#should i do a part two?

[asolareclipses]

“Isn’t she a beaut?”

“A what?”

“Gods Nico, you never know what i’m talking about.” Leo sighed, turning his attention away from the chariot he was just boasting about.

“Maybe because you never make any sense,” Nico rolled his eyes anticipating the next comment about to leave Leo’s mouth.

“Or…you’re just an old abuelo,” Leo failed to hold back his smirk.

Nico glared at him, he didn’t speak spanish but he’d heard that word enough to know what it meant. “Call me that one more time fire boy and you’ll wish you died the first time.”

“Holy smokes! Someone’s feisty today,” Leo raised his hands signifying a truce. “Anyways, moving back to the important things, just look at this masterpiece!” Leo gestured back to his creation.

As Nico’s eyes move to scan over the chariot, he had to try not to be visibly impressed. It was incredible. Each wheel had hundreds of gears all lined with celestial bronze and steel. The sides and rims danced with various contraptions, every piece was delicately crafted with the upmost detail. It looked as if it was built to withstand whatever may come in its way.

“You built this in a week?” Nico asked, hoping his awe wasn’t evident in his tone.

“Yeah,” Leo shrugged. “Perfect for the race don’t you think?”

Yeah? Nico almost sang his inner praises to Leo at that moment. But he knew if he were to boast Leo’s ego like that, he wouldn’t see the end of it for days.

“It’s not bad..” Nico spoke carefully.

Leo smirked, “Finally glad you decided to be on my team?”

“I didn’t decide anything,” Nico said. “You begged me for weeks and weeks on end until I said yes, just so you would leave me alone.”

“Hm, funny. I don’t remember that happening.”

“Leo-“

“Anyways- You said you had the horses taken care of?” Leo masterfully changed the subject.

Nico nodded with a sigh.

Leo stared at him, before looking around as if he were expecting something. “Well…where are they?”

“Right, you might want to step back.” Nico suggested.

“Step back why would I-“ Leo was cut off by the ground beginning to rumble, kicking up dust and small rocks. “Right that’s why,” he hurriedly stepped backwards.

The grass shivered and after a moment of rumbling, a bone popped out from the ground. It was then followed by another and another. Soon several bones came together forming two skeletal horses. They moved similar to regular horses, if regular horses had no skin or organs.

Nico stepped back, admiring his work. In the back of his mind he imagined the future lecture he’d receive from Will. ‘What did I say about unnecessary power usage?’ Still, looking at the horses, Nico figured it was worth it.

“Woah,” Leo smiled. “That’s so much cooler than a regular horse, or even a robot one.”

“More durable too, any attack and they’ll just reassemble.”

“Dude!” Leo was now practically jumping up and down, “we are so going to win this!”

Part of Nico wanted to join Leo in the excited jumping. But the other part of him thought that would be out of character; what this ‘character’ of himself was though, he didn’t know. Nico had struggled with displaying his excitement, every time he felt that burst of joy. That buzz of happiness. It reminded him of when he was younger, first arriving at camp with that same feeling. He wondered where that little boy had gone.

A horn blew, drawing Nico out of thoughts.

“That’s Chiron,” Leo said. “Time to head to the starting line.” A devilish grin appeared on his face that made Nico a little nervous. Clearly Leo’s chariot was armed with machinery that would even make the Stoll brothers jealous.

As they stood in the chariot at the starting line, Nico rethought all his life decisions. Why had he agreed to do this race again? At the time it seemed like the only way to get Leo to leave him alone, since he had been profusely begging Nico to team up with him every day. Now Nico couldn’t decide which one was worse, and annoying Leo or a brutal chariot race. Suddenly a cold chill ran down Nicos spine, he couldn’t place it but something was wrong.

Before he could dig deeper into this feeling, Chiron blew his horn again, signaling the beginning of the race. The chariot promptly took off, immediately blasting ahead with the upmost speed. Nico had to grip the railing just to not go flying off, struggling as the winds made it hard to keep his eyes open.

The Athena chariot tried to launch a net from behind them in an attempt to catch the chariot, but it wasn’t fast enough. Instead, the net came flying back at their chariot getting caught in the wheels and sending the campers into a panic. At the same time the Stoll brothers were shooting some contraption they’d made at the Ares cabin. When resulted in both chariots veering off track and into the woods.

As they continued to speed up, Nico watched as all the other chariots got farther and farther away. He’d began to think this was going to be a lot easier than he’d initially thought.

“Works just like a dream!” Leo yelled over the winds.

Nico nodded, pointing to the floating finish line, Chiron had decided the chariots needed to not just be fast but be able to account for height too. Of course for Leo that had been an easy task. For the others, well they had to hope their pegasuses were strong

Sooner than expected they were nearing the finish line, and Nico waited for something to go wrong. He was sure the others would catch up and give them a hard time, but when he looked back the other chariots were still lagging behind.

Then a hint of smoke began to fill the air, slowly becoming stronger. Nico looked around, the chariot was shaking now. A deep rumbling that shook his whole body. More smoke started pouring out from the golden edges, polluting Nico’s lungs.

Leo looked shocked, rushing around as he tried to find the culprit of the smoke. “I don’t get what’s wrong?”

A fire sprung up and danced along the rims of the chariot, Nico stepped away, coughing as his lungs begged for clean air. He looked at Leo with panic in his eyes at the same time Leo seemed to realize that Nico wasn’t immune to smoke.

“Oh gods what do we do?” Leo called out.

Turns out Nico didn’t need to answer that question because in a blast of light the chariot exploded, sending them both flying.

The world went black.

—

Why did every creation of his blow up? That’s what Leo wondered as he plummeted from the sky. He figured he would turn into a Leo pancake when he hit the ground, splat.

The idea would’ve made him laugh if he weren’t currently falling to his death. Leo could still see the flaming chariot above him, another masterpiece blown to pieces. Maybe that would be his legacy, the demigod who destroyed everything he made.

The wind was fast as he fell, blowing through his hair and stinging his eyes. It was eerily familiar, probably because it wasn’t the first time he’d fallen from the sky. As he fell further, Leo tightly shut his eyes, expecting to hit the ground any second. But instead he felt something hit him. Well, less like hit and more like grab. When he opened his eyes, he almost jumped out of his skin.

Jason had caught him, he was now face to face with him. Startlingly close. All Leo could see were his striking icy blue eyes. He felt Jason’s arms tightly secured around his waist, and he felt the breath of relief Jason sighed when he realized Leo was safely in one piece.

Why Leo obsessed over each of these small incriminate details, he would never say.

“Thanks superman,” Leo grinned nervously. He hoped the blush across his face wasn’t as noticeable as it felt.

Jason glared at him as they began to descend to the ground. “Next time i’ll let you fall.”

Leo was about to make another comment when his heart dropped, “Nico.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he looked up at the chariot. They seemed to flicker across the sky, as he tried to locate the other chariot rider. “Oh gods.”

Splash.

Just in time Leo turned to see Nico plunge into the lake, Jason had been too far to reach him seeing as they’d somehow been blasted in two different directions.

Leo’s shirt was still smoking from the explosion and his bones felt like jelly, but it didn’t stop him from rushing to the lake as soon as they touched the ground.

Will had gotten there first, he’d always managed to get there first. He began dragging Nico from the water, a crowd of panicked demigods forming around them.

As soon as Nico was pulled to shore Leo stumbled his way over, pushing through the crowd. “Is he okay? Is he breathing? Oh gods this is all my fault.” He stuttered and tripped over his words as the guilt built up inside his stomach like rocks. He shouldn’t have made Nico join this stupid race, he should’ve known it would go wrong. Everything he did always went wrong.

“Leo, don’t say that.” Jason stepped forward putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder.

Leo wanted to believe him but the guilt was overpowering it consumed his mind.

He silently watched as Will hummed placing his hand on Nico’s chest. Leo didn’t know what he’d do if Nico didn’t wake up, but luckily he did. Shooting up, coughing and spluttering, Leo recognized the look of relief that flashed across Wills face.

Jason’s hand gripped Leo’s shoulder tighter as he remembered to breathe. Suddenly his adrenaline rush crashed and so did he. His knees went weak and he would’ve fallen if Jason hadn’t caught him, again.

“You okay?” Jason asked softly. A warm tone that felt delicate and strange, yet it reassured Leo every time he heard it.

Leo nodded, looking back at Nico who was smothered in a hug from Will. He seemed to be repeatedly telling Will he was okay, despite him being dripping wet with several burnt holes in his shirt.

Nicos seemed to search the crowd until he locked eyes with Leo, he figured Nico would be incredibly pissed off at him. But he wasn’t, his eyes flashed a look of concern before he mouthed you okay?

Leo nodded as convincingly as he could, overly aware of Jason’s warm presence behind him, being the only thing holding him up.

The crowd was dispersing as Will managed to pull Nico to his feet, draping his arm across his shoulders. “Both of you,” he looked towards Leo, “infirmary. Now.”

On the way, Jason did most of the walking, as Leo’s new jelly legs hadn’t regained their sense of feeling yet. His whole body was aching by the time they’d reached the infirmary. Turns out, being exploded hurts. Shouldn’t have been surprising as he’d been exploded before.

As Leo sat on the infirmary bed his mind was spinning. He thought through every piece of bronze, every gear, wondering what had gone wrong. He had double, scratch that, triple checked to make sure everything was in tip top shape. Yet something still went wrong, seemingly out of nowhere. He replayed when the fire broke out, despite his frantic waving and patting down of the fire it didn’t extinguish. The realization hit him like a semi truck.

“Greek fire,” he said out of nowhere while Jason and Will rushed around; checking that he and Nico weren’t severely injured.

“What?” Jason said, his hand freezing in place as he picked up a bandage.

Nico inhaled sharply, looking at Leo as if he immediately understood. After hanging out for so long Nico had learned how to understand whatever thought process Leo was on, “That’s what it was, that’s why it kept burning. Why was it in the chariot?”

“I don’t know,” Leo sighed. He racked his brain for any contraptions that would lead to the emergence of greek fire. But he was sure that it wasn’t built into his chariot at all. “I never used greek fire, I don’t get how it would just erupt like that…unless…”

Jason’s eyes widened, “Do you think someone put it there on purpose?”

