#the crimson clown's threat

[atomic-chronoscaph]

The Crimson Clown's Threat - art by John A. Coughlin (1931)

[barkingbonzo]

John A. Coughlin The Crimson Clown's Threat, 1931

John A. Coughlin was born in Chicago in 1885 and was educated at Notre Dame and the Art Institute of Chicago.  Like many of the artists of the pulp era, he got his start in advertising.  He first started painting covers in 1913 and, for the next thirty years, he was a busy illustrator.  Among his credits: The Popular and Detective Story, Argosy, Complete Stories, Detective Fiction Weekly, Detective Tales, Real Western, Short Stories, Top-Notch, and Wild West Weekly.  He was only 58 when he died in 1943 but he left behind a long legacy of pulp art.

[dare-g]

Made The Crimson Clown 🤡

[yandere-romanticaa]

🍂 tear you apart.

❝ i want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart. as i whisper in your ear - i want to fucking tear you apart. ❞

yandere! various! ghostface! characters x gn! reader.

inspired by the song "tear you apart" by she wants revenge.

just a compilation of characters that i think would be interesting for this. happy friday the 13th!

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ! (genshin impact.)

After years of training and endless carnage, it's only natural for a person to develop specific tastes for the darker aspects of life. Battle and blood were Childe's bread and butter but due to his friendly and frankly charming exterior no one could tell that the young man was a ruthless killer.

Provided that he hides his Harbinger status that is.

There were times when his status was a hastle but there were always some perks, always some string for him to pull and make everything go in the way he wanted them to go. Sometimes, that would include people.

But now, that included you.

Upon first meeting him there was an addictive and boyish charm to the ginger haired man and he had you completely wrapped around his fingers. His pockets were deep but so was his heart and frankly, how dare you just steal it? How dare you be so careless? Don't get him wrong, he wasn't mad per say but he still wanted to teach you a lesson or two, just to make it all stick to your feeble little mind.

He started with your neighbors first.

Childe watches comfortably from high above, hidden away in a tea shop as natives of Liyue Harbor scamper back to their homes as darkness nears. A serial killer is on the loose and the shop owner in which Childe was in had no idea that he just served the man responsible for the deaths of 3 different families. He sipped his tea with content, his heart pounding with excitement. The blade in his pocket was itching for its next victim but he had to be patient.

Patience was a virtue after all.

And once he was done, he was going to claim his prize.

In the meantime, he was going to be nothing less than a sweet and doting friend who was just worried for you. It was only a matter of time when you would fall into his greedy hands and you didn't even know it.

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐆𝐎𝐋 ! (bungo stray dogs.)

Meeting him was not by choice but you were bound by fate, or so the clown liked to tease.

He stopped you on the street in order to show you a card trick. It was simple but it did the job, he impressed you even if just barely. You'd sigh and turn your head but Nikolai did not fail to see the blush on your cheeks.

He was a man on a mission. Why not indulge himself, just for a little bit?

The public always was fond of a good show and why not give them one in the form of a crazy mass murderer? Donning on a mask and a long black cape his escapade began, his ability was so useful for this.

However, you were always his favorite target.

It started out small, at first. He would use his ability to touch you and to steal your things, particularly if he knew you were alone at home. Seeing that confused expression on your face became a past time of his. His fingers would brush against your cheeks, his touch barely there, like a wandering phantom. Sometimes he would be bolder and press his hand gently against your ribs, maybe even be cheeky and smack your behind ever so playfully.

After a few weeks of this song and dance, watching wasn't enough.

You answered his first call, which pleased him greatly. He gave you impossible riddles and forced you to answer humiliating and degrading questions, all under the threat that he was in your house and was going to kill you lest you complied.

Of course, he had no intentions of doing that. Perhaps he would one day. But for now, he would continue to paint the streets crimson with blood and make you squirm in your seat.

It became his reason for living.

𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀 & 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 ! (honkai star rail.)

Ah, these two psychos. Where do I start?

Their plans are at first glance, all over the place. Attacks are random and they do not necessarily always go for the big fish too. Sometimes it's a poor street vendor who was just doing their job but his life meant nothing in the end.

Kafka was the main mastermind. Blade was the one who did most of the dirty work.

Her plans were meticulous, deadly. She would come crawling to you from the shadows, her jacket draped over your shoulders as she'd coo into your ear, her face bloody from her latest victim as she toyed with her mask, a carefree smile on her face. You couldn't see him but Blade was also behind you, his presence was impossible to miss. He was large and imposing, like a phantom that couldn't find peace.

Could you perhaps give him something that he couldn't have? If he can't have you in life, can he have you in death?

There was no escaping them, never ever. Dare to try and there would be consequences.

They were so in love with you to the point of madness. The question was - were they going to keep you alive and leashed or were they just that insane to stab you in the heart?

If they can't have you, no one can.

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 ! (Moriarty the Patriot.)

The streets of London are filled to the brim with gossip and paranoia as the Lord of Crime made his move the previous evening, slaughtering yet another poor noble in his family home. The papers reported that his own children found the corpse, the poor little things.

You hurried to show William the morning paper, morbidly curious about his opinion on this.

Said man could be found lounging about in a cushy, plush red love seat, a hot cup of tea served in front of him by none other than his brother. The two were lost in their own chatter until you abruptly stopped them. Like a sudden storm you pounced on William, his red eyes widening in shock as he tried to calm you down with a sweet smile on his face. You bombarded him with endless questions - who could do something like this, why was it this messy, was the killer sending a message? - all of it came out at such lightning speed that William didn't really understand half of what you said.

It was wrong to corner him like this and let out your frustrations on the man this early in the morning. You knew every single person that died in these past few weeks, all of which were either minor annoyances or massive obstacles in your day to day life.

When it came down to it, their only connection was with you.

Was the police going to come knocking at your door? It was possible! You had no involvement with the crimes but it was incredibly suspicious how everything was connected, like a spiderweb that was being crafted day by day.

It was difficult for William to keep his smirk concealed that morning.

Hours had passed since that interaction and he was back at it, his new victim. He incorporated the fact that you were most likely going to be incriminated in this scheme but it was still in his best interest. It was not difficult to tamper with evidence and blackmail people if need be and best of all, you would always come running to him, scared and worried, for both yourself and the people around you. It was beyond precious how you tell him to not go after sun down, how you made sure to check to see if he was injured or ill.

If you kept doting him like this, he might just slit the throat of every single person that steps foot into London.

[your-next-daydream]

Glitched lust

Fizzaroli and Asmodeus x reader

Summary: What happens after Fizz gets captured by Crimson and even after Asmodeus's public love confession during his stand-off with Mammon? Asmodeus is worried about his froggie, so he hires a body guard to follow them around.

A/N: I'll make more than one part if anyone wants it. I just wanted more of Fizz and Ozzie x reader, so I did it myself.

This is targeted towards more masculine readers, but it will be gender neutral for everyone. I will attempt to keep this as neutral as possible pertaining to the readers' looks since it is a reader insert. That being said, the reader, you, are an imp and incubus hybrid.

Incubus: male demon who feeds off the sexual nature of others.

Succubus: female demon who feeds off the sexual nature of others.

I will be using the term incubus due to this being targeted towards masculine readers, but that will be the only term to “hint” at the readers gender.

A bit of back story:

You, the reader, have a past in being a dancer at clubs to gather money when you were old enough in hell but after a bit of discovery you found you liked being a gaurd or a body gaurd much more than you liked the tainted lust of others watching you dance for a buck or two. For a few years, you did freelance bodygaurding or just took up a job where someone was hiring for their club. After seeing an advertisement for I.M.P. and seeing an article about how the boss of the Immediate Murder Professionals himself guarded one of Asmodeus's performers at Mammon's annual clown fest, you decided to send in an application to I.M.P. luckily for you, the resume you had spoke for you and you were hired.

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Fizzaroli stares at Asmodeus with his eyes slightly squinted to stare up at the sin. “You want to…what?” He sighed, zipping up to sit on the island in their shared kitchen.

“I just think some extra security would be good for you, Froggie.” He said slowly, flipping over the pancake in the pan that he was cooking. “Mammon was right about one thing, and not that I regret doing what I did. I'm just more worried about your safety than before.” He flipped the pancake again before sliding it into the already growing pile next to the stove.

Fizz watched him making breakfast thinking about what he was saying, he understood why Ozzie wanted him to have some extra security but, “I don't wannaaaaa-” He dragged out the syllables flopping down dramatically on his back on the island reaching for his coffee mug.

Ozzie sighed, putting down his cookware and turning to him, crossing his arms and leaning against the stove top. One side of his mouth was curled up. No matter how serious he wanted him to take this, he couldn't find himself to be upset with his antics. “Just think about it, okay, Fizzie? You like going out a lot, so it'd just make me feel better knowing if someone was there when I can't be.” He pushed himself off the counter with his hip strolling over to where he was splayed over the island.

Pushing his legs apart with his own, he slotted himself there, uncrossing his arms to gently place them on the island on each side of Fizzaroli's hips. “I worry for you out there as it is,” he paused looking away for a moment his bottom lip finding its way between his teeth as he looked back to Fizz his eyes a bit downcast, “But now there's even more of a threat to you now that we've been made public.”

Clearing his throat from the embarrassment at the position he was in and to clear some other thoughts, he leaned up on his elbows, reaching one hand up to press against the side of his face. “I'll think about it, Ozzie. I've been dealing with fans for a while. And after the thing with Mammon and also me and Blitz getting captured…I understand your worries.” He nodded his head, making up his mind. “I'll let you look into it, and we can go from there.”

He leaned into the hand on the side of his face, a soft smile replacing some of the worry that was left lingering there. He moved one of his hands to cup the one Fizz had on his face. “Thank you,” he pushed his face down into the crook of the smaller man's neck leaning to whisper into his ear, “Froggie.” He then leaned back up to press a kiss to his lips, staying like that for a moment before pulling away. Fizz had leaned up, trying to follow his lips, but he'd already turned away.

