his grieved anger on Crosshair instead. “So you want her to go. You’re encouraging her.”

“You know that’s not true,” Crosshair bites out, and Hunter can hear the effort his brother puts into controlling his own, retaliating anger. “But it’s not up to us. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We have to let go.”

Bruised silence solidifies between them, and Hunter can’t find it in himself to disturb it. He should apologize, should appreciate Crosshair’s attempt at playing the mediator in spite of his own feelings on the matter. Why does Hunter feel at odds with every sibling, no matter where they stand on the issue?

“You’re stronger than I am,” Hunter mutters at last. “Omega can just talk to you about it…but with me, it’s a fight. Why?”

Crosshair sighs. “Because she doesn’t want my blessing, Hunter. She wants yours.”

And the last of Hunter’s brittle, emotional barrier crumbles completely.

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99

[itsjaywalkers]

offering u some jegulus pirates of the caribbean au (except not exactly but u do get one of the scenes from the first movie) || 3677 words || no cws apart from james being a menace and regulus praying for his downfall (while also being lowkey attracted to him very much against his will)

“But he saved my life!” Regulus insists, starting to feel a little desperate, eyes jumping from his father, to Commodore Lucius, to the stranger who had jumped into the sea to stop him from drowning. 

“Yes, Regulus, we heard you the first time,” his father sighs, barely hiding the roll of his eyes. It’s enough to make some heat flood into Regulus’ cheeks, and he has to repress the urge to pout, or even worse, stomp his foot. “But, son, come on. Look at the state of him. You’d have to be incredibly naive to not realise he isn’t a good man.” 

“I resent that,”  the stranger pipes in, grabbing everyone’s attention. Not like the soldiers’ has been anywhere else since they stormed in. “Why, Governor, appearances can be deceiving.” 

Regulus cringes slightly, and it’s not because of his wet clothes, or the cold already seeping into his bones, despite having his father’s, Orion, coat over his shoulders. Or, well, not entirely because of that. 

The scold twisting his father’s harsh features is enough to make him want to curl into himself, or at the very least, take a step back. Regulus has been the target of that specific expression more times than he can count, even though he always does his best to remain out of the spotlight. Always seen, but never heard. That’s how his parents prefer him. The only way they can somehow tolerate him. 

He’s not his brother, after all, as everyone seems so set on reminding him. Sirius might be brash, and insolent, and sometimes border on rebellious, but he’s the perfect leader. Loved and respected by all. Everyone adores him, even their parents, despite barely being capable of it, and Regulus can’t say he blames them.

Maybe that’s why he’s speaking up now, trying to do the right thing for once, even though every part of him fought against the mere idea. Regulus thinks Sirius will be proud of him, as soon as he returns from his trip and Regulus tells him all about it.

He can’t help but wish he was here with him. Everything feels less scary when his older brother is at his side. 

Before his father has the chance to open his mouth, possibly to obliterate the kind stranger that risked his life to save Regulus’, Lucius steps forward, a blonde, nearly white eyebrow arched at the unknown man. 

“Deceiving, you say?” he repeats in a drawl, nose turned up in what can only be disgust. Really, Regulus can’t understand what his cousin sees in him. “I suppose we should at least give you the benefit of the doubt.” Lucius gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I believe thanks are in order, then.”

Lucius extends one arm, if a bit begrudgingly, offering his hand to the stranger. Regulus’ eyes widen a little at the gesture, and he can feel his father glaring at Lucius’ back with such ferocity it almost makes him shiver. 

Regulus can’t say he blames him. Lucius isn’t disobeying direct orders, mostly because Orion hasn’t said anything concrete, but it comes way too close for comfort. 

The stranger eyes the hand with clear wariness, but he still grins and nods a little, before reaching out to give Lucius’ hand a firm shake. 

They’ve barely made contact with each other when Lucius grips the stranger harshly, pulling him closer and raising the sleeve of his undershirt up, revealing a branded ‘P’ on his forearm. Regulus can’t quite repress the tiny gasp that escapes his lips.

Lucius’ smile becomes wider, sharper, as he watches the suddenly sheepish stranger with no little amount of satisfaction. “Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we, pirate?

Regulus grimaces at the word almost at the same time as the stranger winces. He didn’t give it too much thought at first, because he had swallowed a lot of water, and had been too busy coughing it all out to properly notice, but he supposes the man’s attire kind of gives him away. 

He wears a red bandanna around his forehead, keeping messy black curls off his face, and many strands of his hair seem to be adorned with beads and colourful trinkets. His hazel eyes seem to possess a mischievous glint in them, and Regulus thinks that, under different circumstances, he might’ve found it charming, considering it sort of reminds him of Sirius. He also sports a short, but definitely unkempt beard all around his mouth. 

He takes a peek at his father’s face, and it doesn’t startle Regulus, discovering him looking so smug. 

His words aren’t unexpected, either, but they still fill him with dread.

“Hang him,” Orion orders swiftly, almost bored, and the stranger clicks his tongue, more inconvenienced than scared. 

Lucius lets out a low chuckle. “Keep your guns on him,” he tells his men, without even bothering to check if they’ll listen. They always do, anyway. “And someone fetch me some irons!”

He raises the sleeve a little higher, and Regulus manages to catch sight of ink on brown skin, something that he’s sure resembles a bird, before Lucius is pulling down the cotton once more. 

“James Potter, is it?” he questions blandly, nose wrinkling in distaste. 

“Captain James Potter,” the pirate corrects a bit sharply, lips stretching into another one of those charming smiles. “Sir,” he adds forcibly, almost as an afterthought. 

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t see a ship, captain.” Lucius makes a show of looking around, some of his men laughing under their breaths. 

The pirate’s, James’, smile never falters. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it don’t exist.” 

Lucius gives him an incredibly flat stare, but James doesn’t wilt under it, doesn’t even react, really, and instead continues to hold the Commodore’s gaze. 

“Quite sad that I can’t even tell if you’re lying to me or just yourself.” Lucius shakes his head softly. 

James opens his mouth, presumably about to retort, when a sudden uproar between the soldiers draws his attention. Even Regulus’ fathers turns around, seeking the origin of all the fuss, and finally putting some distance between him and Regulus. 

“Commodore!” One of Lucius’ men exclaims, everyone around him making way for him hastily. “I found—I found the pirate’s things!” 

Lucius doesn’t take his eyes off James, not even for a single second, but he raises both eyebrows, clearly pleased by this information. When the soldier finally reaches them, Lucius doesn’t waste a single moment and begins to search through the pirate’s belongings, taking some pleasure in the way James’ expression twitches at the action. 

Regulus’ body leans forward almost unconsciously, and he feels a bit embarrassed by how curious he is about this whole scene. If his father weren’t so distracted, he would’ve scolded him by now. 

“A gun with no additional shots,” Lucius murmurs dryly, eyes fleeting from the weapon on the soldier’s arms to James. “A rusty sword and a hat. What a pathetic excuse of a pirate.”

James raises a hand, and the men flanking him go tense all over, squinting their eyes at him. 

“And yet you have heard of me,” he points out with an easy smile, which, well, it’s not untrue. 

Lucius levels him with an unimpressed glare, while James continues grinning widely. Regulus is as stiff as most of Lucius’ men, unsure of what’s gonna happen next, of how long they’re gonna keep throwing jabs at each other until either of them snaps.

Apparently, Lucius has already had enough, because he grabs James by the wrist once again, even more forcibly than before, and starts dragging him away. His men part to let him pass like it’s second-nature, and Regulus can see Lucius is headed to the other side of the crowd, where one of the soldiers is holding some irons. 

Regulus moves before he has the chance to think about it. 

He runs after Lucius and James, ignoring the startled looks all the men give him, and pretending he doesn’t hear his father call his name in outrage, or the noise of his steps as he follows a moment later. 

The heavy coat falls from his shoulders at some point during his little race, and he can only hope that either his father or one of the soldiers manages to take a hold of it before it touches the floor. The punishment for dirtying one of Orion’s coats might not be the worst his father has done to him, but it won’t be fun regardless.

Regulus has never been as athletic, or as strong, as his brother, but he’s fast and nimble, so he manages to slip in between Lucius and the man holding the irons, halting the advance. Lucius stops, James almost crashing into his back and sending them both tumbling.

“Regulus—” he starts, careful but with an edge in his tone.

“Pirate or not, this man saved my life,” Regulus cuts him off, panting a little but making sure to raise his chin proudly, like his mother has always taught him. 

Lucius blinks at him, before exhaling loudly through his nose. He pulls James from behind him, and with a firm move of his head, the man with the irons rushes from behind Regulus, getting ahold of James quickly and binding his wrists together. Regulus watches for a second before whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes at Lucius. 

“Regulus,” the Commodore tries once more, infusing his voice with something that’s too curt to be considered patient. “I admire your kindness. I truly do. But one good deed is not enough to redeem someone of an entire lifetime of wickedness, and I can assure you, this man does not deserve your mercy.”

Regulus bites his lower lip, eyes pleading at Lucius’ impassive face. “But—”

“You foolish, insolent, little—” his father hisses, fingers curling around his forearm and gripping harshly. 

Orion begins to pull, attempting to get him away from both Lucius and James, and probably drag him back to the house so he can scold him properly. Maybe even punish him. 

Regulus resists, planting his feet firmly on the ground even as his father’s gaze turns furious. He hears Lucius let out an irritated huff at the display, but it doesn’t last long, because one moment Regulus is struggling against his father’s ruthless grip, and the next one there’s a heavy chain around his neck, and a warm, hard body pressed against his back.  

Someone gasps. Or perhaps everyone does. They lean forward, automatically reaching for Regulus, because most of these soldiers have known him and his family for years. They’ve been trained to protect him, to keep him safe. 

Even his father is staring at him in what can only be terror, eyes wide and lips parted, hands twitching with the need to grab him, push him away from who’s holding him captive. 

Regulus inhales shakily. Breathing is a bit difficult, with the chain digging into his neck, but he can manage. He’s staring back at Lucius, at his father, at every single man who’s surrounding him and watching him with anxious eyes. The horror he can see in their faces isn’t helping Regulus to keep calm.

The soldier standing closest to Lucius reaches for his weapon, the noise he makes being the first sound to break the sudden silence. 

“Don’t shoot!” Lucius snarls, taking a step forward and raising a stiff arm. However, the movement leads to James using his irons to choke Regulus further, and Lucius freezes up as soon as Regulus lets out a grunt. 

“Never expected such a posh little boy to be so keen on defending my honour,” James whispers into his ear, loosening his hold but just barely. “But I’m grateful.”

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, a spark of irritation lighting up inside his belly. It’s not enough to erase his fear, but it helps to distract him a little. 

Of course the one time he finally decides to speak up and do some good, this happens.

“And you, Commodore,” James goes on, raising his voice and infusing it with cheer. “I knew you’d warm up to me.”

Lucius clenches his jaw, hands curling into fists at his sides, but he keeps still and doesn’t dare breathe a single word. 

“Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d love to have my effects back. Please.”

It takes a beat, men glancing at each other a bit unsurely, but when James urges Lucius again with a “Commodore!”, the warning clear in his tone, he finally moves. Lucius turns around and grabs James’ belongings quite aggressively, pointedly ignoring the way James huffs. 

Regulus doesn’t even get a moment to relax, because as he watches Lucius moving towards them, arms filled with James’ effects, a warm breath hits him on the side of the neck, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Do you have a name, darlin’?” James asks quietly, lips grazing the lobe of his ear with every word. 

A wave of heat rushes through Regulus, and he isn’t sure if he’s more angry or embarrassed at his body’s reaction. 

“Regulus,” he responds through gritted teeth. “Regulus Black.”

“Regulus,” James repeats in a drawl, and Regulus can feel his smile against his skin. He tries to tilt his head to the side, get some space, but there’s no use. The pirate won’t let him go anywhere until he gets what he wants. “Well, then. If you’d be so kind, Regulus.”

He can’t help but frown a little, attempting to look back and find some answers, when Lucius steps right in front of him. He’s giving him James’ belongings before he can even blink, and they’re all very lucky Regulus has such good reflexes. 

The moment all the weapons and the belt and the stupid hat are all in his arms, James pulls on the irons and forces him to turn around until they’re facing each other. He has both hands bound and around the back of Regulus’ neck, and they’re standing so close they’re basically breathing into each other’s mouths. The realisation makes Regulus’ heart stutter and his stomach twist uncomfortably, so he tries to move away. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere for him to go, and it only ends with James smirking smugly at him, before nodding pointedly at his things.

