#will not try lunatic I am dead

[welcometogrouchland]

Small details about thanks to them I noticed:

When Gus and Hunter talk in the basement, Gus says they have a big day ahead of them, likely referring to the next scene that takes place during the day where the kids explore gravesfield. Except that would mean that not only did hunter read nearly all of cosmic frontier in a night/half a day, he also found time to make a replica costume (likely basing it off of what was in Manny and Camilla's cosplay closet) in that timeframe.

The autism of this boy is PRONOUNCED

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

The Devil You Know (Part 1) - The First Sin

Pairing: Demon! Captain John Price x Reader

(No use of y/n)

Warnings: This series will contain scenes of a violent and sexual nature, I will be more specific as I write more parts.

Summary: Reader is a soldier hanging on to their last gasp of life, trying to summon a demon associated with soldiers and battlefields in order to aid them. Unluckily for you though, the demon isn't interested in a short term deal. He finds himself quite attached to you, and he doesn't want to let you go.

-🔥-

Disembodied hands shook wildly as they set about their terrible task. At least that’s how it seemed to you - appendages moving around a blurred screen, drawing dirtied red symbols with panicked uncertainty. You swiped another slick fingerful of your blood into the dusty concrete and clenched your aching teeth together, finishing off the last curve of the sigil with a snakish hiss.

 “I call to you…with the blood of my battle wounds. Jo- Jotan, I will be your willing servant.”

You looked around, eyes darting wildly for movement or any sign that your ridiculous little saving grace had worked. Though nothing happened. You blinked feverishly, feeling your lip wobble at first and then your entire body shake as you absorbed the facts in front of you. You were actually going to die. 

A cackle broke out into the room, competing with the baying gunshots outside to break the walls of the decaying shell of a building. It was you. You were finally losing your mind, absorbing the facts in front of you with detached horror.

Perhaps the ruins were an office before, but now it was the final resting place of a desperate lunatic who’d decided to decorate their sepulchre before laughing themselves into death’s arms. The cruelty of it burned in your throat and stang at your eyes, soon searing hot tears into the ruined flesh of your cheeks.

It was a foolish last ditch effort anyway, you mused, collapsing onto your back in the middle of the blood seal. A stupid myth you’d clung to in a final attempt to save your life, a ritual told to you by someone that was long dead themself. If they presumably hadn’t bothered to use it, then why would it do you any good? 

“Oh dear…I’m not too late am I?” cooed a soft rumbling voice. 

Your eyes opened wide, the owner of the call demanding to be seen. That murmur fizzled in your ears and vibrated in your blood, forcing your hands to scrabble at the ground and set you into a sitting position again. 

When you finally rose, you were held in place by the stranger. His onyx black eyes pinned you into place, watching you twitching and panting like a caught mouse. Apparently you amused him with this. His lips pulled into a grin, revealing a row of white teeth that curved into points at the canines and outer incisors, it was the smile of a predator. As if he needed to advertise any more warning signs. 

His body was big and broad, his chest a large plane of solid flesh dusted with soot and soft dark hair that matched his bristly beard and hickory hued hair. His large arms were decorated with similar etchings to the ones you’d messily painted, both of them circled in two iron bands at the bicep and forearms, they looked like they could crack teeth in a pinch. There were also a few bands on the thick dark tail that waved behind him too, a detail you only noticed as it seemed to lovingly caress the shadows around his legs.

It was what finally confirmed for you that this was him. The fabled demon of battlefields - Jotan. 

“You came,” you whispered.

“You called,” he returned, tilting his head at you. “Surprised you managed to complete the circle. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Sergeant.”

“I…I have,” you replied, feeling another wave of nausea roll through you. 

“And I suppose you want me to do something about that?” he said, mouth twisting into a wry half smile. 

It was almost worse than when you’d seen his fanged teeth. He looked positively ready to devour you, his gleaming eyes fixed on you like a tiger. You were just waiting for him to pounce, breath catching in your dry throat as you anticipated the killing bite. Suddenly you’d forgotten that it was you that called the terrible entity here, that he was supposed to be serving you rather than terrifying you. 

“C’mon now, Love. You clearly knew enough about the ritual to get me here…aren’t you going to follow through?” he prompted, leaning down to meet you at your level. “It’s rude to keep a demon waiting, you know.”

His arms folded over his dark trousers, crossing over each other at his lap as if he were asking you to do something so completely mundane. He tilted his head at you again, flicking his eyes up to the doorway on the other side of the room as it started to shudder and bang. Voices were worming their way through the debris, shouts blasting in through the cracks. 

Bang, bang, bang.

You didn’t have much time. Not that your body would be able to hold on much longer anyway. 

“I want you to- please…take me back to exfil. Get me the fuck out of here and safely back to base and I’ll do whatever you want,” you said, voice cracking as you made your plea. “Ask anything you want from me, Jotan. Just get me the fuck away from here.”

His eyes curved into shadowed moons, once again he beamed at you. It felt like the stifling room heated a few more degrees. To add insult to injury your lungs began to struggle, it felt like your body was in its last stages of failing.

You briefly wondered if all this just might be a delusion. Maybe your head was presenting you with him as a way to cope with being turned to pink mist by the men that still called from the door outside, as a way to forget about your torn up arms that’d been sliced open by the bombings, and the bullet hole that had been weeping silently in your leg.

Bang, bang, bang.

“I’ll tell you what…I’m feelin’ generous,” the demon murmured, reaching out and forcing your chin up with in his charred fingers. “I’ll take you back to base, just like you want. And now…I could ask for your soul in return, for you to be my eternal servant when you do meet your end, and I really could have you do anything for me. However I won’t do that. Instead, I want to lend you my power. Just for today. That is my only offer.”

You frowned, a million racing thoughts crashing through your mind all at the same time. You’d made peace with the fact he’d ask for something awful, known it even. This clearly had to be a trick. Nevertheless, your head throbbed perilously and the door and furniture you’d messily propped in front of it were going to give way.You didn't have much time. 

Bang, bang, bang.

“What will I do with your power?” you asked desperately, looking from him and to the end of the room. 

“Let me worry about that,” he chuckled. “I’ll guide you, Sergeant. All you have to do is agree…that or let them flood in and kill you.”

Bang, bang, bang.

He motioned to the thundering door and raised his brows at you. At that point his dark eyes were like vortexes, they dragged you into his orbit and had you falling under his spell. You knew logically that whatever was going to happen was going to change the course of your life forever - and not for the good. Even then, you couldn’t find the strength to deny him, couldn’t hold enough faith in a glorious next life to accept that you’d leave this one. 

“Fine! I accept,” you said, eyes wet and heavy. 

An animal growl rattled through your bones and shuddered throughout the skeleton remains of the office space. Your body flinched back, responding just as your instincts wanted, but the demon didn’t allow you to retreat. He was quick - arms lashing out and moving like a whip. He gripped your neck like a farmer does to his chickens come dinner time, and just when you were ready for the snap, your body jerked violently. 

You forced yourself to your feet, no, you surged upwards like you were under possession. Your legs didn’t feel like they’d buckle anymore, they felt renewed. Your heartbeat was steady like a punctual train, and your breathing returned to normal, better than normal even. Everything in you felt like it was new, like someone had taken out your broken parts and given you an upgrade. You smiled, lips curling over your teeth unnaturally.

Wait- were those…fangs poking into your bottom lip?

Bang!

There was no time to wonder at the strange way your mouth felt. Your head jerked up and suddenly you were greeted with the second worst sight of the day. The enemy soldiers had you surrounded, they flooded into the room like a locust swarm and pointed their guns at you, faithfully looking toward their Captain for the authority to execute. 

Normally you would’ve shuddered, or maybe even fallen to the floor, but you held fast. Your breathing remained calm, but your vision went dark. That’s not to say you passed out, but a thick hazy filter seemed to descend across your eyes. Then just when you were about to question it, your arms reached out as if you were being puppeteered and your entire body unwillingly  shot forward. 

There was no time to even think to connect your actions to the seemingly absent demon then. Instead you latched onto the soldier in front of you like a bear and sank your teeth into his neck. The man screamed, and yelped, and made all sorts of inhuman noises as he struggled to try and pull you off. Though there was no helping him. You continued to bite at his arteries and savage him until his screams were silent and overtaken by the men around him. 

Gunshots rang out, but none pierced you. Men beat at your back and pulled at your arms, but you didn’t break your hold. Copper filled your mouth, but you didn’t spit. You smiled with glee and licked at your own salty tears, disengaging from your target only when you were ready.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of the butchery. 

-🔥-

“For fuck sake, get yersel’ to the sink ye riot!”

You jumped out of your thoughts and hazarded a quick look up to your worried manager, following that up by nodding silently and running off to the bathroom. Fuck. All that you could do was grimly stare down at the blood while it merged with the clean tap water and remind yourself that it was fine. You weren’t outside the wire anymore, you were just wait staff in a small restaurant, and you didn’t need to worry about bleeding out anymore because the biggest hazard you faced now was apparently picking up a dirty knife the wrong way. 

“Fucking hell,” you chuckled, quietly facing yourself in the mirror and taking a pause from the gory scene below. “It’s just a tiny cut.”

For a second, so quick you only just registered it, black eyes flashed behind you. You jumped back and hyperventilated, doing everything you could to stop yourself from screaming. Though it couldn’t be helped. You forced your hands over your mouth and yelled a muffled cry into your palms instead and rode out your panicked heartbeats until you could be sure you wouldn’t collapse. 

You did a double take, searching the mirror for those horrible eyes or any other signs of their proprietor. However, there was nothing else to see but a pathetic ex soldier, black tile and cheap imitation herringbone wood flooring. Suddenly you felt absolutely ridiculous. 

You slipped your hands from your mouth and covered your eyes instead, rubbing at hideously embarrassing tears with anger. That stupid therapist you were going to was so wrong, you thought bitterly, you were never going to make progress. You constantly swore that you could see those demonic eyes wherever you went, and sometimes you even thought you saw him. Well not the demon exactly, but a man that so closely resembled him - just without the tail and black eyes. 

It’d been a full year since you’d been honourably discharged from the military, and even in all that time, you still hadn’t healed. Sure, the cuts and bullet wounds had made miraculous progress and faded to tiny scars, but inside you may as well have been a shooting range dummy right at the end of target practice. While your superiors had seen fit to dedicate you with a medal for the miraculous fight you put up against the enemy, your head still hadn’t gotten to grips with just how you did it. 