He chuckled lowly as he made his way to the plate of pancakes. “Now! We have a long day ahead of us, so pancakes!” He picked up the plate with a stack of the fluffy aforementioned breakfast food walking over to pick up Fizz with the other arm before making his way to the table.

“Pancakes pancakes pancakes!” He chanted as he was picked up and walked to the table, looking up at Asmodeus admiring his features. Though he did notice while the sin himself had a soft smile on his face, the faces in his fiery mane reflected the worry he'd expressed earlier. That made part of his smile tug down a little. “Is he that worried…?” He thought to himself before shaking his head, focusing on the moment.

Asmodeus sat down in the head chair moving Fizzaroli to sit in his lap as he set the plate down moving another empty one in front of him as he pulled a few off the stack with a fork piling it with syrup before handing it to Fizz with a smile.

He piled his own plate with the same treatment, taking a bite with a self-satisfied sigh. “Alright we have a few things in order for today. Firstly I was thinking if you'd like a new uniform it'll look similar it will just match the colors of my club a lot better.”

Fizz watched as he took another bite before sliding in his own comment. “You mean match your colors better.” The way he said it wasn't a question, just a statement as he looked up at him suggestively taking a bite off his own plate watching the sin sputter.

“Well I mean…yes.” He cleared his throat, looking for his mug as he realized he had left it on the counter.

Fizz looked at the mug, extending one of his arms over there to grab the handle before quickly retracting it back and holding it up to Ozzie with a wink. “Do I make you thirsty, Ozzie?” He laughed at his own sexually charged pun watching Asmodeus take the mug with a huff, not missing the smirk he hid behind the rim of the glass.

He set his mug back down watching as Fizz then leaned for it again taking a drink of his own and he smiled fondly at that knowing he could have extended to grab his own mug that wasn't much farther from where his was originally.

“Like I was saying, the design won't be changed much, and you'll be overseeing the alterations. I'd like for your attire to match the club scene a bit more rather than the so-called “circus” Mammon had going on, but that's completely up to you.” He snapped his fingers pulling out a agenda and a pair of reading glasses appeared on his face (don't take this headcanon away from me) as he flipped through the pages pulling a pen out to write something else. “I'll be calling one of my assistants to host something to find a candidate for one of your guards. Hopefully, they'll be able to pull something together today. I've been talking to them about it since you…got taken from me.” He paused for a moment before quickly getting back on track.

Fizz felt bad that he had to pause for a moment while talking about it, and he nodded along, picking at his pancakes with his fork before taking another bite. His mind wandered a bit, thinking back to the scare he had while being taken but then shook his head to clear that train of thought. He listened intently at the mention of a new uniform thinking about what he'd like. He knew Ozzie would listen to him about his ideas, so he didn't have any worries about that. He was worrying about the body gaurd ordeal, though.

“I'd hire Blitz, but he's too busy running his company.” Was what Fizz heard after snapping himself out of his thoughts. “Though after it got out that I had him protecting you at Mammon’s show, he tells me he's gotten a few new hires. So I may be able to recruit someone from I.M.P if having an imp gaurd would make you more comfortable?” He questioned, looking down to Fizzie, noticing his eyes were glazed over in thought. “Hey…” He brought a hand away from his writing to hold the side of his face. “You alright, sweet thing?” He questioned softly that smooth voice of his bringing Fizzaroli back with a snap.

He quickly nodded, his head leaning away to take a bigger bite. “It just seems like a hassle, that's all. I mean, I'm just an imp. I really don't think it would be that big of a deal.” He rambled before looking back to Ozzie going silent at the serious look on his face. “You were stolen from me by an imp, for an imp. They know how much I'd risk getting you back. That's why I'm worried and think this should be necessary. The Imp, Crimson, who stole you was from a mafia in the greed ring. I don't have as much power there, and Mammon didn't seem to care that it happened under his watch. I will not let that happen again under my own.” He took a breath, calming himself down. “I'm sorry, Fizz, I'm just worried.”

Meanwhile, at I.M.P….

Moxie was in the arms room showing the new hire where his belongings would go and giving him a tour of everything else in the room.

Walking over to one of the lockers, you put your own weapons in where they went and slid the bag you had slung over your shoulder to the bottom. You'd been hired about a month ago and over those weeks before and during that month you'd been assessed. Before coming to I.M.P, you'd been a body gaurd for a few of the higher up clubs.

“Thank you for showing me around, Moxie, but I think I've got it from here.” You nodded your head at the shorter male, closing your locker and sliding the lock in with a ‘click’ before walking to the door, holding it open for him, and then following behind him.

He nodded his head in return. “Well if you need anything, you can come to any of us or Loona if we aren't here. Your bigger outings with us should be rolling in soon.” He held up a thumbs up before walking off.

Walking over to the lounge area, you flopped down on the couch, minding the leathery wings sprouting from your back as you did so. Pulling out your phone, you scrolled mindlessly for a while, occasionally looking up at hearing movement.

An hour or so later, you heard the front phone go off, seeing as Loona was…Lucifer knows where you walked over to pick up the phone. “I.M.P here how can we help you?” You asked hearing some movement on the other end before a different voice replied.

“Yes is this Blitz? This is Fern calling on behalf of Asmodeus.” Eyes widening for a moment at the idea the sin wanted something from I.M.P. you responded quickly. “No this is not Blitz he's out, but I can take a message for him if that would be fine?” You asked politely, waiting for a response.

“Asmodeus wishes to recruit a body gaurd from his establishment. Do you know when he'd be in?” You took a glance over at the time sheet, realizing he'd left over an hour ago. “He'll be back in a few moments. I'll tell him to call you back when he arrives.” You both continued talking for a little longer before cutting the call.

Walking back over to the couch, you awaited your boss to return with a few of the newer recruits that had more training in assassination than you did. You wondered for a moment if he'd send you to the interview since you had more gaurd training than the rest. You brushed that off with a shrug, pulling your phone back out.

A little while later, you heard a portal open up in the other room, and Blitz talking to the rest about some pointers but saying they did good otherwise. “Alright kiddos lock your stuff up where it goes. I'll be back in a minute.” He closed the armory door behind him, spotting you on the couch. “Where's Loonie?” He asked. You stood up, pocketed your phone, and walked over to him, looking down at him. “She texted, saying she went out for a call.” You pulled a piece of paper out of your pocket handing it to him. “Asmodeus's secretary called asking about a body gaurd job and to call that number when you returned.” You repeated the person had said and watched him huff taking the paper.

“Immediate murder professionals not Immediate gaurd professionals. If it comes to it, would you take the job? You did body gaurding before, right?” He looked up somewhat hopefully.

“Yep, mostly club guarding, but I've been hired all around. But for a job like that, shouldn't you hire someone you trust more? And there will probably be others in the line up anyways.” You questioned, tilting your head.

He shrugged. “Nah! Your resume speaks for you well enough that I'd be fine sending you in our name. Let me go talk to the person and I'll get back to you.”

A while of doomscrolling later…

“Well! Looks like you have another interview, newbie!” Blitz shouted excitedly, walking over to hand you a paper with a time and a place on it. “You'll be paid by the hour, and then some of the percentage goes to me, but we can talk about that when you return later if you get the job!” He explained with a grin, raising an eyebrow when you looked at him expectantly. “What?”

You tilted your head, looking at the paper before looking back up at him. “When is it?” You didn't see a date on the paper, so you thought he may have forgotten.

“Ohhhh, it's today. Better get moving. You only have two hours to get to the lust ring!” He laughed at your expression before walking off.

“Damn I guess Asmodeus really needs a bodyguard…why would a king of Sin need a gaurd though…” you thought before jumping over the couch to get to the armory tail flickering in irritance behind you at the time constraint as you grabbed your belongings and made your way to the door.

After nearly missing the train to the lust ring and having to deal with the small space, you made your way to the building, noticing a line outside.

The line mostly consisted of people just wanting to meet the Sin, some who looked like they had some experience, and then a couple of others. Rolling your eyes, you got in line bag slung over your shoulder resume at the ready scowling at some people who got a bit too close. “Just because we're in the lust ring doesn't mean you need to get close an’ personal.” You thought to yourself with a groan.

After a while, you noticed some people being turned away at the top of the line, and then the rest was led to another room. At your turn, you saw the person in front of you walking into that room before turning your attention to the man with the clip board in front of you. “Resume please.” He asked, holding a hand out. You handed it to him, watching him look over it for a few minutes before he handed it back with a nod. “Go into that room.” You raised an eyebrow, not noticing anyone come out before shrugging and making your way into the dimly lit room. You sat down in the chair, looking around, noticing there was another door inside of the room.

Turning your attention to the person speaking to you and eyeing a pin on their jacket, you slid the envelope across the table. “Ah you're the one from I.M.P.” they said, reading over your file.

“Yes, I'm the one you spoke to on the phone, Fern, right? Anyway, I haven't worked at I.M.P long. I was in the body gaurding business long before that.” You took another glance at the door inside the room, noticing a faint glow under the door and hearing voices from inside.

They tilted their head at the mention of them being the one you spoke to on the phone. “How did you know it was me you spoke to?” They looked over your file for a little longer before asking another question. “Why did you go to work at I.M.P.?”

“I recognized your voice, and I saw on the news that my Boss did some work for Asmodeus as a body gaurd so I thought since the boss had done it himself that either he didn't trust his employees or that he was short staffed. Turns out he didn't have anyone to do body gaurding, so I was in luck.”

They nodded their head at your answers to both questions, giving you a look before sliding back your resume with a piece of paper on it that was stamped with Asmodeus's symbol on it. “Lastly, why are you here?”

You took your resume with a nod of your head. “To do my job.” Was all you said before standing up and walking to the other door. “Assuming your boss is in here to do the other part of the interview?” You asked slyly, watching their eyebrows go up before nodding your head and walking in.......

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So what do you think so far! This will be my first multipart fic, so feedback is appreciated! If you want the next part, just let me know. I already have it in the works, and we get to meet the big man of lust and our favorite jester next!