Regulus presses his lips into a thin line and narrows his eyes at the pirate, quite satisfied at the fact that they’re basically the same height and he can’t look down on him. Not like he needs to, considering the expression he’s sporting.

Oh, he absolutely hates this. He hates that he risked everything to defend a bloody pirate. He hates that he’s being threatened and held hostage and humiliated. He hates that this is only gonna make him look weaker than he already does. He hates that Sirius isn’t here. And more than anything, he hates James Potter.

Taking a deep breath, Regulus gets to work. He starts with the weapons, uncomfortable with how they feel in his hands, how heavy and how cold. He itches to get rid of them. 

“Make sure to be nice, yeah, darlin’?” James whispers the moment Regulus begins to fasten the belt holding the sword around his waist. 

Regulus wants nothing more than to curse him out, but he settles with wrapping the damn thing extra tight, eyes never leaving James’ and watching as he winces momentarily, before giving Regulus a lazy smile. 

“Careful,” James warns, but it’s teasing. Mocking. “You don’t wanna damage the goods.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes before he grabs the gun and what looks like a sash. He attaches the gun to the belt and then puts the sash over James’ shoulder, noticing that he can’t tie it properly on his current position. Biting the inside of his cheek but refusing to show anything on his face, he presses their chests together and his hands travel to James’ back. 

Regulus focuses on the task at hand, but it proves to be harder than expected, with the way James chooses to return the embrace to the best of his abilities. As if Regulus is doing this willingly, or something. 

James leans into him, until his cheek is touching Regulus’, nose digging into his curls and nuzzling there like they’re—like they’re actually—

Regulus finishes the knot alarmingly fast, his whole face burning, especially when he remembers his father is bearing witness to this whole scene. 

Fortunately, there’s only one thing left and it’s that ridiculous hat, so he puts it hastily on James’ head, more than ready to get this torture done and over with. But as soon as it sits on dark curls, Regulus notices it’s crooked, and he’s reaching out once again a second later, righting the damn thing until it’s good, until James looks every bit the pirate that he is. 

The smile he receives in return almost blinds him, and Regulus is averting his gaze even before James turns him back around. 

The disgust on his father’s face isn’t surprising, but it still stings. Although, not as much as the disappointment does. 

“Good job, love,” James murmurs, just for him, and Regulus makes an active effort to not visibly react. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Regulus cocks his head back just enough for their eyes to meet. “You’re despicable,” he spits, hands trembling with barely contained rage. 

“So much hatred coming from such a pretty mouth.” James clicks his tongue, but his grin widens. “I saved your life, you saved mine. Now we’re square, yeah?”

He opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, when James lowers the irons around Regulus’ neck enough to grab his gun and then press the barrel of it against Regulus’ temple. 

His blood runs cold and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a spark of something inside his gut, and then goosebumps break everywhere on his skin, heat rushing to every point of contact between him and James. 

Regulus knows he’s not going to shoot. And yet, a tiny, buried part of him sort of wants him to. 

“Gentlemen,” James exclaims, that fake cheer returning to his voice. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to bid you all farewell. Try not to miss me too much, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“You better pray we won’t, pirate,” Lucius snarls, stepping forward at the same time James steps back, still holding onto Regulus.

“Is that a threat, Commodore?”

“It’s a promise.”

James chuckles, and Regulus can feel it rumble against his back. “Well, here’s to hoping you’ll be able to keep it.”

He takes another step back, dragging Regulus with him, but the barrel of the gun isn’t touching his head anymore, and he notices James loosening the irons slightly. He must be about to make his escape, and Regulus thinks he should feel relieved about being freed, but he’s too busy being furious at the fact that James is going to get away with this.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be seeing you again, darlin’,” James says into Regulus’ ear. 

“If you ever dare to go near me again, I’ll kill you myself,” Regulus replies lowly, resisting the urge to turn his head away from James’ filthy mouth.

The pirate hums, and then presses his lips into Regulus’ skin, right under his ear, and it makes him jump, a choked off noise slipping past his mouth. 

For a terrifying moment, he thinks James is kissing him, but the gesture stays as a simple contact. It’s probably just another one of his attempts to anger him, to make a fool out of him, and Regulus loathes that it’s working.

“Looking forward to it,” James mumbles into his throat, and Regulus has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood to keep another sound from coming out.

And then, just like that, James is gone. Regulus is still recovering from his words, and the not-really kiss, when the chain disappears from around his neck, the body wrapped around him vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. 

Lucius and the rest of his men rush after James, running past Regulus without giving him a second glance, but when he turns around, eyes desperately searching, he can’t see anything apart from a sea of uniformed soldiers. 

Regulus doesn’t stop thinking about what happened all day, not even when his father grabs him by the arm and hauls him home. Or when he screams at him for half an hour, and then sends him straight to bed without dinner. It all feels a bit like he’s in a dream, or a trance, and watching everything from outside. 

Nothing seems real anymore. Not since James spoke into his skin while pressing the barrel of his gun to Regulus’ skull.

He isn’t sure of how or when, but one thing is very clear: Regulus is getting revenge. He won’t rest until he sees that bloody pirate behind bars.

[pettyprocrastination]

hiiiiii tj <3

i see you're back in your konig era and was wondering if you have any new hcs for our big teddy bear <3

HIIII ERIIIII :D

warnings: description of bullying, violence, social anxiety, insecurities, smut

SFW

So for me personally he’s very. Socially inept. Not in a ‘cute soft anxiety boy’ way but in the way that he will come off either deeply unsettling by staring at you in silence or like a total fucking asshole. Spent his entire childhood severely bullied and ostracized so any sort of slight against him, he will take personally and gets easily frustrated with himself for not handling situations/social intricacies smoothly

Probably has plenty of stretch marks from having such a big growth spurt growing up. 

Something about being severely bullied and then realizing his own size and strength means he could give his harassers some ferociousness back as a teen def…led to something. 

I HC that he has some pretty severe scarring on his face from being ganged up on as a kid, which only furthered him being an outsider to other kids/teens growing up so he wears his hood or some sort of facial covering on base as well. Severe trauma and all that. 

Most definitely has a criminal record from when he was a kid and fought back against a bully after said incident and ended up just getting tunnel vision and…destroying that poor kid. The case was either sealed because he was a minor or expunged completely because the argument was that it was in self defense and he had the scars to prove their previous assaults on him. Nonetheless. It left him fucked up. 

Shifting from being the defenseless kid being harassed and bullied to a bloodied teenager that now knows his strength and his capabilities in defending himself. Ough. 

Part of the reason he sheds his insecurities on the field. He’s able to not worry about being watched or ridiculed and just go full fucking ham and he loves it. Part of the reason why his voice lines are so shrieky and gloating. I love it lmao. 

If you’re on his side/somebody he considers to be an ally/friend? He may not talk much but will sort of…loom about. Small interjections here and there but overall just this shadow following you around- not that you mind. 

Will look over at you when he does something successfully for a bit of praise like ‘hey? Did you see that? Wasn’t that cool? Please tell me im cool’ without saying it outloud. 

I’m not sure if him being 6’10 is genuine canon (i can’t remember where I saw that if im being honest) but id imagine given how tall he looks finding clothes that fit him are a fucking pain. 

DIY king. At his height and size he will have to do the occasional alterations on his clothes. Grew up with a single mother who did her all to give her baby boy a good life which meant teaching him how to sew from a young age, a small hobby he would partake in while sitting at his mother’s side and beam bright when she told him he was doing a good job. 

Enjoys being in the wilderness quite a bit. 

I imagine him to be a ginger for some reason. His hair isn’t too long but enough that he can tie it up so it doesn’t get in his face. If you become close enough to him that you can see him without his hood on, please run your fingers through his hair he will reach nirvana. 

I’d also imagine that after spending so long covering his face, being without it feels. Weird. A touch overstimulating at first too. 

Sort of like how in that one ep of the mandalorian season two where din has to take off his helmet to get into that database, you see all his emotions and him react to the wind hitting his face because he isn’t used to it. 

NSFW

That being said. Once you kiss him he’s a bit of an addict for it. Won’t be out of the norm to find him pulling you back into his lap with a whisper of “one more, liebling? Please?” when you have to leave for a briefing in five minutes but then he nibbles at that spot on your neck and you just can’t say no to him. 

Not a virgin, but not overly experienced either. I’d imagine there’s been a few flings in the past of folks who have met this quiet giant and just had to suck him off cause I mean, who wouldn’t? But the genuine intimacy of face to face, holding one another while fucking? It’s a rarity he hasn’t truly been able to experience yet. 

Big dick and doesn’t realize it.

Loves a good makeout sesh. Doesn’t care if it’s juvenile or whatever if you sit on his lap and put on a movie in the background he will make out for fucking hours with his hand slipping up your shirt and pressing himself against your hips.

Tit man. Maybe it’s because I’m a fan of the honkers myself and i'm just projecting but the dude loooves to play with his partner’s chest. Big? small? Flat? He doesn’t give a fuck. Titties are titties please for the love of god let him touch you 

Kinda goes insane for the type of shirt where he can see the outline of your tits through it if you aren’t wearing a bra. Don’t be surprised if he corners you during the day and scolds you for being “So cruel” to him by wearing it before he starts mouthing at your chest through the fabric. 

Kissing, sucking, biting, licking, the man loves tits and will do it all god bless him. 

Nipple piercings will make his head explode

Loooves eating pussy. SO so much. Will go to the point where you have to pull on his hair to get him off of you and then he has the audacity to look at you with those sad eyes and ask for one more. 

Loves loves loves when you leave hickeys on him. He’ll never get in trouble for having them since he’s covered from head to toe at all times in the field but man does it get him riled up. Sees it as some sort of mark of your relationship to him, a little reminder for him to see in the mirror after your night together and he will plead for you to mark him up, he’s tough he can take it. 

“You can do it for me, can’t you? I know you can. Just one more, yes?” 

The type to kiss the pussy first, he’s a romantic. 

Will mumble/moan praise while between your legs. Talking about how pretty your pussy is and how you're so soft all over it has you completely braindead. 

Absolutely obscene with it, moaning and sloppy damn near drooling between your legs because he’s so drunk on you. 

Has no preference to where he gets to cum. Sex with you is joy itself but if you were to twist his arm: he’d say he likes to cum inside of you. 

He won’t say that he likes it so much because then he can lean back and watch his cum seep out of your hole, that’s his little secret. (Not a well kept one lmao) 

Probably has a porno-esque fantasy of a “sparring turned to sex” scenario that he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind at all times.

[everlasting-rainfall]

Ok so we seen Shanks vs Akainu in pages au but what if it was pirates vs pirates or marines vs marines;)

shanks vs Buggy maybe even Shanks vs Kaido

Akainu vs Garp maybe even Akainu vs Koby since we all know how that went when Koby yelled at him that one time 😈

but if you want another pirate vs Marine pairing who has potential working well together then I would suggest Garp and Roger or Luffy and Koby 👀

Those are some pretty interesting match ups that you have there, dearie! I’m kind of imagining like an old Mortal Kombat styled scene with like pixelated graphics and health bars with you being tied to a post in the background as the prize for the winner

It’s honestly kind of a funny thought to me in all honesty but enough wasting time, let’s get into it! I’m sorry if some of these aren’t that good by the way, I kinda struggled with this a bit

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR ANY REASON-!

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-!

Yandere, Violence, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Stalking, Blood Mention, Fighting, Getting Locked Up

!-POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS-

!-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR ANY REASON-!

So Shanks vs Buggy, I can’t see Shanks actively hurting Buggy even in a Yandere situation so I feel like how a fight between them would go down is probably like Buggy trying to fight Shanks and his crew

Maybe doing a bit well but it’s Shanks so without a doubt, he isn’t going to be able to do anything in the end so I feel like once Buggy has tired himself out that’s probably when Shanks offers him a proposition

He doesn’t want to hurt Buggy and Buggy wants you just like he does so why don’t they just share you?

I can only imagine Buggy’s reaction like this man shouts up a storm about how “No way, no deal! They’re mine! Not yours, keep your hands off of them!”

