#smoke and sewers

[sspacegodd]

When it's cold, I like to stand in clouds of car exhaust and pretend I'm a wizard.

[lizbethborden]

I got sicker than I’ve ever been in my life after touching the ceiling of a packed subway car riding to Brooklyn like four or five months before covid made landfall in the states. Like truly ungodly unprecedented illness. After that and living in my ancient roach infested apartment and drinking the water and breathing the air and the fucking heat and cold, my body chemistry changed on a fundamental level I think, my sinuses have never been the same. It’s a different planet in NYC man like what they say if you can make it there you can make it anywhere it’s true but on a physical, biological survival level. Mad respect.

Now this is a beautiful story of making it in the Big Apple

[deimos-posting]

HAVE YOU AND YOUR LITTLE FRIEND WITH THE SUNGLASSES DECIDED TO CHANGE YOUR MINDS AND JOIN OUR FACTION YET ? o>o - @prophet-posting

bruh you could not PAY me to go back to nexus city

[erigold13261]

I can see Yinu in the FRAU getting into fights with her mother about things like Mama being in love with ONLY her papa and the concept of Yinu as a piano prodigy, not Yinu herself as a hurt child. Which is not true, and only drives her and mama into more ugly fights and Yinu turning to more drugs. (… maybe she’s doing this not only to get fired, but also to meet her papa earlier) (dang I hate how my brain comes up with dark stuff)

Speaking of drugs, I can see Eve turning to them to come up with more ideas bc she’s all burned out and needs inspiration. Which only makes her more eccentric and unstable.

I don't see Yinu as one to want to end her life, she just wants the pain and hurt to end, so if numbing herself is the only way she can do that then that is what she does.

As for the fights, I think she would end up getting into a fight about Mama not being able to move on from Papa. At least in this AU, Yinu just wants her mother to be happy and stop trying to push her into doing music, and the only way for that to really happen is if Mama accepts Papa is fully gone and Yinu is her own person instead of clinging to his memory through her child.

So yes they would get into more fights, really ugly fights, but they literally just want each other to be happy but can't actually communicate it correctly.

And with Eve, I already saw her as someone who did recreational drugs. Mainly weed, mushrooms, and DMT. However, after the failed revolution I can see her doing harder drugs to cope with her mental state, ignore outside problems/criticism, and like you said try to gain some passion/spark when she gets burnt out.

[civicainfrastructure]

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[barcodegaybitch]

Why do I smoke?

Because it makes me one step closer to death...

Because I hope I get cancer and die...

Because with every cig my mind stops for a second...

Because I don't care if I destroy myself...

Because nothing matters anymore...

I'm going to kill myself anyways

[haveihitanerve]

Four Times the Batkids Forget They're Adopted, and The One Time Damian Forgets He Isn't

It had started off as a joke, as most things do, and Dick meant nothing behind it, really. It was amusing to him, actually, to tell his coworkers things about Batman and pass it off as his father. “Oh my dad? Yeah hes not big on talking. He loves showing me he cares though.” (this was, of course, in reference to Batman doing three back flips and a kick split when Nightwing had patrolled with him the other day, a classic Nightwing move) But it soon…went deeper. Dick stopped making jokes out of it, and actually began listing things about Bruce. About his Dad. It didn't help that his police friends were actually interested. “So did you and the old man do anything fun over the weekend?” Dick thought back to how he had wanted to surprise Bruce by stopping by for dinner and instead had ended up in the sewer eating granola bars on a stakeout for killer croc, who had escaped. Again. “Oh yeah we had a picnic.” Dick nodded, smiling at Randy. “Yeah. He’s, he’s kinda bad at remembering when to eat a meal on time and all that.” Dick laughed. “Its something I share too. Must be genetics.” He rolled his eyes. Randy laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you. My old man smoked all the live long day. I try to keep it down, but that addiction gene is just strong eh?” Dick chuckled. “Yeah I guess.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he waved to Randy, turning to tug it out. It was one, simple message from Babs. “Ur adopted genius. What genes.” 

Jason didn't even know how they had gotten on the topic. But here they were. “Yes. I got my mothers hair, of course, but I get my temper from my father.” Artemis was saying. “I have parents.” Bizarro grunted. Roy laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “Well you certainly didn't get Kal’s looks buddy. But you do have his killer hair.” Starfire laughed. “That is true. I, for one, share my parents hair and have my fathers powers. But truly the best gene I was given were my mothers eyes.” They all turned to Jason. “What about you?” Roy asked. Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I used to have my dads eyes but um after the pit y'know,” He waved to his now green eyes. “And actually I have my dads dark black hair, and he’s graying early too, which might be why my white streak is so prominent.” They nodded in agreement. “But yeah, hes actually a little taller than me so maybe I’ll still grow a few inches but uh yeah. I don't… remember my mother enough to talk about her.” “Dang man. I wish we could meet your dad.” Roy murmured, laying a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Then we could really compare. I mean-” He laughed. “You sound like his carbon copy.” Jason frowned at his friend. “What do you mean? You’ve met Bruce?” They stared at him. “Jason,” Artemis began slowly. “Aren't you adopted?” 

Tim hunched over the information form, eyes straining to read the small print. His hand reached up to stifle a yawn and he settled for a sigh instead. It was late, but Tim needed to get the form done before he went to bed, otherwise everything would be far too stressful in the morning. He reached over and grabbed his coffee mug, a dark black cup that had a red R painted on it poorly. Bruce had made it for him a few years ago when he had first become Red Robin. He sipped it, staring down at the medical form. “Gods I hate having to do this.” He muttered, but reluctantly grabbed the thick medical binder Alfred had obligingly gotten for him when he had asked for medical records of the family. Tim did not under any circumstances, want to have to sit at the doctors office the next day and somehow lie his way through all the medical questions relating to his family history. He didn't have the time nor patience for it, and it was crucial he was given proper medical advice what with his missing spleen. “Any history of heart issues Bruce?” Tim muttered, flipping back past Martha and Thomas to Bruce’s great great great grandfather. “Nope, guess not.” Tim was halfway through the form when he realized the blood coursing through his veins wasn't Bruce’s. 

