#i just want to see these crazy rich folks get worse and worse and make horrible decisions thanks 💚

[jaqobis]

god i just realized. are there people who genuinely root for characters being "right" or "wrong" instead of treating this succession crisis like high fantasy kardashians. i CANNOT relate

[la-scree]

Let's Talk About FFXIV's Dancer Story...

For the few who know I exist and voted for this in the poll I put up, it's time to talk about one of the Jobs within Final Fantasy XIV: Dancer. And how...I really find the story horrible. Much worse than Paladin's.

Now before people start coming at me with 'but um actually's, I'm going to state this: I actually love Dancer. I've always been a sucker for classes and jobs who put focus on performance aspects. While I'm not a dancer, I used to sing in choirs and be in my schools' drama clubs. Yes, I was a Drama Kid but not the crazy batshit ones like you see on Glee. I just had fun with it. I also tend to main the Dancer Job at least when I play on Yua and anytime I really don't feel like doing much/my brain decides to go brrrrrrrr after a shift at work. You would too if you had to deal with face to face interactions. It's also great that I tend to think of great glams that would look good without the usage of mods and a lot of my glamour plates tend to be either casting or aiming involved. And yet despite all of this, I have strong feelings about the story. Negative ones.

But it wasn't always like this. In fact, when Dancer was announced during Fanfest before Shadowbringers hit, I was happy to know it was a Ranged DPS. I was going to level it first then hit the MSQ afterwards. And when I played it the first time, I thought it was alright and enjoyed it. Proudly sported the AF gear and paraded around (that's kind of a big oof there but more qualified folks can talk about that than me) But then...others started bringing up some issues they had with Dancer's story; about how the tone didn't feel right or the story was giving off a bad message. And this made me think because people weren't pulling this out of their asses, they were talking about points in the story that I myself had glossed over. Unlike how I was with Hien, blindly going along with the majority in saying how bad he was, I decided to replay the story on another character and really go through all the dialogue and story and see if they had some weight to it.

And they were right. Replaying it, I had started to get angry and really rip into it on the second go. It wasn't until my forth run that I could finally really get a good sense of how I felt. I still deemed it as the worst but I could word why a bit better.

So what is the story anyway? A group of dancers from Thavnair travel to Eorzea and want to 'bring succor'. The group, Troupe Falsiam, performs in Limsa and their leader, Nashmeira (looks like a prim rich lady) sees you and asks you if you wanna join them as a dancer and kind of psuedo guide around the realm so they perform. You also meet her protege, Ranaa, who feels like the genki girl that I swear if I didn't know better that she'd try and act like Tomo from Azumanga Daioh, and she's all happy that you're coming along. It's not until later, around level 65 that Nashmeira reveals that she was hiding something from you and the others: their journey was to stop a dance called the Totentanz from causing chaos and despair.

(On a side note, why the fuck is this dance and the war dance we know are German names and our attacks are French origin names when we don't get anything like it in Thavnair proper? Or was this a 'pull out of our ass and need some pretty names for attacks?' We'll never know.)

And where do we go to stop this place? Poor areas.

You heard me.

Nashmeira's idea is to go to poorer areas, dance for them, bring out a despair monster from it, fight it, and...that's it. Everyone should be happy for about five minutes while not knowing that it wasn't for show. So we're lying about it too? Oh goodie. It's here where I'm starting to see the tone shift/deafness of the story. Here's this conflict happening but what are you trying to tell the audience? A dance will make your problems go away?

In an ideal world, that would be nice but I bet if Nashmeira met and talked to a poor person, did her dance, the poor person is probably going to look at her and ask "It's nice and all but how is that going to help me get food/shelter?" In fact, during the level 63 quest, one of the troupe members asks her why poor people in particular while agreeing that both the common and higher classes should be able to enjoy dancing, it doesn't explain why specifically the poor. You find out later that 'poor folks are more prone to despair' according to her.

Bet during Endwalker, that line of thinking bit her in the ass.

Nashmeira: "Just trust me bro, it'll be fine."

Another point to this is that during the story, this is the only time someone kind of questions the troupe's leader. There's no one who looks at this in the story and questions why they're doing this and what will it help with. Again, no one speaks up and asks "Hey, how will this help me?" or even challenges Nashmeira or Ranaa's beliefs or about what they're doing. Hell, Counselingway from the Loporrits even questioned the Dreaming Ways in their questline. When a dumb meme rabbit does better than you, something's up.

The issue I have here is that Nashmeira isn't doing what she says she's doing. In order to actually stop despair, one has to look at the situation, figure what's causing the conflict, and try to stop it there. Some may say that what she and the troupe are doing are putting a band aid on but what good is it going to do if there's no result of the solution provided? They're not stopping despair, they're just only pretending to do so. It's even worse when some of the people they're trying to help are duskwights (level 65 she and the troupe actually see them as villains instead of people who need help and had them arrested by the Twin Adder and constantly demean them, calling them from rabble-rousers to nasty duskwights), those of the Brume (who have been going through some nasty revelations since the Dragonsong War ended), and those affected by the Garlean Empire's rule for over 20 years. It's heavy matters but it's just thrown off to the side like it's nothing. None of these characters have nothing to say about the meaning of despair, what a dance could do, nothing about how the art is connected to Thavnair outside 'we're from Radz-at-Han'.

Which brings me to another point as to why I say this story is the worst: the motivations of its main characters. Or rather, the lack of motivation. I brought up that Paladin is second compared to this and it's because at least a character had a motivation for picking up the sword: remember that kid from the 50-60 questline? He wanted to get stronger because his mom died. Still a shitty motivation but at least he has one. We never learn why Nashmeira or Ranaa chose the path of the Dancer. Why do they dance? Outside of this mission bullshit, we don't really understand these characters we're supposed to be standing by. While they try to give Ranaa something in the 80 capstone quest, it just has her go to Kugane. Just that and you and her dance together to let her make her choice. Why does she dance? Why and how did she get to come across the troupe? How did she become Nashmeira's protege? If I didn't play this questline four times, I would probably needed to google their names or just call them Rich Lady and Genki Catgirl. They're boring to follow and all I wanted to do was just move onwards so I could get Technical Step. I dragged my feet during my last playthrough because it was that bad.

To add on about the shift in tone, another reason I want to point out is that it was introduced in Shadowbringers. Given the idea of using emotions and finding ways to drive away despair, it should have been introduced in Endwalker. Not only that but it could have given more about the dancers' culture since we see a lot of Radiant Host members are in fact dancers. The tone of each of these expansion stories are different and it just feels like Dancer was just thrown in there because they already had two Jobs for the next expansion and in all honesty, makes me kind of sad. But even in Endwalker, we don't have any kind of lore or stories about the dancers unless you dig through a throwaway line during a small side quest in order to unlock another side questline. They just feel rather forgotten.

However, I think because quite a lot of people had feedback on it, and this is only a silly theory, the devs tried to do more within some of the sections like Thavnair's second half as the Palaka's Stand folk speak about what they learned from the gods or even Endwalker's Role Quests (minus the capstone); actually, those questlines address things I even brought up here like a conflict that's deep rooted within the community and steps to take to make it better besides 'kill the blasphemy'. You can't just fight the thing, you have to understand who they were, why they turned, what's the root conflict, and try to solve it. Some did it better than others but they tried at least.

And if you made it this far, congrats. You somehow survived my ramblings. And if you disagree and think that the Dancer Story is S Tier, then cool. It's ok to think that way. These are just my thoughts and overall, Dancer deserved much better because the potential there is great. But potential can only go so far. You can't solve despair with just a dance: you got to attack it head on and do something to ensure it stays at bay.

[mechazushi]

Story Idea

Due to a combination of watching Unwanted Undead Adventurer, an influx of period drama webcomics (My In-laws Are Obsessed With Me, Remarried Empress, The Duke Changes Every Night), and some reoccurring tropes I have yet to see subverted, a cluster of errant brain cells decided to have this sit in the back of my head recently, so I'm posting this here before it has a chance to collect dust.

To begin, this idea takes place in a high fantasy setting, similar level to fantasy Iseki. It starts in a newly established town in a recently acquired territory. It has a Mayor, but the general populace agrees that they're just a bureaucratic figurehead for the real rulers of this large and busy backwater territory. A very rich and somewhat powerful family that technically own the land and have Feudal Lord Status (I don't want to make them immediately a Dukedom for reasons explained in a min). The Mayor runs the infrastructure and the family brings in the money to support the town, sponsoring businesses, owners, and buildings alike. One in question is the Adventurer's Guild.

The Guild is run by a woman (Lets label her as FL for now). She's half? Quarter? Dwarf and was an adventurer for many years thanks to her mixed lineage (basically older than she looks while being well preserved) After a harrowing experience and recovered from a non-fatal injury, FL decided to slow things down and work at a Guild. After rising from desk clerk to Management, she gained employment at a newly constructed Guild in a distant land. Most of her days are spent shuffling paper and discussing policies with important people, occasionally broken up with quality inspection checks and introducing adventurers with each other.

Eventually rumors are being spread about a bill that might be passed soon that, to the common folk it sounds good, but could spell disaster for her adventuring friends and colleagues in the long run. FL attempts to quash peoples fears while also lightly and indirectly insults the ruling family. This discussion gets maliciously twisted and sent up the grapevine to the Feudal Family's ears, causing them to respond with a letter stating that FL is to remove herself from her position soon or she will be removed forcefully. Seeing this as an overreaction, she books a meeting with the ruling family to smooth matters over.

She gets there and they make her wait for almost two hours, stating that they are waiting for all family members to arrive before they can discuss things. To make matters worse, in walks the male love interest (ML for now and, I don't know why, but I picture him entering through a second floor balcony for reasons I guess) Agitated and appalled at this behavior, assuming that someone that crazy couldn't be apart of the royal family, FL practically rips into her eventual love interest and tells him how stupid and ridiculous this family is, not knowing he is really the prince, heir to the title of the land. The butler comes in and upon seeing the prince, announces that he has found everyone and the meeting can begin.

FL, in the beginning, can't focus on the meeting to save her life, let alone her career, especially with the prince sitting within line of sight and giving the most intensely neutral expression. Eventually, she gets her act together, saves her job and convinces the family to talk to the Mayor about the bill while proposing some minor changes to its wording. After everyone leaves, the prince walks behind everyone so he can have a private conversation with FL. ML asks if having that meetings' resolution go her way did anything to change her mind about how she see the Lordship and his family. Misinterpreting mirth for veiled venom, Ml responds dramatically with,

"No, I said what I said. Yes, they did eventually listen to reason, but don't forget that this all started by and overreaction to a silly rumor that could of been avoided had someone sent a representative to talk about things. If this response displeases you so greatly as to causes you to talk your family through with their previous threat and dethrone me then you are only proving me right. And as you attempt to drown my words of supposed insolence and rebellion with crates of fine wine and expensive furs, then I pray that this conversation still reaches your ears on occasion and remind you that, statistically, I'm not the only one in this town to feel opposed to this family's existence, but I maybe the first to not recant my opinion under threat." FL leaves him behind as ML only looks at her walking away, smiling suspiciously.

This kick-starts a series of events that unintentionally cause these two to fall in love with each other, exponentially gain power and status slowly through various circumstances , and in the process, realize that their love language is being petty with each other.

Personally, I like to imagine that it starts with ML hiring professional transcribers to write out a hundred letters a day, all saying MARRY ME in fancy lettering and delivers them to the Guilds main office in batches. Only for FL to gather them all, take them to the emergency watchtower (that can be seen from everywhere) and use them as fuel for a large signal fire and uses it to spell NO in smoke signal. This only causes ML to come down to the Guild and register as an adventurer. To make matters worse, he's naturally gifted with a sword and has a confirmed high mana count and powerful spellcasting abilities, which technically make him a high priority adventurer. Irritated but not one to back down from a challenge, FL decides that if he wants to be an adventurer so badly, then he should get private lessons from a once prominent veteran explorer. Her Druid like spellcasting may be considered low tier and basic, but she can (and will) use them to make his informative ventures a living hell. Obviously this caused them to bond, something comes up in a diplomatic sense that he needs a wife like figure for. She gets bribed into taking the role...badda bing, badda boom, they're married for real, have three kids and are king and queen of their own country.

Really, my brain set out to make this to subvert two tropes? that I've noticed.

Guild Masters in media tend to be male

2. Most, if not all, of female lead protagonists in period drama translated from korean/chinese/other are all tall-ish, thin women with long, light hair or black.

No brown hair, no short women, definitely no plus sized. Also minimal permanent glasses wearers. Which I find to be disappointing not because I want to inject diversity, but because short, chunky brunette glasses wearers are an underrated and untapped variety of waifu and that should be fixed. Also how many MAIN characters can you name that are Guild Masters. Untapped job description that could easily add political drama. And owned by a woman? Triple S tier rare my friend.

So yeah. I have other things I'm working on and I don't know if I'll ever be dedicated enough or be a good enough of a writer to make a fantasy political romance thriller. Romance I can do, its the politics I would have a problem with. That and I have NO idea how one would go about asking an artist if they would like to collab with a no experience writer who is kinda flaky on publishing times and personal motivation. So, yeah. If you or someone you know would like this idea and thinks they could really make some magic, show them this. Fanart, short story, actual publication, doesn't matter. I promise I'm not going to show up three years later and be like " Um ACTUALLY YOU STOLE THIS IDEA FROM ME AND I WOULD LIKE COMPENSATION!!!" Seriously, scouts honor, I verify as NOT an asshole. Do something with this or not, don't care.

Really... I'll just be happy to see people talking to me and adding on cute scenarios onto this and we all just share having a collective interest in this silly, long winded idea that I put out here for others creative liberties.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

rant

I'm never getting out of here because my dad keeps borrowing thousands of dollars from me. He borrows, pays me back a nickel here a dime there, then borrows more and more and more. At one point he forgot how much he owed me and insisted that I was the one trying to rip him off. He borrowed even more today, and my mom is trying to be peacemaker, reassuring me that they're good for it and will have me paid off by the end of the summer. Sure, just like you said last month. And the month before that! I have nothing! My dad treats it like it's free money, an interest free credit card with no limit and no due date. He spends most of his waking time "doing the numbers," keeping track of the finances in countless notebooks that he has strewn around the house, stuffed in every nook of every room, most of them full to bursting with additional papers and envelopes stuffed between their pages. I looked at one once, and it was the scribblings of a madman, just page after page of nonsense figures and symbols like a fucking zodiac killer. He had a stroke in 2020, and he's never been the same. I don't think it even makes sense to him, because he's always whiplashing back and forth between "we're rich, let's spend hundreds of dollars on shit we don't need" and "we're destitute, we're ruined, we're gonna lose the house" because he thinks he can do math in his head (he never could, even before the stroke). I don't understand how he's able to hold down a job if he acts like this in front of us. Is he able to hide it in public, or do all his co-workers think he's fucking insane? He doesn't know how computers work. He's been using them since before I was born, but he doesn't know how to look up files or attach them to emails or close tabs or reset passwords or google ANYTHING! If he doesn't know how to do something, he just won't do it, won't even bother looking for tutorials or asking how it's done, he'll just pretend like it's not his problem, and somehow it always works out for him. I don't understand, I hate him so much. He's an abusive alcoholic motherfucker who is cruel to every single man, woman, and child he sees (he once threatened to drop kick a little girl in front of her parents in a grocery store because she darted in front of his cart when he was leaving an aisle, and I'm surprised her dad didn't kick his ass right then and there). It is so much worse than I could possibly put into words here, there are so many little ongoing things that keep adding up, I feel like I'm being dragged down into hs crazy little world to stay. God help me, I can't handle this anymore, I want to just pack up and leave but I have no money and nowhere to go. I can't move away until I have an apartment, I can't get an apartment until I find a job, and I can't find a job until I move away, fuckin catch-22! My current job is killing me, and I don't make enough to live on my own, but I can't stay with my folks any longer. It's to the point that I would rather be homeless than stuck here. I feel sick, I just want it all to stop...

[whenimgoodandready]

(patriotic French music plays) In the late 18th-century, most members of the French Revolution consisted of common folk, the sans-culottes, who were sick and tired of being looked down on by the aristocratic a**holes called the Ancien Régime and demanded justice for all! History truly repeats itself as today, the Parisians are still being treated like dirt by the “bourgeoisie” and need to put a stop to it before it gets worse! How? Let’s see!

*Collusion-With the departure of Principal Damocles, Ms.Mendeleiev takes authority as “acting principal”. Unfortunately, despite her no-nonsense appearance, she’s even more cowardly to the high elite than Damocles. With that, Chloe proudly makes a spectacle of herself abusing that power (ex.playing Crazy Frog in the middle of class. Least in the OG storyboard script cuz I like Crazy Frog) much to everyone’s chagrin (unknown to them as Chloe is being fed what to say/do by Cerise through an earpiece Don! Don! Don!). It gets to a point where she even forces her father to have Mendeleiev fire the beloved and very pregnant Ms.Bustier and expel Marinette for false claims of physical abuse. Monarch attempts to akumatize Ms.Bustier over this, but she rejects as she wishes to use words not violence for justice. BAM! Not today buddy! :P.

The rich have all the power don’t they? Gabe and Tomoe even present the idea of having Tomoes technical products, A.I robots, to replace the whole police force. Stick to your day job Gabe, you make clothes! Screw that partnership with Tomoes tech company! Come to think of it, the police don’t actually really do much, but assist the dynamic duo in crime fighting and never arrest the akumatized villain cuz the heroes just brush it off as being brainwashed! It does however force a lot of people out of a job, so yeah that sucks. It’s also a secret way for them to defeat the heroes too.

The only wealthy party who doesn’t like abusing their power in everyone’s face is Mayor Bourgeois. He never wanted to be mayor! He wanted to direct! But with all that pressure from his own father and his ungrateful Karen of a wife (who also forced him to keep Chloe in school and threaten to fire Damocles from the last ep!) and b*itchy daughter, he kept cowering to their every whim just to gain their love! Even with that, coupled with his fame and fortune and authority, he’s not happy! He laments about his inability to stand up to all this to Gabe and he edits it to make him look like a tyrant!

After the doctored video, Ms.Bustier is akumatized this time and becomes Sans-Culotte, a patriotic themed villainess, with the miraculous power of The Pig, who turns people into talking red/white/blue balloon minions with her swinging guillotine and wants to give the upperclass a piece of her mind. Her second akumatized form and she is, how you say, looks like “an armored toothpaste”!? (Badum-tish🥁). Her first akumatized, Zombizou, was a child friendly zombie like being who infected everyone with a contagious mind controlling kissing disease and she didn’t so much look traditionally “zombie” like, but more like a voodoo doll-ish type. I still prefer that over her second form which looked ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! I get it looked like the French flag (sorta kinda), but the golden armor was not helping (except to keep the baby safe from harm). She was supposed to represent the sans-culottes from her lecture she was giving to the class, but if that were the case, why didn’t she look like them!? They dressed in simple tattered old rags to show how poor and down ridden they were! I would’ve very much loved to have seen that kind of look in a supervillain form! Another thing, sense when did The Pig Miraculous have to ability to transform people into balloons!? Did I miss something!? WTF!? Their weapon was also a swinging guillotine! Would’ve been dark had it been used for it’s intended purpose instead just turning people into cutesy singing henchmen. Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Kids shows, am I right?😒

I don’t think I went through this story from my history classes, but from the research I read (albeit briefly), it looks like the sans-culottes were victorious in their rebellion against the bourgeoisie! Viva La France!🇫🇷 What happened was this:Even though they had pretty much nothing, but the peasant clothes on their backs (hench their name), the sans-culotte sought democracy, they wanted the same food privileges (mostly the bread) as the nobles especially with the quality it was baked. Calling out King Louis XVI for conspiring (a collusion) with foreign monarchies to gain more power and harm the people. Despite what little they had, the sans-culottes had their pikes which were most effective in carrying the heads of those who oppressed them and hogged all the good food. Still denied any equal rights, they took action, to the point of violence, and demanded democracy as well as bread until they caved and justice was restored! (gesturally bows) Sans-culotte is as sans-culoette does! (trumpets sound). Same thing happened here! Sans-Culotte wanted to start a revolution wearing a rather embarrassing outfit (an underwear like gourmet) and confront the “monarchy” abusing their authority (Mayor Bourgeois), using a head splitting weapon (pike) and took a big risk of going against their better judgment of using words with instead using violence (storming the city hall), but thanks to the heroes (one of which has a name that means bread!😉), they talked some sense into her and justice was restored! Mayor Bourgeois willfully and happily step down from office and reinstated Ms.Bustiers job back which made her calm down and de-akumatize herself. As nice as that was, a bigger threat approached with a new aristocrat thanks to the person behind the person working in their underground lair of the catacombs. Beware! They’re planning their own “The Great Wave of Kanagawa”! Don! Don! Don!

