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one-idea · 10 months ago

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Spades in Thriller Bark part 2

The fight with Ora and the arrival of Kuma

Moria joins Ora

Moria tells them that if they win he will release all the shadows.

Zoro send Usopp to go get more salt and Moria tells Ora to destroy the door and Usopp. Chopper and Deuce take off after Usopp, he’s going to need a doctor after a hit like that

But the hit doesn’t land as Brook arrives just in time to save Usopp and bring them enough salt to win

The fight continues on but with Moria there they are struggling more than ever. He turned their attacks against them, being able to fire back anything they throw at him.

Franky

Usopp launches Franky at Ora only for Frabky to get knocked back down to earth. Nami shows up just in time to save him but when Ora attacks her it reveals that Ora can now stretch like Luffy.

Franky has been taken out of the fight.

Brook and Skull

Brook asks for them to launch him next. They do so firing him like and arrow. Nami using her clim-a-tact to give him an electric charge. The attack lands but puts Brook in an awful position.

Skull runs over to help the bone man only for both of them to be hit by Ora. They are down and out of the fight.

Robin and Mihar

Robin realizing that if she attacks Moria then Ora can’t stretch does so. Mihar realizing her plan lines a shot uo with Moria and takes it. The shot hits the warlord dead on.

For a second they believe that they have won.

But then Moria appears behind Robin and Mihar. He slaps Mihar away taking him out of the fight and steals robins Shadow, knocking her out.

Chopper, Sanji, Zoro, and Deuce

Chopper approaches Deuce while all of this was happening and the two doctors get to work on examining Ora’s body while Moria is distracted. They yell out their findings to the others. Realizing that the body, while expertly repaired, is still damaged and they might be able to permanently break it. If they can hit it in the right spots.

Ora moves to crush the two doctors. Chopper shapeshifts into a smaller size to escape. Deuce grabs a lock of the giants hair and uses it to swing to the other side.

Chopper then leads the charge and Sanji jumps up to help him. They hit Ora’s shoulder hard, but not hard enough. The giant jumps into the air and attacks the two of them, finishing them off.

Zoro tells Usopp to get ready. That he would make an opening. He attacks with all that he has and makes a pretty good dent. But it’s not enough Moria still lands a devastating blow to Zoro, taking him out of the fight.

At the same time the movement causes Deuce to lose his grip sending him flying. But he’s able to see Usopp shooting salt into Ora’s mouth. ‘At least it’s over.’ He thinks as he’s sent hurtling away from the castle and braces to hit the ground. This is going to kill him.

Except someone catches him.

With Ace and Luffy.

Both Ace and Luffy had chased after Moria. But the man is tricky and was able to split them up. Luffy chasing after Moria’s shadow while Ace tracked Moria.

Ace was about to catch up with the man. Moria had made his way back into the castle and Ace was right on his heals. Only to come face to face with Kuma.

Kuma had just finished his meeting with Moria, turned to see Ace. He told Moria he would take care of Whitebeard’s commander, Moria could focus on the straw hats.

Ace is furious. Why is there another warlord here and why is he helping Moria to destroy Luffy’s crew? It doesn’t matter, he’d fight anyone to keep his brother and their friends safe. He’s trusting Luffy and the crew to handle Moria. He’ll handle Kuma.

It’s a brutal fight. Kuma can’t touch Ace (he could with Haki but the man’s not trying to hard) but he’s also too fast for Ace to burn. It’s a stalemate.

Well not totally as Kuma is pushing Ace further from the castle.

While they are fighting he tells Ace something that will haunt him. “Blackbeard said he used to be under your command.”

“How do you know Teach?” Ace asked enraged. But he was trying to cover his fear. If Teach showed up now he has no idea what they would do. They were already spread so thin between two warlords.

“He was just inducted as a warlord.” Kuma reveals making Ace’s world halts. No. This can’t be. Ace knew Teach was trying to impress the government by killing Luffy, but he hadn’t thought that this would be his goal. And if this was his end goal, who did he get instead of Luffy? What did he do to get that title?

He’s about to ask when he hears screaming coming from above. He looks up just in time to see Deuce hurtling through the air. He doesn’t think before he flys up to catch his best friend.

Deuce opens his eyes to find that he didn’t hit the ground. No he’s very much still in the air. But this time he’s up in the air because Ace is holding him tightly in his arms.

Deuce looks up to see his captain (because Ace will always be his captain) haloed by his own flames. His freckled face close to Deuce’s own, asking if Deuce is okay, while holding him in a bridal carry.

Deuce, who prides himself on his words, for he is a writer after all, has no words to speak.

He is saved from having to respond by Kuma jumping up to hit them. Ace cuts off his own flame causing them to fall and avoid Kuma’s attack. Once they land they hear a loud boom coming from the castle.

Nightmare Luffy has arrived. Kuma turns his attention towards that fight and almost hums. “It seems Moria and Strawhat have finally clashed.” He then turns to Ace and Deuce. “Another time.” He says before disappearing.

Ace tenses until he realizes that Kuma is gone. Then he realizes the only place Kuma would go was towards Luffy. He picks Deuce back up and the two shoot off towards the fight. Deuce quickly trying to catch Ace up with what has been happening.

They get there just as all the shadows leave Nightmare Luffy. It’s a disturbing image to walk in on but at least Luffy is okay. And they are together to face one of the two warlords currently on the island.

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 2 years ago

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My Sweetest Downfall - Chapter Six

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Work Summary:

Eddie’s back from the Upside Down, but things aren’t exactly how he left them. Hawkins is in pieces, his friends are scattered and the love of his life is… pregnant?

Eddie Munson x Harrington!Reader

Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 Epilogue

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3326

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye @eddiesgirlforever @harrys-tittie @munsonmoonshine86

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

warnings for medical stuff, pregnancy stuff, allusions to King Steve, bullying, drug mentions, choking, mind control, violence

---

~ TWO MONTHS EARLIER ~

You were in a car again, driving to a clinic, although under much better circumstances than last time, because Steve was behind the wheel. You were going to find out your baby’s gender today.

After the stunt your parents tried to pull, Steve had taken you over to Hopper and Joyce’s place. You had stayed with Joyce and the kids, while Hop, Steve and Jonathan, as well as Hopper’s Russian friend Dmitri, went back to your house to talk to your parents.

None of them would tell you what happened, just that your parents were leaving town again. You couldn’t help but be grateful.

The two of you had stayed the night (Steve taking the couch, you commandeering Will’s room while Will shared with Eleven) and when you went home the next day, your parents were long gone.

With your parents gone, and unlikely to be coming back any time soon, you and Steve made a decision. You would stay at your parents’ house for a few more months, just to give you time to save up some extra money, since your parents were undoubtedly about to cut you off.

You had picked up some part-time secretarial work at the police station, while Steve took on more Family Video shifts.

Once he’d told Robin about your plan to move out, she had decided to throw her lot in with you as well. That was good. Splitting rent three ways was cheaper than two, and she’d be able to help out once the baby came.

It was strange. Your baby was becoming more and more real by the minute. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would look like, but every time you pictured it, you could only see Eddie’s face. You wondered how you would bear it.

What if you couldn’t care for your baby because looking at it only reminded you of your grief? Or worse, what if your baby looked nothing like Eddie, and over time every memory of his face faded?

“Are you okay?” asked Steve, making you jump. The car was parked in the parking lot of the clinic – your clinic, not the one your parents had taken you to – and Steve was watching you with concern.

You swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, we don’t wanna be late, but we can talk about it after, if you want? I’ll buy you lunch?” he offered, as if he wasn’t paying for all your food anyway. He insisted that all the money you were earning should be for you to spend on yourself and the baby.

“That sounds nice.”

The nurse bustled into the examination room, where you were already settled, lying back on the bed with your tummy exposed. She was an older woman, with a kind face.

“Hello dear, my name is Laura. I need to ask you a few questions before we get started.” She glanced at Steve, who was sitting in the chair beside you. “Is this the father?”

“No,” you both said, very quickly.

“I’m her brother,” said Steve, at the same time that you said, “The father is…” You trailed off, feeling your eyes begin to sting.

You cleared your throat awkwardly. “The father is dead. He died shortly after the baby was conceived.”

The nurse gave you a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry. The earthquakes?” You swallowed, and nodded. “Well, I don’t want to make this any more traumatic for you than it needs to be, so I’ll try to be quick about it.”

She took a brief medical history from you, filling out information on a clipboard. You answered robotically, wanting to get to the important part.

“Alright, this is going to feel quite cold. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Despite her warning, you winced as the cool gel was spread over your bump. As she pressed the ultrasound wand to your tummy, you looked at Steve, but he was staring at the screen.

There was your baby. It looked like a peanut. The nurse pointed out the baby’s head to you, but you couldn’t respond. Your mouth was too dry.

“And do you want to know the baby’s sex?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She examined the image on the screen, shifting the wand slightly. “It looks like you’re having a little baby girl.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You looked at Steve, and saw that he was crying.

“A girl,” you breathed, picturing a child with long dark curls and big brown eyes. Steve squeezed your hand, letting out a shaky laugh. Tears were rolling down your cheeks, and you weren’t even trying to wipe them away anymore.

The first time that you ever interacted with Eddie Munson, you were in your sophomore year.

You were the polar opposite of your brother. He was cool, and popular, and had a different girl hanging off his arm every week. You were dorky and shy, and the mean girls in your class could smell blood in the water from a mile away.

You had just closed your locker and turned to walk to your next class when a foot caught around your ankle, sending you headlong, your books flying out of your hands. From behind you, you could hear your bullies tittering as they walked away.

Your knees stung where they had scraped along the floor. As you started to gather up your books, you couldn’t seem to get your hands to move fast enough. The idea of going to your next class, of having to sit in front of those girls, filled you with dread.

It wasn’t as if you had many friends at high school. You were quiet and nerdy and kept to yourself. Steve, who had always been there to protect you throughout your childhood, was distant now. He was almost an adult, and he didn’t have time to hang out with his kid sister.

You’d probably cramp his style anyway. As you began stuffing your textbooks into your bag, a pair of scruffy sneakers entered your line of sight.

“You okay?” came a voice from above you. You looked up into the eyes of Eddie Munson, local drug dealer and drop-out waiting to happen. Or least, that’s what people said.

“I, uh… Yeah.” Your voice cracked embarrassingly, and you realised you were about ten seconds away from bursting into tears.

Eddie held out his hand to you, and you let him help you to your feet.

“It’s Harrington, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. And you’re Eddie Munson.”

He flashed you a grin. “I see my reputation precedes me. But what is a goody two shoes like you still doing here? Aren’t you gonna be late for class?” He drummed his fingers against a locker. He seemed unable to keep still.

You blew out some air from between your lips. You were already late, and the thought filled you with an anxiety that hit you like pain in the chest. The image of your bully sneering at you as you stumbled in, five minutes late, was unbearable. “Fuck going to class. The bitch who tripped me is in that class.”

Eddie’s eyes widened mischievously. “In that case, I know a spot that none of the teachers know about. You wanna hang out?”

You looked at him. He was smiling at you, but there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes. You realised that he was putting himself out on a limb here.

“Fuck it. Lead the way.”

His eyes glinted as he beckoned you to follow him.

