#i hope you'll still like it

[the-spooky-alien]

Day 27 of Fictober !

Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "That's not why we're doing this"

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022

-

The wall is cold on her back.

She feels it even through her clothes. Colder than Mulder’s fingers desperately reaching under her blouse, clawing at her skin in his need to press her closer to his body. Colder than his mouth, roaming on the skin of her face, landing on her neck, feverish and scorching.

A part of her, the one not currently engaged in her rather pleasant activity, wonders briefly if the cold comes from her.

‘’Scully,’’ Mulder pants in her ear. It would have aroused her had it been any other day. Hell, her body still wakes up to the hoarse sound of her name on his lips, warmth curling low in her belly. But there’s too much fear in his voice. It seeps under his words, thick and heavy.

Before she can think, she’s pushing him away.

Mulder stumbles back, eyes wide. ‘’Scully ?’’

It sounds feeble in the oppressive silence between them. She wants to bring him back to her, to curl in his warmth again. She wants to flee the hurt on his face, to bury herself so deep in the ground nothing can reach her.

In the end, she shakes her head, blinking back the sting in her eyes. ‘’What are we doing, Mulder ?’’

‘’You're here,’’ he replies, colder than she has ever heard him. His face is carefully blank, but his cheeks betray him, still flushed. He looks beautiful and she’s breaking his heart. ‘’You should know.’’

He’s breaking hers too.

She closes her head, inhales deeply. A wave of diziness hits her and she slumps against the wall. Between her eyes, pain intensifies, matching the agony raging in her heart.

‘’Doing this,’’ she says, surprised to hear her voice comes out so even when she feels like breaking apart, ‘’whatever this is… It’s not going to postpone the inevitable.’’ She opens her eyes, watching as Mulder’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away.

He’s not letting himself think about it. Truth is, most of the time, she tries not to think about it either. Some days are easier than others. Some days, the taste of blood never touches her tongue, other times it’s all she can taste.

Some days, Mulder and her are friends, partners, investigating together in synchrony.

Some other days, they’re colliding against each other, kissing skin and lips and tasting fear and desperation.

They can’t keep doing this.

It hurts so fucking much.

His stare is unreadable but he steps closer to her. She doesn’t think it’s a conscious choice from him. Maybe it’s as natural as breathing for him. Be close to her in any way possible.

It’s not natural for her. It takes courage.

Courage to let him graze the deepest parts of her.

Courage to look into his eyes and see her reflection, hollowed and emptied by the lump in her brain.

‘’That’s what you think ?’’ he asks, tilting his head to the side. His voice is softer but there’s still an edge to his words. ‘’That I’m doing this because you’re ill ?’’ Hurt is written on his face, dark and twisted. She nods, voice too tight to answer. Mulder sighs, hanging his head with a bitter smile. ‘’It’s not what I’m doing. That’s not-‘’

‘’That’s not what ?’’ she whispers, so afraid of breaking him completely.

His chest rises and fall, quiet. She knows how it feels. How soft his skin is, how many dips there are between his ribs, how his heart speeds up under her touch.

She knows.

(Not for long anymore. The knowledge will follow her into her grave.)

‘’That’s not why we’re doing this.’’

‘’Isn’t it ?’’

His hands land on her shoulders, gentle, delicate. ‘’It’s not,’’ he says, firmly. ‘’It’s more than that. It’s more than your cancer.’’

The wall is cold and he is so very warm. Unable to resist the tentation anymore, she snakes her arms around his waist, relishing in his quiet sigh. His mouth finds her forehead, kissing the spot where her tumor lies.

She blinks back tears. ‘’How do you know ?’’

His hold on her tightens, brings her as close as they can be. It’s different from before. Less lustful, but just as urgent.

He holds her like he’s trying to carve her body inside his own.

‘’Because I’ve wanted to do this long before you became sick,’’ he confesses in a whisper, voice wobbling. She feels his tears, the tremors in his body, running from his spine to the tips of his fingers. Despair pours out of him like waves, pulling her underwater for a brief moment before he adds, ‘’Because I don’t remember a time when I didn’t want to do this. When I didn’t feel like that. Scully, I-‘’

‘’Don’t.’’ His chest jerks against her head, but no sounds escape him. She knows without looking that he’s biting his lips, swallowing back his sob. Her arms crushes him to her. ‘’Don’t say that now. Please, I can’t-‘’

If you say this, I will fear leaving you more than dying. If you say this, hope will flare and it will hurt so much more.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he croaks against her hair.