Steph rubbed a hand across her belly, staring at the monitor. “Your baby looks good Ms. Brown. They’re at the proper stage. Due in about two months. We’ll see you back here for your next check up.” “thank you doctor.” Steph murmured, sliding off the bed and dressing quickly before hurrying out to her car. The car door slammed shut behind her and she breathed, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel. Her phone buzzed. She lifted it and pressed it to her ear, hitting accept. “Hello?” “hey Steph.” Bruce’s voice vibrated through the phone. “How was your doctors appointment?” Steph gave a bitter laugh. “Everything looks good. The baby will come in about two months.” “Thats good. Thats real good.” Steph nodded, eyes closed. “You doing okay Stephanie?” Bruce asked, voice soft. “I don't know.” her voice broke and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears. “I just- I’m so scared Bruce. So scared.” Bruce hummed comfortingly through the phone. “I know Steph. Its scary. And parenting, its hard.” Steph coughed out a watery chuckle. “Was that a hit?” She muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. Bruce chuckled. “No. Baby it wasn't. And just think, you’ll get to see all the firsts I didn't get with you. Their first steps. Their first wave. You might even get to hear them say mama before i kidnap- i mean adopt him or her.” Steph laughed again, and it sounded less watery. “Yeah. Well, when do kids start walking?” She asked in interest, sniffing and sitting up straight again. Bruce hummed. “Well i started walking almost immediately, but Im special.” Steph laughed. “Of course.” “alfred said i first started talking when I was around thirteen months old, and Talia said Damian was walking by ten, but she could have been lying.” Steph nodded. “Tell me more.” She whispered. Bruce obliged, happy to distract her. “Oh and whats probably going to be your favorite, babies, or at least I did, start laughing at around four months.” “laughing?” Steph gasped. “Oh Brucie!!! Thats too funny! Little chubby baby you, the future batman, laughing!” She cooed. She could almost feel his eye roll through the phone and stifled her laugh. “So yeah..” Bruce finished. “You should expect your kiddo to start walking around then. And laughing probably sooner. I would have if you'd be in my life at that time.” Steph was quiet. “Thank you B.” He hummed. “Anytime Steph. I’ll always be here to help you.” “Wait wait wait-” a new voice joined in the background of Bruce. “Are you guys serious right now?” Steph identified it as Jason. “What?” Bruce asked puzzled. “B, Stephs adopted. Her kid is as likely to walk at the same time you did as when she did!” 

“Damian?” “Go away Drake.” Damian called back, riffling through the papers. “Dami?” Tim poked his head into his younger brothers room. “Oh hey kiddo. Whatcha doing?” “I am busy Timothy.” Damian countered in annoyance, shoving the box back under his bed and moving to his desk. “What are you looking for?” Tim asked puzzled. Damian ignored him. “Dami.” “Go away Timothy.” Tim crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on Baby Bird. Tell me.” Damian shook his head, covering the blush on his cheeks by poking behind the desk. “Damian.” Tim’s hand was suddenly on his back. Damian jumped. Tim held up his hands in surrender. “Just tell me. I’m sure I can help you find it.” Damian sighed in acceptance, cheeks pink. “I have.. Lost my adoption papers.” He muttered, staring at the floor. But Tim didn't laugh or ridicule him. In fact, when he looked up, his brother seemed thoughtful. “Well i know me and dick and jason have them hung over our beds…” His gaze drifted to the very clearly empty space above Damians bed. “I know.” Damian jerked his head in a nod. “That is why I wished to find it.” Tim nodded in understanding. “Well, lets go look in the den. Thats where Alfred keeps all the legal stuff.” Damian trailed after his brother to the living room and watched as he opened the cabinet and pulled out three boxes. “You look through this one, I’ll search these two.” Tim ordered. Damian nodded, accepting the box. It was where Alfred found them, two hours later, broom in hand. “My dear sirs, what are you doing?” The butler asked in bafflement. “Looking for Damians adoption record.” Tim answered, nose still in some papers. Alfred looked at them. “Master Tim. Master Damian.” The two boys looked up. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asked. Alfred's face was fond and utterly confused. “Master Damian is not adopted. He is Master Bruce’s blood son.” 

@nonepizzawithleftglitter @zombiewithaflowercrown

you asked and you shall recieve!

[anytimeplumbingok]

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[servicpop]

NSFW ; BLACK , WHITE & GRAY criminal bottom m!reader x detective oc

warnings; age gap , degradation , hate sex , exhibitionism/infront of people (mentioned slightly) , hand cuffs , dubcon/noncon(?) , no after care

notes __ this idea has been sitting in my inbox for awhile but I've finally gotten around to it !

JUNE 19 1999 / 11:48PM

Red and blue lights colored the night skies; not even a slither of the moonlight slipped past the cover of the clouds. The bright yellow caution tape strapped around the fences of the home squealed when Callahan Marshall pulled them up to duck underneath them.

Officers on the scene scrambled to question him but were quickly shot down with the flash of his badge. They slowly retreated, allowing for the man to walk into the crime scene.

The rain had been unforgiving tonight, covering all traces of footprints that might have been left by the culprit in an attempt to escape. A scowl plastered Callahan's face as the stench of alcohol and smoke insulted his nose. The floorboards creaked underneath each step he took, whining with the burden of his weight.

"Careful, Marshall, we aren't too sure if the culprit even left. There's been no signs of escape." Callahan's eyes slowly met the ones that belonged to one of his co-workers — another detective. The other man visibly shuddered when Callahan's pitch-black eyes met his, deep circles tainted the bags of his eyes. A gruff noise was all he got in response before Callahan made his way through the home.

It wasn't a house belonging to someone particularly made up of money so why would anyone make such a mess out of it?

The rooms were left clean, untouched almost. Only a few drawers or cabinets were opened and a few appliances were out of place but no alarming indicator a robbery had happened. Callahan traced a finger along the countertops of the kitchen, looking at the dust that had been sweeped up. This house had been left like this for awhile, even before the culprit set foot in there.

A sudden clattering caught Callahan's attention and he turned his body to the other detective and police officers searching the house, "Did you knock something over?" "No sir, what did you hear?"

Callahan slowly approached the laundry room, twisting the doorknob with caution. He pushed the knob forward and the door swung open. It was hard to make out with the lack of light but Callahan saw a figure dart out the window. "Here!" He called out, alerting the officers before he walked up to the window, watching as the figure scrambled away. He wasn't worried though, the whole place had been surrounded by police patrolling the area.

You couldn't get far even if you tried.

JUNE 22 / 2:24PM

You got caught. It was about time you did.

You had spent the past few years doing various, sketchy jobs in the desperation for money. You lost your job not even three months into it and it had become harder and harder to find suitable jobs to spend the rest of your life slaving away at. You had no choice, it was either that or living off the streets with the local sewer rats as your only form of entertainment and friendship.