So Shanks just lets Buggy keep trying to steal you from them like no matter how complex the plan, Shanks just basically snags you back nearly every single time and probably leaves behind a note like “Offer is still in the air! 😁 -Shanks”

Eventually chances are that no matter how many times Buggy thinks that he has you, he keeps telling himself that he won’t give in and that you’ll be his and only his someday

However everyone has to break eventually so after Buggy puts his biggest plan to steal you and keep you with him forever in place only for Shanks to take you back a day later with the same note left behind, that’s when he’s probably surrender

He’d probably go walking off to Shanks and just be like “I’ll take you up on your offer now but only because I want to!! And I get her all to myself for an entire week!!” which Shanks agrees to

So all in all being fought over by Shanks and Buggy is basically just Buggy taking you then Shanks taking you until they agree to kind of share you

———————————

Shanks vs Kaido? Oh dear fucking lord… That can only go so horribly if they’re both chasing after the same person as if I remember then Kaido was actually on his way to Marineford when Shanks showed up during that arc

If they both have a crush on the same person then I pray for your well-being as I can imagine that Kaido probably had you first like he probably decided to make your island specifically part of his territory like man picked up your island and brought it closer to where his base is

Oh so graciously allowed the people of the island to live in exchange for you which caused you to become his tiny S/O who could fit in the palm of his hand and still have room to stretch themselves out and then some

Once Shanks found out about you though like let’s say that someone let information about Kaido’s S/O slip and that information spread until it reached Shanks, he was pretty interested and when he saw a picture of you that’s when he decided that he wanted you

And like what I’ve said before if one member of a crew is Yandere then expect all of them to be like Shanks’s crew were more than happy to go along with this idea of heading to Wano and snagging Kaido’s S/O as clearly you rightfully belong to Shanks as he loves you far more than Kaido does and more than the giant blue lizard (his words, not mine) ever could

And this is going to be one hell of a fight, Kaido is going to keep you with him or die horribly trying to like there has been quite a few attempts at taking you but they get you as far as almost on the ship before you’re stolen back

It’s terrifying, it’s loud, it’s bloody, and neither side is willing to give up until they have you

They’ll take breaks of course to rest and recover as they can’t fight forever and during that time, you better hope that you’re a master negotiator as otherwise this fight will either last forever or until one/both of them dies

This is kinda starting to sound like Broggy and Dorry to be honest but hey, whatever

In conclusion, Kaido and Shanks fighting over you kinda feels like a tower defense game as people are constantly coming from Shanks side to try and capture you while Kaido and the Beast Pirates defend you

The only problem comes from the fact that Kaido is more than likely at a disadvantage when it comes to fighting Shanks as I feel like Shanks is stronger

————————————

So Garp vs. Akainu as well? I’m sorry to say it but prepare to be married to Garp, Akainu doesn’t stand a chance against Garp as if Sengoku didn’t hold Garp down at Marineford then he would have killed Akainu plus we all see the feats that this man has accomplished

Let’s say that you were already Akainu’s Darling like he was a fairly alright Yandere to you if not terrifying as all hell like this man probably kidnapped you to keep you safe from the Pirate scum like “You’re pure and I won’t let a pirate taint you, you’re coming with me”

He doesn’t let you out of the house unless he’s with you as he knows he can protect you and that’s how you meet Garp, Garp is irritating to Akainu but he is a marine so he allows Garp to get close and look but not touch as if Garp tries to offer you a rice cracker or shake your hand then he’s smacking it away

Garp leaves you two alone with one thought in his head and it’s “How did a person as sweet as that wind up with Akainu of all people?” but regardless he continues on with his life with his mind very often drifting to you

Like he keeps imagining things with you and spacing out to random thoughts like he imagines going on dates with you and treating you far better than he thinks Akainu is doing as he envisions Akainu as this big scary lava monster that will burn you alive

At first, he doesn’t want to be a home wrecker by getting you to cheat with him but over time he starts to care less and less as he really wants you but alas he’s a marine and he can’t just go wrecking households for no reason other than “I love her” so he holds himself back reluctantly although he is very nice to you whenever he sees you with Akainu

Cut to Marineford and Marineford things happen, Garp is held down by Sengoku and Akainu lives albeit having been beaten down pretty bad

Garp is devastated by what happened and he tries to deal with things but as he’s dealing with things, his mind goes to you at one point albeit briefly and he realizes that you’re still married to Akainu and after what happened at Marineford. There’s no telling what could happen now

He’s going to save you so while Akainu is at Punk Hazard battling Aokiji, Garp breaks into your home and spirits you away with him to where he knows that he can keep you safe

Akainu will be pissed when he gets home and finds you gone especially with the clear signs that you were kidnapped, one of his first orders of business as Fleet Admiral will be tracking you down and getting you back

Your new husband isn’t worried at all though as if Akainu gets anywhere near you now then he’ll take care of it, Akainu can think all that he wants that he’ll have you back someday but while Garp is alive then nothing of the sort is happening

You’ll be staying right there with him and he’ll hear nothing about returning to Akainu like man’s expression visibly darkens if you bring up Akainu so it’s best to keep conversation topics about other things

At least you have more freedom with Garp, I guess? He’s definitely more protective and will join you if you go anywhere but he says you shouldn’t talk to anyone and let him do all the talking

It’s safe to just accept that Garp is your husband now, not Akainu and if Akainu ever tries to come for you then well it’s time to make the worlds hottest donut if you get what I mean

In conclusion, Garp vs. Akainu when it comes to you is just him stealing you and killing Akainu if he ever gets too close

————————————————

Ok so Akainu vs. Koby, huh? Yeah, we all did see what happened when Koby shouted at Akainu that one time and if I was writing this before the latest chapter then I would honestly say that Koby is someone who needs to back down and adore from afar while hoping that Akainu maybe dies an awful death

But after the latest chapter and also remembering that he was trained by Garp, I’d say that Koby would be able to give Akainu one hell of a fight if they were to fight over you and the odds would be against Koby

I feel like Koby’s best bet at keeping you with him would probably be to do what Garp did like grab you and run as I can’t see him willing to take Akainu on head on if Akainu wanted you as well like don’t get me wrong as if push came to shove then he’s going in

Luckily Akainu and Koby are somewhat reasonable people with Koby being way more reasonable than Akainu so you might be able to negotiate with them briefly to not get them to fight each other but that’s a small briefly because of Akainu as Koby will listen but Akainu will let you say like two words before it’s back to firing lava at Koby

Honestly I can’t see Koby being a Yandere that would actively kidnap you like he’d be the kind of Yandere where once you’re in a relationship with him, he’s clingy as fuck and barely leaves you alone especially if you live together but beyond putting you under prolonged house arrest for trying to leave, I can’t see it

So chances are that Akainu might actually kidnap you first over Koby and put you under permanent house arrest but maybe not so much house arrest as it is bedroom arrest until he can trust you to not run away from him

I can imagine though that Koby takes immediate notice of your disappearance and gets worried about you so he’ll probably go seeking you out and trying to figure out where you went

And if he finds out that Akainu has you then he’s not above putting a plan into motion that he calls Plan *Insert First Initial of Your Name*RFA which stands for *Your Name* Rescue From Akainu, it’s some pretty complex stuff too as he doesn’t want to just smash a window with a brick

When Koby has you though, he’s getting out of there and taking you with him so he can keep you safe and love you but eventually Akainu will probably find you and Koby. He’s not mad at you, well he sort of is but that’s besides the point

Koby probably will get a few new scars as Akainu steals you back and brings you home where you’re under serious lockdown like we’re talking ankle monitor more than likely and probably not being allowed to leave the bed except for basic necessities

Don’t expect to be there long though as Koby does intend to have you back eventually, it’s just that now he needs to a second edition of the plan with a better place to hide you and he’s not going to stop like even if you tell him to

He all but sees you as the princess in a tower with Akainu as a fire breathing dragon and him as the brave knight whose coming to save you

Chances are that he doesn’t even give a shit if he gets a few burn scars on the way out as it’ll be worth it when the drago- I mean, Akainu stops stealing you back

In conclusion, Akainu vs. Koby would probably boil down to a game of hide and seek until either Koby gets himself killed or Koby manages to either kill Akainu or hide you somewhere where Akainu legitimately can’t find you

—————————————

Garp and Roger fighting over you? I can personally see that fight lasting forever or at least until Roger dies, I think it would be pretty funny though if you just had no clue what was going the whole time so let’s go with that for this one

So imagine that you’re basically some kind of traveler and every island that you wind up going to if you stay there long enough then you will run into Gol D. Roger himself or Monkey D. Garp like you’ve been keeping record of how long it takes for one of them to show up on every island, it happens so much

Roger typically just throws his arm around your shoulders and greets you as if you were an old friend, he offers you to join his crew for a party and asks about any new adventures that you may have had recently while Garp just finds you and starts up a conversation with you like he’s pretty loud about it and maybe even offers you a rice cracker or two as he offers you to come with him to visit a marine base

Both situations would cause you to never be separated from them again if you agreed by the way but anyways, I can imagine that they always just have this serious look of disappointing on their faces whenever you decline

I can’t imagine the two of them immediately just jumping into a fight over you like it wouldn’t take long but it wouldn’t be just like greet each other then fight

Both of them are incredibly tough so I can imagine that any fight between them goes on without a winner like Yandere or not, Roger is going to put the needs of his crew first a lot of the time which I can see Garp accepting and saying he’ll let Roger go for the time being but maybe also throwing a few canon balls his way when Roger is leaving

Meanwhile as these fights are happening, you’re just like listening to music in the background being completely oblivious like it’s that one Spider-Man meme of like Spider-Man and the enemy fighting in the background while Stan Lee listens to music

Anyways enough jokes, my apologies…

Eventually one of them is likely going to capture you and bring you with them, I can imagine that because of how their fights for you are at a stalemate constantly then chances are that you’re never going to be leaving that person

The only reason why I can see Garp finally getting you is when Roger is executed and you’re in tears because Stockholm syndrome or maybe you actually fell in love with him then Garp will be there as a shoulder for you to cry on

He’ll comfort you through your grief and make you smile again eventually managing to get you to enter a relationship with him and boom, you’re stuck with another Yandere

The only way that I could see that scenario not being the case is if Roger asked one of his trusted crew members to keep an eye on you like Rayleigh or Gaban, hell I can even see you being entrusted to Shanks or Buggy when they get old enough like “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Mom/Dad! No one will lay a hand on them!” because without a doubt they do see you as one

It doesn’t mean that Garp is going to stop trying though as he’ll always be there just watching and waiting for the perfect chance for him to get close and take you away

As for if Garp is the winner who eventually got you then you’re definitely saddened by Roger’s death as you were close but I can’t see any of Roger’s old crew trying to come after you, he definitely spoke about you but I can’t see him asking them to steal you from Garp as there’s no real point now that he’s dead

As for if you were present during Ace’s birth or his childhood? I feel like you weren’t there for Ace’s birth but you may have been occasionally with Garp when he went to visit Ace, Luffy, and Sabo but I don’t think enough to where they would actively remember you

In conclusion, Garp vs Roger feels like it boils down to a game of capture the flag but both parties are too busy fighting to actually capture the flag

———————————————

Now then Luffy vs Koby? I can personally see the two of them honestly deciding to ultimately share you at first to some extent as the two of them appear to be on somewhat good terms despite the fact that Luffy is a Pirate and Koby is a Marine

You know if you don’t count anything that involves the two of them fighting or Koby trying to catch Luffy as he’s a pirate and all but regardless, Koby is a good Marine and Luffy is a good Pirate so to an extent, I feel like they might decide to share you

This extent being that although they share you, sometimes Luffy won’t hand you off to Koby for his time with you and will try to make you stay with him while Koby does the same as he attempts to subtly convince you to stay with him

I’d recommend for either of their sake but mostly Koby’s sake to not pick either of them and just continue this life of being periodically passed between them and if you don’t want to see bloodshed or fighting then I’d recommend doing your best to convince Luffy and Koby to stick to the rules that were put in place

Koby would be easy to convince but Luffy, not so much as that man is as stubborn as a mule so you will have to make him one hell of a deal so you prevent a fight breaking out but then again even that might not work so a fight may be inevitable

And when they do fight against each other over you then I would say that Koby could put up a good fight against Luffy but I think that we all know who is winning this and walking away with you in the end and it isn’t Koby

I couldn’t see Luffy ever killing Koby but beating him so bad that he’s black and blue? Especially considering that Luffy is Yandere for you then he’ll gladly do it as many times as he needs to until Koby gets the message to stay away

But seeing as Koby is a Yandere for you as well then I don’t think that’s going to be any time soon, you can try to ask him to just stay away for his own sake if you run into him while alone but he won’t listen and will simply take you and get moving

Don’t expect to get too far though as soon enough, you’ll see an angry rubber man chasing the two of you or if you made off of the island then the Thousand Sunny chasing after the ship that Koby has you on

Either way, Luffy isn’t going to pull an Akainu and potentially kill Koby but he will get more and more irritated each time that Koby does show up to try and steal you away from him

Sometimes you probably do miss the days where Koby and Luffy would sort of share you between one another

In conclusion, Luffy vs. Koby probably feels like a game of keep away in all honesty where Luffy is keeping you away from Koby

[ilguna]

☼ cruel summer pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you've tolerated Finnick for the past year, but after a rough night, you decide that you're done.

warnings; swearing, embarrassment

wc; 1.5k

notes; i tweaked the request a bit to make me more comfortable. it's a songfic, cruel summer by taylor swift.

