#it’s basically a graveyard down there at this point

[allofuswantgwinam]

I s2g I woulda sat out in the cold for way longer than 2 hours to pass out candy to the kids 🫶🏼🥹 it brings me so much joy. I’m sad trick or treating is over. my whole part of the neighbor hood gave up and went i inside like 20 minutes early and I was mfing sad it was ending and didn’t even wanna go back in 🤣🤣🤣💀💀 I did have to scold a child but it was funny bc when I was tellin him to save some for everyone else to have some one of his friends that had a handful after him dropped all of it and then took only one piece 🤣🤣🤣😎

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

[divinesolas]

Ignored

Summary: Based on two requests; You had been best friends with Jacaerys since you were kids. But when he gets a girlfriend and joins the football team in college your whole life gets turned upside down and he's suddenly ditched you. A year after you are confronted by him and emotions spill to the surface.

w.c: 2.7k

c.w: Porn with plot, sub!jace, hand job, overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), car sex, im not good at angry sex or mean stuff guys so sorry,

masterlist

One year. one fucking year since you’ve last spoken to him. You never imagined the two of you would end up like this.

He gets on the college football team and gets some hot girlfriend and suddenly he’s too good for you. You doubt he’s even noticed. It was slow to start, he started being busy during your weekly hang outs, then it would slip his mind to text you back, then he just suddenly stopped texting you. You had been replaced, you would always spend the holidays with his family but this past year you had seen Lucerys post on his insta holiday pictures and she was there instead. Everyone else in his family had reached out to you at some point. usually something along the lines of a happy holidays and that they hoped to see you soon, that they missed you. They even wished you happy birthday. He didn’t.

You had gotten to the point you stopped answering his family's texts, it made you feel sick when Lucerys asked if you would come to his birthday party and you didn’t have the heart to reply to him. You stopped checking their socials, even going as far as to mute them but you didn’t have the heart to unfollow them. then it would get too real, that the people you’ve considered family since you were basically a baby were no longer around.

You wish you didn’t miss him. You wish when started at your aunts gravestone he was not the face that appeared in your mind when you wished you had someone to comfort you. She had died six months ago, you hadn’t even bothered to text him about it. He met her a couple times, but its not like he would care now.

You do not cry for her anymore. Having come far enough in your grief, but you feel yourself come to a halt when you are walking through the graveyard and are stopped by a familiar family.

“Y/n?” You feel a knot grow in your throat. Why were they here? you could see lucerys was holding some flowers. “Hello.” What else are you supposed to say? You are frozen in place as lucerys walks over and throws his arms around you. “I missed you.” You try not to let your tears spill down your face as Lucerys pulls back and looks at you alarmed, “Are you okay?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, unable to even describe what you’re feeling. “You’re so tall.” Your voice cracks as you speak and he slaps you on the shoulder. “’Course i am, had to get taller than mr prince charming over there.”

You don’t want to look at him. You wish he was not even there. But you cannot help yourself the way your eyes drift to where Lucerys is referring to and you wish you hadn’t. He is as beautiful as he was the last day you saw him, he looks like he just came out of a romcom, a long trench coat covering him and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. You have no clue what he’s thinking, his face giving nothing away, cant take your eyes off him. The way his eyes have a gloss over them as he takes a couple steps towards you.

You swiftly turn away from his and notice rhaenyra standing at your side and she reaches out a grips your forearm. “It is so wonderful to see you dear.” You nod and smile at her, “It is always a pleasure Ms. Targaryen.” she hits your arm, “You stay away for a couple months and suddenly I’m Ms. Targaryen, call me rhaenyra dear you know better.” You want to correct her, tell her its been over a year. yet you don't, only nodding and apologizing to her.

“What are you doing here?” Its the first words he’s said to you in god knows how long. You swear your knees almost crumple at the sound of his voice. You want to punch him, spit in his face, you wish you hated him. “My aunt died.” You spit at the ground, you voice coming out angrier than you indented it to.

The people around you immediately flood around to give their condolences. You thank them, Lucerys especially kept you in a deep hug and mentioned how they came today to see rhaenyra's father but they'll make sure to stop by your aunt’s grave.

He says nothing. nothing at all. You hate him. You hate him so much. But you cant say no when they ask if you’ll join them to see viserys and your aunt. you cant even say no when they offer you to join them for dinner.

you two say nothing to each other, not until you say you’ll drive in your car on the way there and turn to walk towards it, still having the map to their house memorized until you are stopped, a hand gripping on your forearm.

“Can i ride with you?” You don't turn around to look at him. Continuing to stare straight ahead, your heart and head churning. You want to tell him no, that you don't wish to ever even see him again. “Please.”

“Fine.”

But you're a pussy. the biggest punk in the whole world as you watch him slide into the passenger seat as you close the drivers door. A silence fills the space between you two, you don't want to speak, a part of you hopes it will stay that way.

“What happened with us?” You harshly break at the red light and whip your head towards him. Rage boiling at your skin as you hiss at him, “What happened? What do you mean what happened? You're the one who ditched me!”

“What the fuck are you taking about?” “Oh so you’re just gonna act like you didn't fucking stop talking to me after you a girlfriend? What is her name? i don't even fucking know because you never introduced us.” A loud honk behind you forced you to turn your head away from him and back on the road, you swear your knuckles turned white from the pressure you were squeezing it.

“i-” “No. Because you know what Jace. Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid face and your stupid girlfriend and your stupid friends because you fucking left me. You have no reason to sit around and ask me what the fuck happened between us because it was all because of you. i put in the effort to reach out i even sent you a fucking gift for your birthday because you couldn't spare the time to hang with me and you don't even text me a happy fucking birthday?!? Fuck you man.”

Your hands slam down on the wheel in frustration as you clench your jaw, the fucking nerve of this guy. You don’t even spare him another glance and he doesn't dare to say anything else for awhile. the drive is long, they were buried far out from your homes so the drive was over an hour.

it takes twenty minutes before he says anything. “I’m sorry.” It comes out strained, if you looked at him he would probably be crying but you do not dare look at him. “I wish i could explain to you why i did it, why i acted like that. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry i just think i liked the attention, i liked having people fawn over me. And her, fuck i don't know, i liked her sure, but she fucking cheated on me with one of the guys on the team, told me she only got with me to get closer to him. Its not an excuse, i should have never put what we had down the drain for someone that never really mattered because you, you matter to me more than anyone else. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, ill say it forever because i don't deserve your forgiveness.”

You pull over into a road side parking lot because you couldn't see the road anymore. Your eyes filled with tears as your shoulders shook with silent sobs, “I am sorry i made you feel this way, that you couldn't even come to me when she died, i liked it, i remember she gave me the toy car display i still have in my room fuck i can't even imagine how you must feel. I miss you. I miss you so much.”

You put your head against the wheel and allow yourself to sob. This is all you’ve wanted to hear for so long that now you have no clue how to feel. You want to tell him to fuck off. That he has no reason to be begging for your forgiveness now.

“Jacaerys,” You swear you hear it wrong, that you must be confused. He whimpers. “No please,” “Its dragged out in a way that has your stomach churning and you shift in your seat. “Don’t call me Jacaerys, Jace please.”

You must be strong. You cannot give into to his sad puppy eyes and cries. Yet you look over to him and feel your resolve crumble. He has tears streaming down his face. He’s looking at you. Has he been looking at you this whole time? “You left me Jace.” He lets out a trembled breath as he dares with shaky hands to grab yours. “I'm sorry. I will beg you to forgive me till the end of time because i will never deserve it. I need you.”

Your heart pounds against your chest as the two of you stare at one another. You feel your hands shake in his grip as the two of you unknowingly move closer to each other.

“I realized after i found out what she had done i was more upset about the fact you were not there more than anything. She had begged me to take her back but the only thing i could think about was you. I was so stupid and so blind i will never forgive myself. You are everything to me.”

“Jace,” He cups your cheeks and lets out a trembled breath, “I was a fool to let you go. I will never make that mistake again,” You cannot believe what is happening, he does not truly mean what you think he’s saying does he? “I had months to think it over. I am so madly in love with you. If you do not feel the same i will act like this never happened and we can just go back to being friends or even if you cannot stomach being around me we can just never talk but-”

He lets out a surprised moan as you shove your lips against his and eagerly pressed his lips against yours. He a lot more vocal than you had expected him to be, eagerly humming against your lips as his hands have moved to your neck.

He lets out a shocked gasp when you push him back into his seat and looks at you with wide eyes as you climb over his lap, pulling the level to have him lay over his back and simply stare at him as you hover above him. He whimpers as you grab the front of his shirt and pull him towards your face, “This is for me. Not you. Right?” He eagerly nods, more than willing to take anything you’ll give him.

He whines as you unbutton his black dress pants and waste no time shoving your hand past his boxers and gripping onto his dick. His head is thrown backwards as you rub your thumb against his tip, ignoring his mumbles until enough precum has dripped down onto your hand before you begin vigorously pumping him up and down.

You do not stop even as he’s asking you to slow down. Well you do, but it is always right before he’s about to come. You do this again. and again. and again. He feels like he’s about to burst, the stimulation is too much for him to bare.

“Please.” You tilt your head at him as he grips the front of your button down shirt. “What do you want?” Your words are spoken like he a stranger approaching you on the street, he whimpers and shoves his head into your chest, his tears threatening to spill out. “Please,”

“awe are you so fucked out you have no clue what you’re talking about huh?” He’s babbling nonsense as you feel his tears pool into your shirt. You fully remove your hands off him for the fourth time and he thinks he might crack. “Please no I’m sorry I’m sorry please please just let me,,” His words trail off as he watches you fully release him from his pants and boxers, his breath shaky as he watches you pool up your shirt and move to hover above him.

“Please please.” “Shut the fuck up.” He whimpers as his tip presses against your folds but you don’t him in enter yet, simply allowing his tip to be dragged up and down your slit. He throws his head back as the tears continue to flow down his face, he can’t take this, his hips rise up to try and thrust into you but you hold him down and spit at him. “You don’t know how to behave slut.”

He lets out a surprised gurgle of sounds when you suddenly slam all the way down onto him and lightly slap him across the face. “Are you happy now slut? You happy your little loser friend is fucking you stupid?”

He can barely speak as you begin to bounce up and down on him. He’s dreamed of this for much longer than he’d like to admit but this is much better than anything he could have imagined. The way your lightly let out sounds of delight are like music to his ears. He wishes he could say something but over the heat that flows over his body and the way he feels your hands slip under his shirt and begin to rub up and down his chest he can’t find the words.

He keeps his hands at his side, not knowing if he is allowed to touch you not wishing to upset you more than he already has. You notice the way his hands twitch and slightly raise as if he wants to reach out to you. You slow down for a moment to grab his hands and place them on your chest, a wordless exchange between the two of you as he stares at you in wonder. So much love fills his gaze you almost flush with embarrassment. You begin to pick up your pace once again as he fondles you over your clothes.

The pit grows larger in his stomach much faster than he would like but due to the overstimulation and the overflowing of emotions he’s on the edge. “I’m so close.”

“Hold it.” He whines and watches as one of your hands slip under your skirt, “You think you should be allowed to cum before me?” He shakes his head, of course not, he doesn’t deserve too.

He swears he almost cums from your blissed out face alone, but he is surprised he manages to contain himself until he feels you throb and your essence drips around him. You slowly lift off him and pump him until his cum drips down your hands.

The car windows are foggy, you have no clue how long you’ve been out here but the sun as begun to set as you allow yourself to fall against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically as his arms come to wrap around you.

“I don’t forgive you,” He feels his heart drop as he gulps, bracing himself for you to lift off him and drop him off at his house, never to speak to him again. “But i think i can one day, you just have to take me out on a couple dates first.”

He grins.

Perm Jacaerys taglist

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife @jacesvelaryons

[byoldervine]

How To Always Have Writing Ideas…

For A New Story:

1. Keep a list. Any time you have one of those sudden bursts of inspiration in the middle of writing a separate story, don’t quit your current WIP or pretend you’ll ‘just remember it’, put it into a separate list. You can always go back to this later on

2. Writing prompts. Look them up, use random word generators, pick a random object you can see, whatever helps you come up with any idea at all. Write a few paragraphs. Can it evolve from there?

3. People watch. Go to a public place and make up backstories for the strangers you come across. That man in the hat is using it to hide his elf ears. That woman with the bright pink hair didn’t dye it, she’s secretly the main character of an anime trying to dodge all the tropes and cliches. That toddler is actually a guardian angel reincarnated to watch over their new baby sibling. What brings them to this place? Where did they come from? Where are they going next?