She almost says to him that it’s okay, but it would be a lie.

Nothing would ever be okay.

[mienar]

stillness in these waking hours

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[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji goes to Lotus Pier (No relation to the AU of the same name)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[rayjeff]

silly doodle guys

[apparently-artless]

⋆☆ KAIJU NO. 8 ○ HOSHINA SOUSHIROU ICONS ☆⋆

↳ requested by Mishmish (@peskyfirefly)

[credits to Remi (kithsune) for the dividers]

[dimeadozencows]

Sooo I've been obsessed with this au for a few days now and I thought.. why not use my abilities for evil

These are the designs from the tf2 x Steven Universe au by @lenny-link drawn in Steven Universe's art style! Or my best attempt at it lol.

I think the best looking ones are spy, heavy and soldier :]

Close ups↓

Also here's just the background; it's the bg from the tf2 lineup as a SU background, I'm really proud of how it looks hsjdjd

I also HAD to draw Andalusite by @gracefireheart cus good god he has taken over my entire heart. He's truly everything. The myth the legend the icon the moment. Happy pride month.

I like giving him a receding hairline cus. medic(has hair) + heavy(bald) = less hair. mathematics. The first drawing is my puny amateurish attempt at Rebecca Sugar's beautiful doodle art style. (I think I nailed the face and hair tho hehe)

(Your drawings are what introduced me to this au, I love them sm- I really hope you'll like this!!) (p.s; sorry for giving him a boob window. I wasn't strong enough.)

Aaaand my own design for a medic and scout fusion, Tourmaline! They only really form him when they both feel like wreaking havoc. he's impulsive, inattentive, hyperactive, he has no self preservation, and he's low-key dumb. When his senses kick in is usually when they unfuse. He can't see for shit and has to constantly remind himself to put on his glasses

(scout and medic shitty lil bratty kid + uncle who enables them dynamic truthers rise up)

(I had so many ideas for things I wanted to post so I thought I'd just put it all in one place gsjdjd, I hope people won't mind :'] )

[rjshope]

I love I love I love myself I love I love I love myself I know I know I know myself Ya playa haters you should love yourself Brr

Happy birthday @raplinenthusiasts 💖

[smilefullofcaligari]

Human Val appreciation post pt. 2 (with some voxval this time)

Made me pray, don't be that way

Met the devil yesterday

Give him my regards, babe

But you can't stay away

[iwonderwh0]

"Do you still have my coin? Can I have it back?" Connor asked.

"Uh, sure," Hank slid his hand into a pocket and, without turning his head, handed the content of it to Connor.

"Hank it's not..."

A sudden realisation washed over Hank as he swiftly turned his head and stared at the grey circle in Connor's fingers. Fuck.

"I didn't know you kept it," Connor smiled sheepishly, as if still not entirely sure if the object in his hand was truly what he thought it was.

Hank swallowed. For some reason he felt embarrassed, as if Connor had just caught him red-handed invading his privacy, even though the expression on android's face showed no sign of discomfort. Just confusion.

"I-" Hank cleared his throat, "I guess I forgot I put it there."

Except he didn't. It was a harmless lie, he decided, much more digestible at least than the truth, which was that he kept it on purpose. Somehow it felt important. After all, it was the only visible sign of life for when android went inactive, and Hank used to find a comfort in the sight of it. If the android stayed still without breathing and looked dead by every human standard – at least the light was still on. Hank couldn't help but check on it whenever he saw Connor in such an inactive state. If he was completely honest, he wished the android kept the damn thing. It was selfish of him, Hank knew, but that was the truth, and he only hoped his frustrated disappointment wasn't too obvious for Connor to sense. He probably noticed. Of course, Hank couldn't bring himself to throw the LED away when it just got removed, when it was still glowing blue, indicating the life that wasn't there anymore to read properly. He put it in his pocket for the time being and decided to throw it away when the light goes off. It lasted for only about three days, but even then Hank found himself unwilling to let it go. By that time he got accustomed to rotating it around his fingers in moments of worry – there was something soothing in the sensation of sleek plastic, something calming about it's weight, and something reassuring about the fact that Hank still got it with him. Even if it had no light left.