[the-bar-sinister]

Crimson Sunset, Azure Dawn (9838 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 3/? Summary: Mihawk would have been content to finally give Shanks the duel long owed him. Buggy swore he simply wanted to give him a piece of his mind. Crocodile just wanted the pair to have some measure of closure, difficult as it might be. No one expected the rising star of the scarlet emperor to crash so suddenly and violently to earth. No one expected to fish a lost and broken Shanks out of the wreckage of his ship.

But maybe it takes disaster for old flames to flicker back to life, and for Cross Guild to bring in its most surprising member.

catch up here

-

Practically the whole crew had been gathered on deck by the time Cabaji got to Shanks, and Buggy towed them back up out of the jaws of the sea. 

Mihawk had hurried up on deck with Crocodile when they both heard shouting, but he hadn't expected the scene in front of him.

Mihawk saw Shanks, his old rival and lover, soaked to the bone and collapsed against Buggy’s man as the clown hauled them by the rigging out of the sea with the help of his crew.

His eyes narrowed and darted to the sunken ship beyond. "...I never thought I’d see him in such a state." 

Crocodile slowly took the cigar out of his mouth, staring along with him. "What the damned hell happened? Is he alive?!"

"He's breathing!" Cabaji called.

"Thank fucking HELL." Buggy roared. "If he’d died, if he…ARGH!"

MIhawk walked towards the rope, grabbing it to help haul them the rest of the way. "...Red Haired Shanks would never simply allow his ship to be decimated like this. Something…quite serious happened."

"Everybody on high alert!" Crocodile growled. He started barking orders at the crew that faded into the background of Mihawk's consciousness while he helped Buggy pull the pair out of the water.

Cabaji came up over the rail with the unconscious man in his arms. Red Haired Shanks looked limp and fragile. It had been a long, long time since Mihawk had seen him in such a way, if ever.

Even after their legendary duel Shanks carried himself in a way that so rarely said ‘fragile’ . Even injured and bleeding…this was new.

He walked over, as Buggy put his hand nervously on Shanks’ back, and looked him over. "...he looks in no shape to fight." 

"Yeah, he looks like he just lost one," Cabaji agreed, still holding the man cradled in his arms. Shank's shirt was torn, and now that he was out of the water, it was clear that blood was soaking into it.

"Ssssss…" Buggy hissed softly through his teeth. "Shiiiit….shit shit shit! Someone grab the ship doctor! Hurry!"

Mihawk bent on one knee to get a better look at Shanks’ face as he lay limp and unconscious …and the wound across his chest. "....yes, he won’t be a danger to us in this state…" 

-

It was chaos on the ship. Every crewman was on alert for threats. Swimmers had been organized in boats to trawl the wreckage for other survivors. Shanks had been brought into the infirmary and laid out on the cot there, stripped and examined by their doctor, while Crocodile, Mihawk and Buggy hung back. There were cracked ribs, and some deep cuts that were being addressed.

Buggy leaned against Crocodile, feeling the sick turn in his stomach as he looked over the damage "someone really messed him up..I mean. I know Mihawk took him to task before but…"

"He usually left our fights about as damaged as me with that asinine little smile of his." Mihawk answered. 

"Yeah," Croc grumbled. "Well, Hawk, you weren't actually trying to fuckin' kill him. Whoever did this? They were."

Buggy twisted his glove in his hands. "But who the hell is crazy enough to go after an Emperor and WIN? Aside from fuckin’ Straw Hat Luffy, I mean." 

Crocodile's gaze lingered on Shanks' wounds. "Straw Hat doesn't use a blade."

Buggy nodded. "I KNOW that, intimately. Thanks!" The memories of the countless punches the manic little terror inflicted in the last three years.

Mihawk tilted his head. "And I doubt Zoro would do this without good reason, or a direct order." 

"Kaidou?" Crocodile suggested. "Their ship left headed the other direction, but if they doubled back, or pulled some trick…"

"The man didn’t exactly have an armada anymore, I’ve heard." Mihawk mused with a shake of his head.

Buggy shifted , rubbing his hands together with another low hiss. "This was not how I expected this to go AT ALL." 

"Nobody fucking did," Crocodile growled. "That's three emperors blown out of the damned water inside a week. If you two can manage without me for a few minutes, I'm gonna go see if I can raise Doflamingo's ship on the transponder and see if his surveillance team has anything."

"Please…" Buggy said breathlessly as his hand floated over to lightly poke one of the few non-wounded places on Shanks’ body— the top of his head. "Seriously, this is …Guh…" 

Crocodile squeezed Buggy's shoulder. 

"I get it, Bug." He pressed a kiss to Buggy's cheek and did the same to Mihawk. Crocodile was often like this, surprisingly tender in moments of worry. "I'll be back."

He left the two of them in the room with Shanks and the doctor, who didn't seem too pleased with Buggy prodding the patient, but certainly wasn't going to say anything about it.

He’d never seen him so weak and battered. Not even when they were kids. It hurt to see him banged up this badly, taking him back to one of their misadventures. The worst that’d happened was a bad gash on Shanks’ arm after they got into a fight they struggled to handle, but…

Nothing like this.

"He ever look this bad after your fights?" Buggy asked. "You said never, right? I…I've been phasin’ in and out."

"Rarely this bad. Always standing." Mihawk murmured. "Whoever is behind this is a dangerous man indeed…"

That was when Shanks groaned, and shifted uncomfortably in the cot— the first sound out of him since Cabaji had pulled him out of the water.

Buggy jolted back, latching onto Mihawk with a hiss of breath. "Aw fuck he’s wakin’ up! Hawky! Knock him out again!"

"No." 

The doctor looked over at them. 

"Ah, it might be a good idea to give the patient some space?" he offered timidly. Frankly, it sounded half way like he was hoping they'd ask him to leave the room instead.

"Shut up or I’ll pin you to a flagpole!" Buggy pointed his finger at the doctor. It wasn’t one of his guys… or rather, not one of his direct crew. But even so, they all looked up to him, right? He quickly added, "buddy ol’ pal! Just a joke! But I’m stayin’!"

Mihawk sighed with a shrug. "I would like him to see us when he wakes up." 

The doctor nodded, cringing obsequiously to Buggy. "Would you like me to try to bring him around, now?"

"Whenever you feel it’s safe." Mihawk assured. 

"He needs rest," the doctor considered, reaching for a bottle of something hesitantly. "But I suppose I might be able to offer better treatment if I knew what happened."

Buggy nodded, leaning forward to look Shanks over again. "Yeah…exactly. If we know what happened you can find like hidden injuries and shit." 

"Alright," the doctor nodded. "I'm going to wake him up. Try not to do anything to upset him when he wakes up, ah, please. Sirs."

"When have I ever upset anyone, huh?" Buggy huffed, "right Hawkie?"

"At least twice a week," Mihawk murmured, before grabbing Buggy by the back of the neck "don’t worry. I’ll corral him."

The doctor nodded again, and uncapped the bottle, waving it under Shanks' nose. Shanks groaned and squirmed, his eyelids fluttering open. The doctor put a hand on his shoulder carefully.

"Easy there. You're pretty heavily wounded."

"Where?" Shanks murmured, trying to sit up.

"You're on our ship, you fuckin' duuuuuhhharling—" Mihawk squeezed the back of Buggy's neck halfway through his sentence, the end of it rapidly changing as he squirmed in his grip.

"Good morning, Red Haired Shanks." Mihawk intoned darkly.

The doctor had been trying to keep him down, but when Shanks heard Buggy and Mihawk he sat up quickly– too quickly– clutching his head as an obvious dizzy spell took him.

"My crew– where?"

"Dunno," Buggy crossed his arms. "Look, uh, when we found you things had already gone to shit, Shanks. I'm not gonna answer that until I'm sure you're not gonna pass out over it."

Shanks' eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing as he stared at them. He put his hand to his head. "Great. I… I was in the water, wasn't I?"

"That you were, Shanks" Mihawk tilted his head. "...and who put you there?" 

Shanks touched the old scar over his eye and scowled. "Teach."Buggy mouthed the name, before he sputtered out. "B-Blackbeard? That shitty upstart? The bastard from the Summit War???"

Mihawk's eyes narrowed. "Ah. The man who took Whitebeard's Devil Fruit and somehow survived eating two. We had word he was in this area…" 

"The same," Shanks said. There was anger in his voice— but very little fire. It was almost strange how hollow he sounded. His unfocused eyes stared at the wall for a moment, and then he laid back down on the cot.

"Eugh…." Buggy grimaced. That lack of fire… that… void there. It was either the blow to his fucking head or something worse. Something that died in the dismantling of that ship, maybe.

"I knew he was going to be trouble the moment he arrived on the scene…" Mihawk mused. "But I never thought he'd beat Red Haired Shanks."

"Hah." The single syllable rang just as hollow in Shanks' throat. "I need a drink."

The doctor fussed over him. "Absolutely not. Ah, sir, I think you have a concussion."

"Does that mean a drink would kill me?" Shanks asked.

"Ah, possibly, yes," the doctor murmured, pushing his fingers together and looking worriedly at his patient.

"I need a drink," Shanks repeated.

Buggy took a few steps forward, looming over the cot with a cross of his arms. "Shanks. Lookit me." 

Shanks barely turned his head. "Hi, Buggy. Long time no see."

Buggy's lips twitched. It'd been years… years… and years since they'd even seen one another. The man had a concussion, Buggy couldn't hold it against him if that was all his addled mind could think to say.

'Long time no see'.

But still. 

Was he selfish for hoping for a little more than something you'd give a half-remembered acquaintance or a drinking buddy you hardly knew the life of?

"Yeah. It's been a fucking while. What the hell happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing much," Shanks said conversationally, staring at the ceiling. "Luffy hates me. He beat me in combat and sent me packing. My life's mission turned out to be complete shit and then when I was sulking about that, Teach wrecked my ship. Mihawk, I see you standing there, will you get me a drink?"

"If you're that eager for an ignoble death in a cot, then far be it from me not to humor you. Doctor? Get this man a drink." Mihawk snapped his fingers.

"....." Buggy pointed his finger at Shanks. "Luffy hates you. That kid who never shut up about how you were his fucking hero. The kid wearing your fucking hat. That kid. He hates you?" 

