#never beating the old man fucker allegations

[dandelionjack]

so it was my mother’s birthday a couple of days ago, and as a present my grandma gave her (and the whole family to boot) tickets to a mini london tour with a guide, specifically focused on islington, in russian obviously since she doesn’t speak much english. led by this eccentric gentleman in a bowler hat who’s from moscow but has lived here for 19 years and has been leading guided tours for ten.

the tour was fun and informative. lots of tall tales mixed in with historical facts and local art history too. but the guide himself... man. imagine a cross between eddie redmayne and peter capaldi. 40ish. salt and pepper hair. hooked nose roman profile. educated. witty. storyteller. dresses like some kind of urban wizard or as-yet-unseen incarnation of the doctor. mischievous glint in his eye. learns the name of everybody in the group immediately and chats to you like a casual friend as you walk from destination to destination. i sound like a fucking creep now, don’t i, but what is tumblr if not a public personal diary? don’t think i’ve ever caught a crush this quickly before. started entertaining silly little clara fantasy delusions for a second.

then at one point while recounting an anecdote he mentioned his wife and kids, naturally that brought me back down to reality. here, have a regents canal photo instead

[thatwriterrosefics]

Age Difference with Hosea Matthews x OC (link to fic on ao3)

Day 26 of Kinktober 2024

Summary: Hosea may be an old dog but he can still learn a trick or two even at his age.

Word Count: 1020

[obiwan-kenobabe]

My phone died while I was watching a TikTok of James Hetfield playing guitar on loop, I'm so embarrassed right now why does that old man make me go bonkers???

[doctorpandorica]

So Fanfiction, Deadpool and Wolverine, and Logan, made have a fucking epiphany about my mental health. PART TWO,

HERE IS A LINK TO THE FIRST HALF!!!

JUST WANT TO FIRST ACKNOWLEDGE (I'll stop all caps soon) THESE MOTHER FUCKING ANGELS!!!!

As well as this talented Mother fucker, Artist Jack Kirby who helped create X-men

with this literally Angel,

After being inspired by the Civil Rights movement. Particularly Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcom X, which absolutely shows. Especially when you watch the 1992 Animated series, pleased do, which I am at the moment.

ssss

So...on to this grumpy bestest boy

He lived through so much pain, snarky little fuckable fuck. However, he never let it make him cruel, he did the right thing, even if it pissed him off. And didn't deserve to die in Logan, nor did Charles especially as he did.

Which really quick, Ian McKellen made a off handed quip about wanting to know why he wasn't in the film. And I demand to know why as well, Magneto was pure sass and spite, he would not go gently into that good night. And even if he did, we deserved to see it, even if it destroyed us. Even though it wouldn't have made sense because, he is able to beat that alleged cure but, not this virus? Which makes me question, if Charles was still capable of those long lucid moments, why not transfer himself into a new body like before? Also most importantly, picture Logan during that dinner scene, addressing them as his two dads. Erik squirming socializing with ...Homo Sapiens, having to content with the faults in his crusade.

Anyway then I saw, Deadpool and Wolverine, please go see it!!!!! The very end with the delightful complication of the original Franchise, wrecked me emotionally and at first I didn't understand. To Understand that beyond the crushing heart ache I associate with nostalgia, as opposed to contentment as it should. And started the long process about a week of asking myself why?

Which resulted in the essay, you hopefully didn't suffer too much through before and I just had to get it all out. Which is why there are so many grammatical errors, never been my strong suite.

Also Marvel Jesus' journey of self worth and Ryan Reynolds seeing that motherfucker as the wonderful man that he is

Seriously going to make a list of all the amazing things he has done

, showing that what never fails in good old fashion story telling ands opposed to money grubbing. That movie

That is how you give the people what they ACTUALLY WANT and more importantly what they ACTUALLY NEED. Imagine what would've happened if Disney let them do what ever he wanted,

Aside from Wolverine never putting his greasy tits away. Seriously hate myself when I get feral for him, because Hugh Jackman has the sweetest face and I hate myself.

Thank you and Goodnight....

I need to eat before I post Some funny ass, at least too me, Deadpool shit I just thought of

REMEBER.....

 IT IS NEVER TOO LATE !!! EVEN IF YOU ARE GOING TO DIE TOMORROW!!! HAPPINESS MAY NOT BE A CHOICE BUT THE PATH TO IT IS!!!

[finniestoncrane]

just curious do you think there would be any other red dead characters you'd be willing to write for aside from Arthur? No pressure ofc :]

of course!! there's a lot of characters i probably would write for, but maybe haven't thought of them or can't think of an idea for them. i'm never annoyed at anyone suggesting a character or asking about one or sending an idea, as long as they don't get annoyed if i don't write for them/it!!

i haven't played the first game, mind, but particular favourites from rdr2 other than arthur are:

hosea (not beating the old man fucker allegations)

bill williamson (not beating the big boy fucker allegations)

micah (is that surprising? doubtful, he's a cunt with a belly)

dutch (i like bad men i am SORRY)

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 32 - Pupuce's Life

Finally, an episode where I won't have to say anything At All.

To extract some value from this ep despite how it is kinda boring, I will overanalyse this room now.

Firstly, Kerubim is so orphancoded. He's so old and sleeping on a bunk bed with no lower bunk.

I like to think that, in the orphanage, Kerubim and Atcham got into bloodied battles where they scratched the shit out of each other over who gets the top bunk, and due to not being hairless Kerubim always won and bullied him into sleeping on the lower one.