To Continue An Existing Story:

1. Act it out. Say the words aloud, act out what your characters are doing, get props or people to act off of if you need to. See what feels like the most natural progression of the moment

2. Coffee shop AU, or other substitutional one-shot. Good for establishing dynamics between two or more characters, or even just working out a lone character’s day-to-day. Just write a few paragraphs about your characters entering a coffee shop or similar appropriate establishment/ordinary location. What do they do? What do they order to eat/drink? What do they say to each other? How do they treat the staff and other customers? If all else fails, write what they do after they leave, as if it were an ordinary day for them

3. Rubber duck it. This is something programmers use to work out where they went wrong in their code, but I’ve found it can work for figuring out story stuff as well. What you do is get a rubber duck, or any other object of focus, and start explaining your problem to it out loud. In this case you can read your chapter to the duck, or even give it the full run-down of the plot so far. Warning; side effects may include getting frustrated that the problem was right in front of you and subsequently throwing the duck

For Both:

1. Writing graveyards. I talked a bit about them in a previous post, but writing graveyards are basically just the folder you store your deleted scenes in instead of yeeting them into the void. Reread those, see if they have anything you can recontextualise or repurpose

2. Combine ideas. My WIP Byoldervine is a combination of two separate plots I had that I realised I’d be able to combine - twice. I first realised I could put together my ‘angel and demon heroes protecting humans from a war between heaven and hell’ story and my ‘quest through the fantasy realm to find the ingredients to a cure for a dying god’ story into the same universe as two sides of the same story as a duology. Then I realised I could just remove a few characters, tweak a few plot points and mash them completely together into one book. Combining them works wonders and minimises worldbuilding

3. Go out with friends or family. I guarantee that the one time you’ll be flooded with inspiration is when you don’t have an opportunity to write it down

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Do What I Cannot

This is based on My Graveyard Song because I was captivated by the idea of Danny’s parents burying him alive. That’s basically the only part I took though. This is about him being confronted with his parents again once freed.

This is unedited so feel free to point out mistakes. Contains graphic description of violence.

-----------

The Justice League’s newest hero has been a wonderful asset, truly! Phantom is a rather powerful hero and even though some of his methods are a little questionable he follows the ‘no killing’ rule more strictly then some of the long-term members. Even if it’s just because he doesn’t want to deal with them as ghosts it still counts. Some of the more magical people have an idea that Phantom is more powerful then he’s letting on, but they don’t push it. After all he’s still just a teenager, they don’t really want to have him dealing with universal threats either.

Honestly even if he weren’t a hero Batman at least would have kept him around for the impressively positive affects he has on Red Hood. Jason had been calmer and more reasonable then he had been since his resurrection since digging up that grave and teaming up with Danny. It was just a little unsettling sometimes honestly, sometimes his eyes would glint with the green of the Lazarus waters and everyone would tense up prepared for an aggressive outburst only for Jason to announce he needed to find Danny and leave. The more suspicious minds found it odd, but they figured it was just because Phantom could calm Jason down and didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Really the only problem was that knowing Phantom had alerted them to a potential new source of threat that they really knew very little about. The JLD knew some but not enough and the ways they had to fight ghosts were clunky and unreliable, they needed weapons that would work on ghosts. Not Phantom obviously, though the overly cautious ones privately thought about him too, just in case you know? And there weren’t many people who specialized in such tech, so of course their search lead them to the Drs. Fenton.

The magic users thought their methods were crude and crazy but had to admit they clearly worked so maybe it would be best to invest in at least some of their tech. At least to study and see if it could be improved on. So they were invited for a meeting, and it was decided Phantom would Not be told. Mostly because they didn’t want to stress him out and also because they’d learned these two were ‘shoot first ask questions later’ types who apparently didn’t believe there was such a thing as a good ghost so they might actually try and kill Danny on sight, which would be awkward.

The presentation they gave to the Justice League was predictably unhinged and they knew well enough to take all of it with a grain of salt, especially the part about all ghosts being evil. Danny had already explained it to them, that ghosts were driven by obsessions which meant they behaved differently then humans but the majority only lashed out when something got between them and their singular passion. Some were different, some had malicious passions and some were more complicated. Diana and J’onn both looked like they were trying hard not to pick a fight but they’d all agreed to smile and nod till they got access to the tech.

There was a familiar sudden chill in the room, looking around Batman could tell a few others felt it too, though Flash was typically oblivious.

“Oh dear,” J’onn whispered before Phantom appeared.

“Hey guys what’s up?” He asked, cheerful but slightly accusatory, they should have known better then to think they could keep the meeting from him. Before they could think of anything to say Danny’s eyes caught on the Fentons and narrowed.

“GET DOWN!” Jack yelled pulling out one of those stupid blasters from somewhere.

“What a perfect chance for a demonstration,” Maddie said, sliding on a pair of gantlets.

“You-you don’t recognize me, do you?” Danny asked, and for a moment he looked hurt, then something happened none of them had ever seen before, his eyes turned red. The toxic green they were used to changed to a deep, blood red and his feet touched the ground as he stalked forward. Jack shot, Danny didn’t break stride, a green shield blocked the blast like it was nothing. Maddie tried to lung and was immediately hit in the gut by one of Phantom’s ecto-blasts, knocking her back against the glass.

Batman leapt up and tried to lung and stop Phantom only to hit a wall that rippled with green, a bubble surrounding the ghost and the two hunters, invisible until struck.

Danny grinned, shark like teeth on full display without any mirth, white hair whipping in an unfelt wind, flowing so it almost looked like flames. “I guess I look a lot different then I did when you buried me alive huh? How long did you leave me? Because you ‘couldn’t kill you son’ so you thought it would be more merciful to lock me away till everything human about me rotted.”

“No,” Maddie gasped, recognition suddenly sharp and painful on her features.

“Yes ‘mom’,” Danny snarled bitterly. Jack tried to shoot again but the blaster was knocked out of his hands so quickly no one was sure what hit him before it could fully charge. “YOU MADE ME! AND YOU ABANDONED ME! You’re lucky someone found me, I would have gotten strong enough to break out on my own eventually and if I had I would have destroyed everything.”

“Oh my god, his parents?” Diana nearly whispered. Batman understood how she felt, Danny didn’t like to talk about how he’d ended up buried ‘alive’, that his parents were the ones who had done it… that was horrific. It made sense why he had never been able to speak about it, but Damn that would have been good to know before they had invited Danny’s abusers to give a presentation on weapons that had no doubt been used to hurt him. And now.. what? They couldn’t get to Danny, it seemed like he had gotten to the point that Raven did sometimes when her emotions overwhelmed her, could they get to Danny? Could they stop him from doing something he might regret?

“You are not our son,” Maddie hissed, her breathing still coming in a harsh wheeze from the blow to her stomach. “Danny is dead! He’s gone. You’re just an acto-entity imitating him, and not even well, you’re just a parasite.”

Danny seemed to be losing some control of his form, it was stretching, getting taller, his fingers curling into dangerous claws tipped with the blackness of the star studded void. “Pathetic mortals, you act as if you will never die, but you will join my kingdom. Perhaps it will be punishment enough to become what you hate, perhaps not. Perhaps I will speed up the process so you can’t hurt anyone else,” He snarled his hands beginning to glow with familiar green of his energy blast.

“Danny stop!” Superman said, hitting the burier to try and get through but not even he could break it. Danny didn’t seem to be responding to them though he was hesitating.

Batman was resigning himself to watching Phantom kill his once parents before Jason walked by him. Batman wasn’t usually taken by surprise, but he was shocked, and worried, both because he could see the green glow of pit madness through the eyes of his helmet, which was worrying, and because he walked through the burier keeping the rest of the heroes out like it was nothing.

He walked to Danny, taking his hand, there was a soft sizzle as the gathered green energy burned Jason’s hand without him even seeming to notice. He pulled Danny down to the ground from where he was floating, pulling the young hero into his arms. Danny let himself be pulled into Jason’s arms, the green energy fizzling out as he wrapped his own arms back around Jason’s waist, hiding against his chest. As the anger faded he slumped against Jason’s chest.

Just as the heroes were breathing a sigh of relief and relaxing Maddie went for the dropped gun. But she wasn’t fast enough as Jason drew his own pistol, the one with live ammo, and put a bullet in her head. Diana cried out in shock and Batman froze as blood and brain matter splattered over the watchtower floor and her body slumped. Before anyone could recover Jack followed, another shot executioner style and Batman had to turn away.

The watchtower was completely silent, enough so that he could hear Phantom’s soft sniffles as he cried into Jason’s chest. When Batman looked back Jason had holstered his gun and was just holding Danny Close. The green had faded enough from his eyes that it seemed safe, Batman approached warily and wasn’t surprised to find that the invisible burier was gone now that both the Fenton’s were dead.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said softly as he heard the approach, without emerging from his hiding place in Jason’s arms where he seemed to feel safe. “I wasn’t actually going to kill them, but I guess my want to, my emotions, were strong enough to make Jason respond. I didn’t mean to call you that way.” He looked up at Jason, his eyes green again though red rimmed from tears.

“It’s alright, I would have done it anyway,” Jason growled, holding Danny even tighter. “I’ve killed people for less, they deserved it.”

Batman took a deep breath forcing himself to keep his cool about his son’s constant flouting of his no killing rule, now was not the time to make Phantom feel worse. “Jason why don’t you take him down to one of the sitting rooms so he can calm down.” No doubt Phantom was reliving trauma, and grieving because even if he wanted them dead they had been his parents.

Jason nodded and scooped Danny into his arm who let out an indignant little squawk and insisted he could walk while making no attempt to actually get down. Jason ignored Danny’s performative complaints and kept the young hero’s head hidden against his chest so he wouldn’t have to see the corpses of his parents while Jason carried him out of the room.

Now, how best to deal with the aftermath of… all this. And later on he really would have to ask Danny and Jason what he’d meant by Jason responding to his energy, because it seemed like there might be something more to their relationship then just Danny calming Jason down and that was worrying to say the least.

Part 2: here

[hollowed-theory-hall]

what's the one harry potter pairing u like that u mentioned in the tags of your hinny post?

Anonymous: Can I ask who that minor character you ship with Harry is? For some absurd reason my mind jumped to Stan Shunpike lol but it's probably not him.... Or is it?

Okay, so this is kind of a funny story. Like, my pipeline through hp pairings was a weird one. Like, I used to read a lot of Harry pairings, still do on occasion (some make more sense than others). None of them were ones I would point at and say: "that should've happened in the books"

One day, I was innocently writing a fic (canon divergence of GoF), and it was just for me, for funnsies, never posted it anywhere and not planning to. And I planned to pair Harry with someone there (honestly, I don't remember who because I didn't write the plan down) but when writing, Harry ended up with a different character. And it was so strange to me because that never happened.

Like, how do you write a ship accidentally?

But I did. I wrote Harry into a ship by accident. So I went back to the books to try and figure out why the hell would my subconscious decide that's the way to go.

I'll also preface it by all this being my subjective opinion and I do read other Harry ships in fics, this one just quickly became my favorite to write (and the only one I write). Also, I don't actually think this is a pairing that should've happened in the books, it's place is in fic and that's where I like it.

So, the character I accidentally shipped with Harry is... *drumroll*

Stan Shunpike!

Not really, it's:

Theodore Nott

Now, you might look at the name and go: "Who the fuck is that?"

And you'll be correct. Theo has 0 speaking lines in the entire book series. His name appears twice. He, himself, as a person, only appeared on page, like, 3 times in the background. The scene that gives the most information about him is other characters talking about him. He isn't even present.

That being said, I'm very good at extrapolating a lot of information from very little evidence. So allow me, to walk you through who is Theodore Nott and why I ship him with Harry.

Basic Information

So, let's start with the most basic overview before I pull out the quotes and go any deeper.

We know Theo is a Slytherin student in Harry's year. So he likely shares a dorm with Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Theo's father is both at the graveyard at the end of GoF and in the Department of Mysteries at the end of OotP, so we know he is a Death Eater. We also know Thoe's father was one of the first and closest Death Eaters to Voldemort, who waited for him during his interview with Dumbledore in 1967:

“Then if I were to go to the Hog’s Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed...”

(HBP, page 444)

We also know the Nott family is "as pure-blooded as the Malfoys" according to JKR in an interview. We also know Theo's great-grandfather (maybe? the family relation isn't clear), Cantankerus Nott, is suspected to be the one who wrote the Pure-Blood Dictionary, the book that coined the term "Sacred 28" and made that list (which the Nott family are on).