"Yep." That was all Shanks said. Just 'yep'.

The doctor squirmed. "Ah, Mihawk, sir, I can't just let a patient poison himself…"

"He's done a good job of it himself already," Mihawk glanced down at him. "Shanks. The Doctor doesn't want you to die."

Buggy's eye was twitching, his lips pulled tight in his wide smile as he hissed a breath through his teeth. "Yep." 

It was happening all over again, the leadup to their big fight. That look on his face when he gave up on everything they'd stood for and headed for some 'life's mission' with only a cursory offer for Buggy to be his hanger on. Only this time it was worse.

At least then he still had a dream, now he was just…

"Cool. Good to know, cute kid…very violent." he clapped his hands together. "What's this about that mission of yours?" 

"Don't worry about it," Shanks said. "It was pointless anyway. Your doctor sucks."

Mihawk barked a sharp laugh. "He's doing his best with what he's got, Shanks. A doctor's only as good as his patient."

Buggy's hands shot out and grabbed Shanks' shoulders, his eyes wide and his smile wider "Shaaaanksssss…." he said slowly, his voice lilting in a way he KNEW happened when he got particularly annoyed. "I'm going to shake you."

"You could kill him like that," Mihawk added, his arms crossing over his bare chest.

"You hear that, Buggy? You could kill me like that." Shanks grinned the same miserable, grimacing grin at him. His body was limp and covered in bandages and he really looked like maybe he wanted to die. "You could tell everybody you killed Shanks."

"It's tempting at the moment," Buggy hissed down at him. "It's real tempting. But I don't wanna add another pointless tragedy to this damn mess."

HIs fingers tightened harder against his shoulders. his voice shook. "b-besides…" "I..wouldn't…I mean.."

"Buggy," Mihawk stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"No , Hawky, I gotta …" Buggy sniffed. He'd miss Shanks. He'd been missing him for years now, always too bitter and angry to reach out. So why now, when he finally got the balls to reach out and have it out with the guy to maybe fix something for once. "Shanks. I know you're feelin' like shit right now. But trying to get your ex-boyfriend to put you outta your misery is… it fuckin' sucks." 

Shanks met his gaze for the first time, and held it, barely. Dazedly. "Just thought it might be romantic. Hah. No… fuck, sorry," he murmured, looking away again. "You're right."

"There's nothing romantic about making me kill you, moron," Buggy huffed sharply "Even Mihawk would rather give you a proper death in a duel or some shit."

"He's not wrong," Mihawk nodded slowly. "You've fallen from grace, but you're still a warrior."

"See that?" Buggy lightly shook his shoulders, thumping him against the cot. "So don't pull that shit with us, got it?" 

Shanks winced at the shaking, light as it was. "Guh… after all this time. After finding me like this? You two have any kind of respect for me left? I guess you both are crazy."

Shanks's voice was full of regret and something else. 

Shame.

Shanks sounded ashamed of himself.

"Perhaps it's nostalgia. Or perhaps it's an understanding that we are all one bad day from losing everything. Or maybe it's simply madness." Mihawk shrugged his shoulders.

Buggy snorted softly, looking down into his eyes. "Sounds like things really went to shit, Shanksy. I don't care what it is, we were crewmates once. You're still some of that guy I grew up with. I ain't gonna just let you drown. Even if I am still pissed off!" 

Shanks almost laughed. "And here I almost believed you when you said we'd be enemies. Guess all it took to change that was losing everything."

After that there was another awkward silence, before Crocodile thumped on the door.

"Get out here, you two. We need to talk."

The only person in the room who looked relieved was the doctor.

-

Crocodile dragged Buggy and Mihawk to the captains' quarters and lit a fresh cigar— offering them around— before he said anything.

Mihawk gratefully accepted one, though Buggy seemed to be keen to share his. The air was heavy with things unsaid, Buggy seemed to have a surprisingly grave expression on his face. 

Crocodile had been expecting the encounter with Shanks to be fucking dire, but he hadn't expected this. Shanks was an emperor. He'd turned himself into a legend in the last couple of decades while the three of them had sulked through failure after failure. Crocodile had expected the problem to be that Shanks was a cocky, arrogant and self-assured bastard who was "too good" for Croc's guys.

Coming across him at this— what had to be the man's lowest point— had thrown everything into chaos. It showed on Buggy's face— even on Mihawk's. The two of them were lost at sea with this encounter.

Crocodile wished he had better answers as he puffed on his cigar. "So Doffy's crew gave us an update. Blackbeard's on his way toward Winner Island right now. And according to his crew's chatter, he's definitely the one who blasted Shank's ship."

Croc had always had mixed feelings–intense feelings, but mixed– about Doflamingo. But he couldn't deny that his people were a hell of an asset to Cross Guild in terms of surveillance if nothing else.

"Apropos fucking island for him to go to," Buggy muttered darkly as he reached for Mihawk's cigar, who passed it to him with a low sigh.

"Blackbeard…to think the wretch was able to bring even Shanks low." Mihawk murmured.

"Yeah," Crocodile growled. "To say I'm not thrilled is an understatement. Another fucking poisonous legacy of the Moby Dick. Doffy turned course to follow at a distance-– against my recommendation."

Teach hadn't joined Whitebeard's crew until Crocodile had been long quit of his father's tyrannical crew. It was maddening— and apropos— that the old man who had had no faith in Crocodile was a bad enough judge of character to cause this… mess.

Buggy hissed through his teeth. 

"...Doffy'd better be careful. I like the guy, the last thing I want is him gettin' sunk too. Not after…yeah." He shifted against the sofa , his eyes flicking down. "I remember seein' him at Marineford." 

"I'd guess we all remember," Crocodile murmured, leaning back in his chair. He blew a breath of smoke out, and looked at Buggy and Mihawk. "So how's Shanks? Doc think he's gonna pull through?"

"He was ready to chase us out of the room once he got his wits together," Mihawk snorted. "But he thinks he shall pull through, just barely."

Buggy's brow furrowed. He puffed at the cigar. "It…wasn't supposed to go like this. Not one bit." 

"It sure fucking wasn't," Crocodile grumbled. Somehow the whole thing made him even more pissed off at Shanks. How dare Red Hair disappoint Buggy and Mihawk like this? He scoffed. "Doubt you're gonna get that duel any time soon, Hawk."

"Tch…" Mihawk's eyes closed as he took the cigar back from Buggy. "I doubt it. The fire's been snuffed out inside him. I've never seen him so… desperate to give up."

Buggy's teeth grit together, and his eyes darted up to Crocodile. "He tried to get me to kill 'im!"

Crocodile puffed his cigar thoughtfully. 

So Shanks had lost everything. So he was suicidal and ready to give up. Just lay down and let the consequences eat him.

Right where Crocodile had been two years ago after Alabasta.

"Alright. So what do you two want to do about him? Do we dump him in the sea? Throw him in the brig?" He let the question hang in the air and watched their reactions.

Buggy winced, visibly curling into himself. "We ain't dumping him in the fuckin' sea! I barely got him to talk to me…I ain't gonna let him die."

"He's not going to be dangerous, either…" Mihawk put his hand on his chin. He seemed distracted, lost in his own head. 

That was about the reaction Crocodile expected from both of them. 

He took another long puff of his cigar, turning it in his fingers, letting the moment linger, as if he was thinking about it. As if he hadn't already made up his mind.

"So we're going to thump his shoulders, light his fire, and drag him kicking and screaming into Cross Guild, eh?"

Buggy crossed his arms with a snort. "Of course we are. And then I'll shake the bastard as soon as it won't kill 'im!" 

Crocodile nodded to Buggy and turned to Mihawk with a cock of his head. "Hawk? How about your thoughts?"

Mihawk frowned at him, cigar in his mouth. 

"I don't like seeing him like this....Shanks was many things, but this…" He looked down at his folded hands "I think we could re-light his fire, with effort." 

"So is he worth the effort?" Crocodile urged. "That's what I'm asking. I know you both had a thing for him, well, now we've got him in our lap. We can either rehabilitate him and bring him aboard or finally say 'good riddance to that' and move on with your lives."

Buggy seemed physically conflicted, arms crossed over his chest. "I've tried to move on for years, Croccy. I'm tired. It never works."

"How about you, Hawky?" Crocodile was pretty sure that he already knew the answer.

"I didn't cut the rope to dump him back into the ocean," He said, glancing up at Crocodile. "...I'd like to see if he manages his second chance." 

"Then it's decided," Crocodile nodded. As if there had ever been any real doubt. "We'll wine and dine your ex, and bring him back into the fold. The three of us got our second chances. I don't think we have another twenty years to wait around for him to take his."

Buggy's face lit up, even if he tried to smother the smile. "Good. We probably don't, the way he's goin'. So we'll seize the day NOW! He'll be a proper pirate whether he likes it or not!" d

Crocodile sat back, satisfied. "Good. I get the feeling it ain't gonna be easy, so you boys better prepare yourselves. Maybe we oughta come up with a plan of attack."

[proxylynn]

How powerful do you think mammon is?