I like to think it was one of Atcham's many tragic backstories. Like that's when The Darkness truly began to grow.

I genuinely think it's fucked that Joris, at 7 years old, is sleeping in a cat bed. But also, that's not even one tenth of the most insanely evil things about their household.

They have so many potatos and so much bread... Heaven on earth.

Ever since I mentioned it in one of my earlier posts, I had wanted to elaborate just a bit on some other evidence for my headcanon (or, well, pretty-much-canon?) of Joris being a night owl, and this moment of Joris just blatantly oversleeping is as good time as any to bring it up:

We often see Joris awake at night, or staying up very late without any issues.

Perhaps, it is due to Kerubim himself often staying up late, and also due to, y'know, the child neglect that was probably happening before Simone, that he developed a circadian rhythm that has him being so okie-dokie staying up late.

I won't even point out that there's a random knife on the floor. I am fucking numb to the sheer neglect in this household by now. Kerubim could leave rat poison in Joris's bed and I would be like "oh that silly goofster!"

But I will point out that it seems that Kerubim often leaves Joris alone with Simone, and I will be real — in my heart of hearts I know that this fucker left Joris home alone since he was like four whenever he needed to do something. Or he'd be like "uhhh go across the street and sit at miss Julie's, brb" and be gone for hours. He probably left him home alone over overnight too. You can't tell me I'm wrong.

It would be out of character for him to get someone to actually babysit. Especially with how shit their home was.

"No, little pupuce, don't go into SCP-914!!"

"Oh mon dieu, c'est un scp full of evil clonen !"

Kerubim is insane. All these pictures of his ex, and none of his son. He really is insane.

I think Kerubim still draws, at least in some capacity. No other reason for there to be oil paints in their home.

Though perhaps Kerubim is into the idea of his son getting poisoned by expensive-ass professional-grade paint. Maybe he's just into that.

"ASTRUB CITY" repeated twice. + "Dofus Pets 2" (obviously.)

Also, jellyvision movie theatres are real. And so are traffic lights. Though I didn't bother screenshotting the second thing.

Oh this one is even better than that time we found out that someone at Ankama called a person named Emilie a bad word in this kids cartoon. You'll love this.

I'm sorry french person from 2013, but I've been translating this text with a huge grin on my face. You ARE the interesting find.

This ad is so beautiful. Thank you, Kerubim.

The man might pretend that he doesn't like Pupuces as a species all he wants, but his actions speak louder than his words. He's never beating the love allegations.

They are all so bad at taking photos... Also! This confirms that at least a Single photo of Joris, as well as Simone, is on a wall somewhere in the house. Big day for regaining belief in Kerubim's normalcy.

This says "ANNIV PUPUCE", which finally made me realize, that there are three champagne glasses on the table, one in Joris's hand, as well as some weird looking food with candles in it (probably pupuce's food?).

This changes EVERYTHING. Kerubim is no longer an evil fucking cat/enemy #1 of this blog. Kerubim has been forgiven.

[persipanic]

Mentioned studying Enochian to a coworker and he asked me if there was an enochian guy I was trying to impress

Im never beating the Old Man Fucker allegations

[rodolfoparras]

kenny seems like he would be closer to your type lmao

I’m never beating the old man fucker allegations am I😞

[prettyboykatsuki]

lamb is never beating the old man fucker allegations

[topnotchquark]

I'm never beating the old-man-fucker allegations I'm afraid 😟

idk why anyone would use ai to make fernando sing when he will happily do it for free

[blorbocedes]

Alright, I know it's just one gif set by someone but I don't care. I'm adding him, this is my list I do whatever I want

Nico 🤝 Me 🤝 You 🤝 Max 🤝 That anon who's dating a Seb 🤝 Yuki 🤝 Pierre

Never beating those we fucked older men allegations 😔

(Someone I want to add to the list but don't have much evidence for is Seb. Like you can't tell me he didn't fuck some old men in his Red Bull Twink era)

hahha you are my most dedicated to fact checking anon

and of course!! seb is THE old man fucker of our times please let us not forget our history!!!

[kentuckywrites]

Meeting Arkus

After stopping in a tavern during their travels, Nym and Mira encounter Arkus, a human wizard who's in need of a good conversation. oops it’s more OC stuff, sorry about that :’D

The tavern was busy, filled to the brim with travelers and residents alike who shared the same goal of getting wasted and having fun. Nym and Mira were lucky to snag an empty table to themselves just before the party hit its peak, and even luckier to wave down a barmaid to take their orders for dinner. They had to repeat their orders a few times so she could hear; poor thing was deafened by the noise, which gave Nym the impression that the chaos was normal. Once the barmaid walked back into the crowd, Mira propped his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair. This was a dangerous position, especially when they were both surrounded by drunkards with no sense of personal space.

“You starting to regret this decision?” Mira said, a knowing smirk on his face.

Nym rolled her eyes, perching her elbows on the table and leaning her head into her hands. Her finger messed with a loose strand of hair that had made its way in front of her ear. “Better than dead silence. Besides, this party won’t last long.”

“How do you know?”

“Town curfew posted outside. Don’t tell me you missed it.”

“Shit, I must’ve. What time?”

“11 PM.”

Mira’s left ear twitched as someone walked past, their mug of ale coming dangerously close to spilling all over him. “Just over an hour left for these fuckers to get sober and walk home then.”