Now, you were stuck in an enclosed, dusty white room, sat cuffed to a metal table right in the middle of it with an annoyingly bright light dangling from the ceiling. It was the interrogation room. And the man you sat infront of you was none other than the 'greatest detective of our time' Callahan Marshall.

He was an older guy, probably pushing his 40s by now. You could tell from the way his brows were locked into a furrowing position and the stubble that graced his chin seemed lazily maintained. He also had quite the bit of hair on his arms, his sleeves loosely rolled above his elbows. You couldn't really tell what color his eyes were from how low he held his head and the light above you casted a deep shadow over his eyes, but through the darkness you concluded that they were a yellow-ish orange. Interesting.

"June 19." You flinched. It was expected that he had a deep voice but actually hearing it was different. His voice was coarse, gravelly like wheels crunching against a rocky trail and you could practically hear the amount of cigarettes he's smoked throughout his years of stress. "You were caught about and hour or two after police had arrived," Callahan sounded bored, mumbling his words.

Growing up, Callahan had always hated criminals. From watching bad guys on TV to coming home and seeing his parents dead on the floor and his house a mess from a robbery, Callahan devoted the past years to serving justice. His world was devoid of color, a black and white film on an old, vintage television.

"Did you steal from Mr Broadwood's home?" He pressed, leaning his forearms along the table. They were meaty, not extremely muscular but definitely built from casual hours at the gym. Could you even lie at this point? He was so sure with his words that even the fact that people were watching you from the two-way mirror comforted you from this man.

"No." And the cheap lie rolled off your tongue like it was sweet candy. He raised his eyebrows, unamused. Yeah he was definitely onto you. "So... these photos aren't you?" A confused look flashed across his face as he slid the printed images of your face in full view; it was painfully obvious that it was you. But your head seemed to shake side to side saying 'that's not me' like it was instinct. Callahan leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face as his head tilted back in annoyance. You could hear the prickly sound of his stubble scraping against the palm of his hand.

"I'll force it out of you if you don't fess up," His hand slammed down onto the metal table, causing it to rattle from the contact. "Fine, is force the only thing you cops know how to do?" It was only natural you acted this way. For all your life you've relied on cops to protect you and your loved ones, but each time you needed them the most, they turned a blind eye to you.

But, oil doesn't mix with water. Your two starkingly different perspectives caused conflict. With balled fists, Callahan stood up, the chair scraping against the floors with how abruptly he stood up. Before you knew it, a hand made its way to your hair. Callahan's thick fingers tangled in the strands and pulled your head back, eliciting a small yelp from you. He leaned in closer, looming over you with hate seeping from his pores.

"Tell me this isn't you," He growled, picking up the photos and shoving it in your face. In all honesty, you were focused on how damn close he was. His breath was fanning against the shell of your ear and if you concentrated enough, you could hear the short breaths he took. Callahan straightened his posture but never loosened his grip on your hair. He pulled your head back even further and peered down at you. "Dirty criminal," he muttered under his breath.

You swore it was just the adrenaline making you hard. There was no way you'd fall for a detective like him. So why did he have your face squished onto the table and your boxers pulled down just under the curve of your ass.

"This is what you wanted isn't it?" Callahan had one hand holding your head down and another on your waist, digging into your flesh. He found out that the more he dug into your waist, the more you'd whine and squirm against him. You couldn't deny his words though, something in you was so intrigued by Callahan. He got straight to the point, and he didn't try and fool you with kindness. But maybe you wished he'd be a little more gentle with you.

Your eyes shot wide open when you felt his tip circle your rim. You didn't even have to see it to know the size of it. Could it even fit? "Wait—" Your words were cut off as he thrust forward with no warning, letting his cock sink into your hole. The burning sensation of the stretch made tears bubble at your eyes, threatening to spill. A groan slipped from his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, "God you're too tight."

Callahan moved his hand from your head to firmly grip at your waist, leaning forward so his body weight would pin you down. His hips grinded against you, digging his cock deeper inside your warm body. "Spit it out, did you do it or not?" He grunted, beads of sweat trickled down his temples as he pounded into you repeatedly, watching your flesh ripple with each thrust. "You're leaking everywhere," He chided, snaking his hand to reach for your neglected dick, holding the tip in his palm.

Your wrists strained against the cuffs binding you to the table, the metal cutting into your flesh as you struggled. "I didn't— do it!" You managed to gasp between moans, your hair spilling out onto the table. "Oh really? You didn't do it huh?" He scoffed and his hand tightened around your weeping tip, stroking you off in time with his relentless thrusts.

"People are watching you through that mirror and through the cameras, your pathetic face is on view for everyone to see," Callahan leaned down to whisper in your ear, grabbing a fistful of hair to yank your head up, allowing your teary face to be on full display for the cameras. Fuck, that turned you on more then you would've wanted it to.

His head slung against your shoulder, an oddly affection gesture for how hard he was fucking you. "I know you're not innocent, but your fuckin' doe eyes pisses me off," Callahan's voice had gotten even rougher, and the anger was clear in his tone. He was just using you for stress relief.

Your thighs trembled and your body started to give out, the stimulation was too much for you. His cock kept abusing your prostate, grinding and rubbing against it so much that black stars seemed to cloud your vision. Your fingertips clawed at the metal table, trying to ground yourself as shameless moans came out of your throat. "You're so loud," He scowled, leaning back so he could admire your back in its full glory.

It got him off with the way you sucked him back in even if you seemed so stubborn to liking him. Watching his fat cock disappear into your hole was enough to make him groan. "You wanna cum? Admit it." It was like his dick was a truth serum, you found yourself blabbering, tears rolling down your pink cheeks as you spewed out the truth, "Fine, I did it, I did it, please— just—" A smirk plastered Callahan's face as he whistled, "Go ahead."

In a split second you found yourself spurting out white all over his hand, your back arched and your body convulsed in his grip. Callahan meant to pull out but you were sucking him in so much that he couldn't. He cursed as his orgasm crashed down on him like a wave, filling you up with his sperm before he could pull out. "Shit," he huffed, pulling up his pants before he stared at his cum dripping from your hole. It was still clenching around nothing, and Callahan couldn't help but feel a pang of responsibility for you, but he shook off those thoughts. His one duty was to protect the civilians, not empathise with criminals.