The name Nott is potentially to be derived from the name Nótt, which is the personification of the night in Norse Mythology. So it has been theorized the Nott family have a Nordic origin. Possible, but it doesn't really matter for this post.

What does, is that he comes from a dark, Death Eater, blood-purist family similar to the Malfoys. Even so, Theo never took the Dark Mark and never joined Voldemort in the books.

Now, that we have the basic information out of the way, let's look at Theodore as a person.

All the details I could gather from the books

Alright, now we get to the fun part. That is, me going through all the relevant scenes that mention Theodore Nott and actually creating a character psychoanalysis out of basically nothing.

So, the quotes aren't organized in a particular order. I'm just going to explain Theo and then explain why all this makes me ship him with Harry.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —” “I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Zabini. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.” Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.

(HBP, page 150)

This is a part of the conversation between Draco, Pansy, and Blaise, Harry overhears when he is hiding in their compartment at the beginning of HBP. I have a few things to note regarding this scene.

Firstly, throughout this conversation, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco all call each other by their first name. This shows closeness, they are all friendly and familiar enough to use their first names with each other. Theo, though, is referred to as "Nott" by all three in the compartment.

He doesn't actually sit in their compartment which is in itself a sign about how he isn't really friendly with Draco's group. Considering the group is most of his year from his house, Theo is likely very lonely, and it will be apparent from other scenes I bring up later.

Secondly, Theo's father is in Azkaban. We know Draco is bothered about his own father's predicament. He mentions it to Harry and bothers him over it, Theo doesn't though. Theo doesn't seem to be bothered by Harry or his father's incarceration.

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that the relationship between Theo and his father is not a good one.

(I know some fics like to have Lucius be abusive towards Draco, for some reason. But the books really don't back this up. Lucius loves Draco and Draco adores his father)

Theo, though, Theo seems to be the one with a very strained relationship with his father. Strained enough that he isn't bothered the man is in Azkaban. What I'm saying is that Theo's father likely abuses or mistreats him in some capacity.

If anything more was needed to complete Harry’s happiness, it was Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s reactions. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: He had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters

(OotP, page 583)

This is a scene at the end of OotP after Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Theo's fathers were caught at the ministry and sent to Azkaban because they are Death Eaters. There are a few important notes about this scene.

The first, Hermione knows Theo, while Harry and Ron don't really. This means she likely knows him from the classes she takes and Harry and Ron don't — Arithmancy and/or Ancient Runes.

The second, he is sitting with other Death Eater children, but I don't think it's by choice. I mentioned in the previous quote how he isn't close to Draco and his crew. He sits with them here mostly because he doesn't have another choice. Theo doesn't seem to really have any friends, so he sits with the closest people he has to friends — kids he has known since he was young because their fathers were in the same circle.

The other note about this is that Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco are all mentioned as being threatening and malicious towards Harry because they don't like that their fathers are in Azkaban. Theo, though, Theo doesn't threaten Harry, he isn't part of their whisperings. As I mentioned above, he's likely happy his father is in Azkaban.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It looked around at the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs. A great wave of relief broke over Harry. Here at last was proof that he had not imagined these creatures, that they were real: Hagrid knew about them too. He looked eagerly at Ron, but Ron was still staring around into the trees and after a few seconds he whispered, “Why doesn’t Hagrid call again?” Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron’s and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

(OotP, page 445)

“The only people who can see thestrals,” she said, “are people who have seen death.”

(OotP, page 446)

The stringy Slytherin boy mentioned here is Theo. This scene proves that:

He takes Care of Magical Creatures

He saw someone die

Let's explore the second one for a moment. The fact Theo can see Thestrals means he watched someone die and was old enough to comprehend what he was seeing. We also know Theo's mother is dead. So it's likely the person he watched die was his mother.

I also want to draw attention to Theo's distaste towards Thestrals. He could likely see them carrying the carriages every year since 2nd year, it's not his first time seeing them. But it doesn't stop his displeasure with their sight from showing. Which says something about him. It means he likely recalls his mother and her death whenever he looks at the Thestrals. and these are memories Theo rather not experience.

We don't know how his mother died, but I'd hazard a guess it wasn't natural. After all, wizards have long life spans, they are more durable to illness and injury, and don't usually die from accidents unless very extreme or magical. And there was no epidemic of dragonpox (a disease that does tend to kill wizards) in the time since 1980 and the books. So, she was more likely killed at some point between 1985(ish) and 1991.

“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.” Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

(HBP, pages 185-186)

First, Theo is an O student in potions since he is in the potions NEWT class, and was probably meant to be there even if Snape was the teacher.

Second, again, Theo doesn't really have friends. He sits next to Draco as the only other Slytherin in the class. Also, they share the circumstances of being sons of Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. Although both of them seem to deal with it quite differently.

Third, Theo joins Draco in making fun of Hermione's blood status, but he does not initiate it. Considering the environment he was raised in and is in, it makes sense he would make fun of it. Whether he's a blood-purist or not, he would want to keep his image considering he doesn't have many allies. Hanging out with Draco is survival, not friendship. They aren't even on a first-name basis with each other.

“Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes,” he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. “When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. . . .

(HBP, page 186)

The final quote I have about Theo is from the same potions class as above. Both he and Draco are portrayed here as underestimating amortentia and its potential damage. It makes sense for their upbringing in the Wizarding World, which has no real laws or regulations regarding love potions that are seen as harmless fun more often than not.

I'll add Theo likely didn't witness a healthy romantic relationship. Considering his father is a Death Eater who is likely abusive and may or may not have killed his mother. With this as his reference to a marriage, it's clear why he'd look down on love and love potions.

Why I think Theo and Harry have potential

Okay, so now that we know who Theodore Nott is, let's talk about why I ship him with Harry.

I think Harry, in general, would get along best with a clever partner with the ability to be ruthless (Slytherins or Ron fall into this category). Because Harry isn't some golden savior; he casts unforgivables, and is very willing to poison Umbridge or Crocio Snape if he could get away with it. He needs a partner that won't be horrified by these thoughts.

Also, Theo literally never speaks on page. Even when spoken to, his reactions are silent. I think this quiet and no need to talk, the ability to be comfortable in silence, is something that would be comfortable for Harry. Harry in the books finds himself annoyed with Ron and Hermione's constant banter on occasion, so I think it fits well.

Theo would also be comfortable around Harry without a need to play a certain part. Because Harry wouldn't care about that. He would honestly rather Theo forgo the pure-blood Slytherin act.

I feel like Harry and Theo, have a good potential to understand each other. Theo lost his mother and likely experiences abuse from his father. It makes them very likely to trauma bond over their crap life and shared experience. Two out of three only ones who could see the Thestrals in the entire class.

The other thing I feel they could connect over is being lonely. Harry spent all his childhood until Hogwarts basically being on his own. Theo stayed on his own. Draco at least has his parents, he has other students he's closer to, not that he shares everything with them, but he has some support network. Theo has none. And this is something Harry knows well.

Theo, I think, wouldn't expect anything specific from Harry. He doesn't even interact with him, not to mock him, and not to idolize him, he doesn't care at all. And we know how much Harry appreciates being thought of as Harry and not as the Boy-Who-Lived. Theo would allow Harry to be himself without some mold he wants him to fit in.

The fact Theo never becomes a Death Eater, even though he was in Draco's year and his father was a Death Eater before Lucius (and in better standing than Lucius with Voldemort) is so interesting. It's somewhat surprising Theo wasn't marked. It means he didn't want to be. It means that Theo Nott didn't want to torture and kill muggleborns or blood traitors, or anyone really. And he didn't want to swear his allegiance to Voldemort. This is just a fascinating fact to me and something I enjoy considering. What life experience made him come to that conclusion? Was it just his dislike of his father that pushed him away? Could he have been another Sirius Black (Gryffindor in a Slytherin family) under slightly different circumstances? I mean, Voldemort likely wouldn't force him to become a Death Eater, but would his father? I don't know what at all went down there, but I like that potential story.

We also know he wasn't part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, even though some minor Slytherins were mentioned to be part of it. He just seems to be an actually decent guy (I don't care what Cursed Child says about him, I know he's there but I avoided almost anything to do with Cursed Child so I barely know the plot).

Finally, this is a character Harry doesn't have as much drama to get over with. Yes, sometimes I want to read overcoming drama between characters before it becomes a romance, but sometimes I want something chiller than that. And Theo is a really chill, safe, Slytherin option for Harry.

[brucewaynehater101]

Look maybe it’s just me but if I saw my little brother spiraling I wouldn’t just corner him in a graveyard once to talk about therapy then let him fuck off to go globe trotting

I mean... kind of I'm trying to be more canon accurate in my posts, so I apologize for correcting ya.

Cassie was the one to meet Tim in the graveyard. Dick met him at the city bounds.

Here's a funny pic of Dick as payment

Bruh. I'd either be so intimidated or so mad if Dick did this to me.

"We need to talk." After what Tim walked into of Damian wearing the Robin suit because Dick didn't talk to him until after the suit was made? I'd be mad (this is not an anti Dick. This is just how I would feel).

Anyways. Dick didn't let Tim go. Tim held him at staff point and guilt tripped the man into letting him go (not anti-Tim either).

Re-reading it again, I still think Tim is an unreliable narrator.

However, Tim is all like, "Hey, I know I sound nuts. I know how it looks, but I know I'm right." He provided examples of how he can, in fact, understand where Dick is coming from.

And then Dick is all like, "I know how you feel, but you need a therapist." Which... yes, but that's not the point. Tim is bringing up all this horrid shit in his life and acknowledging how he understands Dick's viewpoint (while also saying Dick is only there cause Cassie called him). Then Dick claims to understand Tim's perspective, but only from Dick's "Tim must be seeing things where isn't anything instead of grieving" viewpoint.

Basically, they aren't communicating with each other efficiently (they are also physically fighting each other while doing this too).

It's a mess. A hot mess.

Dick is trying:

But he's also just not listening to Tim. He's not giving Tim the benefit of the doubt. He's concerned af, but he's not listening or trusting Tim. He's just going at it from his own worried mentality that Tim's going down a conspiracy bender. I don't blame Dick for not communicating well (poor man is going through so much at this point [Damian, JLA, switching to Batman, etc]).

However, I also understand Tim's perspective. He doesn't trust Dick to actually listen to him. Dick wants to help Tim Dick's way and not what Tim believes he needs.

I personally get very very triggered if my boundaries are not met. If someone held on after I told them to let go? Yeah. Hands are being thrown. I also get triggered if people try to force me to do shit, don't listen to me, or try to do "what's best for me" when I've told them no. Real quick way to get cut off by me.

That's off topic, lmao.

Anyways, Dick kind of let Tim go, but that's because Tim forced him to. It wasn't because Dick didn't care, but he didn't care in the way Tim wanted him to (debatable if that's not how Tim needed either).

I'm curious. Are there any comics that cover that scene from Dick's POV? I'd appreciate it if anyone could let me know ^^

Also, I agree I would not do what Dick did here. On the other hand, my siblings and I have worked very very hard for the relationships we have. It's taken years of trial and error to get the boundaries and level of communication the way it is. We all agree to allow the others to make decisions for themselves and fight their own battles unless otherwise asked (I had a habit of trying to help and fix the situation for them when I was a teen. Now we just inform and offer help. Lots of acknowledgment for boundaries as well). If my siblings want to make dumb decisions, I let them. Just as they would for me. I might tell them I think that's dumb as hell, but it's their life.

If Tim was my sibling, I'd say something like, "I'm not sure I believe you, but I trust you. If this is what you need, if you think this is true, I'll support you. Would you like my direct assistance with this?"

If they say no, then I'll respond with, "Okay. I can handle Gotham as long as you keep me in the loop. If it's been 48 hours without contact, I will hunt you down. I love you."

Then we'd hug goodbye.

On the other other hand, there's not this age gap between us. Dick is 7 or so years older than Tim, and Tim is a teen. Dick may feel it's his responsibility to look after Tim and might be hitting the road bumps I did with my siblings (of giving them the respect and trust to handle their own issues as well as know what they need).

So, the situation is a hot mess :)

[lover-of-mine]

Let's talk about this and patterns in the show, shaw we?

Okay, so Buck wearing green here is stressing me out now. I have a really long meta in Buck and green and red clothing (you can read it here), but I'll explain the green side of the point here if you don't want to read that. Basically, Buck wears a lot of red, enough for it to be a stable color for him, and red's complementary color is green. He's usually on the reds, pinks, and oranges.

The point of a complementary color, is to create contrast, and they used green on Buck in the coma world, so we would feel like something is wrong even if we can't quite figure out why.