Leo met his eyes, he knew an accusation like this was dangerous. It meant that someone intentionally sabotaged their chariot, in a way that could only be intended to kill.

“But why would someone try to hurt you with fire?” Jason asked.

Leo felt his heartbeat stick in his throat, “Maybe I wasn’t the one they were intending to harm.”

He looked over at Nico whose face was now unreadable.

“You’re saying someone tried to kill Nico?” Will asked, his tone laced with anger.

“That or they meant to injure him severely, I guess they didn’t account for the explosion preventions I had in place.” Leo replied.

“Explosion preventions?” Jason asked, his eyebrow tilting up in the way it always did when he was confused.

“Yeah, I figured with my track record i’d add an extra layer of protection. Something that would lessen the impact of a possible explosion. That’s why we went flying away and not…well everywhere.”

“First of all, that’s impressive.” Jason spoke, “Secondly, who would intentionally try to hurt Nico?”

No one answered. None of them could fathom the idea that someone in camp would deliberately do something like this. Leo grasped at straws to find meaning, to find an excuse as to why this happened. But there was nothing. He knew Nico had never done any harm to cause this, he’d been nothing but a hero. He thought that everyone knew that, that everyone should know that. So why did this happen?

“We should talk to Chiron,” Jason said, breaking the heavy silence that filled the room.

—

Will was fuming. Almost literally. He was sure if he’d been Leo his whole body would be aflame. The idea that someone had targeted Nico in such a way, was impossible for him to swallow. His anger felt hot, it bubbled up like a volcano inside of him. He could feel it ready to erupt any second as he dug his nails into his palm.

Then a light touch pulled him from his inner turmoil. A cold hand had slipped its way between his fingers, releasing the tension. Will looked over at Nico and felt a wave of guilt, he hadn’t thought about how Nico must be feeling now.

Years ago Will had told Nico that he was welcome at camp, that no one had pushed him away. Now someone had tried to kill him.

His guilt was followed by fear. Will tightly squeezed Nico’s hand, pouring every ounce of assurance into the touch and praying in his mind that this situation wouldn’t influence Nico to run away again. Just the thought of Nico suddenly disappearing like he had years ago made his heart feel like it was being suffocated slowly. He had to remind himself Nico was okay, he was right by his side.

Explaining what had happened to Chiron was the easy part, it was Dionysus who was difficult.

“We must find this traitor at once!” Mr D. stood up slamming the table, vines began to crawl up from the floor and around the table legs.

Will had never seen him so mad. Of course, if it were anyone else he’d probably just shrug it off. But this was Nico. So Mrs D. was reasonably pissed.

“We have to handle this carefully,” Chiron said; his eyes were filled with a deep sense of sadness and disappointment. He too couldn’t imagine why someone had done this.

“Carefully?” Mr. D asked, his eyes glowed with a dangerous hue of purple. “I say we round everybody up and unrelentlessly interrogate them until the rat comes out.”

“We cannot tortue innocent campers in hopes of finding the culprit,” Chiron calmly explained.

“We can’t. I can.”

“Then you would be punished by several angry gods.”

Mr D. had no response this time, sighing as he sat back down. The vines following suite as they shrank back into the floorboards.

“I don’t understand who would’ve done this, and why now?” Jason said, his eyes seemed to be clouded in worries.

“Leo, is there anyway this could’ve been a prank taken too far?” Chiron asked, there was a sort of desperation in his eyes.

“I really wish it was, but there’s no way they couldn’t of known about the precautions. I added the explosion barrier last second. The greek fire must’ve been somewhere near the engine, whoever put it there wanted the chariot to catch fire and explode. Midair,” Leos voice was somber, he leaned listlessly on his elbows which set on the table.

Jason watched Leo carefully, his face seemed to analyze Leo’s every movement, every word. Will recognized his attentiveness.

Chiron sighed, “We will investigate this. Perhaps there is someone, something, whispering things to the demigods again.”

“We can talk to Clovis,” Will added. “If it’s something to do with dreams or visions he might be able to help.”

Chiron nodded, “Just be careful. I don’t know how whoever did this will react if they catch on that we are suspicious.”

Will nodded, he couldn’t help but notice how silent Nico had been. He seemed to be lost in thought. Will wish he could crawl into his brain and disintegrate all the negative thoughts.

It appeared Mr D. was also concerned, his face flashed with worry as he looked over at Nico.

“We’ll talk to Clovis tomorrow,” Will made the executive decision. “You two need rest.”

Jason agreed, not allowing Leo to protest by quickly grabbing him and dragging him out the door way. “Let’s go hotshot.”

It was dark, a cold breeze blowing through camp as Will and Nico walked; a blanket of silence lay between them. Nico seemed to be trapped inside his mind again, his eyes dancing with unspoken worries.

“You okay?” Will asked as softly as possible, reaching out to touch Nico’s shoulder.

Nico nodded, “I guess.”

Will frowned, “You guess?” He expected Nico to lie and hit him with a ‘I’m fine’ like he normally did.

“I’m not sure what to think to be honest.” Nico replied, he began chewing on his bottom lip; a nervous habit Will had taken note of several times.

“Yeah...” Wills voice was quiet, his racked his mind for the perfect thing to say, but came back with nothing.

The two of them kept walking as Nico slightly leaned into Wills touch, despite his uncertainty he still sought comfort.

“I’ll stay in your cabin tonight,” Will paused, “to protect you.”

Nico face spread into a smile, a smile that punched Will right in his stomach. He felt a sense of relief to see him smile, “Yeah i’m sure that’s the reason.”

“What?” Will raised his hands in false defense, “It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse.”

“Uh huh, super convincing.” Nico’s voice was coated with sarcasm, which was a stark contrast to the smile that danced across his face.

“It’s an excuse that would hold up in court, you know i’m not a lawyer but I know these things-“

Nico cut him off by grabbing his hand, “Come on sunshine.” He tugged Will lightly towards his cabin, it was obvious he didn’t want to be alone. That’s not to say Will didn’t want to stay with him on his own accord, obviously it was a little bit for himself. But mostly for Nico, mostly.

—

“Gods Leo use your legs.”

“I can’t they feel like jello, my arms too, and my-my everything!” Leo whined as he let himself be dragged along by Jason.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head in the explosion too?” Jason feigned annoyance. He was intentionally bantering with Leo, trying to boost the mood. Anything that could distract him from the fact of a potential murderer in camp was good, and Leo was really good at distracting.

“I think the explosion hit everything,” Leo stumbled. Jason quickly caught him, snaking his hand around Leo’s waist. He hoped Leo couldn’t hear his heartbeat which was pounding so loudly in his ears.

“You’re clearly incapable of walking,” Jason sighed. He figured he was getting quite good at acting as he almost believed his own false annoyance. “Just let me carry you or at this rate we’re going to be eaten by harpy’s.”

Leo smirked, “If you insist.”

Leo was a light weight against Jason’s back as he locked his arms around Leo’s legs; and when Jason walked, Leo’s arms dangled from around his shoulders. Then with a sigh he rested his chin on the top of Jason’s head.

“Dang the weather is pretty nice up here,” Leo said, his hands absently drumming against Jason’s shirt.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Jason replied, earning a small thump against his chest.

Leo paused as he noticed where Jason was headed, “Correct me if i’m wrong, but this does not look like the way to my cabin.”

“Well..” Jason almost panicked looking for any excuse, “I figure you need to be watched over. You know, with your jello legs and brain.”

“Aww,” Leo teased, “are you scared?”

Jason tried to bite back a smile when his lame excuse succeeded. “Yes, terrified.”

“Don’t worry Jace, I’ll protect you from the big bad scary Zeus statue.” Leo giggled as he tightened his arms around Jason.

Jason smiled, he didn’t say the real reason he’d wanted Leo to stay with him. He didn’t say it was because he worried about his safety, that he didn’t want him beating himself up with guilt. Or that he’d seen Will sneak into the Hades cabin and felt a sense of envy.

Jason contentedly carried Leo on his back into the cabin; and as they entered Leo seemed to shrink against Jason whispering, “He’s looking at me,” before bursting into giggles.

“Now you know how I feel every night,” Jason complained. He walked over to his bed, where he’d recently gotten a divider; placing it so that his view of the statue was obscured. When he reached the bed he turned and promptly dropped Leo onto his bed.

“Ouch,” Leo said, sprawling out on the bed with his eyes closed and tongue stuck out as if he were emulating roadkill.

“Looks like jello boy died, what a shame.”

Leo opened one of his eyes and when he saw Jason was still staring at him he closed it again; a grin began spreading across his face, though he’d tried to hold back.

“You leave me no choice,” Jason rubbed his hands together, creating a harmless amount of static electricity. “Clear!” He called out thrusting his hands towards Leo.

A small shock was produced and Leo sprung up falling onto the floor with a yelp, pieces of his curly hair stuck up in the static.

Jason burst into laughter, almost doubling over as his whole body shook.

“What the hades man,” Leo looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I resurrected you,” Jason said between giggles. He’d laughed so hard his eyes began to water.

Leo stood up, patting down his hair. “Okay, i’ve been resurrected before and it did not feel like that.”

Jason shrugged, “What can I say? I’m too good.”

Leo shoved him lightly, pretending to be mad although he was still smiling. “Whatever, because of that you’re sharing the bed.”

“Fine.” Jason pretended it was an inconvenience. In reality he was desperate to be near Leo, to be by his side in any way possible. As close as possible. Leo emanated this warmth in a way Jason had become addicted to. It was a warmth that filled his bones and soul completely and fully.

So when Leo curled up next to him, it took all of Jason’s willpower not to wrap his arms around him and bask in the warmth. Just being beside him had to be enough, yet still he yearned for the full closeness.

Soon he heard the soft breathing from Leo next to him, the moonlight from the window filtering in and sparkling my across his face. His eyelashes look so delicate in the light and the splash of freckles across his face started to resemble a constellation. Jason almost hoped that the moment would last forever; that tomorrow wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to face the harsh truth that someone in camp had tried to hurt his friends. He didn’t want to leave Leo’s side. Not again. The fear of losing him was always so strong because he’d lost him before, they’d both lost each other. Now they were together again and Jason prayed that they could stay that way.