"I'm done here," He grumbled, picking up his things and leaving you slumped on the floor, still bound by the handcuffs on the metal table. He turned his head over his shoulder to glance at you one more time, feeling a strange uncomfortable sensation in his heart before he scoffed and walked out the doors.

He's never lost control like that with any other criminal.

BONUS ; IN THE OTHER SIDE OF THE INTERROGATION ROOM

"Kid looks like he's about to die," Alastair, a co-worker of Callahan, was assigned to supervise the interrogation, "Marshall sure is brutal," He sighed, standing up once he heard that Callahan was finished.

"At least his tactics work though, props to him," Alastair turned around to face the intern who was meant to learn from this experience. The poor boy had his hands covering his eyes.

"It's fine now, you stay here, I'll clean the guy up."

a/n ; i changed my layout !! Its alot easier now ^^; my previous one had so many symbols I had to copy and paste ,, anyways ! I finally wrote about him ♡♡ the original request(?) was a bit different so this is ooc of him but I will expand more on his story if you guys like him ! Also I introduced Alastair ,, maybe I can write a threesome with them sometime !! I've never done it before so who knows

[emmg]

Someone needs to scratch this very specific, niche itch of mine and write a fic just for my shameless ass where Emmrich goes back to the Necropolis with Rook and cannot stop shoehorning mentions of how Rook is his smoking hot, totally banging partner into every conversation.

“You’ll take the first left and down the stairs. Ah, and here comes Rook, my unreasonably hot and absolutely mine partner. Yes, they are indeed a 12/10 on every conceivable scale of attractiveness. No further questions.”

“So anyway, class, I’ll see you all next week—after I spend the weekend ruining Rook in ways that could probably get me banned from polite society. You know, because they’re my blazing hot, profoundly sexy partner and I like to remind everyone of that.”

“Ah, yes, I’d be delighted to attend the conference. Naturally, I’ll be bringing Rook, my devastatingly attractive partner, whose mere presence is enough to inspire dissertations.”

At this point, his students are just waiting for him to pull up to the Necropolis in the Thedas equivalent of a cherry-red sportscar, wearing sunglasses indoors and saying things like, “Age is just a number.” Like, sir, we get it. You’re 50+ and horny and very in love. Please. Stop.

Meanwhile, Rook is not from the Mourn Watch. They’re the equivalent of a trash raccoon that somehow learned to walk upright because the raw horror of Nevarra is keeping them awake at night. They look like they’ve been dragged through five miles of grave dirt, and they’re actively ducking behind walls to avoid the fucking skeletons walking around like that’s normal.

Everyone else: “Rook looks like a haunted sewer rat.”

Emmrich: “You wouldn’t understand. It’s the feral eroticism for me.”

[merxcywritesthings]

𝐹𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑆𝑘𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝐵𝑙𝑢𝑒

A/N: I am filled with angsty ideas, you guys to need recommend me some fluff! Anyway, I figured I would write about Jinx next, since i wrote about Vi.

TW: Death, Hallucinations, Guns, Accidental Murder.

Word Count: 1.4k

Reader is Female

You were always there for Powder.

From the moment you two stumbled into each other’s lives as kids, scuffing your knees and laughing through the grime of Zaun, you knew she was special. Powder, with her bright blue hair, endless dreams, and that mischievous light in her eyes—she made you believe in something more. Maybe it was the way she rambled on about her silly inventions, or the way her hands danced when she explained her wildest ideas, her voice full of hope. Or maybe it was because you saw her as she saw you: someone who wanted to belong.

You loved her. Even as kids, it was there, silent but true. Not that you ever said anything. How could you? She was Powder, your Powder. The girl who wanted to ride a blimp and touch the clouds. The girl who dreamed of the topside skies.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Then it all fell apart.

You remembered the smoke, the shouting, the chaos that swallowed your home whole. Vander was gone. Vi was gone. And Powder…

No, Jinx.

They said she vanished. They whispered about the girl with the bombs, the one who burned bright like a firework and destroyed everything in her wake. The Zaunites called her a ghost, a demon, Silco’s pet monster.

But you couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t believe it.

You spent weeks wandering through the debris-strewn streets of the Lanes. Every alley, every shadow seemed to hold a trace of her. You heard whispers of Silco, of strange explosions, but none of it led you to her. The places you once played together—the old sewer tunnel, the abandoned warehouses—were empty now, silent ruins filled with ghosts.

The nights were the worst. You’d sit under the broken pipes of your hideout, staring at the dim glow of Piltover above, wondering if Powder was watching the same light. You whispered to the darkness, hoping she might hear you. “Come back, Powder. Please.”

But there was only silence.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Months became years, and time changed you. The streets taught you how to survive, how to scrape by when the world turned cold. You worked odd jobs, scavenging parts from scrap heaps, running errands for merchants who barely paid you a coin. But you never stopped dreaming for something better—not for yourself, but for her.

You still saw her sometimes, in glimpses. A flash of blue down a crowded street. A laugh that sounded just like hers, only to turn into static when you followed. You knew it wasn’t real. She was a ghost now, the ghost of your Powder.

And yet, you pressed on. You worked harder, pushing yourself through the grime and the hunger. You told yourself it was what Powder would’ve wanted. We’ll go live topside with Vi and Vander, we’ll make something of ourselves she would say tinkering with her latest invention. And you tried.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Eventually, you saved enough to get out of Zaun—even just for a little while. The topside was everything Powder once described to you, from the clean cobblestone streets to the strange, humming machines in Piltover’s marketplace. You marveled at it all, feeling out of place yet unable to tear your gaze away. And that was when you saw it: a blimp soaring high above the streets, its silver hull gleaming in the sunlight.

You’d promised her once. We’ll ride one together someday.

It hurt, but you paid what little you had for a single ride.

When you stepped onto the deck, your heart pounded. The wind whipped through your hair as the blimp climbed higher and higher, leaving the city behind. Below, the sprawling streets of Piltover gave way to clouds, soft and endless.

It was beautiful.

You closed your eyes and let yourself imagine that she was there beside you, her small hand in yours, her face full of wonder. “See, Powder? I made it. Just like you wanted.”

The words were stolen by the wind, but you hoped she heard them wherever she was.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It happened on a day like any other.

You were wandering through an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the Lanes, searching for scrap to sell. The air smelled like rust and smoke, and the metal creaked beneath your boots. It was late in the evening, the shadows long and the silence unnerving. You had learned to tune it out over the years—the way Zaun felt like it was always waiting to swallow you whole.

Then you saw her.