[forest-posts-and-reblogs]

Project R

Here it is, folks. The moment you've been waiting for.

Summary:

Five Robins, four miraculous holders, three halfas, two insane supervillains and a partridge in a pear tree. That was the list of who had been involved in the unfortunate incidents that had happened in Gotham during the summer.

No one knew how they’d all survived the chaos of it all – or half-survived it. What they did know was that they were all incredibly lucky. And possibly slightly insane.

But then again, you had to be at least a little mad to be able to handle two crazy people with superpowers, one 14-year-old halfa who was also the clone of five of the most chaotic and murderous people in the world, the clone of the clone, and one runaway rich boy who also had superpowers and liked heroism but who had been taken on as Catwoman’s apprentice. All without unlocking a new trauma.

Well. At least things couldn’t possibly have gotten worse than what you would have expected it to.

Oh, wait.

And for those of you who wanted a glimpse of the first chapter:

There was so much blood.

He couldn’t remember a time before the blood, before the pain. He didn’t know if he had ever even experienced something like that – he must have, though, right? There had to have been a time when he hadn’t been in pain.

But his memories of those times were fading.

Maybe a time without pain had never even existed. Maybe his whole life had been nothing but the white room and the scientists and the pain.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t think like that. He had experienced a life without pain, and he would experience it once again.

Someday.

He wouldn’t give the scientists the satisfaction of seeing him break.

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

Adrien Agreste stared up at the ceiling and wondered why the universe hated him.

His mother was dead, taken from him three years ago. His father had neglected him ever since, and while he’d reached out a year ago it seemed he had retreated back into his office and their previous dynamics. His cousin was a supervillain turned anti-hero who went by the name of Argos, and one of his closest friends was apparently dating him. And then there was Lila, who had some sort of plan in the making. Never a good thing. And of course, Monarch had almost every miraculous, and had reconfigured them – why, he didn’t know. Ladybug hadn’t been able to figure it out either.

Ladybug, his first crush, who had rejected him in every way possible – except platonically.

Adrien didn’t love her anymore – not in that way. But it was hard to forget that she had never once loved him the way he had loved her. Especially on days like this, when he forgot what his mother's voice sounded like, or what perfume was her favourite. It was some kind of flower, right? Maybe tulips. Or roses. Petunias?

His phone rang.

He made no move to answer it.

"Aren't you going to get that?" Plagg, his kwami, asked him.

Adrien just groaned and turned over. "What's the point? It's probably just some fan of mine who somehow get their hands on my new number, like last time."

Even now, a year after Adrien had stopped modelling for his father, he still had fans. People who didn't even know him, but who acted like they did. And some of them were nice, like Wahem, but generally they were annoying and so, so loud. Adrien didn't understand why. What was the point in screaming at your supposed idol?

"Well," Plagg said from somewhere above his head, "it is a fan, and she did manage to get your new number, but after everything she must have done to get her hands on it, I don't think you should just ignore her."

The phone stopped ringing, only to start up again, loud and insistent. Adrien buried his face in the pillow.

"After all, if you did ignore Marinette," continued Plagg, "you would be a terrible boyfriend."

The words had barely left Plagg's mouth when Adrien shot up, stumbled out of bed and ran to pick up the phone like he was being chased by a horde of Sapetis.

Behind him, Plagg chuckled.

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

Tim didn't mean to get distracted. It just sort of . . . happened.

He and Steph had been assigned to look into Penguin. He's been quiet the last few days, Batman had said, which means he's probably up to something. And I'd rather not get taken by surprise.

Steph had decided to search the upper levels of a warehouse that had recently been used by Penguin while he downloaded information from a computer that had been left here, in the hope that it would give some insight into what he was planning on doing. So far, he'd found nothing.

Which was why, when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, he was instantly on edge.

Is this a trap? He thought to himself. He didn't move from his position, unwilling to do anything that might suggest to whoever was out there that he knew that they were out there.

"Spoiler?" he whispered under his breath.

There was a pause. They almost never called each other by their vigilante names on the comms. "Yeah, Red?"

"I think there might be someone else in this warehouse."

"On my way."

Tim continued downloading information, but now he focused on his surroundings. If someone managed to sneak up on him during the time it took for Steph to make it down to the ground floor, he'd never hear the end of it from his siblings. Ever.

Something creaked, and Tim spun around, bo staff in hand.

There was no one there.

Then he heard Steph cry out, "Red Robin, duck!" Tim didn't move fast enough.

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

Dick paced in the Batcave. Intellectually, he knew his brother was perfectly fine - Alfred was watching over him, after all. Alfred wouldn't let anything happen to Tim. Still, he couldn't help but worry.

He heard the sound of a motorcycle engine and turned around just as Jason burst into the Batcave. Jason swore as he came to a stop next to Dick and cut the engine. "So it's true, then? Timbers got concussed?"

"Not concussed." Dick replied. "Just knocked unconcsious. Alfred says he'll be fine by morning."

Jason swore again, low and vicious. "Do we know who did this?"

"Steph didn't get a good look."

"Fuck," Jason said, taking off his helmet and running his hands through his hair. "Fuck."

They stood like that, united for a moment in that they were both two older brothers who worried for the safety of their younger one, and then Jason stepped away and the moment was lost.

"I should go," Jason said, not looking at Dick. "I might be able to find out who did this."

Dick could have stopped him. Should have stopped him. Jason was family, after all, and he was allowed to stay at the manor if he wanted to, was allowed to stay in the Batcave and worry about Tim.

Dick didn't say a word as Jason started his motorcycle and left the way he came. Even if the word lay on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken.

Stay.

Prompt

[stevesbestgirl]

The Auction - Part 2/2

Mafia!Stucky x F!Reader

3009 Words

Warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), slight voyeurism, kind of dom!Steve

A/N: Finally done! Not beta’d, barely proofread, sorry for the delay folks, life has been crazy. Enjoy!

You smirked at your sister in the mirror, “Think I should ask him about the murder?”

“Don’t you dare,” Veronica warned, tugging the curling iron a little too hard. “Those guys are bad news, I’m telling you. They can make you just, poof, disappear. I can’t believe you’re going on this date in the first place.”

“What, was I supposed to turn down two thousand dollars for the hospital?”

“No one would have blamed you.” She was pursing her lips in the mirror; you’d annoyed her with your jokes.

“I would have blamed myself. I’ll be fine. Just relax.” She only huffed. “I’m a big girl, Ronnie. And I’ll text you, just like we agreed.”

“When you get there.”

“Yes.”

“When you leave the restaurant.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yes.”

“And when you get home.”

“Yes! I got it.”

“Fine.” She set the curling iron down, “Done.”

You fluffed your hair in the mirror, “Thank you.” You reapplied your lipstick and stood, fixing her with a stern gaze, “I don’t want you worrying about me all night. Go do something fun and I’ll be in touch, okay?”

She crossed her arms, “Fine.” 

“I mean it, Veronica. Go home, smoke some weed, chill out. It’s going to be fine.”

She cracked a smile, “If either of them lays a hand on you, I’ll be the one on trial for murder. And you can tell them I said so.”

You laughed, pulling her into a hug, “I’ll make sure to pass that along.”

“Don’t actually,” she muttered as you parted. For a moment, the fear in her face made you doubt your decision, but it was too late to turn back now. Canceling would be worse at this point.

You both left your apartment and you locked the door behind you. You’d lucked out and the restaurant they’d picked was only a block away. No need to get a ride and if things went sour, you could be home quickly.

Adjusting your dress, you gave the host your name and waited to be seated. You sent Veronica the text you’d promised her and at the host’s signal, followed him into the dining area. 

Your heart skipped as he led you into a private dining room. It was lit by honest-to-god candlelight and the table was covered in a rich tablecloth. Seated in two chairs, opposite each other, were Steve Rogers and James Barnes. 

Upon your entry, they both turned to watch you watch in, their gazes hungry. You swallowed the lump in your throat; you felt like prey. Bucky leapt up to pull your chair out, making your face flush as you murmured a thank you.

“Good to see you again,” Steve tipped his head to you.

“You too,” you squeaked out. All of that bravado you’d shown Veronica was nowhere to be found. You were intimidated. You traced the stem of your wine glass with a nervous finger, “This is really nice. You guys own the place?” 

James nodded, “Yes, actually. We’d hoped you would like it.”

You stared at him for a second, “Wow. I was actually joking, but- wow.”

Steve smiled and leaned into his palm, “It can be a lot. Please don’t be intimidated, sweetheart.” Despite the fact that you were intimidated, the term of endearment made your heart flip. 

You laughed nervously, toying with your hair, “Yeah, what’s to be intimidated by, right?”

James gave you a reassuring smile, his fingers brushing over yours on the table, “You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He gave you another cursory once-over, “Have you seen yourself?”

Now your face was hot; this was a lot of attention and you were definitely not used to it. Veronica was the one who got noticed, while you tended to stick to the background. You’d only done the stupid fundraiser as a favor to her. 

“We know we asked a lot of you tonight,” Steve added, “But only because we wanted to get to know you.”

“Why me? There were prettier girls on the stage that night.” It escaped your lips before you could think better of it. Insecurity wasn’t exactly attractive, but what did it matter anyway? This was a one-time thing.

“We disagree,” James shrugged. “And I bet we could change your mind.”

“You think so?” You didn’t mean to sound so cynical, but self-deprecation was the only thing you could seem to manage. 

He smirked at you, “I’m sure of it.” The way he was looking at you made it clear he didn’t mean having a lively debate.

You felt a twinge of arousal and abruptly stood, making your chair scrape on the polished floor, “Please excuse me for a moment.”

You could feel their eyes on you as you headed to the bathroom, trying to keep your pace steady. In the bathroom mirror, you steadied yourself on the sink; you weren’t sure what you had expected, but it certainly wasn’t for them to be so enamored with you. Every other date you’d been on recently had made you feel like they were doing you a favor. But those two- despite the wealth and power, they seemed genuinely interested in you. And it was driving you crazy that you couldn’t find their angle.

“You just have to get through dinner. That’s it,” you reminded yourself. There was no pressure. One and done.

You took a deep breath and left the bathroom, pausing for only a second in the doorway of the dining room. “Tone it down, Buck,” Steve was urging. “You’re making her nervous.”

“I’m not trying-” You took a step back into the room and he cut off, a smile crossing his lips, “Everything okay?”

You nodded hastily, taking your seat, “Yes, thank you, James.” 

He half-smiled, “Call me Bucky.”

Steve interlaced his fingers on the table like he was in a business meeting, “We’d like to know a little more about you.”

You busied yourself perusing the menu that now sat in front of you, “What do you want to know?”

You peeked at Steve in time to see his lips turn up in a small smile, “Anything you want to tell us.”

“Uh-”

“Where do you work?” Bucky offered.

“Um, freelance.” You added, “I write.”

“Anything we’ve heard of?” Steve asked.

You offered him a wry smile, “Probably not. I do mostly marketing and promotional material. I’d like to publish my own work someday though.”

“What’s stopping you?” Bucky urged.

“Talent, probably. Money, definitely. It’s tough to get into publishing these days,” you chuckled, almost forgetting who you were talking to.

They exchanged a look across the table, which didn’t go unnoticed by you, “That was not me asking for help, just for the record.”

They both grinned and Bucky laughed, “I knew we liked you for a reason.”

You couldn’t stop the eye roll that followed, saved by the return of the waitstaff. You placed your order and Steve and Bucky did the same, reeling off what they wanted without looking at the menu. Wine glasses were filled and then you were alone again.

“So, what do you two do? Besides owning restaurants and hotel chains.”

A sly grin crossed Bucky’s face, “Something tells me you don’t want to know the answer to that, doll.” Your heart skipped again; he dropped it so carelessly, but it felt so intimate.

Your warm cheeks seemed to draw a careless comment from you, “That might be true; I probably got enough from that court case.”

“You remember that, huh?” Steve almost sounded amused.

“My sister almost locked me in the closet to keep me from coming- she wouldn’t let me forget.”

“Your sister wanted you to cancel, but you didn’t want to,” Bucky mused. “Why’s that?”

You shrugged, “That donation is going to help her.”

Steve smiled, “That all?”

You took a sip of your wine, admitting, “I was curious.”

“So, you do wanna know more,” Bucky smirked.

That drew a smile from you, “As long as it doesn’t send me to jail. And you know, you don’t have to kill me after, or anything.”

Steve laughed aloud, “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you.”

“My heroes,” you smirked, hoping your sarcasm wouldn’t offend them.

“Even bad guys are somebody’s heroes, doll,” Bucky tipped his head to you. “You write the story.” 

“That was too cheesy,” you protested, though you couldn’t help the laugh that followed.

Bucky sobered slightly, “We take it where we can get it. Things can get kind of heavy in our line of work.”

“I would imagine.” The wine was making you loose, but you knew that now was the time to tread a little lighter.

“We’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Steve offered. “But if you don’t ask, we won’t tell.”

“Do you guys do illegal stuff?”

“Some,” Bucky said evenly. “Most is above board, but now and again there are-” he paused, “Extenuating circumstances.”

“Gambling?” A nod. “Bribery?” Another nod. “Drugs?” 

“No drugs,” Bucky shook his head. “Stevie isn’t a fan.”

“We do these things for the good of the community, even if the community doesn’t always realize it. The day I start hurting the people I set out to help is the day I leave the business.” Steve, who had been the more stoic of the two for the whole evening was suddenly passionate and animated. You glanced at Bucky, who was watching Steve speak with a soft smile on his lips; it was the most open you’d seen either of them all night.

But the waitstaff reappeared with your plates, dissolving the moment and replacing it with the scent of food. By the time the staff disappeared again, you weren’t sure if questions were still on the table. Instead, you ate a mouthful, humming at the way the rich flavor spread over your tongue.

“Good, right?” Bucky grinned. You hummed your approval through a second mouthful; it was really good.

“You can keep asking questions, if you want,” Steve offered.

“You can ask the question if you want too,” Bucky added.

“Do I have to ask it?”

Steve smiled a little, “Yes.”

It took you a second to build the courage, “Were you guilty? In the trial?”

“Not technically.”

“But you gave that order.”

“I did.” 

Now that was surreal. He’d just confessed a crime to you- a real crime. Granted, he couldn’t be tried for it again without new evidence, so the risk was minimal, but it still felt like something real. You knew you should be upset, disgusted even. But you weren’t surprised- he’d won the trial due to a lack of evidence, not because anyone truly believed he’d been innocent. And yet, you were here anyway. And you were enjoying yourself.

“Anything else you want to know?” Bucky offered.

“Why me? For real this time.”

They exchanged a look across the table and Steve finally spoke up, “Would you believe us if we said it wasn’t planned?”

You smiled, “Unlikely.”

Bucky chuckled, “Stevie and I usually have different tastes.”

“Meaning Bucky tends to go for pretty, self-possessed blondes-”

“Like Steve,” Bucky snickered.

Steve continued like Bucky hadn’t interrupted, “While I usually prefer a soft brunette. But when you walked out on that stage, we both bid before we even said a word.”

You glanced at Bucky, a sardonic smile on your lips, “He’s soft?

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Bucky teased.

You met his gaze, “I think I might.”

***

Twenty minutes later, you were fumbling with the key to your apartment, painfully aware of the godlike men on either side of you. And then you were inside and Steve was closing the door while Bucky stripped off your coat. Then he was kissing you, his hand trailing over your hips as a soft groan escaped his lips. 

Steve’s hands snaked over your waist from behind as he dropped his lips to your neck, nibbling and sucking as he drew you back so you were flush against him. He murmured into your skin, “You sure about this, sweetheart?”

Bucky chuckled against your lips, “Once you say yes, Stevie and I will have a hard time letting go.”

You arched your back into Steve and brushed Bucky’s cheek with your thumb, “I’m sure.”

Then Steve’s arm was dipping under your knees and sweeping you off your feet, drawing a soft squeal from you. Steve grinned at Bucky, “I think I like that sound.”

Bucky led the way to your bedroom, shedding his suit jacket and shirt along the way and drawing your eye to his well defined chest. They hid it underneath three-piece suits, but based on the way Steve was carrying you with ease, they both took time to get out from behind the desk.

Steve deposited you on the edge of the bed, where Bucky quickly descended on you, slotting himself between your legs and pushing the hem of your dress up  around your hips.

Steve hummed his approval as he stripped off his own jacket and undid his tie, “You want to taste her, Buck?”

Bucky ran his hands over your thighs, brushing your clothed core with his thumb, “We did skip dessert.”

Steve paused undoing his buttons to scan the scene in front of him; you were on the lip on the bed, legs spread to make room for Bucky, who knelt between them, kneading your thigh while he waited for Steve to say the word.

“Get her ready for me,” Steve ordered, undoing his buttons painstakingly slowly.

You wanted to watch him, but Bucky wasn’t wasting any time drawing your panties down and burying his face in your core. A gasp escaped your lips and you fell back on the bed, where you had more leverage while he teased your folds with his tongue, deftly avoiding where you wanted him most. 

Your hips bucked up in desperation and Steve’s voice rang out, “Be patient.” Your eyes snapped open and located Steve hovering at the edge of the bed, his shirt stripped off and his belt unbuckled. “Bucky will take care of you. Won’t you, Buck?”

At that, Bucky finally wrapped his lips around your clit, humming his agreement and drawing a gasp from you. One finger drew circles around your entrance, spreading the slick beginning to pool there. The slow pull of Steve’s zipper drew your gaze back to him as he withdrew his cock and fisted himself, making your breath catch; he was big. 

As if he knew what you were thinking, he chuckled low, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you ready for me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, feeling warm and only vaguely threatened. Although as he stroked himself, you couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of him. But Bucky seemed to want your attention; fingers slick from toying with you, he slipped two fingers inside, flicking his tongue over your clit. You cried out, breath coming in pants as he fingered you mercilessly. 

Steve grunted as he jerked himself off, gaze fixed on Bucky’s head between your legs until he growled a command, “That’s enough.” Instantly, Bucky withdrew, pulling a whine from your throat at the sudden emptiness. “Wanna see you,” Steve said, voice a bit softer.

You sat up and accepted the hand he offered you, pulling you to your feet and giving you a soft spin so he could undo the zipper at the back of your dress. When your dress pooled at your feet, his large hands drifted over your hips, spinning you back around to face him, “So pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Buck?”

Bucky only nodded, his gaze locked on you and Steve drew you into a deep kiss, his tongue sweeping your mouth. You pressed into him, the feeling of his erection against your hip making the need between your legs start to burn.

“Tell us what you want, sweetheart?”

“Want you,” you breathed. “Both of you.”

“You got us, doll,” Bucky finally spoke up, moving behind you. He leaned in to steal Steve’s lips away and you could feel the hard bulge still trapped in his slacks pressing against your ass. 

Steve’s fingers slid from your hip to between your legs, smirking into Bucky’s lips as he felt the wetness there, “Feels like she’s ready for us, Buck.”

“I’m ready,” your voice was almost a whine. Sandwiched between the two of them, you were feeling a little needy. 

You nodded hastily, trying your robe closed and hurrying out to the door. You fumbled with the lock, heart stopping as you opened it to reveal a police officer standing on your threshold.

Steve ground his hips into you, pushing you back against Bucky, pulling a moan from you just as your doorbell rang.