But he doubted anyone was listening to that prayer.

(Part Two)

[katsuizu-stuff]

Just remember in another universe…

kid bakugo took kid deku’s hand when he fell into the small river

kid bakugo would have stand up for kid deku when others picked on him

deku and bakugo are in different school’s (bakugo is at UA and deku is in a public high school)

deku still gets bullied even if it isn’t bakugo specifically

deku stopped caring about bakugo and paid no attention to bakugo

deku never went to ground beta and bakugo stood there waiting for him to come

deku never told bakugo about OFA and bakugo would’ve find out about OFA just like the rest of the class

bakugo didn’t rip his paper/letter that deku wrote to him personally

bakugo was to late to save deku and deku got impaled or would be dead

bakugo wouldn’t have found out that he is the closest person to deku

[egophiliac]

once again, don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

(eventually I will get back to being less scribbly, whoops)

[paintedcrows]

It is imperative to me that Bill and Stan do torrid Duchess Approves roleplay and argue about character motivations

[rin-may-1103]

The Eyes of Death. Pt 2

Prev. | Master post | Next

"Robin!" Orcale cried through the coms, startling Damian as he ducked beneath a punch thrown his way. Growling, Damian Sparta kicked the goon before him, spun around, and throat-punched the last one standing.

"What?" he huffed, glancing around his area to see if he had missed something; Father was facing off against Penguin, Tim was taunting Mr. Freeze, and Jason was plowing his way through the rest of the goons down on the ground floor.

Gunshots flashed by and up toward the roof, drawing his attention.

Turning around, Damian watched as Dick jumped from the rafters and dropped two other goons with brutal precision, their guns clattering to the ground. That's four. He could still hear Steph and Cass fighting in the other room over the comms, which makes it six. (Seven if he counted Duke, who was at home resting after a long patrol) They were still up and fighting, which meant nothing was out of place.

"Your boyfriend wouldn't happen to be named Daniel Fenton, right?" Barbara's voice was strained. She practically begged him to correct her and prove she was mistaken.

Damian tensed up but rushed over to help down the goons surrounding Dick, his heart thundering away in his chest. "What happened?" he growled, drawing his katana when a goon quickly pulled a knife. The sound of metal against metal almost blocked her voice, but Damian could still make out what she said.

"He's been taken by some cultists, they're broadcasting everything. They're setting up the ritual right now; they cut his arm and are using his blood mixed with black paint to mark the ground. I'm pretty sure he's in shock, he barely reacted to the cut."

"Oh, shit!" Steph cursed, "not the boyfriend!"

"Where?" he grunted, parrying the knife away and kicking the guy over the railing. The man's scream cut out as his body hit the floor. "Robin!" Father hissed in anger, quickly tying up Penguin.

"He'll live!" Damian shouted back as he marched toward the door and reached for his grapple gun, "Oracle! Where is he?"

The others could finish up here without him, they had already dealt with what the two rouges had been planning. All that was left was to gather up the goons and hand everyone over to the GCPD. His boyfriend, who hadn't texted him to tell him he had gotten home safe because apparently he'd been kidnapped by cultists, was more important than beating the crap out of some lowly goons.

"The Financial District, warehouse seven on 4th street." she huffed, the sound of keys clicking as she sent him the live footage. Clicking the side of his mask, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend bound to a chair and glaring up at the camera. His blue eyes were filled with more annoyance than fear, but that didn't reassure Damian at all when the camera backed up and revealed Danny's heavily bleeding arm.

They must have cut an artery with how deep the wound looked. The only reason he wasn't already dead from blood loss was because of how tight the ropes were, it seemed.

"Shit," Damian hissed as he shot his grapple up at the building across the street, "make sure an ambulance is en route, Danny's going to need it. They must have cut through his radial artery if not both."

He could hear Dick hold back a gasp at his words but ignored it, as he flew toward the roof and started running. A loud thud landed behind him, followed by footsteps as Father's gruff voice echoed into his ear as they ran. "Jets on its way, it'll be faster than the car." Damian silently changed direction, continuing to jump roofs.

"I'm coming with," Dick demanded, landing a couple buildings behind them. Damian grunted in acknowledgment, not caring what they did. He needed to be there, he needed to be there thirty minutes ago; when he should have been walking Danny home like he asked him too.

"GOTHAM!" the person holding the camera shouted with a slip of paper in their other hand, allowing the camera a glimpse of the words. Danny's eyes narrowed even more, something like disbelief filling his eyes as the man continued talking, "Tonight, you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

"Danny looks so disappointed," Dick snorted, pulling out his own grapple at the sound of the jet approaching. Of course, Danny was disappointed, it was a waste of paper just to remember so little. Damian agreed but couldn't do anything other than huff at his brother's comment, most of his focus on watching the video.

Dick wrapped an arm around him, firing at the jet just as it rocketed overhead. They were launched into the air and dragged over buildings as the jet flew toward their destination. Father dangled across from them for a second before the three of them latched onto the rail under the jet designed for quick departure. They sat in silence as all three of them focused back on the video feed.

"Now," the leader shouted, coming into view as the cameraman backed up. Danny and the freshly painted circle were in full view, but so was the group of people off to the side. Damian recognized two of the people on the ground. Nancy and Wyatt, Danny's forcibly appointed college guides or "parents".

Damian remembers the day Danny had been introduced to them, spouting vitriol in anger about them being acephobic and how the college wouldn't allow him to switch guides. Nancy was crying, her mascara running down her face. Wyatt was deathly pale, all the blood bleeding away from his face as he watched the cultists in what looked like horrified guilt.

"Let us begin," the leader cheered, grabbing Danny's shoulders from behind him. Danny glanced worriedly at the group and then at the camera like he couldn't decide what he should focus on, subconsciously cringing away from the man behind him.

"Join me as we summon our lord and savior!" Danny narrowed his eyes in anticipation, "The great tyrant of the dead!" he now looked confused, "The embodiment of war and bloodshed!" back to worried, "The one named PARIAH DARK!" amused, because of course, his boyfriend would find the name amusing, "THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!" now he was back to confused and worried.

The leader turned and walked back over to one of his followers, snatching an old book and opening it. Without any fanfare, the man began chanting, guiding his followers like he was the director of a twisted play.

"ten minutes," Father grunted, "Oracle, get everything you can on the ghost king. We need to know what we're about to run into. Call someone from Dark, we'll probably need their guide on how to deal with this."

Dick readjusted his grip, tightening his arm in reassurance as Danny's eyes glanced up and toward the rafters like he was looking for one of them. No, not like. He was looking for them; because Damian had promised him in the past that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. And if not them then he would. Danny had rolled his eyes at the time, sarcastically calling him his hero. But he believed him because Damian had promised.

Damian growled as one of the cultists smashed a bowl on the ground, splattering Danny in what he had to assume was the blood and paint mixture Barbera had told him about earlier.

Damian watched as Danny glared at the black stains all over his front with disdain, trying to mutter something through the gag in his mouth the camera couldn't catch. "Is he seriously worried about his shirt?" Tim huffed over comms, the sound of police sirens growing louder.

"I would too if that's the only nice shirt I had," Steph grumbled before shouting something at someone.

"My boyfriend owns more than one shirt, Spoiler." Damian hissed.

"No offense, Damian," Steph laughed, "but your boyfriend looks like he crawled out of a dumpster after losing a fight against one of your raccoons."

"Oh, give him a break! The poor boy's just been kidnapped, of course, he looks bad." Barbera chided.

Damian went to respond but stopped to watch as another cultist stepped forward and tossed salt at Danny. Danny shook his head and glared at the cultist, only to be slapped in the face with another handful of salt for his efforts.

"That's one way to rub salt in the wound," Jason huffed, "make sure you kick that one in the dick for me."

"With pleasure," Damian grumbled, leaning back to try and see the warehouse they were heading toward. "Seven minutes," Father added, noticing how impatient Damian was starting to get.

they silently watched as the cultists continued chanting, Barbera occasionally telling them things she'd found. (She was having difficulty connecting with The Dark members, something about an unexpected mission off-world.)

Danny was starting to look tired, his face paler than usual (A hard feat, considering his boyfriend looked like a fresh corpse on a good day. If he didn't know any better, he would think his boyfriend had never spent a second in the sun his entire life.)

Suddenly, Danny started to cough, shaking his head, clenching his eyes closed in pain for a second before focusing back on the leader. "The blood loss is starting to catch up to him," Tim commented as Danny glanced up at the rafters again, "let the hospital know to have extra blood ready."

"Got it," Barbera agreed, still typing away. "No one's answering, I'm going to try Constantine, now."

"Two minutes," Father warned, getting ready to jump. Damian steadied himself, leaning forward to time his jump correctly. "Shit," Jason cursed, drawing Damian's attention back to the video in time to watch as a cultist raised a bloody blade into the air and slammed it into Danny's chest. "You need to get there, now!"

The cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who was now standing in front of Danny. Danny's chest quickly stained red, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!" the leader's voice echoed in the silent warehouse like a gunshot. but Damian couldn't hear a single word the man spoke as he watched Danny lean forward in pain, trying to grab at his chest.

His restrained hands pulled against the rope, causing more blood to leak from his wound, his eyes clenching shut as his left hand started glowing green. He suddenly started screaming, his voice strained like it was being ripped out of his throat, barely muffled by the gag.

A bright light flashed, spreading from where he'd been stabbed and crawling over his body. His skin turned gray, almost blue, like a body found out in a snowstorm. His hair started floating in an absent current like he was underwater. and his eyes started glowing a bright blue, growing brighter and brighter.

"NOW!" Father shouted, launching off the railing and gliding through the air. Damian didn't hesitate to follow, all his training allowing him to go on autopilot as he used his cape to guide his fall.

Danny slumped forward, his head hanging limp as the warehouse went deathly silent.

Twisting in the air, Damian aimed his grapple hook and fired. It latched onto the warehouse and tugged him forward, his fall turning into a swing as he rocketed toward the glass window. "Your Highness?" someone asked, their voices glitching in and out with the video feed.