A flash of blue.

You froze in place, your heart slamming against your ribs. At first, you thought it was just another hallucination, a cruel trick of the fading light. But then she moved, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing across the concrete.

Your voice caught in your throat. “Powder?”

She turned, slowly, and for a moment, your world stopped.

It was her—and yet it wasn’t. The girl you remembered, the girl you loved, had changed. Her hair, once braided carefully with your help, now hung in wild, tangled strands. Her clothes were a chaotic patchwork of leather and belts, torn and smeared with soot. Her eyes… they weren’t the soft blue you remembered. They glowed pink, sharp and unnatural, like embers left too long in the fire.

Her gaze settled on you, and she tilted her head, smiling in a way that didn’t feel quite right. “Haven’t heard that name in a while,” she said, her voice sing-songy, almost mocking.

Your chest tightened. “It’s you,” you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s really you. I thought you were gone.”

The smile widened. “I’m not gone. I’m just… better.”

“Powder,” you stepped closer, ignoring the alarm bells going off in your mind. You had to be sure. “It’s me. I’m here. I looked for you. I never stopped looking.”

Something flickered in her gaze—a hesitation, like she recognized you. But it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

“Jinx,” she corrected. “That’s my name now. Jinx.”

The word made your stomach drop. You’d heard the name whispered in hushed voices across the Lanes. The girl with the bombs. Silco’s girl. But this wasn’t Jinx. This was Powder. It had to be.

“Powder, please,” you begged softly. “It’s me. Remember? I… I love you.”

Her smile faltered, and for the briefest moment, you saw her. Powder. The girl you shared everything with. The girl who promised you both would touch the sky one day.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around her trembling frame. “You’re okay,” you whispered against her shoulder. “You’re safe. You’re home now.”

Then it snapped.

Her body went rigid, and suddenly you were shoved back, her strength far greater than you remembered. You stumbled, confusion turning into panic as you saw the wild look in her eyes—eyes darting around like they were chasing something you couldn’t see.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, hands clutching at her temples. “You’re not real. You’re not real.”

“Powder, it’s me!” you cried. “I’m right here! Look at me, please!”

Her gaze snapped back to you, sharp as glass. “Liar,” she hissed. “You’re one of them. You’re just like them!”

You opened your mouth to plead again… and that’s when you saw it.

The gun in her hand.

Your heart stopped. “Powder…”

“Jinx! It’s Jinx now!” she screamed, her finger trembling on the trigger. Her pink eyes flickered, caught between recognition and madness. For a moment, you swore you saw tears there, too.

“Please,” you whispered, stepping forward. “I love you, Powder. I always have.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and fleeting.

Her expression broke—just for a second.

Then… Bang.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The world was quiet.

The pain was immediate and blinding, burning through your chest as you fell to your knees. You gasped for breath, your vision swimming with spots of color.

Jinx—Powder—stared at you, her eyes wide, her hands shaking around the smoking gun. The grin had vanished. In its place was horror, her lips quivering as she dropped the weapon to the ground.

“No… no, no, no…” she whispered, stumbling forward. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to!”

You tried to speak, but nothing came. The air was too thin, too far away. All you could do was look at her—the girl you’d loved since you were kids. The girl who dreamed of touching the sky.

Your vision blurred, and as the darkness crept in, you thought of the blimp. The sunlight. The clouds stretching out forever.

“For you, Powder,” you mouthed, your lips barely moving.

And then… nothing.

���⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Jinx sat there for a long time, cradling your lifeless body.

In the silence, the hallucinations whispered their cruel mockery. But for once, Jinx didn’t listen. She just stared at you, the only person who ever loved her, truly loved her, and wondered if she had finally broken something she couldn’t fix.

The sky, somewhere above Zaun, remained blue.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 💙

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦: @𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 1

Benny Cross X Reader A/n: saw Bikeriders yesterday, needless to say I have a new Austin Butler character to obsess over <3 no better soundtrack to Benny Cross breakin' hearts than Zach Bryan. *the poem in this is lyrics from his song 'Letting Someone Go' Word Count: 2253 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Benny breaking hearts, angst, unhappy ending

What you had done to deserve Benny was beyond you. After all, you’d always tried to be a good person. Tried to do the right thing, to treat other people well. So who had you wronged so mightily as to deserve the torture that was Benny Cross?

“Hey. Hey! I’m talkin’ here!”

Sheila snapped at you, wrenching you out of your own miserable head. You dragged your gaze off of Benny, playing pool in the corner, and back to your friend. 

“Sorry, Sheils,” you mumbled. She rolled her eyes at you as you took a deep gulp from your Budweiser. 

“You’re still draggin’ ass about that man, aren’t ya?” She nodded unabashedly towards Benny, raising an eyebrow at you in question. You wanted to sink into the dirty floorboards beneath you, just get swept away in the sewer pipes or water table or whatever the fuck was below this personal hell you’d found yourself in. 

You shrugged, gulping down more beer in the hopes that it might dull the ache in your chest. 

“He ain’t worth it, hunnie.” 

You fixed Sheila with a hard stare. She shook off your glare, lighting her cigarette and blowing a plume of smoke up into the rafters. 

“I’m just sayin’, there’s plenty of guys ‘round here for you to shack up with. Benny’s just a loose cannon is all, who cares if he’s off ya.” 

You drank until your beer was empty. Your head was beginning to swim, but unfortunately the booze wasn’t touching the sadness that had sent you to the bottle in the first place. You stood up from your chair, pushing back from the table with a loud and clumsy clatter. No one really noticed over the thumping bass of the jukebox or the din of the crowd. You walked over to the bar, trading in your two empty bottles for two fresh ones. Zipco eyed you curiously from his usual seat at the back corner of the bar, but you refused to acknowledge him. Last thing you needed was another friend trying to cajole you out of your heartbreak. 

By the time you came back to Sheila, Wahoo and Corky had plunked down on either side of her. Probably trying to get her into bed, you thought darkly. And they’d likely succeed, based on how she was batting her eyes up at them. Usually, you welcomed the company of the Vandals, but tonight you found you could hardly stand them. Not necessarily that you wanted to be alone, just left alone. Sitting by yourself and knocking back an obscene amount of beer as you stared daggers into the back of Benny’s head was all you were really game for tonight. 

Rather than join the others, you swerved and walked towards the back of the bar, past where Johnny was sitting with Brucie, Gail, and Cal. The light was broken back here, and the shadows suited your dark mood quite nicely. You settled into a chair, tucking your legs up underneath you as you cracked open one of the new bottles and gulped down another greedy mouthful. Finally by yourself for the moment, you let your mind run wild over the last few weeks.