Now that the LED was in Connor's hands, Hank realized the true extent to which he really didn't want to throw it away – he wanted it back. Now that it was useless, he needed it more than Connor, even if he couldn't explain to him why. He wouldn't understand.

To his relief Connor handed it back to him. He didn't ask.

Hank exchanged it for a coin – a correct one this time – and put the LED back in the pocket, enclosing it with his fingers as he returned it.

He half-expected Connor to say something about it, but the other tossed a coin back and forth from hand to hand and focused his eyes on something outside the window. He didn't say a thing, and Hank was thankful he didn't.

[thasorns-moved]

LONELY GIRLS (2024) 자취방의 고백

[the-spooky-alien]

Day 26 of Fictober !

Fandom : X-Files with the prompt "I'm doing it, shut up." (Cheated a bit with this one, I'll admit)

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2022

-

He listens to it every night. In the dark of his appartment, the sound echoes as if it all happens here, the sound of smashed glass and Scully’s cries mingling until the tape ends.

It’s nothing more than an illusion. If it had happened here, maybe he could have done something. He could have pushed Duane Barry through the damn wall, crashed his head against it until the man couldn’t do anything to Scully. He could have held her, shielding her.

If it had happened here, maybe Scully would still be here, with him. Alive. Safe.

Not gone to God knows where.

Not potentially dead.

He closes his eyes against the thought, but the image of her dismembered body follows him, crawling underneath its lids, carving itself on his pupils. He can’t escape it. It’s everywhere.

He failed her. It’s all his goddamn fault.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he croaks when the sound of the broken glass echoes for the thousand time, almost drowning her gasp of terror. He imagines it, laying on his couch, fingers digging in his palm. How her blue eyes widened, how she stumbled back to escape Barry, how she fell on the ground and begged for his help.

‘’I need your help !’’ Her voice breaks on a grunt, but he can still feels her fear as if its own, seeping underneath his own flesh, digging and tearing his guts, making his heart gallop in his chest. He wonders if she thought he would save her. If she waited for him until the end, staring at the inky stars on Skyland Mountain, forced to walk towards her doom. He wonders if she would ever forgive him for being late. ‘’Mulder !’’

It’s gut-wrenching to hear her again and again, his name so unfamiliar in her voice distorted by terror. He hates it, dreams of it at night, wakes up to the sound of her screaming. It’s etched onto his brain, the only thing his ears can hear.

It’s his punishment. Every nights, he listens to it. It will only stop when he finds her again.

It’s his only way to be absolved.

‘’Mulder !’’

The lump in his throat has claws, and each of it plunge inside his flesh, tears out arteries and vocal chords, windpipe and oesophagus. He dies on his couch again and again, every time he listens to this tape.

When it’s over, he lays still, eyes on the ceiling. And he talks.

‘’I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Scully,’’ he says to the empty room, to her, lost, somewhere beyond the stars. ‘’I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when it happened. I should have find you sooner. I should have tried harder. Maybe it would have changed things. Maybe he would have taken me instead.’’ It rises before he can stop it, blossoming in his chest, scorching and acid like bile, falling out of his lips. ‘’I wish it had been me.’’

The only answer he gets is silence.

It’s the only things he deserves.

Something ugly escapes him, a broken sound. Too raw. Too sharp. Too Scully-shaped hole. ‘’I’m doing it again, aren’t I ? Feeling sorry for myself. Shut up, Mulder.’’ The tears burn but he welcomes the pain with open arm, cradles it close to his chest, like a child with a plushie. He knows pain intimately. He knows it more than he knows his own damn parents. ‘’Just fucking shut up.’’

The heel of his palms cover his eyes, press against the wetness there.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ he chokes again, ‘’I wish you were here, Scully.’’

Silence weighs on his chest, constricts his lungs. He rewinds the tape and settles back on his couch, closing his eyes.

‘’Mulder !’’

Until he finds her again.

He listens to it every night.

