#poverty fighting games

[ephemeraltransience]

2 dfci satsuki reference pallets with no name and UNICLR Nanase 029 “Depletion Garden” 

[letterstotheflre]

people hating gale and the carreers when they were just kids and a product of their environment breaks my heart

[sinknighteye]

I am this close to finding some always-on-sale fighting game and just stocking up on Steam codes to hand out to friends so I can drag them into these games. I wanna play with people, dammit, but I'm not gonna ask someone to drop 60, 70 bucks on a getting-your-ass-kicked simulator they won't even know if they'll enjoy. Problem is, of course, a lot of those games have shit netcode, they're cheap because they run like we're back in the PS2 days.

Do I just do Skullgirls? I'd been avoiding it for this thought experiment since Mahvel style big-combo tag games are not a good place to introduce someone to the genre when they're gonna get TODed in online...But if I keep it inside a sealed environment, and folks are just playing in the private room instead of going into ranked and getting bodied...

[gikairan]

Something something torment nexus something something...

[anghraine]

I put my reply in drafts to avoid putting my thumb on the scale, but you're right, honestly! I do love Alice and Faren, but of the primary human BFFs, Petra is just leagues ahead of Faren and Quinn in competence and intelligence and resourcefulness and good sense. Faren and Quinn are loyal, basically well-meaning dumbasses (though Faren is a far more entertaining one with more development, of course!), and meanwhile Petra shows up and is like ... I can take care of myself, my pal Ms. Timber is a giant stick I habitually carry to club rowdy customers with, and why are you lecturing me about getting into fights when you're the one who just got out of the hospital? Good for her, honestly.

And later on she manages to get pies to the Pact troops in Orr!

Silly poll for the Guild Wars 2 crowd:

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk!Danny AU- Part 3

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4]

“Have you considered anger management classes?”

The Batman turned sharply, cape flaring out as he raised his weary fists in preparation for another fight. Only to pause, as he caught sight of a bedraggled man leaning against the pockmarked, water worn, Gotham variety stone of the abandoned post office. Non-hostile. Scent of booze, not strong enough to be fresh, but prominent enough for him to clock the stranger as a habitual drinker. Young. Sympathy softened Batman’s stance. Still, Batman kept his guard up. Good thing Robin was benched, he was off his game today if he hadn’t noticed the young man.

“Nevermind. You run around as a bat. Clearly anger management classes aren’t on your to do list.”

“What do you want.”

He’s young. Not as young as Robin, but… enough that it made Batman gentle his approach. The young man pushed away from his spot, fearlessly slouching towards him. Casual. Unafraid. How curious. Even Gothamites were wary around him, correctly assuming and witnessing his takedowns of Gotham’s Underbelly.

“You do this a lot, don’t you?” The bedraggled young man asked, head tilted neutrally at the bodies strewn around the Batman.

“Hm.”

“Why do you never swing by Crime Alley?”

Batman’s guard faltered at the blunt question, but he regained it quickly.

“I do.”

“You don’t.” The man disagreed amiably. He reached down towards the victims but Batman grabbed his arm in an iron hold before he could rifle through their belongings. The young man laughed and pulled back agreeably. “Is it classism, why you avoid us? The poor isn’t good enough to deserve protection from Gotham’s knight?”

“No. I do this for Gotham. All of Gotham.”

“…Well, there’s always room for improvement, I guess?”

The stranger pulled back and broke Batman’s hold, which had the vigilante sharply focusing onto the man. The stranger was strong, despite how skinny and starved he looked. Few people could casually break his hold and tonight, he added one more to the tally.

“You should tell your sponsor to look into creating job opportunities in Crime Alley. The problem isn’t actually the crooks,” the man told the vigilante, gesturing around them. “That’s just the symptoms. The actual problem is the poverty.”

“I know.”

“And yet, you still avoid Crime Alley.”

“Who are you.”

The man began walking away, throwing a dry “The Crime Alley Drunk, apparently,” behind his shoulder. When Batman took to the roofs to track him, the man had thoroughly slipped away.

“Agent A, did you catch that?”

“Yes, Batman. It appears you’ve gotten the wool pulled over your cowl by a rather mysterious youngster.”

Batman heard a younger snort of laughter. Robin. Who was supposed to be doing homework.

“Please stop making fun of me.” Batman sighed half heartedly.

“Not on your life, B.” Robin chirped.

——

“Ya talked ta Batman?!” Jason crowed at him, excited. Danny had done as promised and met him at the chili dog stand at the correct time, which increased his credibility in Jason’s eyes.

“Sure did. He knocked out like, five guys by himself. It was pretty cool.”

“Fuckin’ woah.”

“Right?” Danny smiled tiredly at the kid. He stayed up all night to pull his shit together, and outright bought an apartment for them to stay in. That safe had a lot of cash, after all. “Come on, kid. We’re heading back to base but before that, we gotta pick up a few things.”

“Like what?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“Like curtains in the color you like, groceries, and blankets and bedding, and general cleaning stuff.” Danny ticked off a finger per item.

“We killin’ someone?”

“What? No!”

“Ya said general cleaning stuff!” Jason defended himself. The raggedy kid peered at Danny cautiously, and brightened when Danny only snorted in amusement.

“Oh my ancients, you Gothamites. No, those are for like, actual cleaning. You know, for the apartment I just got you.”

Danny missed the burn of booze, but when Jason looked at him like the child he’s supposed to be had Gotham’s streets never laid its claim on him, Danny didn’t want to fail the kid.

Even if the kid thought he was buying chemicals to clean up a body. He’s the son of two mad scientists, he knows how to get rid of a body, obviously. As if he’d need chemicals to begin with, honestly. His ghost powers are quite versatile.

“An apartment?”

“Yep. It’s shitty, but it’s got all the utilities and I kind of miss having warm water to shower with.”

Jason straightened and trotted alongside the Alley Drunk with a little more purpose. People avoided them. Danny lead the kid to the apartment, handing him a key and letting him explore the sparsely decorated place.

“So, first thing’s first. You go shower. Then, we’ll go shopping for clothes, register you for school, get your school supplies, and grab some lunch. Not necessarily in that order, but ya know. And cleaning supplies.” Danny grinned.

Jason whipped his head around from where he was closely inspecting the windows for insulation- like Danny would let the actual kid live somewhere with drafty windows- and spluttered. Hope, fear, uncertainty battled across Jason’s face as he tried to say something. Danny watched Jason open and close his mouth several times before he finally managed to whisper something.

“I- I c’n go to school?”

“Yes. You are, in fact, legally required to do so, Jason.”

A pause as the kid grapples with the idea, of something he didn’t think he’d ever get to do. A grin bloomed over his face as he realized Danny’s sincerity.

“Then what are we waitin’ for?!”

“For you to shower. C’mon grubby, the shower’s that way. Towels are in the cabinet, and there’s some extra clothes in here,” Danny tossed Jason the plastic bag of clean kid’s clothes he bought from Gotham’s version of Walmart, a store that somehow had the energy of a Tesco and a Denny’s parking lot.

“Fuc- I mean- yeah! On it!”

——

Clearing out the drafts- feel free to continue ^^

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

SO LET ME LOVE YOU

Brushing genshin and honkai men's hair (Blade, Aventurine, Baizhu, Wanderer and Zhongli included)

General masterlist

Blade

You sighed, admiring Blade's long, shiny hair. You almost couldn't believe your lover finally allowed you to take care of him in such sweet way after days of asking him for it with your best puppy eyes. You brushed through his hair with your fingers, they were silky smooth and much softer than you expected. Probably living with so many girls in Stellaron Hunters headquaters rubbed off on him and he had decent haircare routine.

-What are you waiting for? - Blade chuckled. - Few minutes ago you were so eager to become my personal stylist.

You blushed heavily, grateful that he can't see your face right now. Blade sat in a chair in front of you, facing the window. You glance at snowflakes dancing on the wind outside before turning your eyes back to the back of his head. You began to detangle his hair, starting from the bottom and slowly working your way up through layers of his strands. You noticed Blade relax over time, his head learning back comfortably and shoulders dropping down slightly. When you reached his scalp Blade's breathing got suspiciously regular. Massaging the skin his head with your fingertips you heard soft purring sounds coming from him. You realized he fell asleep and snored quietly. In this state he reminded you of an old, lazy cat. You just wanted to scratch behind his ear. Being his source of comfort filled your heart with joy.

Aventurine

You loved those cozy evenings at Aventurine's place. Dimmed, indirect light in his bedroom giving your bodies soft glow, Aventurine humming sweet, foreign melody unknown to you and sensation of expensive sheets under your skin. Words were unnecessary. There was nothing to say or ask about, you were by his side when he won game after game and when he was fighting for his life. Now you wanted to help him get rid of the tension from his body. His job exciting and well-paid, but very dangerous one. Constantly chasing money, fighting and dealing with his enemies left a toll on his mind.

So you reach for the brush on his nightstand and he immediately turnes around, so you can brush his hair for him. Even his locks smelled like luxury, after years of poverty and humiliation he was not shy to invest in himself. Since you started hanging out with him your own skincare and haircare routine got so much better, Aventurine bought only the best things for you. He wanted you both to look perfect on every business meeting, not to mention nights he went to casino with you as his lucky charm.