Where had it gone wrong? What did she have that you didn’t? And why the hell did you care so much, while Benny clearly cared so little? 

After all, it’s not like you and Benny were anything. You’d been sleeping together for a couple months, sure; but that was just the lifestyle. You’d been raised up on the back of your daddy’s bike. He was a founding member of the Red Devils of Hamilton, Ontario; so that made you practically royalty in the MC world. You knew what it was to be a Vandal before they’d even existed as an idea in Johnny Davis’ head. Hell, you practically taught Johnny everything you knew about how to run a successful club. 

That was probably why Benny hurt so damn much, you realized. You’d never admit it out loud, but this whole thing was ass backwards. You were the one that was supposed to run around and break the biker boys’ hearts. You were the one that wasn’t supposed to get attached, the one who would cut bait and run at the first sign of feelings. You were definitely not the kind of girl who’d get hung up on some loser just because he rode a nice chopper. 

But instead, Benny Cross had gone and played you at your own game. When you’d come back to Chicago to check on Johnny Davis’ pet project, you hadn’t planned to stay more than a few days, maybe a week. You had your sights set on California, on a small rancher high up in the mountains outside Crescent City. 

But then you’d met Benny. Benny with those piercing blue eyes, that gentle pillow talky voice, and the most gorgeous set of lips you’d ever kissed. He’d had you panting after him like a puppy dog within three days. A few days had turned into a few weeks, which had stretched into a few months. Now, you were still here, looking to spend your second Christmas in the cold. And unlike the last one, this Christmas would be a lonely one.

You’d been tangled up in Benny for the better part of a year now. He still drove you just as wild as that first time you’d seen him. Even from this far away, you could hardly stand to look at him without squirming. 

The first eight or nine months had been good. Maybe not great, but damn good. You’d wanted it to be fucking terrific, Lord knows you wanted that more than anything. But something in Benny just wouldn’t thaw for you. He was exactly the type of man that every other hard biker tried to be. He didn’t care about much, except his club. Didn’t show feelings for the simple fact that he didn’t have many, at least not the deep kind that you were desperate for. He was a detached, unbothered person. At first, you’d mistaken that for easy-going. It certainly made getting to know him nice and easy. But after nine or ten months, the edges of your relationship had started to turn brittle. While you were lying awake at night, daydreaming about getting a house together and getting married and maybe a baby or two, Benny was out doing the same old shit. Drinking, fighting. Generally avoiding anything that required commitment or persistence. Just livin’ life in the breeze.

But things had really taken a turn when she showed up. You could remember the night so clearly. It had been late fall, maybe two months ago. She’d come in looking like a misfit, all prim and proper in her white jeans and pink sweater, with her hair done up like Jackie Kennedy and her perfect eyeliner. Way too shiny and sweet for this kind of crowd. The guys had, predictably, gobbled her up with their eyes. No one more so than Benny.

The moment was seared in your memory: she was looking at the door, Benny was looking at her, and you were looking at Benny. Next thing you knew, Benny was gone, racing after her into the November air. You’d watched from the foggy window as she’d climbed on the back of his bike and they’d rode off down the street, all the while the club was cheering like it was fucking homecoming or something. Never mind that you were literally gutted, your heart trampled and lying like a used up bag on the floor of the bar. 

Benny had come back the next night, all hang-dog and apologies. All “I’m sorry baby, that was wrong” and “I dunno what came over me” and “I promise, it was nothing”. Both of you knew those were all lies, but only one of you really wanted to believe them. You were clinging on tight to the fading dream that was Benjamin Cross, meanwhile he was racing headfirst into the future that was Kathy Bauer. 

She kept coming around after that. That’s how you really knew that you were going to lose him. If that pretty little minx had kept her distance, then maybe Benny would have really been able to close that door. But she couldn’t. And, as much as you hated her for it, you couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t blind. She saw the same things in Benny that you did, you could tell just from looking at her expression when he was around. She had stars in her eyes, same as you. 

At first, Benny had put on a pretty good show of sticking by you. Even though the two of you weren’t officially anything, there was a code in the club. Fellas stuck by their gals, and vice versa. And, just by virtue of how long you and Benny had been, well, how long you’d been you and Benny, you were owed some measure of loyalty. 

But after a week or two, Benny was straying. Kathy would come into the bar and Benny would get this tiny smile. He’d find excuses to sit near her. Then it turned into talking to her. Then it turned into talking with her alone. 

Then he’d finally said the words you’d been dreading. 

“Baby, we gotta talk.”

No no no no no, you were screaming inside as you calmly sat down at the kitchen table of the small apartment you'd set yourself up in. Your hands were shaking, so you’d played with the nearest coffee mug until you’d chipped your nails. 

“Listen, darlin’, I… well, I’m not too good at this sorta thing.”

One tear had slipped out. You’d practically smacked yourself in a hurry to get rid of it. You couldn’t stand how upset he had you. 

“Just say it, Benny.”

Benny had tried to grab your hands from across the table - for what purpose, you couldn’t imagine. But you’d pulled away from him, your eyes burning. 

“I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to find someone else, baby. I swear. I just… it just… happened.”

Too many tears to wipe away now. You were squeezing the coffee mug so tightly in your palms that it was a wonder it didn’t shatter.

“It’s Kathy, isn’t it?”

Benny hadn’t said anything, just nodded. 

“And you’re moving in with her, aren’t ya?” 

To add insult to injury, before Benny even had the guts to properly break things off with you, he’d adopted a bad habit of sleeping on the back of his bike in front of her house. At least, that was what Cal told you. After you’d practically threatened to cut his throat with your blade. Not that you were much of a threat, but Cal had a soft spot for you and you knew it. You weren’t afraid to press on the soft spots when needed. 

Another single nod from Benny. You couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not.

“So… you’re done with me then, yea? Is that what you’re saying?”

Another. Fucking. Nod.

And so, that was the end of it. A fitting ending, all things considered. Benny, quiet as the grave, just nodding away the entire future you’d dreamt up for yourself at his side. 

Unable to figure out what to say or how to feel, you just shrugged and let the tears slip off your jaw and plunk down onto the plastic checkerboard tablecloth. 

“Aight then, Benny, you best get your stuff and get out, then.”