“Will you be okay?” Nym asked, “I know this isn’t really your scene -”

“I can take it,” Mira responded quickly, “I’m not happy about it, but it’s a nice fucking tavern, and I’d rather stay here and wait this out than go to some slum down the street. Plus, not everyone here looks to be drunk off their asses, so maybe we’ll get some good conversations going.”

“Maybe!” She said, starting to look around for those alleged sober townsfolk. Some of them were elves, some were halflings, some dwarves. The latter two races of people were likely causing the majority of the chaos in the tavern, but that didn’t mean the elves weren’t just as drunk. They had their own ways of drinking too much, it just involved old fancy wine and a couple of good conversations, maybe an elven greeting or two. She knew Mira hated it all, but Nym was more than willing to party with the dwarves and halflings, who were always much better company than elves in a party.

In her field of view was the bar counter, where a few people sat at the stools hunched over the counter, most with drinks in their hands and a few begging for more. One of the figures caught her eye, a man hiding underneath a wide brimmed and pointy hat, cradling a mug in his hands, either sober or depressed or both. That on its own wasn’t enough to draw her gaze, but the fact that there were several books strapped to his belts did. He was a magic user, and a studious one at that. What would someone like him be doing at a bar like this?

“Might’ve found one of your good conversations,” Nym pointed to the man, unafraid of being watched or called out considering no one was paying attention to them, and even if they were, they’d forget by the next morning. 

Mira put his feet back on the ground so he could twist around and see who Nym was pointing to. “The wizard?”

“That’s the one.”

Mira paused, taking in the man’s appearance. “Eh, could be better, could be worse. He looks like he’ll ramble your ear off about books.”

“And that’s a problem for you, Mr. Fantasy Book Collector?”

“Being a fan of fantasy books isn’t the same as being a fan of encyclopedias and dictionaries.”

Nym shrugged. “Fair enough. I take dibs, then, and I’ll let you know how interesting he makes those encyclopedias and dictionaries sound.”

Mira mumbled something about a death sentence as Nym got up, pushing her chair in and staying ahead of a small group making their way to the bar with her. The seats next to the wizard were taken, but there was enough space in between them that Nym was able to stand, folding her arms on the table as she peered over his shoulder. Surprisingly, the wizard didn’t take note of her, not at first. Up close, Nym saw that his hat was hiding normal rounded ears and a face covered in dark ginger stubble. A human, and a rugged one by the looks of things. A human, carrying books and wearing a wizard hat. The conclusions wrote themselves.

“You look bored out of your mind,” Nym said, prompting him to look her way. 

He adjusted his hat so it wasn’t covering his entire face, but kept one arm propped up on the counter next to his drink. She’d been right about him being sober, though she hadn’t expected him to look as depressed either. He had eyebags under his eyes like Mira, though they weren’t nearly as dark. His eyes told the story of someone who hadn’t ended up in this tavern by choice, but who was grateful for some company. 

“Drunkards can make for amusing company, but their antics quickly become boring,” The wizard said.

“Amen to that. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for ordering a mug of whatever you’re having.”

“It’s cinnamon whiskey. And I couldn’t judge a stranger for wanting a mug or two, just not to the point of getting shitfaced.”

“Yeah, getting constantly shitfaced wasn’t fun while it lasted, but at least now I’ve got a reason to stay out of that.”

“Like what?”

“My friend over there hates alcohol. I couldn’t drink near him even if I wanted to, otherwise he’d hang me by my belts.”

The wizard’s interest piqued at the mention of a friend. “And yet you came over here for a drink? What would he think?”

“He won’t see it, so it doesn’t matter,” Nym waved down the bartender, an elven woman of an elegant air who was cleaning a glass in her hands as she approached. She’d lied through her teeth about Mira not seeing her with a drink, but she knew that he’d be too tired tonight to chew her out for it. “I’ll have a shot of cinnamon whiskey.”

“Coming right up. That’ll be two sentrens.”

Nym dug around in her bag for a second before placing a gilleon on the table, which the bartender took with a thankful smile. Turning her attention back to the wizard, she held out her hand to shake. “The name’s Nymphadere, but you can call me Nym.”

“Arkus,” The wizard shook her hand with a firm grasp, “What would happen if I called you by your full name instead?”

“You’ll get tired of it eventually,” She told him, “All elven names are too long and fancy for their own good.”

“What about your friend? What’s his name?” Arkus asked, turning his body fully towards her.

Nym looked over her shoulder towards Mira, who was watching the two of them behind half closed eyelids. She gave a quick wink his way before turning back to Arkus. “His name’s Miranorin, but he goes by Mira for short. Same deal with the long and fancy names.”

“Something tells me that you’re not a fan of anything fancy,” Arkus commented with a half grin, “I’ll admit, I’ve never met an elf like you before.”

“You’d be hard pressed to find any elves like us out there,” She said, “Sometimes it feels like we’re the only two elves in the world who curse on a regular basis and prank people just for shits and giggles.”

“And sometimes it feels like I’m the only human in the world who has a decent grasp and understanding of the arcane. Guess we have that in common.”

“You know magic?”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve been studying it since I was little, and I can proudly say I know it better than most.”

“Well shit, you’re a living miracle then,” Nym joked, trying to ease over how dark Arkus’s eyes became at that comment, “Must be nice. Mira and I might be elves, but neither of us are too keen on the magic scene.”

“Really?” Arkus said, “I thought magic came more naturally to elves.”