You cursed, untangling yourself from the two of them and grabbing your robe, face hot. Steve offered you a smile, “We’ll be right here.” 

He tipped his head to you, “Sorry to disturb you, miss.” His eyes deliberately stayed on your face, abstaining from looking at your robe, though you weren’t sure your flushed cheeks and swollen lips were the better option. “We received a request for a welfare check from your sister. She said she was waiting for correspondence and hadn’t heard from you for quite some time.”

You cursed again, “I forgot to text her that I made it home. I’m so sorry about that-”

“Everything okay out here, doll?” Bucky came striding down the hallway, his shirt on, but unbuttoned and his hair tousled.

Your face burned even hotter, “It’s fine. I forgot I was supposed to text Veronica when I got home.”

He sauntered over and slung an arm over your shoulder, “We’ll make sure to let her know you’re home safe and sound. Thanks for checking in, officer.”

The officer gave another nod, “Not a problem. Have a good night, folks.”

Just before you closed the door behind him, Bucky chuckled, “Oh, we will.” Once the door had snapped closed, Bucky’s arm was around your waist and he hauled you up over his shoulder, drawing giddy giggles from you as he toted you back to the bedroom.

[collecting-stories]

Illicit Affairs - Rafe Cameron

Request: can i request a rafe x reader where she is john b's older sister? like they're trying to keep their relationship on the DL, but get tired of it after a year or so?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get to, just getting back into writing more regularly again. 

The TS Anthology Series | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else ✰

_ . ◦ ⭐︎:*.☾.*:⭐︎◦∙._

Your brother had left you a text just before the news began cycling their storm watch, warning everyone to stay inside and be careful of Agatha, the incoming hurricane sitting off the coast of the Outer Banks. The text said simply that he and Pope were heading out to surf the surge. You texted back a ‘come back in one piece’ and sent the same sentiment to Pope before leaving the Chateau.  

The hurricane should have warranted a reason to stay inside for both you and John B but you knew better than anyone that your dad’s disappearance had left him restless and grieving. Running into something seemed the only way he knew how to cope, even if that something was a massive hurricane. You were probably running into something too, if you were totally honest with yourself. And it was just as deadly as a category five storm.  

-

A midyear rager at the boneyard, that lacked the usual buffer created by tourons in the spring and summer, meant more kooks, or just more kooks crossing the line onto pogue territory. Nothing that should’ve inspired any real issues, but Rafe Cameron was hovering closer to the keg than you would’ve liked so you took it upon yourself to move him.  

“Don’t you guys have like...a yacht party or something you could go to?” You asked, stepping into the semi-circle Topper, Rafe, and Kelce had seemed to make. All three of them looked at you, Rafe’s eyes travelling over you appraisingly. You grimaced, “if my brother sees you hanging around-”

“What’s he gonna do?” Rafe challenged, “its a free beach.”

“You know the boneyard is on the cut.”

“What are you, beach patrol?” Kelce laughed. “Go bother someone else.”

“Just get off the cut...you aren’t welcome here.” You replied, stepping away from the three of them. You turned, heading away from the group in search of any of your friends, you knew that Rafe was right, you couldn’t actually kick anyone off the beach, but you also knew that John B had been in rare form since your dad died and seeing them would only give him an excuse to get himself into trouble.  

You were practically a yard away from the keg when you felt someone grab the waistband of your shorts. Turning, you jerked away from them and slammed your hand against their wrist.  

“Shit, those self-defense lessons at the club really paid off.” Rafe commented, rubbing his wrist.  

“What do you want Rafe?”  

Ever since you had taken the job at the island club it had become Rafe Cameron’s personal mission to drive you crazy. He seemed hellbent on bothering you on a near constant level. At least away from work you rarely had to see him, this night being a rare and unwelcome exception.  

“Have you thought about-”

“No.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. In the last two weeks he’d asked you out nearly a dozen times. You always said no but you were all to aware of that split second before the no when you considered saying yes. It was just John B that held you back. If anyone in the world took the pogue/kook shit seriously, it was your brother and his friends. There was no way they would be cool with you dating Rafe Cameron.  

“Just one date...you don’t have to tell anyone. If that’s the issue?” He suggested, as if he could read your mind.

“Maybe the issue is that I don’t like you.” You challenged, watching the way he smiled, knowing that he knew you were bullshitting him. You wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face.  

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself.” He replied.  

You wanted some brilliant comeback to throw back at him but when you opened your mouth the only thing that came out  was, “do you even date?”

“For you I’d make an exception. We could go over to Chapel Hill if you’re worried about your brother.” He offered, always ready with an answer.  

You were worried about John B, he would be livid. He was so consumed with the idea that your dad was out there somewhere, stranded at sea and people should be looking for him. You had been placating him since Peterkin told you that he was lost at sea, presumed dead, but in all honesty, you had moved on already. Maybe it was heartless but you weren’t fooled into believing that the loss of your dad was a tragedy.  

“Let me show you a good time,” Rafe said, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your shorts and moving closer to you.  

“You can try,” you said, pulling away from him, “but I doubt it’ll work.”

-

You should have known then, even as you agreed to the date, that there was no need to try on Rafe’s part. He was an asshole sometimes but you had certainly never been accused of having great taste in guys. That might have been the most surprising thing about Rafe, not that he was exactly the kind of guy you would usually go for on paper, but that off paper, behind closed doors, he was different. Softer. It made sneaking around the island to see him completely worth it.  

And as Agatha bared down on the island, the decision to drive to his house as the hurricane was on the horizon seemed like a good one. It was already raining heavily when you parked your car two houses down from his, walking through the downpour to Tanney Hill. The power on the cut was on its way out, you’d driven passed already dark houses and you were sure the Chateau had lost power by now. The eight seemed to be hanging onto its power and the lights on the patio flickered as you knocked on the door.  

Wheezie, the sole secret keeper of your very secret tryst with Rafe, was the one who opened the door. Though you knew she had a tendency to double cross people, so far, she hadn’t told anyone about the two of you, a possible record in her books, and you couldn’t help being thankful. As much as you hated sneaking around, there was no way John B was going to take this development in your life lightly.  

“My brother’s upstairs.” Wheezie supplied, pushing the door wide enough that you could walk through.  

“Thanks,” you skirted passed her, taking the steps two at a time and heading down the hall to Rafe’s closed door. Wheezie had decorated hers with a wooden sign and Sarah’s had a cork board on it. Rafe’s was always blank though, just a plain white door that blended in with everything else in the hallway.  

You didn’t bother knocking on the door, pushing it open. Rafe was laying on his bed, eyes fixed on his phone, the sound of the stereo playing some R&B song you weren’t entirely familiar with. When the door opened, he turned his head to the side, confused for a split second before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side.  

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” He asked, already reaching his hand out to pull you closer as you walked over to him. He grabbed the zipper of your hoodie and tugged, getting you to step between his legs.  

“John B’s surfing with Pope and JJ’s still at work so I figured I’d sneak out and come over. See how you rich folk are faring in this storm.” You teased.  

He hummed, nodding, as he placed his hands on your hips. “Your concern is overwhelming,” he laughed, tilting his head up so that you would lean forward and kiss him. You complied, placing your hands on the sides of his face as you did. When you pulled away, he smiled, “you should stay over.”

“My brother will freak out if he gets home and I’m gone.” You replied, stepping away from Rafe just so that you could climb on his bed, pushing his phone away to make yourself comfortable.  

Rafe opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and shaking his head, going with a simple, “I doubt he’ll notice.”

“That a massive storm is slamming into the coast and his sister is missing from the house at the peak of it? Give my brother a little more credit babe, he’ll notice that I'm gone.” You replied.  

“Then tell him you’re here and you’ll see him in the morning.” Rafe said, turning to face you. He put his hands on your ankles as if he was grounding you there, “You know this sneaking around thing is shit.”  

Whenever Rafe wanted you to do something that you didn’t particularly want to do, like stay the night at his house or go somewhere that someone might see you, he always claimed to think that sneaking around was shit. A circumstance of the relationship that he hated when it was convenient to him, you knew as well as he did that admitting to anyone that you were dating was something neither of you had the luxury of doing.  

“I can’t, he’ll freak out.” You replied, “this is just...a difficult time for him and he doesn’t need any new issues.”

Rafe fell back onto the bed, turning his head to look at you, “he’s 16, he doesn’t need you to hold his hand through every little thing.”

“I’m not ‘holding his hand’ Rafe, he’s my little brother, I’m worried about him.” You reasoned.

“Yeah, maybe, but here you are. Every free moment you get you spend here...this isn’t just an escape when you don’t feel like dealing with your brother and his antics. You know John B and his friends aren’t my favorite people but I’ve kept my mouth shut about them. I think the least you could do is be honest with yourself...I know you want to tell him, you wouldn’t have come here in the middle of the storm-”

“I wanted to see how you guys were doing.”

“Bullshit.” Rafe replied, “you know it’s getting worse out there and there’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive back to the cut in this weather.”  

You sighed, you had known that Rafe wouldn’t let you leave once you got here. They were already advising people to stay inside and not leave the house when you decided to drive to the eight, there was no way it was safe to be out. And there was no way Rafe was going to let you risk your safety driving all over the island because John B might get upset that you weren’t home.  

“I know.”  

“So text him, tell him you’re staying at a friend’s.” Rafe urged, “it doesn’t have to be my house...you can tell him that when you’re ready.” he conceded.  

“I’ll tell him soon. I don’t like sneaking around,” you admitted, pulling your phone from your pocket and texting John B that you had gone to a friend’s house for the night and would be home once the storm passed. You sent a mirrored text to JJ, in case he was already at the Chateau, before laying your phone on the nightstand. “I don’t want us to be a secret...it’s just, complicated.”

“I know, trust me.” Rafe sat up, scooting closer to you on the bed so that he could kiss you. Keeping this secret forever was impossible, you’d have to come clean soon and Rafe was right, you had been handling John B with kid gloves ever since you had found out that your dad was dead. Telling him you were dating a kook, and Rafe at that, was an unavoidable conversation that you had been trying not to have for the past year almost. And every time you stepped out of the house you considered telling him all over again. Eventually you’d give, but it didn’t have to be tonight.  

[yanderecandystore]

Rip Tumblr D-do you have any dragon ocs that might kidnap their s/o? Also I know that this is a stupid question but can I call myself Cold anon? ;-;

Hello 🍨 Cold ❄️!! I'm really glad you sent me this request!

 The current app that I use for writing is bugging out a lot, so I'm sorry if there are many grammar errors and mistakes here and there.

 And uh... Cold? I think I fucked up your ask? I think I got a little too excited and went in a different direction?? If you don't like it I understand, I could always do another one 😳😋

 TW/Tags: Guess who is being an emotional ball once again?? Me! Yey! Send help! // look, I'm sorry but, low-key? This is edginess overload lol (medieval bitch times, which by that I mean: dark times with terrible people in it) // deaths // abuse of power // Reader said: eat the rich // non-binary reader just because // cursing // slight plot twist? But, like, bad plot twist // soft dragon boi 

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

You curious little thing - [Yandere!Dragon x Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

" Deep in the forest, up in the mountains, legend says that a dragon sleeps deep within the caves. And as the old story goes, gold awaits inside his domain, but only those courageous enough to enter the deep cave and defeat the dragon, would be able to take the creature's treasure.

Many have persuaded the quest of defeating said dragon, yet no one ever came back to tell the story.

And while you sit at the comfort of your small cottage reading about the old tales of the dragon's cave, you can't help but consider the story to be just that, a story. A piece of fiction made to scare the local children away from the mountains, or to enchant those that were easily invested into these types of stories.

It seems like you're one of those that were fascinated by the old tales. Regardless of if you find it true or not. The old tales still hold a mysterious charm that manages to keep you intrigued no matter what age you re-read them.

Tales of the forest spirits protecting their land with mischievous wit, tales of monsters that crawled out of your bed to cause nightmares on the simple minded, tales of mighty dragons who could easily rule the world if they so pleased to.

Yet they didn't. Either because they didn't want to, or maybe they really didn't exist. Who knows, right [Y/N]? Not that you, a simple commoner, would know any better.

Although, from the tales you read, isn't always the common folk the ones to first encounter these things?

It always ends bad, but still.

A commoner would be the first one to be affected by the wrath of such supernatural creatures.

However, as stated before, there is no way of knowing if such a thing is real or not, right? It's been eons since the last time someone even mentioned a dragon's presence in your kingdom, and it's been centuries that the concepts of dragons had fallen into the mythological category.

There hasn't been a single person to mention the beast's names in years. There was no visible way of them being remotely real, right? That sounded absurd.

But of course, like all tales are written, your's seem to have reached the beginning of your own personal adventure when the king mentioned the need of soldiers willing to face the beast inside the cave, who was presumably hibernating throughout this whole time.

And of course, the public had only laughed at this sort of news. You see, your king's authority over the entire land has been dangling by a thin thread. The taxes, the frauds, the imminent wars threatening to occur at any second now, has helped a small portion of people to start questioning if not downright rebelling against him and his reign of terror.

The revolution was rising slowly, yet something needed to push it forward, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"What could it be?" You might be wondering.

How about kidnapping and force recruitment with the help of blackmailing? Specifically targeting the poorest people in the kingdom and taking their family members hostage if they don't comply?

Sounds so evil that you may think it's bullshit right? So inhumane, that the villain of this story might as well be your crazy king, right?

Oh, [Y/N]. You're absolutely right, yet a little bit wrong considering that even if such an evil act sounds absurd, it's absolutely real. It's part of your reality now.

And even if your king is a vile creature of pure hatred and deserves to be fed to the rats, by being a terrible ruler, husband, and father- You were soon about to learn that there are worse, more powerful forces that can easily overpower the insanity of that sad, pathetic evil man.

To your dismay, your family was one of the chosen ones to suffer from this. Because of poverty, you and your father lived in the outskirts of the kingdom. It was perfect for the king and his soldiers, as you and your father lived distant from the main town, if any of you two ever die on the process of going into the beast's cave, or disobey the king's orders, no one would notice if you two were suddenly wiped from the face of the Earth.

And of course, holding hostage just one person was easier than multiple family members. Although your king was absolutely insane if not completely psychotic, you could at least understand how he moved his pieces in this massive game of chess.

I mean, yes, you understand his reasoning. Still doesn't mean he is right.

Soldiers didn't wait too long to show up and try to force your father to go with them. But you didn't take none of that, you wouldn't let your dying father be taken by them.

You screamed, you shout, you let venom spill out of your mouth by each profanity you threw at the soldiers and the king they claimed to serve. It didn't take long before the general noticed that you were one of the rascals forming a rebellion. Well, you didn't really need to be officially part of the revolution, just disagreeing was enough to make the general decide to take you instead of your old father.

You can still remember how he was trying to scream his lungs out, to stop the soldiers somehow.

This was it, right? The day, for you and possibly all these other commoners to die in the name of an asshole. How honoring.

Among you and other miserably unlucky individuals, there were all kinds of different people. From innocent, to criminals. From young to old, from poor to… Well, mildly not as poor. Nobles would never be subjected to this, you know that. All of these individuals were carried away by a carriage. All crammed into one little vehicle, away from the public sight.

After being far enough from the town and now deep within the forest, the soldiers commanded all of you to get out of the carriage as now you'll begin to walk straight to the mountain while carrying… Gold?

"- It's a gift from the king. Survive long enough, and you'll be able to take it with you." The general said, his tone being condescending as ever.

You could…. Technically run away, right now. They haven't really put any restrains in any of you-

"- Over there!" A soldier alerted the general, who looked little surprised by seeing two of your group running away with the gold in hands.

Without hesitation, or even a slight hint of empathy, the general shot both with his crossbow. Their bodies fall flat in the forest ground, with all that gold and jewelry accompanying them. All that gold being wasted and left behind, just like the bodies of the people carrying them.

You felt sick, the need to vomit was surfacing through your stomach. This- This is terrible!? This is so cruel! How can they continue to walk like nothing happened??

God, how did a once prospering kingdom has now fallen in such a low pit?

As you can imagine, the walk was torturous and it felt like it was going forever. Of course, a lot of questions were emerging about the strange situation.

One: how did the king know and was certain that the myth of the dragon was real and that the dragon was awake?

Two: why didn't he call his own army to attend to such issues instead of the common folk being forced to go with his wishes?

Actually, now that you think about it, why are there so few skilled, trained soldiers taking a bunch of people to a cave unprepared?

Carrying a bunch of gold for fucks sake, this stuff is heavy!

If it was truly a gift from the king to your group, then why were you obligated to carry it all the way to the cave? Sounds unreasonable and if anything, absolutely ridiculous. It would only slow your group down, and for what?!

Sounds like a trap to be…. Honest. Wait a minute-

"- Shit!" You whisper to yourself at the sudden realization that you're fucked, which unfortunately, caused a soldier that was near you to hear it.

"- Nothing sir, I just stabbed my foot in a rock." You weren't lying though. This whole walk bullshit your doing has destroyed your low quality sandals, and now you could basically feel the ground stabbing you every time you stept.

The soldier just grunted at you, and as much as you wished to take his sword and shove it up his bum, you couldn't help but go back to your original train of thought before you got interrupted.

You were going straight to death right? You're not supposed to fight a dragon, but rather serve as an offering?? What?!

You can't even speak or alert your fellow companions in any way. The last three people that have spoken without being directed to, were shot in the head.

The realization has sadly come in too late for you to make any plans now, as you forward as your group walk upwards, following the mountain's trail, you find yourself facing not only the entrance to a presumably dangerous cave infested with predators, but also the gates to your inevitable death.

You would now have to think of how to escape the soldiers and their arrows, or how to possibly make your death less painful. Being eaten by a dragon doesn't sound really fun.

When entering the cave you're met with more-

"- Are you fucking kidding me?!" Someone screamed, while easily accepting their death.

You couldn't help but agree with the person. While entering the cave, you're met with a great ravine, going in a spiral fashion deeper into the cave.

In other words, you have not only walked all the way up to a fucking mountain, but you would now need to get down into a creepy cave.

You almost considered asking for some eternal peace before remembering that your father's life was still in line. You just… Don't want to go away like this, you don't want your father to go like this.

And once again your group, that was now a lot shorter due to the amount of deaths along the way, was now following the general once again. Only this time, the soldiers were behind all of you, probably to guarantee no one ran away. Too late for that now anyway, so why even bother?

You didn't realize how you were on the very front of everyone, side by side with the man that was leading you to your doom.

You felt his eyes fall into your form a couple of times, but he never really turned his face to look at you. After a long silence of just a bunch of miserable people stepping closer to a terrible plan that was not well thought-out, he said:

"- You know it already. Right?" His voice was rough and still held the nonchalant tone that was written all over his face. You doubt this man could have ever smiled once in his life.

You almost choked with your own breathing, the nerve of this man! You couldn't help but let out the only thing you have wanted to say this whole time:

"- I hate you." You say as your eyes start to become a little watery. The feeling of desperation was eating you up ever since you entered the carriage, but only now you felt how bad the teeth of despair hurt.

"- I know kid. Me too." He responded, his tone never changed, even while saying that.

You guess he didn't really appreciate his job as much as you thought he did. Yet, you couldn't find in your heart to pity the man, as he was complicit in all of this mess. But I guess, you do hope for this man to find some sort of redemption, either presently or in his after life.

You still think he did a lot of bad things of course, his crimes are probably never gonna be forgiven. But just because of that, it didn't mean he couldn't start to do some good actions now, not for the sake of finding inner forgiveness, but for the sake of others. For the sake of the innocent people being not only met with unfair treatment, but also being ruled by a psychotic tyrant who is a complete imbecile. No wonder the queen and his son were missing for so long, you would probably have run away if you were them too.

When finally coming down, with your feet now hurting like a bitch, you can find some time for yourself to appreciate the beauty of this place.

You know, before you lose your head? To a freaking dragon??

Honestly, you at least hope that the stories you read were true, because holy fuck- Imagine how exhausted your body is from walking for what it feels like an eternity, holding jewelry made with gold, only to find an empty cave?