As you brushed through his hair for him you noticed his sharp and calculating eyes follow your every move in the mirror. Sometimes you thought you knew him like nobody else after all you have been through together, he even told you so much about his past. Yet moments like this were a reminder.

No matter what, he will never let himself be vulnerable again in front of anybody, not even you. He never fully takes off his mask, waiting for the blow to come. You couldn't blame him for not being able to let go of his defenses, not after all he went through, all those years he was forced to keep his guard up to survive. Not when he protected you, took care of all your wants and needs and and chose you to be at the top of the world with him. Even if it wasn't easy to love him, knowing you will never be able to truly see the man behind the persona.

Wanderer

Wanderer would rather die than admit just how much it meant to him when you initiated intimate moments like this. Of course, he could order you to come closer and massage his back or fix his clothes for him, but he hated to beg for attention, afraid of rejection and pushing you away with needy behaviour.

To him it seemed like the world stopped around the two of you when your nails gently scratched his head, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Your hands went lower, teasing his neck and shoulders. Wanderer exhaled loudly, if his skin wasn't synthetic it would be covered in goosebumps by now. Your warm hands left his body to grab his favourite wooden comb, adorned with intricate carvings and jade.

Wanderer never slept, his body didn't need such human thing and memory of being discarded for crying in his sleep haunted him still, after all those years. So why when you gently brush through his like this he can't resist the urge to close his eyes? You both know he won't shed a single tear this time, with you by his side.

Baizhu

Days flew by fast in Bubu Pharmacy, beloved doctor selflessly served all his patients, sometimes at his own expense, sacrificing even his own health and free time. As he became more and more successful and famous, people from whole Teyvat sought him out, putting their trust in his legendary effectiveness. Burden on your lover's shoulders grew each day, but despite his own physical condition he never gave up on his clients.

Your heart was breaking at sight of Baizhu overworking himself for the third week in a row, your man just returned from the Pharmacy, barely touched his dinner and sat down to write prescriptions. Fortunately, you knew just what to do.

- You have so much on your head, dear - you spoke in a soothing, low voice. - Can I help you with at least one thing and brush your hair for you?

Baizhu looked at you with tenderness in his tired eyes, and pulled out his hairpin, muttering thanks with relief. His long strands cascaded down his back and fell down his surprisingly toned arms you loved to hide in so much. He flexed a bit, finding your reaction to his body cute. You couldn't hide your blush when your eyes fixated on his biceps.

You went behind him, rolling your eyes at Chansheng's teasing remarks. His hair were in great condition, long and voluminous, regularly oiled up and always styled flawlessly. When you effortlessly detangled those smooth like silk strands Baizhu put his paperwork down for once and leaned back into your touch.

You wished for this intimate moment to last as long as possible. You put his hair in a fishtail sealing it with a kiss. Next thing you knew you were embraced by your beloved in your shared bed.

Zhongli

Even in his human form your beloved geo archon could be intimidating, with powerful aura and divine light shining in his eyes, his true might peaked through mortal disguise.

Now, hidden by the walls of your shared home, ancient dragon took on the most natural and comfortable form, letting his draconic features show. His tail curled up in your lap, intricate golden patterns on his skin illuminating the room, pair of horns adorning his head, even scales showing up here and there looked like they manifested straight out of legends. In this moment you were so aware of your own fragility and mortality, understanding that the one you touch is eternal and wields power beyond your comprehension.

As if not mindful of how undeserving you felt to touch him in this form, Zhongli craved to be as close to you as possible when he let his draconic nature come out. He always had to touch you in some way, usually putting his tail around your waist. This time he sat by your feet on expensive pillows, while you occupied his usual place on the couch.

He was so tall you could almost lay your chin down on top of his head, instead you rubbed one of his horns, earning a low purr out of him. Your hand slid down, caressing his hair, so long and thick in this form. You noticed his purring got louder, it gave you an interesting idea.

- Darling, can I brush your hair? - you asked, already reaching for your brush.

- That would be sweet of you, my treasure. - he answered with charming smile.

You kisses him before taking care of his majestic mane. Surrounded by countless souvenirs from centuries long gone he collected for his herd, you wondered how much he lived through, all the friends he lost and lives of his people he watched from beginning to end, witnessing the world around him constantly changing. Did he remember all of them? He was a god of history, burdened with both a blessing and a curse to keep all those people alive in his memory. Does the grief pass if you can never forget?

Lost in your thoughts you didn't realize your fingers kept touching over the base of his horns. Soon, you felt Zhongli's embrace and his strong arms pulled you down on his lap.

- What are you doing? - you asked when he took the brush from your hand.

- Just returning the favour - he answered, letting your hair down.

[enavstars]

Cyberpunk au

RGB designs for a new au

Important things:

The inspiration for this was the game Stray (that I finally played).

This is a hyperfixation that I don't know when it's going to end. I'll probably draw things from it as much as my motivation lets me but don't expect it to be a constant thing like Eclipse or On the road.

I love worldbuilding so there is a lot of details of this au already, feel free to ask questions.

The world is dark and very corrupted but the tone of the au is chill because the sibs dgaf about the world.

Worldbuilding details (my friend wrote this because this is complicated and I suck at writing) [very long text under the cut]:

The key element of this AU’s worldbuilding is a new biohazardous artificial plant which was originally genetically engineered by the scientist of the RGB’s city-state to fight the air pollution that plagued the region by attempting to reduce the amount of CO2 from the atmosphere (yes this is a biopunk universe :)). However, because they are an ugly reddish colour, have a bitter taste and are extremely nutrient-deficient and unhealthy, they have no natural predators and can spread like wildfire across both fertile plots and forests like weeds. On top of that, due to that nutrient deficiency, which stems from the slow absorption ability of their roots (not nearly enough to keep the heavy rate of photosynthesis), they evolved on their own to attach themselves to other living beings as parasites and basically invaded the entire area around the metropolis. With them being potentially lethal, this caused a massive problem that made the city panic; although they have plenty of weak points (like fire and a vulnerable immune system) and it takes them very long to get their roots to the rest of the body, their grip is so deep and strong that the only option is to remove the infected body part. So their special ability became a critical issue when the plants unexpectedly ended up liking animals better, and with them humans themselves, because they could carry them to other places and infest those too while still sucking the life out of them until they die (oopsie). Ultimately, with the lack of proper information on the parasites, and because the situation was handled very poorly overall, they ended up taking many people’s lives and made the most vulnerable species of the area (like cattle) go endangered or extinct, which in turn altered the balance of the ecosystem and the working class’ means of living :).

Sorry this chunk was so technical, we (@kaigoesbrr and I) are biology nerds, but basically the plants were so good at making more oxygen and so ass at getting what they needed to do so that they became parasites, and now they get what they need from plants and animals (and they like animals better, like humans, because they have more stuff and help them spread further). Then society collapsed :).

All of this caused a deep economic crisis that brought about high rates of poverty, and with it, a deep fear of the infested world outside the city walls. So this whole conundrum led to the city closing off to the lands around it, implementing absurd levels of security like a tight border control and a slower, more strict business traffic, and making a huge dark translucent dome that encapsulates the whole city to keep any potential smuggled plants from ever growing by blocking the natural sunlight. They even made a ditch around their walls (kind of like a moat) and burnt and bombed the fields and suburbs around them to make them extremely infertile. So yeah, this city-state is a terrible place to live, a gloomy prison where not even the sun and stars can be seen, but most the inhabitants never leave out of that paranoid terror and the heavy bureaucracy needed to just go outside and touch grass.

(haha with poor funding corrupt scientists who didn’t know what they were doing made a mess, shocker how that would backfire horribly).

However, the outside isn’t as bad as they make it out to be. In the end, the plants did clean the air as they were supposed to, and, as nature does, it did somewhat recover from the disaster to where human life is now sustainable again.

Taking advantage of their thick crust, trees were the least affected by the plague, and the other plants in the forest developed new natural defences against the parasites, which was yet another reason why they in turn became best at infecting animals. And many of the fungi, abundant in the now more humid forest (haha cooler air equals more rain), took advantage of their weak immune system (due to their fucking incompetent creators making a mess of the original plant’s DNA) and infected them (haha scammer get scammed). So basically, the fields and farmlands were lost to the people, but the forests are still intact. Also, even though one of the rivers around the city, the one which makes its ways under it and is therefore connected to the water supply and sewer systems, is trashed, the other, which is further away, is now perfectly healthy due to the city closing off and therefore leaving it alone for enough time. The real issue here lies within the actual government, which obviously does not want to expose how corrupt and lazy they are when dealing with problems and so they keep fueling the paranoia of their most vulnerable citizens since they are kids :). One way they do so is by manipulating the information their people get, claiming bullshit like “the current ecosystem is wild and polluted, it cannot offer our economy anything anymore!” and “the plants are dangerous and will kill you if you ever come into contact with them, and they have infected virtually every living thing around!”. Another is by not educating their population about “the Outside”, treating it like a sort of taboo. Therefore, they refuse to explain, or hush those who try to, the actual danger of the plants and how to deal with them (they do have many weaknesses, after all).