“I bet it could if either of us decided to use it,” She replied, “But in my opinion, there’s nothing magic can do better than having a good dagger and some street skills.”

The bartender came over with the mug of cinnamon whiskey for Nym, setting it down on the bar in front of her. Nym gave her a nod and a wink before she walked off to tend to other drunkards. 

“So then, Arkus, what brings you to a place like this?” She dared to ask as she took a swig of the drink, flinching slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat. It was a sensation she’d been used to before, but after so long, the taste felt foreign. 

Arkus leaned forward, adjusting his hat. “I’m passing through. There’s a college of magic a few cities over that I’ve been hoping to reach in the next week.”

“Ilimaris?” Nym asked, “That’s one of the most prestigious colleges on the eastern coast.”

“You said it yourself, I’m a living miracle. They asked me whether or not I’d like to take up an assistant teaching position there. How could I decline?”

“I’d decline if the pay was shit.”

“Luckily it isn’t, and even if it was, I’d still wish to take the job.” He took a sip from his mug, and when he set it down, he gave Nym a grin. “So what about yourself? Do you live here with your friend, Miranorin?”

“Gods above, no,” Nym chuckled, “We’re just passing through. We’re going up north towards Waveheist.”

“Waveheist, hm?” He hummed to himself, “I hear there are a great many clerics and priests there.”

“Yeah, but there’s more up there than that.”

“Like what?”

“Waveheist has the prettiest festivals. Those clerics and priests go apeshit for a good holiday.”

Arkus laughed at that. “Right, the Day of Red Stings is coming up at the end of the month, isn’t it? I imagine there will be a bigger celebration than normal.”

“Why’s that?” Nym knew the answer, and her heart beat harder under her armor just thinking about it.

“Fate’s Chosen, of course,” He said, “I’ve read all about it. There’s a great deal of talk about how the Fate’s Chosen now walks amongst us. I can only dream of how wonderful it is to be handpicked by a god to deliver their message to the mortal plane.”

Nym raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually like to have a god take away all control of your life just so they can use you as a vessel? That sounds awful to me.”

“The gods wouldn’t be so cruel as to erase you from your own body,” Arkus said with a firm knowledge, “It’s always sounded like becoming a cleric, simply with extra benefits. It’s no wonder that the clerics and priests are enamored with the tale, especially those associated with the Fates.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Nym shrugged, “Either way, sounds like you know your stuff.”

“The gods have always fascinated me, especially their decisions to lend mortals their power,” He said, “The Fate’s Chosen is unlike any blessing I’ve researched. If I wasn’t so bent on my arcane studies, I’d likely ask to join you in your journey to Waveheist so I could learn more about the Fates.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How so?”

“You wouldn’t want to travel with a complete asshole, would you? The sentiment means I’ve been good company in this short time.” Nym finished her drink off, wiping her mouth with her wrist. She noticed that some of her lipstick smeared off onto her hand and was promptly surprised that she was still wearing any at all. Pushing the mug to the side, she leaned in, a spark of an idea igniting inside. “You know, we’d hit Ilimaris if we continued on our path up north. You wanna travel with us for a bit? Travelling in groups is always more fun.”

“I’d say it’s more safe than fun, but as long as you and Miranorin don’t mind terribly, I’d love to continue our conversations on the road,” Arkus grinned, finishing his own drink. His hat almost tipped over and fell off, but he caught it quickly, keeping it on his own head. “Of course, I’d only be ready to travel in the morning. I’m afraid I’m quite exhausted and would like to rest up a bit tonight.”

“Why would we mind that?” Nym said, “We elves need sleep too, and after the shit we went through today, I need it more than ever. If you’re planning on retiring for the night though, maybe I could introduce you to Mira first? Just so we don’t give him a shock in the morning.”

“I thought you liked to prank people for shits and giggles?”

“I’m in a good mood, and he’s been through enough today as it is. C’mon, he’s over here.”

Nym got up, taking Arkus’s hand and dragging him along. The crowd had thinned out considerably, which she’d noticed during their conversation. Likely a good few of the people who left were intent on getting inside before the curfew. Mira wasn’t exactly hard to spot, being an elf with unusually long ears and a short purple cape. He spotted them approaching out of the corner of his eye, but pretended he didn’t. She sighed to herself. The idiot was probably trying to act cooler than he actually was.

“Right, so Arkus, this is Mira.” Nym introduced the two to each other, prompting Mira to wave one of his ears with a loose smirk. Arkus blinked once before offering his hand to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Nymphadere,” Arkus said.

“It’s a pleasure to be a friend of Nymphadere,” Mira put a strange emphasis on saying Nym’s full name, a mockery of how Arkus said it that immediately made him uncomfortable. “The name’s Mira.”

“Would you mind terribly if I called you by your full name?”

“Awful polite of you to ask, but if you do that means I’m gonna call you by your full name too.”

“My name is short and sweet. Arkus.”

Mira scoffed, standing up. Nym noticed that, if Arkus hadn’t been wearing the hat, they would’ve been nearly equal in height. “You’ve got a last name, don’t you?”

“Oh. Well, yes, my last name is Payne.”

“Wasn’t that hard, was it, Arkus Payne?” Mira said, “Anyways, thanks for keeping Nym company, I guess.”

“Actually, do you mind if he travels with us tomorrow?” Nym put in, “He’s heading for Ilimaris, and that’s on the way to Waveheist.”