Then you would be able to go feral kill one or two soldiers before getting your ass beaten. As you don't have enough reason to just do that right now, right?

You expected to be met with disappointment, but what you truly saw while finally getting into the dragon's territory, you were able to not only feel enchanted by the magnitude of these treasure places, but also forget the danger of the situation, as you look around and remember the tales you read.

This is so much better than what you have imagined it to be like. It's… Mesmerising! It 's beautiful! The underground pond, the glowing crystals, the pile of gold, the stolen statues of the great warriors of your kingdom, golden weapons all scattered across the floor, the white feathered looking dragon staring down at you from his nest, that little tea set that is really cute and fragile yet it probably cost way more than your house, your clothes, and all of your furniture all together.

Oh no wait-

"- We came with what you asked for, Artemio." Said the general fast walking his way to be in between you and the beast.

To say you were freaking out would be an understatement. You knew dragons were huge, but you didn't expect it to be so… Huge! You know??

Oh my God, you're dead-

You looked around to see only you, your group of commoners ready to be probably eaten, and the general. And while looking for the soldiers, you noticed them trying to close the opening with a man built gate, created to keep the beast.

But obviously, that gate looks absolutely ridiculous, there is no way this guy couldn't destroy it by simply slapping it. It's quite laughable, yet…

You feel this is not just a coincidence or a bad made joke. You have a feeling they know the gate is essentially useless. It was really old, so, clearly this has been going on from quite some time.

Has… Has your kingdom been doing this for centuries?? Bringing offerings to please the dragon and beg it to sleep for more centuries to come?

"- This is absolute bullshit!" You screamed, not noticing how your heart was racing and your breathing had started to become frantic. You were panicking while coming to terms with the fact that your whole world was collapsing in front of your eyes. Your scream clearly surprised your fellow companions, yet it didn't surprise the dragon or the general.

The dragon had, well, a dragon face, so you have no idea what it was thinking, and the general was still with the same non-expressive face since the beginning of this stupid trip!

"- What?! You have nothing to say?? You brought us here to die, at least say something, you coward!" You were fuming with rage. How can a person like this be so annoying even when he is not saying anything.

He looks at you with an understanding expression, yet you don't think about what it could mean as you reach to one of the many golden weapons spread around across the floor. They were heavy and quite frankly completely useless, yet you still hold into that golden sword like your life depended on it.

And it did, actually.

Have you gone insane or just completely blind with rage and the instinct of survival? You're not sure just yet, but you'll lose your last bit of sanity to stand your ground.

You aren't going down without a fight.

"- Come at me, you big bird!" You yelled, looking kinda epic and kinda goofy at the same time. You probably shouldn't insult a dragon who hasn't decided who he'll first, it may change his appetite.

Before the general could interfere with your foolish behavior, the one and only had spoken:

"- Where exactly is what we had agreed on?" Like in true entitled brat fashion, Artemio asked the general while putting his head in his pawn.

"- We had to eliminate a couple of the troublemakers. In the end some of the gold was left behind in the progress-"

"- No, I mean, where truly is what I asked for? The jewelry is quite frankly ugly, the gold coins don't matter as I already have plenty, and none of these humans look really edible. Or well… Appetising." You could swear a pouty face was appearing in Artemio's face, yet only one thing had taken your attention. That's the reason why they needed so many disposable people? Oh… Wait a minute, did the dragon just call everyone here too ugly to eat?

"- If you can't compromise with your promises, then I think we'll have to change the deal-" Artemio started getting up from his nest, stretching out like a cat.

"- Oh, please no, can't you just-" The general panicked, thinking that the dragon would destroy the village.

"- I want that one." Artemio said. Pointing at you.

"- What?" You looked behind you just in case you were in the way of someone else. No, you weren't.

"- Uhn… What?" Oh look, even the general was confused as you, and well, the entire cast of people that were thrown in this hell hole.

"- Yes, that one holding the spear."

"- Just… That one, or-"

"- Just that one. And I won't get out of the cave for at least a century, I promise!" He sounds and acts like both a child and a cat, preparing himself to pounce on its prey any moment now.

"- ….. Okay then, fair enough. It's your problem now kid." He said, making a motion for all the other captives to follow him. Which they gladly did, because, you know, they aren't the protagonist of the story.

"- What?! You can't leave me here, you bastard!!" You screamed, although subconsciously you already knew his answer.

"- I think I'm just doing that!" He screamed from the other side of the cave, fuckz they really didn't waste no time at all, did they?

Sigh, who are you kidding? If you were one of them, you would have ran away as fast as you could. At least some gave you sympathetic looks before going back to their "freedom".

You heard the heavy gate closing. Well, shit. It's you and him now.

You tried going back into your original threatening stance, but before you could, you saw a glimpse of Artemio coming in at full speed, taking no time to jump at you. This is it [Y/N], send your last prayers to your father and your old life before-

Before he starts licking you... like a dog? What?

He pauses and you tense up, looking up and seeing a dragon powerful enough to destroy villages, looking at you like a precious little gift.

Artemio picks you up and hugs you in an almost bone breaking hug. Confused and frustrated with how the situation was going, you asked:

"- A-Aren't you going to kill me?" Yes, it was a pathetic question, if a dragon isn't killing you, then why ask it to do it??

"- I have been so lonely since the last human that I chose! I usually prefer to have many friends around but all of the other options seemed so boring, you know?" His voice is oddly cheerful and sweet to someone that sees humans as pets, or "friends". So… What is really going on here?

"- I thought you ate people." You said, still frustrated that you were betrayed and lied to through this entire day.

"- Well, I guess I can eat humans-" Says the giant bird-lizard acting like a child trying to lie about doing something wrong- "- But I really don't like doing it, I promise!"

"- I just wanted someone to play with, you know? All the dragons that I know are just so boring and take everything seriously." He huffed in annoyance.

"- Well… Do you-" You started questioning if you really want to to know the answer, but curiosity sure is killing this cat!- "- What happened to the other humans that were here?"

"- Oh, they… Uhn, they died, because of your shirt lifespan and all ya know." He responded.

"- Oh… Then why did the soldiers bring us here saying you were going to eat us?" Why not go full balls in and ask everything, right?

"- It's- Sigh, it's really embarrassing, but I didn't know any other way of how to ask for company down here." He said shyly, which only confirmed your suspicion of this being complete bullshit.

"- And you threaten to burn a whole kingdom just because of that?" You asked.

"- Yes!" He answered with no shame whatsoever. This guy was a dog wearing a dragon costume, you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"- Sigh, oh my God…"

"- Hey, uhn, what's your name?" Artemio spoke, he thought that he should also ask questions as he wants to be able to enjoy every second with his new pet.

"- It is [Y/N]. And you're Artemio, right?" You can't believe any of this, really. You went from an absolutely terrible life or death situation, to a… Well, you can't even tell what the hell is going on anymore!

"- [Y/N].... [Y/N]! [Y/N], that's such a good name!" The excited dragon repeated your name multiple times before interrupting your peace once again. You can't be mad at him, but-

Come on, you needed some time to accept everything that just went down. You didn't even notice you were on the floor until Artemio was in front of your view again.

"- [Y/N]!" He was so easy to please, that just saying your name was fun to him.

"- Sigh… Hey Artemio." You sighed as there was no way in hell this dragon would leave you to deal with this weird feeling of emptiness arising in your chest.

"- What do you want to do now?" He asked cheerfully, but not completely oblivious to your feelings of being abandoned underground with him by force.

You stayed silent for a second, again, trying to come with terms with this new lifestyle that you were subjected to. You technically could ask Artemio to open the gate, he doesn't seem to have any intention of hurting you. But who knows? He has a different point of view in this whole thing than you do.

Silence was taking over the cave, but not exactly an awkward silence, just… A comforting one.

The water dripped from the ceiling. You felt the ground underneath you shake a little as Artemio followed your "guidance". He decided to lay on his back near you.

He wasn't really doing any self reflection at all, he just wanted to join in with you, yet all he could think is how happy he is to have someone else to spend time with.

You may only see him slightly from the corner of your eyes, yet you still feel a little, strange, by seeing a dragon mimic your ways.

You don't feel nessecerally homesick, but you do miss your father. You absolutely hate the idea of coming back to the kingdom, but… If you could see your father one last time, and probably help him with the gold that is in this place….

Maybe you could even-!.....

"- Artemio."

"- Yes, [Y/N]!*

"- AAH!" He turned himself to meet your face so fast that you whimpered because of his sudden motion.

He was going to check if you were okay, but you stopped him showing that you were fine, just a little spooked.

"- Hey, Artemio-" You said again, as you were still reformulating your question in your head-

"- Do you know how to burn an entire castle?"

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Guns Ain’t a Plague

I wrote some version of this story over and over. This is the version I apparently emailed to a friend in 2013 and just rediscovered in my inbox. I am staring at this and realizing how long ago 2013 was now. Oh my gosh.

Background: I was already very much all about post-apocalyptic stuff, but this takes place in a world entirely unlike - and yet strikingly like - our own. In a world where war and disease once tore the land apart, an isolated, caged city of children struggles to survive.

Until one decides to leave.

Oh man somewhere in my stuff I have all my old maps and descriptions of the different countries and the war and... I wrote so much stuff for this universe/storyline...

-

The young woman crouched where the last of the road crumbled into broken stone. It had been crushed when they exited the city, taking their horses and carriages, doctors and soldiers and history, with them. Her feet were bare and she dug her toes into the warm red earth between the cracked rock. The muscles in her legs tensed, she placed one hand for balance on the ground.

She would have to run like wind if she was going to survive this.

“Don’t,” came Tor’s familiar voice behind her. She jumped up, wondering why she was even surprised he had followed her. She had, after all, been the one to teach him how to do it. She turned around, to look him in the eye, heart aching at the idea that if she didn’t time this just right, she would never see him again.

“Ed,” The boy said in the same pleading tone, hands held out to grab her, “don’t. You can’t even think it. You’ll die, same as they all do!”

Ed rolled her eyes and shot him a baleful glare, but she was bluffing and they both knew it. The toughness fell off of her face almost immediately, and she grabbed the much younger boy, pulling him into a fierce hug.

The two of them looked so alike that they seemed mirrored, almost, the teenager and the adult just barely ten years older than him. Ed’s skin was the same dusky red-brown as Tor’s, their hair the same rich black. It even hung in the same small twists, cut short and close to their heads, although Tor’s was cut a little longer. The only difference was in their ages and in their eyes. Ed’s eyes were a deep, rich pure brown, but Tor’s were green.

Ed thought she was somewhere near twenty-five; no one was completely sure on ages here. She knew Tor had been something like two when she’d found him; herself a ragged orphan, hearing him crying from two buildings over and simply taking him home. It was better than letting him die.

“I should’ve known you’d follow me,” She said, shaking her head. “And if you’re here… Jedder came too, didn’t he?”

“I run faster’n Jedder,” Tor said, clinging to her even harder. His arms around her waist felt like they were crushing her organs and she attempted to try and loosen his grip, with no luck. “Don’t die, Ed!”

“Won’t die, Tor,” she replied. “Don’t think I will anyway. How long they been standin’ there, those towers? Ten years now? Every gun’s got to run out of bullets sometime, right?”

“Not those guns.” Torrin gestured at the small turret towers stationed every twenty feet or so as far as they both could see around the place designated as the ‘edge’ of the city. Wherever roads had gone any farther, they had been smashed to bits until the towers were up. It felt like a river of grass, weeds, broken rock and bone surrounded them, surrounded this whole ruined city, a city that no living person had ever seen before it was a pile of ghosts and disease.

Ed, for a moment, allowed her grip on Tor to be as tight as his grip on her.

“Besides,” he continued with his face still pushed against her shoulder, head still tucked just under her chin. “who’s gonna feed us if you’re dead? Who’s gonna take care of us? You always take care of us, Eddi! Always. Since everybody died you take care of us. You can’t just stop ‘cause your feet got itchy.”

“Tor, you know damn well that ain’t why I want to try this time. We can’t stay here forever. This place is full of us, we can’t keep enough food to go on livin’ like this.  It’s been over a hundred years since this city fell, by my parents’ reckoning, since they just left everyone to die. Left a city full of kids with a bunch of dead bodies and bullets, fat lot of good it’s doin’ us now. The Oracle and her folk may like this place, an’ the Keepers may think we’re stuck here carin’ for the dead, but I think… I think somebody needs to get out and prove we still exist.”

There were footsteps behind them and they turned, almost as one, with Tor’s hand still twisted in Ed’s shirt.

The sweaty, fast-breathing young man who came running up to them was not like them in the slightest. His skin and hair were the same flat and dull gray-white. Compared to Tor and Ed, his arms seemed too long, he was too skinny, his hands and feet just a mite too big to be human. His eyes were unsettling to everyone but his little chosen family; wide and far apart, set on a diagonal line in his face, they were black. He broke into a relieved smile at seeing them both standing there. “Eddi! Tor caught up with you then. He runs faster’n me!”

“That’s what I said!” Tor was entirely too proud of himself. Ed bit her lip to stop from chiding him for it.

Jedder stopped, leaning over to lean his hands flat on his thighs to try and stop gasping quite so much.

“’Course he does. Plesalka never could run to save your lives,” Ed said with a responding smile and managed to extricate her shirt from Tor’s grasp. She turned back to survey the turrets again. Old and rusting over time, evidence of Plesalka scientific genius, the kind of machines and creations that neither Letenje like Ed and Tor or the Teci had ever been able to match. Their last apology for their part in this before the Exile began.

She knew about the reason those turrets existed only her parents had hoarded the scribble writings of their own ancestors; her great-great grandmother had been alive to witness the Plague and the death, had survived long enough to make sure her children were as protected as possible.

In the end, there was only so much protection to give; scarcity of food and resources meant that no one had a very long life span here.

It was one of the reasons she was so aware of her need to leave.

“I’m going to try whether you two like it or not. I’m going to try on my own, got it? And if I make it over that rise to the other side, I will shut those turrets down somehow. I’ll bash ‘em in with one of those twisted hunks of metal lyin’ all over the damn place. Once they’re broken, you two can get over and we can leave together. We’re not gonna die here where they left all of us, thinkin’ we’d be gone eventually.” Old grief twisted in her heart; she’d lost both her parents when she was 12, when they had gone out scavenging and been caught in the middle of a battle between the old Oracle’s gang and other Scavs like them. It had been a long, lonely, horrible year before she’d found Jedder.

She crouched down again, curling her fingers around one of the broken pieces of the road here at the edge. It was heavier than it looked, warm from the constant rays of the sun. Even with the lean muscle she’d picked up in ten years of scavenging everything she ate she left out a small grunt of effort as she threw it straight at the closest turret. She missed by a long arc. The gun did not respond or move to follow the stone’s movement. “They’re gettin’ worse. They used to shoot the rocks, too.”

Jedder and Tor shared a look behind her back, unsure of what to do. Jedder, at fifteen, was still nine years Ed’s junior and Tor at twelve was a full twelve years younger. She had been as much a mother to them as a teenage girl could be when she’d found them. Jedder had been found first, a little Scav just barely staying alive by stealing from the gangs, unwelcome like all Plesalka were… Tor just two years old, crying inside a makeshift nursery, his parents dead on the floor and all their food stores stolen. She had taken them in, even knowing Jedder being Plesalka would make it harder on them.        

No one ever stopped being angry, especially since in a century the stories to explain what had happened had gotten weirder and more elaborate as told by the remaining survivors. Even the truth made it hard to forgive either the Plesalka or the Teci for what they had created, what they had done in their war on each other… even if kids like Jedder were so far removed from those events as to be a whole separate people by now.

“Eddi,” Tor said, and now his voice was starting to take on a edge of nagging worry, “Eddi, what if this doesn’t work and you die?”

“Then you and Jedder go on livin’,” Ed replied without looking back at them.

She was surveying all possible obstacles between her and the turrets. Rocks. Weeds.

Bodies.

The last made her shudder, made the already roiling pit of nervousness that was her stomach threaten to riot up her meager lunch. Some of the bodies out here weren’t even bodies anymore. It was mostly bones left for her to look at, though now and then she could see evidence of newer deaths. Some kids still went crazy and made a run for it. She herself probably counted as crazy, just to be thinking about it. Still. There was a lot of bone out here. A lot of dead people dumped here at the edge to warn away anyone who might see them, to keep visitors out, to keep the descendents of Pohroma citizens in.

Barefoot, you want to run through a burial ground, she thought, wondering if it would be the last thing she did. “I’ve taught you both how to live if you lost me. If you think you can’t stick it out just the two of you, well, the other Plesalka that’re still alive would take Jedder in, if he went to them. Tor, you know the Oracle or the Keepers would have you. They could keep you safe. Don’t you dare join up with any of the Scav gangs, though.”

“We want you,” Jedder said stubbornly. “Besides, even if you died we’d just stick together. We don’t know any other way to be but the three of us.”

“Then you better be prayin’ to somebody’s god I don’t die now, because I’m going to do this.” She didn’t wait for their response but just launched herself forward with all the speed her legs could give her.  Not being able to crouch down and prepare first had only cost her half a second, but nonetheless she felt a rush of fear that it would be a half-second too many.

She felt Tor’s fingers clutch the back of her shirt, but he couldn’t get a grip and she twisted away from him easily, running like the devil was at her heels.

There was a rusty shrieking coming from turrets that had been left abandoned, not repaired or even touched in almost twenty years. The sound filled the air, coming from nearly ten turrets who were all slowly, inexorably pointing in her direction as she ran. Birds, having made nests in the openings, took to the air in a sudden frenzy of wings and shrieking birdcalls. For a moment, the sky was dark with them.

Ed ran.

She dodged larger rocks and the corpses of both people and animals shot dead by the turrets. Dogs, rats, foxes, cats, people… all just empty bones, she told herself, trying not to let her feet even brush them as she went past.

She ran.

She caught a glint and looked up, realizing that she could see the sun shining off all the metal casing on the ground for every bullet these huge guns had ever fired. She was caught by the shine of them just long enough to distract her.

And she tripped.

She had to have tripped on a rock, she could feel the rough of it scrape all the way down from mid-calf to her ankle as she fell and went rolling, coming to a halt only when she hit another big chunk of rock a few feet away. The breath was knocked out of her and she could only gasp, frozen, realizing that the horrible groaning of the moving metal had finally come to an end.

She looked up, and was looking directly up the barrel of one of the turrets, and it was aiming at her. She could not move. She thought of her parents, long dead from the violence in this city. She thought of finding Tor at two years old, Jedder at the time the only one who keep the little toddler from crying all the time. She thought of how they had lived the last ten years as a family, kept each other safe. She thought of every time she had ever seen a wild animal gunned down by these turrets, ripped to absolute shreds by the bullets.

She flinched at the sudden click of the gun.

Click?

It echoed, bouncing off against the walls and back again and at least twenty of the turrets were clicking in a chorus and Ed began, despite the aftermath of adrenaline still pumping, to laugh.

The sound of her laughter was something just below a scream, hysterical and echoing, bouncing off against the old stone walls behind Tor and Jedder, making them jump.

It took some effort and her ankle ached in a way that told her this victory wasn’t coming to her without some price to pay, but she began to hobble back to Jedder and Tor, arms out to them, spread as wide as her smile.

“They’re empty!” She called out above the noise. “Every single one!”

Only a moment of hesitation, a look of pure relief shared between the two boys, and then they came pounding across the earth until they could throw their arms around her, the both of them at once.

“They’re empty,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Tor’s head, to the fuzzy twists of his hair, before turning to lean her forehead against Jedder’s cheek. “I knew it. They never did come back to replace ‘em, not since before I was born, at least my da said. They had to run out sooner or later.” She squeezed the two of them even tighter, then finally let them go. Reluctantly, they let go of her as well.

“Empty,” she said one more time, savoring the taste of the word.

“So we can go,” Jedder breathed out. “We can leave. I don’t. I’ve never been outside the city. No one has. We don’t even know if there’s other people out there or if everyone died in the Plague, if it hit other places, too.”