But the people in this world have yet another nasty problem. In this AU there are beings believed to be anthropomorphic demons due to their pointy ears, fangs, and sometimes strange behaviour. But in fact, these people are descendants of the dragons that once lived in these nations, but their origins were forgotten as the world gradually lost touch with its spirituality and ancestry, and now those who were once revered for their “godlike attributes” (yes, they kinda worshipped dragons, I mean, who wouldn’t) are today facing discrimination. However, even though they aren’t considered exactly “people”, the pure humans are still kind of afraid of them, so they usually choose the subtler kind of racism. In most governments, “Demons” get less job opportunities and are denied high positions, can be freely banned from any establishment, and face unmatched prejudice just for existing, especially those with a stronger blood relation with their ancestry. In the city, they are treated as less than even the robots (nindroids of all kinds), who are treated like any other respected social group by now because they have grown so advanced that most of them are just like humans in metal armour. In fact, many of them are mechanics, who are held in high esteem for making the many bionic implants for the humans.

And all of that combined made the RGB siblings (who are obviously demons, especially Lloyd), decide never to leave the Outside, where they grew up, to go live in the city.

When they were younger, Kai and Nya adopted Lloyd when they found him asleep in a box in the middle of nowhere, after having been abandoned themselves a few years earlier. This time, though, their dynamic in this AU is more of a team than Kai being a mom to them both like he always is, so even if Kai feels the most responsible for being the eldest sibling, they rely on each other almost equally. They fend off the plants that threaten them with fire (no they do not have powers, but Kai uses a fucking flamethrower because it’s Kai), and usually live on whatever they can find in the wild: mostly by making traps for game, fishing in the cleaner river and occasionally foraging edible plats (that’s more risky and they are more carnivorous anyway). Also, Nya routinely strolls through the ruins of the suburbs to collect scrap junk to turn as much of it as she can into useful trinkets, the rest of which she sells to Ed and Edna’s junkyard and their son, who is an amateur mechanic (wink wink but no shipping actually). Apart from that though, they usually sneak into the metropolis to cause a bit of mayhem here and there, which over time and on top of the fear over their species has earned them a reputation of People You Don't Wanna Mess With (or "Demons", more like). More than once they’ve even messed with a few of the gangs around town, which started sprouting up after the disaster, so overall their presence in the city is tolerated, but frowned upon. They manage to bypass the annoying border control thanks to the faulty assistant robot who raised them, named Echo (wink wink), who cannot perform any other social job (what he was made for) than to be the ferryman for those few people who decide to cross the wide moat and venture out into the Outside. They usually take a secret tunnel that a few smugglers managed to make, and the Guard do nothing because they do not give a fuck about demons anyway (in fact, only a few people know that their actual names aren’t Red, Blue and Green because nobody gives a fuck indeed). They do actually know a few people there, some of whom are also demons (like Mistake and Ronin), but especially as kids (which is when the story starts) they spend most of their time in the wild chilling and going on adventures :³.

(no the city and the plants are not named, we’re lazy :))

Anyway this is what I'll say for now. There's a lot more info, and hopefully drawings, coming. Hope you like this au because I love it for now ^^

(Btw let me know if you want me to make a post/reblog explaining the designs for the Rgb siblings and some info behind them)

[distort-opia]

What kind of non lethal crimes do you think Joker would pivot to in a relationship with Bruce? I'm thinking about your REMS characterization. Also thinking about a line from Joker in the last chapter, about not throwing his career down the shitter and killing to defend himself. What would a career look like for him being with Bruce? Surely he would still be incredibly silly about them, with varying levels of violence that *just* teeters the edge. Love your work!

Glad you like my work, thank you! Hmm, what I had in mind when writing that in REMS (or for a sequel) was Joker's penchant for... well, breaking people and exposing hypocrisy, but minus the murder. With his love of drama and performance sprinkled on top, of course; as you say, he'd never stop being silly.

He usually kills indiscriminately, yes, because he considers himself as just playing into the cruel meaninglessness of the world. But the reason why Joker fixated on Batman, and why his M.O. includes using a gas that basically forces people to see the world like he does right before they die, is Joker's need to prove a point. He wants people to admit that there's no order to life and that tragedy can strike at any time; he wants Gotham to realize how arbitrary rules are, and Batman happens to be the perfect embodiment of that.

So I think that a Joker who won't murder anymore would basically create situations in which people's darkest sides are exposed, to various degrees of seriousness and violence. And not only that-- he would do things that would expose the ridiculousness and heinousness of the world people live in. Capitalism and its self-cannibalizing focus on profit, the skewed interests of the government, the suffering of the poor... Joker's already done this sort of thing, it's not much of a stretch. For example, seeing how many people we're being hurt as a result of superhero fights, one time Joker promised to pay the medical bills of each Gothamite that posted a video on the DC equivalent of Facebook... but only if they shouted the word "Balyushka" and then did something ridiculous to make him laugh:

Batman: Gotham Nights #6 ("Balyushka!")

And he keeps his word! But of course, this creates utter chaos, because people are doing fucking crazy shit to get that money. And the thing is, he doesn't do this just for funsies. He has a point, and Bruce can't help but admit it:

Batman: Gotham Nights #6 ("Balyushka!")

Joker exposed the problems that Batman could not tackle with fists, and then Bruce listened. He actually used his money and influence to help.

Ironically, again, it's not the first time Joker did something that made Bruce go "Hmm, maybe I should look into the systemic corruption":

Batman: Gotham Nights #4 ("The Dragnet")

I won't go into too much detail, but Joker paid Harleen Quinzell's tuition without much prompting, he went and helped (in his own way) a child who wrote to him and was clearly being abused... it's about the cases he can empathize with. And they're all connected to his own life-ruining trauma. Red Hood fell into the vat most of all because of poverty. Because he had no choice except to turn to crime-- otherwise him and his family would not have had food to put on the table. So of course he hates the society he lives in, one that had no safety nets or mercy for people like him who were drowning.

This is a very long-winded way to say that I imagine a non-lethal Joker being a mix of this and... stupid ass pranks on a massive scale, because let's be honest, he wouldn't give them up. He just wouldn't kill people at the end (because it'd make his boyfriend sad).

fanfic writer ask game - director's commentary

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art the clown x Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem.

Chapter 2 of How Close Your Soul

General warnings: descriptions of food insecurity and poverty, adult themes, drug use (weed), and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: With unlimited free time on your hands now, you go on an adventure in the city with your new friend. (Alt summary: you smoke a blunt with Art then go to McDonalds)

Your mind races as you walk. You rose early because you couldn’t fight off the feeling of anxiety. No, it wasn’t necessarily anxiety, you were restless. Art lingered on your mind and you were excited to see him again. You knew this was reckless to meet up with a stranger in an isolated alley, but your curiosity had often gotten the better of you.

You had a ways to go still and couldn’t help but be consumed with worry. What if he wasn’t there? What if something happened to him? What if you approached to find him injured or dead? You barely knew him, but the thought of him succumbing to the harsh elements hurt your heart and made you feel guilty for enjoying your own comfort during the cold fall night. As you noticed the frost on the grass your worries grew.

Winding through the alley, you navigate through discarded boxes and trash cans, overflowing with litter. There are syringes on the ground, indicating a spot for partying. They weren’t there yesterday and you hoped no one had given Art any trouble. You pace slowly back and forth as you survey the area.

You looked around, scanning the dumpsters and rows of cans for a sign of black and white. He stuck out in this landscape, yet he was nowhere to be seen. With a small voice you call out, “Art?”

You waited for a response but none came. Turning in place, you continue to soak in your surroundings for any trace of him. Your worries grew the longer you stood there. The spot he had cleared out to sit was still visible, a nest of sorts, but where was Art?

Behind you, you hear glass being ground into the pavement and look. It was Art, stone still with his hands in the air and an overly large smile on his face, showing off his rows and rows of teeth. His smile seemed endless and the gleam in his eye was disconcerting. You felt your worry and excitement change over into something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

He’s wielding a hammer, and he looks thrilled as hell to see you. His mouth manages to stretch even further and his eyes are wide with anticipation. His grip on the hammer tightened as he took a step towards you, to which you responded by taking a step back. This dance continued for a few steps before you stopped. 

Was he going to hurt you? But why would he? Your hands began shaking as he maintained his static pose of intimidating stature. He was merely steps away and loomed over you. He was so tall that he blocked out the sun above and it shrouded his face in surreal shadows. It was as though his face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish entity. 

“Art?” You ask nervously and he gives no response. He doesn’t even blink, and you aren’t sure if he’s breathing. Surely you were not making another poor judge of character. You wring your hands together, “Um... I wanted to thank you for yesterday so I brought you something.”

His eyebrows twitched in response and some sort of fire was lit in his eyes. He was curious. He arm relaxed slightly as it lowered a little. Maybe this was some sort of game? Art was so hard to read, maybe he just had an intense sense of humor. Still, it’s frightening. You swallow hard and continue, “Do... you wanna smoke a blunt?”

He pauses and his smile turns into a grimace. Art is visibly thinking about your proposal. He looks away, deep in thought, eyebrows furrowed and forehead wrinkled. The man looked back to you, then back to the hammer for an uncomfortable period of time, then finally back to you. He made an inquisitive face and you revealed what you were talking about.