Damian watched as the Danny in the video slowly lifted his head in time with the Danny he could see through the quickly approaching glass. Damian only had a split second to register that his boyfriend's eyes were no longer blue, but bright green before his feet smashed through the window and he was landing in a roll on the ground.

Immediately, the camera feed disappeared from his view, allowing him to focus on what was around him. Father crashed through the skylight, showering the cultists in glass as he landed on the other side of the room. Dick landed next to him, fluidly popping up from his roll.

"Shit!" someone shouted, "it's the bats!"

"run!" someone else yelled.

Damian lunged forward, burying his fist into the first cultist's face with a satisfying crunch. The warehouse flooded with loud screams and rapid movement.

"Dammit!" the leader cursed, dragging Damian's attention over to him. He had left the circle at some point, crazily looking around to try and find a quick exit.

Abandoning the cultists he was fighting, Damian quickly sprinted at the man. Unsheathing his katana, Damian attacked. The leader used the bloody knife to parry, scrambling back to get away. Damian growled, about to follow when his eyes landed on Danny's black and blood-stained face right behind the man.

Bright Lazarus green eyes stared back.

~

Danny's vision tilted, or was that just his head? It felt like he was in one of those twisty things NASA shoves their astronauts in under the claim of training for departure and reentry into Earth's atmosphere. or maybe it felt like a hundred pounds of soaked cotton balls shoved behind his eyes and lit on fire?

he couldn't tell, at this point, his head could be detached for all he knew. Wait, no. He's done that before, this feels nothing like that. So, he still had his head... but does his head still have a body???

He would glance down, but he's afraid he won't be able to lift his head again... Had he lifted his head? or had the world moved around him like it does in the realms? Where was he?

Danny's core pulsed in confusion as someone stepped over the circle, quickly followed by someone else. No one was supposed to enter unless a deal was about to be made. Had he made a deal?

Blinking, he focused his blurry vision as much as he could on the figure slowly approaching him. Had he already been looking at them? His vision tilted again, making his gut roll in nausea. A voice slowly broke through the static ringing in his ears, and his shirt suddenly pulled in frightened hands.

"Your Highness! these are the sinners I told you about!" the voice screeched, a pitch so out of the norm that Danny could only assume the voice belonged to a small fly-turned-eldritch little girl.

Wait a moment, that was his title? Your Highness? seriously? Was everyone going to be calling him that? He was the king; wasn't it supposed to be majesty??? He'll ask Dora later; now wasn't the time.

"Oh great ghost king!" the high-pitched voice cracked and lowered back to one he was starting to get familiar with, "Pariah Dark, lend me your power so I might defeat him!"

Did he seriously just call Danny, Pariah??? The man, the leader of the cult, Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem, kneeled in front of Danny, his hands twisted into Danny's ruined shirt. The blurry figure froze, not moving now that Danny had broken eye contact to look down at the horrible man.

Danny might be completely out of it and have no idea what's going on anymore, (he was in so much pain, why was there so much pain? he wanted it to go away, why wasn't it going away?) but he's been trained for moments like this. He can't let anyone see him as weak, not when he has to protect the realms as is his kingly duty.

Clockwork thought it would be a good idea to drop him in the middle of a meeting with some demons right after Danny had pulled an all-nighter and fought three of his rouges. let's just say, Danny was not pleased with the old goat after that. On the other hand, every time he meets a new demon, they seem to respect him much more than before. (he's still not sure what he did to earn that, but whatever)

So, acting like nothing was wrong would be easy peasy.

Sitting up straight, like Dora taught, Danny gazed down at the man who had demanded his attention. He turned his jaw intangible, dropping the gag and allowing him to speak freely again, "why should I?" His voice was echoey, cold, and devoid of the usual emotion.

It was completely different than what it usually was. Like he was a completely different person. (He sounded like Dan) which caught Danny off guard, but he had to ignore it for now. Clockwork had said that Danny Phantom was different from King Phantom, maybe this is what he meant. (hopefully not, he hated sounding like Dan. Was this permanent? was he always going to sound like this???)

"Why?" the leader stumbled, letting go of Danny's shirt in surprise, "because I summoned you! I control you!"

He looked outraged like it was Danny's fault he was in this mess.

Snorting, Danny smirked at the man. "Why should I lend you my power when you haven't even gotten my name correct?" That was like common summoning courtesy 101, right? Frostbite said something like that... or was it Pandora? Wait... wasn't that the demon etiquette? What was the ghost-summoning etiquette then? Also, could he even lend his power to someone else??? like, demons could, but could Danny???

"Who cares!" the man snapped, picking up the knife he had dropped next to him and slashing it at Danny. He didn't even have to think as he instinctively turned his right arm intangible and snatched the man's wrist, clenching it tightly to make him drop it. He was not going to let the man stab him again, thank you very much.

his core grumbled in annoyance, scattering his thoughts for a moment. What was he doing? his arm burned like it had been shot with an ecto blast, but that wasn't right, it was cut by-

Oh, right. cultists. Gotta deal with that.

Fazing the ropes off, Danny carefully stood up. An almost silent whine drew his attention up; it was the fuzzy figure, or now that Danny could actually see a little easier, Robin. Huh, looks like the bats actually made it after all. A little late to the party, but oh well.

Wait...

Shit, he didn't need the Bats up in all of his business. Especially since everything the ritual did to him was recorded, the ghostly stuff included. (Was Damian watching? Did he think Danny was dead now? a normal person would have died right?) He'd have to clear up any misinterpretations later, right now he has to focus on gaslighting the Fuck out of Batman and his partners.

Maybe he won't even have to deal with the Justice League if he pulls this off.

ok, what do they think the situation is? A Cult recording themselves sacrificing some random dude, the dude gets stabbed in the chest (probably assumed dead, he'll have to fix that...), then some ghostly shit happens, and the dude has glowing eyes... which basically lines up with the socially accepted symptoms of possession.

Cool, cool, cool. Danny'll just act like he's possessing himself then. No need to make it weird. Or reveal that he's a halfa.

...

How the fuck was a ghost king, who for all intents and purposes, knows nothing about mortal life, supposed to act when possessing a random body????? does he call it his body?? vessel? homing beacon?

"-leas me this intance! I summoned you, you listen to me! ME! I summoned you. Therefore, you have to do as I say!" the leader's voice broke through Danny's thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Again. Man, he seriously needs to get his shit together. Maybe it was the blood loss, they had cut him pretty badly earlier...

Sighing, which hurt a lot actually... he should probably fix that. Mentally shrugging, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to heal his wounds, which in turn settled his core a lot more than he expected. Maybe he shouldn't suppress it so much in the future... OR he should, and just not allow himself to be used in other rituals. Yeah, that's probably it. Man, he's going to have to talk with Frostbite after this is all over.

"You know nothing of which you speak, mortal," Danny grumbled, turning slowly to examine the warehouse. The bats had been fast, or Danny was just really out of it, because not only were all the cultists knocked out but the other hostages were gone.

"I know enough!" the man screeched, hitting his free fist against Danny's arm in an attempt to get Danny to release him. The only thing that was going to do was leave a bruise. Robin growled almost silently in response, which was weird. Why would Robin be upset about this man hitting Danny? or was he more upset along the lines of believing the random "hostage" Danny is "possessing" being hurt?

Yeah, that was probably it. All right, time to act all Ghost Kingly or whatever. If he was about to do something stupid then Clockwork would intervene. Since he hasn't so far, Danny was taking this as the old man giving his permission to proceed.

"Stop bruising my new favorite vessel, or I'll show you why it's a bad idea to mess with the dead." Danny hissed, pulling the man up so they were eye to eye. (it wasn't that hard, considering Danny was short as fuck. Who knew dying would stunt your growth?)

The man leaned back, his eyes wide in fear. His face turned green, or was that just the light from Danny's eyes? how bright were they glowing???

Oh, right, old ghost king, you need to focus here Danny.

Rolling his eyes, Danny harshly (not as hard as he could have though, even if he wanted to punt the man into the sun) tossed the man out of the circle and toward Robin. Nightwing, who Danny had just noticed was also there, quickly rushed over and wrangled the man over to the pile of cultists and tied him up.

"Your vessel," Batman grunted, stepping up to stand next to Robin. (Danny wasn't sure when, but Robin had left the circle. Which meant they probably had someone with magic experience telling them what to do now.)

"Yes, mine," Danny huffed, slowly turning to study the broken windows. his head was killing him, like four migraines stuffed into one killing him...

Do they not know how to use a door? Like, how often do they break through windows? Like, sure, it probably saves them a few extra seconds during a fight, but seriously? Do they at least pay the owners back for the property damage?

"He's not yours," Robin hissed, unsheathing his katana. Batman rested his hand on his shoulder, likely to warn Robin from doing something stupid.

Lifting his brow, Danny glanced down at his body. Did Robin know him? Or was he really just that protective of the people in his city? Even though Danny wasn't technically a Gothamite? He remembered Damian telling him at one point that if he was ever in trouble, the bats would save him. Hmm, yeah, probably just very protective of the people in their city then.

Danny was the same way when he was Phantom; those tourists might not be native Amity Parkers, but they were his tourists. So back off, ghost number 700 of the week. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, that's probably it.

"He," oh wow, speaking about himself was so weird, "was used as a sacrifice to summon me, which makes him mine." Ignoring the fact that his body belonged to him beforehand because, again, this is his body, but you know, can't tell them that. Also, even if this was someone else's body, it'd technically be Danny's. Look, being the ghost king meant Danny owned a lot of weird things, one of those being literally anyone's dead body. (He refused to think about the fact that Pariah had technically owned his body.)

Glancing up, Danny watched as Batman tightened his grip on Robin's shoulder. "Release his body at once, you lowly demonic pit waste! His body-"

"OK!" Nightwing cut in, clapping his hands. "How about this," he glanced at Robin and then back at Danny, clearly nervous about Robin's outburst. Also, what the hell was pit waste? Like, obviously Robin was insulting him, but he could have at least used an insult Danny would understand.