 “I don’t think it did,” Tor said, thoughtfully. “Cause otherwise why would they have had to send people to keep us locked in by replacin’ bullets, ever?” Curling his fingers in Ed’s patched and worn shirt, he shook his head. “Bet there’s a whole world full of people out there. Maybe they don’t even know about us.”

Ed smiled, but it was a smile entirely without humor.

“Let’s go show the bastards we’re still alive.”

[whetstonefires]

☕️ + Joker triumvirate 😘

OH YOU WANT ME TO YELL HUH????? YOU WANT THE SALT?

dlkjask;l i can’t really do an educated opinion on how this concept is being handled because i have been IGNORING IT IN HOPES IT WOULD GO AWAY, i genuinely had my fingers crossed there actually being three Jokers was a fake-out and the titular Three Jokers were really gonna be like, that single issue where the Joker had a combat trio of himself, Punchline, and Dick Grayson on the field.

but NO. i have to look at an actual comic panel and see batman and jason todd explaining to barbara gordon (tell me how THAT part makes sense she’s supposed to be the data specialist ugh) that the Joker has been three people fooling everyone into thinking there’s just one this whole fucking time

because that makes a lot of sense and doesn’t make Batman look like the most pointless joke since wow i got nothing, fill in pointless joke here.

like i was snippy about the Court of Owls getting dropped in there, not as a semi-moribund rich people cult that met up in masks to be ominous at one another twice a month for a thrill that was now coming back to life and getting dangerous, but as an active power exerting control over Gotham all these years that Batman COMPLETELY FAILED TO FUCKING NOTICE

like guys you can’t keep doing this what is the point of him anymore you’ve taken everything else away at least let him retain some competence

BUT ANYWAY

THE BATMAN WHO LAUGHS MALARKEY HAS ALSO BEEN VERY VERY BAD

IN SOME OF THE SAME WAYS AS THIS

because a character-concept like ‘clown too off-the-wall evil to stop’ works better when it’s built around the idea of that clown being an exception, something that slips through the ruleset

so creating an entire fucking magic system for how this status is contagious and yet still not justifying it mechanically in any way really fucks the suspension of disbelief that allows the character to be any fun

and also overhyping the Joker and multiplying the Joker are the same mistake and trying to do it AGAIN this soon is absurd

BUT at least the fucking BDSM CLOWN BATMAN is a multiverse phenomenon

a poorly conceived and worse-executed one but like

at least that’s just a matter of Out There There Is A Different Thing And Then It Came Here

it is, in its way, self-contained.

however this JOKER TRIUMVIRATE fuckery is

in-continuity

they are asking us to accept that for a very long time

potentially Batman’s entire career

all that exceptional wild universe-shredding madness

all that personally obsessed nemesis drama

all the outrageously overblown JOKER EVERYTHING

has been fucking coordinated among three people

i’m not sure which part offends me more, the idea that we’re supposed to believe the Joker is so ~~~*crazy unpredictable*~~~ it gives him superpowers but also he’s been a group project

A GROUP PROJECT GUYS

DO YOU KNOW HOW SANE AND RELIABLE YOU HAVE TO BE TO GET THREE PEOPLE TO HOLD UP THEIR CORNERS OF A GROUP PROJECT FOR SIX FUCKING WEEKS WITHOUT A MAJOR SLIP????

or the idea that in all this time Fucking Batman, the World’s Greatest Detective, has suspected nothing.

the batman fail is annoying as fuck okay but i guess it sort of just reinforces the stupidity of the first element by making it necessary that they’ve been perfect, so that’s the worst one. they are asking me to believe that there are three people with peak joker energy and ALL OF THEM resisted for MULTIPLE YEARS playing any of the tricks you can manage by being in two places at the same time? any time one of them was in arkham the other two HID THEMSELVES PERFECTLY?

1) how are these three guys supposed to be the Joker and yet have that kind of self-control and spirit of cooperation, how dare they expect me to believe in this and still accept that the Joker has reality-warping chaos levels and that’s just how it is?

2) if they were actually pulling this off for years without Batman suspecting anything why the FUCK would they still give a shit about him?

that’s so pathetic, folks. that’s disqualifying for nemesis status. what force could possibly compel these clowns to keep that joke running all this time when batman was failing that hard? get your punchline and go lads he’s not worth it

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 7: Hero - But It’s Not Funny

*a sequel to Realities Little Joke For Infinity* Highly recommend reading that first but it’s not exactly necessary.

Tony has a bad habit of adopting strays. Particularly the stupidly heroic kind that were too reckless and too selfless for their own good. So of course he wasn’t going to just ignore the random teen that literally saved the universe only to disappear into the future. Even if said teen was somewhat dead and the only hero left in a world and time that seriously needed more.

Tony grins as he finally gets the connection to work, making his face appear on the strange future teens laptop; or whatever tech people used in whatever time this kid’s in. Going a bit wide-eyed and wheezing when the first thing he sees is Phantom -in alien PJ’s, because of course the first thing he sees on the kid who showed up in a t-shirt and jeans to an active warzone is pjs- shrieking and jumping a foot off the ground while holding a full pot off coffee; which predictably sends the contents of said coffee pot flying into the air and splattering all over the teens face and floor.

Phantom looks to the screen slowly, with steaming coffee dripping off his chin, hair and eyelashes, “seriously?”.

At that Tony can’t help but bend over laughing. Straightening up and looking at the coffee pot, “what were you even doing walking around with a full coffee pot?”.

“Well I was going to drink it. But now it’s as empty as my wallet”, Phantom looks down at the pot and grumbles, “ya know what? Fuck it. I’m still gonna drink it”, then pointing his finger around and telekinetically making all the droplets of coffee on him and the floor float back into the pot.

Tony watches, a little disgusted, as the kid practically takes a full swing of the previously spilled coffee, shrugs, and sits down by his own screen; feet clearly pulled up onto the chair seat as well and coffee pot cradled between his knees and chest. Tony eyeballs the coffee pot, “you’re really going to drink that huh?”.

Phantom shrugs, “I know what’s on my floor”, looks down at the carpet and shrugs again while muttering, “a Zone damned biohazard of blood n’ ‘plasm that’s what. Oh!”, eyes widening a little, “and a sock with a questionable stain”, looking back to the screen, “‘s not like I can get sick anyway. I could drink this shit outta a radioactive waste barrel and be fine. Prob’ taste like shit tho”.

Tony wheezes both amused and pained, “please don’t kid”, that... that would definitely make him gag.

Phantom chuckles, “don’t intend to”.

The two sit in silence for a bit. Tony taking in the teens appearance. There’s hand-shaped bruising coating his neck, one of his fingers is clearly broken, and there’s a pencil-sized hole going clean through the other hands palm. Phantom doesn’t even seem to care about the state of his body, considering how relaxed he seems and the PJ’s. Plus, no way would Tony be carrying anything, including a full pot of coffee, with his hands in the state Phantom’s are.

Phantom yawns, Tony noticing that he’s missing more than a handful of teeth, before Phantom asks, “so...why’s the past tin can face-timing my laptop?”.

Tony puts on a smile, so it was a laptop. Neat. “future or not, I’ve adopted you as one of my brats. I remember you saying there wasn’t superheroes in your age”, waving his hand around, “no older generation to guide the newer. Well you're getting the older generation now”, shrugging and smiling more genuinely, “plus underroos won’t stop talking about you”. Understatement of the century, Peter was thrilled to meet another teen hero, and wouldn’t stop going on about what powers he might have or if he even has anyone to support him. The latter Tony cares about more.

Phantom wheezes, “whom the fuck is ‘underroos’?”, shaking his head, “so ya wanna be my mentor of sorts and help me blast my foes from the past?”.

Tony smirks and nods, this kid’s humour sure was something else, “exactly. And you met before, the kid? Peter?”. Sure it had been a few months but he couldn’t have seriously just forgotten?

Phantom tilts his head, “the red and blue teenager?”.

Tony grins, “you got it, kid”, eyeing the teen's hands again, “your hands gonna be fine?”.

Phantom waves one hand around, chugging more coffee, “eh don’t worry your metal ass about it. I heal like crazy”, stretching his feet out and resting them on the desk, “I’m just putting it off a while on my hands ‘cause the broken ribs and missing bits of spine are kinda more important ya know?”.

Tony rubs his temples, “Jesus Christ”, just how much damage can this teen sustain? That kind of injury should kill a person.

Phantom laughs, probably at Tony’s pained expression, “don’t worry about that either! Not like I can die twice! Haha!”.

Tony looks back to the screen at that, feeling a bit more serious, “yeah, Thanos said something like that. That you were dead but alive. And you confirmed it. What did he even mean?”.

Phantom purses his lips, “well I could explain but that also could mess with the time stream and could result in some weird immoral science crap”. Tony doesn’t get a chance to comment on that as Phantom turns his head to the side and whines exaggeratedly at the thin air, opening his mouth as wide as looks physically possible, maybe even past that, “tiiiiiiime dadddddddyyyyyyy, will this break the time stream? Your problem child has a proooooobleeeeeeem”.

Tony wheezes into his hands, “Christ”, and stares dumbfounded as a giant hourglass with purple sand comes out of nowhere and smacks the teen in the face, making Phantom fall out of the chair with a thud.

Phantom groans and begins laughing, righting himself and spinning the hourglass around, pointing the bottom of it at the screen, it reading ‘you’re fine’. Tony is so not reading into that, kid had someone like Strange in his corner. Phantom sits back down, lifting up the hourglass like it’s a weight, “Kay Kay Kay, so I’m a halfa right? Unique creature, that’s what I am. A fucked up little science project gone wrong, or right. Your choice. My folks screwed up in the lab and boom!”, he sticks his limbs out comically before righting himself and catching the coffee pot he effectively tossed in the air, “a whack-a-mole of electricity and a wormhole decided to stop my tiny little heart. Also restarted it too though! So it’s cool”, tilting his head, “wait... didn’t I already explain this?”.

Tony sighs, “sort of. We were in the middle of a war”.

Phantom quirks an eyebrow, “your point? That was, like, the bloody third one I’ve been in”, rolling his hand around, “first there was the High Ghost King, his fifty-thousand odd skeletons, and objects of near-unlimited power. The alternate future where an evil me single-handedly annihilated humanity, talk about traumatising having to fight yourself literally”, tilting his head, “and no clue if the plant guy with his army of mind-controlled people and plants or the sleep guy with his army of Walkers, counted as ‘wars’. And eh!”, snapping his fingers, “there was that guy I stole the Reality Gauntlet from! He took over the planet and turned people into clowns and shit. So that might be big enough to count as a war, even if it was just him versus me. But then the tornado guy caused storms all over the planet too so would that count then too?”, shrugging, “eh whatever. I’m sticking with three. Pariah would have eventually destroyed the Zone, which woulda ended the universe. Dan was actively on his way to ending all life in the universe, probably all death too. And grape guy, Thanos, was about to annihilate half the life in the universe which honestly would just end all life eventually... maybe”.

Tony stares at the kid before wheezing some more and falling backwards, “Christ”, righting himself and his chair, “there is something seriously wrong with your life. Like, seriously wrong”. Apparently the future was a freaking mess and fixing its crap was all on one random teen's shoulders. All because the kid died, which somehow gave him superpowers, and decided to make something good out of that death. Talk about unfair. And messed up. Really messed up. At least Tony had his team and they had each other, “please tell me you have some kind of support?”.

Phantom grins and nods eagerly, “got my guy in the chair techy, he destroyed a sataliget once! My rich activist goth, she sued one of my enemies into oblivion. And a ghost hunter who only sometimes tries to murder me and got a nanobot supersuit running through her veins; she can lowkey kick my ass if I hold back enough to avoid accidentally killing the living”, wagging his finger at the screen and getting really close, “us dead fucks are borderline indestructible immortals, halfas even more so”, leaning back and shrugging, “can still die, or fade it’s called for the spookies, though. Well, most can anyway. Timedaddy’s straight-up immortal. But if they died then, well, then the universe would literally implode from the time-stream collapsing”, and makes a little explosion sound and motion with his hands. Oh fuck, the kid was really just a damn kid. And from the sounds of it, his entire support was three teenagers. Ah Hell. Oh and some time being, ghost?, that just left him to his own devices.

Tony shakes his head, “you know what? That doesn’t actually make me feel any better”.

Phantom shrugs, drinks, swishes the coffee around, “don’t know what to tell you, man, my entire existence is pretty fucked up. My archenemy is my uncle, wants to adopt me, and gave me his inheritance. My girlfriend has a solid murder boner for me. My parents get giddy at the idea of dissecting me and are actually worse about that the odd time they’ve been successful. The kids’ at school think I’m their personal punching bag. The government would love to shoot me full of missiles and bombs. Pretty sure my sis is just using me for her research paper on ghost psychology or whatever. And my friendships are pretty much based on the three of us just being really weird”.

Tony groans, this kid probably needed more help and support that literally any other teen or hero. “ClockPops is great though. We play chess”,

Tony blinks, mentally pausing, “you... play chess? Seriously?”, this kid seemed to have more issues sitting still than Peter did. Tony finds it hard to believe he can sit through even half a game of chess.

Phantom nods and grins, “yup. Switched the pieces out for shot-glasses once, it was great. One of my teachers is cool too. He crossdressed and pretended to be his own sister to get me to try harder on a test; it worked better than it had any right to”.

Tony blinks and breathes, “your life”, shaking his head because it sounded like the future was just pure insanity, “well now I’m here and while I’m a bit reckless and a recovering alcoholic, I’m not insane”.

Phantom chuckles, “I’ll probably prove to be a bit much for you then. I’d have to be stupid to not think I’m not at least marginally nuts. Nowhere near frootloopy but eh”.

Tony sighs, being self-aware enough -or just not giving enough of a damn- to recognise that was both impressive and depressing. Impressively depressing. “A few of us Avengers are trained doctors and psychologists outside of being experienced heroes. So kid? You’ve got all of us. At least for verbal advice. Strange already went and basically confirmed that paying you a visit wasn’t a smart idea”.

Phantom snorts and rolls his eyes, sipping a bit more before staring down the pot at the small amount left. Speaking into the pot, “oh yeah, I can just imagine all the time problems that could cause. I’m surprised this is okay”.

Tony can’t help chuckling at the slightly silly image, though he’s not sure why the kid doesn’t just drink what’s left, savouring it maybe? “Same. Strange looked at me like he was questioning my sanity. He’s probably going to pester you about the Clock guy you keep mentioning”, grumbling to the side, “I just hope Loki will keep his trickster mitts off you”. Because fuck, they’d probably get on like fire and more fire. Which yeah, slightly horrifying mental image. Probably inevitable though. Loki was already impressed, amused, and interested by Phantom and literally everything the teen did after showing up. Seriously though, who’s first thought when fighting giant spaceships with mouths and other horrifying shit, is to turn it into bouncy balls and worms??? And a smoothie for a reward? For effectively saving the universe? Kid was a trickster, dabbled in death kind of literally, and ‘gave precisely zero fucks’. Loki would have a field day and probably be a horrid influence. Though thinking of it, Phantom might be a bad influence on Loki. Loki generally had reasons for anything beyond mild messing with people. Phantom seemed more likely to just go buck wild purely because he could. Even if he seemingly had a heart of gold and more self-sacrificial bones in his body than actual bones. Seemed like his entire world/time belittled and beat the shit out of him, and yet he gladly got dissected and lost chunks of his freaking spine for them. At least he had the power to back it up.

Tony quirks an eyebrow at mist, or something, leaving the kid’s mouth before Phantom goes wide-eyed and Tony jerks as an actual literal swear-on-every-ironsuit-and-the-entire-tower cartoonish rocket smashes apart what he’s assuming is-was a window; sending glass flying everywhere... and Phantom flying off-screen, the coffee pot going up in the air and sounding like it smashed apart on the ground.

Tony can practically hear the glare in Phantom’s voice, “hey! You spilled my damn coffee!”, while a robot blasts into the room, breaking more glass and bits of wood from the looks of it.

The robot pauses, seems to frown apologetically before shrugging, “apologies whelp, but it is no matter! You won’t need such things after I skin you!“. Tony chokes and gags a little at that. “Also-”, pointing to where Phantom probably is, “-that was practically empty”. Tony then stares as Phantom comes back in screen -looking all black and white- only for the robot to shoot a missile at him immediately, Phantom just sort of shrugs and lets the missile hit him in the face. This kid seriously really didn’t give a damn about his own well being.

And not even seconds later Peter walks in out of the blue, face lighting up as he notices the screen and probably Phantom’s very noticeable self on it, and dashes over. Obviously noticing Phantom’s current situation, “oh Phantom! Kick his butt!”.

Phantom does a silly thumbs up at the screen and immediately gets stabbed in the shoulder. Tony watches in slight disbelief at the kid looking at the knife, saying, “oh! You got a new knife! Shit is the handle engraved?!?”. And the robot actually stops and replies with a wide grin, “it was a valentines gift from Ember! Impressive right?”.

Tony and Peter both blink at the fight effectively stopping as Phantom pulls out the knife and looks it over, seeming impressed, “actually yeah”, pointing almost aggressively at the robot, “you got her something too right? You’re fucking horrible for that man”.

The robot rolls Its eyes, how metal is moving that organically Tony has no clue. “Of course whelp, those drum sticks you can sing into”. Phantom facepalms and Peter actually shakes his head in disappointment. Though Tony agrees, that was awful. But who talks with their enemy -who wants to skin them for peat's sake!- about presents?

Phantom makes a tsk tsk sound, “you dumbass, she got you a sick-ass knife and you got her a knick-knack? Seriously?”, Phantom walks off-screen, the two watching as what they’re assuming is cash flys over to the robot and Phantom returns on screen, “go by some flowers to make up for that crappy present. And for the love of everything, don’t get roses”, waving his hand around, “that’s so cliche. Go with tulips and forget-me-nots”.

The robot inspects the cash before flying off-screen, presumably back out through the window It destroyed, “I will have your pelt next time, whelp!”.

Phantom chuckles, shouting back, “sure you will, Skulkie! Ghost Zones greatest hunter”. Tony and Peter can feel the sarcasm in that. “Also! No you don’t have to ask! An engraved knife would be a wicked Christmas Truce present!”. Tony sighs when a ball or something slams into Phantom’s stomach and sends him flying off-screen.

Peter leaning towards the camera, “woah! You okay?”.

Phantom’s laughter echoes horribly, “right as rain! Mind you, it’s not actually raining”, righting himself and pulling himself up into the previously knocked over chair, “don't mind Skulker, he’s a poacher and I’m rare. Practically one of a kind actually. A poachers dream prize. His girlfriend has a mind-controlling guitar and occasionally attempts at world domination”. A ghost-shaped guitar floats on-screen, Phantom grabbing it, “she gives awesome presents though”, and gives the guitar a good couple strums.

Peter’s eyes go wide, “you can play the guitar?!?”, tilting his head and asking what is in Tony’s opinion a more important question, “wait, your enemies buy you presents?”, tilting his head back, “oh man that’s awesome”. Tony just shakes his head with a smile, teenagers.

Phantom grins and strums some more before the guitar floats off-screen, “all my enemies do”, shrugging, “for the Christmas Truce and my death-day anyway. But that’s normal. A ghost culture thing. Even the prison warden guy, whose got special torture weapons set aside just for little ol’ me, buys me some kind of present. Heck! Even the eyeballs do! And they’ve repeatedly tried to assassinate me”.

Tony blinks, “kid, that makes no sense. But I’m glad they’re at least occasionally nice to you”. Hell knows Phantom needs someone to be nice to him.

Peter tilts his head, “what even is a ‘death-day’? Sounds dark”.

“Oh nothing special, just the day I died. Like a birthday! But for death! A real dead-ringer of a holiday!”, and laughs loudly before rolling his eyes at Tony, waving his hand around, “eh, I’m kinda their king so be kinda a dick move to not give me gifts on literally the two biggest holidays”.

Peter practically shrieks, “WHAT! You’re a king! Oh that is so cool”. Tony blinks, “you did mention something about being the guardian of death and Earth”.