[Now here we have a real toughy because the Sins aren't power ranked or scaled to my knowledge. That and I am unsure how their sin affects them like a boost or if that's even a thing (for example; more lust or just being in Lust Ring adds power for Ozzie). For Mammon, I do think he is strong, might be one of the most powerful Sins we've seen so far based on a few things. If I do go with "the more doing that sin, they get a boost" thing, then it's obvious that Mammon is jacked with power. Ozzie, Bee, and Lucifer appear strong but with control of the strength of their sin, but Mammon is so swoll with greed and the greed from others that it comes seeping out as those electric surges when he gets intense. Another reason I think he's strong is because he is the clown. No one takes him seriously and he plays to it, using/exploiting everything around him as, despite his dorkiness, he is intelligent and incredibly skilled in manipulation. Who would look at him and think he's a serious threat? No one. If he's so strong why didn't he fight Ozzie? Because there are rules that even the Sin are bound to and Mammon's skillet is more about using intimidation first. (Also just coming out in a power battle is more of a Satan thing and Mammon can't show all his powers right away) My theory on how the show will go forward with Mammon is that they may make him the true antagonist but downplay him as a threat till all the pieces fall into place. The remaining episodes of HB season 2 are called "The Full Moon", "Apology Tour", "Ghostf**kers", "Mastermind", "Sinsmas", and the last two are TBA. Out of those I can see a few where Mammon can be used for. Apology Tour sounds very Fizzarolli to me, so the Glam Sisters might be there to throw shade and fuck with his confidence to make Fizzy believe without Mammon's promotion that no one liked him at all (fishy bitches). Mastermind could be Crimson teaming up with Mammon out of desperation for revenge and figures he's clever enough to manipulate a Sin like he nearly did with Ozzi. Mammon, however, would be the one pulling the strings and setting the stage for Crimson's demise in a "kill two birds with one stone" deal. And Sinsmas is gonna be very interesting as this might be a rare point of all 7 sins being in an episode (though they may cut out Luci to not crossover HH) and it could be here that things get very juicy. Mammon could intentionally be absolutely good and everyone, justifiably, calls bullshit on his act yet he keeps it up to cast doubt. Only after do the seeds of his actions take root, as when Mammon slips away do the previous enemies strike, maybe even make a callback to the D.H.O.R.K.S. agents from season 1 who might have made a deal for reasons, but unfortunately for Mammon this goes south and now with this attack it's a declaration. One that won't go well for anyone.]

{Kinda went off course at the end there, but I hope it does show how strong I think Mammon is/can be.}

[fairygal11]

American Revolution 2.0

American Revolution 2.0

Something is amidst

There's foul play

It doesn't add up

The numbers are way off.

Yet, here we are

Shaking in fear

Seeing a country

Stabbed in the chest

As crimson blood

Stains the nation.

There's no way

That it was decided

From the get-go

Not all the votes are tallied

Not every ballot is accounted

There's trickery at bay.

We're not taking this sitting down.

We ain't gonna roll over

We ain't gonna bow to a clown

Who has no right to wear a crown?

This is our country

This is our nation

These are our people

These are our lives

That he's playing with.

Now's not the time to panic

Now's the time to act

Now's the time to rise up

Now's the time to fight.

We won't concede

We won't bow

We won't give in

We won't break.

This is our fight

This is our right

To expose the truth

Hidden under the lies.

Bomb threats to states

Ballot boxes ablaze

Missing votes still searching

The numbers don't add up.

We had the endorsement

For Harris's campaign

Everyone turned against Trump,

but he had a trick up his sleeve

To turn the tide, but I believe it's time

To turn this ship before it hits an iceberg.

We ain't sitting down

We ain't backing out

We're gonna stand up

We're gonna fight back

We're gonna get custody

Of our liberty and rights.

This is our fight

This is our song

Let our voices roar

Be heard across the world

Ring out through the night

This is the time to fight.

Expose the lies

Bring truth to light

Let the beast be tamed

Cage him and his buddies away

Put Harris back in her rightful place

Let freedom ring for a new America.

Time to rise up

Time to stand up

No backing out

Fight for your rights

This is our time

To turn it around.

For our children's futures

For women's rights

For our dreams and hopes

For our country

It's time to begin

A new revolution.

[anechomirrored]

Prompt:     "Come with me, hurry."

Fandom: fnaf sb, apocaplex au

Rating: G

Warnings: non detailed panic attack at the end.

    "Come with me, hurry." Said the rasping voice to your right.

After a moments hesitation you followed the darting red glow of the attendant's eyes into the shadows. just as you passed under a piece of twisted rebar marking a cave in, the familiar sound of heavy metal footsteps reached your ears.

You moved quickly, straining your eyes to see any obstacles the darkness held. Broken concrete cracked and shifted under foot. You had to stop moving soon if the sound of unoiled joints down the hall behind you was anything to go by.

"Troublemaker, you get this far?" The growling voice of Monty echoed off the delapitated hallways.

You picked up the pace, the scavenged parts and equipment in your back connecting uncomfortably with your spine with every uneven stride.

Your retreat was brought up short as your hands met a wall of rubble.

Iron, concrete, platic and crumpled bots were piled up in a horrific mess where the upper floor had come down entirely. Far above your head a ventilation shaft sagged down from the ceiling to the floor above. It's yawning mouth held only more darkness. You frantically searched the surrounding space for that red glow.

"Moon?" You whiper shouted, the panic in you voice making it squeak.

He...he wouldn't have left you, right?

Sun said they wanted to help.

"There you are!" You jolted at the sudden closness of Monty's voice.

Turning around with gasp you found yourself looking up into the face of one of your childhood's stars. His casing was cracked and torn away in places . His shades sat crooked, giving you a glimpse of his rather intense gaze.

He didn't look happy to see you here.

Why would he?

Humans had been attempting raids on the pizzaplex for years. This place was said to be a scavenger's dream.

It was why you had come after all.

You felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of Sun's excitement. Did he really think you just came back to visit?

You barely remembered them. You had steered clear of the animatronics mostly.

Just because your dad had fixed them didn't mean you'd liked them.

They had terrified you.

You took a step back and your back hit the imovable debris behind you. A tremor came back into your hands as the realization of how trapped you were settled in your gut like a stone.

A flash of metal and tattered stars dropped from the ceiling. You cried out, the sudden movement causing you to flinch back, striking your head on the wall.

The attendant stood crouched, like an animal ready to pounce. His back was to you, crimson optics bathing the other animatronic's broken features in a frightful glow.

He had made almost no noise, a feat that you couldn't comprehend.

The others were so noisy.

No wonder scrappers went missing in here so often...

Your scattered thoughts were snapped back to the scene in front of you as Monty let out a staticky noice of distaste.

"What are you doing, clown?" He growled.

Moon's faceplate tilted one way then the other before he let out a blood chilling giggle.

"Not this one, she's a guest."

"You must be glitching, Moon Man. We don't get guests anymore-"

"Check the registry." Moon's tone was biting, his fingers twitched, the exposed metal tips glinting like claws.

The growl that left Monty was gutteral. Too organic sounding for a creature made of metal and circuitry.

There was a silence, only interrupted by the sound of rusted joints as the gator animatronic flexed his claws.

Your mind went absently to the half bottle of oil you found in the basement.

"Tch, so they were a guest once," snarled Monty. "that doesn't mean-"

"Sunny likes her. Don't do anything you will regret." The threat was clear and after another beat, Monty threw a punch at the wall to his right.

Concrete cracked under the strike and dust flew up.

"Fine, keep it but if I find them in the Row..." he didn't finish, opting to storm off.

It wasn't until you felt an unsettlingly familiar grip on your shoulders that you realized you were hyperventilating. You let out a strangled sound, eyes darting up to meet Moon's optics.

"You are okay, little thief. He will not hurt you." Cool metal fingers combed through your disheveled hair.

"Come, you need to sleep." The attendant said softly.

You took a shakey breath and not for the first time, wished you hadn't gone scavenging here, of all places.

[fizziifrxg]

"your bullshit's costing mammon and me a pretty penny, clown. for your sake, ya best hope your royal financier is 'round when he comes knocking." the don says plainly, threat evident in his calm demeanour, "no debts go unsettled in greed."

Fizzarolli should of known better than to think that his problems would go away once he cut Mammon off like the tumor that he was. No, of course this was just going to open him up to a whole new world of problems. Mammon or any of his underlings weren't just going to let him walk away, and that much was apparent with Crimson right in his face.

He honestly could of gone the rest of his life without seeing his mug again, he just wasn't that lucky.

"LOOK- both you and Mammon can just go fuck yourselves, an NOT in a sexy way. It's not like he lost his cash cow, in fact he gained TWO MORE when I left. So as far as I'm concerned, I have nothin' else to do with him."

With Asmodeus backing him up, it was easier to speak up for himself like this.

[painprns]

Horror & Edgy Neopronouns

CW: Illegal activity. TW: Violent actions, murder, stalking, body parts, weapons, and religious themes. A lot of the content in here triggered me so be careful if you want to look at this list. (And before you ask, yes, I am fine. You learn to cope.)

Of course, I don't approve of anything in this list, and this list isn't meant to glamorize those who have mental issues or violent tendencies. I have issues with violence and mental issues. Sometimes, it just helps. If there are any words you think should be added (or removed) feel free to send in an ask.

Note: Try putting a suffix on some words, like -ful or -less. Gives you plenty more options. Also, every new beginning letter will be bolded and with a new color for reading ease.

Pronouns (including emojis, not including extras like parentheses or alternatives): 443

🖤 🕷 🦇 🗡 ⚔ 💣 🔪 🕸 ⛓ 🥀 💀 ☠ ⚰ 🚬 🪦 🔥 😈 👿 💉 ⚠ 👻 🦴 🧠 🫀 🫁 🦷 👁 👀 🪝 🔨 🪓 ⛏ 🩸 💊

abandon

abyss

accelerate

again

alive

alley(way)

anarchy

anger

apart

apocalypse

arm

arson

ash(phalt)

attic

away

awful

awry

axe

back(alley/rooms)

bait

bat

beast

beat(down)

beg

belittle

behead

bet

bite

blade

blaze

blood

body

boil

bomb

bone

boo(m)

brain

break(down)

breath(e)

brick

brittle

bug

bullet

burn

bury

buzz

cannibal(ize)

cap(ture)

car(cass)

carnivore

cat(ch)

caught

cause

chain(saw)

chaos

chase

cig(arette)

claw

clown

coffin

corvid

concern

concrete

consume

control

copy(cat)

core

corpse

corridor

cover

coward

cower

crawl

creature

creep

cremate

crimson

critter

cross

crow

crime

criminal

crumble

crunch

crush

cry

crypt(id)

curse

cut

dagger

danger

dark(ness)

daunt

dawn

daze

deflate

disease

disgust

dissect

dizzy

dead

death

decay

demon

destroy

devil

dice

die

dirt

disappear

disease

disgust

doll

done

drac(ula)

drain

dread

drown

dull

eat

ecto(plasm)

edge

edgy

eerie

elbow

empty

evil

eye

facade

face

fail(ure)