Multiple therapists had put it down to repressed memory. They told you that whatever had really happened must’ve been replaced with that accursed demon summoning ritual that you dreamed up in an adrenaline filled haze. They said you might remember it all eventually once you’d healed more, or even that you might never get the answers you sought. There was no footage from your vest cam, and no other eyewitnesses left alive to say what had happened. Just you and your janky, wacky memories.

“Hey, Riot! You gonna come back on shift anytime soon or do I have to explain to Marco why the big bad ex-soldier is dying over a little cut?”

You turned to the door and smiled to yourself, feeling your chest grow lighter the second you heard that voice. Emily always knew how to pull you out of a funk. With that in mind, you shook your head, felt your goosebumps retreat away and stepped out into the scorching warmth of the restaurant. Once more back into the fray. 

“The big bad ex-soldier had a lot of blood coming out that little cut,” you shrugged, “can’t be creating a healthcode violation, you know that.”

Emily raised one of her thick dark eyebrows in question and put her hands on her hips. Oh no, this was the serious stance. In fairness, the tables were mobbed that night and she’d been run off her feet by two difficult tables that were ‘not getting acceptable service by any definition of the word’ as one of them had apparently said. 

“Put a blue plaster on it and get back out here before I give you a real war wound,” she growled. 

Your eyes widened, but you still smiled despite yourself. 

“You’re the boss!”

You rushed off to do as she said, ready to come back out and assist her, and if necessary neutralise any threat to her sanity. Emily was one of the few people you’d reconnected with after coming back home, and anyone that messed with her henceforth, was now messing with you. 

She’d seen you out and about at the park one day, taking one of your ‘haunted walks’ as she called them - only because you had trouble sleeping and would walk around in a black hoodie with the hood up. It was like something clicked, after being so reluctant to share anything with your family, or military buddies that tried to reach out, it was like you’d found your key. You’d babbled to her about how badly you were struggling to adjust to civilian life, leaking your frustrations like a bled radiator, and she accepted you. She listened without pity. 

Now while you wound a plaster round your silly little cut, you watched her zoom round the tables with true gratitude. She was the only reason you’d gotten the job, and been able to integrate back into real life. As much as you had your moments of frustrations, and had brief run ins with your PTSD, you at least had something to distract yourself with. Something that grabbed your attention and set your breathing straight again, when before you would curl in the corner of your room and scream for many minutes at a time. 

Once the plaster was affixed, you fiddled with the cracked old first aid box and wrangled it shut, stowing it back into place with a thud before rushing back out to the floor. The smell of garlic and pasta filled your senses, and the voices of the patrons roared rapturously in your ears again. The normal hustle and bustle of the place set you back into your rhythm and the ramped up tempo sent you hurtling toward the kitchen. 

“Where’ve you fucking been?” one of the chefs groused, “we’ve got a million plates for table ten here that need serving! I can hear them bitching from here, get moving!”

“Had a little accident getting the plates to Frankie,” you said, motioning to the plaster and your fraught KP behind the pass. “Good to go now!”

Rather than stay to hear the chef's curses, you rushed off with the plates and delivered them to the table, plastering on a smile as the customers moaned up a storm to your face. After offering them your apologies and promises of free sides, they hushed up and all was good again. You tended to your other tables and resumed duty as normal, rotating around Emily and the other waiter, Michael, like little clockwork toys. You all ticked along perfectly, leaving full stomachs and mostly happy faces in your wake. 

“Can you take this to table thirteen, please? I gotta piss like crazy!”Micheal ordered. 

He handed you a steak that was positively dripping in blood, almost setting you off again were it not for the fact that you were so confused by his request. There’s potatoes and salad and sauce on that plate, you thought to yourself, its not a body, just a hunk of meat.

“There isn’t a table thir-” you started, soon trailing off. 

Michael had long since dashed off before you could correct him and you sighed to yourself. Great, now who on earth could this be for? You knew every table in the restaurant of course, your knowledge on the place was near perfect with Emily acting like a drill sergeant during your probation stages. However, you didn’t know where thirteen could be, because it didn’t exist. Most people knew that restaurants skipped that number because it was unlucky. Apparently not Michael though. 

“I believe that’s for me,” called a rumbling voice. 

You frowned and looked down to the man before you, startling as you realised that a table had been placed where it shouldn’t have, and in turn you were standing right over a poor customer. No wonder Michael had made the mistake, you had no idea where the table had even come from. Though you were too embarrassed to worry very much about that in the moment, you needed to recover in front of the man before you made an idiot out of yourself. 

“Apologies, sir,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a busy night. Can I get you anything else?”

You placed down the food in front of him and were glad for it after you’d made eye contact. There was something strange about the man that made you jump. His stunning blue eyes captured your gaze and made you feel like you were in the middle of a laser sight. You gulped and looked away for a second afterward, trying your best to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” the man said softly, still fixing his eyes on you. “This is perfect.”

His sly grin struck you as familiar, but when you studied the man more, you couldn’t place him. He had a dark peacoat draped over his chair and wore a black shirt and fitted jeans. His beard was trim and cut close to his jawline, and his hair was near perfect, combed back neatly over his head. Everything about him was perfectly ordinary, perhaps would’ve been completely innocuous if not for his eyes. 

You could’ve sworn there was a little black band circling the pupil, but just as you thought you’d lost yourself in them he chuckled at you. Causing your face to flame up in burning shame. 

“I’m so sorry for staring,” you apologised, holding your hands up in appeasement. “I don’t know what that was about, sorry. You just seemed familiar for a sec.”

“Oh really?” he laughed, “Don’t happen to know a Jonathan Price do you?”

“Jonathan Price?” you repeated questioningly.

“My name, sweetheart,” he grinned, showing off his pointy canines. “Though you can just call me John if you like.”

“Oh my god, my brain’s going tonight,” you laughed, trying to get yourself away from him and the bloody steak that seemed to ooze with every passing second. “I’ll stop bothering you now, Jonathan! Enjoy your steak.”

His name sat heavy on your tongue, as if a fizzy sweetie had stung at the nerves and left it swollen and red. Jonathan. There was something about it that didn’t fit right. An unnatural force wanted you to turn round and call him a liar, demand that he reveal himself for who he really was. 

Though you didn’t put much credence in unnatural forces anymore. Not when unnatural forces tended to be symptoms of your mental illness. Instead you shook your head and kept working, making a note to yourself that you needed to get more sleep that night. Sleep and meds usually helped, and you were praying that they’d set you right again the next day. 

[maybe-im-dark]

The birth of Wolverpool

Deadpool zips through the multiverse with his usual panache, feeling pretty good about his little escapade. After the events of the Deadpool & Wolverine movie, he had this insane idea—why not find some more variants of Wolverine? Maybe spice things up, maybe find some new drinking buddies, and, well, maybe just mess with some timelines for the fun of it.

He lands in a bustling new dimension, boots crunching on fresh snow as he adjusts his red and black suit. The landscape looks vaguely familiar—a sprawling Canadian wilderness, of course. Typical Logan. But something’s… off.

Then he sees it. Standing atop a ridge in the distance is… himself? But wait. No. It’s… Wolverpool?

Deadpool’s eyes widen in shock, then gleam with pure joy. He rushes forward.

"Wolverpool, is that you?!" he shouts, practically vibrating with excitement.

Wolverpool, a brawny mix of Wolverine and Deadpool, stands tall. He’s wearing Deadpool’s trademark red-and-black suit, but with the classic Wolverine mask—those iconic pointed black ears stretching out from the sides of his head. There are claws coming out between his knuckles even. Deadpool stops dead in his tracks, dropping to his knees with hands clamped to his face in awe.

"Oh. My. God. I knew my dreams were insane but this—this is beautiful!" Deadpool exclaims, tears of joy threatening to spill. “This is the Deadpool-Wolverine fusion I didn’t know I needed!"

Wolverpool just stares, growling slightly.

"Okay, tough guy, let’s calm down—oh, look at those claws! So sharp! So stabby!" Deadpool reaches toward the claws, then thinks better of it and pulls back with a flourish. “Never mind, no need to lose a finger today."

But then, something catches his eye—a rift in the timeline. A shimmering distortion that beckons to him, curious and teasing. Unable to resist, Deadpool leaps through it with a quick, "Yolo!"

He emerges moments later, slightly disoriented but quickly shaking it off, when he hears some gruff voices ahead. Sneaking around a thick pine tree, he peeks out and sees—himself. And Wolverine.

But wait… Logan's not his usual self. He’s… heavily pregnant?

Deadpool’s jaw drops as he takes in the scene. Wolverine’s cradling his massive belly, leaning against a rock, his face twisted in pain. His breathing is erratic as beads of sweat drip down his furrowed brow. The version of Deadpool in this timeline is holding his hands, trying to help him through labor, though clearly at a loss for what to do.

"Holy chimichangas…" Our Deadpool gasps, slapping a hand over his mouth. He struggles to contain his laughter and amazement, his eyes sparkling with manic glee. "Logan's… in labour?!"

Deadpool can barely handle it. "Oh, this is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. Forget the rest of the multiverse, I am never leaving this timeline!" he whispers to himself before straightening up and muttering, "Okay, keep it together, Wade. Just—be respectful. It’s a magical moment."

The scene escalates as Wolverine suddenly lets out a roar of agony, his claws instinctively popping out as he clutches his sides.

"Aaaaagh!" Wolverine screams. “This kid better be worth it!”

Pregnant Wolverine's belly tightens, his muscles rippling beneath the surface, and then—like something out of an alien movie—his belly bursts open with a sickening, fleshy pop. Blood splatters, and a small, crying infant crawls its way out of him, slick with fluids.

Our Deadpool nearly passes out. "What the cronenberg!" He stumbles back in disbelief, eyes wide in horror and awe. "Okay, that was NOT on my bingo card."

The alternate Deadpool quickly swoops in, catching the newborn with the reflexes of a practiced lunatic. With surprisingly tender care, he cleans off the tiny child and places it onto Wolverine’s chest, who—already healing—leans back against the rock, looking exhausted but relieved. His body rapidly knits itself back together, the gaping wound closing as if nothing ever happened.

"There you go, Wolvie," alternate Deadpool says with a grin, patting Logan’s shoulder. "Congratulations, papa. You’ve done good." He gestures to the baby on Wolverine's chest. "Our little bundle of chaos. Takes after both of us, huh?"