They made a lot of choices about his wardrobe in the coma dream that just looked weird, up to getting him black vans instead of the usual white hightops, and that creates a contrast with the usual Buck that's unsettling.

Why is that relevant? Well, green is his something is wrong color. The coma world being the most blatant example because that sweater is green, BUT he wears green during breakups and when he's doing misguided stupid shit in the name of love. The breakup with Ali, the breakup with Taylor, and I will throw in the graveyard as a breakup with Eddie, because that's the feel of the scene and he's wearing green, but technically he's just being an idiot about love.

He's also wearing green when he takes Red to see Cindy, subsequently when he talks to Maddie about how it feels to always be left, when he's hiding at Eddie's place because he doesn't want to confront Taylor because that would lead to them breaking up and he's not there yet, and when he is trying to convince himself Abby is coming back (this last one really confused me but I did color picked a palette out of that shirt and that's green).

But if we established enough of a pattern to say he does misguided shit when it comes to love, like inserting himself in Red's love life, saying this random woman he met 5 minutes ago really sees him, trying to convince himself the women who fled the country is coming back to him, then Buck wearing green with Eddie is worrying.

Because if you look at the conversations they have in the firehouse, they are usually close to the point but still need something else to truly fix the situation, they hiding something or holding on to something they shouldn't, and it goes from the first fight at the gym with the way Buck is making his insecurities about Eddie and not really working through what's really bothering him, after the lawsuit, they do clear the air but Eddie is still hiding the whole fighting thing and the fighting thing actually makes Eddie flinch away from Buck, when they are talking after the dinner with Buck's parents, Eddie is trying to have a conversation but Buck wants to hold on to anger, when they are talking about the panic attacks, Eddie shuts Buck out because he doesn't want to admit Buck is right yet, and when they are talking about Chris having nightmares, Eddie is fully taking the blame for Chris missing Shannon, even if that's something completely out of his control and that eventually even leads to Eddie quitting and the thought process starts there.

So they always involve one of them wanting to have a conversation but the other not being fully ready to be honest about everything so they are talking but they are not on the same wavelength. They also always end with one of them walking out.

I have a really long meta about the framing in a lot of their big conversations (you can read it here if you want all the thoughts), but basically if they are on the same level, as they are both sitting down they are usually talking about Eddie.

Because when they are talking about Buck, Eddie is usually standing up and Buck is looking up at him. (I have a meta on the looking-up thing if you feel like reading more thoughts on that)

And if they are discussing their relationship, they are face to face.

Random add on, if they are talking about Chris, they are usually sitting side by side on the same surface in a sense, yes I'm counting the counter as one surface lol

So signs point to the new stills being Buck forcing Eddie to talk about something he's not ready to talk about. But when you add the green while Eddie is not wearing blue, so the green is not about the blue and green thing, (I have a meta on the blue and green thing in general and it applied to buddie too that one is truly unhinged tho), and the way talks at the station mean holding on to something they shouldn't and the still of Eddie talking to Bobby, this conversation can very easily be a moment of tension.

AND, I know I'm not the only one who saw those stills and immediately thought about the panic attacks conversation, BUT, stay with me because now I'm reaching, the graveyard conversation tries to call back to the dumb luck conversation (I also have a meta on the graveyard that touches on that if you want thoughts)

But basically, similar outfits and angles, locations we never saw before and probably will never see again. But, while the equine therapy talk works to give Eddie hope and bring them closer together, the cemetery has the exact opposite effect. It creates space between them.

If we consider this and the way it seems to be calling back to a conversation that led Eddie to do the right thing about Ana, they could very much be calling back to that just to do the opposite and having Eddie refuse to listen to Buck for whatever reason.

Because one thing about the dumb luck conversation is also the movement, they are walking, the camera is moving, the conversation is moving and they are making progress, something we don't feel in the cemetery because they are in the same place, the conversation is not leading them anywhere besides away from each other.

And the conversation about the panic attacks that happen while Buck corners Eddie while Eddie is trying to sleep, so Eddie will be in a more relaxed state than when Buck is walking in wearing civilian clothes and Eddie is so deep in his workout he's glistening with sweat, so Buck is walking in on Eddie with a completely different energy. And assuming conflict to the point Buck feels the need to corner him in the gym? That means fight.

This is a very long way to say divorced era 2.0 is upon us lol basically they are arguing and it's about Eddie refusing to listen to Buck about something. Maybe even love related.

If you reached this I love you 🫶

If you liked my brand of crazy, you can find all my metas here.

[the-artist-grimm]

Sooo, I kinda binge read all of your CoTL au, and forgive me if I missed anything, but do your lamb and Narinder ever make-up and work things out? Or more specifically, does Lamb ever forgive Narinder?

They do make up eventually! They just gotta work out other issues first.

The first few months the Lamb basically ignores Narinder and leaves him in the care of an elderly follower who typically takes on ‘troubled’ newbies. Anthea’s tired, they’re confused, they’re grieving Aym and Baal since during their time as vessel they essentially became like a second parent to them, and they’re hurt because for the first time in their life Anthea wanted something. They wanted to tell Narinder their feelings, they wanted to maybe start some sort of life together, like the lamb had never considered having a future out of the guilt of being the survivor, so finally letting themselves indulge that selfish wish just for it to crumble? Did he think so little of them, that an out of context conversation was enough to push him away? Forget him not respecting their privacy deal by listening in-that stung the most. Anthea puts their grief in a box and throws themselves into cult-leader/new god stuff to try and not have time to dwell outside of nightly visits to the graveyard to cry over their family and the twins’ graves. 

Meanwhile Narinder immediately regrets everything after the two of them have a massive argument that first moment he appeared on the indoctrination stone-he realizes he jumped the gun, is now down two children and the person he’d fallen in love with now refuses to so much as look at him. Nona, the elderly deer woman he’d been placed into the care of alongside the Knucklebones Gang as Anthea's parental figures quickly figure out the whole situation is just miscommunication and are trying to get him to just tell the lamb plainly ‘You were doing the exact same thing my siblings did before they betrayed me, I'm sorry I was scared-’, but its kinda hard to do when the lamb just avoids him. Plus he’s thinking he’s earned what he’s got. 

Aym and Baal getting revived is what kickstarts them slowly talking again. When Anthea gets the necklaces from the seller the lamb has no clue how to use them, so they go to Narinder with basically ‘We’re both at fault for their deaths, you’re at the graves as much as me mourning, I’ll put aside everything just please HELP ME’. And he does. Perfectly. Its been 4 months and Anthea’s having a really hard time justifying their anger since he’s been behaving the whole time, and when it comes to the twins only speaks in regards to resurrecting them, works on things/loses sleep preparing the ritual when the lamb has cult things to do, and when an old failsafe left by Shamura activates during the ritual itself he runs to the lambs side to help keep them steady as they break through it. They’re still hurt, but they do realize that they’re being a bit of a jerk ignoring him like this.

The twins also don’t come back mentally ok. Their deaths/the resurrection leaves both with pretty bad PTSD and separation anxiety (they’re like 11-12 they’re too young for all of this), and especially at night the twins alternate between needing Anthea, Narinder, or both nearby to sleep since despite Narinder’s denial he’s their dad 100%, and the Lamb is basically the twins’ maternal parent. It was Anthea being so good with the kits that got them to become friends at first, and it's the kits that slowly help them to be that again. 

It still takes time for them both to be ready to sit down and just explain where their heads were at that day. As Anthea frees the bishops and gets their sides of the story they realize just how much their behavior mirrored the bishops’ prior to their betrayal of Narinder and how much of their behavior in a way mirrors Shamura themself, the ‘oldest sibling’ giving pieces away till nothing was left and they snapped (Anthea never reached that point, but Shamura did with jumping the gun on imprisoning Narinder. Lives of the many over the one with potential to be a risk), and Narinder needs to come to terms with how his imprisonment came to be/make amends with his siblings.

They DO make up after a little over a year, and after everything kinda falls back into place. Things are different sure, but they love each other too much to hold back anymore.

(Love how this AU has become half miscommunication since this pantheon has no clue how to talk to each other, and the other half is the Lamb accidentally adopts two kittens with Narinder before they suddenly have a weird gotta share the kids despite the divorce arc)

[silent-stories]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐌

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie wants to introduce you to his mom, so you go to the graveyard with him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, death of a parent

It was late evening and the sky was starting to darken when you sat down on the ground, in front of the stone with Mrs. Munson's name engraved on it.

"Hi mom, this is Y/N," Eddie said as he crossed his legs and stared at the faded photo of the smiling woman on the tombstone "my girlfriend."

He had been wanting to take you there for some time, he said that since he knew your family he wanted you to get to "know" his too, only if you wanted too, of course.

"I've talked about her so many times before, I do it every time I come here actually, but I've never brought her here before." He added pulling his hands out of his jacket pockets and playing nervously with the rings on his fingers.

He kept talking without ever meeting your gaze as if he was afraid of what he might read in your eyes.

"She's here because she's really important to me and I wanted to introduce her to you too. Uncle Wayne has already said that she likes her a lot, they're basically best friends, sometimes I think she loves him more than me." He said the last part with a slight laugh but from his expression he didn't look amused.

"You two have a lot in common, you know?" He asked before pausing as if he was really waiting for an answer.

In return you only heard the rustling of the leaves of the trees caused by the wind.

"She's as kind as you were. She always lets me copy her homework even though I should probably start doing it myself if I wanna graduate. Sometimes she brings home-cooked food for me and Wayne, she and her mom make really good chocolate cakes, you would have liked them a lot." He explained, his voice low.

"Sometimes we cook together like I used to do with you. But Y/N and I always end up making a mess or fighting with flour. But it's fun, so we keep doing it even if we have to clean the trailer from top to bottom afterwards." A sad smile appeared on Eddie's face, probably remembering his days spent with his mother when she was with him.

"And she's as funny as you, she can make me smile with a simple joke even though my day has been shit and I just want to sleep for three days straight." He added and your heart squeezed in your chest.

"She's caring. That's another thing you both have in common. Once I didn't go to school because I had a fever and she missed an important test to come and check if I was okay. Actually I wasn't very okay, she had to keep my hair back as I threw up. I told her she could go anyway but she stayed with me until Wayne was back, at night. She stayed there all those hours, making me rest my head on her stomach and running her hands through my hair just like you used to do." At this point you just wanted to cry. You never thought that all those simple gestures that were part of your relationship with Eddie could mean so much to him.

You reached out to him and grabbed his hand which had started to shake slightly and definitely not from the temperature. He fliched at first, then hold it as if his life depended on it.

"She's also a good listener, she never judges when I talk about my problems and always listens when I talk about things I'm interested in . She says she likes to hear me talk about what I like, Dungeons & Dragons, the band and music in general, books. Once I even started reading the Hobbit aloud to her, but she fell asleep after half an hour with her head on my chest. I didn't get mad, she was too pretty. And I could never be mad at her, she makes me happy." If he was talking about being happy, then why did his voice sound so broken?

"When I'm with her I feel good, mom. It doesn't matter if I'm at school, in the trailer or on a bench in the woods, when I'm with her I feel at home. And it feels good. It feels great." He added as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"She's one of the best people I know." He breathed as you reached up to him and wiped it away with your thumb, slowly caressing his cheek.

"You would have loved her, mom." He said finally, before wrapping an arm around your waist and pushing you against him, resting his head on your shoulder and sniffling.

"It's okay." You said rubbing your hand on the fabric of the denim jacket covering his back.

"I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too. And I'm so sorry I didn't get to know your mom. If she was even half as amazing as you are, then she really must have been great." You said leaving a kiss on his forehead.

"She was." He murmured as his arms still held you.

Your lips brushed his temple leaving a light kiss there too, then you turned towards the tombstone.

"Mrs. Munson, I promise I will take good care of your boy."

[soscarlett1twas]

Dulce et Decorum est

↳ Xanthus serves in World War I. ↳ 2.4k words / also available on ao3! ↳ This fic is far from accurate to the actual Ypres Salient. I wanted to explore Xanthus' mentality as he canonically served in WWI. So, while I did some research, most of this fic is inspired by wartime poetry, particularly 'In Flanders Field' by John McCrae and both 'Dulce et Decorum est' and ‘Exposure’ by Wilfred Owen. Also! I discovered this painting while writing that's basically the exact setting of the fic. ↳ Content warning for blood, disease, guns, and (specifically trench) warfare.