–

The cool summer breeze feels nice on your hot, flustered skin. It’s been over an hour since you were interviewed by Caesar in front of the entirety of Panem, but you feel like you’re still stuck on stage, unknowingly making a fool of yourself.

How were you supposed to know?

The one person that was in charge of telling you how you should act on stage, decided that he was done teaching when it was your turn to sit down with him. While your partner got all the details on how it would work, exactly how much time would be given, and an angle he should go for—you got nothing.

So, you told him that you were going to go get Mags, then, if he refused to help. She’s the other mentor, the only option that you had left beside the escort, who taught you how to walk in heels and act properly. As soon as you threatened him, you were talking to a completely different person. 

He told you it didn’t matter who tried to help you, because you were a lost cause anyway.

You gave up after that, and you didn’t leave your room for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that to you. It started with the training days, he told you not to touch anything and if you did, you needed to act helpless. You listened, because he hadn’t given you a reason not to, yet. In the end, you ended up scoring lower than you should’ve.

Every person that offered an alliance with you, he turned down before you were even aware of it. You found out that the careers wanted to include you after your partner told you. When you tried to fix it and see if you could still join, your partner told you that you were fucked after your score.

He’s been sabotaging you this entire trip. It’s like it’s his goal to get you killed in the arena.

Which wouldn’t hurt as much, you’d be able to swallow the idea, if it weren’t for the fact that you know him for more than his name. You’re not entirely sure what happened to Finnick Odair while he was gone last year, or how the arena convinced him to turn his back to you, but you can’t call him your friend anymore.

The two of you were inseparable before he was reaped last year. You spent every waking moment at each other’s side, and only left when you were on the verge of being grounded.

The Finnick that you see now can’t even be related to the one that held onto you and cried because he was afraid of dying in the arena. That he wouldn’t be good enough, because he was so young, and no one had won at his age before. Or how terrified he was to lose himself, and your friendship in the aftermath.

If he’d known that both would end up happening, anyway, you don’t think he would’ve fought as hard to survive. The change in his personality wasn’t immediate, he let you be around him for the first few weeks. The two of you were as normal as you could be, considering the fact that he was working through a few issues at the moment.

By the end of the summer, he told you to stop coming around. At the beginning of the school year, he had a whole new friend group, and no time in his schedule for you. No matter how hard you tried to appeal to his new interests, and make his friends like you through small gifts, it never worked.

The final time you tried, he exploded on you in a full classroom, and made a comment about how you must have a crush on him or something. 

The way you sat at your desk and didn’t say a single word for the rest of the week, let alone the month, still haunts you. And in that time, a lot worse things had been said about you and your behavior prior to the silence. It was hard to continue to deny every rumor that came your way, especially when half of them were true, which meant that he had been spilling every single one of your secrets.

It was cruel.

You could’ve been the same back, you know a lot of embarrassing things that he made you promise never to tell anyone. You could never imagine hating him enough to ever do that to him, not even now. He deserves it, but if you did, then that means you lose what little chance you have at getting him back. 

Well, you’re not sure if that matters either. You go into the arena tomorrow, and assuming that your odds continue to fail you, then that means you have no more chances. Even if you manage to get out of this alive, you probably won’t pursue Finnick any further, especially after what he did to you this week.

The sound of knuckles knocking on glass makes you look up from the streets below, and the blur of color. It’s got to be some sort of festival, that’s all that makes sense to you. There’s hundreds of people walking up and down the streets, playing music and dancing around. 

When you look at the glass doors behind you, you expect to be met with the escort, telling you to get off the balcony and go to bed. Instead, you’re met with the sight of Finnick, looking down at you.

He hasn’t changed out of what he wore for the interviews, either. The one thing that’s missing from his outfit is the black blazer, which he probably ditched somewhere in his room. He’s got the sleeves of the button-down pushed up to his elbows, you can’t imagine he’ll be dressed like this for much longer.

You watch him for a couple of seconds, letting your lungs have their way by stealing your breath. It’s quickly followed by a pair of shameful hands, strangling you so that you remember that you’re supposed to be done with this. Whatever you’ve kindled and allowed to grow for Finnick is dead.

You turn away, sighing. This is the last thing you need right now. You don’t need him to come out and ridicule your performance. You get it. You managed to blow the very last opportunity at getting any sponsors, and now you’ll be going into the arena without help. You’ve got low chances.

The door slides open, revealing the laughter coming from inside of the building. For you, it was a short dinner. You ate and left wordlessly to come and sit out here to clear your mind. You didn’t consider the fact that they’d want to stay up later to talk, or have your partner rewatch his interview.

“I will say, you really do know how to make a show out of nothing.” Finnick says, you close your eyes.

You don’t say anything to him, hoping that he’ll leave you alone when he realizes that he’s not going to get a reaction out of you this time. Usually you have something to say back, so this will be a new experience.

Finnick takes a seat next to you on the concrete floor, paying no attention to the expensive chair behind him. It would be in his best interest to sit there, if he wants to preserve the state of his brand new black slacks. In the past, he would be treating every movement like it hurt to avoid accidentally ripping or staining them. Now, money isn’t an issue.

You can feel his eyes on you, waiting for you to look back at him. 

“Nothing?” He sounds amused, “I know it’s eating you up inside.”

You grit your teeth.

“Fine by me, I don’t want to hear your nasally voice anyway.” He laughs, “I really do want to know how you managed to pull that off. Seriously, (Y/n), it’s like you haven’t seen a single Hunger Games interview in your life. Are you really that airheaded?”

Silence.

“Damn, I thought that one would get you. Well, if you’re looking for good news, it’s the fact that you’ll die pretty—”

“Will you just leave me the fuck alone?” You shout at him, locking eyes. Neither of you move for a long minute, as if you’re trying to decide who gets to break the tension first. The second his lips twitch, you turn your body further to look at him. “You got what you wanted, Finnick! Aren’t you happy? You’ve killed my chances at surviving! I’ve got no sponsors and no allies!”

He makes a noise, “That was your own doing.”

“Was it?” You hiss, “I can’t believe I trusted you, especially after what you’ve done to me this past year. Look at you! The Finnick I knew would be ashamed of the way you act now!”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, you can tell by the look on his face that he thinks this is a joke, “Why don’t you fight back like this every time?”

You shake your head at him, and for whatever it’s worth, you scream: “I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

He looks up grinning like a devil.

[deuce-t-agere]

X-Men Evolution CG Steve Rogers and Regressor Logan

Very self indulgent caregiver Cap and age/pet regressor Wolvie bc they’re my favorite rare pair

Having better technology now Shield was able to use Logan’s healing factor to save Steve so he could come out of the ice finally, Logan was just as straight faced as usual but the little baby part of his brain was just an excited little puppy.

My Papa! My Papa! Papa come back!!

Before Steve was back Logan would go to museums sometimes when he was feeling small and spend time looking at the Captain America exhibits.

He has gotten into a few arguments with the poor museum staff when they say it’s unclear if Captain America was real or just a story.

Steve obviously didn’t fully understand what was happening when Logan regressed for the first time but Logan was his friend (lover if you want and I do want) so he was going to help him out as best he could.

It’s okay, Buddy. You’re okay. When Logan breaks down because being small crept up on him after a mission.

When he got back Steve was finally able to do proper research on Logan regressing, he isn’t quite sure if Logan age regresses or pet regressed or both.

Logan isn’t entirely sure either and doesn’t particularly care to try figuring it out.

Logan will hold on to Steve’s belt while he follows him around when it’s just the two of them. He still does it after Steve finally comes back. He doesn’t want anything or even always need to be going with Steve, he just wants to.

Steve will let Logan cuddle him when they slept, a lot of their missions were just the two of them so no one else would see, and now they have the privacy of a room in the mansion together and the X-Men are very understanding.

Logan will cling to Steve’s arm or lay on his chest when they sleep together, it takes some getting used to when Steve gets back because Logan is much heavier now.

Steve tries to be cautious about how much praise he gives Logan so he doesn’t over whelm him.

Lots of Good boy, Logan. And tussling his hair when he does little things well to build up his confidence.

After Steve comes back Logan takes a long time to tell him about what he remembers of Weapon X, Steve just holds him when he does and assures him that none of it was his fault.

Steve will take Logan to baseball games, Logan spends the whole time asking for snacks and enjoying all the fun smells instead of watching the game, but then still insists he wants Steve to teach him how to play.

Steve does try to teach Logan how to play baseball every so often, it always turns into a game of fetch because Logan would rather chase the ball than try to hit or catch it.

Papa, throw again? Sure, Buddy, but I need the ball back first. No! Mine!

Logan likes to bite a lot, Steve has gotten quite a few sizable marks on his arms from it.

Thanks to the serum Steve can carry Logan about as easily as a regular guy his size could carry an average person.

Logan isn’t sure how he feels about being carried, but it is kind of nice for Steve to carry him to bed when he’s sleepy.

Steve likes taking Logan to museums, usually they won’t go to any that involve war history, Steve doesn’t want to accidentally trigger anything. But sometimes Logan likes to go and tell Steve things that got wrong about certain wars he fought in if he’s feeling a bit older than usual.

That is not how it happened. It was actually- and Steve just listens, having no idea if it actually is more accurate or if Logan is exaggerating.

Rising acceptance of LGBTQ was great for them because fewer people cared if they held hands while going for walks (and cause they deserve to kiss) So Steve can actually hold on to Logan when they go on nature walks now.

Logan once barked at and bit a guy who yelled at them for holding hands. Steve had to explain to Logan that it was great that he was standing up for them but he can’t bite people.

He was mean! It’s still not nice to bite, Pal. He was mean, Papa!

Steve can’t exactly argue with the logic, biting isn’t the best way to go, but that man was indeed mean first and did deserve it.

[savagewildnerness]

What a gorgeous interview with Assad.  Imagine being him… you audition for a minor role… then all of a sudden you’re Armand… then you’re not Armand for S1, then you watch S1 and it’s incredible and in S2 you’re Armand and you actually have the largest role in the entire season 2 and THEN your first scenes are that gigantic argument with Louis and all of episode 5 in which you have to be absolutely peak 100% essence-of-Armand and in the back of your mind is like “Wow, if S2 fails, it will be MY FAULT!”  The pressure!!! And then Armand is just THE most complex character and has the most heartbreaking backstory and you have to convey him truthfully. It's all A Lot!!!

Anyway, as to the interview, you should listen to Assad talk beautifully about it rather than me yammer on. Every week, my first thought after watching a new episode is how I want to shout from the rooftops how magnificent Assad is! He is Too Incredible.

Leaving Interview With the Vampire aside (so you can stop reading here!) and turning inwards...

...the first bit made me sad on a personal level.  Who are the teachers trying to encourage shy children to act (so many actors talk this way and it seems SO alien to me!) and where were they in my life?!  There was no drama in my secondary school (in lessons we were taught at least, hahaha!) but in my primary school, Reception (age 4/5) did the nativity, Year 4’s (age 8/9) did the Christmas play and year 6’s (age 10/11) did the Summer play. It was a big school so no other years were involved in any play or any drama.