[mienar]

good morning bakery 🍞🥖

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[nothingseemsquiteright]

moodboard: annalise o'brien (the bastard son and the devil himself)

[crimeronan]

i like writing trauma fic about characters who Don't recover quickly from the physical or psychological toll. particularly when the story becomes more about the ongoing aftermath than the initial traumatic event. i think that's like 95% of my works on ao3 right now. across all fandoms all relationships all premises. like. hello friend. you are here because you, like me, enjoy reading about this one specific character getting beat up. you are still here once he's done getting beat up because you, like me, like to see what happens after the worst has already been done. so! can i interest you in some Pathetically earnest storytelling about the nature of pain and brokenness 🥺👉👈

[berryless]

OK, Mr Grim Stalker

Grim Reaper | Casper x Custom Female Main Character (PWP, NC-17 || 5k words || smut, fluff, dirty talk, consensual voyeurism, masturbation on camera)

Summary:

Casper was caught in 4K during call, and MC lives for it. They banter lots, tease each other, Casper's barking and begging.

!Warning!

Not Enterely Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Slight Canon Adjustments, Alternative Timeline, Canon Typical Angst and Mentions of Death/dying/etc (but nothing bad really happens, I promise) (at least not in this fic) (this is pure smut with just a sprinkle of warnings)

Read this work on Archive of Our Own.

"You're blushing, Casper," Caha smiled, her head tilted as she watched him sputtering on the other side of the screen. Somehow the certainty of being seen made his usually perfectly coordinated limbs stiff and awkward. 

"…What are you wearing?" he managed in a strangled voice, habitually avoiding answering unwelcome statements.

"Oh, this?" Caha tugged on one of the straps of her top, and her breasts jiggled right in front of camera. Casper wanted to look away, but couldn't, eyes glued to the display. "Laundry day clothes. Be thankful I bothered to put on anything at all."

Did it mean she could've potentially been sitting there naked..? He tried really hard not to think about it, but failed miserably. A stupid thing, really. Not that he never reaped someone during the intercourse, or never saw other bodies naked—both things happened to him plenty of times. The problem was, those things happened with strangers he had no feelings for whatsoever, and so was able to stay perfectly calm and composed the entire time.

And Caha, as much as it pained Casper to admit it, wasn't such a stranger. She was a nuisance and a sole failure in his outstanding career, and, fuck, why was she leaning closer..?

Casper straightened up, squeezing himself into the back of his armchair, watching Caha's chest practically pressing against the camera as she fished for something. He never knew she had a mole there, right in between. Perfect spot for kissing.

"Lyusha says hiiii," Caha hugged the cat to her stomach and waved Lyusha's paw.

"Hi, Lyusha," Casper answered weakly, casually waving back. 

No, he wasn't at all disappointed with the creature's appearance. Or the fact that she was now babied to pieces, taking all of Caha's attention.

In fact he could stand not being watched for a minute or two.

Losing a glove in process, his right hand slid under the desk, brushing against the throbbing tent of his pants. Hells. It was infuriating how little Caha needed to rile him up.

Casper watched her scratching Lyusha's belly, breasts jiggling with each movement of her arms.

Caha had plenty of moles on her face, but he never knew… Right in between, huh..?

He propped his chin, leaning on his left against the table while his right hand was quietly pulling down the zipper. Unlike certain someone, he was dressed properly for the call. And now regretted it a little: sweatpants would've been easier to get around. Still, he managed. Without the constraints of tight clothes, his erection freely stretched the boxers.

Casper took a quick look at the screen, but Caha was still preoccupied with petting purring Lyusha sprawled on her lap with the most annoying baby voice accompaniment possible. 'Oh, who's the cutest sweetest little thing in the whole wide world' and 'yes, my darling baby angel, you guessed right, it's you' were spilling from her like they cost nothing, flowing right into his ears together with the endless kissy noises, like she was saying that to him.

She wasn't, though, and Casper couldn't help but look at Caha, voicelessly begging her to spare at least a crumb of that attention and affection to him.

She didn't notice, of course.

She never did.

Casper hid the lower part of his face under his left hand and took a first tentative stroke, still through clothes, lips tightly pursed to not let out the slightest sound, eyes on the screen, on that fucking mole, thinking only about how it would feel on his lips. Caha was so warm that one time he touched her. So soft. Even through his gloves, Casper felt that.

His lips would probably melt off on spot if he were to kiss her. Run his palms along her curves. Squeeze her chest, fingers sinking into soft flesh. Bite her collarbone, then neck, taking in the pulse of her life beating against his lips.

Now he could only bite on his glove and swallow down the swears as he slowly stroked himself. Quiet. He needed to keep quiet.