Also, why was Robin insulting a supposedly all-powerful king of the dead? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the more rational vigilantes? Maybe he just got emotional when he thought he failed to protect someone? Which is completely understandable, Danny did not react well when he failed to keep someone safe.

"We apologize for any wrongdoing Robin's words have caused. You willingly go back to your realm, leave your vessel's body behind, and we" he gestured at himself and the other two, "don't get other magic users involved? how does that sound?"

"Is that a threat?" because seriously, that sounded exactly like a threat. Did they seriously not know how to talk to other dimensional beings? Shouldn't they, as Justice League members, know how to diplomatically converse with others? Especially ones that could kill them with a glance? (like, Danny obviously wouldn't do that, but come on!)

His core stuttered again, drawing his attention to the fact that Danny was running out of power to keep up whatever transformation he'd taken on. Which was weird because he's obviously not in his ghost form, so why was it so draining??? And there's plenty of ectoplasm in the air, so, like, this was just ridiculous.

"Whatever," Danny huffed, looking down to study the circle as Nightwing started waving his hands in denial. "I already healed the vessel, he'll technically live." He could feel the pull it had on his core, which meant he had no idea what would happen once it was broken. Would he feel the same things he felt earlier? or would it just be like letting go of someone's hand?

Man, he was too tired for this crap. He wanted to go home and sleep. maybe steel his boyfriend's hoodie and cuddle with Cujo.

You know what? Danny didn't care, he should just break the circle and act like nothing happened. Yep, that's the plan. Still, he should probably prepare for if something goes wrong, you know, like passing out.

Carefully, both because the world was still kind of spinning around him, and to keep the bats from reacting badly, Danny made his way to stand in front of the Vigilantes. They should have quick reflexes; if he passes out, they should be able to catch him, right?

Without warning, Danny dragged his shoe over the line and broke the circle. Immediately his core hissed and all of his energy disappeared. Crumpling forward, Danny barely processed the sight of Robin's panicked lunge to catch him before everything turned dark and his body felt on fire.

Next

[thetorturedlovergirl]

So you're telling me that if Elphaba hadn't been able to turn Fiyero into a scarecrow, Dorothy would have found a beaten and nearly dead man tied to a post.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Zip Me Up?

In which you're getting ready for a night out but you need your boyfriend's help. Or do you?

Warnings: none unless you hate tooth achingly sweet fluff Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

When you heard the front door snick close, your eyes fall straight to your phone. 6:45. Shit. You were going to be late and you weren’t even dressed yet. In your defense, you had spent a few extra hours at the salon that day with Carmen who kept talking you into more and more treatments. ‘It’s a reward for getting through your first F1 season as a WAG!’ she had joked while Lily nodded along in agreement on your other side, which lead to you adding a facial on to the end of your massage Lando had booked for you today. 

You were regretting it now because that door closing signaled that your boyfriend was home and you were still sat in front of vanity mirror in the skimpy black lingerie that was supposed to be a surprise for Lando after the FIA awards tonight. You knew he was still salty about losing the championship to Max by 20 points and the bits of lace and silk were supposed to help get his mind off things. 

While the season had ended well, with Lando picking up a total of seven wins and McLaren securing their first constructors championship on ages, the sting of losing out to Max in the end was just a bit too much for your boyfriend to handle. You had known him for years, your brother racing the same circuits as Lando as a child, so you knew how competitive he was and how badly it hurt him to come up just short. While your brother had left the sport after he turned 16, he had joined the McLaren racing team as first an engineer before being promoted to strategist. 

You had run into Lando at the McLaren Technical Center one afternoon two years back while visiting your brother, a spark that had been present when you both were younger igniting again with one single look. The rest, as they say, was history. It had been a whirlwind really, the timing of it all simply perfect. 

“Babe, you almost ready? The car is going to be here in fifteen.” Lando calls from what sounds like the kitchen. He had just popped out to get bottle of whiskey to put in his flask, insisting that being half way drunk was the only way he was going to survive the awards dinner. 

In the kitchen, Lando sets the bottle of whiskey down before opening the silver flask you had gotten him for his birthday in November. Engraved on the side was his monogram and a tiny little F1 car under it. 

“Almost ready! Be out in five!” You shout back and Lando can’t help but chuckle. Five minutes in your time was actually closer to 15 so he knew he had time for a drink. 

Lando busies himself in the kitchen while he waits, knowing he’s going to tease you about taking so long to get ready while not meaning a word of his banter. You scurry about the bedroom, for once glad he hasn’t come looking for you so you can get ready quickly without being distracted. It was Lando’s constant state: Distraction. His curls distracted you. His smile distracted you. The way he said your name distracted you. Everything about your boyfriend caused you to be utterly distracted and while you wouldn’t have it any other way, sometimes a girl just needs 10 minutes alone to focus and get her makeup on. 

Minutes pass and the house is quiet, save for the clink of some ice in a glass as Lando enjoys a quick drink before you leave for the night. 

“Lan?” You call and God does that do something to him. The nickname you have for him is his favorite word. Not because he likes being called Lan, although he doesn’t mind. No, he loved it because of the way his name fell off your lips like sweet slow drips of honey, sugary coated and thick. 

He makes his way down the hall, knowing exactly where to find you: your dressing room. It had been your only demand when you moved in with him 3 months ago. If he got a gaming room, you deserved a dressing room. And Lando, not being one to ever say no to you, had immediately had his workout room converted to the dressing room of your dreams. 

He stops once he reaches the doorway, pausing to lean against the frame to take you in. Your hair was done in loose curls, the shiny locks tumbling down over your shoulders made him forget his last name. Your black dress, shimmering under the dim lights you only used after your makeup was finished, was a long column of silk that made Lando’s throat go dry. 

When you see him standing there, practically eating you alive with the feral look on his face, a slow grin spreads across your face. “Hi baby.” You coo before gathering your hair up in one hand while spinning around. “Can you zip my dress up for me?”

Truth be told, you could have probably done it yourself but you also wanted to give Lando a sneak at what was under your dress right when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Teasing him with little glimpses of skin was one of your favorite past times. Lando knew that you could have done it yourself too, but he appreciated being needed and would never pass up the opportunity to run his fingers up your bare skin.

“Of course.” He says, crossing the room in a few strides to come stand behind you. Your perfume, a sweet and spicy dream of a fragrance, settled across his skin where it would linger all night, a constant reminder that you were his now. When you had waltzed into the MTC visiting your brother two years ago, he hadn’t recognized you at first. The moment he heard your voice though? He had known he was a goner. 

His fingers deftly maneuver the zipper up towards the top of the gown, the pads of his fingers leaving a smattering of goosebumps in their wake. When his job is done and your dress is secure, Lando dips his head to drop an open mouthed kiss in the crook of your neck, a place you can often find him kissing. When he starts to drag his tongue from his favorite spot up the column of your neck, you can’t help the sigh that falls from your lips on a whisper. Here it was, the distraction. 

“You look exquisite tonight.” He murmurs when his mouth reaches your ear, breath dusting along the shell of your ear. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is embarrassingly breathy but Lando’s fingers digging into your hips says he’s not embarrassed one bit. He didn’t say a word about the lace that was for him, but you know he saw it. “Sorry I’m running behind. Carmen, Lily, and I took longer at the salon today than I anticipated.” 

Lando spins you around, shaking his head when your gaze meets his. “It’s fine, we’re not really all that late. I’m glad you’re getting along with the other girls.” 

You nodded, the corner of your mouth ticking up at the thought of your friends, also girlfriends of F1 drivers, who had really taken you under your wing this season. Being in the public eye like the WAGs tended to be was not for the faint of heart and there had been several times this season where only the girls were able to understand your struggle to adjust to life with Lando. 

The two of you stand there for a moment, taking in the sight of each other. You were able to travel to most of the races so you didn’t often go too long without seeing Lando, but there was something settling about it now being winter break, all work suspended for the time being while everyone decompressed after a hard season. You had made it through, relationship stronger than ever, and the silent conversation that happens while you two reflect on how everything has changed so quickly has your heart fluttering in your chest. 

Lando’s the first to break the spell, forced to drop his attention to his phone that was buzzing quietly. “That’s the car.” He says, sounding almost sad that the two of you will have to leave the comfort of your private cocoon tonight and put on your public faces for the evening. 

Moments later, Lando is helping you into your jacket before twining his fingers with your own. More kisses are dropped on your cheeks and neck as you both scuttle towards the door, the hired car likely double parked in front of your building. You knew Lando would have rather stayed home tonight, not wanting to have to share you or your attention with anyone but you also knew tonight would serve as a good closing chapter on your first year together and for that, you were forever grateful. 

[ckret2]

Extremelly funny if aku discovered she was a woman due to the Jill incident

I think it should just keep on happening!

doing drag for the bit* until you realize it isn't a bit anymore

*vexing and plaguing the accursed samurai

cute humansonas aside, if aku decided to be female i don't think she'd change anything about her default demon appearance. like, what's feminine to a tree made out of evil sludge that may or may not contain the imprisoned souls of countless helpless mortals?

maybe she'd lose the beard. but otherwise she's already a flawlessly beautiful specimen of eternal evil, what could possibly be improved??

so it might end up being just,

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ten.

The dragon slumped forward, the newly formed cavity in its chest inadvertently sucking Hollyberry's fist in even deeper as it did so. A bottomless well of blood sprung forth from the mortal wound, soaking her leather gauntlet through and staining it - and many other parts of her person, as the sticky, foul-smelling life essence was blindly spat at her - a hideous dark color. Quickly and unceremoniously, she yanked her hand back out, allowing gravity to take back control and force the dragon's fresh corpse to the ground. The hole in its chest was far from its only injury, but it was the most grievous one. And with all of them together, the creature was slain; vanquished by a fellow predator that ultimately proved herself superior.

Hollyberry stared down at the remains of her prey, as cold and stoic now as she'd been when their battle had first started. The telltale glimmer of life in its eyes was long gone; it dimmed rather quickly, fading almost in tandem with the stream of blood that drained from its body with each erratic pulse of its dying heart, vanishing completely with the slam of its head against the tarnished earth. Once a mighty beast, now beaten and broken at her feet, its face now forever frozen in incomprehensible agony.