It was hard to believe that, even in the midst of war, silence could envelope the world. Thick layers of it painted the Ypres Salient, as disturbing as the starless midnight it shared the hour with. Not the skuttle of a rat, not grass in a breeze. Death, it seemed, had a way of silencing. 

For all intents and purposes, it was all quiet on the Western front. 

Xanthus didn’t trust it one bit. 

How could he trust the very thing he cheated? His eyes drifted across no-man’s land, the scorched earth left by the Germans, with a tremble he hadn’t felt since his first time serving in the British army. Fog obscured the skyline. Corpses of trees barely stood, crooked and black. For as far as he could see, there was no green. Just the torn-up dirt and puddles of not-quite water. 

Xanthus’ grip tightened on the rifle. His nails were bitten to the quick. 

His gaze never left the scene. Even from the shallow view allotted to him by the firestep, shadows and whispers danced, him a beat behind their rhythm. They would disappear as soon as he glanced at them, then reappear in the peripheral gloom. Still, he chased them, eyes darting from ghost to ghost.  

War, it seemed, had a way of invoking paranoia. 

Xanthus’ trench was along the front lines, and he, given the honor of being on nightwatch during the tense time. Just two years ago, Ypres had been fought for again, and the Entente had lost. Badly. The Germans overran the old British and French trenches which had cleaved into their conquered territory, the Allies calling upon their own for assistance. Canadians, Indians, Algerians, and Moroccans now fought for a war forced upon them, the same way Belgians had to step up and defend Ypres as the Germans marched ever-forward. 

New allies were not the only introductions during the second fight for Ypres. Chlorine gas had swept through the battle and choked out countless men. 

Apparently, that wasn’t enough. 

Xanthus’ gaze flitted back down to the ground. Glass pools replicated the hell above. Swirled in them, the only color was a murky red from the slaughter of soldiers. It was an easy trick. But below, sunk to the bottom of the mixture, was a colorless poison. They had all thought it to be the same as the chlorine; when the smell was faint of mustard and men didn’t immediately drop, they even spat about how the Germans were growing weak.

It took a few hours for the effects to set in. 

Xanthus darted his sights back up to the wasteland. He had known better than to trust hope – the Americans had joined the war not long ago, and the news managed to enhearten some, but not Xanthus. This was penance for that longing for a better future. 

Even still. Xanthus Claiborne: A murderer, an unnatural; and Lawrence Claiborne, the soldier. All his duplicities should have shielded him from this horror. All it managed was to kill his dreams – war was still carnage, and for as much as he could pretend he was distanced from it, bloodbaths would still reflect his face when he bore down on murdered men.  

When the men in his regiment blistered and screamed and died, Xanthus knew that this was a new evil. 

The rifle shook in his hands. Pointed out into the graveyard of a clearing, Xanthus’ memories reminded him of just how futile the gun was. Not when the gas wiped them out. Not when it still lingered.

Xanthus’ teeth bit into his bottom lip, for a moment forgetting his fangs. 

Xanthus had survived the chlorine’s initial deployment, back in 1915. His healing worked wonders in keeping him alive, if incapacitated. The same happened with the new mustard gas. He hid the blistering well enough so as to not alert suspicions, and they dissipated within the day. Most everyone else had dropped like bullet shells. 

But this gas remained. Not just in the soldier’s bodies – it polluted all water and sunk into the dirt. The other faded, but this time, standing in the dug-out trench, the smell and chemicals never wafted away.

Even with each hollow breath he took, Xanthus could smell, could taste, the abomination. And even with his miraculous healing, it was a cancer. His eyes burned. Blisters he thought were gone popped up across his body in changing places. A cough clawed up his throat (he feared his lungs were regularly filling with fluid, then draining, then refilling – a vicious cycle which murdered the rest). 

He was nothing more than an animated corpse, and for the first time in these long centuries, he felt like it.

Xanthus’ rifle loosened in his hands. He scrunched his eyes and drew one hand up to massage his temples. Memories of medical bays fueled his mind. “The lucky one,” they all said. They weren’t all from the Great War. 

For a few more minutes, he stood, gun propped on the parapet. But marionettes could only dance around him for so long. A trickle of sweat ran from his forehead to jowl. 

He knew they were not coming. The silence echoed back. He did not trust it. 

When he jerked to the side, dangerously slinging the gun as well, he collapsed back into the trench.

A sight of mud turned to gray. The small enclave he used for nightwatch was nothing more than piled stones, but a respite nonetheless. 

Xanthus sat for a few moments, heaving. When his gun dropped and rattled to the floor, he grunted, and slammed his knuckles into the bricks. Hot pain instantly rushed from his shaking hands and he watched, in more agony than the impact, as the wounds healed over. Surfaced blood streaked, but dried in mere seconds. 

His breath was ragged. He shoved his fist into the stone, over and over again. 

This war was an assault on all senses, Xanthus thought as he brutalized himself. Sure, the smell and the taste and the sight, but by God, it was the hearing that came first. How ironic that now it was peaceful, now there was quietude, after the dread took its strongest. 

Where was it when Xanthus stood, more attuned than anyone, to the rattle of gunfire and men screaming? Rushing across no-man’s land left him able to hear out to the German trenches and everything between. He simply had to suffer it. And where was it when he laid at night, a being without need of sleep, but desperate for it so he could drown out the tanks and the roaring aviation? When he heard the few friends he made hearts stop pumping? 

Where was it when Xanthus turned his rifle on an ear, and shot the organ clean off? 

And where was it when it, after he blamed it on battle, regrew in four months?

Xanthus’ thrusts into the wall slowed, his hand going limp and running down the bricks, until it rested beside him. 

It didn’t matter. He could not get hurt, not in a meaningful way. He could already feel the wounds closing, the battery insignificant. 

He threw his head against the stone wall carelessly. 

The flesh stitched itself back together in the passing minutes. Meanwhile, Xanthus fueled his disquiet with memory. 

Lawrence had known war. But it was never this, never all-encompassing; there was, after all, a world beyond England and Scotland during the Second Bishop’s War. Xanthus, it seemed, did not – or at least, not the stratagem of modern warfare. He had followed the stepping stones, ignorant until they dropped, himself caught in the freefall. 

A cough ground up his throat, and bile rose with it. 

He had witnessed humanity’s descent – ascent? – into this madness. Hell, he was older than the country his fellow soldiers lauded as their savior. And yet he was here, with them. Suffering, dying in the great quiet, knived by the mental games their very species played. 

Because the gas was a game. Its purpose was the tricks, deployed with shells that broke into a giggling hiss. 

War could not kill Xanthus. But it could do everything else.

When his fist curled, the nails bent into his palm. Briefly, he panicked without the familiar weight of a gun. He snatched it off the ground and brought it to his chest.

He had never expected to truly be hurt, to be affected. But in their efforts to decimate each other, they managed to even wound immortality. A vampire reduced to human fears, because of humans, without the possible human release. 

In some small way, Xanthus felt human. Artificially – their misery, their desires, fitting for a finite life. He knew it was a false mirage. But still, he reached for his gun in comfort, as if his teeth weren’t markers of a much more vicious retribution. 

He hated it. 

He fucking hated it. 

Finally, he and his kind were welcomed back into ‘personhood’ – not because they were deemed more acceptable or humanity grew collective empathy, but because even humans stooped to their level: fodder. 

The vast silence was cut with bitter laughter. 

Subconsciously, Xanthus curled into himself as the laughter turned to coughing. He forced himself to swallow down the mucus. The rifle sat between his legs, pointed upwards, with his hands clenched to it. 

As his fit died down, he rested his forehead on the warm metal. 

And the silence was back, as deafening as ever. 

Except for the heartbeat. 

Xanthus didn’t move his head, but slit an eye open to watch the opposing side of the trench. The beat was coming from inside it – not an enemy – but there was no due for a guard switch. 

A man stumbled around the corner. His pulse was faint, barely a whisper – more powerful was the sound of liquid sloshing in his lungs. Sucker-like sores grew along his arms and chest. His wool coat was unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows, and he wore no hat. 

He paid Xanthus no mind as he crept forward, walking like it was his first day out of the womb. With too hard of a sway, he collapsed against the wall opposite of Xanthus and sunk to the floor. His eyes remained, though bleary, attached to the sky. 

Closer, the rush of blood echoed. Xanthus’ tongue flicked across a fang. 

It had been so long. He’d staved off desiccating with enemy soldiers or, when in a ward, blood saved for transfusions. He hadn’t properly feeded since his conscription. As if answering his thoughts, the hunger struck, a well in his stomach. 

The man’s chest heaved, face still upwards. 

He would die anyway. 

Xanthus shifted off the firestep slowly so as to not start him. His movements drawled with a predator’s muscle-memory, though more ridge with the discipline of a soldier. 

He drew to the man. It was only when he towered over him, rubies starch in the darkness, that the man looked at him. 

“Hello,” he muttered. It would’ve been unintelligible to anyone else. 

What happened next was methodical. The vampire slid down to his level and applied weight to the others hands, constricting him. His knee buckled on the other’s leg. He leaned forward, and with a swift motion, released his arms (only now did he drop the gun), hands jerking to maneuver his neck as he bared fangs. They sank into the skin with ease. 

It was bitter, he instantly noticed. The blood pumped lazily, carrying with it the poison which seeped into his skin. Despite his own cyclical conditions, Xanthus pressed on, refusing to let his only meal waste away. 

Naturally, the man resisted. He was weak. His burned arms tried to push the vampire’s away, off his neck, though managed nary a scratch. His legs bobbed. His neck strained. Still, it was futile to Xanthus. 

The man continued to mutter to himself. Xanthus pressed on. 

Even as the blood replenished him, it was sickening – he was starved and drank like it, but it was a drunken haze brought on by spoiled wine. Xanthus doubted he’d ever willingly eat mustard again. 

Just as he was about to break for air, the man’s fingers threaded into Xanthus’ hair. For some odd reason, it eased him out of the spur, as his fangs gently retracted. Both of their breaths heaved off-sync. Xanthus was still so close, the heat he expelled onto the man ricocheted back to him. 

The vampire tilted his head slightly, glancing up through mangey threads of hair. Playing on the man’s face, in the depths of night, was the hint of a smile.

His lips still moved, though silently now; Xanthus still recognized their shape. A common soldier’s prayer, said by those dying or over the beds of those who were. 

He didn’t understand it, not until the man looked down at him. With a bleeding neck and a shattered voice, he made a sound below silence, the illusion of words more than anything – “Thank you, sweet angel.”

His fingers stayed soft in his hair. 

“You have come to save me. I am welcomed into His kingdom.” A wiry grin now broke across his face, peeling the skin taut. He was missing a front tooth.

He thought Xanthus was saving him. That he was an angel, ready to take him to Heaven. To his God. Away from hell on earth. 

For a heartbeat, Xanthus could not move. He suddenly felt carved out, nothing but bones and skin. 

There were memories of another dying soldier-boy, the wound-up toy which had marched itself right into the tinderbox. For glory. For God. 

And he remembered his death. Another soul believing they were being saved, only to be taken advantage of by a vampire. 

And it was that thought which frightened him the most. 

If you could believe it, the soldier’s heartbeat slowed even more. Yet in his eyes, the dullness now shone without dust – not reflecting the monotonous shattering of a psyche, but heavy with the need of sleep. He was so close to it. 

Xanthus could become Audric. To ‘save’ as many as he could from this war, only to force them into a future more brutal than anyone could dream. 

So instead, Xanthus gave him what he wanted – what they both wanted. He could not tell which side of him it belonged to, if there was anything truly mortal or supernatural about mercy. 

A soft lullaby drifted from his lips, a soothing command. And the man closed his eyes and mouth, relaxing into Xanthus, like a child in his mothers arms.

The blood stayed warm, even as a body turned to a corpse. And Xanthus, who could do nothing but remain, drank. 

[lycocarpum]

miquella thoughts bc i still love this kid no matter what the writing team does with him (this is not my first rodeo with fromsoft games lmao)

Major Spoilers (oﾟvﾟ)ノ

i'm still not at all mad at the direction they decided to go with him, BARRING the retconning of his relationship to his sister and the entirety of the hailigtree. Those choices seem like late editions to tie up why things weren't being addressed in the dlc, and they're plainly stupid, so we just won't acknowledge that much further. I think the evidence from the rest of the game speaks more to the contrary than I could. I also think that Radahn should've been replaced with Godwyn for thematic clarity, buttttt I 'll get to that.

what i DO like about how he's handled is 1) the way he dealt with St. Trina and literally abandoning his sense of love in a hole in the ground, and 2) his choices re: Radahn from a sheer logistical point of view, or at least how I'm taking it.