You wished you’d have added some harsher words at the end, leave a little sting on him, but you didn’t trust your voice not to crack. So it had been your turn to stay quiet while Benny packed up his things - a shockingly small amount, you realized, as it took him less than three minutes to shove them all into a pillowcase. 

The final dagger had been when he’d hesitated at the door, looking back over his shoulder at you. You were exactly where he’d left you: sitting at the kitchen table, crying, that coffee mug turning over and over in your shaking palms. He’d turned back and walked over to lay a soft, sweet kiss on your forehead. The most affection that man had ever shown you had been in the goodbye that he’d made you say for him. It was an irony that you didn’t think you’d ever get over. 

As you sat in that dark, lightless corner of the bar, watching Benny shoot pool with Big Jack and Cockroach, Kathy leaning against a high-top table a few feet away and beaming at him, you thought about some ridiculous poem you’d heard once. If someone had put a pistol to your head, you wouldn’t have been able to tell them where you heard it or who wrote it or even what the rest of the poem was about. Just one line came floating back to you out of the back of your mind:

One thing I’ve come to know, nothing kills you slower than letting someone go.

**Read part 2 here! **Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

[ornii]

Arcane, Chapter 4: Things have changed, you? No..

The endless darkness had been inviting for so long, but finally there is a chance to return.

Sitting on a floating island upon the endless cosmos, (Y/n) was still alive, years had passed, he had grown. Mastering the crystal that exploded and had infused his body with this unstable power.

Standing at the edge of the island, covered in rags and robes, he extended his metal arm, sigils etched into the rusted metal hummed blue energy and began to shake, evoking what power his body had, the fabric of the world itself began to warp at a disturbing rate. It was trying to tear itself back to the real world, but no avail. The blue light fizzled and he slumped down exhausted, he punched the ground out of more frustration itself, and escape so far away, until the darkness begin to crackle with blue electricity, a large amount of energy was being used, somewhere. It didn’t matter, it was time.

(Y/n) stood up and put his hand in the air, he begins to use said energy, opening his arm up like a lighting rod, as the electricity stuck his arm, his eyes begin to shift to a soaring bright blue, power surged further and further until his arm was shaking, barely containing the energy like a bottle about to burst, with one movement, he then threw his hand forward, the force made a shockwave of energy so intense it made a small but visible tear, into a laboratory. it didn’t matter where, just not here.. (Y/n) leapt into it without hesitation, his body felt the rush of light, pressure and heat, and swiftly landed on the ground of a cool laboratory.

Placing his feet on the cold floor (Y/n) looked around, his eyes dimly lit by the light, he saw two men, stunned by his arrival, it’s obvious he’s still in Piltover. If he’s back, then he only has one goal, find powder and Vi, turning to the large glass window he extended his arm and the energy began to gather once more, with a single snap of his finger, he blasted another shockwave of blue energy hits the glass and shattered it, he leapt out of the window, regardless of how far the fall is, and it was far, as he fell he slammed his hand into the wall and began to slow his descent scarring the tower he slowed down and leapt into the waters, taking him away to hide in piltover.

Gasping for air, he washes up near the sewer pipe leading down to piltover, before he can be swept up he gripped the platform above and pulled himself up next to the pipe, and rested, seeing the blue sky, vibrant colors, finally. Leaning against the pipe, he fell asleep for hours. His eyes open to the smell of smoke, something was burning, his eyes dart upwards to the smoke rising further in Piltover. He rushed to the location, flames consume a tent, blazing. His eyes quickly shifted to the drawing made of the fire into the tent, it was a monkey, just like.. Powders.

“Is… is that?” He stepped closer, deep rooted memories began to replay, fear, anger and frustration all began to flow once more, but the coughing of a woman caught him off guard. He peered in and saw her, on the ground, flames around her. With little hesitation he ran in, he saw a wooden beam had fallen upon her chest, He gripped the beam with his arm and hurled it off and put the woman on his shoulders and ran with her out of the fire. Lying her on the ground he looked her up and down, besides the smoke and slight burns, she’ll be fine. She was dressed as an officer, Footsteps storm near his direction and he can assume the others are here. (Y/n) ran off, leaving the woman to be tended by the officers.

That woman, was Caitlyn, Lady of House Kiramman. The next morning came and She was knelling down. looking at a board of plans, all sticking together to a singular goal -a goal she just hasn’t been able to piece together, twirling a pistol she overlooks them, and hears a shuffling behind her.

“I said leave me, Jayce.” She sounded upset, and when the figure didn’t reply, she quickly turned around and aimed her gun, it was (Y/n), reading the note from the large bouquet of flowers. “To Lady Kiramman.” He said, and turned his hooded face to her.

“Who are you? How did you get it?” She demanded to know, (Y/n) calmly turned to face her, “Your windows, and could you please put you gun down? If I wanted you dead I would have let you die in that tent.” He said, and Cait was caught off guard.

“It was.. you.” She huffed, (Y/n) nodded. “Yes, you were investigating it, I want to help.”

“And why should I believe that?”

“Saving your life wasn’t enough?” He replied, and sighed, “The man you’re looking for is part of Silco’s gang. Probably using the explosives someone I know…” he said, and it began to piece together.

“I've suspected there is a single mind

behind the undercity's violence…I think whoever attacked the square

is our suspect.” Cait lowered her gun and showed him the display she had, all plans link together.

“The same symbols showed up at the botched smuggling operation at the Hexgates.”

“The Hexgates?” He had no idea what that was.

“Keep up.” She points to the maps dark end.

“All this time, they've kept their dealings

localized to the undercity. Low priority. The attack on the square changes things. They've overstepped. If I can figure who made the explosives, it could lead me directly to whoever's behind it all. The answer is here, staring me in the face.” Cat droned on, and (Y/n) smugly folds his arms.

“I guess that would be me..” (Y/n) walked over, and knelt down to look at the map. “It’s been a while since I was there, but I can remember a few faces.. especially ones that work with Silco, if what you’re saying is true.. we find the guy, and.. “chat” with him.

(Y/n) made the offer and extended his metal arm. “(Y/n)” he said, Cait reluctantly shook the cool metal hand.

“..Caitlyn, and fine, but you are going dressed like that, and you reek.”

“I haven’t taken a decent shower in years..” he said, Cait folds her arms as well. “Then you’re going to, and get a new assortment of clothes, my father could spare some, you look to fit the size. Cait took his hood off and she got a good look at his face, half of it had a scar along from the eyebrow down to his lip. His eye now glistening like a crystal is behind it. Cait was quickly surprised and stepped back. “I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about it, where your shower or whatever.” He put his hood back on, Cait lead him to it, without her parents knowing of course.