That evening, you’d had to take the bus home, because Steve was hanging out with his asshole friends after school. You didn’t mind it. It was nice to have the house to yourself. Hanging out with your brother wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

It was after 11pm by the time he got home. You were eating pizza while watching a movie. He stopped in the doorway and regarded you.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, and he sighed.

“Tommy said he saw you walking into the woods with Eddie Munson earlier.”

Your heart sank. “And?”

Steve bit his lip. “I’m not telling you what to do, but be careful, alright? That guy is bad news. And he’s way too old to be hanging out with you anyway.” You scoffed, but Steve continued. “I’m serious, okay? The guy’s a freak.”

“He’s really nice, actually,” you snapped back at him. “I’m done with this conversation.”

You had never been happier to prove Steve wrong. Eddie was never anything short of a gentleman to you. He was almost too much of a gentleman.

It took a few months for you to realise that you were developing a bit of a crush on Eddie Munson. By that point, you hung out all the time, getting high and avoiding doing homework.

You got the sense that he was holding you at arm’s length. He would never sit too close to you, would never touch you if he could avoid it.

At the time, you had assumed he just didn’t like you that way, but in retrospect, it was probably because he was two years older than you.

You had no idea that he might’ve felt in any way the same as you did until that one night at Reefer Rick’s. You had a feeling that Steve had known before you had.

“I just don’t like you hanging around with him,” he’d said one evening after Eddie had dropped you off in his van.

“Oh, so now you care?” you’d snapped back at him, and he’d flushed.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “We’re just friends.”

“Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know what guys are like. I’m just trying to look out for you, okay?”

“If you got your way, I wouldn’t have any friends at all.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he’d said, but you were done having the conversation. You’d stormed off up to your room and slammed the door behind you.

But Steve now was nothing like Steve then. He was still protective of you, but he was kinder. Maturity, grief, and the years of being an unwilling babysitter had softened his sharp edges.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked you. Again, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, except this time you were in the parking lot of the motel that Wayne Munson was staying in. It was two days since you’d found out you were having a baby girl, and in those two days, you had realised that Wayne deserved an opportunity to be a part of that little girl’s life.

You liked Wayne plenty, although you barely knew him. He was always civil and courteous to you, but you knew from Eddie that he was a whole lot more than that. Eddie idolised him. You knew that Eddie would want Wayne in his daughter’s life.

You looked down at the photocopy of the sonogram that showed your baby girl.

“I already told him that I’m pregnant on the phone. That was the hard part,” you said.

Steve squeezed your shoulder. “I’m here with you.”

Wayne met you in front of his motel room. There was a moment’s hesitation from both of you, but you decided to hug him. He smelled clean, like soap and a trace of engine oil.

It was a warm evening, so the three of you sat at a little picnic table on a patch of grass beside the parking lot. Before any of you could speak, you slid the photocopy of the sonogram across the table to Wayne.

“I want you to have this,” you said as he picked it up. “The first picture of my baby girl.”

“A girl, huh?” Wayne wiped his eyes on a handkerchief, and you tactfully didn’t acknowledge the fact that he was crying. “Have you thought of any names for her yet? I know it’s early days.”

You hesitated. You hadn’t even told Steve what you wanted to name the baby.

“Melody,” you said. “Because Eddie was a musician.” Was. It still stung to say.

“Little Melody,” Wayne mused. A smile flickered across his face. “I like it.”

~ PRESENT DAY ~

Eddie released you and you sucked in a breath, your hands flying to your throat.

“Let go! Let go of her!” shouted Lucas, pulling on his arm. Eddie may have been bigger, but Lucas was athletic. Now that Eddie was no longer resisting, Lucas was able to drag him off you.

Your hands were covering your neck, mercifully hiding the bruises he knew were forming. His stomach was churning hard.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

You looked back at him, your eyes wet with tears, and Eddie’s heart shattered into a million pieces. He’d hurt you. He’d never meant to hurt you, but he had.

Dimly, he realised Dustin was yelling into the microphone attached to the switchboard, trying to get someone to help.

“I’m coming,” came Steve’s voice. “I never should’ve left her alone.”

“Steve, no-” Your voice came out weak, and you coughed. Instinctively, Eddie reached for you to comfort you, but pulled back suddenly, realising you may not want his comfort right now. Pushing yourself up using the coffee table, you went over to the switchboard and commandeered the mic. “Steve?”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“Don’t come here,” you said. “Stick to the plan.”

“But-”

“Look, whatever just happened, happened because Vecna wanted it to. He’s trying to draw you away. Don’t give him what he wants.”

“Screw Vecna, I just need to know that you’re okay.”

You turned and looked at Eddie. There was a burning sensation in his chest, like shame he had never felt before. The evidence of violence – unwilling as it had been – was written into the bruises on your neck. If there was anything he could do to fix this, he would.

“Vecna isn’t controlling him right now.”

“But what’s to stop him from doing it again?”

“Tie me up,” Eddie cut in. You looked at him, wide-eyed. “I can’t hurt you if I’m tied up.”

“What if you need to fight?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“It’s too risky. I can’t hurt you. I won’t. Please. Just tie me up.”

You swallowed. “Okay.” You turned back to the microphone. “We’re gonna tie Eddie up.”

“I heard.” The disapproval in Steve’s voice was evident.

“Please, just…” You took a deep breath. “Please just stick to the plan, okay? We’ve got to do this on our terms, not Vecna’s.”

There was a long pause, and then Steve sighed. “Fine.”

Fortunately, Hopper had anticipated the need to keep someone incapacitated. There were a couple of sets of handcuffs, as well as a closet with a sturdy, lockable door.

Eddie held out his hands to you so that you could cuff him. You decided to cuff his hands in front of him rather than behind, for his comfort. In spite of everything, you didn’t want to hurt him.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured to you as he walked into the closet, almost too quiet for you to hear.

You cleared your throat, which still stung. “Not your fault.”

“Still.” He swung around to look at you, a pleading look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. Not just for this.” He gestured at your neck. “For all of it. Dying. Leaving you. Hurting you. I never wanted any of that for you.”

“You didn’t die,” you said, wiping away a few stray tears. You’d taken a couple of cushions from the sofa, so you busied yourself arranging them, and then set a bottle of water on the floor for him.

“I think I did. I don’t know what I am now.” You could only stare at him. There was a long pause, and then he said, “you should probably close the door. Before… you know…”

“Right.”

You were just about to close the door when he said, “Wait.” You hesitated, and immediately regretted it when he lunged at you, a sickening grin on his face.

You slammed the closet door just in time to hear him collide with it and then curse loudly. Eddie was gone. Vecna had him again.

From the living room, you heard shouting. Your fingers were trembling as you locked the closet using the three deadbolts Hopper had installed.

“Come on, baby,” Eddie whined, sounding so unlike himself. “I just wanna have fun. Can’t we have fun?”

“Get out of his head,” you hissed.

“I love you, you know that?” You stopped in your tracks. “You’re my dream girl. I’ve been in love with you for years.” Your heart was hammering in your chest. These weren’t Eddie’s words, as much as you wanted them to be.

Footsteps were rushing towards you. Dustin was calling your name. You turned to see him looking frantic. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Will. And Max. They- They’re-”

Blood ice cold in your veins, you sprinted past him, back into the living room. To your horror, the front door was wide open. You ran to close it, but Dustin blocked you.

“Will ran out there. Mike followed him.”

“Shit.” You rushed to the door and looked outside, but it was pitch dark. “Why did he do that?” Shadows danced in between the trees, too fast for you to make out.

“He was in some kind of trance, and-”

Lucas shouted your name. You had to resist the urge to put your hands over your ears.

“I need your help,” he shouted. The terror in his voice made you turn around. He was holding Max, but her body was limp, her eyes rolled back into her head. You saw that he had put her headphones on.

“Let’s get her into the bedroom,” you said. The bedroom had been prepared as a last resort. It was where the weapons were, and was even more heavily fortified than the rest of the cabin. “Close the door, but keep watch for Mike and Will. Don’t do anything without me,” you said to Dustin and Erica.

Between you, you and Lucas managed to lift Max into her wheelchair, wheel her into the bedroom and manoeuvre her onto the bed. You checked that her music was still playing, and thankfully, it was. You hoped against hope that it would still work.

From next door, you heard a huge, horrifying crash. Everything was happening so fast, and despite being surrounded by people, you had never felt so alone.

“Stay with her,” you said to Lucas, although you knew that there wasn’t a force on this earth that could tear him away from her now.

The living room was carnage, even worse than how you’d just left it. You almost tripped over a sofa cushion on the ground. Dustin was lying in the shattered remains of the switchboard, and Erica was trying to hold the front door shut by herself.

There was a strange hissing, and then you realised what Erica was trying to hold off. Trapped with its head in the doorframe, its body outside, was a demodog. It was trying to wrap its head around her legs, and she was kicking at it ineffectually.

Something slammed into the door hard, almost knocking Erica off balance. That snapped you into action.

You ran to her side and grabbed the baseball bat that was by the front door. You brought down the bat with all your strength on the creature’s head, and then continued beating it until its head slipped back through the gap.

Adding your strength to Erica’s, you shoved the door back into place. You held it shut while she fumbled with all the locks, and at last, it stopped shaking.

“What happened?” you asked, out of breath.

“Eddie,” she said, her big eyes shiny with tears. “He escaped.”

Next Chapter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x harrington!reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x sister!reader

105 notes · View notes

apollo-likes-writing · 10 days ago

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FEBUWHUMP DAY 1: Vocal Chords

Character(s): Sunday, Gopher Wood, Robin (mentioned)

Summary: Sunday's voice has always had some peculiar power behind it. Those around him become more lenient to his suggestions after listening to his commands. Gopher Wood is not amused.

Word count: 2,509 words

Tags: Whump, Febuwhump, prompt challenge, abuse, domestic abuse, surgery, mentions of medical practicss

Author's note: I accidentally posted this on the 7th of January after a missclick and I genuinely nearly cried. Had to redo this whole thing lol. In other news, I yapped too close to the sun and 800 words became 2.5k whoops.

Also, I hate Gopher Wood. If he has a million haters I'm one of them. If he has a thousand haters I'm one of them. If he has one hater that's me. If he has no haters it's because I'm dead.

@febuwhump

Main Masterlist | Febuwhump Masterlist

The power of one's voice is an exceedingly powerful instrument. One that, when used correctly, can change the course of history for an entire planet. The combination of dozens of powerful voices can be the making of either a beautiful gospel choir or chaotic dissonance between what is known and unknown. It took far too long for Sunday to distinguish a difference.

The Harmony and the Order are two different beings though are incredibly similar. One commands symphonies of equality, the other dictates peaceful compliance. Depending on your world view, one can both be just as inviting as the other. Sunday was raised under the divine choir of the Harmony, then gave his voice and power to the Order to ensure peace for everyone. Seven rest days and all that.

Robin was always the musician out of the two siblings. Her voice had transcended the material plane at a young age and reached a paramount; one that exceeds that which is the limitations of the Family. That instrument in her throat is ubiquitous. Omnipresent. It has followed Sunday through his entire childhood and beyond, even after Robin splayed her wings and took flight for the cosmos.

That said, Sunday can hold a note or two as well.

As young children, the two young Halovians would sing together; like two doves trapped in the same cage. They would tweet and chirp about all manners of things: their favourite teddy bears or a pair of mice they saw in the pantry or a plate of dinner they particularly disliked. All would be subject for their song.