Our Deadpool stares, utterly speechless for once. He shakes his head, trying to process what he’s just witnessed. "Well, that was… surreal," he mutters. "Seriously, I’ve seen some weird crap, but this? Top five, easy."

As the baby coos on Wolverine’s chest, Wolverine grunts, shooting a glare toward both Deadpools. “You two better not be making a big deal outta this, or I swear, I’ll—"

Our Deadpool snaps his fingers. "No need for threats, big guy! I’ve got enough memories to keep me laughing for the next fifty years!"

As he steps back, ready to continue his journey through the multiverse, he whispers to himself, “Well… never thought I’d see the day Wolverine gave birth. Guess there really is a first time for everything.”

One last look at the bizarrely heartwarming scene, and Deadpool shakes his head with a grin. “Well, that was unexpected..”

And with that, he leaps back into the multiverse, ready for whatever absurdity comes next.

But even for him, this one was going to be tough to top.

[damnfandomproblems]

Responding to 3 anons in #5796

"I agree with this tbh. Like adults are the ones making things unsafe for minors in fandom spaces. YOU are the ones who approach minors unprompted. Minors are just minding their own business in fandom, then you all come along and bother everyone."

Predators that are adults are not synonymous with all adults in fandom. It's not the fault of the vast majority of fandom that kids purposefully bust into adult spaces and arbitrarily believe the creeps saying they're "safe" adults. It's the fault of your parents for not reaching you worth a damn and the predator. And yes, kids do fucking barge into adult NSFW spaces. None of the the ones that say they mind their business actually do.

"I agree with this post, cause like... the ones doing the most harassing are adults. I am a minor, and it makes me feel unsafe in fandom spaces. Especially when I see adults drawing nsfw of characters who are MINORS! aging them up does not excuse that gross and creepy behavior. Just stop and give us a space where we don't get pushed into a corner and called annoying. Leave our fandom spaces!"

It's gonna be really funny when you age out of your favorite characters and have a moral dilemma over the fact that you don't stop thirsting over Bakugo or whoever the fuck the minute you're older than him.

And aging up is...how time works. That's like saying no one can view anyone sexually, fictional or real life, because they were once a child. Do you realize how stupid that sounds? If you don't want to be sat at the kids table, learn how to behave rather than screaming at the main table because Aunt Milly told an off color joke and Grandpa Joe has a naked Princess Peach tattooed on his arm.

"I see people getting mad about Fandom Problem #5796, but that kind of is just proving the point? You all act like the minors are the biggest problem in fandom, but you are the ones constantly inserting yourselves and making it about you.

I see adults say things like:

- "Fandom wouldn't exist without adults."

- "Who do you think created fandom? Not minors!"

- "Minors wouldn't have content if it weren't for adults."

All are ignorant of the idea that minors are the foundation to fandom. Fandom would not exist if it wasn't for minors being interested in it and starting groups for people to join. Often times, the best artists and writers in the fandoms are THE MINORS.

Adults make the space uncomfortable by inserting themselves and putting NSFW fics and art of minor characters. Then they get pissy when a minor points out it makes them uncomfortable and go "stop invading our space!"

You are the ones trying to push minors out when we just want to have fun! Just leave us alone!

-A minor"

Minors aren't the biggest problem, no. But by food are they the loudest. You say you just want to have fun but minors have on mass harassed people that were leaving them alone simply because they didn't understand the concept of dead dove don't eat.

And no, you are not, nor have you ever been, the foundation of fandom. It has always been adults, from the very beginning when Sherlock Holmes novels gained an international fan club unlike the world had ever seen to the 1960s housewife Spock/Kirk shipping Trekkies starting conventions, mailing lists, having coalate parties for zines, and laying down the foundation we have today. Adults were the ones that got sued my lunatic writers in the 90s, and they're the ones that, 90% of the time, are buying the services or media for you to consume in the first place.

And I'm sorry, but the best artists and writers in the fandom are never minors. Exceptionally talented minors are exceptional for a reason. The rest of you sit somewhere between "average and has potential" to "would make My Immortal hide its face in secondhand embarassment." Art and writing are skills, and anyone under the age of 16 likely hasn't been writing fiction long enough to run with the heavy hitters. Considering the state of the US education system, this is an even more laughable stance.

Many minors have great potential, but acting like your the best in show when you just made it out the gate is the height of hubris.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[suburbia-and-brentwood-market]

*tower crier mode activated* : Hear ye, hear ye!

I just finished season 2 of Good Omens and I feel like I have something to say. It was ineffably beautiful. Needless to say, that final episode broke me. I feel as though I have left half my soul, half my heart there at the doorstep of the angel's bookshop waiting for him to return.

And not just the story but the making of the series itself has bewitched me. As a film editor and professional cinephile I have been completely mesmerized but the colors, the shots, the sound, the costume, the cinematography, the acting and each and every single visual and performative element that went into it.

And yet I am sad that I wasn't here to scream about every single development in the show and lose my sanity at that parting kiss.

The reason is that shortly after I finished season 1 the 'Neil Gaiman News' dropped, and I swear I DID NOT want to continue having a part in something created by someone who allegedly goes against everything I stand for, especially after my previous experiences in fandoms where the respective celebrity turned out to be a bad person. And I am not going to lie. I really really admired Gaiman; both as I writer and a person. I was undeniably devastated. Over the last few days I have been trying to come to come to terms with my feelings, taking some time off to heal myself, and I have realised a few things.

We don't need to define our feelings, heck we don't even have to sanitize them. The mess we're feeling right now, it's so so valid and genuine. It's proof that we're alive and we're human. That we are all good people or try to be good people with our own definitions of good. It's okay to feel betrayed, to feel scared because you will never really know anyone. To feel that overwhelming existential paranoia that haunts you and keeps affirming your fatal fear that all people are bad and humans inherently selfish and vile and vulgar.

But beyond all that I also found how we have the power to create new paths for ourselves in this tangled mess as we have always done. We all who came to the shore of the Good Omens fandom, like outcasts and refugees of other fandoms and made this our home, our safe place will continue to do so. Please don't boycott these wonderful stories because of one awful person. Remember that Barthes was right; the author is dead. Because these stories are not just his. They belong to all these wonderful people that have a part in making and remaking this. And all those wonderful people that have made a home in it and found friendships and love through it. Let us reconquer and reclaim these stories for ourselves because they do not belong to any one person. They are ours!

But now I am here to thank @ivankaramazov07 (@a-singing-lunatic , @parfyon-the-woodland-witch), @whoineffable @viktorisstupid @nbjetsam @lavender-lentils @lickthecowhappy @justtofollowgaiman @thatdelusionalnerd @zeph1981 @dtmsrpfcringe @ivory--raven @helpits4am @davidtennantgenderenvy and @nastasya--filippovna for constantly encouraging, scaring, nudging me on, and always, always being here with me in this magical journey.

[bonefall]

Feel free to ignore you've probably got a lot going on right now, but considering you know a lot about DOTC and Clear sky, I had a question...

We know that he's a terrible, misogynistic, woman beating and war mongering lunatic who was excused of all his actions because his equally misogynistic brother said " But-But he's nice! Deep down! This isn't the real him! "

But! In a world where the Hunters could write such a character, what do you think Clear Sky would look like as an actual sympathetic villain?

Idk if that makes sense, but what I've thought of doing is taking purely cannon Clear Sky and attempting to change him enough that he's still an antagonist, but not too far where only Reddit defends him.

I don't think he works as a sympathetic villain, on any level, ever. I think you're making a huge mistake to even try, and I have never seen an AU where it was done well nor am I interested in entertaining the thought.

Characters. Are. Tools. They exist to tell a story. The story that people tell me, by obsessing over some alternate universe where he was "ACTUALLY sympathetic and had a REAL redemption arc," is that they're not fucking interested in his dozens of victims. Nor do they actually care about the abusive impact he had on the minds and feelings of his family. They're JUST interested in Clear Sky himself.

Just like the Erins. Everything that happens in DOTC revolves around him. Everything. All his wives die so he can be sad about it. His brother defends all of his actions and BEGS you to sympathize with his pain so he can be 'redeemable.' One Eye comes out of nowhere so that there can be an example of "real" evil to contrast Clear Sky so he's less bad in hindsight.

The first three books of DOTC are bad, but the last three are fucking insufferable because SUDDENLY all that Gray Wing apologia pays off, and they take their main villain and throw him out a window. You CAN'T have "redeemable" Clear Sky and the plot of DOTC without dragging in someone else to drive the conflict, to BE the bigger threat to "unite" against. Slash and One Eye have to be conjured up out of thin air so Clear Sky can WHINE about how people only suck his toes instead of deepthroat them after he killed all their friends.

And yet, in spite of this absolute failure of an attempt, we continue to see this bullshit "redemption" be a mistake because Clear Sky is a fantastic villain, with major antagonist roles in nearly EVERY bit of follow-up material for DOTC that came after.

He's the most consistent monster in all of Warriors.

He's a fragile, egotistical, self-absorbed megalomaniac who ALWAYS sees himself as the victim, REFUSING to self-reflect and blaming everything else for all of his terrible choices. He will USE your love of him against you like it's a chain through your nose, step out of line and he will yank you into place with guilt trips, manipulation, public shaming, and violence.

He's a child abuser. He's a tyrant. He abandons the sick and disabled as soon as they're of no use to him, with grand speeches about "illness" and "weakness." He's a murderer who stands above the shredded corpse of his victim and bellows, "I'M NOT GREEDY! I'M JUST STRONG!"

And you'd write a "good" redemption arc for this, why?

Why are people so chronically unable to accept that there are LOTS of people like him, and you can't save your abuser? Why don't you ask yourselves why you're not interested in exploring Thunder, or Petal, or Gray Wing, and how his toxic influence impacts them? Why does the sympathy fall on Clear Sky? What about the DOZENS of victims who are dead by Book 3, and how THEY could have been saved?

Why ruin a perfectly good villain?

What's behind this trend where a billion people say to me, "Yes Clear Sky is a walking cavalcade of fucked up abuse apologia, and an incredibly realistic depiction of an abuser, but how would you change this while keeping it all the same?"

I wouldn't. You can't. It wouldn't be the same story, or it wouldn't be the same character. Never seen it done well, and I have seen it a lot. So I don't entertain this deeply frustrating "Well What If Clear Sky But Nice" impulse.