When I was 8, in year 4, the Christmas play was going to be A Christmas Carol and I desperately wanted to be in the play.  I had visions of playing Martha.  Anyway, there were around 100 children in each school year, BUT my class teacher was the Director of the play.  You couldn’t just audition to be in the play, you had to be invited to try out for it… but (admittedly very quiet, silent and shy) 8-year-old me said to my teacher that I’d like to audition for the play, and she…. LAUGHED IN MY FACE & said “hahaha, you can’t audition!  You’re WAY too quiet!”

And because I was way too quiet, I didn’t fight it.  I just took the “No.” Hahaha. And I learned that I was too quiet to have that kind of a dream & that I had been totally stupid to ever even imagine it. I only got quieter & less confident from that age onwards really, too.

But - It all worked out OK as I did actually play the leading boy in the year 6 play we did… only I know because it was a musical and all the 11-year-old boys had voices that were breaking so it was bad timing for them, thus I got the role.  And I REALLY FOUGHT for it.  In a way o don’t think I ever fought for any other thing in life. Stuff just happened to me? I think I was rubbish.  To audition for that, we had to make up our own scene and act it out, and I was good at thinking of imaginary worlds which was, I am sure the only reason I got to do that. But I did it. And it was the start and end. I remember I had to say “Don’t be respondent love” at one point and everyone laughed at this little kid saying those words. And I cried in a rehearsal (because the character was sad) and the teacher AGAIN said “Are you crying?” And the other children laughed at me.

But there was no drama as I say in my secondary school… and anyway, from age 11 onwards I became a lot more insecure.  And seeing as everyone had always told me I was just a silent, shy thing I had nothing to fall back on to believe and I just believed that was all I was and I couldn’t achieve anything.

I recently met my music teacher from secondary school in fact and I was a music person in school as you might imagine and she said “Wow, I can’t believe you have a job.  You were always so quiet.”  So that’s great!  I always did well in exams, but apparently I was quiet to such an extreme extent, even a teacher of a subject that I was notable enough at that the teacher remembers me literally thought I would have zero ability to ever function in the real world.

I can’t say she was wrong! *Unfunctioning*!!! Hahaha

I really related to Assad's tales of secondary school. I was good at maths at school and did Further Maths A-level and I was the only person in the school to do it so had 1-1 lessons. In every single maths lesson (I'm not a kid at this stage obviously! I'm 16-18!) I sat with my teacher in SUCH utter silence that you would hear both of out stomachs rumbling. LOLOLOL, it was SO awkward. I can't articulate to you how at that age I literally could not do talking at all. It would make me want to laugh the way you'd hear our stomachs having a conversation, ahahahahah.

I made that all about ME! Oops.  But hey.  Storytime with me!  I still believe I am terrible at All Things. And I don't think I am as quiet now, but I know other people perceive me that way still. Oh well. I am silent and alone and that's fine. Words are overrated unless written or spoken by others, anyway!

[solivagantingrebel]

MW3 SPOILERS

Writing under the cut.

A letter from a dead man (to another) —

[Soap left a letter for Ghost, just in case the worst happened— and turns out, it did.]

To Simon Riley,

I guess saying I’m sorry is the best way to start things off here.

Don’t ask why I got the impulse to write this, alright? Last mission got me thinking a lot. It got me thinking about life, about you, about myself. Realising that I loved you, and you love me too, got me thinking even more. We could’ve died, Simon. Died without knowing how much we fucking loved each other too, Jesus. Talk about a sobfest.

Took a lot of courage to admit it. I saw that you struggled too, L.t. But I’m glad we did, even though it wasn’t the most romantic place to say it. While we were hiding from enemies too, for christ’s sake. But that’s what got us to say it and I don’t regret it one bit. Especially not the part afterwards.

Okay, getting sidetracked here. What I wanted to say is that I’ve always known, Simon. I’ve always known that you were mine and I am yours. I plan on making it official too, gonna take you to the nicest place and have the fanciest meal before I get down on my knees. As long as you didn’t beat me to it. Knowing you though, maybe you will.

But that’s not what we’re here for, are we?

You’re reading this now because I didn’t make it. I don’t want to think about it, about a future where I can’t see you anymore, but if I haven’t burned this and it’s in your hands, then that’s what happened. We didn’t get married either. Because I promised myself to write another letter if we had. Our line of work, gotta be prepared for the worst, you know?

I’m sorry.

Whatever happened, I’m so fucking sorry.

I’m sorry for making you feel like this again. I know you’ve lost a lot, went through a lot of horrendous shit you shouldn't have, came out of everything a Ghost for fuck’s sake, and I was really, really hoping it wouldn’t - won’t happen to us. But it did. Because you’re reading this, I know it did.

I owe you so much, Simon. I owe you a cosy little place of our own, I owe you a kiss every day you wake up and every night you close your eyes, I owe you hugs, lots of them, whenever you need it. Whenever you don’t need it too. I owe you my heart, my soul, my entire being, every single little thing that you can take. It’s yours anyway. I owe you so much. But I couldn’t even give you myself, my name, my anything now.

Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of it.

If anything, it’s probably my fault. Blame me, okay? Put everything on my name, curse me to high heavens and hell, enough to have my body rolling in my grave and all. Don’t let me rest even after my death. Anything but blaming yourself for this. You’re not fucking allowed to put this on yourself, do you understand? I’m haunting you if you do. Better watch out, Simon Riley. Especially if you want a good night’s sleep or a good cup of tea from here on out.

Jokes aside. You know I tried, right? I would’ve fought the world with my bare hands for you, pretty man. Would've wrangled death and crawled to your side at the expense of fuck everything. I’m just. Sorry, I guess. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry that I couldn’t rip my heart out and hand it out just for you to hold.

Fuck. My eyes are tearing up. Don’t mind if there’s some dried up tears on this. I’m trying. Really am, but I don’t know what’s worse, Simon. I don't know. Imagining a world where I can’t see your bonnie face again, or imagining you alone after everything. Bloody fuck. I don't think any amount of sorries can fix this. But I’ll say it again.

I’m really fucking sorry, Simon.

I love you so much, you daft old man. I love you beyond anything I could say, write, do or express. I love you so much I would’ve done anything just to be a John Mactavish Riley and stay by your side.

But you’re reading this.

And you know I can’t.

A lifetime’s worth of sorries can’t fix this, I know. Gonna kiss and hold you extra hard the next time I see you, L.t. Sorry in advance, even though that’s probably the ‘past’ for you. I’m planning to yank that mask right off, press my lips against every square inch of that pretty boy face and tell you how much I love you until you get sick of it. Until you have to force me away, probably grumbling and asking me what’s wrong because you’re not used to it.

You’re not used to being loved, are you?

I love you so much.

I don’t know what to do with this love sometimes. Death can’t stop it either, if you’re wondering. Know that my heart was bursting with it till the end. Know that you were probably the last thought in my head. You’ll always have my love, my soul, dead or alive. What we have goes beyond life and death. You know that, I know that. Wherever I am, if there’s even ‘anything’ beyond, know that I’m missing you to hell and back, Simon Riley.

Don’t be eager to follow me. Please. I want you to live. You’ve been dead for so long, it hurts my heart to even think about you returning to how you were before me. Empty eyes, not letting anything or anyone close, a sad fucker underneath that brooding mask. Pretty too but you already know that. Don’t be a stubborn shit about this, I’m waiting for you. There’s nothing else for me to do.

I don’t know if you’ll get it too but I’ll keep the rings I bought for us next to the letter. Proof, maybe, I don’t know. I want you to have it. Keep it safe. Took a lot to get your size right, couldn’t even risk asking directly because you’d know immediately, smart fucker. Did you know you’re starting to sleep like a log these days? Felt like yesterday that you woke up to the sound of paper shuffling from the other room. Here you are, sleeping like a wee bairn without knowing any better. Anyway, you’re mine.

I’m yours.

Always have been, always will.

Take care, Simon.

PS: I love you.

PPS: I love you a lot. Don’t do anything stupid, I know it sounds real hypocritical of me if you’re reading this but seriously, don’t. See you soon, Simon.

PPPS: Preferably not soon-soon. Grow grey hair before you get here, see the world, do everything you want first. Jesus, I don’t even know what you’re doing right now. Don’t mope and waste away, you still have my love, you tit.

Goodbye, for now.

[longitudinalwaveme]

You're No Flash (Fictober 2024)

Day 11: “Well, that worked out great.”

“Bruce, I really can’t thank you enough for offering to keep an eye on Central City for me while Iris and I take our Gotham vacation,” Barry said as he ran around his house, throwing things into his suitcase. 

“You’re planning to patrol Gotham during your vacation. It’s only fair that I return the favor,” Bruce replied. 

“Still, I really appreciate you thinking of it. I know that you don’t like to leave Gotham.” Barry disappeared from the room, then reappeared with a huge stack of old comic books, which he placed in his suitcase. A few seconds later, Iris walked out of their shared bedroom, dragging her suitcase behind her.

“Barry, are you still packing? We have to be at the airport in ten minutes!” Barry dashed off, then returned with a jumble of shirts, jackets, pocket protectors, pants, and bow ties, which he dumped haphazardly into the suitcase before zipping it shut. 

“I’m done, I’m done!” he exclaimed. Iris laughed. 

“I’ll never understand how the Fastest Man Alive is always running late,” she said. Barry shrugged sheepishly. 

“Sorry, Iris. I just got distracted talking to Bruce. He was giving me the rundown on how to stop crime in Gotham City.” Iris frowned. 

“Have you given him the rundown on how to fight crime in Central City?” she asked. Bruce was about to say that he was fairly sure he could handle two-bit punks like the Trickster and Captain Boomerang when Barry spoke up. 

“Oh, that’s right! I knew I was forgetting something!” Barry darted off into his study, and then returned with a three-ring notebook. 

“Here it is, Bruce—the Flash’s guide to Central City’s Most Wanted. I compiled it myself,” he said proudly. 

“Thanks, Barry, but I really don’t think that I’ll—”

“Good-bye, Bruce, and good luck! Iris and I have got to run if we want to get to the airport in time,” Barry said. He grabbed his suitcase, scooped up Iris, and suddenly the two of them were gone. Bruce shook his head. He wasn’t sure he would ever entirely get accustomed to working alongside a man who could move faster than the speed of light. 

Bruce’s first instinct was to change into the Batsuit and start his patrol of Central City, but he decided that it would probably be best to read through Barry’s guide to Central City before he did, just in case. He had always had a great amount of respect for Barry’s organization, scientific mind, and dedication to justice, and he had no doubt that reading the notebook would be beneficial for Barry’s insights into the city where he lived, if for nothing else. With that in mind, he sat down in one of the Allens’ easy chairs and started flipping through the notebook. 

As Bruce had expected from a man of Barry’s logical, orderly mindset, the journal was excellently organized. The entries were sorted by both topic and alphabetical order, and Barry had even been thorough enough to include an index at the back of the notebook that would allow Bruce to easily find the information he needed on any major location in Central City, all of the important members of the city’s law enforcement, and all of the biggest criminals and criminal combines in the city.

But, as Bruce had also come to expect from Barry, the notebook was almost painfully earnest. He really believed that all the people who fought were equally dangerous and needed to be taken with equal caution, and he had written the journal accordingly. There was no other reason he could think of for Barry to have included four straight pages of detailed notes, complete with several diagrams and photographs, about a cheap hoodlum like Captain Boomerang.

Still, if Bruce had to choose between someone who was overly cautious in his record-keeping and someone who didn’t even bother to keep notes, he would take the former every single time.

After he finished reading through Barry’s notebook, Bruce got himself a cup of coffee, drank it, and then changed into the Batsuit and got ready for his first patrol in Central City. 

*************************************************************************

After five days and four nights of patrolling, during which Batman had stopped exactly one carjacking and had otherwise seen no crimes other than jaywalking and candy wrapper littering, Bruce was perched on the roof of a crumbling old tailor’s shop when a mirror across the street suddenly seemed to twist and warp. A few seconds later, a man in an orange-and-green costume stepped out of the mirror, iced tea in hand. Batman instantly recognized him from Barry’s notes, police records, and the files in his own Batcomputer. Samuel Joseph Scudder. The Mirror Master. 

Bruce glided down from the rooftop, cape billowing behind him, and landed in front of the criminal—who promptly dropped his drink in apparent shock. 