Halovians have a knack for their silver tongues and beautiful voices. Sunday learned that, unlike his sister, his vocal chords would be better utilised for command. He found his joy in conducting instead of simply being a member of the band. A simple hum from his chest would cause the violin to start playing and invisible fingers to tap the keys of the grand piano. A high-pitched whistle from his lips would make the trumpet toot tunes and the oboe play low and rhythmically. For his throat to hold a note for a few seconds would result in an entire unmanned orchestra to play magnificent pieces of art, floating in the air as if they were held aloft by unseen masterful instrumentalists.

He found that, strangely enough, this worked on people as well.

When he and Robin were first taken in by their adoptive father, Sunday found that the servants and maids would be more lenient if he refused to go to sleep or if he wished for a sneaky extra slice of cake after dessert. He also found that the footmen turned a blind eye when he told them not to tell Gopher Wood that he had snuck out of bed to visit his sister, despite their alleged loyalties and promises of honesty.

Sunday simply assumed it was because of his position as future head of the Oak Family that he got away with so much. It was only in the middle of his adolescence that he realised the truth behind it all.

It happened when he was fifteen. He was training to be the Confessor of the Oak Family at the time, and spent many hours in the confessional listening to the sins of the guilty day in and day out. He was on his way home from his studies and asked his escort to leave him to his thoughts, and so they did.

He was strolling along the pavement near Clock Studios Theme Park when a brutish man approached him with a dagger in his hands. He stunk of sickly sweet alcoholic SoulGlad and sewage, and he stumbled towards Sunday with an utterly enraged expression on his face. Nowadays the Oak Family head can't remember what the man was demanding of him, but he knows it wasn't anything of benefit for Sunday.

With each staggered step the piggish man came closer to Sunday until the young boy was pressed up against a brick wall. The thug was a foot away from him when the Halovian finally found his voice.

“Stop!”

The man stopped. The knife that was once raised and ready to strike was now held calmly at his side. The young Sunday, baffled, continued.

“Go away!”

The man went away.

It was only when the large lump of a man turned the corner and disappeared from sight that Sunday released a harsh breath that he was holding. It was on that day that the boy realised the power of his own voice, and he vowed not to use it against another person again.

That was until the Order came to power. The Aeon gave him unimaginable strength through the use of the Harmonious Choir and the Great Septimus. It is quite ironic looking back at it. The use of a harmonious thing while forsaking its very namesake that gave Sunday purpose. He used his ability to control the minds of many. It sickened him, but he was told it was for the greater good.

He knows now that this whole ordeal was Gopher Wood's fault. He was the one who wished to revitalise Ena the Order in the first place, and he was the one who groomed Sunday into carrying out his dirty work for him.

Fighting the Nameless was not something he wished to do, yet he did it anyway because Gopher Wood told him to. His father. His master. He had never failed him until that moment. His lapse in judgement caused the fracture between his Sweet Dream and reality, and so he failed. Spectacularly so.

So, after all that exposition, this is where he stands - or rather, kneels - with Gopher Wood's gloved hand crushing his windpipe.

“I gave you a task, Sunday. A complex task, yes, but not an impossible one. Yet you failed.”

Sunday's own hands are gripped tightly around the wrist of the Dreammaster. He wants to struggle, but he knows that to do so would result in harsher punishment. He opens his mouth to say something, but the only thing that leaves his throat is a strangled gurgle.

The Dreammaster continues. “What was it? Robin? Those fools from the Astral Express? They must have said something to you - convinced you to commit blasphemy of all things.” His hands tighten around Sunday's larynx and black spots begin to dance around his vision. Through eyes that begin to tear up, he looks at Gopher Wood from where he stands above him, visage a picture of pure rage.

Trying again, Sunday opens his mouth and attempts to speak. “I-I'm, I'm-.”

“‘I'm-, I'm-, I'm-,’” the man interrupts, high-pitched and mocking. He brings his head closer to Sunday's face. Inches away from each other, Wood scowls. “You're what, Sunday? Where's all that practiced eloquence, hm? Where are all those honeyed words you know I despise?”

With a surprising feat of strength, Gopher Wood lifts Sunday from his knees by his throat. He is raised so high his toes no longer touch the floor, and the realisation makes the younger Halovian panic further.

It's the Dreammaster who is the one looking up this time, an expression of pure disgust on his face. “You want to speak?” he asks, bringing Sunday closer again. Spit lands on the blue-haired man's cheek as the Dreammaster talks. “Go ahead. Speak.” With that, Sunday is suddenly weightless for about half a second as Wood throws him into the far wall of the Head's own office. His back smacks into a shelf of one of his bookcases before he falls onto the ground. Now on all fours, he coughs and heaves for an achingly long time. His lungs feel as if they're catching on fire, licks of flames scorching his trachea.

It takes an agonisingly long time for Sunday to stop hacking up his lungs as he regains oxygen. Once he does he looks up at Wood from where he hunches over on the floor, tears breaching the corners of his eyes. Mustering the strength he needs to speak, the younger man attempts to start talking.

“I'm sorry, Sir,” he pleads, voice shaky. With great effort, he leans back and sits on his calfs, the occasional aftershock of his coughing fit tearing through him.

“I'm sure you are, mutt,” Wood shoots back, biting off his pristine white gloves by the middle finger with his teeth. He folds them carefully and places them neatly on the large circular table in the centre of the room. Such a sight is not unfamiliar to Sunday, and the man freezes up from where he kneels.

The only time where the Dreammaster removes his gloves is when he is in need of getting his own hands dirty. An incredibly rare occurrence. Like Sunday, Gopher Wood is quite the clean freak, and would rather eat his own foot than dirty his clothes. To remove his gloves means that blood was to be spilt. This is a fact Sunday knows well, as he has seen such a phenomenon happen many times whenever he messes up. A streak of pure fear shoots through the Oak Head, and his eyes widen.

“Master- I- please don't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry- I won't mess up again please don't do this I'm so so sorry-”

His rambling is cut off abruptly by the Dreammaster raising a bare hand. “How many times have I taken your word for truth only for you to go back on it? You say you ‘won't mess up again’, but how can I trust that? You said that the last time; and the time before that, and the time before that. Why should I believe you'll change now?” Wood takes a singular step forward and Sunday, terrified, scrambles backwards on the floor. Another step, and a weak sob of inevitability escapes his throat. Another, and Sunday's back crashes against the bookcase again. It's only when Gopher Wood is directly above him that Sunday says a coherent word again.

“Stop!”

His master stops.

Sunday stares, mouth agape. Where Wood's hand was originally raised, readying for a strike, it now falls to his side loosely. The smaller man was acting purely on prey-like instinct. He didn't register the use of his own peculiar ability until it was too late.

He knows where this will land him and in a hurry he stumbles to his feet. Looking side-to-side for a moment, he considers his next action. Should he run for it? Should he attack Wood? He decides on the former and ducks out of the menacing but still figure of the older Halovian and begins to make his way towards the door of his office.

Or, at least, he tries to.

He travels a mere 3 feet before freezing fingers wrap around his wrist and yanks him backwards. Gopher Wood, now clearly out of his stupor, lifts Sunday painfully off the floor by his arm.

“You dare use that wretched power of yours against me, mutt?” he spits. “You know that it doesn't work well on me. I'm just as, if not more, in tune with the Harmony than you are.”

A pained shout leaves Sunday's throat as his arm is twisted cruelly. Tears fall freely now, and the younger man reverts to his pleading a second time. “I'm sorry sir- I didn't mean to. It was an instinct. I promise, master. I'm so sorr-”

He is then thrown into the wall again and the edge of the shelf thwacks against the back of his head. After that, the world around him promptly turns black.

–

When he awakens, he's in a surprisingly comfortable bed. A feathery pillow lies under his head and a thin weight rests on his torso - a blanket, he'd presume. His eyes remain closed though he strains his hearing to see if he can gather information about where he is. The beeping of some kind monitor reaches his senses and a soft murmuring is heard a distance away from where he lies.

His eyes crack open ever so slightly and he's met with a white ceiling and a blinding LED light blaring directly in his face. He squeezes his eyes shut again as he tries to block it out. The motion does not go unnoticed, as a voice next to him startles him out of his groggy torpor.

“Sunday.”

The tone and deepness of the voice scares him into a sudden sitting position. His head complains as pain bubbles around his skull, though that is pushed to the back of his mind as Sunday opens his eyes to see Gopher Wood sitting beside his bed, an overtly genial smile on his face.

It's then when he realises that he is in a hospital, the mutters now known to him as the general chatter of the members of staff outside his ward in the corridor.

The smaller Halovian opens his mouth to talk, but is stopped by a now-gloved hand. “Do not speak, Sunday, for it will only harm you further.”

The Oak Head closes his mouth, lips forming into a tight line as he fights the urge to furrow his brow. Was that a threat, or words of advice? Why was he in a hospital? The events occurred in the Dreamscape. After getting knocked out, he should have awoken back in his personal Dreampool back in the Reverie. What happened? Questions like these shift around his brain at rapid speeds. Wood allows his thoughts and fears to marinate for a few moments before speaking again.

“That pesky ability of yours was always annoying, don't you agree?”

Sunday snaps out of his stormy thoughts to look at his adoptive father with clarity now. He opens his mouth again, but shuts it firmly a second time as he wars with the thoughts in his mind.

“You are far too used to getting your own way. You have been since your childhood. Don't think I was unaware of you sneaking away to spend time with Robin in the dead of night. I knew. I always knew. I should've cracked down on your poor discipline when you were much younger,” Wood sighs. “Now look at you. You're an entitled brat. Did you know that?”

An anger begins to form in Sunday’s gut, twisting and curling around itself. To let his rage out has always been a bad idea, so he decides to school his complexion into curious neutrality.

“The surgeons did a wonderful job. I don't think there will even be a visible scar in six months. Truly brilliant work.”

His anger turns into confusion, and Sunday can't help but show his complete bafflement. The Dreammaster chuckles, rich and threatening.

“You still haven't caught on? Very well, I'll tell you. I took the liberty of surgically removing your vocal chords from your throat.”

Oh.

What?

Sunday lifts his hands to his throat, and the soft texture of clinical bandages meet his fingers. Confusion quickly turns into unadulterated horror.

“That pesky ability of yours is no more, and I don't have to hear your ceaseless whining. It's great, right?”

#febuwhump 2025 #febuwhump day 1 #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr #honkai: star rail #sunday hsr #gopher wood hsr #sunday #gopher wood #abuse #domestic abuse #tw abuse #tw domestic abuse #tw surgery

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fe-fictions · 2 years ago

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i remember seeing a piece in the FEH world where the MC was waiting for Kiran to summon their spouse from the same world as them and kept encountering alternate versions instead - i dont remember which character it was for but i rlly loved that concept :0 do u still have that one in ur archive/reposted? tysm :>>

(So that is actually a Frederick and Robin story!! And here it is for your reading pleasure :3 )

There were so many Robins.

Frederick had taken a psychological hit when Prince Alfonse had summoned him. He looked about and saw several familiar faces, though none were from his realm.

None of the Robins were his. One was unmarried and a monster on the battlefield; another was fresh from the Plegian War and looking optimistic as ever, but clearly liked someone else. Another still was married to another Chrom, which was even more heartbreaking.