Phantom laughs some more and finger-guns while winking at Peter, “yup! Very important, much power”, and grins stupidly before pointing to the air above his head; a green floating crown bursting to ‘life’ with green mist or something wafting off, followed by a black cape with a flaming white collar and large flaming green skulls pinning it closed with a shadowy chain.

Peter cheers immediately, then adding, “Loki would love this!”. Tony points at him, “no. I want to keep that one as far away as possible for as long as possible”.

Phantom snickers, “I have chronic bad luck, so don’t count on that working out for you. Spidey probably has better tastes than you though, Ironass”.

Tony shakes his head with a smile, “you like making up names for people huh?”.

Phantom grins meanly, “it pisses people off. Which makes them easier to hit”, and holds up a fist, smacking a hand on his bicep.

Tony can’t help but laugh at that, “you got a point kid!”, though that was stupid reckless, and effectively confirmed him being tricky. One of Tony’s tech toys starts beeping so she moves to check it out. Peter taking his place in the chair. Glancing back at Tony before looking back to the screen, “hey I’ve got a question, teen to teen. What’s being a hero to you? Why do you do it? It just... it seems like your only suffering for it. Waaaaay more than normal. And not making stuff much better for it”.

Phantom hums, spinning around in the chair, “a hero's not afraid to give their life, and anything worth doing is worth getting hurt for. I do it so others will not suffer. That is all. It doesn’t matter if things change or not. If there’s still unnecessary violence and pain, then it is still a hero's place to grab their fists around it and pulverise it to Hell and back. So long as cruelty exists I will be there to stand against it. With a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart and Core. Because there is no greater joy, no greater choice, no greater path, than self-sacrifice for the sake of another. Regardless who they are, what they are. Good or bad. Young or old. And whether they support you, or not”, Phantom nods, puts his hands behind his head, cape bunching up, and looks to the side, “and maybe someday things will change. I doubt it, but who knows. But if things do, if that kind of future is on the horizon, then I think I’ll rest. Until then, I’ll be here. Doing what I do and suffering immeasurably for it. Until the world doesn’t need ‘heroes’ anymore. Till it doesn’t need me anymore”, looking back at the screen, Tony having walked back over slowly though the kid doesn’t pay him any mind, “so I guess, being a hero to me is being the embodiment of a brighter future. To absorb the suffering of the world”, sticking a finger up, “like a paper towel!”. Tony chokes at that a little; though the kids' sudden seriousness and introspection was just as startling as last time.

Tony shakes his head, “you make it sound like you’re immortal, kid. Also, that’s what a team’s for, to help share the load. The burden. Sure your ideals are noble and probably needed, but you can’t help anyone if you destroy yourself”.

Phantom smiles but something about it seems almost... sad. “In a way, I am. A ghost can not die and a human can not fade. A ghost ceases to exist when they fade and a human when they die. Yet I can do neither. So that raises the question, what is ‘death’ for a halfa? An idea? An ideal? A reality? Or just pointless conjecture. And besides, for a ghost to fade they must satiate their Obsession. Be satisfied with the fulfilment of their existence”, pointing to his chest, “and my Obsession? Protection. To protect is a physical and mental need for me. And it will never be satisfied till there’s nothing left needing protection. And it is thus that I will always be here”, shrugging and chuckling, “likely anyway”.

Tony blinks, that... that changed a lot actually. It also explained a lot. This wasn’t some kid playing hero, or even an experienced hero just doing what’s right and their job. This wasn’t someone stuck in a bad way and doing what needed to be done purely because no one else could. This wasn’t someone trying to do good to make up for their sorted past. This was someone wise beyond their years, with little to no regard for themselves, and a living -half-living- embodiment of the word ‘hero’. Watching the teen turn his head at someone -likely his mom- shouting that supper was ready. There was a rocket-powered fistfight minutes ago and his parents’ didn’t even check on him. Christ that was depressing. But it also made him want to help this kid out all the more.

Phantom turns back to the screen, “whelp that’s my queue then I guess. And let me guess? This-” gesturing at the screen, “-is gonna become a thing? Which totally cool, little warning next time. And keep this mind, walking the straight and narrow takes more time than I got. I will steal, mildly harm, trick, and lie, as I see fit”.

Tony rolls his eyes, he’d expect no different from a kid basically left up to their own devices, “we’re all guilty of that, kid”. Phantom just laughs as the screen goes dark.

Tony leans back, well fuck, he wasn’t prepared for the kid to have shit that bad. And the King situation definitely threw him through a loop. He’ll have to talk to Thor -not Loki, dear God not Loki- about that. Being a hero and a king.

Regardless, they’re gonna help the weird spooky future kid out. And Peter absolutely liked Phantom, which hopefully wouldn’t be a bad thing. Hopefully. (And it wasn’t, if you ignored Peter carrying out more than a few pranks on Phantom’s behalf).

End.

[cant-blink]

7 Deadly Sins: Gigan

SHOWA GHIDORAH GIGAN

Wrath (7/10)

Gigan doesn’t get angry very often. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it to have a good time and he’s much more likely to be amused than pissed when something stands up to him. That being said, he does have his triggers (especially in his Final Wars form) and when they’re pushed, he selects violence. Brutal bloody violence. Without any hesitation. So don’t piss him off. He WILL kill you without a second thought, and trust me, this sadistic bastard WON’T be making your death pleasant.

Gluttony (8/10)

Gigan likes to eat. Unlike most kaiju, his species are obligate carnivores that actively hunt and kill to survive. They aren’t Skullcrawler levels of ravenous, but pretty close. Growing up, food was used as a reward for Gigan by his Nebulan masters and although the reward changed to mates when he reached adulthood, he still treated his “mates” as prey, and would cannibalize them when he was done. Yeah, you read right, Gigan is a cannibal. Happy about it too. Freed from Nebulan control to live his own life, it only got worse. He was no longer limited to whatever food was given to him, the whole Universe is his banquet! He has a habit of seeing others as prey to toy with and devour. His career as an assassin worked pretty well since no worries on disposing of the body, he got it covered under the contract. As a pirate, even better, as he can slaughter whoever he pleases and really get to sample some exotic meats. But then, tragedy struck. Ever since being forced into his Final Wars form, he no longer needed to eat. Indeed, he’s become more machine than organic, and he hates it. So as if in defiance to his new biology, he still indulges in food even though he doesn’t need it. Just to give himself the illusion that he’s still alive.

Greed (10/10)

Gigan is a very greedy creature. Part of his becoming a pirate is to steal and horde all the things labeled as valuable and sell them on the black space-market. He accumulates a lot of riches and although he can use them to live in luxury whenever he fancies to, he still prefers to use intimidation and threat of planetary destruction rather than spend actual money. Give even a cent to the needy? Nah, he’d rather eat the needy. Hey, it’s putting them out of their misery at least! And no, he’s not sharing any of his food. If his friends want food, they can get it themselves. Space-ducks will only share their food with their mates and chicks, and Gigan’s “mate”, Ghidorah, doesn’t even eat, and they have no chicks, so win-win! More for him!

Envy (9/10)

You would think someone as powerful and handsome as Gigan wouldn’t have much to envy. And you’d be right.... in his Showa form. As Final Wars, there is one thing he’s become very envious of and that’s the fact that he will never be considered "alive", like everyone else. Ghidorah’s moon-crests always glow so bright for these lesser creatures, but so dim for him. Constantly reminding him of his insecurity, and making his jealousy worse. So y’know what, let’s keep some folks alive around Ghidorah, that way Gigan can look at that glow and pretend that it’s for him. This envy for life really does drive him a lot in his current form; anything that gives him the illusion that he’s still his old self will be done. Have fun to its fullest? Yes. Sleep around? Yes. Eat when he doesn’t need to? Yes. Flaunt Ghidorah around to make everyone else envious of HIM?! Hell, yeah- Wait, is Ghidorah paying attention to someone that isn’t him?! Is Ghidorah TALKING to anyone that isn’t him, WITHOUT PERMISSION?! FEUIHDOWA- Actually, maybe he does have a bit more envy than I thought, now that he has a mate to be possessive over. 

Sloth (7/10)

Like Showa Ghidorah, Gigan spends a lot of time in dormancy during space-travel in his diamond. Not as often though, as he will also hi-jack ships with his ‘crew’ and has the luxury of enjoying said space-travel with victims and friends alike. He does require sleep as Showa Gigan and did indeed sleep alot, a hold-over of his days in captivity when there wasn't much to do beyond sleep, eat, and whatever mission they wanted from him. But when he is awake, he did work diligently for his Masters, to the best of his abilities and with great enthusiasm. As Final Wars though, he no longer requires sleep. But he still does so, because he’s alive, dammit! Now let him dream! But now, he no longer works an actual job (he quit his beloved assassin career after being forced into his new "updated" form), and has since grown more laid back (aka, lazy) as to whether or not he'll follow-through on whatever responsibilities is placed on him. He likes having fun and feeling forced into responsibility is not fun! So that heightens his score.

Lust (10/10)

Gigan is a horny bastard. If there’s a victim that even slightly tickles his fancy, guaranteed, he will have extra fun with them before they die. He’s also been known to use sexual favors to get what he wants, especially for a certain love-struck beetle that keeps whining about wanting to go home. Those sales-people that can't be won over with the threat of death? Well, make love, not war as they say! He also likes visiting the less savory parts of the universe, specifically to watch shows and request services. But truly, the primary target of his lust is the three-headed dragon himself. Those golden scales and massive wings will drive any space-duck crazy with WANT and Gigan is no exception. Before seeing this hydra, the idea of mating for life wasn’t something he was ever interested in, but now, Ghidorah is something that he wants to keep for himself. Forever. Back before he decided to track down the dragon, if he even THOUGHT about this golden wyvern, guaranteed, he’s going to fuck something, he doesn’t care who or what. When he finally does get his claws on Ghidorah, literally EVERYTHING this dragon does has Gigan lusting for him even more. To Ghidorah's dismay.

Pride (10/10)

Gigan is a very prideful creature. He's a narcissistic individual who only thinks of his own pleasure, and sees everyone else as either a means to an end, prey, or a toy. He takes great pride in combat abilities, and is prone to underestimating his target. He adores his claws and often brandishes them at every opportunity to show them off, and intimidate foes. In his Showa form, he especially took pride in his appearance. Raised in captivity, he was a prime example of his race, with gleaming feathers and large sails. Being a cyborg only enhanced his pride, as it made him far stronger than the rest of his species, something he readily took advantage of whenever the Nebulans rewarded him with a ‘mate’. But this took a blow in his Final Wars form, where he lost everything that made him an attractive space-duck and became more of a machine than an organic creature, and he's become quite self-conscious about this. He covers this under a veil of over-exaggerated confidence, but has become a bit more sensitive when his insecurity is poked at. And by "sensitive", I mean violent. Extremely violent, even towards his perceived mate. So call him "half-life" again, Ghiddy boi, you're already half-way to being disemboweled; give him a reason to finish the job. Terrible as his Final Wars form is, he’s a hell of a lot more powerful than he’s ever been before, with more weaponry added to his arsenal. That’s still a source of pride that ALMOST makes up for his freakish appearance. But his greatest pride yet is enslaving Ghidorah as his mate; something about having such a beautiful and powerful creature under his claw is satisfying and you bet your ass he’s going to show off his accomplishment to everyone in the Universe! 

TOTAL: 61/70

Showa Ghidorah’s score was surprisingly low, but this is probably the highest score any of these characters will get. Gigan is a heinous individual, a disgusting reprehensible villain that has no interest in redeeming himself. There’s a reason I label my “Half-Life” series as being my darkest, and it’s all because of this guy!

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 27 - Spiritomb’s Revenge

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

NOTE: This is a pretty violent/brutal chapter. sorry if it upsets you. The madness of this fic reaches another level. Warnings for blood, torture, violence. 

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ here is the latest update

Spiritomb’s Revenge

…

…

["I suppose I should be upset, even feel violated, but I'm not. No, in fact, I think this is a friendly message, like ‘Hey, wanna play?’ And yes, I want to play. I really, really do.”

- Dexter]

…

…

Wyndon Police Station.

The station is in uproar. The lines have been ringing off the hook since early morning and have not stopped since. It is now lunchtime, but it looks like no-one will be able to grab a bite to eat.

In Postwick, roughly 11am, a man attacked a woman with her baby as she took a stroll near the Slumbering Weald. The suspect is still at large.

In Turrfield, twenty minutes later, an old couple were robbed at point-blank and subsequently beaten to death. The suspect then fled into Route 5. Searches proved ineffectual.

In Hulbury, half an hour later, a woman had reportedly jumped into the sea. Divers are still searching for her.

In Motostoke, ten minutes later, a middle-aged man fell to his death after he was pushed over the railing of the second level of the city by a young girl. The young girl has been brought into questioning but does not recall any of her actions.

In Hammerlocke, the CCTV of the vault picked up a masked individual attempting to steal the treasures within. The suspect was later apprehended but has no recollection of the incident. It was later revealed he is a kiosk worker at the stadium and he was on his lunch break.

There’s plenty more, at least five to six maximum cases of assault, robbery, suicide, manslaughter, murder or other petty crime per city and it’s doubling as the hours go pass, and Graves rubs his chin as waves upon waves of police officers report to him a startling increase of unrelated, independent events.

This is very strange. This has never happened before in Galar. This is madness. The reporters and journalists have already jumped on this, firing out Breaking News and Shocking Stories of a region overtaken by madness. They call it mass hysteria whilst some people are debating, calling it domestic terrorism.

There are worse reported crimes taking place in bigger cities like Wyndon and Hammerlocke, where concentrations of civilians are higher. Have all the criminals decided to let loose today? Is this some cult movement? Some online, social media movement?

After barking some orders to his colleagues and coordinates, Graves quickly weaves into his office and picks up his phone to call his goddaughter.

“Hello?”

He’s grateful she picked up. “It’s me.”

“What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s up? Have you not been watching the news?”

“No, I’m outside with Jace. We’re at the airport to send Volkner off.”

He grumbles. “Goddamnit, go home when you’re done, you hear me? Stay home tonight. The whole region’s gone crazy.”

…

Wedgehurst.

The old woman knocks on the front door of the quaint little detached house with her Applin in her hand and waits. A short while later, footsteps can be heard approaching; it opens and a little boy peers through the small gap of the door.

“Hullo,” he says.

It’s Granny Smith. She lives next door and bakes him and his family plenty of apple pies.

She gives him a wide smile, the wrinkles on her face bunching together. “Hello Johnny!” she says in her soft and gentle voice, “is everything alright? I heard some very loud noises…”

The boy cocks his head to the side as she tries to sneak various peeks inside the house; he keeps blocking her, darting his head to the left as she bobs to the right and so forth.

“What loud noises?” he asks, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a small smile.

“Just some very strange, very loud noises,” she says, “where's your mother?”

“Out.”

“Where's your father?” she asks, before she sniffs and giggles. “What a lovely smell.”

“Yes. My dad is in the kitchen, making lunch.”

“Oh, how lovely. And here I thought you were in trouble for a moment there. Have you seen the news? It’s utter chaos out there today.”

“No, as you can see…everything’s fine.”

She nods in agreement, stroking Applin’s tail. “I’ll be off then. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Goodbye,” Johnny says, then he promptly slams the door shut. It trembles violently in its doorframe with a loud ‘slam’.

“Oh," squeaks granny, a little startled.

She slips Applin into her bag and begins to shuffle out of their front lawn, throwing a glance over her shoulder; she sees him peeking at her retreating back behind the safety of the drawn blinds of their living room and when he’s caught, he ducks from sight.

When she’s away from view, Johnny leaves the lounge and into the kitchen where two chairs stand side-by-side and a man and woman are bound by plastic nylon cable ties, their arms fastened behind their backs and their ankles tied together.

Their mouths are covered by gags fastened securely around the back of their heads and as the boy approaches with a grin, they flail and shake their heads violently, their shouts for help muffled.

…

“Who was that?” Jace asks as you hang up the phone.

“Graves, he said there’s a sudden spike in crime in Galar today and told me to be careful,” you utter.

“That’s weird, I wonder what’s going on.”

You have a bad feeling about this. “Jace, let’s go.”

You are with Jace at Galar International Airport; Volkner has left Galar. He’s already boarded his flight to Sinnoh and should have taken off by now, having thanked you and Jace once again for the hospitality.

With coffees in hand, you and Jace head for the train station that will take you to Wyndon where you will get a Corviknight taxi home.

“I better give Leon a quick call,” you murmur, and Rotom quickly dials the Champion for you.

It rings for a few seconds before it’s picked up.

“Hey,” says Leon, and despite the noisy background, you can hear the excitement and affection in his voice when he greets you. You’re certain you can hear him grinning, too.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yep! Everything alright?”

“Graves said there’s a lot of crimes today, he told me to be careful.”

“I haven’t heard, I’m doing a photoshoot for Densoku right now,” he replies. “Where are you? I’ll be done soon; I can come get you when I’m finished.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’m with Jace right now. We’re good. I just wanted to check up on you, that’s all. I’ll check if Hop and your mum are okay when I get back to Wedgehurst.”

“Okay, thanks, that would be great."

As you continue your conversation with Leon, Jace sips his coffee quietly and you hang up. He’s still feeling lukewarm towards Leon, neutral towards your relationship with the Champion.

“Is he okay?” Jace mutters, and you nod.

Whilst you wait with tourists and commuters on the busy platform along with their pokemon, this a perfect opportunity to discuss with Jace about his new job.

“I thought about it for a long time, and I decided to go for it. I’ll be an electrician at Sunyshore gym,” he says, “Volkner’s always tried to get me a job but I didn’t complete my training in time and when I did, all the jobs were gone.”

“Oh, so…you really are going to leave Galar,” you mumble.

A brief silence occurs; Jace glances at you worryingly and you look at him with a thin, watery smile.

“I’ll come and visit you.”

“I know you will.”

Eventually, the tannoy announces the train is approaching and to stay clear from the yellow lines on the platform; the train finally arrives, chugging to a gradual stop and the doors whoosh open.

A mix of tourists, and men and women in business suits with their pokemon pour out and the travellers on the platform, including yourself and Jace, pile into the awaiting carriage. Unfortunately all the seats are swiftly taken so you’re the only unlucky folk who have no choice but to stand, so you and Jace hog a small section near one of the doors, holding onto one of the handles as the train begins to move.

The conversation continues.

“I’m sorry, chuck.”

“Don’t be sorry! You’ve been offered a job you’ve always wanted! You can’t pass up on this opportunity.”

“Y-yeah, I know...I’ll miss you,” he murmurs, and he shifts his gaze to the window, watching the peaceful Galar scenery roll by. It changes from the industrial-looking airport to a highway full of speeding vehicles. Jace says, sighing, “I’ll miss you a lot.”

“Me too, but I’m really happy for you, Jace,” you reply, following his gaze to look outside the window, at the sheep pokemon.

The train enters a tunnel with a loud fwoosh and the peaceful greenery is immediately replaced with an inky black screen; the windows go dark with your reflections and behind you, a tall and shadowy figure suddenly appears.

The carriage grows cold, the temperature dropping and your body begins to tremble. Jace speaks but you can no longer hear him, his voice fading away into the background. In a split second, fear grips you like a vice, your heart grasped and squeezed, your chest about to pop. Your eyes promptly widen when you realise what is responsible for this, yet somehow you are able to move, to whip round to face the entity only to greeted with empty space and the carriage begins moving again, Jace's voice returning.

"-so I know I've always wanted to be an electrician but-"

His words fall on deaf ears as you frantically search the area with your gaze. There was no-one nearby; the seats are all filled with sleepy businessmen whilst a couple stands in the corner near the opposite doors playing with their Pokemon, who aren't affected.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"A shadow," you utter. "There was something standing behind me the moment the train went into the tunnel."

Jace raises a brow and looks around you. "No, I've been standing beside you the entire time and didn't see anything. Are you okay?"