“Batman? I…I thought you were—that you were—” 

“A myth? A man as superstitious as you are should know that all myths have a grain of truth to them.”   

“Oh, gosh, you’re real. You’re real and you’re here and—please-don’t-eat-me!” The Batman costume had been designed to frighten criminals, but it had been a long time since he had seen a thug this spooked by it, let alone a supervillain. It was nothing to complain about, though. The more frightened Mirror Master was, the less of a threat he would be. 

Bruce heard the familiar whistling sound of a boomerang flying through the air just in time to dodge out of the way. He rolled to the right, landing on his feet just as the boomerang returned to the hand of its thrower—a small, lean man with a mass of brown hair and a look of low cunning on his face. Captain Boomerang. 

“G’day, mate!” he said. He gave a tip of his cap, and Bruce, taking advantage of his obvious overconfidence, retrieved a batarang from his utility belt and threw it at the two-bit crook.

Only for the Captain to actually manage to grab it out of the air before it hit him. Apparently, he wasn’t quite as incompetent as Bruce had initially assumed.

“Gotta say, mate, this boomerang’s a beaut. Perfectly balanced, feather-light—but hard as steel. Unless you made it yourself, you must’ve paid a pretty penny for this. Mind if I give it a whirl?” The batarang came careening back through the air, and, although Bruce was able to dodge out of the way again, the batarang hit the wall behind him with enough force that it actually embedded itself into the brick.

Doing something like that required perfect form, precision, and not a small amount of strength, and Bruce mentally chastised himself for his earlier hubris. Even if your enemy was a two-bit thug who dressed in a boomerang-print stewardess outfit and called themselves “Captain Boomerang”, it was the height of foolishness to assume they weren’t a threat. 

Mirror Master scampered over to the other criminal. 

“Digger, we’ve got to get out of here! Batman’s real, and he’s going to eat us!” Digger laughed. 

“You can walk through mirrors and tangle with the fastest man alive, and you’re afraid of a regular bloke in a bat costume?” 

“How do you know he’s a regular guy? Half the stories from Gotham say he can fly and has super strength and eats people,” the Mirror Master asked.

“Didn’t you see him throw his boomerang, mate? It didn’t move any faster than the ones I throw. If he had super-strength, it would’ve moved too fast for me to even think about catching it,” Captain Boomerang replied. 

Bruce was just about to take advantage of their conversation to disarm Captain Boomerang when a gust of wind suddenly knocked him to the ground. He looked up, and, floating about thirty feet above the ground, was a skinny man with wild black hair, holding a long golden rod. The Weather Wizard. 

“The forecast predicts stormy weather ahead for you, Batman!” he boasted. A few seconds later, a small blonde man—more a boy, really; he couldn’t be more than nineteen years old—in a huge black-and-orange cape and hideous striped clothes jogged up to the Weather Wizard. The Trickster. 

“That’s the Batman? I thought he’d be taller,” he said as he pulled out a yo-yo and began fiddling with it. From Barry’s files, Bruce knew that the Trickster’s gadgets weren’t as harmless as they appeared, but, for the moment at least, he didn’t seem intent on using this particular yo-yo as a weapon. 

In fact, none of the villains seemed particularly interested in fighting. Captain Boomerang had thrown a boomerang, and Weather Wizard had bowled him over, but neither one of them had followed up on their initial attacks. Why? 

“What’s the matter with you guys? Why aren’t you scared of him?” the Mirror Master demanded.

“Come on, Sam. We fight the Flash, who has super-speed. Batman is a normal guy with boomerangs, which basically just makes him Digger in a funny mask. And I’m not scared of Digger,” the Trickster said. Bruce pulled himself back to his feet and started calculating the best angle to use to knock the Weather Wizard’s wand out of his hand. 

“But I heard that—” Mirror Master protested. The Weather Wizard waved his hand dismissively as Bruce pulled out another batarang. 

“What? That he eats people? Even if that’s true, which I seriously doubt, he’s no match for a man who can bend the elements to his will.” Bruce released the batarang—only for it to be frozen in midair by a bright blue beam and fall to the ground. He snapped his head to his left to see a man in a parka, who was wearing a pair of blue goggles and holding a smoking purple gun. Captain Cold. Walking alongside the Captain was a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet tall and probably well over two hundred pounds, in a flameproof suit. Heat Wave. 

“What’s the Batman doin’ in Central City?” Captain Cold asked. He kept his gun trained on Bruce, but he didn’t pull the trigger. 

“Cleaning up the night,” Bruce replied. Captain Cold laughed. 

“You think you can fight all of us?” 

“I’ve faced worse odds before.” Bruce lunged forward and grabbed the Captain’s gun arm. Cold fought back, but he was clearly not a trained fighter, and it didn’t take long at all for Batman to gain control over the gun and disarm the Captain. A few seconds later, Heat Wave grabbed him from behind and pulled him off Captain Cold—-but in spite of his obvious strength, Heat Wave was clumsy and awkward, and Bruce was easily able to free himself from the man’s grip, turn around, and knock his legs out from under him. Bruce then turned his attention back to Captain Cold, and was about to punch him out when a strange melody began to play and he suddenly found himself unable to move a muscle. 

A pale, slender man with long red hair walked forward, playing a silver flute. The Pied Piper. Like the Trickster, he was shockingly young, and he was dressed in a very ragged green polka-dotted tunic. He was also accompanied by a tall, athletic-looking man in a green-and-yellow striped leotard, who was clutching a blue-and-red striped top and wearing an odd-looking mask and a self-serious expression. Roscoe Neyle Dillon, better known as the treacherous Top. 

“Good work, Piper,” Captain Cold said gruffly as he helped Heat Wave back to his feet. The Pied Piper lowered his pipe and gave a slight smile. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. The Top walked a tight circle around Bruce, looking him up and down, and Bruce felt a strong sense of unease. Something about the way that the criminal was examining him made him feel as though he was being x-rayed. 

“So, this is Gotham City’s infamous vigilante. I must say, I’m a bit disappointed. Given your fearsome reputation, I was expecting something a bit more imposing than a man in a Halloween costume—especially after having fought the Fastest Man Alive. I’m afraid, in terms of menace, that you cannot top that,” he said coolly. 

“Do you guys think the Flash is okay?” Heat Wave asked suddenly. If Bruce had been able to turn his head, he would have stared at him in surprise. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that the criminal sounded concerned about the Flash. 

“Probably. Why?” Captain Cold replied as he picked up his cold gun. 

“Well, if he’s okay, why didn’t he come to stop us?” Heat Wave said. Up in the air, the Trickster frowned. 

“You’re right. He’s never sent in a replacement before.” 

“And we are worrying about this, why, exactly? The Flash not being here can only benefit us,” the Top asked. 

“I ain’t so sure of that. The Flash is faster, sure, but word on the street is that Batman is a whole lot tougher. The Flash don’t go around breakin’ bones, for one thing,” Captain Cold replied. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time! Batman’s dangerous, and we need to get out of here before we get eaten,” Mirror Master insisted. 

“Scudder, Batman doesn’t eat people.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but none of you are saying how you know.” 

“ I know he doesn’t eat people ‘cause word from Gotham’s underworld is he doesn’t even kill. He might crack your skull, but he won’t snap your neck—and ain’t nobody ever seen him with a knife or a gun,” Captain Cold replied.

“Fair enough—but if word in Gotham is wrong, and we get eaten, I’m blaming you,” Mirror Master replied. He unholstered a weapon that Barry’s notes had called a “mirror gun”, which could apparently produce a wide variety of effects, from creating mirror duplicates to shooting laser beams, and pointed it at Bruce, but didn’t fire it. 

“Regardless of how brutal he is, he has no superpowers. We can fight the Flash; the Batman should pose no threat to us,” the Top insisted. 

“No powers doesn’t equal no threat. We’re livin’ proof of that,” Captain Cold replied. 

“Perhaps, but given the fact that we were able to totally immobilize him before he was able to incapacitate any of us does not give me reason to suppose that this Batman poses any significant threat to us.” 

“Hey, guys?” the Trickster said. 

“The Top’s got a point, Captain. Sure, his punches really pack a wallop—I learned that the hard way when I took that trip to Gotham last year—but as long as I stay out of his range, he can’t touch me. Not when I have the power of the weather itself on my side,” the Weather Wizard said. Bruce blinked, and realized that the hypnotic effect of the Pied Piper’s music must be wearing off.

“You mean the trip to Gotham that ended with the Batman sending you to prison?” Captain Cold asked.

“Uh, guys?” Trickster repeated. 

“Maybe he got the better of me the first time we fought…but this time, I know what to watch out for. He’ll never be able to defeat me again,” Weather Wizard insisted. 

“GUYS!” Trickster exclaimed. 

“What?” Captain Cold snapped—just as Bruce kicked the flute out of the Pied Piper’s hands. As dangerous as the other Rogues’ weapons might be, eliminating the weapon that could freeze him in place without even needing to be aimed took priority. The flute went flying into the air, and cracked in half upon hitting the ground. 

“That’s what,” Trickster said as Bruce grabbed the Pied Piper by the collar.

As Bruce stared down into the young man’s frightened face, he was very surprised to realize that he was looking into the face of someone he had met before—not on the streets, but at several high society parties. True, he was paler and gaunter than Bruce remembered him being, but after having attended dozens of soirees hosted by Rachel and Osgood Rathaway, there was no doubt in his mind that the criminal he was currently holding a foot or so off the ground was their son, Hartley. How had the scion of one of the wealthiest families in the country ended up with a gang of blue-collar criminals? 

Only years of training prevented Bruce from taking the full force of the impact as the Top suddenly spun into him at super-speed, but the shock of being rammed into by a man-sized spinning top still caused him to drop Hartley to the ground, and he only barely managed to stay standing. Barry’s notes had mentioned that the Top could spin himself at superhuman speed, but he hadn’t mentioned that when he collided with you, it would feel like getting hit by a freight train. If Bruce wasn’t lucky, he would probably end up with a broken rib from the sheer force of that blow. 

“The Flash would have avoided that attack easily,” the Top said haughtily as he tossed the top he had been holding at Bruce. Bruce managed to pull out a batarang and knock the top off its course, but then the Top spun into him again, grabbing him and slamming him into a wall. 

“And you, clearly, cannot stop us from coming out on top.” In response, Bruce drew his right leg up sharply and kneed the Top hard in the throat. The Top cried out in pain and loosened his hold, but before Bruce could land a second hit, the Top dropped him and spun out of range. A few seconds later, a boomerang hurtled at him, and, when Bruce dodged the boomerang, a yo-yo suddenly slammed into his head from above. 

“Gotcha!” Trickster exclaimed. Bruce shook his head to clear it from the impact of the blow—only for him to be knocked off his feet by another violent gust of wind. Bruce was knocked backwards—and right into a dozen Mirror Masters. Bruce jabbed his elbow into the face of the nearest one, and it shattered into glass. He spun around and slammed a fist into another Mirror Master, which also shattered. 

“The Flash could’ve smashed through all my duplicates and found the real me in seconds,” the Mirror Master said. He sounded almost disappointed, which seemed counterintuitive. Given how frightened he had been of Batman earlier, one would have expected him to simply be relieved that Bruce was having trouble finding him—but perhaps his teammates’ insistence that Batman did not, in fact, eat people had given him enough confidence to start…being disappointed that he and his criminal cohorts were winning? No, it still didn’t make sense. 

As he shattered another Mirror Master duplicate, Heat Wave shot a plume of fire through the air in Batman’s direction. Bratman managed to avoid it, but a nearby Mirror Master duplicate wasn’t so lucky, and promptly melted. 

“The Flash would’ve put out my fire before it ever reached that far,” Heat Wave said. 

“And he could’ve done it while avoiding lightning bolts from me,” Weather Wizard added. Two seconds later, a violent wind swept Bruce off of the ground, and, while he was able to roll enough when he fell to avoid any serious injury, it meant that he wasn’t able to avoid the beam from Captain Cold’s gun, which promptly froze him to the ground. 

“And that stops him cold. Come on, boys. Let’s get outta here,” Captain Cold said. 

“We’re leaving him alive?” the Top asked. 

“We leave him alive. He ain’t our enemy, and we don’t need the kind of heat that killin’ a cape would bring down on us.” 

“How is he not our enemy? He attacked us, did he not?” 