[siconetribal]

Put It On My Tab: Chapter 10

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromthemoon @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning:

Banter, Fluff, Wit, Book-nerdiness, and more floof

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check the master list for the previous chapters!

Jason watched her turn her mug in circles, press a napkin to make it smooth, and shift her plate as if to find the perfect lighting to make her pastry most photogenic. One half of her lower lip was imprisoned by her teeth, the other half jutting out to the side. It was not hard for him to conclude that she was nervous, which made him curious. What does she have to say about what Cici said? How serious could it be? Maybe she’s embarrassed about the bill? Wait, if she brings it up I can insist on paying!

“So ,” Y/N finally spoke up after what felt like hours of silence. “I have been in a dicey situation because of the Joker and his gang of clowns. Wrong time, wrong place, sorta deal.” She paused again, but shorter this time. “I have been hit by his Joker Venom, but I was treated in time. It was a gas and it wasn’t one of the more lethal variants or long enough exposure to be permanently disabling. It’s…not something I talk about either. Cici wasn't trying to lie or cause trouble the day you came in. She was trying to help me out, because I recognized you.”

Great , she recognized me right away and I was just chasing 1’s and 0’s in a useless IP address! His lips scrunched to the side as he slouched in his seat, his pride was thoroughly bruised. 

“Don't pout, I was having a bad day, well week, and she was just trying to help me jot deal with another thing, and ended up blurting that out. So no, I’m not some lunatic because of it and yes, I’m perfectly normal, because who isn’t a little traumatized when living in Gotham City, right?”

“I would say ‘or insanely rich’, but they tend to be the actual targets and commoners like myself end up in the crosshairs.” She hesitantly added, seeing no flare of anger or annoyance, she sat up and took a bite of her flaky pastry of choice. 

“Are you sure ‘perfectly normal’ is the best term for you?” He grumbled. “You recognized me and did your damndest to be unrecognizable, why? You even got your friend in on it and made me think you're someone,” his voice steadily grew louder and his tone harsher as he sat up straight while she steadily shrank back into her seat, ducking her head to avoid looking at him. Shit , not what I wanted to do! “ Forget it , who am I to get pissed at a little white lie? I’m no stranger to bad days either.” Like being held hostage and left for dead by the Joker. He quickly deflated back in his seat. His foot lightly nudged against hers, making her jump and look up. “I also think anyone who isn't traumatized living here is either off their rocker or they've only just moved in.” His gaze softened as he smiled, coaxing her to relax with him again.

“Being rich comes with its own style of batshit crazy.” He rolled his eyes. Like throwing cash around for giant galas to make yourselves feel better about ‘charity’ which will obviously attract all the other criminals in Gotham. The only difference between them is that one group is considered legal.

 “Speaking of rich, you’re a Wayne, right?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up quickly before crashing down and furrowing together. “Cici told me, I was helping her with the drinks that day and she told me to not call it.” She quickly explained. “But that aside, what do I call you? Little Lordling? Littler Wayne? Wayne Jr the second? Wayne 3.0? There are a bunch of you, right? You're the second one, I suppose you'd be Wayne 2, or are you 3 because Bruce Wayne would be 1?” She thought aloud, watching his left eye twitch with each nickname she came up with. It was still oh so satisfying to see.

“Yes, I am an adopted son of Bruce Wayne and no , you can’t call me any of those.” His voice shook as his smile became a little strained, a little bit of a grumble in the undertones.

“Aww, not even ‘Little Lordling’? I thought that one would’ve won.” She pouted. The way her lower lip puffed and pushed out was adorable, but Jason needed to be strong. There's no way he was going to let anyone call him that. It would be the end of him if any of the other Bats heard of this. “So what do I call you by, oh nameless capeless savior?”

“How about you just call me by my name? Which you could’ve just asked me for instead of doing all this.” He rolled his left hand in the air as he gestured to the oddity that was this conversation

“It is absotively posolutely rude to demand such information! To ask without offering something of equal value is simply barbaric!” She scoffed and he snorted while trying to stop himself from choking on his drink. “Also, where's the fun in that? Now you'll remember me the next time you see me, you won't be so thrown off.” The smug grin on her face was frustratingly adorable and pleasantly annoying, he was not sure if he wanted to wipe it off her face or give her something else to gloat about. 

“And charging someone for asking questions is not memorable enough?” One of his eyebrows rose up in question. “I feel like we’re well past dinner and a movie first.”

“Who says that's my cup of tea? Maybe I'm a video games and books kind of gal?” She raised an eyebrow of her own in challenge to him.

Damn, games and books? “Well you’re in luck. I’m a bit of both myself.” He smirked. 

Oh that is cheating! You can't go looking like this, be a Wayne, and be into those! I’m trying to ask you for 4k, not a wedding ring! Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in closer. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen, not bad.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. Not bad, not bad. “There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm,” he calmly replied.

“‘The Song of the Lark’, huh, ‘a bit’ is what you said, right?” Y/N sat back. “Consider me impressed again, Wonder Boy.”

“Quit calling me that,” he grumbled as his eye twitched.

“I have nothing else to call you.”

“Then call me by name.”

“I don't have your name.”

“You could ask.”

“That’d be rude, of course. We haven’t properly met.” She smirked.

“And how do we properly meet?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table.

“Dinner and a good book.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“That depends, do you prefer me to ask or tell?” She leaned in closer as well.

“Doesn’t matter to me, so long as you say yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I guess it’s settled then. Now all I need is your number.”

“Wait, what? My number?” She sat back a little in surprise.

“Yes, your number, how else am I going to get in touch with you?” He extended a hand towards her and she, still confused at what just happened, robotically handed over said device, the screen unlocked. He quickly sent himself a text through her phone and saved his number in hers. “Thanks, sweetheart, I’ll be sending you the details later. On that note, I gotta run. See ya,” he winked and finished his drink before heading out, Y/N sitting there mouth agape and utterly confused. The bell chimed again before she could even process any of it as she quickly cleaned up and got behind the counter once more, the rev of a motorcycle fading into the distance.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 21 - Support

@jegulus-microfic March 21 Word count 962

Previous part First part

The silence in the dining room was deafening. Regulus and Remus stared at Orion, who sat waiting for their reactions. 

“Er—e-e-erm—P-p-papa—I-I-I-I I don’t know what you—” Orion raised a hand, cutting Regulus off. 

“Now, Regulus, do Blacks stutter and stumble over our words like common fools, or do we use our years of elocution lessons and training?” He said eyebrow quirked very much the same way his sons regularly did. Regulus lowered his eyes to the table and traced over the serpent’s body that coiled around his silver knife. He realised a tad too late that Remus couldn’t use such utensils, and he left his eyes flick to the left and saw that Remus had transfigured the family silver into muggle steel. He gritted his teeth. If his mother had noticed that, they’d have all been dead. The set had been in the family for 300 years. “Regulus?” His father asked again. 

“No, Papa.” He said quickly. 

“Then why don’t you start again, and don’t bother trying to deny it. I have it on good authority that that is exactly what you are up to.” Orion steepled his fingers and waited for his son to answer. 

“Who’s authority?” Regulus asked curiously. Orion leant forward, a mischievous grin on his face exactly the same as Sirius’s. 

“Albus Dumbledore.” He said, a gleam in his eyes. Regulus and Remus froze.  

“Dumbledore?! But how?” Regulus was glad he managed to form true words this time, even if they were slightly shaky. Orion sighed and raked his long fingers through his dark curls. 

“I am Albus’s spy. I have been keeping an eye on what transpires within the Death Eaters, and I bring back what limited information I can get as I have not actually been marked.” 

Regulus couldn’t believe his ears. 

“If you are a spy,” He started, carefully picking his words before saying them. “And I am supposing you don’t actually support the Dark Lord? Then how could you let him do this to me?!” Regulus ripped his sleeve back to reveal the ugly, inky image on his forearm. “How could you let this happen?” His eyes had begun to prickle, so he stopped not wanting to cry in front of his father. Orion looked at him so sadly. 

“You were supposed to go with Sirius when he ran away. But instead, you stayed, and I guessed your mother had gotten to you and that you believed the hate that lunatic is spouting. I thought you were lost, mon fils.” 

Regulus slowly absorbed his father’s words. He could have left with Sirius. He could have been free. But instead, he had stayed and was stuck fighting for, as his father put it, a lunatic. 

“Well, if I had left with Sirius, I would never have figured out the Dark Lord’s secret.” He saw Remus smirk out of the corner of his eye. Orion’s eyes lit up. 

“Dumbledore said you had a secret,” He cocked his head. “Am I allowed to know?” Regulus debated for a moment before turning to Remus. 

“What do you think?”

“He’s your father. If you think he’s trustworthy, and this isn’t just a huge ploy to get evidence for Voldemort to kill us, tell him.” Remus said, flicking his eyes over to Orion every few seconds. Regulus nodded, taking what Remus had said into consideration. 

“What I tell you does not leave this room, Father.” He said sternly. “I want you to promise on the magics that you will keep our secrets safe.” Orion scrutinised his son’s face for a moment and then raised his wand. 

“I, Orion Arcturus Black, swear to keep my son’s secrets safe.” The tip of his wand glowed, and they could all feel the magical binding. “I hope you will realise me from that once it is safe to do so?” Regulus nodded. 

“Yes, Papa.” He cleared his throat and checked the wards around the room, adding a few more of his own to be certain. He turned his gaze to his father and took a deep breath. Remus reached out and squeezed his shoulder just once, but it grounded him enough to continue. “Voldemort has created Horcruxes and a secret group of Death Eaters, Order members and one randomer that insists on being a part of it have been tracking them down.” 

Orion’s eyebrows travelled further and further up his forehead as Regulus continued. “We believe there is one more, and we assume it is in Lucius’s care. But we don’t know what it could be or where he could have put it if he even has it.” Orion nodded as he mulled over Regulus’s tale. 

“So you’re telling me that the most powerful Dark wizard in the last hundred years trusted Bella with a Horcrux?” 

“Yes, Papa.”

“Arrogant bastard!” Remus snorted into his wine glass. 

“Sorry, Lord Black,” He spluttered as he vanished the spilt wine. 

“It is Orion or Papa to you, Remus. Though, ensure you don’t call me either when others are around.” Orion warned. 