He was lost, and alone. The battles went well, but weren’t enough. The man heaved a sigh, leaning against a tree outside of camp. Seeing that smile he knew so well, that voice...the laughter...to know that none were for him...he couldn’t bear it.

Somewhere, deep down, he had hopes that you would come. But why would you be summoned to Askr when you were up in the astral plane somewhere? How would that even be possible?

He shook his head, eyes closed against the embattled realm. Perhaps he should request early leave. He could only handle such torment for so long.

It was noticed by the prince and princess, the pair of siblings spotting the knight from their place in camp. Sharena nudged Alfonse’s shoulder, a frown on her lips.

“You think we summoned the wrong Frederick?” She asked, “He seems really down.”

“Well...there are a number of reasons that could be. It depends on the timeline he’s from. If you remember, their Exalt, Emmeryn died. We might have summoned him just after that.”

“Or maybe the Grima thing. What if this Frederick’s married to a Robin?” She guessed, “What if his Robin became, or maybe killed, Grima?”

“Maybe so.” Alfonse murmured, “Perhaps we should see to sending him home. He’s fought well enough, but if he’s in a state like this, maybe we should let him grieve.”

“But we have to do something! Surely we can find a way to lift his spirits! Why don’t we try summoning his Robin? Or maybe his Chrom! Somebody he knows to help him feel better!”

“If his Robin is dead, that won’t work.” Alfonse said grimly, “Besides, it wouldn’t do to summon their Exalt on top of one of their generals.”

“Didn’t stop you before.” She muttered. “Come on, can’t we please try it? We’ve gotta do something!”

“Well...it is unpleasant, seeing him like this.”

“Then we’d best go find his Robin!” Sharena cheered and tugged him away, the two royals off to reunite the sorrowful captain with his lost love.

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

Frederick didn’t pay any mind to the commotion around camp, days later. He had, for the most part, exiled himself from them. He couldn’t bear to be near to any of those Robins, those mirror images of his dearest.

If he was needed, they would come to find him, as they did for every battle. Perhaps sending one of the royals or their commander, or a hero from another world.

Although he could hear the chatter and curiosity rumbling about, he chose to stay away, in the peace of his little forest haven.

He acknowledged no one until he heard the crunching of leaves under another person’s boots. Frederick paused his thinking, and rose at the frantic footfalls that were coming.

“Has something happened?” He asked seriously, turning to face the oncomer. “Is everything-”

Dark eyes met bright. Frederick froze, staring down at a Robin who looked just as shocked to see him. His heart squeezed at the sight, a painful yearning in his chest. Her mouth fell open, then closed, and opened again. She couldn’t find the words to speak.

Frederick tried to recover himself; he hadn’t had a Robin sent to him before. He wasn’t expecting to see her face. He had made it clear he wanted little to do with the mirrors.

It took all his strength to break his gaze, the flood of painful, precious memories having caught him off guard. He turned his head to the grass, hands clasped tight behind his back.

“Were no others able to send for me?” He questioned with a hint of bitterness in his tone. Who was he kidding; nothing but bitterness left his tongue. “It is nothing against you, milady, but...I cannot see you.”

“Frederick?” Your voice; his name on your lips. Frederick’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenched as he tried to keep his composure. “F-Frederick, it’s me…!”

At this, he slowly returned his gaze to the Robin before him. There was a strange look on your face; you appeared ready to cry. Your fingers trembled, your eyes glistening with unshed tears as you stepped towards him.

For the briefest moment, a glimmer of hope found him. “It’s...you?” He echoed, unconvinced.

You swallowed thickly, nodding quickly to confirm it. “F-Freddybear, it’s me. I’m...I’m back!”

That name.

Frederick’s heart skipped a beat. None of the other Robins had ever approached him that way, and not once did they use that dreadful nickname you’d given him. He didn’t move as you came closer, your expression that of sorrow and joy inexplicably meshed together.

“Back...back from where?” His voice was naught but a breath. Cautiously you reached out, taking hold of his hands. He stiffened at your touch, that familiar warmth he had so yearned for suddenly returning to him. It was no ghost; it was real, and there.

You were there.

“Naga, dearest, she...she sent me here! She said someone was ‘summoning’ me, someone important and that you would be there to see me and I found you and you’re here and- gods, Frederick, I’m back!”

He needn’t hear another word. He engulfed you in a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair as a strangled sob escaped his lips. He squeezed you against him, curling his fingers into your coat as he found what he had been waiting years for.

It was you. You had come to him...you came home.

“Robin…!” He whispered your name so fiercely, over and over as if it were a prayer. You broke down into sobs, clutching onto him for all you were worth. Your fingers darting over his neck, through his hair and down his back, trying to feel every inch of him.

Gods, you had missed him so much. He had ached for you so terribly.

“I-I can’t believe...after all this time I...I thought you might never to return to me…! H-how did you? And this place, no less!”

“It was Naga.” You told him, pulling back just enough to see his face. You smiled sadly at his tears, sniffling and pushing away your own joy enough to speak. “She led me to a light saying it would take me to you. I-I came through and ended up in some strange camp- I asked everyone where you were and now...I’m here.”

“Oh, my darling.” He pressed his forehead to yours, arm curled tight around your waist. He brushed his fingers against your cheek, wiping away the tears that fell merely by his touch. “I have suffered...longed for you...prayed every night that you might finally find me. I-I can’t believe that it’s truly you.”

“It’s me, love.” You promised as you cupped his cheeks, swiping at the odd tear with the pads of your thumbs. He pressed into your touch, relishing the feeling of your hands truly on him, again. “Ah, gods I’ve missed you so much…!”

The two of you sank to the forest floor, the knight feverishly removing his armor so that he could truly feel your warmth against his. You pressed against him, fingers clutched to his vest as if letting go would cause him to disappear.

The ring he had given you so long ago gleamed on your finger, further cementing the truth. You were real and you were there.

You drowned in each other’s touch, kisses rained down on every inch of each other you could reach. You never once separated, not even when the Askrian royals came to check in.

Alfonse explained through his bright red blush that it would be possible to send you both home immediately; Frederick had fought plenty battles for the both of you.

With arms linked and hands clasped tightly together, you returned to your world. Even when the others caught wind; reunited with your closest friends and allies, you never once parted from your beloved.

You let him lead you back to your shared quarters, taking you to bed where you simply lied there, together.

Wrapped in each other’s tender embrace, you stayed for hours simply talking and grieving and laughing, again.

You promised never to leave his side again, and he yours; you would remain together for the rest of your days, making up every second lost without him.

#frederick #robin #fe 13 #fire emblem awakening #fe awakening #fredrobin #frederick x robin #fe fictions #fe-fictions #f!robin #fem!robin #f!mu #fluff #reunion prompt #askr #no but rly this is one of my favorites ;;;;;

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ew-selfish-art · 1 year ago

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Literally, if you liked this prompt so many people have now continued it and I BEG of you to read through the notes- Anything I add to it now does not compare to the creative genius of the others that developed continuation fics!!

That being said...ehehehe...Sorry but I had a thought:

Tim is the first to call bullshit.

They arrive in this town and it’s practically drenched in references of the afterlife. Considering that Tim is literally the guy that figured out how to extract Batman from the time stream and he’s also the guy who first interpreted the letters which don’t even mention the afterlife... It clear that no one was really spying in this town. So, for this kid to suddenly be taking Damian’s ‘commands’ and following suit as though he’s LoA loyal is just... Bullshit.

But NOOO the family insists- They’re saving this poor boy who grew up in the league’s influences and trainings as a spy!! Tim just scoffs, with what supervision? He’s clearly just some dude who had a fucked up childhood.

Noooo his family insists- We need to take him home and give him the birth family that he must have always wanted! Tim rolls his eyes so hard at them as the kid’s “assignment” sister weeps her goodbyes in secret to Danny when they’re certain (lol) no one is listening.

NOOOoooo his family insists- He can’t yet know about the family legacy as Bats or the cave under the manor, he has to acclimate to being normal first! As if the kid didn’t have two friends in his corner telling him to take the opportunities allotted by being a Wayne through their tears. Tim just reads the family’s behavior as Damian being unwilling to lose the title of Robin (which, Ha.) but also knows that Danny thinks they’re hella suspicious. Did none of the bats read his folder and the subsection about Vladimir Masters??

Danny gets to the manor and isolates himself as much as possible. He’s joining them for mealtimes and saying nothing- ask about his day and he’ll talk about the weather. Damian is clearly trying his best to invite him into his own hobbies, caring for his animals and various arts, but Danny just looks at him and says, “Is that an order?” each time.

Which honestly, is hilarious to watch with Tim’s perspective that this Kid is So Done (tm) but is heart breaking for the rest of the family.

Eventually, after 4 hours of sleep and a decent number of espresso shots in his abomination of a cafe order, Tim looks at Danny and asks if he wants to take the plane back to Amity Park for the weekend.

“UH- Wh- Why do you think I would want to do that? Do you uh, need me to do that?” Danny fumbles being a ‘league trained puppet’ for just long enough that Tim smiles genuinely and devises a plan.

“Actually, yeah. Your reports were kind of shit. And obviously it’s not an order or anything, but the plane will be free and on autopilot to your town tomorrow at 10 am, and it would be dope if you wanted to uh, do recon or whatever with your friends.” Tim looks him dead in the eyes and gives him the out.

“...I mean, I’m sure my allies could use the leadership for the data collection.” Danny looks genuinely stumped but also increasingly excited.

“Cool. Have fun.” and then Tim leaves and gets to hear a near silent ‘woop!’ in the background.

Thus, Danny starts disappearing on the weekends and no one wants to listen when Tim says that it’s a good thing that he’s coming back to Gotham at all.

...

Danny, meanwhile, is trying to have his cake and eat it too.

He’s spending time with his friends every weekend, catching up with Jazz on the regular (she’s trying to get into GU and they’re all certain she will), and fighting with his rogues on a weekly basis. He hasn’t had to dip out of class in months because the Ghosts don’t want to leave amity’s ectoplasm rich environment (and don’t cause havoc without him there- and the Fenton’s hunting him is now down to one day out of seven instead of 7 of 7)- So his grades and sleep schedule are actually thriving. For as weird as the Waynes are, at least they spoil his hobby of astronomy (its the one detail he gave them about his true self). AND he’s never been more reassured that the League is actually going to leave him alone.

He starts to give the siblings a chance now that he has this kind of balance restored internally, and honestly, they’re really dorky but he can tell they all want to love him and be loved in return.

His major reason for doing so being his middle brother knowing way too fucking much for someone who didn’t grow up in the compound- but the guy totally saw through him and gave him an out to go back and forth to Amity. He’s pretty sure the rest of the family is giving Tim shit for it, so Danny might have to come up with a new cover soon but for right now he’s good.

All things have to come to an end in Danny’s life though, so it’s only a matter of time before Damian steps in and demands that Danny stop engaging with his formal life. His twin hid himself on the Wayne Plane (it rhymes and Danny loves that) and the confrontation only ended when the rest of the family minus Tim appeared from the shadows to hold an intervention.

It takes all the strength Danny has to finally do what he’s been wanting to do this whole time: Explain that they were all wrong about him being spy-brained and that he’d rather fuck off into another dimension than pretend they’re all a family together when he doesn’t even know them.

Tim arrives at this point and the rest of the family turn to him like- Did you know this whole time??

And Tim responds: “What? Like how Bruce wasn’t actually dead, and you all called me crazy for knowing that he was lost in time? You’re trying to say that none of you learned from that and continued to not listen to me?”