Mira looked between Arkus and Nym once, twice, three times before sighing. “Yeah, sure, why not. Could be useful, having a magic-user on the road with us for a bit.”

“How did you know I was a magic-user?” Arkus asked.

“You’re wearing the derpiest wizard hat I’ve ever seen and have books attached to your belts. Forgive me for making assumptions, but if you weren’t a wizard, I’d be surprised.”

Arkus chuckled, amused at Mira’s response. “I can tell I’ll enjoy your company as much as I’ve enjoyed Nym’s. You’re clearly cut from the same cloth.”

“You’ll have all the time in the world to get to know us better once we’re on the road tomorrow,” Nym said, “For now, let’s get our rooms, Mira, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. I assume we’ll meet in here for some breakfast before we depart?”

“Hell yeah,” Mira grinned widely, “See you tomorrow, Arkus Payne.”

Arkus turned to leave and bid them goodbye. Nym caught him winking at them both before he headed up the stairs to the tavern’s rooms. Nym sat down with Mira, the chair making more noise than she anticipated. The noise from her first time sitting down was probably drowned out by the partygoers, she realized.

“For the record, he didn’t talk about dictionaries and encyclopedias,” Nym smirked, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand. “He said you were cute at one point, though.”

Even though she had lied about Arkus’s comment, and even though she told Arkus that she wasn’t going to prank Mira tonight, it was still too much fun seeing his reaction to what she’d said. His ears twitched upwards in a moment of temporary surprise. He grumbled something to himself as he slid further down his chair, his face turning light pink. Nym giggled at the sight.

“You’ll have time to flirt with him tomorrow, Miranorin, now let’s go get our rooms.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 4

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 4 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: This is a new chapter (chapter 5 on Ao3) 

———————————————————————————-

The first time it happens, it's – kind of funny, actually. In retrospect, anyway.

"Don't you dare touch him," Mick growls from where he's standing by the door, glaring at where they’ve got Len all tied up. They being some Santini Family assholes who hired Len and Mick for a small job - nothing big, the main guy said, just need it done quick, don't want to get the Family name involved - and then decided they didn't feel like paying some freelancers for work they apparently should've been doing themselves. Sadly for them, Len's just smart enough not to have brought the goods with him and had no intention of giving said goods up until they coughed up the cash for them.

Damnit, Len hates Family jobs. They shouldn't have taken it, he knows that, but it'd been such an easy job...

"And what exactly are you planning to do about it?" the main Santini asshole drawls, smug and confident now that he's got his people with him.

"You'll touch him over my dead body," Mick says.

"Fine," the mobster sneers, and shoots Mick dead in the chest, the force of it making Mick stagger backwards and fall down to the floor.

"You fucking little – " Len shouts from the chair he's been tied to, eyes wide with terror, worried half to hell because he has no idea what happens when you make a ghost as solid and real as he's made Mick and then that stupid ghost goes and gets himself shot.

"Enough!" Santini snaps. "Or you're going to get a bullet yourself, Mr. Snart – "

"I told you," Mick rasps, and the entire room turns to look to see him standing back up. Mick makes a big production out of it, too, dragging his limbs up like he's in pain, like his joints are creaking, clutching at his chest, but he gets up, eyes fixed on Santini. "You'll touch him over my – dead – body –"

Santini shoots, but Mick takes a step forward. Another shot, another step.

The third bullet clicks to an empty chamber, and Santini just breaks, turning tail and running, each and every one of his men with him.

"You okay?" Len asks the second the last one is gone. He knows ghosts don’t feel things the way the living do, but he’s given Mick a lot of life over the years…

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, I’m good. Stings like a Lisa special, nothing worse than that."

Lisa had once expressed her frustration with Mick by squeezing a lemon at him when he'd just cut his hand open in the kitchen and had been bleeding a little - more out of habit than anything else. Mick is never going to let her live it down.

"But you're okay?"

"All good, boss."

Len shakes his head, starting to grin. "Well," he says, biting his lips to keep from laughing. "Guess now they know you meant it about it being over your dead body."

Mick snorts.

The next time, they try shooting Mick in the head.

Of course, that doesn't work either - Mick confirms that lots of life or not, dead men don't feel pain the same way the living do, so it's all the same to him - but it does bring up some logistical issues.

Mick wisely plays dead until Len gets them to go away, because there's reputation and then there's revelation, and the whole gang that tried it unanimously flip their lids in a most satisfying way the next time Len walks in, Mick trailing behind him, same as always, and both of them playing dumb as rocks about the whole alleged – it's their new favorite word after a stint in prison and the justice system - the whole alleged murder thing.

Len's gotten Mick some damn fine fake papers, too, so the Fed threw them into the same prison, too. It was a learning experience.

Not one Len's all too eager to repeat. Mick got into fight after fight on Len's behalf, even with Len felling a few overly touchy guys personally. Next time, he's going to send Mick floating out the wall and get a quicker exit that way.

Mick's quasi-solid virtually all the time now, which Len likes. People think he's a living person, which in fairness is probably why they try to kill him.

Len's pretty sure he's doing the ghost thing wrong, that he's not supposed to give a ghost another life like this, a life made out of his own life, but he figures if he really wasn't supposed to do this, he wouldn't be able to use his feelings about Mick for the extra boost he needs to keep him solid so often.

Love really is the most powerful force. Who woulda thought it?

Other than literally the entire literary world, anyway.