It was one your friend had given you. It was half smoked and hard as a rock, but still did just fine. You wave it a little like a tempting treat and his eyes follow its rapid movement. He finally drops the hammer, grabs his trash bag to drag behind, and closes the small gap between you.

Art stares at what is contained in your hand and you hold it out a little more so he can inspect it. He touches it lightly and his face only became more of a confused scowl. He looked at you then waved his hand in front of his face in a grimace, portraying he thought it would stink. You nod some, “Yeah it’s skunky but it doesn’t taste bad. There’s wax in it. Not like, candle wax... it’s hard to explain...”

You think a moment then look up at him, “Sometimes we just need to catch a good buzz, you know? I thought we could smoke and talk, maybe learn some more ASL.”

He perked up at that and signed his name with curious eyes to which you responded with a smile, “Yeah! Soon you’ll be a total chatterbox.”

You look around for a comfortable pace to sit and scope out a spot atop a dumpster. It looks like it was recently dumped and smelled the least offensive, so you hoist yourself up and hold your hand out for Art to follow. He has a much easier time clambering up the side than you did, but he struggles to heave his garbage bag beside him.

You didn’t ask about it. It was likely his only way to transport his possessions, but it still made you worry for him. It could easily become stolen or mistaken for actual trash. Perhaps you would get Art a proper means to carry his things, but that was getting ahead of yourself. Today your rent was due and you were seven hundred dollars short. There was no way you were going to get that much money in time, so you were doing the next best thing- running away from your problems. This was the present, and the present meant you were about to get high with a complete stranger.

“Are you okay with this?” You ask as you show him the blunt. He mouths ‘oh yeah’ a little too assertively and puffs his chest out. Though he seemed confident you wondered if he’d ever smoked weed before. You were become more and more curious about your friend, “Are you sure?”

He nodded enthusiastically with a smile but his eyes were transfixed on the mysteriously wrapped cigarette. Wherever it went his eyes followed. You patted your pocket and realized you forgot your lighter at home, “Damn. Art, you wouldn’t happen to have a lighter by any chance would you?”

Art holds his finger up in a ‘one moment’ gesture and starts looking through the same black trash bag as yesterday. From this angle you could see inside a little. It was a hodgepodge of metal, trinkets, saws...

Saws?

Your eyes widen when he pulls out a blow torch, his mouth stretched in a wide tooth filled grin of glee and accomplishment. He looked so proud to hold it in his hands and his lights lit up when he playfully blew at you with the fire. It should scare you on a deeper level than it did, but you really wanted to smoke.

“Awesome. Do you care if I see it? “ You ask, but he seems incredibly reluctant to hand it over as he hugs it to his chest and furrows his brows in response. His theatrics made it hard to take him seriously or view him as any sort of threat. 

So to the stranger with a blow torch you say, “Art, no offense man but I’m not gonna come outta here looking like creme brûlée.”

He laughs uproariously in silence and slaps his knee. That seemed to have tickled him and you relax a little. Another similarity. Humor. Finally, someone with a sense of humor. Art wipes a faux tear from his eye and obliges, shoulders still heaving sporadically in a fit of voiceless giggles.

You test it experimentally, a small lick of fire coming out the end. You look at art with raised brows and mirror his previous actions by blowing fire at him. He laughs again and offers you one, hardy clap on your back. It makes you feel warm and secure inside. You didn’t know how much you needed that, but you were silently grateful. 

He watched you with visible curiosity as you lit the end and took a deep inhale. You held it for as long as your lungs could stand before exhaling. Unconsciously you hold it out to Art to pass the blunt. Hesitantly, he takes it from you and holds it between the nails of his thumb and index finger.

You snort in a laugh. Who needs clips when you have him? You mime a smoking motion and nod to him, “Draw it into your mouth then hold it in your lungs, but don't—”

Before you could finish he was chiefing it. He took a hit as big as his lungs could expand, held it for half a second, then exploded in a coughing fit. It wracked his body and he held his chest, all of his motions dramatic and theatrical as he figuratively withered and died right in front of you. It was definitely his first time.

You reach out and, after careful consideration, rest your hand on his back and pat as you finish your sentence, “...don’t take a big hit.”

He stills instantly at your touch and you withdraw your hand like you’ve touched a hot stove. Had you crossed a boundary? Were you a nuisance? Did you hurt him? Were you what your boss thought: a predatory creep who preyed on older men? Was that possible?

“I’m... I’m sorry Art.” You offer awkwardly and rub your hands together, fidgeting and picking at your nails. An audible gulp leaves you as you stare down at the ground, too ashamed to look at him. You didn’t know what you did wrong, but you’d certainly done something. 

Silence falls between the two of you for a while. It feels like hours as the absence of noise makes your ears ring and only amplifies your transgression. You finally look to him and see him in the same position, still as a stone and just as silent. After a moment you find your voice, “Art... are you okay?”

His eyes visibly shift when he breaks out of his trance and he finally looks to you. Art stares at you, barely half lidded and the scelra bloodshot and red. He offers you a lazy grin and you mirror it, relief flooding you. He wasn’t upset, he was just stoned!

“You scared me there for a minute buddy!” You sigh as your anxiety leaves you and begin to swing your feet idly back and forth. He sleepily watches your feet a moment before mirroring you, keeping your same pace. Art trails his eyes up your body then meets your eyes, the same lazy, blissful smile spread over his face. He takes another, much smaller, hit off of the blunt, holds it, then exhales through his nose. 

The smoke snakes upwards and plumes around him. He caught on quick. Art hands you back the blunt and you accept it gratefully then taking a greedy hit off it. This time, you enjoy it. You savor it and hold it until your lungs feel as though they are smoldering and flaking away. You exhale slowly, watching the swirls and twirls of the white plumes that flow like water in the sun’s rays.

“So, Art...” You begin, passing the blunt back to him, “what are you into? Like what are your hobbies?”

He visibly ponders a moment, looks you dead in the eye and offers you the scariest, widest smile you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of something you’ve seen browsing the depths of horror forums. You heart palpitates as he stares at you, eyes wild and teeth prominent. You had no idea what kind of emotion he was displaying and nervously averted your eyes.

Art tapped on your shoulder and motions upward for you to meet his gaze again. Nervously, you oblige and find his expression has changed dramatically. He’s back to sleepy eyes and a closed mouth, crooked smile. Art hands you the blunt back so he can use both hands to speak.

He makes a single handed digging motion, adding little details like running into rocks and patting the soil down. You smile at him in kind, “You like to garden?”

Art pauses and makes a ‘kind of’ motion with his hand then waves you off. That isn’t what he was trying to say. He taps his chin in thought, this time creating the illusion of digging with a two handed shovel.  But still you do not understand and offer him a sheepish apology and urge him to continue. 

He makes an arch shape near the head of where he was digging, but that only confused you further. You point at the imaginary object, “What is that?”

Art huffed and pointed aggressively to a pebble on the ground. You ponder a moment then offer, “Rock? Close? Uhh... stone?”

He points to you with joy and nods fervently, rolling his hand and looking at you in giddy apprehension to finally guess the correct answer. But nothing comes. You purse your lips, afraid to say the wrong thing. Art repeats the motion, never taking his eyes off you as he dug in the imaginary hole then made a pulling motion at the air and loading up his pockets. 

You look at him, desperately trying to understand but the concept continues to not only elude you but become more confusing with each additional gesture. You want to know, but if it isn’t gardening what else could it be? What other activities involve digging holes near large stone objects at the head and rummaging through their contents? The only thing that kept coming to mind was digging up buried treasure and you knew that isn’t what it was.

He shares your frustration and sighs in silence. Art throws his hands up and draws a distressed question mark in the air over and over again. You didn’t understand what he didn’t understand. And your confusion made his confusion grow. Your eyes widen and to ease the pressure you say, “I think we’re too high man.”

Art’s eyes widen and he seems briefly alarmed before relaxing all at once and nodding along with your remark. He smiles at you and wipes imaginary sweat off his forehead and lifts his hat to you in a polite gesture. You weren't going to stop trying to learn about your new friend and decided to do a rewind.

“Let’s get to the spelling. So, Art, what does the letter of your hobby start with?” You never thought your limited knowledge of ASL would come in handy when smoking a blunt with a clown, but this life was truly full of surprises.

He drew a G in the air and you repeat the sign for the corresponding letter. He mirrors you then draws several more letters in the air. R... A... V... E...

“Grave?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. Suddenly, it dawned on you, “Oh! Do you work at a cemetery? You tend to the graves?”

This simply cracked him the hell up. He laughed and laughed, holding his hands over his mouth in a wordless giggle as though he were bottling up some big juicy secret. After a moment he nodded with a smile, mouthing 'sure'. That explained some of his strange behaviors. Dead people didn’t talk and neither did he, so they already had more in common than the living. You, yourself, had felt more of a relation to the dead than the living, as well, and found his profession interesting. 

Before you could ask him any more questions he gripped his stomach, brow knitted in confusion. He looked to you questioningly, lips parted as though to speak. He was mumbling something voicelessly but you couldn’t hear nor read his lips. You try to placate him.