The family is ashen faced and Danny is mouthing the word “time?” in confusion when Tim continues staring directly at Danny: “You guys don’t even know the half of it.”

“What does that mean?” Danny challenges, not liking the way Tim smirked saying Half- Danny knows he’s probably extrapolating too far but... could Tim have figured him out?

“Well, your middle name isn’t Bill.” Tim deadpans and Danny gets the Inviso-Bill reference immediately. Fuck. The rest of the family however, is lost.

“Of course his middle name is not ‘Bill’ nor is it ‘William’ that would be unbecoming for an Al Ghul.” Damain says, clearly exasperated.

“You have a lot to learn about your twin dude, and I for one, am done trying to explain supernatural shit to you guys. Sometimes the most logical conclusion isn’t the one writing piss poor reports without a heartbeat.” Tim deadpans at first before sighing into his next points. The family pauses on that statement for a second but seeing Danny cringe- Oh fuck?? is the resounding thought.

Bruce is the first one to pull out of that Stun Lock.

“Danny, do you truly not feel as though you’re part of our family? Would returning to the Fentons...be best for you?” Bruce asks, showing the most humility he ever has in that second question.

And Danny is a bit surprised with himself, because if he’s being honest, he’s really been thriving since the Waynes kidnapped him into their lives.

“I mean... This is probably the best I’ve ever had it. I have a normal schedule and I still get friend time. I mean, short of having a government agency up my asshole, this is the safest I’ve ever been. You guys do your weirdo billionaire shit in the evenings, why can’t I just have the weekends to myself?”

“What government Agency?” Tim asks, but his feral grin gives away that he might know definitely knows exactly which agency.

“Tim didn’t you shut down another illegal government act and its sanctions two weeks ago?” Babs asks over the computer speaker on the Wayne-Plane. The rest of the family seems to think this is a normal thing and Danny is questioning all of his life choices. Who the fuck was this dude???

“Who the fuck are you dude?” Danny can’t restrain himself from asking.

“Red Robin.” Tim deadpans, and it’s a light bulb moment for Danny.

“Wait- then- You all- If He’s then- Wait. WAIT.” Danny progressively looks more and more franticly around the room. Before finally his eyes land on his twin.

“My guy. I like you so much better now that I know you’re Robin.”

“Tt. Of course you would.” Damian says easily though it’s clear he has something else he wants to say.

“If you guys are all heroes, and both the league and the GIW are gone... Would, would it be cool if I kept staying with y’all? I mean, I still want my trips to Amity and all but, uh, maybe we got off on the wrong foot?” Danny proposes with a cringe.

Needless to say, the family dynamic shifts after that day.

For the record, Tim is the family’s best detective, and he’s been given the bragging rights to say as much.

Dpxdc AU: Damian decides that it’s time to go collect his brother from his assignment. Danny is starting to sniff out some non-ghostly bullshit for once.

Damian knew his twin had been exiled from the age of seven, banished to travel and observe how scientists around the world engaged with Lazarus water. The only word that Damian received that his spare was still alive were the letters of lab reports and findings that were sent back to base. As the Heir, he’s pushed to be better lest he himself be exiled or simply executed. Danny becomes a fleeting thought and then once Damian arrived in Gotham, a none existent thought.

They weren’t raised to be friends or even friendly. The were not taught codependency or allotted time to bond. The could have been perfect strangers if not for their appearance and the stories of Danny’s shortcomings becoming Damian’s praise.

It’s only once Tim informs him of an intercepted letter, one sent and saved from years prior, that Damian recalls Danny enough to care. Tim prompts him to share more, especially given the coup recently committed by Deathstroke (Slade) and Talia gone into hiding with her zealots.

At family dinner that night Damian supplies: “I suppose I should be the one to bereave my twin of his assignment. His reports will certainly go unread.”

Chaos in the Batfam ensues- meanwhile across the country- Danny sneezes and finishes writing his yearly report: “No major discoveries aside from public record patents (attached), No assistance required. -Spare”. He doesn’t know why he bothers, he hasn’t received any contact from his mother or grandfather since he was 10ish and certainly hasnt thought about his twin. But, if there’s a chance (even an itty bitty one) that his reports are being read and are holding off his reassignment, he’d rather keep assassins out of Amity Park.

Little does he know that this letter is about to be intercepted by Pru, former assassin and friend of Tim Drake. He hadn’t expected his twin to suddenly arrive and tell him that his job was done. And certainly, seeing a plane filled with an uncomfortable looking ‘family’ that requested he join them and get to know Gotham and his birth father, was not on his bingo list.

Danny does his best to let them down gently- and they seem to be accepting that he’s acclimated to this weird little town and will leave him be- when Danny suddenly has to transform into Phantom in front of them to handle a rocket sent by Skulker.

They are less willing to accept his appeal to be left alone after that… Damian is trying to “bond” with him and all the others are trying to “help” in their own way.

Sam and Tucker howl with laughter at Danny’s suddenly very large family- all while secretly working with the Wayne’s to get Danny the fuck away from the Fentons before the scientists do something they can’t undo.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc fic #dc crossover #dp crossover #long post

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thetistaboveall · 2 years ago

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Batman: The Psychology Of The Dark Knight

The moon lights up a other wise dim alley way in the systemic unraveling of what was Gotham city.

Some unknown lower level thugs race in to a alley way breathing heavy guns in hand and backs to the wall.

The Batman is hot on the trial of two thieves who are the keys to unlocking a mystery in Gotham.

“He is coming, he’s coming”

“Calm down, he can’t take us”

“Can’t I?”

“It’s the Bat shoot”

“What a rookie mistake Dark Knight walking in to a trap.”

“Who are you?”

Batman turns to face the hidden face in the dark as he steps back and his attention falls to the goons.

The race at him causing his distraction as he fought then only to feel a needle inject in to his skin.

The serum takes effect quickly sending him in to dizzy spinning fit and he falls in to his arms.

“Hurry bois! Pick him up”

“Bring him to the lab and set him up”

“Sure thing boss”

The body is off the ground in minutes he is loading on to a elevator going to the sub basement.

Bruce’s eyes groggy as ever still under the Serbian influence can only check out his surroundings.

His eyes pick up a young man on a throne with Superman at his feet kissing his hand.

Bruce is lock inside of glass pod strap to the seat under him that is until the programming began.

The white noise enters the pod along side a orderless gas permeating his mind Bruce makes his best.

Batman fails to escape the man with a tens of millions of back up plans finally fails.

I am the young man I proudly speak in to the microphone and the command the pod to begin.

The glass is covering up in a steel case, the gas overtakes the pod, and Batman falls.

The mind confirm binary sounds attach to the low pitch sounds melt his mind breaking him.

A screen rolls down to meet his face turning on I appear on the screen.

“You are probably wondering who I am and why I am doing this?”

That same night Dick Grayson Aka Hero of Bludhaven Nightwing arrived at his old stopping ground.

“Alright show yours, who dares to call me here.”

“I dared.”

“What why? Who are you?”

“No you can’t be “

“Dad? You are dead”

“You can have him if you join me”

“Who are you?”

“I have many names, I am the ring Master for now.”

Dick can’t move a muscle standing mindless at attention feeling feel fear and excitement

The man jumps off the truck he is on in the distance landing on the ground he walks to Dick.

“What do you want from me you fiend”

“Fiend? Watch your mouth”

“Here take this bar soap”

“What bar? Stop these games”

“This one here you go”

“Nnnmmmmmmppppfff”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“You should know it would be in you best interest to join us.”

“Who’s us? Fuck you!”

“Them barf bag”

Dick is stunned to see his father figure Bruce and his idol Clark kneeling in total submission.

The Ring Master meets Dicks eyes as they glow bright blue and change Dicks eye color as well.

Dicks head is out of sorts seeing flying objects in the air and he can’t get a sense of anything anymore.

“What’s going? Why do I feel so weak?”

“You are giving in, you are embracing and you are growing.“

“No! I can’t, I won’t “

“Uuuuuuugggggghhhh”

“Take him in with you guys and prep him”

So happy with my victory I did not expect any interruptions and yet the alarm goes off.

“God damn it! Who’s that?”

“For fucks safe”

“Oh it’s the new boy wonder”

“Yuck! Uuuuggggghhh”

“I suppose better late then never”

“Speaker on”

“Hello Boy Wonder”

“Jason Todd is it?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Bruce told me”

“He would never”

“Oh yeah! He is on my team now”

“So is Nightwing”

“Liar”

“Say that to my face”

“I’m coming for you freak”

Robin uses his grabble hook shooting up

to the roof and speeding up.

On the roof top a familiar face waits in red, yellow and blow costume.

“Superman huh?”

“I could use your help “

“Oh I will help you”

“Wait! Those eyes are like his”

“He assume control over you too”

“Smart ass I see, not as dumb as you look”

“No…..let me go”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“Let’s go flying”

“Master here is “

“Pop him in the pod”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“My collection in Gotham is complete”

The end

#Hypno Zeros

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poisonedprose · 3 years ago

Text

The Vampire King 2 ♰˚‧

chapter 2 !

warnings: cursing, slight sexual tension(?)

masterlist - @thefailcollection @riffcrusader

prolouge // chap 1 // chap 3 // chap 4 // chap 5

Steve couldn't bring himself to turn around. "Ignoring me, Harrington?" He chuckled. Steve still couldn't turn around. There was no way that voice belonged to who he thought it did. The sticks in the grass began to rustle as the evergrowing amicable voice came closer. "Steve? Did you fall asleep standing up?" He laughed again, this time in the younger’s ear. He now stood mere inches away, his hands snaking around Steve's waist, drawing him closer. Steve screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "It's just me, sweetheart." He whispered in Steve's ear. "Don't call me that." "Ah, so he does have a voice." Eddie mocked and let his hands slide under Steve's shirt. "Stop." Steve command, causing the shorter one's hands to stop in place right about the scars that lay on Steve's torso. "Steve!" The two heard Dustin call from the trailer, Eddie quickly pulling away from Steve to go see the boy he once held close.

"Hey, Henderson." He smiled. The shock on Dustin's face was evident, clearly not expecting to see the man he thought was dead. "Eddie? Am I hallucinating?" Dustin rubbed his eyes to make sure this wasn't some sick way of grieving. "I'm really here, Henderson. Can't get rid of me that easily." Eddie opened his arms, inviting Dustin in for a hug, which he was going to take before Eddie was pushed away. "Don't touch him." Steve eerily warned as he held Eddie against the side of the trailer. "Jealous?" Eddie winked with a shit-eating grin. "What is your deal, Steve?" Dustin exaggerated. By now, the group had piled out of the trailer in search of Dustin and Steve. "Eddie?" Robin asked as she saw a glimpse of his face. "I'd give you a proper greeting but, Harrington here is a little clingy." He laughed but Steve just stayed in silence. "Take a joke, Steve." "Leave." It was clear to everyone that Steve wasn't joking. "What?" Eddie seemed hurt? Maybe it was disappointment.