Caha paused, then smiled, eyes sparkling. 

"I was expecting a pretty please, but that's better."

She slipped out of straps of her top and then yanked it down, breasts bouncing free of fabric. Casper watched her, breath caught in his throat, mouth suddenly dry. Caha scooped them into her palms, fondling herself carelessly, fingers digging into flesh. That mole was there again, deep brown in jarring contrast against Caha's pale skin. 

"Well, how about it?" she asked, looking at him with a smile. "How do you like your bones, Grimmy? Are they up to your distinguished taste?" 

He tugged his left glove away with his teeth and ruffled his hair, shaking his head that felt two sizes too big all of the sudden. 

"You really want to see me barking at you like a dog, don't you?" Casper sighed helplessly. 

"Maybe. Is that the only thing you want to do with me?" 

 "…Hardly. If anything, I want so much, I can barely think human thoughts." 

Caha let out a satisfied laugh as she plopped back into the pillows. 

"Not a very good boy, are you now, Grimmy?" she teased, finger circling around her nipple. "With many, many naughty thoughts in that fluffy white head of yours, tsk, tsk, tsk."

"And who's at fault for that?" He couldn't help but glare at her, grating his teeth. 

"Yours, of course," Caha scoffed in a matter of factly manner, her chin raised high. "You could've been fucking me like an animal all you wanted, no thoughts, head empty, brain smooth and unwrinkled, but instead you chose this. Now suffer in the bed you've made. Or rather, in a chair. Touch yourself with those beautiful cold hands of yours, thinking about how mine would've felt. Warm. And soft. Very, very soft. No calluses, no rough spots. Wrapping around all of your length, one atop another, stroking, caressing and rubbing you all over."

"Hah… hngh…" 

Casper choked on his suddenly thickened spit. With Caha voice in his ears, saying stuff like that as she played with her tits, watching him masturbating, his body tingled all over, nipples tender and taut, hips thrusting into his hand by themselves. 

"Please… Talk more, Sunshine… Please… I want…I want to hear more…" 

She sighed in a way that made him tremble, then her right hand slid down again.

"It's not just my hands that are warm, you know? It should be much hotter inside my mouth. I'm not sure if I'd swallow you whole, you're kinda…a handful, in more ways than one, but the tip? I would've circled it with my tongue and taken it in. You know those ridges at the roof of the mouth? Right behind the front teeth? Bet they'd feel good against the skin, won't they?"

"…Yes, yes they would."

Hot sweet mouth. That sharp tongue of hers gliding all over him. She would definitely be all teethy about it, just to make him quiver in anticipation of a bite.

Hands on him, warm touch of them. Handling him with that tender carelessness of hers.  Soft, then firm, then soft again. Light scratches. 

Her face, her eyes, looking at him from the bottom up with that mischievous glint to remind him that she may be on her knees now, but it's him who's getting played. Defenseless and at her mercy. Getting the desired relief only with her permission.

"You're so pretty, Casper. So, so pretty." Caha whispered, words round and sticky inside her mouth, r's rolling from her tongue right into his head like pebbles, disturbing his already unstable mind. 

"Can't…take your eyes away…can you?" he scoffed weakly, trying to shake the picture away before he'd start begging out loud. 

"Can't."

"Knew…it. Ha. Good…you're finally admitting it. Told you…I'm charming…and irresistible…for your kind. Hah. Hngh. Fuck…"

He bit on his lip, squirming in his chair, close, so close… 

"I'm trying, believe me. You know…there is another hot and wet place beside my mouth I can put you in? One that'll take you whole. It's practically dripping now, I'll have to squeeze my shorts after this call, really, what are you doing with me… Better then, what you're not doing with me. When you could've. Honestly. You. Ugh."

He knew what she was talking about. Of course he knew. 

"Caha…" 

"It's hard to do it dry handed, isn't it? You're so sensitive, Casper. Bet it's grating to you without any lube, huh? I could've helped with that. Maybe. Depends on your attitude."

"Please…" 

"No. More."

"Woof..?" 

"Still no. More."

"Sunshine…please…"

"Please what? Use words."

"Please…help me. Please… I…I want…" 

"Yes?" 

"I want…this. You. I want…you…so much, I'm going…crazy. You're fucking up… my life…and my head…and my job…and I still… I… I… Caha… Sunshine… Please."