fall

fang

far

fatal

fear

fight

final

finger

fire

flame

flesh

follow

freak

fright(en)

fury

gain

gargoyle

gas(h)

gauze

gaze

ghost

ghoul

gimp

glee

gnash

god

gore

gouge

grab

grain

grasp

grate

grave(yard/stone)

grease

grim(ace)

grime

grind(er)

grip

grit

gross

grotesque

grunge

guard

grue(some)

gun

gut(teral)

hail

hammer

hand

harbor

hard

harm

hatch(et)

hate

hatred

haunt

havoc

head(stone)

heart

heat

hell

hidden

hide

high(way)

hilt

hit

hook

hollow

horror

hound

hunt

hurl

hurt

ice(pick)

ill(ness)

immolate

immortal

imp(ale)

incinerate

inflammatory

inhale

inhalation

instant

intense

irritate

jab

jail

jam

jank

jostle

joke

joy

junk

kill

kilter

knee

knife

lank

last

lather

laugh(ter)

leak

leg

lich

lim(inal)

linger

link

little

lung

lurk

macabre

maim

malicious

manslaughter

marrow

mask

mass(acre)

maze

meat

melt

mime

mince

misery

monster

morbid

moss

murder

mystery

nail

nausea/nauseous

night(mare)

noise

nowhere

necro

off

one

omen

open

over(power)

pail

pain

pale

panic

phantom

phobia

piece

pill

plead

poison

poltergeist

power

prey

puddle

purge

pyre

question

quiet

quiver

rabies

rage

rail

raid

rain

rake

rat

raw

restrain

retch

rip

road(kill)

rock

rot

run(away)

rust

saw(dust)

scare

scary

scent

scratch

scream

search

seize

sewer

shadow

shake

shiver

shock

shoot

shove(l)

shred

shriek

sick(ness)

silent

sink

sin(ister)

skin

skull

slash(er)

slay

sledge(hammer)

small

smash

smell

smoke

sob

somber

some(body)

someone

slip

spider

spirit

spike

spook

stab

stain

stalk

start(le)

steal

step

storm

strain

strange

stun

suffer

sunk

survive

sword

syringe

teeth

tense

terror

thorn

threat

tinge

tomb(stone)

torn

torture

tooth

trail(cam)

train

trigger

trip

turn

tyranny

undead

unknown

vamp(ire)

venom

vicious

villain

violent

void

wary

weak

weapon

weep

weird

wick(ed)

wicker

whir

whiz

whisper

will

wilt

wither

wound

worry

wraith

wrath

wreck

wring

wrong

wrought

yank

yell

yelp

zero

zombie

[gerudospiriit]

" Show? "

Any confusion amassed with his claim over where he kept the promised weapons--under his shell? Probably--was swept away with the rise of an alien and unnatural whirring swiftly approaching. The Gerudo around them reacted as their training dictated, and Nabooru's own hand fell to a blade at her hip.

The boom of something forced her to her feet, and she whipped around to face the incoming threat with her blades drawn. Glass shards rained down around them as the domed vessel descended, knocking tables aside and convincing the rest of the Gerudo in the area to give the anomalous vehicle a wide but wary berth.

Well-trained eyes remained fixed on the grinning mechanism, but she kept Bowser in her peripheral. The Koopa King made a fist and the machine's expression changed. She just caught the opening of his hand again, the clown's accompanying action demanding her attention: a fireball flying right toward them. She just barely managed to shift her body sideways to avoid a burn, the heat of its passing a brief but searing inferno brushing against her skin.

Adrenaline still pumping through her and heart beating a rowdy cadence against her ribcage, she blew out an indignant huff when her mind put the pieces together and Bowser's words confirmed her understanding.

" Did you have to bring your...toy through the window? " she asked, sheathing her blades again. Cautious steps brought her closer to the alleged armory with a cocked, crimson brow when he tipped it toward her in invitation. Her hand hesitated in mid-air for a moment before resting on the emerald rim. The propeller kicked up a breeze and dust near her feet. Seeing no way it could harbor an entire armory, she turned her skepticism on the machine's owner.

" How does it work? And if we're going to be testing this thing, I'd rather do it where we won't cause more damage to my people's home and hard work... "

"I'll do you one better...!"

The malice in his voice befit the Gerudo's own king. Its depth had ongoers pinching their thumbs to their weapons. For good reason. "I'll show you." The beast carefully lifted a pursed thumb and pointer as if they were guns. A harsh snap of his finger boomed throughout the entire chamber. And once it settled, a foreign mechanical whirl took its place.

The shadow of a smile bled through the windows of the chamber. Reports of an intruder were likely on the way as they spoke, but the vessel would arrive long before the warning. His Koopa Clown Copter, a brilliant white dome balanced by a single propeller, broke through the windows and dove into the center of the room!

Its gleaming yellow eyes met them like a pouncing monster's. Bowser extended his palm: wiggling fingers beckoned the monstrosity towards them. A sudden clench changed its expression in a flash-- it's following the king's hand. A reopened palm had it open its mouth and spit fire in their direction! A flame the beast caught with ease before offering Nabooru a wicked smirk.

"My favorite toy. My copter! Don't let its sweet smile fool you. It's packed with more weaponry than most armories!" The craft obediently sunk beside its master, only barely hovering above the ground. Licking his lips, he tipped the bowl towards the Spirit Sage. And despite what many concerned glances might recommend, the demon offered. "Want to take it for a spin?"

[talesofsonicasura]

Clowning Around Excerpt

Clown and Shadow

Thought of toying around with an MK from one of my AUs meeting his canon counterpart. Canon Lego Monkie Kid universe will always be in Lego style cause I find a human being stuck in a world of Lego people and vice versa hilarious. I'll be giving each major character of each AU a nickname if I ever wrote them meeting their canon counterpart. Clowning Around MK's nickname will be LC or Little Clown.

A normal Lego person is half the height of an average human man. BTW, I been suffering some writer's block so I trying to clear it up. This takes place in S3 but there isn't any spoilers. Enjoy this conflict involving two Tumblr Sexymen. Yeah, Tricky is a Tumblr Sexyman, got in before Macaque even was a concept. You can say the clown is his senior. 😂

To the Six Eared Macaque, capturing Sun Wukong's little successor shouldn't have been so difficult. His previous unlocked powers were stolen by 'his' lady's Bone Mech like her destiny script said. Yet, it seems fate decided a slight change was in order.

An alternate version that looked completely out of place. So much taller, too 'roundish' and detailed in appearance…oh can't forget the fucking zombie clown companion. It didn't look unnatural like his partner but the being was way too round and had no arms just floating hands.

Macaque already knew LBD would want him to catch this otherworldly MK copy alongside the little zombie as well. No doubt be pissed about the new cog in her grand plan. The details didn't matter since his Smoke Monster would be enough.

Kid only defeated it last time because the Monkey King was there. But now he's powerless and by assumption, this second MK probably shared the same experience. Yet, nothing could prepare him for what came next. "It's Jester Time!"

A single shout from this strange version of his former student and everything just…glitched. The once blue sky now eaten by blood red as the light brown ground had decayed to a dead grey. But the biggest change came when the little clown set ablaze this strange MK alongside itself in crimson fire.

With the flames soon splitting to pieces from the dance of a masked theatre clown mockery. Even the kid nearly fell on his ass seeing this stunt. Macaque could barely blink when a line flash onto his Smoke Monster. Shock and horror churn in his gut seeing the shadowy giant split in two like a banana peel. Spinning behind the head of the dying summon… is a cudgel.

Pure steel capped by clumpy gold on one side and muddle silver on the other, both sides engulfed by crimson fire in the shape of an Emergency Stop Sign. It spun back into the masked clown's welcoming long green rotten tail. The hairs on Macaque's neck rose upon the raspy distorted laughter rumbling behind the creature's monkey mask.

"Nice try, little Six! Your Smoke Monster went out like a fart in the wind!" His face hot red in fury as the original kid snickered. "Fart in the wind! I'm definitely using that from now on." Macaque called upon his shadow cudgel for any fear quickly became rage at the mockery.

The zombie performer however danced at the threat, his own cudgel expertly spun in the grasp of that rotten tail. "Oh little Six wants to play? Yay! Just know…" The twisted staff flung into the air like a boomerang, spiralling around the jester. Only when the smile on that bastardized mask spark red did the fusion snatch his cudgel.

'Danger', 'Error', 'Die', 'Suffer' and 'Weakling' flashed throughout the air in the form of glitching blood red text. The flaming Emergency Sign ends of the cudgel now point towards Macaque in equal challenge.

"Jester tends to break playmates."

Until next time folks, continue to thrive in the madness and I'll see you back at Megapolis.

Main AU

Jester

[lunaticsandidiots]

kidnapped

request: Jerome x reader where she’s known as his girlfriend so she’s often kidnapped by their enemies but she always knows she can depend on him to save her so she’s never worried. (Kind of like a Roxy from Megamind attitude- very sarcastic) But there’s one instance where he’s either outgunned or his enemy is really close to killing/hurting her and he’s struggling so they end up having to take the enemy down together? @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night

synopsis: jerome was your knight in a shining straitjacket. well, until his hands were tied.

warnings: explicit language, violence, blood/gore, sexual themes

You knew what was at stake when you met Jerome at the circus. You had seen what would happen when you got involved, helping him throw body over body off the rooftop of the Gotham Gazette. And you decided to take the risk as you kissed him on the rooftop of Galavan’s penthouse. But you weren’t scared. Because you had him.

Everyone knew you were his, hearing whispers of the vixen in the arms of Jerome Valeska, their howling laughter harmonising as they sped away from the flaming school bus in the hest oil truck. Naturally, the threats began to roll in.

“Pay up, Valeska, or we’ll take the sweetheart”

“Show your face, clown boy, or the broad gets it!”

“Let’s see how long the leader of the Maniax lasts without his other half!”

But you weren’t scared. Because you had him.