Imagine for a second: he's tried basically everything to kill or revive Godwyn. Nothing has worked. He has a couple of plans left, but it's getting down to the wire. MAYBE if he could break his own curse, MAYBE if he could make some kind of curse-breaking needle, MAYBE if... etc. Now he's made his cocoon, but the tree is rotting without him. He needs an out, and decides to use Mogh for that (whether he was fully innocent at the time or not is debatable, we don't know). He's removed, tries to cure what he can for Radahn's rot on the way, but Mogh spirits him away to the palace and he's essentially forced to abandon the plans he has with his body. I still don't think ALL of that was intentionally planned, I think Mogh went off script a bit.

In this shadow realm, Miquella abandons every part of himself until nothing is left but the will to become a God. If he can ascend here, at least, MAYBE he can bring Godwyn and the others with him (there's a huge Godwyn face in one of the dungeons, so he's still present in this place, somehow). Maybe in THIS realm, all of his siblings can be alive and healthy. Meanwhile, Mogh is telling his corpse about Radahn's defeat. It's only a matter of time before this Tarnished comes to kill him, too... And there's a large, strong body available to be puppeted, and a good excuse to practice resurrecting one of his siblings. A god needs a Lord as a consort, right? That's how it worked for his mother and father... and considering his other half was stubbornly clinging to things like compassion and memory, he is now bereft of one.

He's using Radahn because he's out of options, out of places to run, and out of compassion to give. Literally, he left it a graveyard! He loved him in life, sure, but whatever motivates him now is not LOVE whether storge or eros or whatever, it's love as a justification. In truth, it's practicality. He is backed into a corner and convinced (rightly! by our inability to chose otherwise!) that we are there to kill him. It's love utilized as a weapon.

DO I WISH FROMSOFT HAD LET US TALK TO HIM god absolutely, yes. I miss Gwendolyn every day. However, I knew better to expect that. I wish we had gotten his perspective and justification for his actions, I wish we could've Felt the effects of him abandoning his heart and his love in pursuit of a hollow victory, and I really wish we could've put him back together-- but that is for me, and you, to build out.

he's still my favourite character and I love him dearly. girlboss failure. <3

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter eight: where did i go wrong? | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 3.7k

━ warnings: canon typical violence, blood, etc

━ masterlist

━ a/n: sorry for disappearing! essentially, i started grad school and it is So Much Work. but if you'd like some unnecessary rambles on tim and wally's relationship here and in light of their og meeting in robin (1993), you can also find my thoughts on that here <3

 The next day, you don’t hear much from Steph. 

She does text you a few times, mostly reassurances and that she’s working to pull something together. You don’t quite understand but she was so convincing the day before, you let it go. 

You mostly spend the day—after sleeping in—learning your new phone, excited at having something new and so high-tech to play with. Flash texts you several times during the day. Blurry selfies and equally blurry pictures of Keystone and Central. Even a couple of the New York skyline, as he informs you he decided to drop in and visit a few friends. 

You can’t send him much. The clouds that hang in the sky, waiting to pour down on unsuspecting Gothamites at a moment’s notice. The feral cat that hangs out in the alley by your apartments, who you get close enough to to catch mid-hiss. The person on the subway carrying what you suspect to be a possum in their bag but Flash insists is actually an opossum. Whatever the difference is. 

There is a difference!

idk sounds made up

You’re from the city. Of course you think that.

ok WOW

you’re blaming my dead parents for where they settled????

Yes.

wow

You go into work in relatively high spirits, considering everything. 

Black Bat stops by for some gummy worms and a can of Red Bull and you tease her a bit for it.

“Signal’s influence?”

“Better than coffee.”

“Fair enough.”

Red hasn’t been by, you think, watching her go. Not yesterday and not today, though it’s early. He usually stops by nearly every night, if not for a couple minutes. But nothing specifically decrees that he comes by… You’re just used to it, you suppose, and last night’s absence was noticeable.

There’s still time, though. Maybe you’ll see him later tonight. 

Overhead, the AC turns on. They fixed it, along with that electrical issue Red Robin caused last week. It works a little too well, though. These last few days have had you uncomfortably cold, so today, you come armed with a hoodie—Tim’s hoodie, the only piece of clothing you’ve ever managed to steal from him. A bit baggy on him and even more so on you, it’s a pleasant shade of azure blue. One of your more precious possessions since it’s, like you said, the only thing you really have from him. Also a bit of an indulgence right now but… you’re past the point of caring. 

Maritza pops by a little while later, waving at you. 

“Hey, Mari. Here for a Slurpee?”

“That, and I was wondering if you guys have any pain cream… Abuela’s back is hurting her and we ran out yesterday,” she says, lips pursed, glancing at the aisles. 

“Pain cream,” you repeat thoughtfully, stepping around the counter. “We should. Let’s see.”

She follows you to one of the center aisles.

“How’s summer break been so far?” you ask, running your eyes over displays of toothpaste, disposable toothbrushes, and other basic items. 

“Boring,” she sighs. “It’s too hot to do anything.”

You chuckle, tucking your hands in the pocket of Tim’s hoodie; your fingers are cold. They always seem to be. “Books are excellent ways to preoccupy the time.”

“Think I’ve read every book at the library,” she grumbles, which probably isn’t that much of an exaggeration. Gotham’s public library system is drastically lacking; it was only in May did Wayne Enterprises announce that they were investing more money into it. By now, they probably haven’t reached the library here in the Upper West Side. 

“You should check out GU’s then. Kids get free library cards and our selection is fairly expansive. I’m sure you could get away with checking out some things for your abuela, too. At least until they fix everything in the one here.”

“Huh. Maybe.” She moves ahead of you, scanning the rest of the aisle. “Oh, hey, you guys do have some.”

She reaches for a box. 

The door opens. You turn. 

The wink of the kitchen knife is the first thing you see, then the trembling hand, and then the owner to whom it belongs, too. A scrawny man wearing a grey hoodie, the same hood pulled over his head. 

It’s not great at hiding his face, you think dimly, every muscle inside you locking into place. Mari freezes behind you, breath audibly catching in a gasp as he turns the knife sharply on you.

For a second, the three of you just look at each other. 

You break the silence first. 

“All the money is in the register. Take it.”

A lengthy pause, one that amplifies the dread petrifying your insides. Your new phone, with Flash’s contact info, sits in the pocket of your hoodie, weighing it down; your fingers are laced together, cold, hovering right above it and you recall the rundown you’d been given by Flash last night, the… other not-quite-normal aspects of your new phone. 

“Okay, so, on top of the League encryption stuff, there is something else.”

“Are you tracking me?”

“Not… exactly.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Your location is logged with the League,” he admits. “But it’s secure. You’re registered with me, so only I can look at it. My wife’s phone is like yours. Her information is there, too. A lot of us do it with our families. Not just to keep sensitive information secure, but there’s… a risk that comes with being with us.”

You frown at him. “Does she know?”

He looks horrified. “Of course she does. I don’t go around just tracking her without her knowledge. That’s weird. And messed up. I don’t even actively do it. Not unless she’s been kidnapped or she wants me to. That’s what I’m trying to say. Your location is being tracked but I’m not peeking in on it. No one is, unless a need comes up. An emergency kind of need. And that brings me to my next thing.”

He pauses, looking at you, calculating, but you just nod for him to continue. 

“You have my number,” he says. “So, you can call me. For emergencies or if you just want to talk about your day. But in the case that you can’t call me, if you’re in some kind of danger…” He plucks the phone out of your grasp, turning it over in his hands, pointing to the power button on the side. “Press this three times and it’ll send an SOS signal to me, along with your location. I’ll come. Okay?”

“Are you… sure?”

He seems affronted. “I don’t just do this for anyone. I thought you’d have seen that by now. You’re…” he stops, frowning deeply. “You mean a lot to me, kid. If I can save you, if I have the opportunity to keep you safe, I’ll take it. I wouldn’t ever ask you to leave Gotham because it’s your home and I know the Bats hang around but… this just makes me feel better. You have a direct line to me. Use it.”

“Batman probably won’t like that.”

“Batman can suck it,” he says petulantly. “Especially after what he did to you last week. I take care of my own. No matter where they are. Got it?”

You got it. 

The thought still astounds you even now, that Flash cares that much about you and how ironic it is that you don’t even know who he is under the cowl but maybe you don’t need to. This is still him, isn’t it?

And you would heed his words. Of course you would. You have no interest in dying. You have no hangups about being saved. Flash didn’t think you incompetent, it was just a precaution, a necessity for living in the world you do.

That is true now more than ever.

Especially with how aware you are of Mari behind you, too. 

“Take your hands outta your pockets,” he says.

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

“Just take the money, man.”

You have to be careful but quick. If you could just unlace your fingers and reach for your phone…

Of course, you have no idea how quickly the signal will reach Flash or how fast he’ll even be able to get here…

You guess you’ll just have to trust him. Trust him and his capabilities.

A step forward. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You can hear Mari behind you, her breath quick and uneven. You’re most worried about her, to be honest. If you go down, what’s going to happen to her? You dread to think about it.

“Take your hands out of your fuckin’ pocket,” he hisses; despite the severity of his voice, his hand is trembling. You don’t get why he won’t just grab the money and go. 

He must think you can call the police or something but even then, it’s not as if the GCPD are reliable. As if they can do anything. 

As for you, there is nothing else you can do. You need to call him. 

“Mari, run!” 

Your hand grapples for your phone at the same time. 

You hear the snick of sneakers on the tiled floors, your fingers slip over the sides of the new case currently hugging your phone, and he surges forward and then—

Just a mere spark, one that jolts you as you realize what happened. It’s small at first, then bigger, then massive, a forest fire eating you alive from the inside out, burning white-hot. 

You can’t do anything. 

You stare at the man in front of you, closer now, close enough to dig his knife right into the soft flesh of your belly. His eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t believe he just did that. Neither can you.

But the worst of it comes when he pulls the knife out. 

The sound that escapes you is foreign to your ears. Your knees give out. One hand presses to the source of your pain, the other lands hard on the tiled floor; your wrist smarts, your arm trembling as you hold yourself up. 

You’re barely aware of anything other than the pain. Throbbing heat, warmth rapidly spreading through the front of your shirt and hoodie. Your vision blurs, from tears and from the pain, your heart pounds so hard, you feel it in your teeth, hear it in your ears above the rush of your blood. 

You manage a glance behind you, relieved to see Mari is gone and hopefully back in the safety of the apartment building next door. Ahead of you, the man is scrambling to get the cash register open, cursing like a sailor and eventually yanking it off the counter and smashing it on the ground, ducking out of your view.

God, you need to call Flash. Not 911, they won’t get here in time, no way, you need him. Before the man decides to cut his losses and kill you. You hope he’ll just take the money and run, but you’ve seen his face, surely he knows that puts him in that much more danger of being arrested—

The door opens. You hear your name from a familiar voice and then someone steps into view. 

Tim’s eyes are wide as he looks at you, horrified, but behind him, your attacker shoots up from the ground and you choke out a warning, an urging to run, to get out of here, you don’t know what you’d do if anything happened to him, no, no, you can’t lose him like that. 

He whips around just as the man swings himself over the counter, letting out something of a war cry, cash held in one hand and the knife in the other. It gleams red under the light. He lunges.

“Tim!”

But his fatal injury does not happen. Instead, you watch him duck out of the way, moving faster, more gracefully than you’ve ever seen, like he’s done this before and the man doesn’t expect it, stumbling with his own momentum. Not stopping, either, Tim grabs the man’s wrist, heaving him over his shoulder until he slams into the ground hard. It’s brutal. It’s violent. It’s nothing you’ve ever seen from Tim, your Tim who… who hates needles and always bemoans going to get the yearly flu shot with you and Steph, your Tim who can get impatient, snippy, but not violent. 

You don’t understand. With the haze of pain, that fact feels oddly upsetting. 

The door opens again. He whips around, geared up for another fight, but it’s just Spoiler, it’s—

Golden hair, familiar blue eyes. A face you know by heart. Even with the bottom of her face hidden. 

They’re both at your side in an instant. In good timing, too, because your arm gives out but before you can crash to the ground, Tim catches you, turning you over in his arms and gently laying you back onto the tile.

“You’re okay,” he says quickly, eyes scanning you frantically. “You’re okay.”

All the movement tugs at your belly, flames flaring for a brief moment, making you dizzy with pain, choking out your voice, leaving you to blink the tears out of your eyes and look up at your friends.

You don’t like the look on their faces. Horrified. Full of dread. It hurts you. 