“It’s called the munchies, it’s normal.”

But he wouldn’t stop staring at you. His stomach audibly grumbled and he swallowed hard. He was looking at you in a way no one ever had before. He was looking at you like YOU were food. You’re high; you’re feeling bold and joke, “Bro if you’re gonna cannibalize me go ahead, with the week I’ve had I’m ready.”

He stops and laughs, his eyes crinkling into slits as he gets lost in a fit of giggles. His hand didn’t leave his stomach as he rubbed it absent mindedly, still staring at you with wolfish hunger. His stomach gurgled again and he winced some. He hunger was clearly a step above regular munchies.

“I’ve heard people taste like pork...” Your stomach growls at the thought of slow roasted meat, so tender it fell off the bone. You’d always had a fascination with human meat, and one of your current friends had dabbled in cannibalism in their childhood so it wasn’t too far fetched of a concept. Art did not strike you as a cannibal, but if he was that strangely wouldn’t bother you, at least not right now. Maybe you really were too high. 

Without warning, Art slides off the dumpster. His trash bag lands on the ground with a loud, metallic thud, and then he extends his hand out to you. His hand is filthy, his gloves stiff and stained with dirt and some sort of bodily fluid. You weren’t sure what it was, but logic escaped you right now.

You took his hand in yours and allowed him to help you off the dumpster. With effort, you awkwardly slide down and begin following after him like a puppy. At first you struggled to keep up with his long gait but he slowed down so the two of you could walk side by side.

“Where are we going, Art?” You look up at him and ask curiously. He smiles down at you and makes an M in the air in the same shape as the iconic golden arches. The idea of a hot, greasy, barely edible hamburger made you so hungry you nearly dry heaved right there. But then it hit you, “I don’t have any money.”

He waved you off and rubbed his fingers together then pointed at himself smugly, showing that he had money and was paying. But could you really allow him to do something like that? You open your mouth to protest and he holds his finger to his lips to shush you. You relent. Art is going to do what he wants, and if he wants to buy you a cheeseburger then so be it. Perhaps the pair of you could have a symbiotic relationship. You were interested in compiling resources, so this was just part of it.

The walk there was short but simulaneously felt as though it dragged on forever. From the parking lot, you could smell the grilled beef and frying grease and it made your mouth water. It seemed to have a similar effect on Art as his stomach produced a low rumble of its own. With a flamboyant display, he holds the door open for you and makes a sweeping motion with his arm for you to enter. You titter in playful bashfulness and enter. The restaurant is warm and the delicious smell of food envelops you like cartoon smoke.

But people are looking at you, whispering and giving you ugly stares. They’re all pointing at Art and hurried murmurs emerging: ‘is that him?’, ‘what horrible taste’, ‘appalling.

Appalling? 

You realize they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about Art. You look up to him. He pays them no mind. His mouth is agape as he strums his chin in thought, voicelessly mouthing to himself as he read the menu. You already know what you’re going to get and stand beside him patiently. You give him a few moments then tug on his sleeve to get his attention, of which he obliges.

“Which number do you want, Art?”

He ponders again before holding two fingers up, indicating he wanted the same thing you were getting. You smile, “Great minds, yeah?”

Art offers a small chuckle and nods, lingering behind as you approach the counter. The cashier seems off, uncomfortable, and scared. You were familiar with stares of the ignorant, but this seemed different. She seemed petrified.

“Are you okay?” The cashier whispers. 

You look around and everyone is staring at you. You eye her nervously and offer a wary, “Yeah...?”

“Are you sure? He’s just... he’s just a guy in a costume, right?”

You look back at Art, who is enamored with the toy display, his face merely inches from the bright and colorful beanie babies contained within. You’re too high to deal with this kind of dumb shit right now. Why was everyone looking at him like that? And why was everyone being so mean about him? He was just a guy in a clown costume... wasn’t he?

Art looks back at you and gives a friendly little wave before resuming fawning over the toys. There’s no way this guy was some kind of depraved murderer or demon, he was just a guy in a suit. He was weird, like you. You both had a similar sense of humor and people just didn’t get you. So what if he liked to dress like a clown? You thought he was brave to be who he was and admired how easily he brushed off other people's abrasive attitude.

You look back at the cashier, “Yeah it’s just a costume. We’d like two number twos and we’ll be getting that to go, please.”

With shaking hands, she types in the order. Art is by your side, digging through his trash bag before withdrawing a wallet. He flips through the row of credit cards then hands one out to the cashier. You lived off credit cards for a while too so you thought little of it.

She takes it, trying her best not to make contact with his hand and swipes it. It was approved and she slid it back across the counter, “Thanks we’ll uh, we’ll call your number as soon as its ready.”

She can’t take her eyes off Art as she backs away and retreats to the kitchen. She is talking to what you assume is her manager, pointing and motioning to the pair of you. Seriously? What was her problem. Part of you wants to confront her and tell her to mind her own fucking business, but your anxiety roots you firmly in place.

This display is not lost to Art. His lip curls into a smirk as he returns to the beanie babies. You join him and admire them. You loved stuffed animals and your eyes glitter with wonder. You’ve never seen any of these before, all small little animals. There’s a turtle, a red panda, a giraffe, a hedgehog... so many wonderful little creatures.

“Wow...” You breathe out, “I wish I’d gotten a happy meal instead. I’d love to have these.”

“Number six forty three!” Comes a voice behind you. That’s your number. You happily scamper over to the counter to retrieve your bag and drinks.

“You ready, Art?” You call back to him but he says nothing. He looks at you, then back to the toy display. Without warning, he strikes it again, and again, and again. The hard plastic cracks and crumbles from his blows and it is not long before he is loading up his trash bag with every beanie baby in the display.

You were so dumbfounded by Art’s actions you weren’t sure what to say, or do, so you did nothing but watch and stare. This is something you had fantasized about many times as a child, eyeing the coveted toys in the case your parents could not afford, but you never had the strength to execute it. One by one, each beanie baby was snatched up.

“Sir! Sir you can’t--” The cashier is cut off. He looks back at her with a wide, toothy grin and sizes her up. Even a hardened veteran of customer service isn’t immune to his intimidating stare. He holds his threatening stance a moment before looking back to you and grabbing your hand. He practically drags you out of there, an entire audiences’ eyes on you as you make your dramatic exit.

The further you get away the more the situation sinks into you, and so does the ferocious anxiety. What was going to happen? How was he being so casual about this? Did he regularly steal from their toy display, is that why they were looking at him like that?

As you both tuck behind an old gas station your anxiety finally breaks. Oh no...

“Art what if we get in trouble? What was that back there man? What...”

He shushes you and rests his hand on your shoulder. This time, you still and look back at him. Though stoic, he seems weirdly reassuring. You had just knocked off a McDonald’s and stolen twelve beanie babies. TWELVE. 

“What if we get banned from every McDonald’s? What if we go to jail.” Fear washes over you and it multiplies with the influence of weed, “Art I don’t wanna go to jail. We have to take them back and apologize... no we can’t do that, we’ll be arrested... What if they’re looking for us... Art! What if they’re--”

Art shushes you again and rubs your shoulder gently. He gives the ‘ok’ sigh with his hand and pats you. He begins to walk away but stops as he realizes you aren’t following him. You’re too anxious and a prisoner in your own mind. This is too scary, it’s too intense. Your rush of adrenaline had quickly turned over into a full blown anxiety attack.

Your heart pounded so hard it made you see spots and you struggled to stand still. You began pacing, wringing your hands as thousands of thoughts burst into your mind all at once. What if this is it? You’ve lost your job, you’re going to lose your apartment, and now you were going to jail for stealing stuffed animals... at least this way you’d still have shelter and three meals a day...

There was a warmth against your back. You start and look up at the source: Art. His hand is between your shoulder blades. He makes no motion to move but stays there, silent and strong as his large hand offers you a tether to the moment. You say nothing and just focus on the feeling. His touch felt so deliberate and affirming, it felt meaningful and stilled your trembling. 

You wanted to lean into him, but you weren’t sure if he’d appreciate that. You look at him questioningly and, is if he read your mind, moves his hand to your shoulder and draws you near to him. You remain this way for a while. He holds you in silence, hand gingerly rubbing up and down on your arm and occasionally patting as he tried to comfort you.

It was working. You hadn’t felt this secure since you’d been in His arms: the former object of your affection who now made your heart ache and your stomach sick. You are touch starved and his affection makes something inside you melt. You nuzzle into his chest and he allows this, moving his hand to rest on your head and gently smooth your hair. 

Your hands are too full to reciprocate the hug, but you do your best to return the affection by leaning further into him and he obliges  by holding you closer. The pair of you remain this way for some time. There are no police sirens, no angry mob, and no cashier chasing after you. All of your worries were limited to your mind and, gradually, you relax. Slowly, you pull away from him and offer him a kind, but slightly strained, smile.

“Art... I mean this in the nicest way possible but... You gotta take a shower man. Do you wanna come over to my place? I have body wash and stuff you can use.”