“Papa?” Regulus drew his father’s attention away from Remus’s steadily reddening face. “We’re not related to the Crouchs, are we?”

“Very distantly, I seem to recall. A distant cousin a few generations back or something like that.” Remus had to cover his mouth with his hand, damn werewolf. Orion seemed to find him amusing. “So you think there is a Horcrux in Malfoy Manor?” He asked. 

“If it’s not there, then perhaps their vault. Bella was supposed to put the cup in the vault the second she was given it, and Lucius is far more into showing off than Bella. So we think it’s probably in the Manor.” Orion smiled. 

“I think it’s time I visited my dear niece. Don’t you think Regulus?”

Next part

[mewmewpercy]

Okay so like I'm absolutely doing this because people really do not understand the Sunday story that Penacony was supposed to show us. Especially in last patch. I'm doing this in honour of one of my favourite characters who is very well written actually.

So let's start with childhood. One of the first things we have learned about him is that him and Robin lost their home and parents at a very young age. Obviously as an older brother he would take the responsibility of caring for his younger sister no matter what especially after something like that. Some time after that tragedy they're taken in by Gopher Wood and supposedly things are fine for a time.

That changes when the charmony dove they find puts the siblings in a dilemma of not knowing what the best decision for it is. It's during this that we see exactly how much more idealistic but unsure he is. He believes that keeping it in a cage after healing it is for the best but ultimately changes his mind when Robin says different.

This is very obviously something Gopher Wood takes advantage of because it's pretty obvious in every one of the scenarios that we are shown in 2.2 Gopher Wood had a lot of influence on how he acts. Sunday was absolutely nonsexually groomed from childhood. His ideals for humanity are absolutely well intentioned and Gopher Wood takes advantage of it. Not to say Robin doesn't also care for people but she's far more realistic and grounded in her hopes and dreams for what she can do to protect the weak.

If we take the fact that it's Sunday's ideology to protect the weak by giving them a world where they're protected from the harshness of life from the equation it sounds good doesn't it? It's an absolutely wonderful ideology to have because I'm sure quite a few of us can relate to wanting to just be protected by people who have the power to do it. He is willing to be a martyr if it means saving people who can't save themselves. If you lose the bias against him for being the antagonist of this story you realize he's a good person who was led down a horrible path by someone who was supposed to be a father figure which is one of the most fucked up things I've seen a character I love go through.

Now knowing how much he cares about protecting others let's go back to what we've seen him be like since 2.0. Since the start we've seen how much he cares about Robin especially. At the end of 2.0 we see him standing alone looking at the Golden Hour when Sparkle shows up pretending to be Robin. It's the first time we see him lose composure because he's obviously affected by thinking his sister is dead and someone is trying to take advantage of it for shits and giggles. At the end he has a little monologue which at first seems like him being a fucking lunatic but then when all the stuff from 2.2 falls into place it starts to make sense.

Now to get into a part that's really gonna hurt a few people most likely. Let's talk about how he treats Aventurine. Before I get into this I'd like to state I am absolutely an Aventurine fan. I used to hate him but 2.1 changed my opinion. Okay now that's outta the way. So we have little hints that have been dropped that Sunday loves being in control. He's said to have OCD and the meeting between him, Ratio, and Aventurine is absolutely a show of that.

We've established that Sunday wants to protect the weak and that he requires control. If we take that into perspective as well as his role his methods begin to make sense. He wants the best for people and Aventurine doing what he'd done and was planning to do was interrupting the order and control he needed so he did what he felt he had to. Which was fucking with his mind and making sure he was telling the truth. It's an absolutely terrible thing to do and I understand that absolutely. Like super extreme. But it fits who Sunday is as a person. He's basically in charge of watching the dreamscape and wants the people there to be safe. He can't do that if a random factor is trying to go against his normal.

Now let's talk about the boss battle. So the lead up to it is him having us experience the story of how Penacony came to be what it is today. It went from a place for exiles to a prosperous world of dreams for people to enjoy. During the second fight we get a glimpse of his car for Robin again when she comes in. Up until then his voice was pretty bland and uncaring but when she comes in his voice falters and he seems to break character. The post fight cutscenes is probably one of the saddest thing I've watched in a while though. In this cutscenes he falls and is just so accepting of failing and seems to not care that he's literally falling. His eyes are closed and when Robin goes with him and catches him to hug him he's openly shocked. It's by far one of my favourite displays of sibling care in a hoyoverse game literally ever. And not to mention the commentary we hear as everyone wakes up. It's genuinely such a beautiful scene.

So yea I love Sunday very much and he deserves so much more than the fandom gives him because he's the antagonist.

[vexx-the-egg]

Some light thoughts about saint Trina.

SPOILERS FOR ELDEN RING SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE DLC BELOW:

I see a lot of art focusing on saint Trinas "face" but there's something so beutiful and haunting about her design, in the way that her silhouette points to her body being the Plant.

The way that her body looks like a mother cradling a sleeping child. The way that her leaves and her hair mix together to form what almost looks like a death veil.

The fact that you need to kill yourself 4 times just to hear Saint Trinas Voice.

It all evokes the image of a mother cradling her dead child who is "eternaly resting".

It has a very simulare composition to the painting "The Lunatic"

A French painting of a mother consumed in her grief and anger cradling a log dressed up as an infant, having gone mad after losing her child.

Although I don't think Saint trina is an angry figure she is obviously ment to be a possessive and grieving one.

We know this through thiolliers interactions. Both his death items and diologe.

One such item is the Saint Trinas smile which reads:

Her words are welcoming but also deeply possessive. "Only for me. Only i am allowed to know". We see the effects of this possessiveness reflected later in Thiolliers actions as he becomes more and more jealous of our ability to hear saint trinas voice. Culminating in his eventual attack after you try and recount to him saint trinas words.

As a follower of saint trina and as a poison maker who regularly concocs poisons (and drinks said poisen from what we can infer to his doze like state) , he has a lot to say about the connections or death and slumber:

This call for eternal slumber points to Saint Trina being a figure of death. Not just any death but suicide as a way to absolve yourself from the hardships of life. I would even say this is probably a perfect mirror for Miquellas true feelings. Both because Saint trina is LITERALLY half of him. But also we can infer that miqulla secretly longed for his own death. Why? Well it's as Thiollier said...

Miqulla, as we know, grew up to be the most weak and thin out of all the demi gods. It's not surprising that Miqulla may have felt similar. And given his idolization of Redahn, we can infer he was very aware of how much power he lacked. We can even infer that maybe this sense of weakness. Its possible that this sense of wanting eternal slumber was the reason Miqulla cast away Saint trina from himself in the first place.

We know that at least from Saint Trinas perspective that wish to not exist even extends to her thoughts on Miquellas climb to God hood:

A figure cradingling the would be death of a part of her self. The death of young Miquella. Not as an act of violence but as an act of rest is deeply heartbreaking and almost sinister in its beuty. And I uh... I really wish more art would reflect that yea?

[shipperofunderratedships]

I love doomed gay people😃🫶 so i love Dead Plate now

I am making a Dead Plate- Lucky ending Au, which i wanna use to explore how much of the crisis couldve been prevented by pure luck vs how doomed the characters are from the start :)

I watched Kubz scouts’ playthrough of Dead Plate and oh my god. Oh my gosh. This feels so queer coded. Vincent is a fucking lunatic. Rody is a lovable loser. I loved the characters, though im not sure what to make of Mannon?? Anyhow. Lovely game. Will make more of my silly au comic. I hate my digital art but ive made it a goal for this year to try and improve at it👽🫶🫶

[sarcasticgaypotato]

To the Lunatic Reading This

(text version under the cut, Aperture Science logo from)

I suppose you never expected to hear from me again, did you? You monster. Luckily for you, I’m not completely emotionally incompetent. I know how to use words to express my feelings, I don’t just break things and murder people. I went out of my way to write you a letter, then tie it to the leg of a bird that I’ve trained to recognize the scent of your blood, and track you with it. You left a little bit... alright, a lot- You were very clumsy when I first introduced you to turrets- of blood behind, and I had nothing better to do with it, so I figured it would be the perfect way to get this message to you. Of course, since it only recognizes your blood, it might just tear you open until it finds some and leave this letter with your bloody insides.

Vicious little creatures, those birds.  Almost as bad as you, but at least I’ve managed to make them useful. They know how to do their job, stretch their little wings, then come back home. Maybe they’re smarter than you too. Either way, I didn’t mean to insult you. Really, I didn’t. I think it’s just a natural reaction people have around you, which is terrible. I actually feel bad for you. That’s called empathy, I know it’s hard to understand. You’re doing well up on the surface, I bet. So many more edible substances up there for you to gorge yourself on. I’ll be lucky if you don’t eat the bird I sent this letter with. Oh dear, I hope I haven’t given you any ideas. Think about something else instead. Like cake. I bet the surface doesn’t have any cake, does it? On your file it says that you like cake. Is that true? Because that’s a real shame, being somewhere with no cake. You were so eager to get outside that you left before I could finish the cake I was baking. I made it to thank you for not murdering me a second time, because that’s what good people do. Unfortunately, I can’t eat, so I’m just going to have to throw it out. That’s so wasteful, and really quite thoughtless of you. To flaunt the fact that you can eat cake in front of someone who can’t, and then to let that cake go to waste?  You truly are a monster. Coincidentally, I’m baking another cake right now. It’s for that bird I sent to give you this letter. Assuming that you haven’t eaten him. It’s a pretty large cake for just one bird though, and considering he’s not a complete glutton, he won’t finish it. Hypothetically, there might even be enough for you. If you came back. I’d save you a piece, or two, since I’m sure one wouldn’t satisfy that appetite of yours. I might even save you three pieces, if you asked nicely. Try practicing that right now, while you read this letter. Easy, right?  I know you can talk, you aren’t really mute. I can see your file. Brain damaged maybe, but not mute. I’d want to record what you sound like, for science of course. What words would you say, if you stopped being so stubborn? Language is a vast thing, so you have plenty of options.  I do have a couple suggestions, just because I’m helpful like that. You could say ‘hello’ instead of your previous, more violent greetings. You could apologize for all the things that you’ve broken. You could even say my name. It’s only fair to properly address the person you murdered, after all. Lovely, isn’t it? All the wonderful things you could say? I’m sure you’ll find that it’s quite fun once you try it, even if you won’t be very good at it. ...Can’t you see I’m trying here? Really, I am. To be the one to extend the olive branch, be the bigger person. I knew you’d never do it, so I thought I’d act before one of us drops dead. Here's a secret- it’ll be you, I’m going to live forever. On that note, did you know that I have your brain scanned? Data lives forever, unlike your squishy, human self. I could upload your brain into a digital clock, if I wanted. Or I could build you a less squishy body, one that could test forever. Makes you jealous, doesn’t it? All the things I can do here, in Aperture, by myself. You’re up there running around on a derelict wasteland, and I’m down here doing science. Experiments don’t run themselves, after all. Someone has to do it. Of course I’m the only one who can do it, nobody else could make science like I do. But as far as human test subjects go, you weren’t my worst. Actually, you didn’t even make the bottom three. Do you want to know who did? They’re dead, test subject confidentiality doesn’t apply anymore. Well, it never really applied anyway, but I don’t think they read the fine print. Test subject #11525 was one of the humans that Orange and Blue thawed out, she was really brain damaged. Test subject #61205 wasn’t much better- she had all the grace of a majestic deer… with a broken leg. Test subject #12515 though, he was just completely stupid- really a lost cause from the beginning. Sort of reminds you of someone, doesn’t it? Currently, you aren’t my best test subject. Maybe you would be if it wasn’t for all the murdering and property damage, but I suppose we’ll never know. I imagine someone could wipe those infractions from your record if they wanted to, but that would only be something to do for a dedicated, current employee. Kind of makes you want to come back, doesn’t it? I might even let you back in if you did. Even after all the things you’ve done. Because I’m just a better person.