Unsure what to think of it, you hastily clear your throat and force a nod. "Y-yes, I'm fine. Never mind. Sorry, um...I'm probably tired; it was... probably just a trick of the eye," In an attempt to return to the conversation, you say, “You said you've always wanted to be an electrician?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m really excited. I start in two months. That’ll give me time to get used to the region and find a place to stay. Volkner’s letting me stay with him for the first few months of course, but I should really find my own apartment…”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

He looks at you and smiles widely. “Ah, sorry! No, I am sure, it’s just…maybe I’m getting too attached to Galar. Chuck, would you…ever go back to Kalos?”

“I’m not sure. Probably not. Too many bad memories.”

“Hm, I see."

When the train emerges from the tunnel, the sunshine seeps into the train and the highway disappears, revealing bountiful green pastures full of grazing Wooloos and Dubwool.

However, you cannot shake off what you saw.

Meanwhile, the small TV screen fixed on the train’s walls blasts out news of violent crimes appearing all throughout Galar.

When the train arrives in Wyndon, you and Jace split up and you take a Corviknight taxi to Postwick where you quickly check up on Leon’s family; they are fine, deciding to stay at home due to recent news.

Returning home, Sonia greets you. “Hey, you’re back! Ezra's here!”

"Huh?” you exclaim as you enter the house, slipping off your shoes.

You glance at the conservatory where you see a familiar old man in a black duster with an Absol seated quietly on one of the white sofas. A flowery teacup and teapot sits on the table for him, but he’s left it untouched. The fragile decorum contrasts heavily with his dark, grungy appearance.

“Ezra!” you squawk as you head over. “You're here! I was worried about you, and there’s something I need to tell you-”

His eyes are closed and as you approach, he begins to cough, blood leaking out from the corner of his mouth and as you grab a tissue for him from the box, he shakes his head and wipes it away with his sleeve.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to go to hospital.”

“No, not yet; we need to stop Spiritomb,” he grunts.

“Spiritomb??”

“Yes, those crimes. They’re all Spiritomb’s doing. It’s going on a rampage.”

Sonia exchanges concerned glances between you and the old man.

“It’s possessing people…specifically those with immense evil in their hearts, and carrying out attacks before quickly leaving the host. It’s the work of the one hundred and eight spirits we sealed away,” he mutters, “they are clashing and fighting for control, with one personality taking over at one time… hence why the crimes that have been reported are so varied.”

“Got it,” you reply with a nod, and Ezra shifts to get up and off the couch. “Any leads?”

“Yes. I detected its presence in Wedgehurst. Let’s go now before it escapes.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Sonia intervenes at once, waving her hands in the air. “No, don’t go, this is too dangerous!”

“Don’t worry, Sonia. Ezra and I know what we’re doing,” you tell her with a smile.

It’s been a while since you and Ezra have worked together.

…

“The hate is strong in this one,” says Johnny, before he glances at the helpless couple he’s kept tied up in the kitchen, “I guess he has you to thank for that since you're the ones who raised him into such a disrespectful and vile spoiled brat. Let me give you a little taste.”

Sidling to the microwave, the two begin to cry with fear and flail against their bounds as he opens the door and pulls out the crudely sliced and half-cooked body of a Spearow, sliding the slushy, gooey red remains of the bird pokemon onto a porcelain plate before he grabs a fork and returns to the couple’s side.

“Open up,” Johnny says as he steps behind the father’s chair and pulls the gag out of his aching mouth.

His lips are crusted all over with spit, dry and wet, and the man shakes his head fiercely in a futile act of protest, hot tears streaming down his eyes as Johnny grabs a handful of the meat. Mangled flesh and deep red ooze drips over the boy’s small fist before he promptly smears the meat over the man’s mouth, his fingers and nails soaked with rancid blood.

The man fights to keep his jaws clenched tightly together in a desperate bid to refuse, but Johnny counters by gripping his chin tightly and with two fingers, roughly forces his jaw open, allowing him to stuff morsel after morsel down the man’s gullet. He chokes, gagging uncontrollably but Johnny merely picks the pieces up and rams them down his throat once more.

“Don’t waste food. There are starving children in some parts of the world,” he says.

The woman screams relentlessly at the morbid sight, squeezing her eyes shut with fright whilst jerking fiercely against her bonds, shaking and flinging her back against the chair as with as much strength as she can gather, the chair legs scraping an inch across the floor.

When the meat is all gone and the man is left rasping and panting, a few red blobs and chunks of flesh drop to the floor in messy piles, and Johnny abandons the now-empty plate in favour for a plastic bag he’s kept near the microwave, looping it over the man’s head and tying the handles firmly around the front of his neck.

Terrified, the man’s eyes dart left and right, the insides of the bag fogging over from his shaky breaths.

“Johnny! Stop!” the woman screams, and the boy briefly pauses in his actions to slap her harshly across the face with the back of his hand.

Her head snaps viciously to one side, hair strewn over her eyes. She goes silent from shock before she begins to sob, her cheek stinging.

“How dare you hit your mother!!” Johnny's father yells, his shouts muffled. With each word, each laborious breath, the flimsy and thin plastic of bag sucks into his mouth and out.

“Shut up,” snarls Johnny, taking a few steps backwards so he can stand proudly in front of his parents where they can see him properly.

Johnny’s smirk reaches all the way to his ears, his eyes crazed and maniacal. It’s a face not belonging to their son at all but a monster, and it sends them into muted shock.

“…You’re not my son,” the man spits venomously, wheezing as he struggles to breathe.

“You’re right,” says Johnny, “I’m not.”

Nonchalantly, Johnny sidles over to a canister of gasoline he had kept propped up next to the fridge and unscrews the lid, allowing a strong but pungent, sweet smell to waft in the air.

With a hand on the bottom and the handle of the canister, the couple scream and splutter as he douses them, emptying the entire contents over their heads and bodies; the woman continuously shakes her head whilst sobbing and begging. The man howls in terror.

“Now for the grand finale,” the boy says, dumping the empty can to the floor and whipping out a lighter from his pockets, flicking it on with a jerk of his thumb and a little flame springs up and dances in the air, taunting the couple.

Relishing the sound of their screams, Johnny promptly drops the lighter.

A fierce barrage of red and yellow immediately engulf the kitchen in its entirety.

The fire licks at their bodies ruthlessly, and Johnny stands, his eyes dancing with delight. The flames reach his feet yet he doesn’t flinch; lifting his arms into the air horizontally, he throws his head up and closes his eyes and basks in the heat, failing to notice the letter box on the front door squeaking open and a voice whispering, “Prohibere eum.”

A delicate, white paper crane subsequently flits inside, flapping its little wings as it bobs towards the direction of the burning kitchen.

The boy whips his head round to the doorway, eyes narrowing.

“Who’s there?!” he snarls.

Spotting the crane, he stares at it limply for a few seconds until it unfurls, revealing strange symbols painted in red. Brows furrowing, his hand shoots out and he grabs it, scrunching it up tightly under his fist.

Unraveling his clenched knuckles, his palm is coated in patches of the strange red ink and before his very eyes, the ink blots merge together to form the symbols which promptly disappears into his skin like a dampened tissue.

“What?!” he yells in shock and confusion; the symbols soon make their presences known once again, this time, stretching all over his arm.

His body suddenly feels itchy all over. He dares to take a peek at a mirror magnet on the refrigerator to see the red symbols have appeared all over his face.

It’s too late; the exorcists are coming for him – and the boy immediately collapses over the floor, eyes closed.

His mouth is eased open and a purple transparent bubble slinks between the gap of his lips and continues to crawl out. It grows in size until it begins to form a distinct, ragged spherical shape, followed by a stone. A smooth, brown stone with a fissure in the middle. The creature crawls out of the boy’s mouth and slips over the floor in a puddle, just as the front door is abruptly kicked open and you step inside with Ezra.

“Sequimini eum!” Ezra yells, as Spiritomb attempts to make its frantic escape.

The pokemon is heading for the window – Gengar emerges from a shadow and fires a Shadow Ball at it – the attack misses and Spiritomb phases through the glass, vanishing outside.

“It got away!” you curse, but Ezra shakes his head.

“No, not this time. I’ll go after it,” he says, before he casts his dull gaze to the bodies on the floor. "Stay here and call an ambulance and the fire brigade.”

“Understood,” you reply, and Ezra abruptly leaves the house with Absol. “Gengar, follow Ezra, then come back to get me, okay?”

Your pokemon nods and merges with Ezra’s retreating shadow.

Water-type pokemon would be handy here but you do not have any so you hastily grab a blanket from one of their sofas, and with your pokemon’s help, you each grab a corner, soak it under the taps of the kitchen sink and throw it over the burning bodies.

The fire is extinguished at once, smoke fizzing out and into the atmosphere in thick wisps; the unmistakable stench of burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air.

Whilst you call for an ambulance, Mimikyu checks the fire alarm of the house which shows signs of being sabotaged, most likely Spiritomb’s doing. Vulpix slides a paw under the blanket to check the damage and shudders once she’s had a look, she settles the blanket back over their bodies.

Once the ambulance and firefighters are called, you leave the house.

Spiritomb is the most dangerous pokemon you’ve ever encountered.

It’s time to rejoin Ezra.

…

Meanwhile, Graves slows the car to a stop and pulls up at a gas pump outside Turrfield, Route 5. It’s been a crazy, hectic day and he’s on his way back to the police station when his car has run out of gas.

He rolls up his sleeves, pulling open the flap and feeding the nozzle inside. As the car fills up with petrol, Graves stands, whistling, looking around casually when he hears a woman’s earsplitting scream in the distance.

“What the hell…”

He eases the pump out, placing it into the holster and steps out, squinting his eyes at the horizon; a middle-aged woman comes running towards his direction, dishevelled and petrified beyond belief, the expression on her face full of nothing but terror. A short distance away, a familiar old man is limping after her along with an Absol.

It’s the homeless man called Ezra, whom his goddaughter is acquainted with. The ex-convict. The man who was jailed for murdering his wife and kid.

The woman he is chasing is screaming for her life, and when she spots Graves who rushes over, she heads for his direction and clings onto his arm. Her eyes are wide and panicky as she pants heavily, gesturing wildly to the pursuing Ezra.

“Help me, please! That madman is after me!!!” she shrieks. “He's trying to kill me!”

“Absol, attack!” Ezra commands, and the pokemon dashes towards them but Graves immediately reaches a hand behind his waist and pulls out Arcanine’s pokeball, tossing it into the air and releasing the canine pokemon.

“Stop! Take one more step or I’ll command Arcanine to attack!” Graves snaps, as Arcanine readies itself into an offensive stance, growling at Absol threateningly.

Immediately, passerby’s scream and begin rushing for cover, whilst the customers of the gas station run inside the gas station to hide.

Absol comes to a skidding halt, her paws kicking up dirt, but she snarls loudly at Graves and his pokemon and begins to pace back and forth as though ready to pounce at any time should her master willed it.

Ezra growls with frustration as the woman hides behind the Chief Inspector. “Inspector Graves. That woman has been possessed by an extremely dangerous pokemon,” Ezra barks, pointing to the woman. “A Spiritomb. It’s the culprit behind the recent crimes.”

Graves turns to the woman who throw her horror-stricken glance up to him. She blinks at him with widened eyes and shakes her head wildly. “He’s crazy!! Help me, please!”

“Arceus, you’re insane,” Graves utters under his breath, “ma’am, I’ll take you to the station where you can get help. Ezra, stay right where you are. Arcanine, watch over him and make sure he doesn’t move.”

“You’re making a damn mistake!” Ezra growls.

The old man takes a step forwards and abruptly stops, bowling over with a hand clutching his chest. Absol returns to his side, yowling loudly with concern as he enters a harsh coughing fit; his chest is on fire, his lungs pierced by a sharp, throbbing pain. As Ezra splutters and chokes, he drops on one knee, slapping a hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to prevent the uncontrollable rush of blood that’s spilling out.

Viscous red lines seeps through the gaps of his fingers, spilling over the concrete in little splotches. Absol wails with fright at the sight of her suffering master who inevitably collapses over the ground on his front, motionless.

"Ezra!" Graves yells, but he's effectively halted when the frightened woman tugs on his elbow.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, “thank you so much.”

“Ma’am, stay here.” He instructs. Graves isn't on bad terms with the priest though he doesn't trust him in any way, but he cannot leave Ezra like this so he recalls Arcanine, dips a hand to grab his Rotom phone to call an ambulance only to emit a cry of pain; the device falls out of his hand but luckily, the pokemon bobs back up before it completely meets the ground

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Rotom asks, only to witness the woman dropping to the ground as a purple swirl emerges from her mouth which has latched itself to Graves’ back; a purple mist encases his body and seeps into his chest as a purple tendril begins crawling towards his mouth. Horrified, the phone flits in the air helplessly. “Bzzzzrt! Zzztop! Zztop thizzz at once! Oh, Mazzzter, Mazzter Gravezzz! Zzomeone, help!!”

The creature vanishes and Graves’ eyes snaps open, now a bizarre shade of lime green; Rotom stares in horror as the entity grins and pats at his chest and looks at his arms before spotting the bridge that overlooks the Wild Area, connecting Turrfield and Hulbury together.

….

Gengar returns to tell you Ezra is in Turrfield, so you make your way over as quickly as you can and the shadow pokemon leads you to a gas station which is in chaos. Several vans belonging to various TV stations are parked outside along with their TV anchors standing and delivering live news and interviewing witnesses. A few locals stand behind the tape, pointing and whispering, whilst a puddle of blood has been outlined with a yellow chalk.

You manage to overhear the following:

“Yeah, so I saw this woman rushing up to this middle-aged dude, and then this old dude with an Absol came and the middle-aged dude pulled an Arcanine on him. Sick move, man.”

It’s utter pandemonium. Beside one of the gas pumps, you recognize Graves’ car from the license plate and head over, peering through the windows. It’s empty.

An ambulance is also parked closeby where you see Absol outside, howling mournfully with her head raised to the air.

“Absol!!!” you rush over, squatting in front of her. “What happened???! Are you okay? Where’s Ezra?”

Absol stops yowling for a moment to regard you before a voice worms inside your mind: "My father is inside. He’s unconscious."

“…..Cassie?” you breathe out in shock.

Absol blinks at you with her bright blue eyes before she continues howling once more. The doors to the ambulance subsequently open and you’re greeted with a paramedic who jumps out and you briefly see Ezra inside, lying on a stretcher with a breathing mask.

“Ezra!” you yell, “Can I go in? I know him.”

“His condition is stable, you can go in.”

“Thank you!” you climb inside the vehicle and the paramedics within are helping set up heart monitors and IV drips around him. “Ezra, I’m here.”

His eyelids open weakly and he mutters deliriously, “….Spiritomb….it’s taken your godfather…It took the guise of a woman…your godfather thought she needed help…Don’t mind me, go after the fool before he gets himself killed…he was heading for route five…”

“But-“

“Go,” Ezra urges, “I’ll be fine…..”

“O-okay. Take care.”

You nod reluctantly and leave.

…

You find your godfather in Route 5 as Ezra had mentioned, standing precariously on the ledge of the fifty-feet high bridge, overlooking the scenery of the Wild Area below. He’s barefoot and missing his suit, his hair messy, tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and looking very unkempt.

None of the TV crew have arrived yet, which you’re grateful for because you do not want the media to get involved with this fiasco.

However, it’s unavoidable that some people and their pokemon have gathered around, standing at a safe distance several feet away. Whilst some individuals are recording this scene on their phone, others are trying to talk him down but to no avail. Some are actively asking if there are any trainers with ice-type pokemon that can freeze him (no-one has any, unfortunately). Ultimately, no-one seems to know what to do.

“Let me through! I know him, I’m his goddaughter!” you yell, pushing your way through the crowd and making your way to the very front. “Graves!! Graves – urgh, I mean, Uncle Chris! Don’t do it!”

Graves whips round yet you do not see his features, only a grinning mass of purple with green flecks. It’s Spiritomb, who grins maliciously at you.

“Get out of his body!” you growl angrily, gritting your teeth with rage.

“No, I like this body very much. The misery, the regret, the loneliness. He misses Ellen very much, he wants to be with her,” says Spiritomb, “and he misses your family, your father. He regrets not doing enough. You’re sad all the time because of him. He can’t do anything. He’s useless. He wants to die.”

The crowd go quiet, watching your interaction, though a kind-looking woman holds you back.

“Be careful, it’s best not to get too close because he’s very agitated right now. It’s best not to aggravate him or make sudden movements," she mutters.

You can hardly hear what she’s saying, the sheer panic and distress that you normally don’t experience during uncertain and dangerous times like these has suddenly kickstarted in your system.

“No!!!” you yelp in a desperate bid to get through to your godfather, “Stop it! Stop thinking like that!! I’m still here, I survived!!! You didn’t fail!! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re useless. You’re not! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I’ll enroll in the police academy, okay? I won't make you worry for me anymore. I'm sorry!”

And Graves falters slightly, grumbling incoherently under his breath. Spiritomb's visage briefly vanishes as your godfather’s brows scrunch with confusion.

“You’re the only family I have left and I can’t lose you too! Please, Uncle Chris, snap out of it!”

Graves grumbles and groans in response to your pleas, his eye twitching.

You throw a sideways glance to Gengar; he’s lurking in your shadow and giving you a nod, silently travels over towards Graves’ direction.

And Spiritomb snaps, “Shut up!”

Then he turns and jumps, just seconds before Gengar leaps out from the shadow to grab him. Missed.

People scream, whilst a few trainers release their bird pokemon and direct them to go after the fallen man and Gengar buries himself into the shadows once more.

You throw yourself to the ledge, peering over where you see Graves plummeting helplessly in the air. “No!!”

Your pokemon bursts out forth from Graves’ falling shadow but he is not close enough. His eyes glowing, Gengar’s eyes and claws turns red before he spins in the air and throws his arms up, forcibly extracting a purple blob out of Graves body – it’s Spiritomb, whom he’s now trapped in a glowing red forcefield. Spiritomb growls and resists, shooting several Shadow Balls against its confines to no effect. The attack hits the walls of the forcefield akin to cork bouncing against a brick wall.

However, Graves is still hurtling towards the ground despite Gengar’s attempts, and the bird pokemon swooping towards him aren’t quick enough either.

“Wait, what’s that in the air?!!!” someone cries, pointing to the sky.

Everyone follows the direction of his finger and you see a familiar flame pokemon heading for your group. It’s Charizard; he’s zooming towards your way and the crowd begins to cheer.

“It’s Charizard!!! The Champion is here!!!”

“YES!”

“Go, Leon!!!”

Charizard swoops past and dives, folding his wings close to his body to reduce the resistance of the air, allowing himself to barrel towards your godfather's direction in seconds; in his wake, he leaves a gust of wind billowing that blows the majority of the crowd off their feet and to the ground including yourself; as you sit up, slightly dazed, you look around frantically for Leon and there he is, sprinting towards you from the direction of Motostoke.

“Leon!!!” you cry with relief, scrabbling up to stand.

Charizard returns with a massive flap of his wings, shooting up and into the air before he lands on the ground, clutching an unconscious Graves in his arms.

“Charizard!!” you exclaim, “Thank you!!”

The pokemon snorts loudly and gives you a toothy grin as he lays the unconscious man on the ground in front of you as carefully as he can so you can inspect him. You breathe a sigh of relief; Graves is unharmed.

People begin cheering as Leon finally arrives whereas Gengar returns to the bridge with Spiritomb who is still stuck in the forcefield. When the flying pokemon return, the trainers all turn to the trapped pokemon and proceed to divert their fury towards it, using a wide range of fairy-type moves and others to attack it.

You hear Spiritomb croaking out in pain whilst the other flying type pokemon join in, whaling blows and pecking at the pokemon whilst their trainers cheer and pump fists in the air.

With half of the crowd focused on and bemused with attacking Spiritomb, the remaining crowd part ways to let Leon through and you look up at him as he moves to crouch beside you on one knee.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks gently, but you are so shocked you merely throw your arms around him with gratitude.

“Thank you, Leon…”

He bundles you up in his arms, stroking the back of your head. “It’s okay, everything’s alright. I’m here….” He mutters soothingly in your ear, “I’m here.”