His eyebrows fly to the sky and his mouth forms into a large O. This expression is brief as a wide smile takes its place. He nods happily, his little hat bobbling, and you mirror his smile. You felt good that you were able to help someone out and reciprocate his aid. As the pair of you made your way home with McDonald’s loot, you begin to wonder if this will be the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

[ephemeraltransience]

https://supercombo.gg/2023/03/15/psx-rollback-is-real-and-here-are-10-deliciously-poverty-games-you-should-play/

[storywriter007]

Life or Death - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

summary: in which y/n realizes thomas shelby hasn't been good to her

warnings: character death, cursing, poverty, catcalling, mentions of sex,

genre: heartbreak

word count: 2.9k

-> peaky blinders masterlist

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Birmingham, 1900

"i'm starving." a young thomas shelby said aloud.

"have you not had anything to eat today?" a young y/n asked.

"money's been tight, i've had to skip meals." tommy explained.

the two ten year olds sat in silence for a moment.

y/n knew what it was like for money to be tight. her family's income had been tight, after the passing of her father. her mom went to teach children at a local school while making dresses on the side to keep the two of them afloat.

"it's almost suppertime, why don't you come to my house?" y/n invited.

"really?" he asked.

"of course." she nodded. "you're my best friend, why would i want to see you hungry?"

that evening, y/n and tommy walked home together and were given a warm welcome by y/n's mother.

"tommy! welcome!" she exclaimed. "come on in you two."

they sat down at the table and began eating supper. stew and dumplings. it was warm and delicious.

to tommy, y/n's house often felt more like home than his own. it was quite small, but it had home-like decorations everywhere. it was nice and toasty since it didn't take much fire to heat the place, and moreover y/n was there.

"you children cannot stay out in the cold during this time of year." y/n's mother scolded, putting her hand on tommy's cheek and seeing how cold it was.

"but we were playing a game-" y/n argued.

"play games inside. i don't want to see you to freeze to death." she continued.

"yes mom." y/n laughed, looking at tommy, knowing they were going to go outside the next day anyways.

it was getting dark out and tommy was full.

"i should probably get going. bye y/n, by ms. y/l/n!" tommy said, getting up.

"wait!" y/n said, running to the kitchen.

she came back with tupperware.

"here, take some home." she insisted.

"no, no, i couldn't-" he argued.

"take it! tell john, arthur, and ada i say hello!" y/n said, shoving the tupperware into his arms.

that night, tommy's siblings had a warm meal.

"this is delicious tommy! where'd you get this from?" arthur remarked.

"y/n. she insisted." he responded.

"you better marry her for this one." arthur laughed.

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Birmingham, 1904

"look at the body on that one." a classmate remarked as y/n walked by.

she just rolled her eyes and continued walking. this wasn't unusual.

"you'd make a ton of money at the whore house!" the boy yelled out again as laughter followed.

so would your mother, y/n thought of saying, but decided that it was best for her to not. this boy was twice her size.

"so would your mother." another boy's voice called out.

y/n turned around to see tommy and the other boy standing chest to chest, about to fight.

"what'd you say shelby?" the boy asked.

"so would your mother." he repeated, not an ounce of fear in his voice.

a teacher came and pulled the two apart.

"both of you seperate. if i see this again, i'll make sure to tell your mothers!" she scolded.

both the boys backed away from one another. tommy caught up with y/n.

"thanks tommy." she said.

"it's nothing, i've wanted to say that to him for a while now." tommy laughed.

"my mum's sending me to get groceries today? would you like to join me." y/n asked.

"of course." tommy agreed. "can't wait to eat apples out of the farmer's cart."

"don't do that! you got us chased down last time!" y/n scolded, remembering a set of angry farmers running after them.

they settled down after they were paid, at least. otherwise, who knows what could've happened.

"it was fun!" he argued.

"it was." she agreed.

as she watched tommy walk away, y/n realized that she had a crush on him. but it was just a crush, it wasn't that serious.

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Birmingham, 1914

"glad to see you dr." tommy smiled, opening the door to the pub.

"happier to see you mr." she returned the joke.

y/n had always wanted to save people's lives, so she entered the medical field. after gaining main patients, it became more difficult to see tommy as often as she used to. even tommy was on the rise in the business world. it was hard to hangout with one-another, but they always made time.

over the years, y/n's crush on tommy had turned into love, but she didn't know how to tell him. no time ever seemed right.

"there might be a war." tommy said, drinking whiskey at the pub.

"you think you'll get drafted?" y/n asked, wanting him to say no, but knowing what the answer was.

"yes." he answered. "unfortunately."

"it'll just be me and ada." y/n chuckled. "she's better company than you."

"oh really? go drink with her." tommy laughed. "you'll miss me when i go off."

"you know i will." y/n smiled.

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y/n realized her worst nightmare had come true as tommy stood at her front door.

"i have to go to france." he said.

she felt water fill up her eyes, but she stayed calm.

"i'll miss you." she smiled.

"i'll miss you too." he smiled back.

he turned around to leave.

"tommy, wait." she said, trying not to cry.

he turned around.

"i didn't know when to tell you this because no time ever seemed right and we were always so busy." she rambled. "but since you're going to france, and i might not see you again, i just want you to know i love you. it's no use for me to say i don't, because it's true. i've loved you ever since i've known you."

the tears started falling. he stared at her for a minute. did she ruin their friendship? did he not feel the same way? would he never talk to her again? did she have to do this before he left?

lost in her thoughts, y/n didn't realize tommy had leaned down and kissed her.

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Birmingham, 1918

y/n got down on her knees, that had already been bruised from how much she'd kneeled.

"dear god, please keep tommy, john, and arthur safe." she pleaded. "please keep tommy safe."

she'd done this every morning and every night since the boys were drafted.

"please make it end soon." she continued.

she looked at the couple of photographs her and tommy had together from years before. they used to love taking together, and writing the story on the back.

she got to their last picture. taken four years ago. it was hear and tommy making silly faces. on the back, it said, "tommy's going to france."

she felt a tear run down her cheek. what if he never came back? what if that was their last photo together?

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Birmingham, 1919

y/n was overjoyed when all three brothers returned, alive. she hugged tommy so tightly, glad he was alright.

but something had changed. tommy wasn't as happy as he used to be anymore. he didn't smiled as much, but he still did when they were together, and that was all that mattered to y/n.

y/n knew all about the shelby business, having grown very close to ada and polly, she was informed about everything. even when tommy was doing gang work before, he was never as gloomy as he was now. he was much more serious.

she tried desperately to comfort him, and it did work. he did talk about the war with her, and y/n understood he was traumatized. she didn't try to change him or tell him lighten up, she understood the mental toll it had taken on him.

countless nights would tommy tell her about the memories of war and they would end up falling asleep on the floor, in a mix of papers and books.

they were never officially together, they had never gotten then chance. but when tommy was ready, y/n hoped they could make it offical.

one night, they walked into the garrison. y/n had just finished with a long day of patients.

"dr!" arthur greeted y/n with a hug.

"arthur!" she laughed back.

however, there was a new face at the pub. she was pretty, with blonde hair and blue eyes. y/n came up to her.

"i haven't seen you around! are you new?" she smiled, asking.

"yes, i am new." the barmaid responded, quite curtly, y/n noticed.

"i'm y/n! what's your name?" she asked.

"grace. my name is grace." she said, briefly.

"well, grace, i just wanted to say, i think you're absolutely gorgeous." y/n smiled.

grace gave a brief smile back and went back to bartending.

odd, y/n thought, but assumed it was because of how busy the pub was, her mind was probably on working.

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"there's this new copper who's been on my ass." tommy said.

"that sucks. has he been sniffing around?" y/n asked.

"yes." he responded, taking a long drag out of his cigarette.

y/n noticed grace very clearly listening to their conversation.

"he's been asking me about, well, y'know." he continued. "they're taken care of, but still. he's onto me."

of course she knew. the guns. tommy had told her everything. his plan and why.

"that's enough about that." he ended. "how's your business, doctor?"

"it's going well." y/n chuckled. "i'm seeing entire lineages now."

"whiskey?" grace asked, coming over.

"no thank you." y/n smiled. "i should get home now."

tommy smiled and said goodbye. y/n thought that was odd, since usually tommy would've walked her out.

"thank you grace." she said, before leaving.

grace ignored her.

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y/n was sitting with the shelby's at the garrison. she noticed something about tommy, something odd. he straightened up whenever grace entered the room and he always smiled.

this wasn't the first odd thing tommy had done. since she came, he was at the pub more. he also took her to a horserace. not to mention, his eyes foretold a story between them. it had been a while since tommy looked at her that way.

but there was something odd about grace. she was always listening in and trying to get closer to tommy.

y/n asked to see tommy privately, and that's when she made her point.

"the barmaid, she seems suspicious. do you notice how she's always listening in and trying to get close to you? and how that copper start bothering you the same time she came here?" y/n said.

"her name's grace." tommy responded.

"yes, grace, seems odd." y/n corrected.

"what is it y/n? you can't stand there's another friend of mine?" he said, clearly aggravated.

"no, i don't care about that. i just don't want you to get hurt-"

"hurt? hurt is when i was in france." he interrupted.

"tommy, will you just try to listen?"