Len still doesn't like it when Mick 'dies', though, whether the cause is an angry mobster or a hail of police bullets, so he starts doubling down on his plans, working on them all day and night so that they don't go wrong and Mick isn't called upon to protect him.

"You know it doesn't hurt me, right? Not really?" Mick asks from the poker game he's set up with a handful of friendlies: the nun who's waiting to see her last student graduate, the thirteen year old who died in a car accident on the way to hear his favorite band, the prostitute that got killed by a serial killer (Len's working on IDing the bastard in his spare time), and a grandmother with wicked children who wouldn't let her see her grandkids.

Grandmother or not, Sun-hui is kicking everyone's asses as usual. Tyrice is staring at her with an expression of awe – Len's got the feeling that the kid's going to be moving on pretty soon if he can convince Sun-hui to attend that concert with him.

(Len underestimates exactly zero of his friendlies - sure, they protect him from the unquiet dead, but Tyrice has a tendency to cause accidents on the street corner where he'd died and Sister Bea has a way of guarding her church schoolkids from trouble that includes nearly giving them heart attacks when they start to do something she considers stupid.)

"I know it don't hurt you," Len replies, not for the first time. "Makes me all queasy, though."

"Awwwww," Daniela says. “You’re such adorable snugglekins.”

"Shut up."

"Find the guy that beat my face in, and I will."

"I'm working on it!"

"Len – " Mick starts.

"Mick, if it makes you feel better, you can think about it as me not wanting to go back to jail, okay? If no one catches us, there's no problem."

"Fine, fine."

"Your plans are getting much better," Sun-hui says approvingly. "You leave very little trail behind you, like a ghost."

"Aw, thanks," Len says, grinning at her. He would never have understood Sun-hui in life, due to the language barrier that vexed her, but the dead all speak the same language.

He's not entire sure what language that is – he's pretty sure it ain't actually English – but that's what he knows, so he hears it in that, or else he just understands it regardless. Len vaguely recalls his mom saying something about how the curse of Babel didn’t apply to the dead, but the specific mechanics aren’t really that interesting to him – they can talk, he can listen, that’s all that matters.

“Plus your plans got much better since your old man got sent away,” Tyrice says, kicking his heels. He’s pretty short. Maybe he regrets not getting tall? Len should offer him some help with that. “Good-for-nothing dickwad.”

“Well, yeah,” Len says, because it’s not untrue. He’d resisted getting rid of his father at first, either by making a heist go wrong or via Mick’s preferred method of just up and torching the fucker, but that'd been because of Lisa, who needed to stay in a good school for her skating and grades. Once his dad fucked up her ankle right before a big skating competition because he needed spare cash, Len saw red.

He’d been able to sweet-talk the old lady down the street into signing up for fostering and then agreeing to take in Lisa for the remainder of her schooling once Lewis was on his way to prison for a good long time.

Having said old lady’s husband around – and said old lady being a devout spiritualist, or whatever the hell you call people that pay fake mediums too much money, much to her deceased husband’s concern – had really helped.

Besides, if her boo-boo told her the money was better used on taking care of Lisa than on all those mediums, who was she to object?

(Boo-boo. Really. Len is so glad he and Mick aren’t over-the-top smoochy like that.)

All things considered, it worked pretty well.

His remaining concerns about leaving Lisa with the old lady were misplaced: Mrs. Crabtree was officially Lisa’s favorite person ever, being a proper old grandma type, and Lisa chased the fake mediums who sought Mrs. Crabtree out for an easy mark away with a baseball bat, which in turn meant Mr. Crabtree felt comfortable moving on, which made everybody happy.

But since that skating scholarship didn’t look like it was going anywhere anymore, not since Lewis, that still left the question of somehow paying for Lisa’s continued schooling. It turned out high school was fine and all, being public, but college? College is an expensive pain in Len's ass, but he was determined that Lisa would go. Mrs. Crabtree certainly couldn’t help pay for it, living off her pension as she did, and neither Len nor Lisa would ever ask for her to. Now that Len knew that Lisa was somewhere safe, though, he could devote himself to dealing with that little problem.

With his dad gone, Len could recruit his own crew and hunt up some game of his own, and what glorious game it was: high end jewelry transports, art museums with shitty security, history museums with even shittier guards, fashion designer outlets where they carted away bags of dresses, much to the complaints of his crew until they found out they could sell that shit to a copy-cat place for very near the price of gold…

Okay, sure, it didn't work perfectly all the time – he spent a good few of Lisa's teenage years in prison – but after he got out again, he went right back at it, saving up the money for Lisa’s college and grad school and whatever else she wants in life. Two solid years of it, travelling the world, and it was fun and all, but Len’s not going to lie, he’s damn happy it’s over. Now that he’s had time to try all the different variations, he definitely prefers taking his time and planning out the perfect heist instead of doing them all rapid-fire like he has been.

Not to mention, now that the heat’s passed in Central and they’re mostly looking for him in Europe and the coast cities instead, it means that he gets to come home and settle down, and best of all that he’ll get to see Lisa again regularly instead of just talking to her on the phone like it’s been the last two years.

Lisa is twenty now – starting a bit later than the rest, yes, but money takes time and she's not so far behind that people would really notice. College freshman, thanks to the fudging of her high school record that he paid for to make sure she got to go anywhere she wanted, though she still picked Central City Uni so that she could live in her own apartment but still come back to Mrs. Crabtree’s for her laundry and to hang out, apparently.

College.

Lisa.

Man.

Len doesn’t even know what to do with that.