Soon after the threats had started, someone made their move. You’d been ambushed in a dirty alleyway in the heart of the narrows, finishing off a night of mayhem with a kick to the guts of a thug who thought he could take you on. Following a nefarious cackle, you felt your face being slammed into a scratchy piece of rag that reeked of chloroform, remembering only the dull ache in your nose before you passed out. You awoke to such a predictable sight; you wrists were bound behind your back and you were fastened to the chair around your torso with rope, duct tape over the mouth, in a dark room with a flickering lamp in the corner, blah blah blah. This was becoming a familiar routine for you. Picked up by gangsters and fruitlessly tortured only to be saved by your knight in a shining straitjacket. You couldn’t help but start to enjoy it, seeing the confidence, the power, the life drain from your captors eyes as they realise who really has the upper hand, taunting them all the way until they’re a pile of blood and lifeless flesh on the floor by your lover’s hand. Your snicker from behind the silver tape raised the attention of the hooligan in the corner, rapping on the door with the back of his knuckles which beckoned three more goons to invade the room. ‘So typical’ you thought, your eyes rolling violently to the back of your head in unamusement. The cheap tape was ripped from your mouth, far too cheap and far too slick with sweat to cause any pain, and a snorting chortle erupted from the back of your throat, head thrown back in sarcastic merriment.

“What’s so funny, whore?” one of the men chuckled darkly, “your little boyfriend isn’t around to save your ass this time” he taunted, though you knew that wouldn’t be the case for long, and you knew you could hold up just fine until that eventuality.

“Why is it that all you thugs look the same? I swear, the goons of gotham all share a close, common ancestor. Beady little eyes, stumpy little legs, receding hairlines and the total absence of a neck,” you taunted, “seriously, where are your necks? I guess it makes it a little harder to choke you out, i’ll give you that. Did your mom fuck her cousin?”

Your musings were answered with a closed fist to the nose, though your reactionary grunt was laced with more pleasure than pain.

“Good shot bucko, I thought the inbreeding would’ve affected your coordination a little more,” you chortled, feeling the blood flowing down from your nose, tasting the coppery crimson as it seeped from your gums, “come on stud, show a lady a good time”.

Jerome chuckled as he heard your sarcastic soliloquy, ‘there's no mistake, that’s my pumpkin’. He was perched in the shadows and around the corner from the concrete room they had you barricaded in. He had no fear or worry about your safety, he knew you could handle yourself, and that this wasn’t either of your first times at the rodeo. After the first few times you wound up missing it started to get a little tired, but the rush of breaking in to be reunited with the bonnie to his clyde, guns blazing as he sweeps you back up with a deep kiss turned out to be quite addictive. He snuck up to the cracked, frosted window to see you tied to a chair, exhibited before the flock of stocky men in black clothing. What Jerome didn’t see as he scoped the room was the fifth henchman creeping up behind him, lug wrench and rope in hand, and how with a silent smile, he raised it high above his head, and struck down hard on the ginger to render him unconscious.

The shock of the cold, dirty concrete floor against his cheek woke him up, sweaty, panting and bound on the floor. A deep, brooding laugh brought his attention to the shadow above him. A buff, ugly brute of a man looked down at him with mean eyes and a sinister smile.

“Not so powerful now, are we champ?” he taunted, lightly kicking Jerome with his boot, Jerome’s body refusing to provide any sort of reaction. Ignoring the situation around him, he rolled over and tilted his head upwards to look at you, you were staring back at him with a small smile and a furrowed brow, and he noticed the split lip and swollen eye that had arrived since he last saw you.

“Hey handsome” you tittered, blood spilling out along with your words in a half-smile.

“Hey pumpkin, how was your day?” he chuckled back. ‘These kids are fuckin’ psycho’ he heard muttered behind him. Jerome rolled over once again, looking back and forth between the men.

“You have no idea buddy” he laughed through gritted teeth. The man simply responded by taking a step forward, swinging his boot behind him, and swinging it back into Jerome’s ribs which forced a pained grunt out of his diaphragm. Once again, Jerome covered it up with a laugh, his forehead pressing into the cool flooring for relief.

“Do it again, maybe somethin’ different will happen next time” he jested. And again, a steel cap boot met with the centre of his abdomen, leaving him folded in half, weezing with laughter. He inhaled loudly, you heard the phlegm in his throat crackle and sputter as you watched on as best you could through your blurry vision and swollen face.

“Come on you ugly son of a bitch! Is that all you got?” he bellowed. And just like he requested, the beating continued. Three pairs of steel cap boots, three pairs of fists and a lug wrench made their mark on Jerome on the floor in front of you. He folded in on himself further, his hands tied behind his back and unable to protect himself. His cries of pain and howling laughter blended so seamlessly in your ears, and with no visual on his face, you had no idea of the state he was in, simply watching on in bated breath.

This had never happened before. Jerome would always swoop in, pop the bad guys, sweep you up like cinderella and call it a day (with a little violence and sexual gratification in the middle). You trusted him, god you trusted him with your life, but seeing him bound on the floor resembling the defenceless child he once was, you had no fucking idea how he’d get you out of this one. Eventually the beating eased up, and after hearing a cough and a sputter from the ginger, it was enough reassurance he was still alive to start focussing instead on what the fuck to do now. Your eyes roamed the room for anything to do, anything to use, but aside from the shitty lamp and the blood-stained wrench, the room was stark. Your eyes finally met back up with Jerome, still smiling through the pain like the psychopath you knew and loved, and staring up at you through bruised, half-shut eyelids.

“You can beat me all you want boys, the harder you hit, the harder I get” he whooped, snorting and spitting a glob of blood and mucus onto the floor beside him. His spirit made you laugh, knowing that not only is he riling everybody up with his shit talk, but he’s not really lying about enjoying it either.

“Alright then, if you’re not gonna crack, we’ll try our luck with the brat” came a voice from one of the men standing behind Jerome. You saw his face go from mild amusement to crippling fear to pure rage in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t you touch her! Don’t you fucking touch her! You’re here for me, leave her out of this!” he threatened through the layer of phlegm in his throat, wriggling around on the floor in vain.

“You said it yourself, clown, beatin’ on you ain’t gonna do shit. Beatin’ on her? Well, it looks like we’ve found the jester's weak spot” the goon retorted, grabbing a fistful of your hair to yank your head back, looking directly up at him. You could see the old, faded scars behind a layer of stubble and knew he definitely wasn’t all bark and no bite, but you refused to show any sign of weakness or fear, not even in the very shadows of your retinas. He released your hair and circled menacingly to face you, bending at the waist to look at you face to face.

“Try me, fucker” you spat, your bloodied drool spattering across his face with a grimace, “show me what you got.” The man wiped his face with his large palm, your blood now spread in a thin layer across his face, before he grabbed your jaw with the bloodied hand.

“I must admit, I like a girl who knows what she wants” he snarled at you, you could smell his foul breath laced with his venomous tone. You yanked your jaw from his grasp, a faint, bloody handprint residing on your face and the man laughed as he pulled back his fist and landed a solid blow to the side of your face with a crack. You swore you felt your brain rattle against your skull as your ears rang, but regardless, you continued to save face and recentered your head with another deep cackle.

“That was fun, do it again” you laughed with wild, wide eyes, and again, another blow to the other side of your face landed with no hesitation. A third blow, a fourth blow, and one to the nose for good measure. Your face was numb, beyond pain, but you still felt the bile rise from your stomach and the lacerations in your mouth continue to leak fresh blood.

Jerome watched on, his mouth loosely hanging open. At first he was terrified, worried sick that this time, fate had not worked in his favour. His lucky streak was finally over, the gods of chaos had finished clearing his path and this was their grand finale. A second pang of nausea hit as he realised just how fucking much he cared for you, so disgustingly out of character for him that his guts rearranged themselves at the thought. Instead, he focussed on how well you handled yourself, through all the abuse and violence, your sickly sweet smile was as present as ever. How the blood seeped from the sides of your smile, extending the lines like a fresh chelsea grin, and how it brought a similar smile to his own bloodied face. His laughter harmonised so sweetly with yours, just like the rumours had told of the mad king and queen of gotham, cackling all the way to hell.

The laughter soon subsided when it was interrupted by a guttural groan coaxed from the small knife that had found its way into your abdomen. Jerome saw your eyes water and glaze over, your head limply lulling forward in shock as silence filled the room, only the heavy breathing of the perpetrators able to be heard. It felt like the warm blood in his veins had been replaced with toxic ice water. He could feel the bile rise all the way from his stomach to the back of his throat, and how it burned swallowing it back down. ‘This is a final fuck you from the gods’, he thought, ‘they can fuck with me all they want, but they fucked with her. It’s fucking over.’ Jerome's eyelids fell shut below his rumpled brow as others watched on in anticipation. They could see the shadows dancing on your shoulders as they began to bounce up and down.

“Aw… is the princess crying?” the outlaw taunted, cocking his head to the side in false sympathy, “not so tough now, is she?”

The ruffian watched on as you slowly lifted your head up, smiling as he saw the glistening tears on your cheek. His face was soon wiped clean of any joy however, as he saw your smile, beaming from ear to ear, more twisted than he’d ever seen before. Jerome opened his eyes to assess the silence, and felt the air swiftly leave his lungs when he saw the sadistic, devilish grin plastered on your face which ushered a smile of his own.

“You just messed with the wrong bitch, bitch” you rasped, the mischief flickering madly behind your eyes. Despite your attachment to the chair, you used your feet to stand up and launch head first into the man screaming, landing you both to the floor with a thud as the cheap wooden chair smashed to splinters across the floor, your body splayed on top of his stocky one. Unable to use your hands, you bit down hard into the man's neck, and after thrashing your head from left to right, you jerked back quickly with a joyous growl, spitting a chunk of flesh across the room as your smile now dripped with another man’s blood. Jerome watched on with pure adoration in his eyes and in his heart, so entranced with his beloved showing their true colours, unquestionably, you were his animal.

As another man approached you, you quickly slammed your back against the floor and launched your feet upwards, straight into his groin with a force so strong it kept him down for the count. You managed to free your hands from the shitty rope, no time to sooth the broken, irritated skin as you took on a third henchman. You jumped on his back like a child and slung your left arm around his neck, holding it tight with your right. He flailed and spun around the room to throw you off, your grip was tight enough to hold on, but not nearly enough to choke him out.