"to your bullshit? no." he said.

that hurt.

"you're free to leave." he said simply, taking a drag out of his cigarette.

y/n chuckled, and left.

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can y/n say it came as a shock when tommy told her grace had betrayed him and fled the country? not really.

"i told you so." y/n said, plainly. "it was obvious."

tommy seemed pissed at that comment.

"that doesn't mean you can talk down on her." tommy stated.

"well tommy, you can't really control what i say and what i think." she responded back, beginning to get aggravated at his blindness. "and what i think is that grace is a traitor."

"what i think is that you should leave." he said.

"always running from the truth, now-a-days, aren't you?" she smiled, leaving.

y/n would be lying if she said she didn't go home that night and cry, because she did. why was tommy so wrapped around grace? had he fallen in love with her? no, no. it was probably just attraction. it had to be. right?

the next day, tommy apologized for being so harsh to her, and everything was back to normal. no more grace, no more deception, and no more stupidity.

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y/n was still waiting for tommy to make it official, but he still hadn't. the war had been over for two years now. she had thought about tommy everyday for the past seven years.

she missed him, she missed what they used to have. it was almost midnight, and she decided she wanted to go see him. she couldn't keep waiting.

she called his number three times, but he didn't pick up, so she drove to his home, and knocked on the door. no answer. she was starting to get worried. she opened the door and walked in on something that made her stomach drop.

it was tommy with grace. and they were having sex on the sofa, and he whispered how much he loved her and how he thought of her everyday. it seemed they had finished, because now they were getting dressed. when tommy turned his head and saw y/n, his eyes grew wide.

y/n felt tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

he dragged her into his office.

"what the hell y/n! you can't just fucking barge into my house!" he yelled.

"i called you three times. i knocked on your door and waited outside for five minutes. with the life you live tommy, i got worried." she said, wiping her nose.

"y/n, you have to leave." he said. "i've got something here, and i can't lose it again."

again. y/n felt her stomach drop and her heart break into a thousand pieces.

"again?" she asked. "again! tommy, i have waited for you! i waited for seven fucking years, waiting for you to say you want to try something with me!" she yelled.

"do you not remember! do you not remember the night you got drafted, because i sure as hell do!" she screamed.

"y/n, calm down, you're going to scare grace-"

oh that sent her.

"grace! you think i give two fucks about grace! the one who deceived you, lied to you, manipulated you, and now comes running back!" she screamed even louder.

"i love her!" he yelled.

"you love her! you love her! than what about me!" y/n yelled, tears starting to flow. "what about every day and night i prayed for you during the war! what about every time i invited you to my house for supper! i have waited and waited for you to say that you love me and you just don't!"

tommy was silent.

"i have loved you throughout everything. i was always kind to you. i was good." she continued.

"i'm a bad man, y/n, we know this." he said.

"and i love you even though you're a bad man! you believed every one of her lies of all of my truths. and i still loved you! you kicked me out everytime i brought it up! and guess what? i still loved you."

tommy looked at her.

"who was there by your side when you were scared and alone? who was there every night when you got back from the war and had terrible nightmares? who was there taking care of finn while you were off at war, because i don't think it was fucking grace!"

"i'm sorry." he said.

"no you're not because if you were, you wouldn't have done this in the first place!" she screamed through tears.

"who was there thomas!" that was the first time she had said his full name. "i'm done. don't fucking call me, don't show up to my office, don't come near me. i'm done playing your dark and twisted games just for you to switch the rules so someone else wins. i'm done dealing with a different you every fucking night. i'm done."

thomas looked at her.

"who's it going to be?" y/n asked.

"so well." he responded.

y/n smiled and turned around to leave, but before she left, she said he final words to thomas.

"i'm never going to aid you again. whether it be in life or death."

that was the last conversation between y/n and thomas.

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Birmingham, 1924

"just have some soup and rest up, and you'll feel a lot better." y/n advised her last patient of the day.

work had become more of a thing for y/n after word of her spread all across birmingham, she was getting patients from everywhere. and for right reasons, she was a damn good doctor.

she walked them outside before sitting in the waiting room with her receptionist.

"thank you edward, you're free to leave." she said, smiling.

"see you tomorrow doctor." edward smiled as he exited.

y/n was left to close her office. she began putting files away and cleaning equiptment. the doors and windows were locked. the stationary was put away.

suddenly, she heard a loud knock on her door. she turned around to see a face she thought she'd never see again. she stared into his bright blue eyes for a moment, before realizing he was actually here, and that it was just a figment of her imagination.

y/n opened the small window on the door. she looked down to see him carrying grace. she had been very clearly shot.

"she might have a chance, please y/n."

"you chose her over me." y/n said, looking into his piercing blue eyes.

he froze.

"and i told you that very night, i would never aid you again, whether it be life or death." she reminded, shutting the window door.

he banged on the door, pleading. she shot him one last look before shutting the blinds, turning the lights off, and leaving out the back.

[rewrittenmha]

I'm gonna be completely real... I feel like BNHA should've been more about the LOV fighting to change a corrupt system instead of what we got.

They're way more interesting than the cardboard heroes and that they actually had a point in how things were and wanted to change that.

And that the ending would've been something similar to the ending in the DLC We All Fall Down from We Happy Few. Where now the people hate them, with time others will start to realize that they really did the right thing.

I like the idea of them meeting somewhere in the middle.

Because when you think about it, the heroes suffer a lot of the same things the villains do. Hawks and Nagant were exploited children raised to be assassins and used to do the HPSC's dirty work. Izuku, Shoji, and Monoma faced discrimination. Shoto was abused.

Someone, forgot the name, made a good point a few weeks back. That MHA is the only series that pits victims against each other instead of the abusers. And in a lot of ways, that's right. Because other series do that, but in a way that it's obvious and supposed to be something that's called out and amended.

A great example of this being The Hunger Games. The Districts are pit against each other to keep them separated and foster animosity so that they won't rise up against The Capitol. That's why some Districts are kept in poverty while others prosper. The only way to resolve this is to unify the Districts by making them realize that the true enemy here is the corrupt system.

I was waiting for the LOV to start to actually be the ones to teach Tomura this because let's be real, he's sheltered. What he knows about heroes was a bad experience one night and everything AFO told him. The other members actually lived through and faced corruption firsthand. Tomura didn't actually have a plan in the beginning; he wanted to destroy heroes but he didn't actually know why. Not until he formed the LOV. But the majority of the LOV's goals didn't align with Tomura's in the beginning, they aligned with Stain's.

Spinner, Dabi, and Toga even explicitly state that they were only joining the League because of its (fake) connection to Stain. Spinner because he wanted a world with justice and equality. Dabi because of his detestation for false heroes. Toga because she felt a kinship with Stain due to their quirks and wanted to find people like her after being outcast and shunned for so long.

And if we take these goals/motivations for what they are, they aren't bad at all. In fact, I would even say that they're reasonable. I barely counted Spinner as a villain until the Final War because he believed in true heroes and wanted equality for people like him, he even saved Izuku from Magne. Out of all of the LOV, he would have been the easiest to redeem.

(Yes I'm still mad that Horikoshi ruined him leave me alone)

The problem is, those goals were undermined by their actions later. They were either completely disregarded (Dabi), simplified (Toga), or contradicted (Spinner). Horikoshi basically said screw their established characters, they're one dimensional mustache twirlers with no substance. Every character who points out the flaws of society is demonized to justify the status quo.

And this is actually why I take issue with the whole every character having a villain thing. Because this shouldn't be a case of Hero vs Villain. We shouldn't be looking at the LOV like obstacles to defeat, or even to save. We should be listening to them. The goal here should have been to make a better world where what happened to them doesn't happen to anyone else.

My Hero Academia should have been a story of change, not war. And I think that's going to be the heart of this rewrite

[cece693]

It Should've Been Me (Peeta Mellark x Male! Reader)

I don't know why there isn't much male reader fanfics for the Hunger Games, but I aim to change that. Especially when there are interesting characters such as Finnick and Johanna, but I'm playing it safe and beginning with Peeta.

Summary: M/N Evergreen didn't feel like a victor, especially when it cost the life of his sister, Katniss. Forced to wear a smile and continue living life as 'normal', the only person who seems to recognize his brokeness is the boy with the bread, Peeta Mellark.

M/N Evergreen didn’t feel like a victor, not when winning cost the life of his sister, Katniss. It was supposed to be her. She was the one with the spark, the one who inspired others to believe in something more. But now she was gone, and all that was left was him—a hollow reminder of what should have been. He knew he should be grateful; the Capitol's train pulling into District 12 meant he got to come home. But what kind of home was it when the only person who ever made it feel that way was dead?

Effie Trinket’s voice was a distant hum, urging him to “put on a happy face, darling.” Smile for the cameras, for the sponsors, for the charade of a victory tour that awaited him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t move. Even if he forced the corners of his lips upward, the emptiness in his eyes would betray him. The train doors slid open, and all he could do was stare blankly as the frigid air of District 12 rushed in, filling his lungs with the sharp scent of coal dust. The lenses of dozens of cameras zoomed in, capturing the haunted look that had become a permanent fixture on his face.