That's ten. Ten dragons slain. If memory served, ten was the amount of dragons that had been plaguing this area and terrorizing the nearby village. At last, she had gotten them all.

She wiped some of the blood off of her shield - just enough to allow the gem at the center to enjoy the sunlight again. Taken in by its renewed shine, she drew the shield closer, gazing into the pretty, polished jewel and the grim, unkempt reflection gazing back into her.

She didn't look any different.

She didn't feel any different, either.

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

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Never did that singular phrase ever stop replaying inside of Hollyberry's mind. Never did her mind rest; never did her thoughts grant her a moment's peace. Never. Not once. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day has just been this; this terrible memory that her mind and heart and soul simply could not, would not perish. The monster hunter's countenance, as real as though he yet stood before her. The monster hunter's voice, crystal clear as a berry juice glass.

If only she'd had it in her in that moment to punch the sneer right off of his godsforsaken face.

But it was fine. It is fine. It will always be fine, if she can help it... and she can. She will. She already has. Just a messenger, he was; not worth the ammo nor the aim. There were better targets out there. Tougher ones. More deserving ones. All in far more dire need of punishment than he.

After the village had been cured of its draconic sickness, she moved on. One last day was all she chose to afford the villagers, with all of their cheers and tears and now remedied fears. They made her a feast; a hearty sampling of their finest culinary selections, the cream of what little remained of their crop. The dragons had done a number on them in more ways than one: fields torched, loved ones devoured, homes and businesses reduced to smoking ruin. But it was fine now. They are fine. And now, they shall continue to be fine, without the monsters prowling around. Without her.

What was it they'd served her again? Pumpkin soup? Roasted quail? A smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables? Even as she ventured back through the houses and streets and reached the village gates after bidding them all farewell, she scarcely recalled a single morsel. In fact, she scarcely recalled sitting down at the table at all. Life and all its contents blended together and disappeared into the fog more often not nowadays - all but her hunts. Her battles. Her cullings.

...Juice. The elegant scarlet lettering painted onto the village welcome sign, carved and decorated in such a way as to draw one's eye and heart in at a glance, awoke a single memory of the night before: a goblet of juice, eagerly set beside her plate. Their last bottle, one villager said; the dragons had either drank or destroyed the rest. A gift, one of many, for her heroism. They admired its gorgeous color, yearned for its sweet yet tart taste - but for their savior, they would happily part with it. They would be remiss and horrendously rude not to.

She made up for their politeness by being rather rude herself, and turning the juice down wholesale. "But why?" they had asked her, in such overwhelmed surprise that it was almost comical. "Is it not to your liking? Please, won't you have even a sip? We only wish to honor you! We beg!"

"I can't accept such a gift," she answered them. "You have sacrificed enough already. Don't give up any more for my sake."

"But we insist!" Of course they did. Insistence is the foundation of all gratitude, and the fuel for all celebration and merrymaking. In a different time and place, she would've obliged without question. But not this one.

"No." Her tone was cool, her words clipped; painfully firm as her grasp on her silverware had suddenly become. "I need to keep focus. Juice would get in the way of that. All of you, keep it. You deserve it more than I."

How amusing it had been, in a morbid sort of way, when their rosy-cheeked insistence withered at the sound of her harsh voice. In a different time and place, she would've apologized. In a different time and place, she would've laughed and said they fell for her joke, her act, and perhaps then she would've down the whole glass in one fell swoop to the sound of applause.

But not this one.

Her shield provided much needed protection from the morning sun's glare. Light is always welcome, but not when it dares to overtake the lines on the map. She couldn't afford to lose track of her next destination.

"A tragedy, really..."

No. She needed to keep focus.

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

What might they be doing now, Hollyberry wondered?

Who "they" were, she could not tell you. Who "they" were, she knew all too well. "They" were those clouds that drifted in and out of sight on a windy afternoon. "They" were those shadows cast on the wall by the dance of the torch light, too ethereal and erratic to keep any proper shape for too long. "They" were those wandering reflections in the windows, in her shield, in the all of those berry juice glasses she shunned. "They" were a mystery. "They" were a paradox.

She wondered if there had been a search party. If the Crown had spared no expense, no soldier, no single second of time, in hunting their targets down. She wondered if her son tore his robes and dirtied his hair pacing through the jungle, parting every bush and overturning every stone himself. She wondered if her daughter-in-law could see through her veil of tears or speak past the lump in her throat; if her strength waned with each passing day, little by little, until her knees buckled and bent and she finally collapsed, howling her grief into the earth below until her voice failed her for good.

She wondered if there had been a funeral. Might as well have. From the clutches of dragons, even great warriors seldomly escaped. No exception would have been made for a child, especially one so small and feeble. Easy pickings.

She wondered if the other child felt her sister's absence. Never for a moment were they apart, those two; not in the womb, not in the crib, not even in the playpen or the bathtub. One so loud and vibrant, the other calm yet curious. But no matter their differences, it was plain as day that they loved one another. Before they knew of the world, before they even knew their own names, they knew and loved and trusted each other. Partners in crime, they were. Or, they were supposed to have been.

She wondered what the others would have said - to her, to the king and queen, whoever, it didn't matter much. The ghostly memory of a voice, sad but serene, drifted through her ears; there was never a shortage of heartfelt prayers with him. Perhaps, in the face of a tragedy like this, even his staff would have wept. Two weapons were drawn before her mind's eye, one great and powerful sword and one sleek and dazzling spear; he would proclaim that such an injustice could not stand and he and his warriors would gladly pursue retribution on their behalf, and she... she would likely say something similar, Hollyberry thinks. She would have, if she knew her well enough. Never mind that she probably didn't know what happened. Never mind that Hollyberry didn't even know where she was now.

In the corner of her thoughts sprouted a lily, small and thin and so unsure. She paid it little mind. Before all of this, Hollyberry might have imagined her gazing upon them all with such an overwhelming sorrow, even setting her staff aside so she may offer a proper hug. But now, she wasn't so sure. Nowadays she isn't so sure she ever knew her at all.

They were the sharp cries the dragons let out when her fist collided with their snouts: agonizing, deafening, piercing through her skull and haunting her thoughts well into the night. They were the droplets of blood that ruined her clothes and her hair when she rended the flesh from the bones, and bashed the heads into the rocks: small and bright and numerous, washing away in the river and rain and always leaving her behind. They were the reflections in their wide eyes, colored first with rage and then with panic, growing cold and still as their vitality slowly faded away.

She wondered what they were doing. She wondered if they wondered the same of her.

She wondered if any of them could hazard a guess.

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

Ten. Ten dragons slain this week. Or, at the very least, Hollyberry believed so.

Back and forth across the world, she continued her endless trek: through the woods and across the lakes and over the tallest mountains. Wherever she heard whispers and wails of dragons being a blight, she went. And she killed them all, one by one, until their extinction in the area was all but guaranteed. And then her endless trek resumed, with hardly so much as a brief pause.

Interesting, really, how many of them there proved to be. As she trudged through the mud and snow, she racked her brain for answers - has is always been this way? Could she remember a time when dragons weren't there, appearing as the black marks on society and history they always were? Ten, twenty, thirty, forty - she was starting to lose count of them by now, to the point that she'd begun keeping tally with her shield itself, whittling a slash mark into the wood with each conquered beast.

An occasional glance into its back told her she'd run out of space soon. Pity.

She was in Beast-Yeast, somewhere in the north. There were dragons there, too. No one had called her there - no one ever called Hollyberry to Beast-Yeast, save for fun and adventure and the pain tucked away deep in her heart, still knocking on the walls - but she set out for it anyway. Always some unholy creature of some sort skulking around in that place, making it worse than it already is. A revisit or two or three or ten or one thousand to clean house never did any harm. Fewer dragons in the world at the end of the day.

She was back in Crispia, near the Cream Cake Mountains. An overheard report detailing an ice dragon beginning to circle the outskirts of a snowridden village brought her there quick; a day of preparing a trap and a lure brought the dragon out quicker. Some small, unfortunate part of her almost lamented the creature's demise; countless snowflakes of all shapes and sizes took the place of its scales and icicles of a shimmering, semi-translucent beauty made up its many spines. From above, it appeared as a sentient aurora, streaking across the night sky. It was almost a shame that that sky had to be darkened for eternity. Almost.

She was near the Crème Republic. She was in somewhere in Wholegrainia. She was meandering around some old, worn path that stretched into both ends of the horizon - the Sugar-Free Road or some such nonsense. She was everywhere. She was nowhere.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Fifty.

One hundred.

One thousand.

She ran out of space on the inside of her shield.

She didn't care. She simply stopped counting after that.

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

"Sweet Pinkyberry! It's been so long!"

Fighting the urge to wince at that old, silly name, Hollyberry dredged up a smile, hoping against hope that it actually bothered to reach her eyes this time.

"What brings you back to Dragon City this time around, hm?"

"What always brings me back here, my friend," Hollyberry said. "I'm here to hunt some dragons."

"Fair answer, haha! Not too much else to do here." Tapping on the side of the empty bowl in front of her, the Innkeeper's smile turned a bit wry. "Besides helping yourself to some of my famous stew, isn't that right?"

"Isn't that right, indeed," Hollyberry tried her best to play along.

"Let me get you some, then! And a mug of fireade to go with-"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eh?" The Innkeeper blinked. "Are you sure about that? You look thirsty to me. And you never say no to my fireade."

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, chum... If you say so."

She only half-heard her old friend call out to one of her sons to ready a bowl of dragon's head stew. She only half-noticed when it was placed before her a few minutes later, the hot steam wafting from it only somewhat snapping her out of her daze.

"The dragons have gotten quite rowdy these days," the Innkeeper remarked. "Moreso than usual. It's been a bit of a pain for local hunters."

"Oh?"

"No one's quite sure what's got them so spooked. But there have been rumors of a slayer running around the continent, culling their numbers awfully quickly."

"Maybe that's what it is, then," Hollyberry murmured into her spoonful of stew.

"Maybe, but... There's hardly anything to go on, save for the rumors. If that slayer is real, then they don't seem to want any attention. All that's ever been left in their wake are dragon corpses. Nothing else. Not even a name or a face."