“It wasn’t personal. It was business, just like it is with the cops. We don’t kill the cops who arrest us, we don’t kill Kid Flash when he hassles us, and we ain’t gonna kill him either,” Captain Cold said firmly. 

“And it is for that very reason that the entire underworld derides us as jokes. They call us weak; say we don’t have the stomach to kill—and because of you, they’re right,” the Top snapped. Digger laughed obnoxiously. 

“Mate, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you wear green-and-yellow striped tights. They’d be laughing at you no matter what.” Captain Cold turned to glare at him, and, while the Captain was distracted, Bruce slipped a tracing device onto his costume. 

“Digger, shut up. You ain’t helping.” Captain Cold barked. Then he turned back to the Top.

“I don’t care what the underworld thinks about us. I don’t care what anyone thinks about us. What I care about is us stayin’ alive, stayin’ together, and, preferably, not gettin’ caught. We start killin’, and all three of those goals will be threatened.” 

“Only cowards let fear impede their path to greatness.” 

“And idiots who let their ambition blind ‘em to reality end up locked up for life or dead,” Captain Cold shot back. The Mirror Master started walking over to the two squabbling criminals. 

“What do you know of ambition? You’re an illiterate lowlife thug. You were born trailer trash, and you’ll die that way—but that doesn’t mean that you have to drag the rest of us down to your level.” 

“That’s rich, comin’ from a crazy, top-obsessed lunatic.” The two men were clearly on the verge of coming to blows, which made it all the more surprising when the Mirror Master stepped in between them. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Save your arguments for when we’re not in front of the superhero, please. It’s unprofessional, and it makes us look bad.”

“Who put you in charge?” Captain Cold and the Top said in unison. 

“Technically speaking, I’ve always been in charge, seeing as I formed the group and everything. I just don’t care enough to play king of the hill. But since you two have decided to have one of your stupid alpha male competitions, I’m going to have to step in to settle the argument. I don’t want to force the rest of the guys to stand around watching you two argue when we could be doing something productive—like making sure all of our gear is in order for next week’s heist,” Mirror Master replied. 

“And what, pray tell, have you decided?” the Top asked coldly. 

“In this case, I agree with Captain Cold. Batman isn’t the Flash. We don’t have any quarrel with him, so there’s no reason for us to kill him—-and, more importantly, killing would split the group. Pied Piper, Trickster, and Heat Wave don’t have it in them to kill anyone, and you know it. Besides, if we started killing people, being the Mirror Master would lose most of its fun,” the Mirror Master replied. 

“But our reputations—” 

“Will be just fine. We defeated the Batman. If anything will get us respect in the underworld, it’ll be that,” the Mirror Master replied. This seemed to mollify the Top, if only slightly.

“Yes, I suppose that is something,” he conceded. 

“See? There we go. Everybody’s happy. Now, let’s pick up Piper’s new costume from Gambi and get back to our hideout.” 

****************************************************************************

Bruce’s specialized bat-de-icers melted through the ice that had frozen him to the ground after about an hour. As soon as he was free, he followed the tracer he had placed on Captain Cold to a broken-down old warehouse on the docks of the river and hid himself nearby. After his disastrous first battle with the Rogues, it was abundantly clear to Bruce that he would be defeated if he charged into their hideout with all eight of them present. As such, a wiser course of action would be to wait until most of the Rogues had left the hideout, defeat the few who remained, and then lie in wait for the rest to return. 

Fortunately for him, the Weather Wizard—now in civilian clothes—left the warehouse only a few minutes after Batman arrived at the docks. He was wearing a black leather jacket, had his wild black hair styled into some semblance of order with a lot of hair gel, and had put on so much cologne that Bruce could smell it from forty yards away. 

He was met by the likely reason for the cologne—an attractive woman with long red hair—about halfway down the docks.

“Hey there, babe,” the Weather Wizard said. 

“Hello yourself, handsome,” the woman replied. The Weather Wizard showed her his weather wand, which she dutifully oohed and aahed over, boasted about how powerful he was, and completely failed to notice as she slipped her hand into his pocket and stole a credit card and at least a hundred dollars worth of bills out of his wallet. 

“How’d you like to see the city from the sky, honey?” Weather Wizard asked. 

“Oh, I’d love it!” the woman said. The Weather Wizard picked her up, waved his wand, and disappeared with her into the night sky. If there was any money left in his wallet by the time the night was over, Bruce would be very surprised. 

About thirty minutes after the Weather Wizard left on his date, Captain Cold, Captain Boomerang, Mirror Master, and Heat Wave also left the hideout in civilian clothes. From their conversation, it was easy to tell that they were headed for a seedy local bar—although since Captain Boomerang was clearly already inebriated, he wasn’t entirely sure why they were even bothering to make the trip. Bruce wasn’t complaining, though; the faster the warehouse emptied, the more quickly he would be able to make his move. 

Another hour later, the Top walked out of the warehouse in a tuxedo, complete with a yellow-and-green striped tie and a yellow-and-green striped top hat. Bruce wasn’t sure where he was going dressed up like that, but apparently he had hired a limousine for the occasion, because he climbed into one near the end of the docks, and it then drove away with him inside. 

All but two of the Rogues were gone, and the ones who remained were the two youngest. Bruce would never have a better opportunity to defeat the Rogues than right now. With that in mind, he picked the padlock on the warehouse’s back door and slipped inside the dilapidated building. 

As Bruce made his way through the hideout, he quickly discovered that, while his enemies would often  convert the old abandoned buildings they took over into sophisticated bases with complex security systems and elaborate theming, Barry’s villains hadn’t put similar effort into fixing up the old warehouse. There was a TV shoved into one corner, a card table with four chairs, a very worn easy chair, a portable fridge, and the biggest mess that Bruce had ever seen. Beer cans, cigarette butts, money, Mark Twain novels, dirty magazines, textbooks about quantum physics, books of matches, sheet music, boomerangs, socks, mirrors, and hand puppets were strewn all over the floor, a dartboard with the Flash’s face plastered over it was hanging on one of the walls, and someone had stuck a sticky note to the portable microwave that read “Mick is not allowed to use this anymore”. In fact, the only part of the warehouse’s largest room that didn’t look like the Weather Wizard had sent a tornado through it was its right corner, which contained a clean workbench with a picture of a pretty young blonde woman and neatly organized rack of tools hanging over it, a swivel chair, a perfectly organized bookshelf that contained titles like The Fascinating History of Tops, Gyroscopes, and The Theoretical Principles Behind the Construction of Satellites, and an even larger shelf that contained nothing but hundreds of precisely-labeled, scrupulously-organized tops. Evidently, the Top possessed the hideout mindset Bruce expected from supervillains, even if his teammates did not. 

Bruce considered performing a more thorough sweep of the room to see if he could uncover any of the Rogues’ plans, but decided against it. The place was such a mess that it would likely take hours before he managed to find anything useful. Instead, he started making his way through the warehouse’s four smaller rooms, starting with the one that branched off from the main room’s south wall. This turned out to be the bathroom, which had a grimy shower, a grimy sink, an even more grimy toilet, a very well-polished mirror, a few razors, and mountains of hair and skin products. A quick examination of the last revealed that, with the exception of two bars of soap and one shampoo bottle, the Top, Weather Wizard, and Mirror Master owned all of the beauty products, and that well over 75% of the lotions and shampoos and facial creams belonged solely to Mirror Master. As a member of high society, Bruce had to maintain a reputation as a well-coiffed man, but he didn’t own even a fraction of the hair and skin products Mirror Master apparently did. 

The next room, which branched off of the north wall, had two air mattresses, one which had fire-print pajamas in a pile at the foot of it and the other of which had a faded, worn blue bathrobe and polar bear slippers lying on it, and one actual bed. The actual bed was surrounded by mirrors from every angle. There was even a hand mirror lying on top of the bed. Other than that, the room contained one snow globe with a polar bear inside, a poster of a blazing inferno, a picture of a blonde woman who looked very similar to the one in the photo over the Top’s workbench, and a closet that had been haphazardly shoved into a corner. 

The third room, which branched off the west wall, contained one bed and one mattress on the floor. The mattress on the floor was surrounded by boomerangs, rotting food, unwashed clothes, and empty beer cans. A blue cap was lying on top of the mattress, and an Australian flag was hanging from the wall next to it. The bed, which was placed right next to the opposite wall, clearly in an attempt to keep as far away as possible from the hazardous waste dump that was the mattress and its surrounding area, was right under a rather large window that provided a perfect view of the river. A huge pile of novels—many of which were by Mark Twain—was stacked on the bed, and photo of two young men, one of whom was obviously the Weather Wizard himself and the other of whom, a bespectacled young man in a lab coat, resembled him enough to be his brother, was pinned to the wall next to the window. Strewn around the bed were more novels and several different pieces of paper with phone numbers on them. A set of drawers rested at the foot of the bed, and the clothes inside all clearly belonged to the Weather Wizard. 

The final room, which branched off the east wall of the warehouse’s main room, was currently occupied. Bruce had heard the voices of the two youngest Rogues coming from it the moment he had entered the warehouse, and, given what he had found in the other rooms, it seemed safe to assume it was being used as a bedroom by the two of them and the Top. Bruce pulled out one of his batarangs and kicked the door open, prompting a gasp from the Pied Piper, who was sitting cross-legged on a cot and holding a pipe, and a shriek from the Trickster, who was holding his yo-yo and lying inside what looked like a children’s bouncy castle. He knocked the Trickster’s yo-yo out of his hands with the batarang, then managed to wrestle the pipe out of the Pied Piper’s hands before he could raise it to his lips. Pied Piper’s eyes went wide with fear, but, after a few seconds of initial surprise, the Trickster actually grinned.

“Hi, there!” he exclaimed cheerfully. Batman looked over the two supervillains, and was overwhelmed all over again by how young they looked. Neither one could possibly be much over twenty, and the Pied Piper was painfully thin. How, he wondered, had they ended up in the company of thugs and lowlives?

“The two of you seem very young to be a part of a group like this,” he said. The Trickster laughed. 

“I get that a lot. From judges, mostly. I was sixteen when I made my grand debut,” he said cheerfully. Bruce did the math. According to Barry’s notes, the Trickster had first shown up three years ago. If he had been sixteen then, he was nineteen now. 

“Wait. You’re only nineteen? Then why does Captain Cold think you’re twenty-four?” the Pied Piper asked. 

“Because I told him I was twenty-one when I first teamed up with him,” the Trickster replied. 

“You don’t need to tell me how old you are. I already know. You’re nineteen as well,” Batman said. 

“How could you possibly—”

“Because Hartley Rathaway turned sixteen three years ago,” Bruce replied. The Pied Piper’s mouth fell open. 

“You…you know? How could you possibly know? Even the Flash doesn’t know, and he’s been fighting me for months now!” 

“I make it my business to know these kinds of things.” 

“Besides, ‘Henry Darrow’ is a terrible alias. I don’t know how the other guys keep falling for it,” the Trickster added. The Pied Piper stared at him in shock. 

“You know? How long have you known?” 

“Oh, I figured it out two days after we met, once I realized that the fact that you didn’t know how to dress yourself or how to use the microwave or what a laundry machine was meant that you had to have been rich. And since the Rathaways were the only rich people in the area whose son had recently gone on a very mysterious tour of Europe, it wasn’t hard to narrow down who you probably were,” the Trickster replied. Clearly, he was more intelligent than his choice of clothing and weaponry suggested. 

“And when were you planning on telling me that you knew who I really was?” the Pied Piper asked.

“Whenever it would be the funniest.” The Pied Piper sighed wearily, then turned toward Bruce. 

“All right, so you know my little secret. I am Hartley Rathaway—but what’s that to you?” 

“Your parents are two of the richest people in the country, and, while I’ve met plenty of wealthy criminals in my day, the ones who aren’t the heads of crime families tend to stick to white-collar crime. What are you doing running around with a gang of thugs?” The Pied Piper laughed quietly. 

“My parents and I had a …...difference of opinion. The kind of difference of opinion that caused them to throw me off of the estate with no money to ‘teach me a lesson’,” the Pied Piper replied. For half a second, Bruce was surprised to hear that the Rathaways had kicked their own son out of his home. Then he remembered what Rachel and Osgood Rathaway were like, and suddenly everything made sense. 

“Where did you get the mind-controlling musical instruments?” 