“Fuck,” Stephanie Brown, also known as Spoiler, says, digging through pouches in her utility belt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Oracle, where is the nearest hospital?”

“I know where it is,” Tim says, snapping into action, his hands reaching for the hoodie. “Off Murphy Ave.”

Rrrrrrip.

He tears through the front part of your hoodie—his hoodie—like it’s nothing. Both their faces drop as they see your shirt underneath it but you’re more focused on the first part of what just happened. 

“Did you—have to tear it?” you whine. “This is the only hoodie I have from you…”

“You can have all of my hoodies,” he promises, reaching for the hem of your shirt. 

Another ripping sound. 

Steph reaches underneath you. “Didn’t go through.”

Tim nods. “The sooner we get her to the hospital, the better. I don’t like how much blood she’s losing.”

“I can hear you, you know,” you mutter, more petulant than you want but considering you are bleeding from a stab wound, you think you get to be. 

They both let out strained chuckles. Tim reaches for one of the pouches of Steph’s belt. You wonder how he knows which one to open. You wonder a lot of things. Where he learned to kick ass. Whether he has always known Steph is Spoiler. How he is so calm right now. It tickles at you, like you have all the pieces to the puzzle but the full picture still isn’t coming out. 

And oh, yeah, the burning throb of the stab wound is really sapping your concentration, too. Cold creeps in at the edges, your fingers feeling icy as you clench them. You shiver violently, though it hurts to move like that. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steph says soothingly, squeezing your hand. “We just really need to get you to a hospital to guarantee that.”

“You should—fuck!” The gauze Tim presses to the wound sends shockwaves of pain through you. Black spots appearing in your vision, breath squeezing in your throat.

He says your name loudly. “Breathe.”

“Fuck you,” you wheeze out, trying and failing to curl away from the pressure he is currently applying to your wound. “That—hurts—”

“I know,” he says, pained. “But I have to. We have to. I’m sorry.”

“He’s right,” Steph says, brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Come on, talk to me. Ignore what he’s doing. What were you going to say before?”

“My phone,” you mumble, shivering. “Flash gave it to me. S-Said if I press the power button three times, it sends a distress signal to him.”

“That’s kind of him,” Tim mutters, sounding, dare you say it, jealous, which, in your haze of pain, just pisses you off. 

“You absolute asshole, you don’t get to—”

“Stop it!” Steph snaps, lunging for your phone. “Tim, focus on saving her life and not on being an ass right now, okay? I’m calling him. We need that kind of speed. She’s losing too much blood and the hospital is too far.”

He sobers significantly. A bloodied hand reaches for yours. You’re only aware of it because you see it, the sight of his pale skin covered in your blood, his fingers wrapping around yours. He squeezes.

“Can you feel that?”

“K-Kind of.”

“Do it, Spoiler.”

“I’m doing it, Timothy.”

She is. She holds your phone in gloved hands, pressing the button three times, then scoots away from your head, lifting your feet over her lap. 

Tim continues his work, the pressure he continues to apply to the wound making your head spin. Exhaustion creeps in at the edges, making your eyelids drag with each blink. 

No, no, falling asleep is bad. You’ve seen enough movies and TV shows of injured characters to know that. You have to stay awake. 

Steph watches you, concerned. “How long—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as a sharp gust of wind hits all of you. It knocks things off the shelves and then, all of you are blinking up at the Flash, blue lightning fading away.

He breathes your name and in the next blink, he’s next to you, on his knees. 

“Hey, Flash,” you croak. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says softly, a gloved hand resting tenderly on your forehead. He looks at Tim and Steph. “Hospital?”

“It’s—”

Tim cuts Steph off, staring hard at Flash. “She’ll most likely need a blood transfusion. Her blood type is AB positive—”

“And she’s allergic to penicillin,” Steph tacks on quickly. 

“Got it.” He sweeps you into his arms and you whimper at the movement. “And the hospital?”

“Intersection of Murphy Avenue and Elliot Circle,” Steph tells him.

“Be careful,” Tim stresses. 

Flash gives him a frosty look. “I got it. You’ve done enough.”

Stop fighting, you want to say, but Flash is delightfully warm and you’re so tired. If you rest your eyes for just a little bit, that’s fine, right? 

“Flash—!”

A sharp tug in your belly, gravity pulling on you, and darkness falls over you like a blanket. You surrender without fight.

Voices puncture the veil of darkness. Soft murmurs, soothing tones. 

“She’ll be okay, Red,” a woman murmurs. “You got her here on time.”

“I know, Lin,” someone else says and wait, you know that voice. It’s Flash. He sounds so… harrowed. “But I just… I don’t know.”

“You know what the doctors said. The danger is gone. And with you here… maybe…” she trails off, tone implying something you aren’t privy to.

A deep breath. “Do you think so? I could’ve, earlier, but I didn’t know if it would hurt her and I didn’t want to take the chance…”

“Well… I think you’re a big softy and she means a lot more to you than you ever realized. So… maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoes back and you want to know, want to ask what exactly it is he and this mystery woman are talking about but you slip back under again.

The next time you resurface, it’s to cutting words and a tension so thick, you feel it, too, even with all your senses muddled, knee-deep in a haze.

“I don’t mind her,” Flash says coldly. “But you, too?”

“She’s my friend. I have a right to see her, too,” someone else says—Tim, you realize. It’s Tim, his tone cutting, temper on the rise. 

“The way you’ve treated her these past two months doesn’t say much about friendship to me.”

“I was going to tell her—”

“Oh, you were going to tell her? Only after you finally fucked it all up being caught hanging out with your friends when you explicitly said you were too busy to hang out with her? Yeah, that’s real great.”

“You haven’t told her,” Tim points out petulantly. 

“Really mature,” Flash scoffs. “I have a good reason to keep it from her. What’s yours? It’s not like you were deprived of her attention. You’re friends. Why the hell would you favor Red Robin over Tim Drake?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand—”

“No, I bet you don’t, because it’s easier to excuse yourself that way, isn’t it?” he seethes. “You’re just like him, you know. Just like him.”

You don’t know who they’re talking about. Or maybe you do and it’s just not coming to you. But the comparison isn’t a kind one. The way Tim snaps back in the next second affirms that. 

“She wasn’t talking to me! I was—worried!”

“So, you should’ve talked to her! Instead of going behind her back and befriending her as Red Robin! What the hell did you achieve by doing that?”

“We were going to tell her, too, you know,” the woman from before says, her tone disapproving. “Very soon, in fact. But his situation is different from yours and you know that.”

Silence stretches on.

“Well, I still want to see her,” Tim says quietly, the fight leaving his voice.

“How—” Steph. Her voice cuts out, thick in a way that is unfamiliar to you. She clears her throat. “How is she?”

“Stable,” the mystery woman informs her. 

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Tim asks. You can just hear the frown in his voice and the vision of him forms easily in your mind, that familiar wrinkle between his brows, pretty pink lips pursed. 

“Anesthesia still needs to wear off,” the woman says. “She’ll wake up soon.”

“But until then,” Flash cuts in, tone still severe. “Feel free to make yourself scarce. Stephanie can hang around. But you? No way in hell.”

“You think she wants that?” Tim shoots back, anger returning. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea. You’re assuming—”

“Yeah, I am. She’s not awake. She can’t tell us. Until then, I—we—can make those decisions.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’m sure she’ll love that—”

“I know what you’re thinking and we’re doing this with good intentions. You can’t say the same, can you?”

That doesn’t help. Fans the flames, if anything, as they keep arguing. 

Ugh. You don’t want to hear this. 

Like mercy, you slip under again. 

reblogs are appreciated!

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[seriousbrat]

vincent crabbe and gregory goyle

There are few HP characters I think are badly written, but while rereading I often feel like we could have done without Crabbe and Goyle. Or at least without one of them. They basically have no speaking lines and just "flex their muscles" a lot (I hate this lol it's so silly to me.)

To be fair, Crabbe does get more interesting in HBP/DH, when he emerges from Draco's shadow and becomes a character in his own right. And in a way Harry himself points this out in the narration-- he's surprised at the softness of Crabbe's voice because... he's basically never heard his voice in 7 years. Like alright I'll accept Crabbe's presence in the books because I do actually like the fact that he starts rebelling against Malfoy. The brief final exchange with Crabbe alone gives him a lot more depth, and it's hinted at in HBP with Crabbe starting to question Malfoy's orders. Like I think this is quite good:

All of this makes Crabbe slightly more interesting to me, but I'm pretty sure Goyle's only given character trait over 7 books is being stupid lmao. Arguably some of this lack of depth is just because Harry doesn't pay attention to them, but also it's remarkable how much more interesting Theodore Nott, who doesn't appear until OotP, seems just because of his ability to see Thestrals (also his father is more interesting than Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr in the graveyard.) And it's weird because jkr is typically quite good at infusing very minor characters with interest and depth, even if they only have one line in the entire series (Nott's father being a good example.)

Goyle I think literally just doesn't add anything as a character. I'm a little torn about Crabbe because in a way I do think it's interesting for him to basically be a non-entity and then take Harry (and us) by surprise during their first conversation in 7 years, right before his death. So I think Crabbe would be a better character overall without Goyle dragging him down by association lol.

But anyway despite Crabbe's last hurrah, most of the time both characters are just kind of extensions of Draco, it's even stated that they "seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding." Pansy and even the much more minor Zabini and Nott all feel so much more dynamic. Like I said, characters who only appear for a single line are given more depth than Crabbe and Goyle who are "on screen" all the time but seem to share a non-personality, because until HBP there's almost no distinction between the two (apart from Goyle being a bit stupider.)

Honestly it seems like until HBP they're mostly there to make Malfoy more of a threat to the trio, since otherwise Ron and Harry could just pummel Draco when he got mouthy and win. I think if Malfoy's gang had just been one of them (Crabbe) and then maybe Nott as more of a sycophant type of role rather than just a thug, this would have worked much better.

I mentioned the Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr, who are also remarkably uninteresting/blank compared to other minor Death Eaters like Nott Sr or Avery. This makes me never want to include them as Death Eaters in anything I write haha. They just "bow clumsily and mutter dully" so it feels like all we can conclude is that Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr are just.. exactly the same as their sons but as adults, which is doubly boring because them being copies of their sons is boring but also their sons are boring to begin with. Neither family is part of the Sacred Twenty-eight, and the only mildly interesting inference I can draw here is that they were low-ranking Death Eaters, untalented, basic lackeys who deliberately encouraged their sons to suck up to Lucius Malfoy's son, which is why Vincent and Gregory dutifully followed Draco's orders for so long.

I can imagine that after Lord Voldemort's downfall, Lucius was probably the highest-ranking Death Eater to escape Azkaban, and he might have been seen as a sort of rallying point by those who believed Voldemort was gone. Natural followers like Crabbe and Goyle would have gravitated to Lucius as the new alpha lol, and I think it does add a little bit of interest if the reason why Vincent and Gregory allowed themselves to be bossed around and talked down to by Draco for so long is because they were specifically instructed or encouraged to do so as children. This also explains why Crabbe starts to rebel when Lucius loses favour after OotP.

[myenterpriseisparked]

Rank the Star Trek captains based on whether or not they're expert road trippers

Archer - He tries. So hard. He burns a CD mixtape to listen to and rents a huge RV that only kind of works. He plans out a bunch of stops but "leaves room in the schedule for unplanned adventures :)" and then proceeds to not follow the plan at all and everything goes wrong. Actually, now that I think about it, Archer on a roadtrip would probably just mostly be the plot of the movie "RV."

Pike - He lets Una plan the stops and he METICULOUSLY plans the food. He and Una take a survey about what all their crew wants to see along the way and try so hard to integrate them all into the trip. He plays LOTS of car games, like Eye Spy or that one game where you count animals on your side of the vehicle until you see a graveyard and have to start over or that other game where you describe a movie plot badly and everyone has to guess what it is. He lets Uhura control the music and Spock read the map and Ortegas drive. The plan for the trip goes off the rails, of course, but everyone ends up having a blast anyway. Overall a SOLID roadtrip.

Kirk - Kirk takes everyone to see every single tourist trap they can find and, you know what? It's fun. Is the World's Largest Truckstop really all that special? No, but the memories they make there are. I also imagine his roadtrip largely takes place in Iowa and other parts of the Midwest so a lot of the trip is rolling cornfields. Overall not a terrible trip, if a little slow and nutty.