"I don't know who you are but this isn't funny." Steve pressed him harder against the wall. "Come on, Steve. I'm still the Eddie you fell in love with." He whispered with a sort of sourness in his voice, careful that the others didn't hear him. "I didn't fall in love with you. Not then, not now." Steve spoke lowly, making it clear that the kiss they shared that one night and the many others that followed, meant nothing to him. The anger in Eddie's eyes almost made the iris' seem red. "So, was it all for nothing? Did it mean anything to you?" He growled in a voice that was almost unrecognizable to Steve. "Leave." Steve commanded again. "Enough!" Nancy exclaimed as Eddie and Steve pulled apart. "We don't have time for this. We need to kill Vecna. We are running out of time. You two can play the 'mommy and daddy get divorced' game later." Nancy instructed. She explained what everyone needed to do and how to do it, pairing people up as she did.

"Sorry to interrupt, sweetheart, but that's never going to work." Eddie explained in a condescending tone. Steve hated to admit that he was right. "You need to go straight for the guy. No beating around the bush bullshit." Eddie explained further, obviously angering Nancy. "Look, we are super happy you are alive, but we have a plan." Nancy tried to remain as calm as she could. "Not a very good one. Trust me, I've been in that hell-like universe for way too long." Eddie sent a mocking sympathetic smile to Nancy. "He's got a point." Will shrugged. "I don't know who you are, but I like you." He smiled at Will who smiled back. "I think Eddie's right." Dustin agreed "What do you think Steve?" Dustin turned his attention to his role model who seemed to be staring at Eddie. At the way his hands were positioned, the way his posture was, and the way his facial expressions changed as he talked. They all looked so real.

"He's a little distracted right now. Try again in 2 to 3 business days." Eddie laughed, which Steve examined just as closely. His voice was deeper, raspier. Granted he spent god knows how long lying on that floor. Ceiling? It doesn't matter. His voice was different and Steve was sure of it. "I don't care." Steve responded still not taking his eyes off of Eddie. "You're making it obvious." Eddie sent him a wink before returning his gaze to the people in front of him. "Well then, Eddie, tell us your big plan." Lucas almost sounded annoyed that the plan was changing. "We just need the freaky telekinetic girl to fight him and win." He said matter of factly. "That's easier said than done." Mike scoffed at Eddie who gave a confused frown. "I am strong but he is stronger." El enlightened him. "Trust me, he's weak right now. I can feel it." El and Will shared a small glace. "But-" Will began before Eleven cut him off. "Then we will do your plan." Eddie looked like he had just had the biggest victory, which Steve picked up on.

Steve didn't know what he was planning or even if he had a plan or if it was actually him, but Steve had this strange feeling. When Steve looked at him, a sense of impending doom lingered in his stomach replacing the butterflies he once felt around the metalhead. Something was off and Steve knew it, but he couldn't figure out just quite what it was. Sure, being in an alternate dimension with nothing to eat or drink practically on the brink of death would change someone, but not in the way he changed. "Eddie. My name is Eddie. Not he." Eddie whispered into Steve's ear as if he could hear Steve's thoughts. Hear Steve replacing every spot for his name with his pronouns. Hear Steve refusing to let the name linger in his mind. "Eddie." Steve repeated, hating the bitterness it left on his tongue. "There ya go." Eddie leaned away from his ear, but not before licking his earlobe. Steve let any and all thoughts dissolve out of his mind for the fear that Eddie could hear them, but surely, that wasn't humanly possible.

#! 🗡₊˚✧ all hail vampire king #stranger things s4 #stranger things season 4 #stranger things netflix #stranger things #stranger things 4 #steddie #eddie and steve #steve and eddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie angst #steddie fic #eddie kas theory

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

Text

You inspired me!

Danny stared at the actual child in front of him. Yeah, sure, he’s nineteen and over the age of a legal adult. But a year dead in the ground and two in a cult does not make for a healthy functioning adult. Not that a healthy, functioning adult would be doing what Danny’s accidentally found himself doing.

Jason fidgeted the longer Danny stared at him, though those random motions were too fluid to be completely random. He’s trained. Dangerous. Not as dangerous as the new Bats going around yet still enough to make Danny cautious. Relatively, at least.

But Danny could only read sincerity in Jason’s micro expressions.

Why was he even thinking hard about this? Danny frowned at himself, which caused Jason to straighten his posture.

But Danny was preoccupied with how deep he’d fallen, unintentionally. This was the closest thing to liminal someone could get. Danny would have accepted him in no time, back before all of this stuff happened.

Ah, shit, introspection later. Budding crime lord, now.

“Why work under me? Haven’t you been traipsing around Crime Alley and building your own support? What happened to your plans?”

“You killed the Joker.”

Danny waited. If that was the only reason, Danny was going to toss this kid back into school. Danny’s really not that much older but at least he graduated high school.

Actually, he was going to do that regardless. Oh, hey! There’s the soft spot he was waiting for!

“And… it would be more beneficial, if we worked together. You have the Alley’s trust, as much as an outsider could, and I have the Alley’s trust as an insider. This operation could be more efficient.”

“But that’s not all.” Danny said, a smile beginning to tug at his lips. Jason had his head still bowed, even if his posture was more proper now. “All right.”

Jason’s head whipped up, and green-blue eyes met Danny’s blue.

“But you’ll have to do a couple of things first, to prove your… commitment to protecting the people instead of your own interests.”

A glint of determination flashed bright green, and Danny’s eyes glowed briefly in reply.

“Alright. What do I need to do?”

Danny walked past him, Jason tensing as he brushed past but he stayed still. Danny doesn’t make the mistake of thinking Jason isn’t tracking where he is right now, though. Danny reached into the drawer and pulled out a book. Morgan’s light reading, but it’s like 600 pages.

“Hold out your hand,” Danny said, trying to be imposing. It probably didn’t work, since Jason’s almost as tall as he is. Danny missed the tremor in Jason’s hand as the teenager obeyed the command, unknowing of the wild trauma running rampant in Jason’s head, nor the spiraling as Jason imagined the things he thinks Danny will ask him to do.

Danny walked back in front of Jason and plopped the heavy book into Jason’s hand.

“Wha-”

“Read it. Write a book report.”

Jason looked down at the book, expression blank.

“I can be useful. You don’t have to test me like this.”

“I’m aware of your skills,” Danny tossed out casually, mostly done posturing. Ancients, he had so much to do tonight, and he won’t even get to enjoy the moonlight fully. “That book is important to one of the charges in my care. She was rescued from an abusive household.”

“I can take care of-” Jason moved like he was reaching for his guns only to remember his hands were full of his helmet and a heavy ass book.

“They’re taken care of. That’s part one of your test. Read the book, write a report, and talk to Morgan face to face about it.”

What was the phrase? Two birds, one stone? It’s more like four birds, one former Robin. Danny won't have to read the whole book, Jason gets to indulge in his hobby without feeling guilty, Morgan gets to talk about her book, and the kids both get a new friend. Jason needs to be socialized. Desperately so.

"What is this supposed to prove?" Jason asked, becoming slightly visibly agitated.

To me? Nothing. To yourself? That you're capable of being happy again. Danny thought quietly.

Outwardly, Danny made up some plausible sounding bullshit.

"That you can be trusted around the most vulnerable. And that I can read your reports. I'm sure a former Robin-" Danny caught Jason's twitch at the title. "-would be good at giving reports. I already know you're intelligent, but this will allow me to familiarize myself on what you focus on and what you don't."

Danny patted himself on the back. That didn't sound half bad! Go Danny!

"I only need a yes or no." Danny asked firmly.

Jason paused. He nodded, grip tightening on the book. "Yes."

“Good. Second part will have to wait. I have business to attend to tonight. See yourself out, Jason.”

“What time should I come back?”

“I’ll come to you. You’re in my haunt, I’ll find you.”

With that, Jason was shooed out of Danny's "office" for the night.

Now... how to deal with the pesky assassins lurking about his haunt?

Maybe he might want to fight assassins... with more assassins?

No. Yes. Ugh, Danny gave up, going ghost and hamming up the intangibility and invisibility to go stalk the al Ghuls' shadows.

Only in Gotham is it this hard to protect the people from honest to Ancient assassins.

Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Adam’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

#danny: i have talons #aslo danny: i can't ask the unwillingly made zombie assassins to kill other assassins!#the league of shadows becoming the league of assassins is so funny to me #where did Damian get the naming sense from because it sure as hell wasn't from his dad or ra's al ghul #his mom probably #talia al ghul #jason is a traumatized teenager #jason todd #little does danny know jason's most favorite assignments were book reports #and those argumentative essays that relied on historical context #danny seeing jason: feral child needs socialization #gotham seeing danny: feral man needs socialization #bruce: i'm gonna look like a bat #bruce: bAtMAn

8K notes · View notes

dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades

Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 2.5k (and counting)

Master List

“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”

He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.

Right?

Wrong.

“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”

Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.

“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”

He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.

“Barnes!”

Damnit.

“Understood, sir.”

Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.

“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”

“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.

“Think she has a bedtime?”

“Think you could shut up?”

Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”

“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.

Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.

“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”

If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.

“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”

Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.

“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.

Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.

“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”

The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.

In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.

Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.

This is going to be a long three days.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.

Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.

“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.

Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.

“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.

Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.

His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”

“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.

Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.

“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?

Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”

Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.

“Whatever.”

Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”

Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”

Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”

“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.

His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.

What a joke.

He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?

A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”

Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”

With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.

“Hey Buck?”

He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”

He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.

“Remember to tiptoe.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #mcu #mcu fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe #Persephone's Symphony

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cryptid-killjoy · 2 years ago

Text

Shortly after Willem and Livvy set sail on the Jolly Roger a thin veil of fog would roll casually in the night over Nola, but this wasn’t ordinary fog. There was a curse floating in the mist and anyone who would breathe the droplets of fog cover would be effected. It would slowly zombify these people eventually turning them completely under the Horned King’s complete control as part of his army of the dead forced to obey his every command. Being outdoors at night or having your window open would have made a person susceptible.

Casualties of a Horned King asphyxiation spell that would fog over Nola

Arthur / Emma Robin Hood / Marian Sherwood’s Merry Men population Lil’ Noi Wulf / Agnes / Foo Foo Libi Hypno Lena Alastor Ira Isaac Jesula & most of the campers Zeke & Brigitte Mr. Kenny Lance Nigel Masses of Beagles Mulan & Xi Jax & Mazzie Honest John & Gideon Seven Cheshire King Triton This is night one. He’s not done yet. A new post will come for phase two later and the next list of victims pegged off.

It will continue later. His new hoard will gather in the swamps where Heresy made her big speech long, long ago. This time Heresy won’t be standing on the rocks over the tide. It’ll be the Evil Queen.

It may take some time for people to realize what’s happening. These are named muses but there would be thousands across the city that get up and go walking away.

#head canon #horned king shit

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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Would you consider Hugo Strange a pulp villain?

Yes. And I would argue that he didn't really stop being one even after his revival.