Like, he's been dreaming of it and planning it and counting on it, but now that she's actually enrolled, it's all weird.

He hasn’t been much of a brother these last few years, he feels – he’d been in and out of prison until she was seventeen, and he’d spent her last three birthdays out raising money for her. Len took care of Lisa as long as he could, and when he realized he couldn’t, he got her where she needed to be, but it’s not the same as really being there, even though Lisa assures him that between the near-daily phone calls and the week-long visits he tried to arrange at least once every three months, she never felt like he was too far away.

Still not the same, and he’s gotta admit, he’s feeling a bit insecure about it. Which, he suspects, leads to his current overreaction now that she’s coming to crash with him for her very first spring break.

Len spends a whole week cleaning up the place he’d acquired in anticipation of Lisa's arrival, and he never cleans.

"Why are you so worried?" Sun-hui asks, even as she supervises his (deplorable) cleaning attempts. "Your sister loves you, and will be happy anywhere."

"She's a college student now," Len says, focusing on his scrubbing. "I don't know, there's a difference."

"Nah, man," Tryice says. He’d finally gotten his concert, but he’d decided to wait on Sun-hui reaching her own goals before agreeing to pass on. "Still your sister. My big bro went to college, but he was still the same coming back." He pauses. "Smoked more pot, though."

Len gives Tyrice a dirty look, then sighs. "Well, s'long as it's just pot, we'll be fine."

"Yeah, crack's the bad stuff," Tyrice says all too wisely.

"Pssh, heroin. Now that's a college kid killer – and I should know," Julie says. She's new - died of an OD before flying home for Christmas, now waiting for next Christmas to go back and say goodbye to everyone, and she’s become best buds with Daniela, which is good since Sister Bea has finally moved on by now.

Kiki, another new one, a soft-spoken too-late-regretted suicide, nods in agreement.

“Very bad,” she says solemnly. Nora – a sad-looking woman in her late thirties who’d gotten stabbed in the chest and never saw her beloved eleven-year-old grow up – covers her mouth to hide a smile at Len’s expression.

"Well, I think meth – " Daniela starts.

"Will you all stop talking about drugs!" Len finally yells. "Lisa's not on any! So shut up!"

They all smirk at him, but fall silent. They usually listen to him, Len's found, especially when he means it. He's not sure if it's because they all want something from him or because he actually has some power over them, but he's been trying not to think about it too hard.

He's not a necromancer, damnit. His job is to help fix the world by doing his own special part of the spiritual cycle of life, just like the bacteria that eat the body of the dead, except he helps clean up the ghostly realms instead of the forest.

Julie thinks the metaphor is awful, and Nora agrees. Mick kind of likes it, though.

Speaking of Mick, he's been too quiet.

"Mick?" Len calls, but no, nothing. "Go check if something's on fire," he tells the ghosts, shaking his head.

"Nothing's on fire," Mick grumbles, walking through the door to the kitchen. The open door, for once; he’s getting better at pretending to be living on instinct. "I went grocery shopping and didn't want to holler back from the porch."

"Groceries?"

"If we're gonna impress your sister like you so obviously want to, we're gonna need some food,” Mick says like it’s obvious. “College students eat like pigs when the food’s free.”

Len sighs and looks down at the half-scrubbed floor. "I'm not gonna impress her either way," he says. "I'm a high school dropout with a criminal record – "

"Who raised her from childhood," Mick says skeptically. "Who got that criminal record paying for her schooling. Who got your dad put away on charges of theft and murder that'll keep him there for a few years at least, so that he won't find you guys when he gets out. Nah, nothing impressive there at all."

"But – "

"Lenny. It'll be fine. Relax."

[ernmark]

Would you expand a little on the Nureyev-is-a-dragon AU? That one was super cool

Oh, thank god.

I wrote that fic mostly for my own entertainment, and I didn’t hold out much hope that anyone else would get much out of it. I’m absolutely thrilled you actually enjoyed it. :)

Juno stands firm beside Peter while the would-be-client’s footsteps have gone silent in the hall. Then he rounds on his partner.

“What do you mean, you’re a dragon?”He doesn’t want the client to hear, so he keeps his shriek down to merely ear-splitting levels. “Were you ever actually planning on telling me? Ever?”

And damn him, Peter seems clueless. “I thought you knew.”

“What, the way you knew that woman was a dragon? I have no idea how the hell you two did that, but I fucking can’t!”

“And of course you can’t; your nose isn’t nearly as developed as mine, love, but you shouldn’t need to.”

No. Absolutely not. Peter is not going to let this just slide off him like it doesn’t matter. “Don’t you ‘love’ at me–”

“Juno, you’ve been inside my head. You’ve gone through my memories. Do you really mean to tell me that you missed a detail like that?” 

And just like that, Juno’s fury is extinguished. Because he did. He absolutely did. 

“I still wish you would’ve told me,” he mutters petulantly, though right now he’s mostly just mad at himself. Really, how did he miss it?

Oddly enough, that’s what Peter reacts to– not the initial outburst of fury, but the grumpy discomfort afterward.

“Juno,” he says softly. “This won’t be a problem for you, will it?”

“I don’t know,” Juno admits. “Will it?” He doesn’t know the first thing about dragons. He’s heard of them, sure, but most of the time he assumed they were just metaphors or weirdos who got in too deep with gene splicing. What he just witnessed with Peter, though, was something else entirely. “How does any of this even work?”