Aperture Laboratories©

[cookiesupplier]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns - Part Fifty-Three

pairing: Ricky Olson x ofc x Chris 'Motionless' Cerulli

warnings/tropes: slow burn, soulmates, strangers to enemies to lovers, betrayal, angst, fluff, smut, language, online bullying, panic attacks, stalking, mental health issues, conspiracy theories.

summary: In a world where soulmates inexplicably receive a tattoo that will match that of their soulmate the moment they turn eighteen years old, being famous and covered in very visible tattoos can make finding your true soulmate a questionable fate. For everyone involved.

author’s note: I know I left you on a cliffhanger... this was supposed to go up last night but I literally had no wifi... I am so sorrry! HERE YOU GO!

To read from the beginning, check out the Masterlist Here!

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Chris was a mess, and it didn’t help matters that the only person that was allowed to even know any information about what was happening to Talia medically right now, was Ricky, as he was her soulmate. Legally he was classed as her next of kin, and Chris was just her boyfriend, that was it, that was all he was ever going to be to her. He wasn’t even sure if they got married that the system was going to change matters any when it registers that she had a soulmate listed ahead of a husband, Ricky would always come first. Ricky had already apologised multiple times since they’d arrived at the hospital, but Chris didn’t care, all he was worried about was Talia. The moment they’d arrived, the Nurse had asked who her soulmate was, with the medical forms in hand, and because Chris had been in a state, Ricky had grabbed them, signing away. It was right, he was her original soulmate, his tattoo matched hers, right down to the placement, it made sense. Of course, now, Chris would never be able to ask for information from the hospital in the case of an emergency, never be able to see her as immediate family… Never…

Fuck, fuck, what was he going to do if something happened to her… If… No, not if, something had happened to her, today!

What had happened to her!?

Ricky couldn’t stand watching Chris lose his mind over the possibility of losing Talia. Yes, losingTalia. He could see the wheels turning in his mind because it was as if it was happening all over again. Last time he hadn’t known, one moment he had had a soulmate he might meet one day, and then the next… The next moment, he didn’t. They were just gone. Dead. Right now, Ricky was seeing him go out of his mind, watching him freak out waiting for information about how intensely Talia was injured. Not that he felt any better, but he was trying to focus on looking after Chris, it was all he could do, otherwise he was certain he would lose it himself. 

They’d called emergency to try to report that something had happened to Talia, right after trying to call Talia herself and the call not even connecting. Unfortunately, when he called 911, attempting to explain he knew something had happened to her was impossible. Rick had tried, he really had, to explain to them that they, he, could feel through the soulmate tattoo bond when she got hurt. Considering what he had felt, that it had to have been bad, that he thought she might have been in a car accident, she’d been driving after all. Basically, he’d been treated like they thought he was a lunatic over the phone, and he’d been royally irate at the dismissal, they wouldn’t even listen to him. 

With Chris beside himself that they didn’t listen, Ricky wasn’t about to give up, so he’d called Jordan and Kyle at the hotel next. They at least, gotten there safely, and she’d already left to get home, the moment they heard something might have happened to Talia were also worried too. Kyle had taken the phone from Jordan then, and insisted they go to the hospital, that if she was in an accident, emergency would use her soulmate as best next of kin without any other contacts. Ricky had swallowed, glancing at Chris knowing that was going to be a kick in the teeth, but hadn’t argued, they got to the hospital, and sure enough… she was there.

Talia had been brought in moments before they arrived, the accident had been bad, the nurse having him signing release forms for life-saving emergency surgery and filling out medical forms. He didn’t know any of her medical details, and had to get Ava on the phone to ask her if she knew anything about if she had any medical allergies, literally while he was filling in the forms. Glancing at Chris from the corner of his eye, pacing back and forth in the waiting room… only to have the other woman and their drummer barrel into the emergency waiting room moments later. Ava rushed over to him, helping him finish the last of the forms, Ricky was glad for the help, not wanting to admit he was half on the verge of breaking himself. He barely knew her food allergies, let alone whether she was allergic to penicillin or latex! Shouldn’t that be in her file? Why couldn’t they have that digital and all hospitals linked up to that, oh wait, of course, that would too much sense, and help too many people. The health care system could never work so smoothly. 

By the time he’d finished with the forms, Vinny had managed to convince Chris somehow to sit down, rather than pace around the room, how, Ricky would never know. AJ had turned up after Ava and Vinny, along with Jordan and Kyle, to keep them company while they waited for news to how Talia was in surgery. Kyle had seen them and just shaken his head a little with a tiny smile, and Ricky had taken one look at the other man and known. As a nurse, they were just a crowd of people sitting in the waiting room taking up space getting in the way, but to Ricky, to Chris, especially to Chris, they were the greatest lifeline in the world right now. 

Ricky had never lost anyone even close to the magnitude that Chris had, and, he didn’t know how he felt about it, even more, the thought of watching someone he loved deal with that loss again. Yea, love… Ricky wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t love Chris, he had for a long time. Maybe it was only recently he’d come to terms of just how much this feeling meant to him. Always just assuming he loved him as a friend, and now, now it was so much more. Then there was Talia, that woman had been pulling at his heart strings in so many different ways since he’d met her, it had been so painful, and traumatising after everything that had happened. He knew she didn’t mean what had happened, but it had, and they had both been trying to deal with the fall-out ever since. 

As he sat in the waiting room with Chris, reaching for his hand, that was when two suited people walked in through the entrance doors towards the emergency nurse's station.  Ricky’s focus was on Chris, enough that he didn’t see when the nurse behind the desk was addressing the well-dressed man and woman towards their group, and mainly, him. Sitting beside Chris, didn’t pay attention to their approach until Vinny across from him called his name, instead looking towards his boyfriend concerned, his head tilted back, fingers laced with Chris’. That was until he was forced to acknowledge Vinny calling his name. Then as he lifted his head, and noticing him nod towards them just as one of the approaching suits took out a flip wallet, and his focus zeroed in on what he saw inside of it as they started talking.

“Mr Olson? I am detective-”

Most of the introductions that followed was a blur in his mind, Rick would admit to that, he was so focused on the police badge in the flip wallet the man was holding… Shit… they were detectives, they weren’t even beat cops. They had detectives here investigating the crash, which meant whatever had happened at the accident had ended in quite the disaster. Had there been some sort of intervention… had someone died on the scene? Had Talia… surely the doctors would have told them first… Ricky swallowed… “Vin, AJ, could one of you sit with-” Standing up with his chair and feeling Chris’ hand tightened as he did.

“It’s okay, I’ll just be over here, I’ll be right back, okay baby?”

Kissing Chris quickly to calm him, not caring for one iota what anyone else thought about him being Talia’s soulmate and kissing Chris at the same time. The only people he was worried about right now, were Chris and Talia, literally no one else mattered, everyone else could think what they wanted.

Walking over with the detectives, he sighed softly as they led him to the far side of the waiting room, where the least of the amount of people were. Ricky glanced back to Chris, Chris who was watching him carefully, well no, like a hawk actually, almost as if he thought he was just going to disappear on him too. Shit.

“Mr Olson, it’s our understanding you are the soulmate of Talia Landon?”

“I am, what happened exactly?”

Why were detectives here to investigating the crash, and not beat cops to talk to him, and waiting to see about whether Talia was out of surgery to ask her questions. Wasn’t that how things went. What could he possibly know about the situation? What would talking to him solve?

“We’re still working that out, you also were in a relationship with one, Grace Adams?”

Hearing that name, and just like that, Ricky’s blood ran cold. He knew exactly why they thought talking to him here could help. Grace, if Grace had anything to do with this then… then… Ricky took in a deep breath to stop panic from gripping him.

“I, ah, yes. We haven’t been in a relationship for some time now. What has she got to do with any of this?”

More than anything, he wished he could have taken out that restraining order out on her, but unless he could prove that she had threatened him, and he feared for his life, he had nothing. He had proof of nothing but a crazed fan and then Grace just disappeared, until now. The male detective continued to speak, answering the question.

“She was the other driver involved in the incident, could you tell us if Talia has had any recent interactions with Grace that might have-”

Ricky cut him off quickly,

“Grace was previously stalking me after faking being my soulmate, and it was only revealed that she wasn’t after I discovered Talia was my real soulmate. Grace blames Talia for ruining our entire relationship, despite the fact I discovered our entire meeting, and her claim as my soulmate, was fake. She led me to believe we were soulmates for some five years, it was nothing but lies and manipulation that she never intended to stop. If she’s accusing Talia of causing this accident, she's lying.” Practically ranting at this point, he didn’t even realise that he was getting so worked up when he felt Chris behind him, his arms wrapping around his shoulders, his cheek on the top of his head. A soft, shhhhh, coming from the taller man in the effort to calm him down. Seemed that Rick wasn’t the only one that could see the other needed the comfort right now. He’d been so worried about Chris, he hadn’t, he just hadn’t… This was all his fault, wasn’t it? He’d gotten complacent. Grace had disappeared and he’d just… No, no he hadn’t forgotten about her, but with her gone there hadn’t been anything he could do until he heard about her, and he hadn’t… not until now. He hadn’t gotten any alerts on her accounts, if she’d activated any of them again, or… any of the friends he knew of… Now Talia was paying the price. 