"…You're telling all this, but still aren't coming. Even though I have perfectly toasty dripping pussy to put you in. Swallow you whole and squeeze the life out of you. Or death. Or soul. Or something. I'm sitting here, wet heaving, frothing at my privates, begging to be stuffed. Begging, Casper. Contracting on nothing but air. Achingly empty inside. All those nice wet folds and pulsing muscles left unused when they could've been wrapped around your stupid pretty pink cock. Hot and tight, so, so, sooooo tight. Milking every last drop out of you. Wouldn't that be nice?"

That was the only thing in his head as Caha spoke, words and images blending together, all the fantasies about her he played on repeat swarming in at once, flickering under his eyelids in sporadic fragmented flashes: Caha with her legs spread wide, demanding to fill her; her again, palm pressed against his chest as she straddled him with that annoying cute irresistible smirk on her lips, her wet folds sliding against his cock, covering him in her juices; her again, hands on his shoulders, palm cradling the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin as he thrust inside her; her again, pushing his head between her thighs, fingers raking through his hair before grabbing a fistful of it right at the roots, the tug just the right amount of painful to feel pleasure; her again, eyes closed, teething on her lower lip, all her soft flesh and curves trembling while he mindlessly beat into her like an animal in heat; her again, riding his face, trembling and moaning, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her in place; her again, his teeth on her neck, biting and licking and biting again, leaving possessive marks in his wake, mine, mine, mine. Her body, her soul, her heart, everything, all of her, only his.

Nothing but her on his mind. 

Just like she wanted. 

Casper came and choked, gasping on air, dizzy and breathless, lost between fantasies and reality, not sure which was what. 

Caha looked at him from the screen, head tilted, pouting, her cheeks bulged. 

"Congratulations. Good for you. I still think I would've done a better job. Made much less of a mess. And you could've cuddled with me afterwards, and I would've kept you warm. Humph."

She turned her face away, but soon looked back at him from the corner of her eye, then turned even further, chin raised high, harrumphing again. 

How could someone be simultaneously so stinking cute and so fuckable? It was still a mystery to him. 

Casper leaned onto the back of his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, evening his breathing and heartbeat. 

Caha was so incredibly wrong about that one thing: she was the one who made all this mess in the first place. Unceremoniously squeezing into his life, into his head, carelessly breaking and destroying all the rules he upheld, all the things he thought were right, all the plans he had for the future, and triumphantly taking the main place among the rubble of his disorderly mind, crowning herself as she took all the space inside it, leaving no room for other thoughts. 

And a week later he was supposed to claim his rightful rewards for winning the bet and ferry her soul to the afterlife, never see her again, and turn back to the life he had before he ever knew her. 

Yeah. 

She couldn't have made a bigger mess if she tried. 

[hailsatanacab]

"give me a fandom and a prompt and i'll give you at least five sentences"

Ok then.

Jazz, Danny and Bruce are in the same age range, and Bruce has been harboring a massive crush on 7'foot tall Jazz since just after he began his training journey.

His kids know about and are mercyless. Danny thinks he's a bit of a fruit loop and 100% knows Bruce has a crush on his sister.

Into the future his coworkers find out that batman has been quietly pining after the Ghost Kings sister for years.

Chaos.

love that this reads as a challenge. Ok then. Write it. i will, let's goooo!

(sorry i kinda took it so that Jazz, Danny, and Bruce were all old friends but in that horrible adult way where you can only hang out with each other once in a blue moon when your work schedules miraculously align)

——

"Respectfully, Batman, you can take your "it's not necessary" and you can shove it up your arse. There's a demon the size of a skyscraper heading towards Metropolis and we need reinforcements."

"Superman can—"

"Superman can't. You do remember the part of the report I made telling you this, right? Or did your stubborn little bat brain just shut down when I mentioned magic?"

"Actually," Nightwing interrupts from the side, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I think his brain shut down when you mentioned the Ghost King."

"Nightwing." Batman growls in warning, his jaw clenching so hard Constantine can swear he hears the bones creaking.

Nightwing just snickers, and turns away to press a finger to his ear, no doubt letting the rest of the bat brood in on what's happening here... Whatever that is. All Constantine knows is that Batman is standing between him and fixing this mess for no God-forsaken reason.