“I made them. Ever since my parents paid fifteen million dollars to “fix” me, I’ve been fascinated with sound. Playing it, recording it, listening to it—and manipulating it. My parents were happy enough to take advantage of my playing, since having a son who could play the piano and the flute as well as I was taught to do was a wonderful way for them to show off, but they always dismissed my interest in manipulating it as “tinkering”, and never paid it much mind. They had no idea that I had started developing sonic technology a year before they shipped me off to a college I didn’t want to attend, or that I had actually made some pretty good progress on it by the time they threw me out,” the Pied Piper replied. 

“And how did you end up in costumed crime?” 

“My parents had made it pretty clear that they weren’t going to let me give any of my fortune away legally, so, after a month or so of selling off my technology in a desperate attempt to keep myself off the streets, I decided that I might as well do it illegally. I cut up somebody’s old shower curtains and made a makeshift costume out of them, then used my musical hypnosis to mind-control some thugs who had decided to rob businesses owned by my parents and took charge of the operations. The Flash just happened to show up before I could distribute any of the money to charity, and I went to jail—but I didn’t stay there. My parents paid someone at city hall under the table to have me released before I could go to trial, since they didn’t want anyone to know that the Pied Piper was a Rathaway, and they hadn’t had time to pay the FBI to give me a new identity yet.. As soon as I was back on the street, I—” 

“He gave away all the money he’d made selling his fancy sonic tech to a bunch of widows and orphans and soup kitchens and almost starved to death! His parents never let him anywhere near the business side of their estate, so he has no money sense,” Trickster interjected. 

“More or less. And, now that I’ve told you why I’m running around in polka-dots, why don’t you tell me why Bruce Wayne is running around in a bat costume?” the Pied Piper said. Bruce tensed. How could he possibly know? 

“Good joke, Piper. Is Veronica Vreeland Batgirl, too?” Trickster asked. 

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t notice at first, but I’ve attended enough boring soirees and business meetings where Bruce Wayne was in attendance to be able to know his voice, even if it is being electronically modulated by a speaker. It’s a pretty good auditory trick, but not good enough to fool my nanomechanical ears,” the Pied Piper replied. 

“Wait…if Bruce Wayne is Batman, that means that Dick Grayson is Robin. I thought Robin’s acrobatics looked kind of familiar on TV,” Trickster said. Bruce grabbed the Trickster and slammed him against the wall.

“What do you know about Dick Grayson?” 

“He’s a carny kid—just like me, only younger. Our paths crossed a few times on the circuit before his folks were killed,” the Trickster replied. Bruce dropped the Trickster back onto the bouncy house. Now that he thought about it, he distinctly remembered Dick enthusing about how he’d always known a talented young high wire walker would make it big. It seemed that that high wire walker had decided to go from walking on a wire to walking on air—and robbing banks. 

“If you tell anyone—” 

“Tell anyone what? It’s not like anyone would believe us if we told them that Gotham’s richest idiot was secretly the world’s greatest ninja detective,” the Trickster said. 

“Especially when the only evidence I have for you being Bruce Wayne is the fact that your voice sounds exactly like his once my hyper-advanced nanomechanical ears filter out the effects of a voice modulator. Almost no one knows I’m Hartley Rathaway, so no one would have any reason to believe I’ve heard Bruce Wayne’s voice enough times to recognize it,” the Pied Piper added. Bruce relaxed fractionally when he realized that they were right. The odds of them convincing anyone else that he was Batman were slim to none—but that didn’t mean that they might not try to take advantage of their knowledge themselves. 

“Do anything to hurt Dick, or Alfred, or anyone else that I care about, and I will make you regret it,” he snapped. 

“I don’t know about James, but I for one am not about to travel all the way to Gotham, the horrible murder capital of the world, just to get the crap kicked out of me for attacking the loved ones of a hero I don’t even care about,”  the Pied Piper said. 

“Besides, going after a hero’s loved ones is cheating. Everyone knows that,” the Trickster added. Bruce was quite sure most of his enemies wouldn’t agree with that sentiment, and wondered what sort of charmed life Barry led to have so many costumed villains who held themselves to a self-imposed set of standards. 

“You know what? We’ve been talking for the past ten minutes, and we never even thought to ask what you’re here for,” the Pied Piper said. 

“I’m here to take you in—but, given how young you two are, I’d be willing to ask the courts to show you leniency if you surrender quietly,” Bruce replied. The Trickster grinned.

“Okay! We surrender!” he said. Bruce immediately went on edge. Usually, when supervillains took him up on that offer, it meant that they had something up their sleeves. Pied Piper was apparently just as surprised as Bruce, judging by the expression on his face. 

“What do you mean, we surrender?” 

“C’mon, Piper, it’ll be a great gag! Can you imagine the look on Flashy-pants’ face when he finds out that a random guy in a Batsuit was able to bring us in faster than he could? It’ll serve him right for going away and leaving us without anyone fun to fight,” the Trickster said.

“And we’ll look like idiots for being defeated by a guy with no powers,” the Pied Piper replied. 

“I wear stripes and blue slippers, and you dress like an evil elf. Everyone thinks we’re idiots anyway, so we might as well have fun with it,” the Trickster said. 

“I don’t care. I am not surrendering without a fight just because you think it’s funny,” the Pied Piper insisted. The Trickster hopped off of his bouncy castle bed and threw an arm around Piper. 

“Well, if that’s what you really want, Piper, that’s fine. I’ll go alone—but before the Batman drags you away, I want you to say good-bye to Mr. Ducky,” the Trickster said. He pulled out a rubber duck from somewhere on his costume and waved it in front of the Pied Piper’s face. 

“James, this is not—” The Trickster squeezed the rubber duck, some gas sprayed out, and the Pied Piper slumped into unconsciousness. 

“Well, that worked out great! Good job, Mr. Ducky!” he said to the rubber duck. Then he turned to Batman. 

“Sorry about him. He’s a nice kid, really, but he doesn’t know when to quit. I didn’t want him to end up with any broken ribs because he tried to fight off a ninja,” the Trickster said apologetically. Bruce, still half-expecting a trick, handcuffed the two criminals together with his Bat-cuffs, summoned the Batmobile he had had flown to Central City shortly before he had arrived there himself, and loaded the two of them into the back seat. 

“Nice car. Did you build it yourself, or did you pay someone to make it?” Bruce ignored him and started the engine. 

“Right. I forgot. You’re the strong, silent type. That’s another reason I like the Flash better than you. He has an actual sense of humor.” As the Batmobile started to drive down the road that would take him to the headquarters of the CCPD, Bruce started to wonder if his villains were harassing Barry about how they wanted to be fighting Batman instead. He couldn’t imagine most of them doing it, and as for the one who actually might—he wouldn't wish the Joker on anyone. 

“Hey, what does this button do?”

Although, Bruce reflected as a parachute shot out from the back of the Batmobile, at least the Joker was predictable. 

******************************************************************************

An hour and a half after dropping the Pied Piper and the Trickster off at the CCPD, Bruce returned to the Rogues’ abandoned warehouse hideout to find the Top sitting in his swivel chair, working on something. The Weather Wizard was leaning on the wall immediately next to the desk, the weather wand clutched in one hand. From the sound of their conversation, the two of them were comparing dates. 

“You have a good night?” 

“The very best. I do so love to make Lisa happy, and nothing makes her happier than roses, fancy dinners, and jewelry,” the Top replied. 

My date was great, too. Thanks for asking,” the Weather Wizard said. The Top looked up at him in apparent confusion. 

“I did not ask. And I do not care about your dates. Half of them are with desperate, lonely women who would date anyone who pays them a compliment, and the other half are with  women who are taking advantage of your belief that you are some sort of Casanova to get money out of you,” the Top said. The Weather Wizard scowled.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Last week, you spent four thousand dollars on a necklace for a woman you’d met thirty minutes before in a bar, just because she was flirting with you and you wanted to impress her. Do you really think you’ll ever see her again?” 

“I got her phone number.” 

“You got what you think is her phone number.” 

“You’re just jealous that I get more dates than you.” 

“I only need one date. Lisa is perfection. And even if I had no date at all, I would still not be jealous of a man too stupid to realize why he has three times as many dates when he has money than he does when he’s broke. Haven’t you ever noticed that women aren’t as interested in you during the weeks when you have to beg Captain Cold or Mirror Master or Heat Wave for cash?” 

“Why do you keep track of the number of dates I have in a week?”

“You boast about them so extensively it’s hard not to,” the Top replied.

“Since we’re on the subject, when are you going to tell Captain Cold that you’re dating his sister?” Weather Wizard asked. 

“Never, if I can help it. We rub each other the wrong way enough without his overprotective older brother instincts making everything worse.” 

“You do realize he’s gonna find out eventually, right?”

“Then I will cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I do not have to put up with him scrutinizing every move I make, and I prefer it that way,” the Top replied. The Weather Wizard smirked. 

“I guess I can’t really blame you. She’s a babe, no two ways about it—especially for someone who’s related to Len,” he said. 

“She got all of the looks in the family. And all of the manners,” the Top said as he sent a top skittering across the desk. When it reached the end of the desk, it ignited into flames for a few seconds before extinguishing itself. 

“Excellent. My flare top is working exactly as intended.” 

“You’d better not let Mick see that, or you’ll never get it away from him,” Weather Wizard commented. 

As the two criminals continued their conversation, Bruce calculated the angle that he would need to throw his batarangs at in order to knock out the Top and knock the wand out of the Weather Wizard’s hands. He had to take out both of them at once, because if not, whichever one remained standing would overwhelm him with the power of their attacks. 

Then Heat Wave came through the front door, lugging an unconscious Captain Boomerang along with him, and Bruce was forced to alter his initial plan. 

“Digger passed out, so I volunteered to take him home early,” Heat Wave explained. The Top shook his head in apparent disgust.

“I don’t know why we bother to keep that lout around,” he muttered—just as Bruce launched into action. One batarang knocked the wand out of the Weather Wizard’s hand, one went flying towards the Top, and Bruce himself hurtled towards Heat Wave and landed his fist on Heat Wave’s jaw. The Weather Wizard squawked in alarm as Heat Wave stumbled backwards and dropped Captain Boomerang. Bruce quickly followed up the initial punch with a roundhouse kick to Heat Wave’s head. Heat Wave slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Bruce was about to turn to the now-disarmed Weather Wizard when the Top slammed into him at full speed and pinned him to the wall. 

“You missed,” the Top said coldly. Bruce struggled to free himself, but it seemed the Top had learned from their earlier fight, because he was now being held in such a way that prevented him from properly leveraging his body to attack. 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. No one tops the top. Not you, not Captain Cold, not even—” 

Suddenly, a bright red blur zipped into the room and knocked the Top to the floor. 

“The Flash?” Barry asked. There was a big smile on his face. The Top snarled as he got back to his feet.

“So you’re back, are you?” 

“Yes, I’m back—just in time to help Batman take all of you back to prison,” Barry said as he grabbed the weather wand. 

“I’m faster than lightning. Are you?” Barry waved the wand, and a bolt of lightning crashed out of the sky. It didn’t actually hit the Top, but the force of the strike was enough to knock the man backwards into the shelf full of tops, where he hit his head on one of the shelves. About a dozen tops landed on his unconscious body.

The Weather Wizard looked at the two heroes  and raised his hands. 

“I surrender, okay? Just don’t let Batman hit me. That hurts,” he said pathetically. Barry laughed.

‘I think that’s the smartest decision you’ve ever made,” he said. There was a flash of color and a rush of wind, and suddenly, Barry and all four of the criminals were gone. Barry reappeared a few seconds later.

“Thanks for helping me track the Rogues down. I’ve been trying to figure out where they were all hiding out for months,” Barry said. Bruce nodded. 

“No, thank you. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I don’t even want to think about what the Top would have done to me.” 

“No problem. You want me to run you back home to Gotham?” Bruce nodded. Barry swept him off his feet, there was a flash of light, and suddenly Bruce was back where he belonged. 

“I have no idea how you manage this place, Bruce. I was stopping so many muggers and murderers and carjackers that I barely had time to sleep—and that was before the Scarecrow showed up. I could never patrol Gotham full-time.” 

“And I’ll be leaving Central City to you from now on. I can’t even begin to understand the logic your Rogues operate under—and even if I could, your Rogues seem to take it very personally when another hero fills in for you.”