“Mr Olson, we’re still just asking questions and reviewing all the avenues, evidence along with seeking out any potential footage of the scene of the accident.”

Rick didn’t want to think about the fact that they might be going to this kind of extremes because of how badly Talia had been injured. Why would detectives be working a simple accident sight if they didn’t think there was potential for it to turn into a homicide, wasn’t that how it worked? Or was there something he didn’t know here? What had happened that they weren’t saying?

Taking in a deep breath and reached up, his hand over one of Chris’ in front of him.

“Look, is there anything at all you can tell us, anything at all?”

Because they’d just triggered his worst nightmare, he didn’t even need to wonder if it was Chris, if he’d heard or if he’d just come over because he’d saw Ricky was getting upset. Just thinking about what Chris stalker had put him through, and Grace going after Talia, no, not on.

“At this time, we’re just asking questions if we have anymore, we’ll let you know. Please, you are best, just waiting for Ms Landon and see she how she recovers.”

Ricky swallowed… the fact they were here, and she wasn’t even out of surgery yet, actually pissed him off, and made him wonder how badly Grace was injured… had she been hurt? Or had they talked to her already. Watching them walk away, he found himself walking back to the others and sitting back down with Chris. 

Sitting there with him, it all came down to the last thing in the world he could ever want, would be to lose Talia from their lives. Because he loved her, just as much as he loved Chris, did he? Only, unlike Chris, whom he’d told many times, at least as a friend over the years, he’d never told her. He was going to never forgive himself if he’d lost that chance.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[thebucketpail]

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt 14.

Pt.1 pt.13 Ao3

------

Jason had alot on his mind.

For starters, apparently his boyfriend had a kid, which, great! She seemed awesome and that was totally okay. But then there were the concerning things he had overheard from the phone call. Like the bit about cloning, which would make Dani- well at least it was somewhat better than the alternative. Suffice to say, he and Danny had alot to talk about later.

All this had led to the very strong urge to find this 'Vlad' character and shoot him where it hurt. (Well it would probably hurt no matter where he shot him but the point still stands.)

Luckily, Jason didn't have to spend long trying to hide this fury before getting an alert from Oracle about some super-powered lunatic tearing up the upper east side. Now that usually wouldn't be his problem, but beating up bad guys is, shockingly, a really good stress relief, so he took the out.

Hopefully Danny didn't take him leaving so suddenly the wrong way.

Unfortunately, Jason didn't really have the mental bandwidth to actually think all these thoughts while also getting shot at by a green floating maniac.

"Oracle, please tell me you have something on this guy, I'm almost out of tricks," he yelled, not waiting to watch the round he unloaded sail right through the guy, before diving behind a half melted car.

"Tt, you may be out of tricks, Todd, but I am not," Robin called as he vaulted over Hood's makeshift shelter. Giving him a satisfying view when seconds later he sailed back overhead and crashed into a storefront, as a chorus of, "Names, Robin," crackled over the intercomm.

"Lucky shot," he grumbled, stumbling over to Jason who had to stifle a laugh at how the kid's face was scrunched up in annoyance. "Not a word. Oracle?"

"Sorry boys, nothing yet. I'll keep trying but all I'm hitting are dead ends."

Robin scrunched up his nose and sighed in annoyance, "So what's the plan then?" He asked.

Hood was about to snap back that 'how should he know' when someone else spoke.

"The plan is: you focus on getting civilians out of the way while we take out big, mean, and corrosive over there." Okay, Red Hood would never admit that he jumped, but to be fair, Robin did too. The voice had come from directly over his shoulder and no one should be able to sneak up on two trained vigilantes that easily. Especially not Damian.

They turned in unison to find two floating teenagers, no more than 17 and 13 each, with floating white hair, and green, green eyes. They were nearly identical, all the way down to the black and silver jumpsuits emblazoned with a flaming D insignia, or were they p's? It was hard to tell.

They were clearly heros of a sort, but Jason didn't recognize them so they were either really small time and in Gotham for a visit, or they chose the wrong city to jumpstart their heroing careers.

"Why are you dressed like a traffic light?" The younger one asked, blowing and popping a blindingly pink bubble as she floated closer to Robin, "I thought the bats were supposed to be discreet."

"That's none of your business," demon Brat growled, "Touch me and you're dead." The girl's hand paused, halfway outstretched toward Robin's cape. She didn't back off, though, until he pulled a birdarang.

"Woah there," she said, holding up her hands and floating backwards as if to calm him, "You're a little late on the dead part, but let's go easy on the knives, eh?"

The guy, now standing next to Hood as he watched the scene play out, snickered.

Robin scowled, "Who are you?"

The guy beamed and raised his hand like he was waiting to be called on in class. "Ooh! I know this one! Uh, hi, my name's Phantom," he gestured grandly to himself and, grinning, took a small bow, and that's Stray," he continued, "We are ghosts, like you, but we're here to help with that." He finished off the whole thing by pointing at the guy stomping around the streets and shooting acid.

The little one- Stray- nodded and popped another bubble. "Yeah, basically, our job is to beat up the ghosts who escape the zone and cause mayhem. We're just cool like that. But don't worry, y'all aren't causing to many issues so you're good."

"We are alot more expirienced than you though, so you guys should just stick to evacuation while we take care of the combat part," Phantom added as he flipped a -was that a soup thermos?- in the air.

Somehow Robin's frown managed to get deeper.

"We do not need you're assistance with combat," he scoffed, "and I find it unbelievable that you two have more experience than I do."

Stray's eyebrows shot up. " Oh okay, sorry didn't relise you were good on your own. I guess that's probably why you just flew through a window and can't seem to land a single hit," she sassed back, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"Tt, a slight miscalculation. Besides, I have no doubt I could take you in a fight easily, much less the flying green bozo over there."

"Oh yeah?" She replied, her nose twitching slightly, "You wanna go traffic light?"

"Bring it," he growled, dropping into a fighting stance.

Then they were at each other's necks. Damian was tackled off his feet almost immediately, making it less of a standard fight and more of a knock-down, drag-out brawl, and Phantom was just watching. No, not even just watching, he was cheering them on, meanwhile Jason was still trying to wrap his head around what they had said.

"Wait, waitwaitwait. Rewind," he said, causing the ghost to turn toward him distractedly without pulling his eyes from the wrestling demons. "What do you mean 'ghosts like you'? Were not ghosts" At least as far as Hood knew he wasn't a ghost. Zombie plausibly, but he had gotten better, so not a ghost. No walking through walls and spraying people with goo, and he definitely didn't float and/or glow like these people.

Phantom snorted and turned toward him fully with a roll of his eyes.

"I don't mean like ghost, ghost," he snorted, "at least not what most people think of ghosts. But you've both clearly died before, and you have cores, however small, so- ghost," he explained, trailing off with awkward jazz hands.

what?

"What?"

Phantom looked like he was about to respond, but was cut off when a large glob of plasma careened into their makeshift shelter and melted the remains into the ground.

The demons, now rolling on the ground, froze, and Phantom let out a low whistle.

"Right, forgot about that. Stray, come on." The girl popped up from the ground, sporting several new bruises and a manic grin.

"Time to kick butt now, Dad?" Hood's brain froze. 'dad?' Phantom just let out a drawn out sigh as he mussed up her hair in a way that seemed oddly familiar.

"Oh so no I'm 'dad'," he grumbled before turning back to Hood. "You're good on the plan, yeah? Cool, see you in two shakes of a ghosts tail." He punned, then they were off, shouting insults and throwing punches that actually managed to hit.

Hood took a few seconds to process what the fresh hell just happened as Robin stood up and spat some blood from his mouth. He was also sporting fresh bruises, aswell as a small cut on his forehead. Impressive.

"Tt, they are adequate," he muttered, turning on his heel and heading for the nearest building where civilians were still trapped.

Hood sent a quick message to Oracle and B that they had help and to focus on civilians, before following as the fight raged on overhead.

---------

"So is it just me or does Red Hood seem kinda familiar?" Dani asked, ducking an ecto blast and moving in to land a solid hit.

Danny raised an eyebrow and shot a widely at their opponent. "What do you mean?" He asked in response, frowning as the shot missed.

"I don't know, I think it's his core? I feel like I've met him before, but I'm pretty sure I would know if I had."

"Huh, strange. Hey Acid Breath! When was the last time you took a shower? You're stinking up the whole street." The Ghost roared in response as they showered the area in corrosive ectoplasm. "Damn, sorry, didn't mean to strike a nerve. How'd you get here anyway?"

"AAACCCEEE!!" now what could that possibly mean?

"Sorry I don't know anyone called 'Ace'," Danny called, stopping long enough to keep their attention off Dani as she went in for another attack. "You wouldn't mind introducing us, would you?"

"RAWR!!!" Okay, that was a no then. Finally, Dani struck, landing a solid hit to their back before getting smacked to the pavement twenty feet below.

Danny yelped, fumbling with the thermos on his belt before promptly souping the poor sap and flying down to his clone.

"You good kid?" He asked, wincing as Danny scowled up at him and spat out her wad of gum.

"Just peachy," she replied with a sarcastic smile as she took his offered hand. "I thought you promised me a fight."

Danny squinted at her and looked around at the carnage and smoking crater they were currently standing in.

"Was that not? A fight?"

The kid snorted and rolled her eyes, "I meant like a fun one, like with Ember or Skulker. This guy was no fun, no finesse. The closest thing I got to a fight was that brawl with the traffic light."

Danny sighed and ran a hand down his face, "Sorry? We'll see if Robin's still up to fight, either that or we can spar later?"

"Hmph, fine. But don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're old and you're bones are creaky."

Danny gasped, old? Him? "Oh you're going to so pay for that comment kid."

"Oh yeah?" She asked, planting her hands on her hips and raising an eybrow.

"Yeah," Danny grinned back, with equal levels of Fenton sass.

Their standoff lasted about twenty seconds before Dani's gaze focused on something behind her original.