"Professor Hugo Strange, the most dangerous man in the world! Scientist, philosopher and a criminal genius - little is known of him, yet this man is undoubtly the greatest organizer of crime in the world! - Bruce Wayne, Detective Comics #36

Hugo Strange was created with the intention of being Batman's arch-enemy right from the start, introduced as such by Bruce when he figures out he's responsible for the G-man assassination, pretty explicitly intended to be Batman's Moriarty and with even an equivalent demise. He was big enough to tower over his henchmen and fistfight Batman, he had a uniquely deformed skull, he was both a charismatic but threatening crimelord as well as a mad scientist plotting to TAKE OVER THE WORLD, and I've heard before the argument that the Monster Men were taken from a Doc Savage novel released earlier the same year called The World's Fair Goblin that revolves around a giant mutated man doing crimes under command by the story's villain

That poor devil, Maximus, was a Fair visitor himself, once. He was given injections of thyroxine and adrenalin—and changed rapidly into a pituitary giant. But, in the experiment, his will power was destroyed. Now he only follows the directions of that masked devil who has him hypnotized

He said, "The Man of Tomorrow stuff was merely publicity to draw the Fair crowds—and a shield to cover your own experiments. But the masked surgeon cashed in on it. Obviously he is mad enough to really believe a superman can be created." - The World's Fair Goblin

(Considering Lester Dent had taken potshots at Superman explicitly in "Whisker of Hercules", it's not unlikely that this is an explicit reference)

Although there's really no overlap in the stories besides that, as The World's Fair Goblin only had one giant where as Hugo mutated a couple dozen mentally ill patients to create monsters and then used them to go on mass murdering rampages, because Batman has always been over-the-top. But, yeah, original form Hugo was a pretty cut and dry pulp villain, like most of Batman's villains who debuted prior to 1940. Which is part of why he only had about 3 appearences before they killed him off.

By this point, Batman was in the process of moving away from his pulp knock-off origins into more of his own character, with the introduction of Robin and Dick Tracy cartoon villains that would set the tone for the rest of Batman in the Golden Age, and with the debut of Joker and Catwoman in Batman #1, Hugo was already obsolete as an arch-enemy, and was killed off the following appearence.

Of course, if you know Hugo Strange, you likely already know this, and that he was then revived in the 70s by Marshall Rogers with a brilliant take that stuck to the character's origins as a brilliant crimelord and scientific genius, but also added to him a specifically twisted psychological bent of being obsessed with Batman and becoming Batman, a villain of unshakeable will and even a twisted sense of honor and ethics, refusing to divulge Batman's secret identity even while beaten to death.

And from that moment onwards Hugo would go on to have some of the most consistently brilliant appearences out of any Batman villain (at least until the 2010s) and would secure himself as a mainstay, albeit a very obscure one, figure of Batman, the kind of villain whose plots can range from Born Again-esque subtle destructions of a person's life to a rampage of mutant kaijus on downtown Gotham, and like many of the best Batman villains, it all comes back to a central obsession and psychological edge upon Batman, and the weaponizing and destruction of anything that stands in his way.

You could argue Hugo Strange used to be a cut and dry pulp villain who was eventually reimagined as a Batman Villain, and it would even be somewhat fitting of his in-universe trajectory as a man who started out a career as a figure of prestige and respect, effortlessly able to blend in society, until his repeated encounters with Batman and, most importantly, his gradually increasing obsession with becoming Batman, gradually destroyed him until he's no longer the one ruling the madhouse, but instead trapped in it.

But the reason why I'd argue Hugo Strange is still a Pulp Villain is because his reinventions didn't shed away what he used to be, they merely returned him to his true origins. Because Hugo, you see, is not just a Mad Scientist or Mad Psychologist, Batman's got those by the dozens. Hugo is of a particularly nasty kind of Pulp Villain, who came to existence around the same time as the Mad Scientist if not slightly earlier, an archetype Jess Nevins has named The Evil Surgeon

Medicine has arguably thrown up more serial killers than all the other professions put together, with nursing a close second - Herbert Kinnel, former chairman of the British Medical Association

The Evil Surgeon came to existence as a pop culture archetype in the late 19th century, as the result of serial killers like Jack the Ripper and H.H Holmes making the news, with Doctor Quartz from Nick Carter being first and foremost among these, as the main arch-enemy of the most published character worldwide at the time.

He would be followed years later by H.G Wells's Doctor Moreau, and the likes of Dr Caresco and Professor Tornada, the stars of novels created by André Couvreur, who was himself a medical doctor and used these novels to both condemn the characters as well as give serious consideration to the ideas they explored, and depicted Dr Caresco's over-the-top exploits harkening back to stories about Marquis de Sade (the origin of the term "sadist"). These would be followed by characters like Grigorii Trirodov, Dr Cornelius Kramm, Dr Gogol from Mad Love, currently the most famous example of this seems to be Hannibal Lecter. And Hugo has been operating much more along the lines of those characters in the last decades, than the typical mad scientists he was once designed in reference to.

Of course there's a massive overlap between the two and room to dispute whether they even constitute separate archetypes, they practically came to existence together following the footsteps of Victor Frankenstein, who really isn't a true example of a Mad Scientist in the original novel, and wasn't even a real doctor, but Frankenstein's reputation undeniably is the oldest cultural touchstone we can point to as an influence in the archetype, even if said archetype would only truly take form in pulp magazines and serials.

What I'd argue defines the Evil Surgeon as an archetype specifically, is that they are specifically centered around the violation and destruction of the human body and function more as murderers with budgets, than supervillains in labcoats. Mad Scientists are generally more centered around plots closer to sci-fi/fantasy inventions like sentient robots and immortality potions used for large scale global domination, where as Evil Surgeons are more preoccupied with wielding psychology and torture and criminal resources to get away with destroying minds on more individual scales, or turning cities into slaughterhouses for them to work in.

They aren't quite full blown slasher villains, like Zsasz or Professor Pyg, instead they usually tend to be quite good at passing off as respectable, mentally sound figures of moral standing, and usually possess a sense of purpose towards their work, a goal they are working for by piling corpses atop each other and moving resources to achieve, even if said goal is a purely selfish fulfillment of their own desires. It's quite common for these characters to acquire large bases for them to operate in, even islands specifically.

In Caresco Surhomme, Caresco has taken control of the Pacific island of Eucrasia. Caresco applies his surgical methods to the inhabitants of the island, altering them to better do their jobs. The captain of the plane which brings outsiders to Eucrasia is a limbless trunk with telescopic vision. Even the island itself is in the shape of a human body. The natives of Eucrasia are addicted to various sensual pleasures and generally submit to Caresco’s rule, for fear that he will castrate them or worse.

On Eucrasia, Caresco makes use of “omnium,” a mysterious and unexplained power source, to create: a machine capable of stripping the years from human bodies and reversing the aging process, a fast underground train system, food pills, omnium-powered diving suits, and so on. Caresco is given to such things as collecting the spleens of all those he operates on - Jess Nevins, The Encyclopedia of Pulp Heroes

So, yes, I absolutely would argue Hugo Strange is still a Pulp Villain. Pulp villains do come in many different forms other than the Fu Manchus and Fantomases that are most commonly imitated, pulp was the breeding ground of the supervillain as a concept after all, where they got to star in their own magazines time and time again. Hugo started off as a fairly generic one, and when he's written poorly, he tends to be brought onboard of a story purely because it calls for a mad scientist.

But Strange came back from death as something much, much worse than just a crimelord and mad scientist, a much more rare and much nastier type of villain that, much like Hugo himself, may lie dormant, but refuses to stay dead for long.

"Quincy. My servant. My friend," Hugo said. "We don't have much time."

Quincy was crying again, with joy. "How, master, how did you-?"

The therapy, Quincy realized. The hypnosis. The drugs.

"Stay with me master, please!" Quincy tried to grab hold a phantom hand.

"I cannot." Strange said, looking benevolently down at Quincy, stroking his hair with a touch the prisoner couldn't feel. "But there is one last service you can perform me."

"Anything, Hugo, please."

"First, remove the sheet from your bed, Quincy. And tie it to the light-fixture on the ceiling."

#replies tag #batman #dc comics #hugo strange #dr jack quartz #pulp villains

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flippyspoon · 4 years ago

Text

Walking Home

Note: Okay it’s a boring title. Just a little ficlet about Steve being very cold and eager to get home to Billy who will angrily take care of him lol.

Steve could no longer feel his fingers.

Had he coherent thought in his mind, he might have considered that impulsively loaning his car to Mrs. Henderson had been a bad idea in the dead of winter. But Dustin’s mom had been stuck and he hated to think of her waiting around for rides in the snow or borrowing some unreliable beater from Rex Auto while she waited for her Oldsmobile to get fixed.

Steve had handed her his keys hours ago in the middle of Family Video and she’d practically burst into tears, she was so grateful.

Then he forgot all about it, worked the rest of his shift, bid Robin and Keith goodbye and finished up the register and locked up by himself. They were long gone by the time he remembered and the video store was already locked up and the alarm was set and he couldn’t unlock the alarm once it was set to go back inside without getting in trouble with “corporate” because it was a computerized system and they’d see it on the log later. Robin’s mother would happily have given him a ride. Keith would have given him a ride in his shitty brown Datsun that smelled like cheese puffs.

He could have called Billy for a ride, but it was eight blocks to the first payphone he could think of and since everything was closed, he’d end up waiting in the snow for Billy to come crawling up in the Camaro, the worst car in the world for driving on ice roads, so he had to drive very slow. He calculated that it would be faster to walk and hoped somebody would see him and pick him up.

But nobody saw him.

It was a Friday and that meant Family Video closed late at ten and most of the shops were closed, especially with the awful weather. No one was out on the street. and it was so dark and the visibility so bad with the snow, Steve feared he’d lose his way even following the road down into the woods to Hop’s old trailer overlooking the lake where he lived with Billy.

It was a much longer walk than he remembered it being in the fall when the weather was nice.

Three miles? Four?

It was deadly dark and much too quiet and all he thought about as he put one foot in front of the other was how he wished he had his bat at least. It was an eerie night: he couldn’t stop thinking of monsters.

He lost his footing three times and got wet with snow. He was wearing a thermal under a sweater under his best parka. He was wearing a beanie and decent gloves and thick socks under his boots. He felt like he might as well have been wearing a towel for how cold he was. The cold was tiny knives bulleting his skin. The cold had a vendetta. The inside of his nose ached.

One foot in front of the other down the endless dark road. But the woods...

Don’t think about monsters.

Think about Billy.

Billy Billy Billy. Billy would be home. Billy would be pissed as hell that Steve had not only loaned out his car but forgotten to call for a ride earlier. Then he wouldn’t have had to wait at all.

Billy would make him drink a shot of whiskey while cussing out Mrs. Henderson under his breath (even though he actually loved Mrs. Henderson now). Maybe he’d rub Steve’s hands and kiss his fingers with his warm, warm lips…

Billy…

The snow wouldn’t stop. It would hit his ankles soon, even in the road.

He wondered if he would get frostbite. How long did that take? Most winters these days, he successfully carted himself from heated shelter to heated shelter. He didn’t worry about things like frostbite. He couldn’t feel his fingers…

And then suddenly he was home.

He didn’t even remember turning off onto the sideroad into the woods that led to their trailer. He was on automatic pilot. And then there the trailer was with it’s bright yellow light on in front that made the icicles that hung from the porch awning glitter. His boots crunched in the snow as he passed the frozen lake.

Only now as he came nearer and nearer the steps up to their front door did he feel the terrible ache in his legs. His feet were two giant cement blocks for all he could tell.

Crunch crunch.

“Steve! Christ!” The door burst open and Billy came running down the stairs. “Where is your car! You did not seriously walk home! Why didn’t you call me! What the hell!”

Steve said something along the lines of: “Hh-huh...uh...ugh.”

Billy all but carried him inside. Steve wasn’t sure. He just felt Billy’s arms around him and seconds later the front door was shut behind him and-

“Ah.” Steve stood frozen in their tiny living room with the ugly brown shag carpeting and the second hand burgundy velour couch and the Sinclair’s old TV with wood paneling. He was home.