Picard - Due to being European, Picard's idea of a roadtrip is a little... different. The crew is a little confused as to why they are only doing about 3 hours of driving a day, but they do appreciate that it's through Wine Country, where the rolling hills are lovely. I imagine Picard plans a "themed trip" (wine tasting and touring) and Riker is the one to throw in the fun tourist traps they do end up visiting. Q is somehow at every single place they stop. Lwaxana is at a few of them too.

Sisko - Sisko takes everyone on a tour of the MLB baseball fields. He meticulously plans places to eat (mostly cajun places that he critiques as 'not as good as his dad's, but acceptable.') and fields to visit. In the meantime, Jadzia picks some more... colorful places to visit in the evenings. Different groups of people get lost but they always find each other. Everyone is a little wary of visiting baseball fields, but once they find out that it was Jake's idea to cheer his dad up, everyone acts like each field is the most fascinating thing they have ever seen. In the end, the trip is a little tedious, but they have all bonded over the solidarity of making Sisko feel better.

Janeway - Janeway drives through the middle of nowhere. Absolutely no cell signal ever. Google Maps will not work. They stop every hour or so to look at the sights. At several points, their van gets robbed and they have to craft new supplies as they go. They make some "road enemies" (other roadtrippers that get competitive about parking spots and camping areas and stuff) and get in several fights (that they win). They camp alongside the road instead of staying in hotels and it's kinda miserable but it builds a lot of relationships and character. Their van breaks down a lot but they always fix it themselves. B'Elanna ends up souping up the engine about 4 different times. In the end, they all get home pretty much dead on their feet, but the whole crew is planning the next road trip anyway.

Freeman - She has a schedule that no one follows and she yells about it a lot. The road trip keeps getting completely derailed. They absolutely do not hit any planned stops and they have to replace each of the van's tires 3 times. Good news, however, is that they got a GREAT sale on all the trinkets and stuff that they bought along the way so everyone is still having an okay time.

Dal - Barely has a plan. He basically piled everyone in a vehicle one day and started driving. They stop whenever they feel like it and do odd jobs to earn enough money to keep going. The end goal is to reach San Francisco by the end, but Dal has to keep them backtracking for various reasons and they're having a heck of a time understanding exactly how this brand-new Chevy Silverado with a fancy computer system that they accidentally stole works. Everyone has fun anyway, even though they are also kinda lowkey running from the cops.

Burnham - I don't honestly know enough about Burnham as a captain to say for sure but I think she and Saru would plan a pretty chaotic lil road trip that kinda jumps all over the country in a strange order. Lots of zigzags and backtracking and stuff. I think they have fun though?

FINAL RANKING:

1st Place - Pike

2nd Place - Kirk

3rd Place - Janeway

4th Place - Sisko

5th Place - Archer

6th Place - Burnham

7th Place - Picard

8th Place - Dal

9th Place - Freeman

[toms-cherry-trees]

Scraped Heart || Victoria Shelby

Summary: Wounded knees hurt more than just the flesh.

Word Count: 2132

Warnings: Description of minor injuries, post war PTSD, Tommy scaring his sister

Author’s note:  So this is set right after the war is over and everyone has gone home, it could be mere weeks or no more than a couple months since everyone was shoved back into their lives. I’ve always imagined those weeks when they are trying to pretend that nothing happened to be extremely awkward and tense, especially for the younger ones, since four years is basically half of their lives they spent in uncertainty.

Thomas dragged his feet across the dusty boards of the hallway. Many nights had transpired the same way, ever since the return; he wandered around aimlessly, his mind disconnected from his body, until he found himself far away from home without memory of how he got there in the first place. That evening he had snapped back to his senses to find himself in the oldest part of the town’s graveyard, where most tombs dated to the prior century, stained green and the engravings faded by time and the elements. He must have stumbled and fell at some point, for his trousers had mud in the knees and his hands were scraped and bruised. A light drizzle had dampened his clothes and trickled down the bare curve of his neck. Nighttime had fallen already, but Tommy swore it had been daytime still when he left Watery Lane.

As he was about to reach his bedroom, a quiet cry and curse from the nursery caught his attention. Nursery, that word still made him snort. That little wooden sign with said word carved with a knife had arrived at the house with the first baby, and had been moved from door to door to whichever bedroom belonged to the youngest. But it wouldn’t be moved again, since there would be no more babies born under that roof, not at least for the foreseeable future. 

The door stood ajar, and Tommy peeked in curiously, shrouded by the darkness of the hallway. Victoria sat on her bed, knees bent in front of her, both scraped and bruised. Around here laid a mess of pieces of bandages, a rusty pair of scissors, some iodine and oddly enough, a bottle of liquor. A most puzzling scene, especially because Tommy would have never expected his eight year old sister to have the maturity to gather all those supplies and hide in her bedroom while injured, instead of crying it out like a normal child. But again, kids raised in the middle of the war were no normal children.

Vicky had a piece of cloth on her hand and tried to dab at her scrapes, but she hissed every time it came in contact with her injury. Tears streamed down her cheeks, carving lines in the dirt of her skin. Tommy just then realised she was covered in grime from head to toe. 

Vicky again made a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the blood on her knees

“Fuck” She hissed

“Oi, language!” Exclaimed Tommy, entering the bedroom. Vicky nearly jumped from the bed when Tommy marched in; he had the ability to be as silent as a cat, which drove everyone insane since he always startled everyone. The girl looked like she had seen a ghost, but there are worse things than a ghost, like being caught doing things you shouldn’t be by your brother-self-appointed-father.

Tommy sat on the edge of the bed while Vicky watched him cautiously, like a prey being sized up by the predator; Victoria had felt odd around Tommy ever since he came back from France, still struggling to get used to this new self, and desperately trying to find scraps of her old brother in this unknown man. They all had changed, in a way, but Tommy’s switch was most obvious. Sometimes the girl wondered if they had sent her back the right man.

“What happened?” The calmness in his voice was edged by the slightest hint of concern, and a dash of curiosity at the maturity of the littlest Shelby. 

“Street puddles are treacherous places” At her words, Tommy felt a strange pang in his heart. Since when did his little sister use big words like “treacherous”? When they left, she could barely even pronounce her own name correctly, and wanted to be up in someone’s arms all day long. Now she spent most of her days out of the home, either at school or roaming the streets with other rascals. She already knew how to read as well, and clearly used her newfound knowledge to say “big girl words” every time she could. 

Tommy grabbed her leg and pulled her close to inspect the wound, earning a squeak from his sister as she was yanked from a sitting position to be flat on the bed. The scrapes were large, but superficial. Something an adult wouldn’t even notice, but for a child of Victoria’s age it meant the end of the world and certain death. Yet his sister sat before him, teary eyed but otherwise calmly carrying herself. Tommy couldn’t recognise her anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell Aunt Pol to help you?”

For an answer, Victoria pointed to the floor, where her once new white stocks laid in tatters, all ripped up and stained with muddy water. Ada had told Polly that buying Victoria something white and delicate would be a waste of money, but she insisted. She wanted everyone to look their best when they picked the boys at the station, and somehow had stuffed Vicky and Finn in their Sunday best, complete with Finn’s hair slicked back and Victoria with ribbons woven in her plaits.

“Do you want my help?” Tommy felt odd at having to ask his eight year old sister if she needed help with something. In his mind this child had barely left the diapers and had no right to be speaking in full sentences and reading and writing.

“I can do it myself” Victoria sat up and grabbed the cloth again, but her hand shook even before she touched her knees. The sun would freeze over before she was finished.

Tommy snatched the cloth from her hands and dripped some iodine on it “It will not kill you to ask for help” He knew this bravado would crumble soon enough, but he couldn’t quite figure out what she was trying to prove.

“Aunt Polly said we have to fend for ourselves now”

Oh.

Tommy knew Pol didn’t say that. She would never say that directly to a child. But he still recalled the conversation when that phrase had been said. Late at night, the four of them sat before the hearth and passed around a bottle of cheap whiskey. They were due to leave at 9 am sharp the following day. Their hairs cut, their weavings packed and ready. Polly had stuffed their pockets with cigarettes and given them a bit of money in case they needed it. Then she prayed for their lives and commanded the three brothers to return, for they had people who loved them and depended on them. She remarked that even though Arthur and Tommy had no kids of their own they still had their responsibilities, because there were still three children under that roof that would now have to fend for themselves.

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how Victoria remembered that. Maybe Polly had said those words again to a neighbour, or to Ada who was old enough to understand; and the little rascal had eavesdropped and gotten the wrong idea. A painful coil tightened around Tommy’s throat; the baby of the house had spent all these years under the impression that she only had herself in the world, even if she didn’t quite understand what that implied. 

Tommy didn’t reply. What could he possibly say? How could he erase from her mind that idea that she had to rely only on herself because everything and everyone else around her were not for granted? He couldn’t say that he would be forever with her, because he knew that was a promise he didn’t know if he could keep.

He gently dabbed the cloth on her knee, earning a hiss and quietly muttered curse from his sister, who quickly covered her mouth with her hands.

“Don’t let Pol hear you or she will wash your mouth with soap” Tommy swiftly pulled Victoria into his lap so he could hold her better, and to give her the chance to hold onto him. He got to work on cleaning the scrapes, feeling little fingers dig tightly on the fabric of his coat, and he was pretty sure Vicky bit the arm he was using to hold her. 

Once the grime had been wiped away he began to bandage her knees “What is the liquor for?” Tommy inquired curiously, nodding to the almost empty bottle on the bed. The bottle had some cheap hard liquor that they kept in a cabinet for emergencies, and never for drinking. Not that Thomas believed Vicky to be taking swigs of alcohol behind their backs, but the thought was amusing nonetheless.

“I have seen you and Arthur clean up wounds with that” She shrugged “I don’t think I need it thought” She added quickly

Tommy hummed “You couldn’t open it, right”

“Yep”

The faintest ghost of a smile tugged on Tommy’s lips. A big girl with big words and a big attitude but she still didn’t have the strength to open up a bottle, nor had she figured out how to work the house keys, and still wanted to have her food cut up for her. He finished wrapping the bandages and tied them up neat and nicely “Does it feel okay?”

The girl flexed her legs a few times and nodded “I could do that myself” Victoria could never, ever lose the opportunity to try and up her older brothers. Only when she stepped off Tommy’s lap did she notice the dirt in his trousers and the little scraps of his hands “Did you fall too?”

Tommy’s body immediately tensed up and he put his hands down to hide his reddened palms “Yards are treacherous places”

Victoria immediately tried to pull up Tommy’s trousers to take a look, but Tommy held her wrists to stop her, rather harshly. Both of them stood in absolute silence until Tommy let go of her. He hadn’t intended to be so harsh, but sometimes it happened too fast. His wrecked nerves got the best of him, fueled by the fact that never, ever in his life Tommy had allowed anyone to help him; not before the war and certainly not after. 

But he couldn’t be this way with Victoria, not if he wanted to make up for all the years of her life he lost. And especially not now, when with that little gesture, something as simple as showing concern for him, Tommy caught a glimpse of what his sister had always been before she decided to build up walls, just like everyone around her. War had hardened the Shelby brothers, but it didn’t have to do the same to their little ones. 

Just as Vicky straightened up, slowly as if she feared he would snap again, Tommy released a slow breath and pulled his sister into a bone crushing hug, her arms pinned to her sides as he squeezed her in the way he used to do when she was a baby. In the same way he hugged her when he took the train in 1914, and the way he hadn’t hugged her ever since. He kept her there until Vicky squirmed “Tommy you are squeezing me”

“I know”

“....Can you put me down?”

“No”

In that moment, that hug felt like an anchor to the life he once had and the man he used to be; both things now lost to the war machine. The war life had taken him, chewed him up and spat him back out as something new, something he couldn’t recognise and something that would forever be damaged in a way only those who had been chewed too could understand. But somewhere behind layers of trauma, scars, fears and anger lay a sliver of the pre-war Thomas Shelby, an miniscule sliver of a man who once believed the world could be good and kind. And that sliver belonged to Victoria for as long as she lived, so she could once more see the world through a rose tinted lens and never again had to think that she had to fend for herself. And so he could make up for all those missed hugs, cuddles and tickles.

After minutes of maintaining the hug, Tommy stood up and swung his sister over his shoulder. He suddenly had the vitality and energy he had lacked the last weeks. He marched out the room and down the hallway with Victoria over him like a sack of potatoes.

“Where are you taking me?” Inquired Victoria curiously

“To the bathroom. You are a grime ball and if Pol sees you like this, she will have both of our heads”

Victoria’s protests echoed on the walls as she tried to wiggle out of Tommy’s protective arms, laughing and squeaking as Tommy playfully dug his fingers in her ribs to tickle her.