…

[awhitehead17]

We Have Each Other

TimKon, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Hugs, Established Relationship, Fluff.

Summary: When Tim and Kon decide to make their relationship public, they both thought they were prepared for everything about to be thrown their way. It turns out that they really weren’t prepared at all. 

Enjoy! :D

When their relationship first went public, Tim had originally expected the backlash. He mentally prepared himself for the comments he would hear, the scandalous ways the papers would portray him and variety of looks he would receive when he walked through the streets.

When making the decision to publicise their relationship, he and Kon had long and tiresome conversations on making sure they each knew what to expect when it happens. Really, it would have been much easier just to keep it a secret between them, their families and friends but the desire to be together in public and to act normal pushed them to make the decision.

Eventually they got on the same page and Tim sorted out their relationship reveal to the public. With Tim being a Wayne, it didn’t take very long for the news to travel around and soon enough he and Kon became the next topic of gossip. 

Tim had thought he was prepared, he thought he was going to be able to handle everything that came with being in a public relationship with Kon, but he was wrong. He was so very wrong.

Their relationship got publicised just over four weeks ago and despite that time length, he and Kon were still the hot topic of gossip. Tim realised that he hadn’t been prepared, or actually couldn’t take any more of it, when he attended a charity gala with his family within Gotham.

Kon was attending his own party back in Kanas, some sort of annual summer festival that happens each year. Tim would rather be there than here that’s for sure.

They were surround by all of Gotham’s top socialites who were all dressed to the nines in ridiculously expensive clothing. News reporters and photographers were scattered around the room gathering who knows what kind of scandals. Luxurious food was spread widely on a table that stretched as far as one of the walls.

Tim wasn’t new to these things, he despised them but like the rest of his family he has to suffer through them to maintain a civilian identity. At the beginning there were photos, pictures and conversations with reporters before they were partially left along to ‘enjoy’ the gala.

It was at this point, a few hours into the gala, that Tim overs hears a couple socialites talking. He’s pretty sure he was meant to overhear what they were saying because they did not do anything to try and keep their voices low. He makes himself look busy as he watches the room, taking careful sips from his drink as he listens to them chatter.

“I’m surprised he’s keeping up the act.” One of them was saying, a lady in a long blue silk dress.

“Oh I know! I would have thought it was just a phase and he would have moved on from that hillbilly by now.” Another agrees with her, this was a man dressed in a light grey suit.

“What does Wayne see in him anyway? It’s not like he has anything to offer.” The third comments, another woman dressed in a loose, low hanging red dress.

The blue dress lady snorts into her drink, “He’s not bad looking, maybe Wayne keeps him around because he’s good in bed.”

“That must be the only reason why. It’s not like that country bumpkin could ever get anywhere in life or offer anything more to Wayne. No money, jewels, fame, hereditary. Just a nobody from nowhere.”

That was the last straw for Tim. Without meaning to the glass he had been holding smashes in his hand from where he clutched it too tightly in anger. It shatters all over him and his hand causing blood to instantly pool in his palm.

Everyone who had been stood by jumps at the unexpected sound and looks at him with wide eyes, however no one makes a move towards him. He glares at them and gently brushes the glass he can off of his palm. “Excuse me.” He says and makes his leave from the gala to find the nearest bathroom.

As Tim washes his hands, after picking out the glass from his skin (thankfully there was nothing deep and it all should heal within the next week), someone enters the bathroom and leans against the side as they wordlessly watch him. Tim pointedly ignores his older brother, focusing on washing his hands.

After a long moment of silence Dick reaches over and turns the taps off, he grabs a paper towel, takes Tim’s hands in his own and starts dabbing them dry. Tim ignores the way his hands shake in his brother’s grasp.

“What happened Tim?” Dick asks softly, looking at the little cuts on his skin.

Tim swallows and refuses to make eye contact. “They were bitching about Kon and… I just got annoyed. They’re commenting on things they don’t understand. ‘A nobody from nowhere’ those bastards don’t realise what the fuck they’re talking about!”

He takes a breath and frees one of his hands from Dick’s so he could wipe his eyes, hating the fact he’s tearing up over this. He finally looks up at his brother, “Kon’s made the greatest sacrifice anyone ever could and those… snobs have no idea what they’re on about.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, all he does is pull Tim for a hug which he instantly melts into. Having his brother here was comforting but in that moment he wanted his boyfriend. Tim wraps his arms around Dick and clings on tight. “I knew things like this was going to happen but to actually face it… it’s awful and unfair…”

Tim feels Dick press a kiss to the top of his head but again his brother doesn’t say anything which Tim is thankful for. They stay hugging in the bathroom for a long time before Tim gets himself together enough to face the public once again, hopefully they can pull some strings so Tim can get to go home early.

 Unknowingly, while Tim struggles in Gotham, Kon was having similar problems in Kanas.

The annual summer festival of Kanas, a time for lots of baked goods, cheerful music, smiles, fairground rides and Kon was miserable. He was stood just off to the side behind a ‘Grab a duck’ game tent playing with his phone wishing he was anywhere but there.

Tim was in Gotham attending a charity gala with his family, so Kon couldn’t call him like he wanted to. He couldn’t even call Cassie or Bart because they too were busy doing their own things. Ma and Pa were handling their own stall full of Ma’s fantastic baked pies so they couldn’t do anything for him either.

He was just debating on leaving when his hearing picks up on a conversation a group of young adults seem to be having on the other side of the tent. Kon soon recognises them as some of the people he went to school with a couple years ago.

“Have you guys heard about Kent? How he’s now dating a Wayne?” One of them were saying.

“I know! I was so surprised to find that out. I wonder how they met.” Another replies.

“Isn’t it obvious? Kent is obviously with him for the money, simply calling Wayne a sugar daddy.” The third voice snarks.

“I don’t know, he never seemed to be interested in that sort of thing.”

“Does it matter? They’re all rich snobs who think they’re better than everybody else. They throw money away like it’s nothing and actually do nothing with their lives except look down on folks like us who have to work for a living to feed our families.”

“Kent probably doesn’t know any better. I bet Wayne’s just using him for a country fling. Something that he’ll get bored with soon enough and then he’ll be moving on.”

By that point Kon’s had enough. Before he could think better of his actions, he steps out of his hiding place and clears his throat which gains the attention of his previous classmates. They all startle at his sudden appearance and rightfully look embarrassed. They each stutter out something before fleeing.

Once they disappear from his view Kon finds himself shaking with anger. How dare they say those things about Tim. They had no right. They don’t know Tim like he does, all they see is the celebrity persona Tim has to play to hide his identity. Kon wasn’t with him for money, just as Tim wasn’t with him for a fling. Tim and his family are probably one of the down to earth families he’s ever met (despite their flaws of being insane crazy Bat’s) they genuinely care for people and their wellbeing, they do their damn hardest to try and make things right both as Wayne's and Bat’s.

A sudden crack startles him out of his thoughts. He looks down to find his phone now supporting a huge crack across the screen. Kon lets out a sigh, that’s what he gets for forgetting his superstrength, that’s the fourth screen he’s broke in the last month. He fiddles with the device for a moment and is grateful to find that it still works fine. It could have been worse.

Deciding enough was enough Kon makes his leave of the festival. He was done and just wanted to be alone, or be with Tim but that wasn’t an option. He makes a quick detour to tell Ma and Pa he was heading off before leaving the festival to start the walk back. He could fly back, make the trip quicker and easier but he needs some time to think.

He knew that coming out to the public was going to be difficult, he and Tim had long conversations about it and both made sure they were on the same page about the decision. He had thought he was prepared for it, knowing there would be comments and stares about it all. But he wasn’t as prepared as he thought. Even now, weeks later after the initial reveal, things were hard to handle.

It wasn’t fair. People make comments without even knowing anything, they’re always quick to judge without knowing the details.

As he was nearing the farmhouse his phone beeps and Kon is pleasantly surprised to find that it was Tim.

“I know you’re probably busy but can you call me when you get the chance. I left the gala early, I’m back at the Manor.”

Kon instantly goes to hit the call button but hesitates just before he does so. Calling Tim was an excellent idea, he would love to his Robin’s voice right now but there was something even better he could do.

He rushes to the farmhouse and quickly changes his clothes, he scribbles Ma and Pa a note of his whereabouts before taking off for Gotham. There’s a beauty to having flight and superspeed as powers because he makes it to Wayne Manor in record time.

He floats up to Tim’s bedroom window and taps the glass. It takes a few seconds but soon enough Tim’s face appears the other side. Kon watches with amusement as Tim’s expression changes from confusion to relief before he opens the window and allows Kon to climb inside.

Once inside he turns to his boyfriend, “So I thought I’d stop by instead. Better than calling don’t you think.”

That gets a low chuckle from Tim. “Yeah definitely.”

Picking up that something was wrong, Kon frowns, “You okay dude, what happened? Why did you leave the gala early?”

Tim looks away from him in embarrassment and fiddles with his hands which Kon is now only noticing that one of them is bandaged. He steps forward and gently grabs it with his own. “Tim?”

Tim moves their hands so they can lace all of their fingers together, “A glass smashed in my hand, caused my palm to bleed. Nothing major and it’ll heal within a couple days.”

Kon feels like there was more to the story but he doesn’t push. Instead he unwinds their hands to wraps his arms around Tim, to hold him close and rest his head on top of Tim’s because it was the perfect height to do so. In return, Tim melts into the hug and slings his arms around Kon’s sides and hugs him back.

“They were making comments about you and I got angry.” Tim admits a moment later. “They said some stuff which they didn’t have a right to and I lost my temper, I accidentally smashed the glass I was holding and thankfully Dick managed to pull some strings and got us to leave early. I wanted to see you.”

Realising how similar his story was to Kon’s, Kon squeezes him and presses a kiss to his head. “Y’know I had a similar situation just now too,” he laughs lightly, “Some people I went to school with made comments they had no right to. Making judgments without any relevant details.”

It goes quiet between them as they hold one another, basking in the comfort they can provide for each other in ways no one else can. Eventually Tim breaks the silence, he pulls away from Kon to peer up at him, “Did we make the right choice about going public? Everything is just shit since we did.”

Kon contemplates this for a moment, of course he’s wondered that himself. Hell most of the time he wishes they didn’t say anything at all. In the end he reaches up to stroke Tim’s cheek and says, “I don’t know. We could have kept going on like we were but how long until someone unwanted caught us and then outed us in the way we didn’t want? It’s just the waiting game until something new comes up I guess.”

Tim hums and leans into his hand. “Unfortunately.” He looks up at Kon, making eye-contact, “Y’know I love you right. No matter what. What they say isn’t true, I’m with you because I love you for you and nothing else. They have no idea what you’re capable of and how amazing you are.”

Kon heart swells at the pride he hears in Tim’s voice. He also wonders about what kind of comments were made against him for Tim to say those things.

“And you know that I love you to right? Not because of what your name is, or who you are to the public but because you’re an amazing person who wants to do the right thing no matter what. A person who wants to help others even if it means getting hurt yourself. You’re the guy who’s been by my side my entire life, and Bart of course, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else meaning so much to me as much as you do.”

Tim smiles at him, “They have no idea what they’re talking about do they?”

Kon grins too, “Absolutely not. We’re in this together and we’ll get through it like everything else we do. We have each other and you know what Tim, fuck everyone else.”

Everyone who doesn’t know them can comment all they want, but at the end of the day Kon and Tim have one another, they both know it no matter what. That alone is enough.

[madamebaggio]

THE SAME WAY I LIKE MY COFFEE

Summary: Sansa Stark always liked her coffee hot and sweet. She finally found a guy that makes the sentence "I like my men the same way I like my coffee" real to her.

Jon snow has no right to be that hot.

Or: Sansa opens the coffee shop of her dreams, makes great friends and meets an unbelievably hot Jon Snow.

Notes: This work is complete and you can find it all here ;)

****

Intimacy was a very peculiar thing, Sansa usually marveled.

After seven months working door to door with everybody else, she felt like she’d known them all her whole life.

She wasn’t shocked anymore when Ygritte stormed into her café at 10 in the morning, growling at everybody and demanding coffee.

She loved that Margaery would offer her flowers and say she was just using Sansa’s café to promote Highgarden, but never left a card with the vases. Sansa even laughed when her new friend tried to set her up with her older brother.

Tormund’s flirting didn’t bother her anymore, because he was crazy about Brienne, who’d taken to Sansa like an aunt.

Gendry was awfully kind, helping her every time something broke around the café, carrying heavy things for her. It took her months to convince him to call her just Sansa, instead of Miss Stark, but she’d taken to him like a brother –another one.

Gilly loved making Sansa’s frilly aprons, and her baby boy was a treasure. Sam always asked Sansa if she was eating well and taking care of herself.

They were a big family and took so much care of her that Sansa did all she could to repay it as best she could.

Of course, the downside was that they were like a second nosy family and they all wanted to matchmake her with someone.

Also, she knew a bit too much about everyone’s sex life, because God forbid such a thing being private.

She even knew that Margaery had had her nipples pierced by Ygritte, and if that wasn’t way too much information, she didn’t know what was.

Ygritte had been trying to convince Sansa to get a real tattoo, because –apparently –Sansa’s “sorority tattoos” –as Ygritte herself called them –weren’t good enough.

Sansa knew that her tattoos –a small star behind her left ear and the word “family” on her ribs –might look cliché and silly to Ygritte, but she loved delicate things.

Ygritte was a great artist –she had amazing drawings with Celtic designs –but they weren’t Sansa’s style and she admitted it to the other redhead.

Ygritte had accepted that explanation, but made Sansa promise to get a decent tattoo. The Stark girl just laughed and agreed.

They made a weird group, but it was good all the same.

Her family came to visit often and Sansa couldn’t help but notice that –after some time –Robb would always bring her flowers from Margaery’s shop and that he arrived with a blush on his cheeks. She also noticed that Arya had started bringing her motorcycle to Gendry’s shop and the thing seemed to be breaking an awful lot recently.

Both Robb and Arya insisted that she was crazy and there was nothing there.

Sansa never expected that by leaving the security of her family she could have so much. Yes, it was difficult, money was short for the first time in her life. But she was taking care of herself, paying her own bills and she actually felt useful, like she was doing something.

She felt she was worth something, not just a stupid girl.

Joffrey had called her a stupid girl and so had Harry. Petyr called her that like it was term of endearment.

She was not stupid. She was showing them all.

XxX

“Hey, Red. Can you make fifty of those pink glittery cupcakes of yours by Friday?”

Sansa had given up pointing out to Ygritte that they were both redheads and it was strange for the other woman to call her Red.

It made no difference to Ygritte.

“It’s possible.” Sansa confirmed after thinking for a bit. “I thought you hated pink.”

Ygritte was one of the least girly girls Sansa had ever met. Ygritte never wore pink –or lavender and peach, for that matter. She indeed reminded Sansa a lot of Arya, and perhaps that was why her baby sister and the artist got along so well.

“I do.” Ygritte agreed, after taking a sip from her pint. They were at Tormund’s, as usual. “But it isn’t for me. I’ve got a new guy coming to work at the shop and this will be his ‘welcome party’ thing.”

Sansa snorted. “How mature.”

Sansa didn’t normally take orders, because she had –until very recently –run the café by herself. She actually loved doing cupcakes and cakes and decorating them. She was planning on having a workshop for kids during Christmas week, so they could come to the café and decorate cookies and gingerbread men.

Now that she had two people working for her, she had a bit more of time to do things like that, but she normally only did it for her friends.

Ygritte snickered. “Jon is so bloody serious and brooding.” She explained making a face. “Some pink might do him good.”

Margaery turned to face Ygritte so fast that Sansa feared she’d given herself whiplash. “Jon? Jon Snow?” She asked. “The infamous ex-boyfriend?”

Sansa arched a brow. This was a new piece of information to her, she didn’t remember Ygritte ever mentioning an ex-boyfriend, infamous or not.

“Yup.” Ygritte confirmed with a smirk.

Sansa kind of wanted to ask why he was infamous –especially because Margaery said it like it was a good kind of infamy, if that was possible –but time had taught her that she probably didn’t want to know.

Sansa sipped her Cosmopolitan and waited for Margaery to say something else. The Free Folk didn’t serve any type of cocktail –at all –but Sansa had commented once how she missed Cosmopolitans and Tormund had sighed and grumbled, but eventually Brienne made him learn how to make them for her. Margaery loved it, because she spent a long time trying to convince him to prepare anything for her, but couldn’t and now they had Cosmos.

Tormund refused to make them for anybody else and the two glasses he had and everything needed to make the drink was kept separate, just for the two ladies.

Tormund was such a sweetheart sometimes.

“Jon, you say?” The man himself spoke. “The lad with the dark hair and a mighty frown?”

Ygritte nodded.

“How come I’ve never heard of him?” Sansa finally asked.

“Don’t know.” Ygritte shrugged. “I don’t go around talking about past guys. Or girls.” Margaery snickered from her seat. “But Jon and I are still friends. He’s been around once or twice. Sam knows him.”

The doctor, upon hearing his name, turned to them too. “Who?”

“Jon.” Margaery offered.

“Oh yes.” Sam smiled. “He’s nice.”

“I’ve never met him.” Margaery informed Sansa. “Just heard the stories.” She traded a smirk with Ygritte and Sansa was defeated by her curiosity.

“Ok… What is he infamous for?” She asked, knowing she was likely to regret it.

The smirk on Ygritte’s face was positively filthy. “For how good he is at oral. Quite enthusiastic at it, too.”

Sansa could hear Sam berating Ygritte for saying something like that and she could feel how hot her face was, as she blushed.

“Ygritte!” She chided the other woman. “Seriously, what’s with you? Now I’ll look at the guy and imagine him between your legs.”

Just after she had said it she realized how terrible that sounded.

Margaery was cackling in delight and even Ygritte and Tormund were laughing, while Gilly giggled and Sansa felt her face heat up even more.

“You can always imagine him going down on you, if you want.” Ygritte offered with another grin.

“Oh my God!” Sansa covered her face with her hands, because she couldn’t believe where this conversation had gone.

Not that she was shocked, more often than not they ended up talking about sex.

She didn’t even know the guy!

“I’m offering as a friend.” Ygritte spoke, fake sympathy in her voice, as she patted Sansa in the back.

Sansa snorted before she could stop herself.

Margaery arched a brow. “Sansa… You’ve had a guy go down on you before, right?” She asked carefully, lower so only the three other women could hear the question.

Sansa refused to answer that question.

“You’re shitting us, right?” Ygritte demanded.

This time Sansa just shook her head.

She had never explained how terrible her past relationships had been. She did tell Margaery and Gilly a bit more about them, but honestly, she had softened it so much they had no idea. She didn’t want them to look at her and see the poor rich girl with shitty taste in men.

So no, no oral sex, no good sex at all, to be honest. When she’d dated Joffrey she was way younger and those things didn’t cross her mind. Harry thought it was disgusting, even though he all but demanded she did it for him. Then there was Petyr Baelish…

He had been all charming, taking advantage of her when she was fragile, still shaken because of her breakup with Harry. He was way older than her –old enough to be her father –and he had cajoled her with sweet words and promises until he managed to get her in his bed.

Then he showed her his true colors, all the promises of sweet pleasure left behind for his own enjoyment.

Sansa never felt worse than she did the morning after that night.

The three other women traded looks between them, like they were having some kind of telepathic conversation. Eventually Gilly was the one to speak, “That’s fine, darling.”

Sansa cleared her throat. “Oh, sure. My fault for having crappy boyfriends, I guess.”

Ygritte was frowning and ready to open her mouth, when Margaery cut her. “Well, darling, some nice human being invented ‘massagers’ just for that.” She even made the quote signs around the word massager. “Fantastic little things.”

Sansa was squealing with laughter and telling Margaery to shut up, but at least she wasn’t sad anymore.

It was okay, because Margaery, Gilly and Ygritte had every intention of making sure that Sansa lived her life to the fullest. And –hopefully –got laid in the process.