Luckily, some of the more reasonable members of the League step in to try and talk some sense into Batman. It gives him some time to calm down.

"Batman. We need him. I know you dislike working with unknowns, but he's our best shot."

It actually looks like Wonder Woman might be getting through to him, Batman even opens his mouth to actually explain some things—a huge step forward for this incredibly emotionally constipated man.

Instead, Nightwing snorts and beats him to it. "Unknowns? More like—"

"Nightwing, please."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, get your head out of your arse and let me do this. The Ghost King is our only hope. I'm summoning him, no matter what you say."

For a long second, Constantine thinks that he'll refuse and he might have to resort to more violent methods of persuasion—which, honestly, Constantine has fantasised about many times during the more boring JL meetings—but eventually, Batman relents and steps out of the way.

"Fine. Nightwing, go check in with Red Robin."

Nightwing has the kind of devious smile that makes John glad he doesn't have kids.

"Oh, don't worry about it, B. Red Robin's coming here. So's Red Hood, I don't need to go anywhere."

"Nightwing—"

"Sh, it's starting." So saying, Nightwing then very obviously ignores Batman's protests with a poker face that even Constantine envies. What he wouldn't give to be able to shut the bat out like that.

The summoning goes quickly, thankfully. The lights flicker, the temperature drops, and the chalk circle erupts in green flames. Standard summoning practices, sure. Even the impromptu appearance of Red Hood and Red Robin—"Did we miss him?", "No, not yet! I got 2:37, what about you guys?"—doesn't throw him off.

It does pique his interest, though. Just what the hell is going on with them? Constantine's weighing up the pros and cons of asking them once all of this is over when the ground splits open and the clawed hand of the Ghost King begins to pull himself out of the ground.

John's a seasoned summoner. It's practically his job, he's done it countless times.

The icey fear that grips his heart, that freezes his breath in his chest, is new.

Pure, unadulterated power floods the area and he feels small, so, so small, like a child playing with things he doesn't understand. When he finally tears his eyes away from the portal, he catches a glimpse of the other magic users in the room, the same horror he feels clear in their faces. Even Captain Marvel stares slackjawed.

The pressure rises, death magic screaming in his ears, almost forcing him to his knees, and suddenly he's not so sure this is a good idea.

Too late to back out now, though.

Sickly green light pours from the crack in the ground, growing brighter and brighter as the giant figure rises, until Constantine has to close his eyes and look away. The last thing he sees are eyes, teeth, horns, a crown so bright that it burns an afterimage into his retinas.

When the light dies down and he opens his eyes again, a humanoid man floats in the centre of the circle. The ground is whole, nothing is burning, the man doesn't even have a crown. Instead, other than the wispy white hair, slightly green skin, and the—you know—floating, the Ghost King appears pretty normal. Huh.

Constantine blinks, rubbing his bleary eyes, and checks around to make sure everyone's okay. Most of the League are doing the same as him, taking fortifying breaths and trying to appear as if they've not just been completely blinded.

Most of them, that is, aside from the Gotham vigilantes.

Batman himself stands upright, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the whole thing and John's got to admit, he wishes he could do that, too. That was... a hell of a show.

The others, however, are waving frantically with huge smiles on their faces.

What?

There's a brief, taut silence, as everyone else tries to catch their breath.

As much as he would rather take a bit of a breather, John should probably start making introductions. Unfortunately, he only gets as far as opening his mouth before the Ghost King beats him to it.

"Oh, Ancients, hey guys! It's been forever, how are you? Look at you all, so grown up, wow—Nightwing, buddy, do a flip!"

It doesn't take much to get Nightwing going, and he certainly doesn't leave it at one flip. The whole of the Justice League and Justice League Dark watch with open mouths as Nightwing performs for the Ghost King.

What, and John can't stress this enough, the fuck?

As soon as Nightwing rights himself, Red Hood swats him across the back of the head and calls him a show off.

The Ghost King just laughs as he claps. "There's my little monkey, look at you go! And I'm loving that leather jacket, Hood, is that new? Looks good on you, really your colour. Brings out the red in your helmet."

"Thanks, Uncle D. At least someone around here appreciates fashion."

"Are you kidding me, you know I breathe fashion, need I remind—"

"Need I remind you of the Discowing incident?"