“Jesus christ you guys really are hard to strangle” you hacked, opting instead to poke your index and middle finger deep into his eyes and hop off as he too met his fate on the concrete floor to cradle his wounds. One of the thugs grabbed you from behind in a similar chokehold as the last one stalked towards you menacingly. You gripped his large forearm, nails digging deep into the flesh to try and pry him off you to no avail. You could see the stars form in the corners of your vision and the ringing slowly pounding your eardrums, coughing and sputtering as you shot the man in front of you a venomous, deadly glare.

“You, little bitch, are more trouble than you're worth” he snarled, pulling a switchblade from the clip on his belt with a flick. You felt a rush of adrenaline pump itself through your system as your weak knees found their strength once again. As the man slowly stalked towards you, you leveraged your neck just enough space to take one final deep breath. Unanticipatedly, your hand grasped the hilt of the knife, still wedged deep inside your torso, and with a scream you released it from it’s fleshy abode. You quickly flipped it between your fingers and jabbed it backwards over and over again until the hairy arms released you from their grip with another thud.

“Fuck you” you deadpanned at the remaining thug, swiftly sweeping the knife from left to right as it cut deep into his neck. And again, with a gurgle, he hit the floor.

Silently, you trudged over to Jerome who had his eyes keenly trained on you, flicking back and forth between your face and the oozing wound on your torso. You knelt down with a hiss and cut his wrists free from their binds, dropping the knife to the floor with a clink as soon as you were sure he was able to untangle himself, and sat back, staring off into space with weary eyes. Jerome quickly freed himself and scrambled to kneel in between your now outstretched legs.

Without a word between you, Jerome slithered his hands through you hair as his lips met yours and you tasted his own blood. You felt his tongue try to plunge it’s way into your mouth and you cordially welcomed it with a soft whimper. You could feel Jerome was holding back, he wasn’t the most gentle person in the world and he always got what he wanted, but he knew you were hurt and he didn’t want to exacerbate the damage.

“Where’d you learn to do that pumpkin?” he asked, hungrily looking you up and down, only faltering for a moment to assess the damage done to you.

“I’m the fucking queen of gotham, honey” you laughed lowly. Although you were beyond exhausted, somehow Jerome always managed to conjure that playful spark in you. He placed a long kiss behind your ear as he flung your arm around his shoulders and carefully helped you up, peppering kisses down your neck as you made your way out of the building in each other's arms.

“I think after all that badassery and heroics, my baby definitely deserves a reward. Whadda ya want pumpkin?” he planted a kiss on the corner of your mouth, remnants of a smirk still hiding in the creases.

“After saving your ginger ass? You owe me a lotta head”

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.

[goddess-of-graphite]

I actually wrote some stuff for this idea too but didn’t get far so I’m releasing what I’ve got out into the wild and if any y’all wanna adopt it go nuts

It comes in two flavours: outsider pov where everything is very cryptid horror, and slice-of-life almost with team phantom-turned-red hood

Thus:

Did you know?

They say the Devil has taken up residency in Crime Alley.

He runs the gangs, now - cowed them into following him Or Else. He brought the bosses low with threat and blood and death, keeps the underlings on strict leashes. There are Rules to follow, now - don’t touch the working girls, don’t sell to kids, don’t be an abusive fuckhead.

He calls himself Red Hood, when he bothers to refer to himself at all. There are still people who remember when the Joker went by that name, and they’ve already tried making a ruckus. Hood put it down fast enough, says he’s owed a whole lot more than a name from Joker but he’s still waiting to collect.

He’s not alone. The Four follow in his wake, the generals of his operation. They go where he tells them, comes when he calls. They’re not human, for all that they pretend at it, and they don’t have names that anyone can tell. People have taken to calling them after the Horsemen.

Plague is the facsimile of a woman, clothed head to toe in black, whatever face they have obscured by a plague doctor’s mask. She can cause illness with just a touch, claws sharp as needles, and leaves belladonna flowers behind as calling cards.

Famine is less physically imposing, face a gaunt mask of wilted tan and faded paints, but they make up for it in the devastation they bring; routing supply lines, draining coffers, starving gangs of food and money and product. Famine’s influence is a slow drain, chipping away bit by little bit at the foundations of a group, the pillars with which they rely on to survive in the long run.

War wears a skull still glistening wetly with blood, a banner of crimson strands drifting in their wake from the back of their head. They are tall, at least seven feet but most assuredly more, and broad enough to fill any doorway they decide to loom in. War is most partial to Hood - they follow him everywhere, and he seems to hold them in special regard. People whisper that well of course the devil courts war - he is to bring the greatest of wars down upon us, aims to shake the earth until heaven falls down.

Death is the last, only ever seen in the corner of your eyes. Some say they are monstrous, others ethereally beautiful; the truth is, no one ever sees Death until it’s too late.

(Danny stares down the Joker and tells him, “I won’t kill you”. The clown laughs and calls him a baby bat in the making, but Danny just smiles a terrible, awful smile full of needle-sharp teeth and says, “Why would I let you off so easily, when there are so many worse things I can do to you?”

Intangibility can be so very versatile, if properly applied. The Joker can live without a couple of his major bones, after all, and he’s sure Cujo would enjoy something to chew on.)

��——

They leave most of their ghost shit back in Amity Park when they go to Gotham.

The Trio is freshly graduated. Jay would have been eighteen if not for the six months he was dead. Jazz is nineteen and already applied for college - Gotham U, because none of them could convince her to go somewhere else to study psychology  other than the city with the most instances of supervillains with doctorates.

Val stays behind. She’s found a purpose in hero-ing in Amity Park, taking care of both rowdy ghosts and the much rarer human criminals. She’s considering going to university in Elmerton after a gap year - just to make sure the lowered spectral activity isn’t a fluke.

Meanwhile, Jason introduces the rest of Team Phantom to Gotham with an uncharacteristic nervousness. They want to see where he grew up, they want to see the city he still loves with all his heart, and he knows that no matter what they would never judge him for his origins but… the thought lingers.

He’s scared of what they’ll think of his city. He knows, okay? He knows Gotham is a nightmare even on the good days, but it’s his home and he has missed it; smog and pollution and gunshots in the middle of the night and all.

He hasn’t been back since Danny lifted him out of his grave. There’s a new taste to the air, a citrus acidity he has learned to associate with ectoplasm. Maybe it has always been there and he couldn’t tell before he died and came back.

The city tastes of death in a familiar way. Darker and subtler than it was in Amity, but recognisable all the same.

Crime Alley hadn’t changed much. The gang territories are different than he remembers, there’s a few new faces and a few old ones missing, but most of the buildings he remembers are still standing and the patterns of the criminals are the same as always.

They settle into a shitty three room apartment and start making preparations. Jazz brings out what Jason has affectionately been calling the murder board, though there is little (if any) murder involved in the plan.

They don’t want to kill anybody, not really - not when they already know what can come after. No sense making their problems permanent, right? But making other people believe they can and will is an important part of the plan.

Beyond that, well…

There are plenty of things worse than death.

Tucker sinks his claws into bank accounts and digital archives, anything run on electricity and with an internet connection. He monitors situations from afar, when he can, and when he can’t he arms himself with EMPs and gadgets and a mask packed with tech, made to look like the face of a pharaoh’s sarcophagus. He ensures each of them have enough information to fulfil their missions - and to come home safe. He is never more than a call away.

Sam pours her focus into plants and poisons and subterfuge, delving deeper into the dark and macabre and pulling whatever will be useful to the surface. She leans into the creep factor, using tricks and careful plans to manipulate the situation to her favour. She strikes only when she is certain of victory, and if such a thing is not within her grasp she will make it so. People are so scared of the unknown, of the the things they don’t understand, of what lurks in the dark, and Sam has committed to taking full and ruthless advantage of it.

Jazz decides to be the obvious threat. With her stature, it is easy to intimidate; with her armour, she is difficult to take down. She’s capable of using (and in fact much prefers) weapons that require finesse, like the whip, but the weapon she presents as her primary is a sword - a great, two-handed thing, heavy and impossible to hide. She uses the sound of it being drawn to indicate displeasure in front of those who don’t know better, and it cows the criminal element well. She does not talk, because she knows herself and that nothing else would give her away so easily, but that works in her favour - her silence is as intimidating as her height or her sword. (And people love to talk, love nothing more than to fill silence - and that, too, is very useful.)

Danny remains invisible and intangible, most of the time. Whatever gaps Tucker’s web leaves, he is there to fill them, undetected and watchful. He shows himself instead in little ways: the sudden chill in a windowless room, the sense of someone watching, the subtle whisper of movement in a still warehouse, the lengthening shadows that pool just outside the light of the street lamps. He likes it better this way, relieved not to be the centre of attention, no longer the first line of defence, the leading hand in an attack. He likes the creeping dread he inspires in those he watches, in the same way he used to enjoy watching a prank unfold. He embraces his spookiness.

As for Jason, well.

He makes no effort to hide his hatred for the Joker. The people of the Alley know he has a vendetta against the clown, if not precisely why. But he waits patiently for an opportunity, because he may despise the Joker but he cares about the Alley more, and the people here are his first priority.

He was a Robin, once - because he wanted to help, because he saw people in need and wanted desperately to do something. Now, he is Red Hood for similar reasons.

He makes life better, easier, kinder for the people of the Alley, and pays retribution to those who would prey on them. 

And he waits for the day he can take retribution for a boy murdered in a warehouse.

Had a fun idea where, for whatever reason (Clockwork. Of course it’s Clockwork), Jason ends up in Amity after digging himself out of his grave and finds himself as part of Team Phantom (because, y’know, dead guys gotta stick together) and eventually he takes the Trio and Jazz back to Gotham with him to do the Red Hood thing sans heads-in-a-duffel-bag (because why would he want to make his problems permanent by turning them into ghosts). So they’re all crime lords/vigilantes/Spooky Bastards.

They're like a proto version of The Outlaws.