The Innkeeper slowly leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows, eyeing Hollyberry in a way that made her feel as though a thousand eyes were suddenly upon her, trying to dissect her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"...No," Hollyberry eventually answered, the agonizingly slow sip of her stew having done nothing to soothe her nerves. "I can't say I have."

The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow at her, but ultimately shrugged. "Alright then. I'm surprised to hear you say that, in honesty. But it's understandable. Elusive fellow, that fabled slayer seems to be."

Hollyberry nodded slowly, feigning agreement long enough to appear convincing before safely turning her full attention back to her meal.

"In any case... Have you heard what happened in the Hollyberry Kingdom recently?"

It took everything in Hollyberry's power not to choke on her stew.

"That poor girl," the Innkeeper lamented. "I can hardly imagine what the royal family is going through. I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to either of my boys, especially with their father leaving me alone to hunt so often. It's a tragedy."

Everything looked, sounded, felt so, so far away now. Blurry. Incomprehensible.

"Those damned dragons," the Innkeeper muttered. "Whoever that slayer is, I wish them all the luck and give them all the thanks in the world. Who knows, maybe they'll even take down whichever one of those devils took the princess."

The sudden screech of the bar stool legs nearly deafened them both.

"Wha- Pinkyberry? You alright? Where are you off to so soon?"

"I have somewhere to be," Hollyberry spoke quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I could never stay long, anyway. Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye, a rather hefty looking coin pouch appeared from Hollyberry's pocket, being all but slammed on the table before she made a heel-turn and began hurrying to the inn's front door.

"Wait! Sweet Pinkyberry!"

Biting back a sigh, she turned and looked back over her shoulder one final time.

"Be careful!" the Innkeeper warned her. "Dragons here are more hostile than ever thanks to the goings-on! Promise me you'll take care of yourself!"

Hollyberry nodded, a bit impatiently.

"And don't you forget! The only good dragon is a dead one!"

"How could I?" Hollyberry called back to her, before leaving the inn for good.

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

It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy.

Was there nowhere she could go to escape this? This- this word? This feeling? This bitter, endless mourning, corroding her bones? Devouring her soul?

Stray embers and volcanic ash particles lazily rained down upon her, dusting her head and shoulders and shield as she steadily hiked up the volcano's slope. The Dragon's Valley today was the same miserable, heat-stricken, inhospitable wasteland it had been yesterday, and would be tomorrow, and would be the day after that. Simply abominable in every conceivable fashion - most of all in how it so brazenly housed dragons of all kinds.

...But it wasn't the fault of the valley itself, now was it.

All manner of creature came for Hollyberry as she traversed that hellish landscape, practically the moment her feet first touched its cursed ground. Dragons, wyverns, lesser reptiles big and small. Perhaps her visage was too obvious, framed against the rich browns and dull oranges of their surroundings, even after generously allowing ember and ash to dress her in their likeness and offer her a free disguise. Perhaps her scent was too unique, too cloying, just enough to rise above all those hideous, overpowering smells wafting through this godsforsaken place.

Perhaps they sensed her anger, and their impending doom along with it, and sought her, and thus, their destiny, out of their own accord.

Whichever one was the real answer... she did not know, and she did not care. Regardless, she appreciated it - all of her enemies delivering themselves to her right on her doorstep. Easy pickings.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty- oh, what did it matter. What difference did keeping count make. What mattered was that they all fell before her. That she left behind a slew of dragon corpses in her wake.

The more blood she spilled, and the more viscera she lavished upon these lands, the more likely it would be that they would come out.

In all of her long years, Hollyberry never succeeded in finding Pitaya Dragon's nest. Her usual excuse was that challenging a foe to a battle in the foe's own house was unfathomably rude - but, the truth of the matter was that she simply didn't know where their house was in the first place, and all of her long years of adventuring and tracking expertise did far less to remedy this than she'd hoped they would. Ah well, it was nothing Hollyberry couldn't otherwise overcome; the next option was to draw that old lizard to her instead.

The so-called "legendary" Red Dragon. Undisputed lord of the Dragon's Valley since time immemorial. They had answers, didn't they? Surely, in all of their timeless and impeccable wisdom? The dragons that came to terrorize her kingdom and people always hailed from the Dragon's Valley - never anywhere else.

Pitaya Dragon has to know something. They must. They will. She won't entertain any other option.

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

Tendrils of steam whispered and coiled around Hollyberry's ankles. The air surrounding them crackled with heat and energy, born from both their godlike power and the valley itself.

"Pitaya!" she called out, daring to take another step forward. "What happened?! Where is she?!"

"What doesss it matter?" Pitaya Dragon drawled, lips curling to form a dry, mocking smirk. "She'sss gone. Ssso much for a hero."

Overcome with rage, Hollyberry lunged forward with a battle cry. Pitaya Dragon stayed where they were, feet firm and arms crossed, obnoxiously cruel expression only being wiped away with the hard swipe of her fist against their cheek.

Their fight lasted only minutes. Their fight lasted for an eternity. She blocked, parried, threw back every swing of their greatsword with terrifying ease - and a hideous smile of her own had begun to bloom as their little war raged on, growing bigger and brighter with every snarl and yelp of pain she managed to knock out of their lungs.

Yet still, something was missing. Yet still, her words and actions rung hollow. Yet still, through all of the blows they exchanged, in every hit she landed, she found no peace. No resolution. No respite.

Yet still, the voices wouldn't stop.

"Wouldn't you know it? Soon after the queen left the Hollyberry Kingdom, dragons began to roam freely, terrorizing the land!"

Carefully, she tried to step- careful not to trip over the dragon corpses. The beaten, broken, bloodied remains of those slimy, pathetic, cold-blooded cowards she dutifully removed from the face of the earth. Everything that happened, everything she did- it was deserved. It was destined. It was justice.

"And in all the chaos and confusion, those lizards kidnapped one of the twin princesses!"

Pitaya Dragon's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each more contemptible than the last. Smugness. Derision. Anger. Shock. Confusion. Realization. Betrayal. Terror. All the sight of them did was stoke the flames of Hollyberry's wrath even more.

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Ember and ash, fire and brimstone rained down upon them as their terrible duel shook and tore apart the heavens and earth. Red as blood, blinding as the sun, searing through skin and flesh and bone. Slowly, their color and texture changed; a new element was added to this hellish mixture. Ember and ash, fire and brimstone - and dark flour, mountains of it, turning the heavens and the earth and Hollyberry's eyes and lungs pitch black.

"Terrible, terrible stuff... Too bad the queen abandoned her duties and her land..."

In a last ditch effort to turn the tides of war in their favor, Pitaya Dragon transformed. The strain was great, Hollyberry could tell; as scarlet and emerald flames engulfed their person, hisses and howls of pain rung out from within, culminating in one skull-splitting roar as the dragon's true form came back into being. At this, Hollyberry barked out a laugh. A waste of time and effort. It meant nothing in the end.

"I bet she would've never allowed the dragons to do what they please!"

Pitaya Dragon fought frantically, mindlessly, beating and clawing anything and everything within reach, spitting fire every which way with little regard to what they actually hit, flapping their wings with such force that entire boulders were swept away in the wind. But every attack proved fruitless; Hollyberry was too quick, too tough, too clever. She had waited too long for this moment. She'd be damned before she let it pass her by.

"So much for a HERO!"

Eventually, they slipped up for the final time, and Hollyberry struck back for the final time. When they made the fatal mistake of flying too too low and too close, Hollyberry seized the opportunity and every last bit of her strength to jump up, shield outstretched and aimed at that precious gemstone, that window and key to their heart. The gem embedded in Pitaya Dragon's chest shattered on impact, blazing red shards splintering and exploding every which way. Their mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes wide as the moon, blood staining their teeth and spurting from their mouth and nostrils. Quickly and unceremoniously, Hollyberry shoved them backwards, watching them collapse with a loud thud, blood oozing from their many wounds and pooling all around them, dyeing the soil an uglier shade of red than it already was. In a smoking crater in the middle of the Dragon's Valley thus lay the legendary Red Dragon. Beaten. Broken. Dead.

In their eyes, Hollyberry thought she had seen tears. It must have been a trick of the light.

She marched forward, making her way around her slain opponent's body until she at least reached their face. Wedging her hands between the teeth of their lower jaw and gripping them tight, she pulled, pulled, pulled; slowly but steadily prying their massive jaws open, until Hollyberry could all but stroll into their mouth with ease.

She didn't have to search for long. Sitting on Pitaya Dragon's tongue for the whole world to see was a cream-colored swaddling cloth, with a tuft of teal hair poking out of the top.

"Tiger Lily!" she shouted, rushing forward and kneeling and gathering the princess in her arms. "Tiger Lily, I-I'm here! I've got you! It's alright!"

She cradled her, rocked her, but the girl did not stir.

"Tiger Lily? Tiger Lily, please, I'm here now! Look at me! Come on!"

Nothing.

"Tiger Lily..." Her vision blurred in an instant, her whole body trembling with such force that it was a miracle she remained upright. "Tiger Lily, p-please- Please, I, I-I'm sorry, I know this is my fault, I'm sorry, I-I'm here now, see? See, everything is alright now. Please, p-please look at me, wake up, look at me, please-!"

Tiger Lily's skin felt freezing cold to the touch, startling Hollyberry when she brought her hand to her cheek. Cold, clammy, with a faint blue tint. Her eyes were closed and nothing Hollyberry said or did opened them. No matter her efforts, no matter her pleas, the little princess lay still. Silent.

Dead.

"No." Hollyberry's came out so small. So feeble. Warm tears began streaming endlessly down her face; she clutched at her chest, a deep, sharp pain suddenly striking her heart. The world blurred and spun all around her, the heavens and earth and her old friend's lifeless body melting together into a single abhorrent mess. All that remained within her comprehension was her dear granddaughter, and the tears soaking through her face and clothes, and the dark flour still floating down from the sky.