He was safe at home with Billy.

He was violently shuddering. He couldn’t speak for how hard his teeth chattered as Billy moved in a blur. Steve was hardly aware of it. He never moved from his spot, but somehow most of his clothes came off. Billy had fluffy clean clothes straight from the dryer.

“Y-your sw-sweatshirt,” Steve stuttered as Billy shoved it over his head. Billy had a gigantic old Los Angeles Raiders sweatshirt that Steve stole whenever he got the chance because it was the coziest thing in the world to wear and often smelled like Billy. It was kind of like wearing Billy himself. He hummed in relief and then faltered because Billy was moving his feet for him, dressing him in sweatpants and then thick fuzzy socks.

“Sit the hell down!” Billy commanded, and pointed at the couch. “Goddammit. The Beamer get stuck?”

“M-Mrs...Henderson n-needed it-”

“You had to loan your car to that cow in a blizzard!”

“B-be nice!”

“Why didn’t you call!” Billy bodily moved Steve to the couch where he plopped down, still rather stiff.

“I forgot.”

“Harrington, I swear to God!” Billy glowered down at him where he winced as he curled up on the couch, rubbing his still freezing hands together. “ Stay there!” He threw the little afghan throw that Mrs. Henderson herself had made for them over Steve’s head before running out of the room with one last: “Goddammit!”

***

“Sure you’re okay there, baby?” Billy rasped.

Steve was wrapped in three blankets, a hot mug of spiked cocoa in his hands which had fully regained feeling. He was cuddled up on the couch with Billy, who would not remove his arm from around Steve’s shoulders. David Letterman was on TV.

“I’m fine,” Steve said for the fifth time. “I swear, I’m fine. But you’re really cute when you’re worried.”

“If you don’t remember to call next time, I swear to God…” But the threat was slightly undercut by the kiss he pressed to Steve’s cheek. “Be more careful, sweetheart. Alright? Jesus. Gonna drive me to an early grave and I’ve already died once.”

“Wow, you love me so much,” Steve said, smirking into his cocoa. “It’s kind of annoying really. You should get a life.”

Billy only snorted at that and tugged on one of Steve’s blankets, pulling it half over himself and snuggling up closer to his boyfriend. “I was about to call the National Guard when you were running late. Look what you turned me into, pretty boy. How’s that whiskey cocoa? You want me to turn the heat up? You want some more mac and cheese?”

“It’s eighty degrees in here and I’m full. Everything is good,” Steve murmured, and took another swallow that pleasantly burned going down. He set the mug on the coffee table and cuddled deeper under the blanket as he reached for Billy. “But you’re better. C’mere and warm me up some more.”

“Oh, I’ll warm you up any time you want,” Billy said, a bit of growl in his voice. He wrapped his arms around Steve under the blanket and kissed him deeply, and Steve revelled in the heat of that talented tongue that Billy so often used to tease. They made out lazily for a bit and then Billy laid soft little kisses along Steve’s throat and then took Steve’s hands in his own and kissed his fingertips.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Steve said. He beamed up at Billy who stared fixedly back at him as if, should he look away, Steve might vanish into the dark and snowy night again.

Worth the walk home, Steve thought, and reached up under Billy’s sweater to press his fingers to the warm belly he found there.

“Yeah well, I love you like crazy, but it’s a pain in the ass sometimes,” Billy said, but he didn’t try to hide the smile on his face. “Come here, baby, lemme really warm you up,” he said, and pulled Steve closer.

#harringrove #harringrove ficlet

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willowbird · 4 years ago

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For the prompt game — could you do AU 1, trope 8, location 2 for Andreil? I always love reading these, thanks for sharing!

Grad School, return of the childhood best friend, inside Andrew's closet!!! Thank you so much for sending in the ask I'm glad you're enjoying the little ficlets and I hope you like this one too!

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Tall people were a curse. A blight on all of society. Civilization would undoubtedly crumble under the obnoxious stomping of their huge feet and the polar ice caps would melt at least in part due to the heat from their big fat heads.

Also, all the tall fuckers in Andrew's cohort were constantly putting things in places Andrew couldn't reach, especially when it came to the supply closet off of the office the group of them communally used. It had gotten to the point that Andrew had taken full command of the ordering and organization of all their supplies. Last month he had even gone so far as to print out and laminate a full-color sign for the closet that read: NO ONE ABOVE 5'3 PERMITTED. SEE ANDREW J MINYARD FOR ALL SUPPLY RETRIEVAL.

The only reason he'd given the extra few inches at all was because Robin, the undergrad TA that assisted in one of his classes, sometimes helped him out and she was a whole three inches taller than him. It was enough of a restriction that it barred the rest of his cohort from intruding, though, as even Renee was a solid 5'8.

Or at least, it should have been an effective restriction. Andrew had thought the rest of his team could read well enough to get the goddamn message. Then he showed up this morning and the fucking closet door was open and where was the box of printer ink he'd ordered last week?

That's right, on the top fucking shelf.

When Andrew figured out which idiotic fucking beanpole had decided to pull this shit with him there was going to be hell to pay. He would raid his cat's litter box for ammunition if he had to.

For the moment, though, he needed to replace the ink in both printers. Which was why he was balancing precariously on the arms of the only non-rolly chair on the goddamn floor, straining to reach the box of ink and quietly promising to take an extra dose of revenge out of each and every person over 5'3 if he fell.

Which he almost did when a sharp knock suddenly echoed a bit too loud from directly behind him.

"Jesus fuck what is wrong with y--" Andrew cut off abruptly as he looked over his shoulder to see who had dared come up behind him at a time like this. He blinked, then he fully closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. When the man before him was still fucking there, Andrew twisted slightly and jumped down, letting his ass hit the seat as he overbalanced on the landing.

"Um... hi."

It had been almost ten years since Andrew had heard that voice. Ten years. In that time Neil had gone from being a scrawny, anxious kid to... well...

Vivid blue eyes stared at him steadily, winged with eyeliner that only made them brighter. His dark russet-auburn hair was shaved close to his head on the sides but long enough on the top that he'd gathered it back in a loose bun, which only emphasized the perfect angles of his face and the soft give of his mouth, the way his chin carved down to a point as if to frame it, drawing the eye.

"Andrew? I didn't mean to surprise you. Well, I did, that's why I didn't tell you I was coming. I didn't mean to almost make you fall off a chair though..."

Neil clicked a tongue-piercing against his teeth. It flashed silver for a moment, matching the two bars that bisected his left eyebrow. Purple studs and a line of tiny hoops trailed up each ear.

Andrew stared, then he did the only rational thing and reached forward, grabbing the doorknob and slamming it shut with himself inside the closet.

His heart was fucking pounding, and he knew his face was flushed because, look. Look. Neil Josten at fourteen years old had been a scrawny kid with big ears and a chipped tooth that was always covered in bruises and Andrew had been so fucking in love with him. All he ever wanted to do as a baby gay was kiss Neil Josten. Thought about it all the time. But that had been off the table because Neil was his best friend and probably asexual and also literally trying to survive. When Neil moved to the other side of the fucking planet to be with his uncle, Andrew had told himself that this was a good thing because 1) Neil would be safe and 2) if there was distance between them then Andrew could finally get over him.

Over the last ten years they'd exchanged regular letters, but because Neil was a fucking technophobe and there may or may not have been an actual hit from actual hitmen and gangsters and shit on him over here in the states - they hadn't spoken on the phone and no pictures had been shared.

And now here was Neil. Almost twenty-four and... so so fucking hot.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by a quiet, anxious, "Andrew..?" that sounded a lot more like the Neil Andrew remembered.

"Um... should I go? I'm sorry... I thought... I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'll go..."

"No!" The word escaped him before he had time to really think about it. He was pretty sure his voice cracked a little in his desperation too. Shit. Andrew cleared his throat and tried again. "Just... wait. I.. need to get ink."

"Okay."

Andrew did his best not to read into the mystery in Neil's tone. Instead, he thanked the closet gods and carefully climbed back up onto the chair. Another couple of minutes later he had the ink he needed and was facing a coming out he really never anticipated having to go through. Coming out of the closet to your best friend was one thing. Coming out of the literal, actual closet you have shut yourself in to reunite with your super hot best friend that you've been in love with for over a decade at this point was quite another.

Ripping the band-aid off was really the only way to go, so Andrew took a deep breath, put his free hand on the knob, and opened the door.

Neil had repositioned himself and was now leaning against the nearest desk. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows exposing strong forearms decorated with swirls of dark ink. Three fingers on each hand bore rings (not the ring fingers, not that Andrew was specifically looking) and his nails were painted a dark, glossy gray. Around one wrist was a frayed bracelet that perfectly matched the one Andrew also wore on the same wrist.

As soon as Neil saw him, he lit up. A smile on his face that shined in his eyes, even if there was a slight hesitance to it - understandable considering Andrew had just.. you know... shut himself in a closet after seeing him.

"Hey... Sorry again, about that. I know you don't like to be startled. I just... I got excited."

Andrew swallowed, a tough feat with a throat so dry. Somehow, he managed a snort. "Like a puppy. Should I be worried about my floors, Josten?"

"I dunno, you gonna scratch me behind the ears?" Neil shot back, and the smirk that accompanied it was fucking devastating. That's is, Andrew gave up. He lost. Dead, he was dead. There was no way he was getting out of this one.

Andrew did the only thing he could do to keep himself from grabbing the little bastard and kissing him senseless, which was ask the big question hanging in the room between them.

"How are you here, Neil? I thought you'd never be able to come back to American soil."

Neil rubbed the back of his neck, like he was thinking of the best way to explain it. After a moment he said, "Uncle Stuart still doesn't think it's a great idea - but there's no price on my head anymore. As of last month we cleared out the last of... well, let's just call them the old bad guys. There are new bad guys, but they don't really care about me."

It took a moment for that to fully sink in. Andrew set down the ink on the desk and moved to stand directly in front of Neil. When Neil stood up straight, they were almost exactly the same height - Neil only really had a few inches on him. At least he hadn't been lying to make him feel better when he'd told him in a letter a few years back that he'd topped out at 5'3.

"So? Don't you have a whole new life over in jolly old England now? Friends and family who don't regularly try to kill you? Why come back at all?"

He knew why, but he wanted - he needed - to hear him say it.

"Yeah, but... they aren't you."

"Me."

"Yeah, Andrew. You."

Their eyes met. Something in Andrew's chest snapped like an overworked rubber band stretched too taut and all the carefully sequestered feelings it had been keeping at bay suddenly sprang forth like a tidal wave. They rushed through him, filling him up, buoying him until he probably could have reached the top shelf of that goddamn closet without the chair.

"I hate you," Andrew ground out. And Neil smiled, because he knew it wasn't true.

"I missed you, Andrew. I missed you so fucking much."

"Shut up, stupid." Andrew forced himself to take a deep breath, then he snatched up Neil's hand and started dragging him out of the office. "Come on. We're getting ice cream."

Neil laughed and squeezed his hand. "Some things never change."

No, Andrew thought, some things never do.

#asks #AFTG prompts #aftg fanfic #andrew minyard #neil josten #reunion fic #i will never pass up the chance to make an 'in the closet' joke #they are so in love #andrew minyard x neil josten #andreil

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