"That was era-appropriate and you know it! Uncle D, tell him it was era-appropriate!"

"It was era-appropriate, but so are crocs and it doesn't make them fashionable." The Ghost King—and holy shit, is this actually the Ghost King? Or did Constantine just accidentally summon a deceased family member, what the fuck is happening here?—turns to look at Red Robin with a smile, resolutely ignorning the argument he created. "How you doing, Double R? You get that tablet Tucker made for you?"

"Yes, thank you! It's so cool, how did he—"

"How's Tucker doing?" Batman interrupts, his hands now hidden underneath his cape.

As soon as the question leaves his lips, everyone groans. Red Robin makes a show of lifting up his wrist and staring at it intently.

"Incredible," Red Hood mutters with a shake of his head.

Even the Ghost King seems put out, rolling his eyes and answering in a flat tone as if he knows Batman isn't interested in what he has to say.

Not for the first time, Constantine feels like he's missing something.

"Tucker's doing very well, thank you for asking."

What follows is the most awkward silence Constantine has ever had the pleasure to be a part of.

All three of the Gotham vigilantes, including the Ghost King, are staring at Batman, waiting for something. Batman's cloak shifts as if he's moving his hands, fidgeting. If Constantine didn't know any better, he'd say he was nervous.

"Good. That's good, I'm glad to hear it."

Instead of saying anything else, the Ghost King just raises his eyebrows and continues to stare at Batman. Has he offended him in some way? Are they all going to die because of this?

After what seems like an agonising few minutes but could only really be a few seconds, Batman's shoulders dip and he takes a breath. "And Jazz?"

They all erupt into shouts, the Ghost King being the loudest. The only thing John can make out is when the Ghost King throws his hand in the air to point at Red Robin with a shout of "Time!"

"1:30.91, we got 1:30.91 on the clock, who's closest?"

"Did you even try to hold it in at all, old man? I'm so disappointed in you. People think you're cool. People think you're suave, I don't understand how they could be so wrong."

"Thank you for that, Hood."

"No, thank you, I won. Again. Because you're so predictable. Actually, I had one minute seventeen, so you held out longer than I thought you would."

Batman pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs loudly.

Constantine feels like doing the same thing.

Whatever. He's going to have to interrupt... whatever this is. There's still a rampaging demon heading their way that they've got to bargain for. He can untangle Batman's personal connection to the Ghost King later. Or he could leave it alone and forget everything about it.

Yeah, he'll do that one.

But before he can actually open his mouth to say anything, the Ghost King, again, beats him to it.

"So, B-Man, did you summon me here for a particular reason, or was it really just so you could ask about Jazz?"

There's a beat of silence before Batman mutters, "I asked about Tucker, too. We've not seen each other in so long, it's only polite."

"And I'm sure you meant it, you're the paragon of manners." The Ghost King nods slow and wide-eyed as if he doesn't believe him at all.

At this point, even Constantine doesn't believe him.

"It has been forever, though." The Ghost King muses, bringing his hand to his chin and folding his legs underneath him. "We should all get together sometime! If you get Alfie to make some of his cookies again, I'll get Clockwork to lend us a pocket dimension where we can spend as much time as we want, deal?"

"It's a deal."

No hesitation at all, incredible.

Hold on. Wait. John has to fight the urge to pinch himself, because this has to be a dream, right? Is Batman actually smiling? He didn't even know he could do that.

An itch niggles at the back of John's mind. He's starting to get an inkling of what's going on here and it's... weird, to say the least.

"Oooh," Nightwing singsongs, like a child in a playground tickled by the very idea of romance.

But then, who's he to judge? John's no stranger to strange bedfellows, that's for sure. Whoever this Jazz is, she must be something incredible—she'd have to be, if Batman can't even go two minutes without asking about her.

"Batman and Jasmine sitting in a tree," Nightwing continues, with both Red Hood and Red Robin joining in for the rest. "K—I—S—S—I—"

"Stop," Batman growls, completely drowned out by the Ghost King's laughter, but...

But.

It all suddenly clicks for John.

The Ghost King Phantom.

Her Royal Highness, Princess Jasmine Phantom.

Jazz.

"Holy shit, mate," John breathes, unable to stop himself as everyone looks his way. "You have the hots for the Princess of the Infinite Realms?"

The Justice League meeting room has never descended into chaos quicker.