“It works the same way it has since the beginning.” Peter steps forward and wraps his arms around Juno. “I told you, I thought you knew. Nothing else has changed.”

Okay, so maybe ‘nothing’ was a bit optimistic.

Because things have changed.

For one, Juno suddenly understands the little things that always seemed so weird before. The way some people might be perfectly civil on the phone and then turn hostile and cold the moment he’s in the same room as them, even before he has the chance to piss them off on his own. And every time, they’re the kinds of people whose shoes cost more than Juno’s entire apartment building. And every time he comes home from meeting with people like that, Peter’s all over him, dominating and possessive in a way that Juno won’t deny he loves.

It always seemed to come out of the blue before. But suddenly it makes sense.

“That… uh… the woman.” Juno can’t remember her name. As thoroughly as Peter just fucked him, it’s a miracle that Juno still remembers how to talk, but he knows Peter will understand who he’s talking about. “She wasn’t human, was she?” 

Peter’s applying ointment to the places where his love bites broke skin. He doesn’t pause in his ministrations. “Of course she wasn’t.” 

“You two know each other?” 

That draws a chuckle out of him. “No, I’m afraid all dragons don’t know each other.”

“But she seemed to know you,” Juno says. “Or that I know you, anyway.” 

“Smelled me on you, more likely.” There’s no hiding the satisfaction in his voice when he says that. “The same way I smelled her on you when you came back.”

“What?” Juno sits up. “How? I didn’t even shake her hand–”

“I don’t doubt you, love.” Peter chuckles again and kisses one of the bites in Juno’s thigh. “It doesn’t take much to pick up a scent. But no need to worry– there’s not a trace of her left on you. I’ve made sure of that.” 

Juno makes a mental note: dragons are territorial fuckers. In every sense of the word.

Not all other dragons are immediately hostile, though– worse, some of them get flirty.

More than a few of them point out his patched coat, his worn-out shoes, his glass eye. 

“Not much money in being a private eye, I imagine,” muses a tall woman in a cocktail dress while he’s trying to grill her about recent allegations of embezzlement. “A pity you don’t have anyone to assist you with that.” 

“You’re free to help out sometime,” Juno says, “but you might want to change your footwear first. Never heard of a gumshoe in stilettos.” 

She laughs. “Oh, yours helps you solve cases? That’s adorable.”  

Yours.

That’s how they always seem to refer to Peter.

“That awful Kay woman seems to have spread the word,” Peter sighs when Juno tells him about it. “I suppose it’ll help prevent another awkward incident.”

“And that’s not going to be a problem?” Juno asks. “Are they going to be able to identify you?”

“The humans won’t, most likely,” Peter says carelessly. “The dragons won’t care. Whose you are isn’t nearly as important as the fact that you’re already spoken for.”

Juno’s not entirely sure how he feels about that. If he wanted half the city to know his relationship status, he would wear a ring. It gets weird, though, when a member of the Triad comes up to his office with a formal invitation.

“If you ever find yourself in need of better care,” he says pointedly, “Know that Shenlong is always generous to those in his employ.” 

Juno’s about to give him a piece of his mind when Peter storms from the back of the office, looking like he’s ready to hurl the mobster through the window. The mobster flees, which is probably the only reason he’s still alive. 

“You okay?” Juno asks.

“Fine,” Peter hisses through sharp teeth. “Just fine.”

“You sure about that?” He doesn’t look fine. Peter’s eyes are slitted and sharp; there are claws where his fingernails used to be. “You mind explaining what that was back there, then?” 

“I knew the man who ran the Triad was a bastard, but that was low,” Peter grumbles. “He was trying to steal you for himself. He seems to think you can do better than me.” 

For all his agitation, Juno can hear a note of genuine hurt in his voice.

“That’s not gonna happen,” he tells Peter, sidling up close. He twines their hands, and immediately the claws start to recede. “I’ve got a strict policy about dating people who’ve tried to have me killed.”

Juno’s not exactly unfamiliar with snide comments about his bruises, his patched clothes, his shitty car. They never bothered him all that much before. Being a functional dumpster fire of a human being was practically a point of pride for him, almost as much as being a Private Eye. 

But when other dragons are looking at him, that’s not what they’re seeing. To them, he’s not just a human disaster, he’s Peter’s human disaster. And as far as they care, the only reason he’s so messed up is because Peter’s neglecting him or something.

That pisses him off. 

So he starts cleaning himself up, just to spite those judgmental assholes. He doesn’t exactly go out for a whole three-piece suit-- maybe Peter can feel comfortable in that kind of getup, but Juno sure can’t-- but he starts throwing out clothes when they stop being presentable. His beat-up old trench coat is replaced by a newer model that’s sleek, expensive, and cut for timeless fashion. He lets Peter buy him jewelry. He even starts applying makeup again, and he can’t even remember the last time he’s been willing to do that.

More and more often, he finds himself preening in front of the mirror. Sure, maybe it’s all done out of spite, but damn if he doesn’t look sharp.

[blorbocedes]

Well a new person just got added to the list

Nico 🤝 Me 🤝 You 🤝 Max 🤝 That anon who's dating Toto 🤝 Yuki

Never beating those we fucked older men allegations 😔

(I am just gonna keep adding more people as we find out. Do inform me if you find more)

gahsjdjjd this is the funniest ask ever. thank you for keeping track, us alleged old men fuckers must stick together 😔

in the meantime keep an eye out on my #he fucked that old man tag, which is there for investigative journalism purposes