He heard Effie clear her throat nervously as she stepped out ahead of him, trying to drum up some semblance of a greeting from the sullen crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, our victor, M/N Everdeen!” Her voice rang out with all the bubbly enthusiasm she could muster, but the words fell flat.

As the Capitol’s cameras continued to click and whir, M/N forced himself to walk through the motions of the victor’s return. He let Effie guide him onto the stage, his limbs moving mechanically, as though they belonged to someone else. He could hear the rehearsed speech forming on her lips, filled with empty praise and hollow encouragement. He heard his own voice, flat and monotone, echo her words when prompted, thanking the Capitol for its generosity and the people of District 12 for their support.

But the truth was, he didn’t feel like a victor, and he never would. He was just another casualty of the Hunger Games—only, he happened to still be breathing.

The days passed in a blur for M/N Everdeen, though he barely noticed the shift from one to the next. Returning to District 12 should have felt like a relief—home, where things were familiar. But the place seemed alien to him now, like he was wandering through a ghost town where all the buildings and people were merely pale shadows of what they once were. Even the Seam, which always bustled with life despite its poverty, felt quieter, as if the town itself was grieving. Maybe it was.

At home, his mother had returned to the land of the living, as much as she could. She moved around the house with a new purpose, cooking and cleaning with a mechanical precision that betrayed the emptiness in her eyes. M/N knew it wasn’t for him; it was for Prim. Their mother clung to her youngest, constantly checking on her and making sure she ate, slept, and stayed warm. M/N could see her fighting against the hollowness, desperately trying to appear whole for Prim’s sake. For him, too, though he wasn’t sure why she bothered.

M/N hadn’t eaten since he stepped off the train. Every meal placed in front of him felt like an insult to Katniss’s memory—he shouldn’t get to eat, shouldn’t get to live while she was gone. His mother and Prim had seemed to silently agree on a pact not to let him waste away, though. If he refused breakfast, his mother would leave it on the table for him to find later. If he tried to hide in his room during dinner, Prim would seek him out, dragging him to the kitchen. They were relentless in their quiet determination to keep him alive.

Today, he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out, to escape the house where Katniss’s absence hung like a shroud over everything. He slipped out the back door and walked toward the edge of the district, to the fence that separated District 12 from the woods. It was supposed to be electrified, but the power rarely ran this far out, and he easily found a gap to slip through. The forest beckoned to him, promising solitude and silence—two things he desperately craved. For a few moments, he felt the faintest hint of peace as he wandered deeper into the trees, letting the thick canopy above dim the harsh sunlight.

But he wasn’t alone for long.

“M/N.” a voice called softly from behind him.

He froze, recognizing the voice before he even turned around. Peeta Mellark was standing there, a few paces back, watching him with that same quiet intensity he’d had since the day M/N returned. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t wearing that charming expression he often showed in public. Instead, his face was open, unguarded, as though he’d stripped away all pretense.

“What are you doing here?” M/N asked, his voice raw from disuse.

Peeta stepped closer, careful not to startle him, as if M/N were a wounded animal. “I saw you come out here,” he replied. “I was worried.”

M/N let out a bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the forest. “If I don’t come back, I’m sure everyone would understand.”

“Don’t say that,” Peeta said sharply, the sudden firmness in his voice cutting through the quiet. “You don’t get to give up. Not after everything…”

“Everything?” M/N scoffed, spinning to face him. “What did I survive for, Peeta? There’s no victory here. I’m alive, but she’s gone. And now I have to pretend like any of this is okay?”

“You survived because Katniss wanted you to,” Peeta said, stepping closer again. “She fought for you—”

“I don’t need a lecture about my own sister,” M/N interrupted, his voice rising. “You don’t know what it was like! You weren’t there! I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that. All I could do was… was watch as she—” His voice broke, the words dissolving into a choked sob.

He turned away from Peeta, trembling as his chest tightened painfully. He had spent every waking moment since returning home forcing himself not to break, swallowing back his grief until it clawed at his throat, but now it surged forward like a flood. He didn’t know how to stop it.

“It's not your fault,” Peeta’s voice was gentle, and when M/N felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched but didn’t pull away. “You did everything you could.”

M/N shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered. “It’ll never be enough. She’s gone because of me.”

Peeta’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him in close. M/N’s legs buckled, and he collapsed into Peeta’s embrace, his sobs breaking free in jagged gasps. Peeta held him tightly, steadying him as he sank to the forest floor. He murmured soothing words, though M/N couldn’t make out the exact phrases—only that there was a calm, reassuring rhythm in the sound of Peeta’s voice.

For a long while, M/N cried in Peeta’s arms, clutching at his shirt as if afraid to let go. It wasn’t fair, not to Peeta, not to anyone, to have to bear the weight of his grief like this. But Peeta stayed, anchoring him through the storm of emotion until, at last, M/N’s sobs quieted, leaving him drained and hollow.

When he finally pulled back, Peeta’s shirt was soaked with tears, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked down at M/N with an expression so full of understanding it hurt. “You’re not alone, you know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

M/N shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Peeta’s hand found his, squeezing gently. “One step at a time. That’s all you need to do for now.” The words weren’t a solution, but they were something—a fragile thread of hope in a world that felt impossibly dark. And for the first time since returning to District 12, M/N didn’t feel completely lost. He still didn’t know how to live without Katniss, but with Peeta’s arm around his shoulders, guiding him back toward the fence, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could figure it out. One step at a time.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

One thing I love about the Reeves universe is how realistic it is that the Riddler has a fanbase, even after his arrest.

His plan was basically a French Revolution, but with a flood instead of guillotines—taking down Gotham’s elite while exposing their dirty secrets.

Naturally, he’d attract followers. This is Gotham, after all, a city drowning in poverty where people despise the rich.

It’s no surprise that a guy like him would resonate with the downtrodden; he became a symbol of rebellion against the corrupt elite.

But let’s be real—his motivations weren’t about helping the poor or the miserable. It was all about his pure, unfiltered hatred for one specific family: the Waynes.

He cleverly capitalized on the anger and frustration of the masses to position himself as a champion of the oppressed, manipulating his followers to serve his own ego and vendetta.

While he may have painted himself as a revolutionary hero, his true agenda was personal. At the end of the day, his rebellion was less about uplifting the downtrodden and more about settling scores. It’s classic Riddler—crafty and cunning, using the guise of a noble cause to mask his true motivations.

His followers may have believed they were part of a movement for change, but they were just pawns in his game, and he reveled in the chaos he created. As much as he might have claimed to represent the people, his actions were ultimately driven by a thirst for revenge, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

The cost of his actions was far too high for the very people he pretended to fight for. It’s not just the Riddler feeling this way, either. There’s the guy at the funeral who lost his daughter, the crowd protesting at the mayor’s service, and even Selina, who basically said he wasn’t wrong…

The only people who didn’t agree with him? The rich, the cops, and the mob—because, surprise 😧, it messed with their money and their plans.

After the flood though, the Riddler’s follower count likely started to dwindle. His grand plan didn’t exactly help the poor folks of Gotham.

The flood mostly left their neighborhoods wrecked, with many people either dying or going missing, while the wealthy areas remained largely intact.

His motives may have seemed noble in theory, the execution? Not so much.

[iguessitsjustme]

I could write a whole lot about my problems with Jack & Joker but instead I'm just going to post a handful of thoughts and questions from after I finished the episode:

Hope and Save were there in the beginning and they're there at the end. But they didn't exist in the middle with the others when everyone else was getting character development. Why did we get so many damn monopoly games but characters at the damn center of the emotional impact at the end of the show didn't get more than 2 seconds?

The show has already said that Joke can only fight well when the show calls for it. Joke literally beat Jack after he escaped prison. Then him and Jack worked together to fight those two dudes during the necklace heist. So Joke should be able to at least hold his own against Carbon for longer than that. I mean, even grandma lasted longer than he did.

Do you know who was there for Joke? All the time? Hoy. Hoy stepped between him and Jack when Jack looked violent. Hoy held him in the hospital and stopped him from hurting himself. Hoy talked to that woman and convinced her to rally the troops when Joke couldn't. Hoy has always forgiven Joke for everything. And doesn't even think he needs to apologize half the time.

To place all that blame on Joke? Joke stole a ring. Joke did not force people to sign literal death contracts. Joke did not create the debts and poverty that the community has to live with. Joke has done nothing but try his best. Joke's actions might have indirectly caused pain but boss's actions directly caused it. Intentionally. So did Carbon's. How is it Joke's fault Toi Ting got hurt? Neither one of them was there to stop Carbon. Joke is probably the reason Toi Ting survived. Because he did get there in time. How long would she have been laying there is she had to wait for Jack?

Jack tried to be a buffer as a debt collector. Hope relished in it. Joke forgave Tattoo for stealing when he shouldn't have. Hope beat Tattoo up for not having money. So. Why is Hope forgiven then Joke isn't? Since when are Jack and Hope on good enough terms to warrant any sort of forgiveness or feel any sense of betrayal? Why does Jack care?

What does Carbon get from helping boss? Is he being paid? Did boss get him out of prison? Does he owe a debt of sorts now? Is he just relishing in being cruel and boss gives him the outlet he wants to do that?