Hollyberry woke up with a start, clutching at her chest and gasping for air as though someone had tried to drown her. Frantically, she looked over her surroundings - everywhere her eyes were met with walls of cool obsidian, save for the opening a ways off to her right that offered an escape to the outside world. She'd taken shelter in a cave the night before, after slaughtering her way through the valley and ending up nowhere, with no Pitaya Dragon in sight all day. The night looked young still. The moon shone bright from a gap in the clouds, offering her a single source of precious light.

Still reeling from her nightmare, Hollyberry stared down into her lap, at her trembling hands. Caked in dried dragon blood, as were the rest of her clothes. Specks of gore could still be seen on her person, clinging to her vest and boots and even strands of her hair. Instinctively, she reached for her shield; polishing off the jewel in the center, she gazed into her reflection and stayed silent as it gazed back into her.

...Who is she? What is she doing? Who has she become?

Setting her shield aside and burying her face in her blood-soaked hands, Hollyberry began to weep.

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

Ten.

She slammed the crystal glass down onto the table - quite carelessly, sure, but who could blame her? It's hard to keep control of such things after a while.

"Care for another shot, miss?"

"Would I ever! In fact, I'm disappointed you'd even bother asking instead of just pouring! Haha!"

Ten shots in ten minutes. Was this a new record? She thinks it is. She hopes so.

Every day, Hollyberry sunk a little bit lower. But, at the very least, if nothing else at all, she could choose where she sunk. She could choose not to sink into rage and death and depravity. She could choose to sink into a tall, cold, delicious glass of beer or two instead.

The Hollyberry Kingdom, though renowned throughout the world for its berry juice, was far from the only kingdom with a fine drinks selection. The Crème Republic, for example; now there was a place and people that knew how to brew. And such friendly barkeeps, too! Polite, charming, well-versed in their trade. Perfect to buy a round from. As many rounds as they'd indulge.

The beer went down crisp and fresh, warming her throat and her stomach and her aching soul with each gulp. Delicious. Almost a rival to her own people's wares, even. She would have to leave the barkeep an even bigger tip than she'd already planned.

She hardly thought about that night in the Dragon's Valley, that she'd spent sobbing her heart out. She hardly thought about her nightmare, of her imaginary duel with Pitaya Dragon and its implications. Of the grave truth underlying her motives. The truth that she had not come looking conversation or civility from her old friend. She sought something far, far worse.

She hardly thought about the Innkeeper, or the fact that Hollyberry had fled the valley altogether as fast as she could at the first sign of morning, without stepping foot in Dragon City again to see her or say goodbye.

She hardly thought about the mountains of bodies she dumped practically everywhere she went. Almost every region of the world, littered with slaughtered dragons. In her quest to punish savagery, she became a savage herself.

She hardly thought about her newfound, twisted sense of justice, and the brutal nature of her one-woman crusade.

She hardly even thought all that much about her granddaughter now.

No, now it was back to her old routine; the only routine she ever should have known or abided by, that of fun and adventure and the illusion of freedom from her burdens. Though she was a connoisseur of poison, that which vengeance provided was simply too strong for even the likes of her. Her beloved drinks, and her beloved adventures, and the crystal clear reflection of her carefree smile captured within her glass made for a much finer alternative. One vice traded in for another.

It tasted less bitter than her shame.

[randomfandomss]

Vincent Cardinal Benítez in every scene - Part 2/3 | Conclave (2024)

Part 1 , Part 3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

jin guangshan and lan qiren yaoi perhaps? since their shapes create a perfect balance?

Two old men perform worlds first successful 96.

[stars-obsession-pit]

Hello! Can do a chapter fic off this fic prompt Danny phantom x dc: https://www.tumblr.com/corkinavoid/767516270934556672/dpxdc-legal-power?source=share

This isn’t a one-to-one recreation of that dialogue but it’s based on that as a framework/premise

Batman dropped down into the room behind a pair of figures—a teenage boy and a slumped adult—letting his landing create an audible thump to alert them of his presence.

If the teen noticed, he didn’t react. Even as Bruce approached, he continued to stare impassively at the wheezing figure on the ground, an old wooden bat with flaking green paint on its side loosely held in his right hand. Bruce had already suspected who the figure would be since he arrived, but seeing the Joker so broken was still bizarre. No laughing, no schemes. He didn’t even seem to be attempting to escape his binds, just… lying there, almost as if pinned in place.

Bruce paused a step behind the teen. “I don’t know what the Joker did to you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this.”

The teen scoffed, and Bruce felt a painful lurch in his chest as he was reminded oh so strongly of his son Jason. “And what, let him go kill more people?”

“I know he deserves to face justice, but not like this. Everyone deserves a right to fair trial. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

The teen turned to look at him with glowing green eyes, and Batman felt himself freeze. He had faced gods before, yet even using that as a comparison felt like an understatement. The boy’s eyes belonged to someone far older than his teenage form implied, and they radiated power. Inevitability.

When the teen—no, the entity—spoke again, his words carried an unearthly echo. “Perhaps, but I’m not acting for just myself.” He paused, glanced down at the Joker, then asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people he’s killed?”

Another pause, but before Bruce could even try to answer, the entity continued, “Eight hundred and fifty-six. He’s ended the lives of eight hundred and fifty-six human souls. I can tell you about every single one, if you want. About who they were, what their dreams were before he killed them. About the pain they felt at his hands.”

He punctuated the word ‘pain’ by raising up the wooden bat in his hands and ramming its end down onto the Joker’s arm. He let out a wheeze, muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I have a duty to my people. I am the King of the In-Between and of all the souls that pass through it—even ones whose stays were as brief as his. I am the rightful arbiter of his fate. And with that power, I sentence him to death.”

He raised the bat again, adjusting his grip so he’d hit with the side rather than the end this time, then paused and let out a chuckle. “Of course, just because it’s based on some justice doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with it too.” He swung the bat down, slamming it into the Joker’s side, then hooked it under the clown’s torso and flicked him up through the air to slam into the wall. “We all really hate this guy.”

With the entity’s attention fully turned away from him as he sauntered towards the Joker’s slumped figure, Bruce could finally unfreeze himself.

Even if the Ghost King did have the right to pass judgement on Joker, Bruce still couldn’t let torture go on like this. He wouldn’t win a direct fight, but he could hopefully at least grab the Joker and bring him over to the police. Carefully, he reached for some of the smoke bombs and batarangs on his belt and readied his grapple. He’d have to do this very, very fast.

But before he could move, another figure entered the scene. Red Hood, emerging from the shadows on the far side of the room, an unexpected bit of a pep to his step.

“Nice to see someone else who gets that that bastard needs to die. But if I may make a suggestion, how ‘bout you use a crowbar instead of that old bat? It’d be a bit more… fitting.”

[camisadoes]

what i think about you based on your favorite marauders ship

(disclaimer: im completely joking, pls don’t take this seriously LOL)

wolfstar: you’re probably hilarious and probably hate yourself at least a little bit. and you might have a weird obsession with older male authority figures with low self esteem and mustaches.

jily: you are the most stubborn person anyone has ever met, and you’re probably kinda annoying, but nonetheless its impossible not to like you. your vibe is similar to that of a picnic or a baby deer.

jegulus: you’re either 14 years old or a huge nerd or both. there’s something a little wrong with you and you need to pretend that men like james potter are real to cope.

dorlene: you’ve probably never touched a woman and you need to know what it feels like to stare into the eyes of a girl while she’s sitting on top of you doing your makeup. you’re really cool though! we’ve all been there….

rosekiller: pack it up ebony darkness dementia raven way. you’re probably dramatic as hell and a bit of a freak and still havent figured out how to be a productive member of society. but its okay because you’re really funny

marylily: it feels like you had some kind of weird, homoerotic friendship with your ex best friend and now you have to project it onto these two. (and im absolutely here for it) also you give beautiful vibes. i just know you’re pretty

pandalily: i have nothing bad to say about you, but also nothing good. you’re kinda the true neutral of this fandom. and you give nonbinary vibes. you’re even gender neutral.

gilderat: you’re chronically online and you need to get a job (affectionately)

prongsfoot: i love you and you have never been wrong about anything your entire life.

bartylus: you’re kinda evil but in a fun and chill way. also im gonna assume that your parents dont love you, sorry

part two!

[khaotunq]

Akk + ไอ้หน้าไม่อาย | The Eclipse (2022) Thai ไอ้หน้าไม่อาย / Romanised ai'hna-mai-aay / translated (Ai')Shameless. A play on Ayan's nickname, Aye (also canonically spelled อาย, meaning shy). Akk uses the (vulgar/casual) naming particle "ไอ้ / Ai" before the phrase. He's not calling Ayan shameless, he's calling Ayan "Shameless."

[magicandmundane]

Something something Clone Force 99 breaking binders in every season finale

[raining-its-pouring]

A little tired of people saying Moon can’t stand up for herself. Like yeah I think one of the flaws she has is she is too lenient and forgiving, but also in her situation it’s VERY HARD not to be. And it’s very situational, usually manifesting with Five Pebbles.

She stops talking to you if you annoy her enough, and only starts again if you win her back over. You have to put in the work. She isn’t “rolling over” and letting things happen to her, despite the fact that she is in absolutely no position to bargain. As stated by her, her kindness and her words are the ONLY thing she has. So her taking those away from you, the player, is absolutely her standing up for herself.

Everyone brings up how she handles Five Pebbles (esp the comms thing) and it is incredible to me just how many people lay this entirely at her feet when the game states over and over again that even despite Moon’s intentional feather-light influence over him, he still resents her for being his superior. He seeks out a mentor who is her opposite.

He wants to be something more than what he is, wants to be detached from her, and she can’t do anything about that but do the best she can to exert as little influence over him as possible.

She is stuck between a rock and a hard place here, and was betting on her kindness to have fostered enough mutual respect that she wouldn’t have to resort to forced communications. She was wrong. He was driven by fierce desperation, something that she wasn’t privy to. And she paid for it.

Yes, this is a flaw of hers. But it’s not a universal one. (the rest of the iterators look to her for help- she’s the group senior for gods sake- and people act like she can’t take a stand) I genuinely doubt Moon would’ve waited so long to used forced comms if it were happening to anyone else. If it were being committed by anyone else. And that just makes the tragedy even sweeter.