Now dressed in a more casually style, ankle high boots, thick leather leggings and a button up navy blue shirt and vest combo, he tops it off with a black tie and overcoat, taking a single glove he puts it on his metal arm to avoid suspicion. Cait peers into the room.

“Done? We have to go..” she saw him in the moonlight, the way his eyes shine so beautifully, he nods, “yeah.. let’s go.”

Standing before the warden, (Y/n) kept his hood on and allowed Cait to speak.

“I need to speak with one of the inmates.” She said, the Warden at the desk looked them up and down, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, folks in here aren't usually very talkative…” he said, scribbling on his paper

“This one was hit by friendly fire. He's got reason to talk. Must have been sent in today?” She asked and he thought.

“Oh. Inmate 2135. Yeah, I'm, uh, afraid that's not possible.” He admits, (Y/n)’ jerked his head up to the Warden.

“Why not?” (Y/n) asked, the Warden looks at his papers, and taps on one.

“Uh, well, there's been...an incident.” He said, Cait and (Y/n) glance at each other and then back to him.

“What kind of incident?” Caitlyn asks.

“The...not so pretty kind.”

“You don't understand, we have to talk to him.” Caitlyn attempts to use some form of reason with the warden, whose hands were tied.

“Oh, you'll be able to. As soon as he can move his jaw again.” He replied, and (Y/n) thought, “this guy… he just got to the prison, couldn’t have made any enemies, so who did it must have known…” (Y/n) grasped what his brain was trying to relay.. whoever attacked the man must have known who he already was.. one of Silco’s men.”

“Who assaulted him?” (Y/n) asked. And the Warden could oblige with that.

The Duo entered the cell block and calmly but carefully walked down the hall to the Cell of the assailant. Loud thuds echo down the hall, sounds like someone’s taking their frustrations out on someone, or something. The pounding grew closer and closer, until the final cell door it was beating with force. (Y/n) and Caitlyn reached the cell block, and the pink hair in the dim room said enough to who it is. (Y/n)’s eyes couldn’t believe it and leaned forward his face reaching the cell bars. Vi turned around, and looked at them both.

“…Who the hell are you?”

[writingoddess1125]

So annoying

Crocodile and adopted child Reader

Platonic Adopted Child

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Stepping from the bar Crocodile glanced around him, he was here for business and hated having to meet in places like this. Disgusting.

His goons who were all chattering around him being kiss-asses in trying to keep their bosses attention. As he walked down the street he heard a scuffle from the alley next to the bar, glancing as he passed by.

Pausing for barely a second he saw a shadow of a small child give a hard punch to the cheek of one of the goons who had stepped out earlier then him, making the man stumble slightly before the child darted into a sewage drain to hide.

The goon quickly rushing back to the posey- ignoring the taunts from others at being punched by a homeless child. Him ranting at coming back and teaching them 'manners' for the hit.

Why waste his time on some children?- he had seen and done worse afterall.. and if one of his goons got bested by a dirty hungry child it made him question them more then anything...

As they continued to walk down the street he heard some soft bare feet hitting the cobblestone again- assuming it was another child prepared to throw a rock or-

"Hey Mister!" A loud voice shrilled- despite its lightness he could hear a rumble of toughness there, he glanced back and saw the child from the alleyway the one who had punched one of his goons and hid in the sewer drain. She looked around 5 if Crocodile had to guess now getting a full look at them-

"You're guy that's next to you is a fucking asshole Mister!" The little girl yelled as she pointed to the man to his left- hearing one of his accomplices choking back a laugh at hearing this from such a small child. How she knew he was the one in charge also caught his eye, she must have been watching him too...

"Hey listen here you little shit!-" The goon that she had attacked earlier step forward angrily, Crocodile holding his hooked hand up to stop him.

"Hm?" He raised a brow curious of the girls words, nodding for her to continue.

"He likes to come here and push around us kids on the street, That and he tried to piss on us! You're a grown man yet you're acting like some perverted asshole!" She yelled as she pointed to his goon angrily, who was now red in the face as the rest stared at the child in shock and almost horror.

"Brave.. Very Brave child you are" Crocodile hummed as he stared down at the little girl, a look of amusement going across his features as he stepped towards her- Staring at the mats in her hair, how dirty her clothes were and overall clear abuse from elements. She steeled herself as he approached, her little fist balled tightly and eyes glaring up at him like she was prepared for a fight.

"What is your name child?" He questioned,

"I don't got one" She said confidently and harshly, like a little gangster. He chuckled at this and squatted down so he was closer to her eyelevel.

He tapped his chin for a moment and removing the cigar from his lips and blowing a cloud of smoke to the side as he stared down at her.

"How annoying.. Hm.. (Y/N) then- that is your name from now on" He said calmly and with a nod, His large hand reaching out and grabbing her by the scruff of her shirt and placing her under his arm like one would do with a Puppy before standing back up.

"H-Hey what are you doing Mister!?" She yelled in surprise as he just picked her up with ease and without care, The goons around him stating in shock.

"I'm keeping you- Don't most orphans want to he adopted? Quite an odd child" He mussed as he carried her, glancing down to see her face twisted up and eyes narrowed.

"Most people don't just grab children and adopt them so Quite an odd man-" She shot back, breaking a laugh from the man.

"Boss you're keeping that street rat?" One of the goons strilled, the one that (Y/N) had called a asshole.

"Ah yes that reminds me-" He grumbled as a wave of sand smashed into the goon, like a miniature sand storm that swept him down the street knocked out and like he had his skin sandblasted off.

(Y/N) looked at this in awe, unafraid of the clearly dangerous man who had just adopted her.

"Wow Mister- That was pretty cool!"

Crocodile couldn't help but smirk, Defiently a annoying child.

[kryptonbabe]

I hate the Power Pack kids - they're just your typical white privileged kids who are easily disgusted by rats, the sewers and cigarettes

🚭

[ezgurple]

how do u think the turtles would react to the sky being orange, since all the fires in canada? like april would be like ‘guys the sky is orange -_-‘ and the guys would be like ‘WUT!? 😦’

i think raph and mike would find it cool-looking being like “OOOOH SICK! HALLOWEEN VIBES” and leo would stress out thinking the world is ending while don would just be coughing from the smoke the entire time THEN he would start talking about climate change on their way back to the sewers