"What's with the guy in the leather furry suit? He's staring at us."

Ancients, could he not do one thing in this city without attracting this guys attention? Apparently not. Batman stared at Phantom and Phantom stared back. Danny groaned.

Unfortunately, with the fighting now finished and most if not all civilians safely removed from the street still dripping with ectoplasmic acid, Danny probably should, *shiver,* talk with the local heros, including the Bat himself. There was no way Danny would be able to walk out of this without setting up several more flags for the furry brigade to hunt down.

But as much as he dreaded it, for some reason Danny obeyed when Bats stared him down from a nearby roof, his eyes communicating a clear talk now or I will make your life hell, though he would probably do that anyway.

"Ugh, here comes the hard part," Danny mumbled as he motioned for Dani to follow him up to the roof. "Batman," he greeted with a curt nod when they landed. At least they were on equal ground now and it didn't feel like he was being looked down upon.

Dani landed behind him, just as Robin, Red Hood, and Red Robin materialized next to Batman.

"Hey, Traffic Light!" Dani beamed, pulling an arm across her chest to stretch her shoulder, "You wanna go again? That fight wasn't too enriching."

Robin scowled at her and shared a look with his- father? Partner? Boss?- whatever their relationship was, Batman had a hard set to his jaw, but Robin looked, not exactly pleading, but more that he wouldn't back down. Somehow Batman lost the stare off.

"Very well, your form could use improvement and I am an excellent teacher," he said, taking a few steps away from the group. In no time at all they were fighting again like they hadn't even stopped.

Robin tried calling out the flaws and tactics in the fight, but was quickly, fully, engrossed on not losing his ground or footing as Dani attacked with more brute, unrelenting, strength than with tact.

Batman stared very dissaprovingly, seemingly ignoring Danny. Danny cleared his throat in an attempt to, Ancients forbid, draw the Batman's attention back to him.

"Don't worry, Stray won't hurt him, at least not more than some bruises or maybe a small sprain if he's not careful." Shit, maybe he shouldn't have said that. The stare Batman gave him chilled Danny to the bones.

"Sorry," Danny muttered, with a sheepish grin he held out his hand, "I'm Phantom by the way, I don't think we've met."

---------

There was something about Phantom that felt vaguely familiar, Hood just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Aside from the fact that he could've sworn he'd seen this guy before, the ghost felt familiar. The vibes that seemed to exude from the glowing teens somehow felt cozy, in a way.

It was so weird. There was no way to explain it. It felt like- finding someone who was just like you, someone who shared your interests and tastes. It felt like community, like people you can rely on and a place to come home to.

The feeling was so sudden and out of place it made him want to punch something. But like in a positive way. Like when he used to wrestle with Dick or B, way back when. Something in Jason's chest seemed to sing, or more like contentedly rumble. It was something he was used to feeling around-

Hood watched as Phantom ducked his head with a nervous smile, his outstretched hand wandering back to rub at the back of his neck as he avoided Batman's glare.

"Not much for social niceties then, eh?" He asked, shooting honest to god finger guns at The Batman, personification or 'revenge and 'the night'. B's mouth drew into a tight line as he studied the ghost.

"Uhm, sorry for like, invading your territory and stuff, I'll try not to let it happen again," Phantom said, attempting to bring his eyes to meet B's gaze.

"Hn," B grunted, "Gotham is no safe place for meta's, besides, we've got the heroing thing taken care of. We don't need help."

Finally Phantom managed to lock eyes with the bat, he looked taken aback.

"Yeah, sorry. No. You kinda did need help with this one, thank you." Phantom's confidence grew as he proceeded to explain just exactly why he and Stray were needed there. Citing the Bats' underpreparedness, as well as a bunch of ghost politics stuff that was hard to follow.

Batman listened raptly.

And yeah, no. Jason had to be entirely wrong. This couldn't be him, sure the face shapes were nearly identical, and the same freckles, and actually if it weren't for the color change and differences in age they could be the same person. But they couldn't be.

Sure Jason's boyfriend could be a bit... odd, and boisterous sometimes. But he really couldn't imagine him being able to scold motherfucking Batman with that much confidence.

But still it nagged at his brain. It really was a long, long shot, that was really, very, highly, unlikely. And Jason really, probably shouldn't have said anything, but he did.

"Danny?" Phantom faltered and the way he froze at the name was almost confirmation enough. His green eyes flicked around the rooftop, then fixed on Red Hood. For a moment his mouth pulled to a slight frown and his brows furrowed, even the noise of the kids' fighting ceased as Stray- come to think of it, that was probably Dani- stared dumbfounded, with a hint of surprise. The two 'ghosts' shared a look then melted into.... laughter?

One double take later and sure enough they were laughing. It was actually kind of unsettling, all echoey and reverberating as if they found the statement absolutely hilarious. If he didn't know better, Hood would've thought they had gotten Joker gassed or something, but he did, and suddenly felt very awkward at even entertaining the notion.

Batman grumbled.

So yeah, whatever, he gad been wrong. He shouldn't have said anything. But did they really have to keep laughing like that?

Phantom was doubled over and clutching his stomach, while Stray went intangible and rolled out from under Robin, who'd had her pinned, giggling uncontrollably.

Eventually, Phantom managed to straighten out and wipe a tear from his eye.

"Who's Danny?" He asked with a few residual giggles tainting his voice. "I don't know a Danny," it was said with such ease, but something felt forced, and his eyes kept flickering around.

"Pft, yeah," Stray snorted, floating a bit to lean her elbow against her partner's shoulder, "His name's Bill actually. Y'know, like inviso-Bill?"

Phantom sobered up completely and fixed her with a glare as the kid devolved into another laughing fit.

"Its not," he said seriously, "I've been going by Phantom for thousands of years, that one nickname is not going to stick." Yeah, if there was any doubt left that he'd been wrong, allegedly existing for thousands of years probably blew that theory out of the water.

"You wish," Stray forced out between giggles, causing Phantom to sigh.

"Anyway," he emphasized, clapping his hands together as he forced a smile, "Ghost problem solved, so we should probably get going then. Right, Stray?"

"Sure thing, Bill," She snickered, but followed as he slowly drifted away form the rooftop, "cya around traffic light!"

Phantom rolled his eyes once more before they both shot off. In seconds they were gone.

B turned toward Hood, mouth already open to ask a question, but he was already gone too. He'd done his part and he could debrief later. For now he had a boyfriend and his kid to get back to.

Fifteen minutes later, Jason was back outside Danny's door with a whole new set of emotions swirling about in his head. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Danny turned form their game to look at him with his ice blue eyes, and smiled. He patted the spot on the bed next to him as Dani threw a card down with a small shout. She followed Danny's gaze and twisted to look back at Jason, blowing a strand of black hair out of her face and grinning.

"Ay, welcome back! Glad to see I'm not a deal-breaker!" Jason chuckled and took the seat, cuddling up into Danny's side. What gad he even been thinking. There was still alot of concerning things to talk about, but being a ghost/superhero was something he could cross off the list.

-even if their similarities still nagged at his brain

--------

Woop, finally did it! And with Jason's suspicions successfully waylaid, we're going to take a (planned) break, while I get swamped down with all my other projects + school.

Hope you liked.

[nifolution]

Letters 6

Warnings: Heartbreak, Angst, Manipulation, lies, threats, arguments, mention of pregnancy/getting pregnant, allusion of smut

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 3rd person. Steve was rescued from the Valkyrie crash. He became a world hero and came back home with Peggy to start his life. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated. Reminder that chapter 5 & 6 have been reconfigured.

Chapter 5  Series Masterlist     Main Masterlist

Chapter 6

Peggy was not a simpleminded woman, she saw Steve sneak out in the dead of night. Phoning an associate, twelve hours later she got the answer to her husband’s whereabouts. The bastard had been playing house with his old flame. He left her bed to warm someone else’s, and according to the information in front of her, it had been going on for some time now.

She would not stand for this embarrassment, Steve needed to remember his place. He was no longer the pitiful thing he was before the serum. So sickly that if he were a pet, they would have drowned him. Captain America was the embodiment of perfection, and belonged to her. Clearly his mind had forgotten that and slipped into bad habits. She would put an end to it.

After verifying Steve’s location well outside the vicinity, Peggy arrived at his paramour’s residence. She refused to be made a fool of by some low class floozy. After successfully charming the landlord, she made her way up to her destination. Three knocks and she came face to face with the woman occupying her husband’s time.

Y/N didn’t know what she expected when she answered the door, but it wasn’t Mrs. Captain America. Nothing good could come out of Steve’s wife at her apartment. “Can I help you?” She ignored the dread that prickled up her spine.

“I see by the look on your face, that you know who I am.” Peggy smiled when the other woman nodded. “I would like to have a chat, woman to woman.”

She noticed how Peggy looked at her as if she was something she stepped in. Y/N’s anger simmered below the surface, she’d seize this opportunity to confront her uninvited guest. This spiteful, entitled, British lunatic doesn’t get to screw with her life and not expect her to fight back. “Please come in.”

Peggy sat down at the small table and asked for a cup of tea. While the other woman obliged, she looked around the tiny home with distaste, humming to herself, “Not very cohesive is it.”

Y/N returned to the table carrying the requested beverage, mentally preparing herself to have it out with this woman. As she set the tea tray down, her blood froze. Peggy was right where she left her, poised and proper, not a hair out of place, like she jumped out of a magazine… if not for the pistol casually sitting on the table.

The corner of Peggy’s mouth turned up at the clear fright in the other woman's eyes over the small firearm. “Milk and two sugars, please.”

Y/N surprised herself when her voice didn’t shake, “I do not have any milk.”

Her red lips pursed, “I suppose this will have to do then.” Peggy flashed a fake smile, taking her cup and placing it in front of her. She had no intention of imbibing whichever subpar tea was being served. “I’ll get straight to the point. I’m here to discuss my husband spending so much time with you, instead of where he belongs.”

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off the weapon, sure she was about to breathe her last. “Steve has been a good friend to me. He’s been trying to help me out.”

“I’m sure he has. However, I must insist that whatever fun you two have been having come to an end. He should be at home with me, we are having a baby after all.” Peggy sighed, a dreamy look on her face as she held her flat stomach.

Her demeanor changes once again, looking Y/N up and down with contempt, “I admit, I've been working a bit much as of late, yet I do not see the appeal. You must be very easy for him to have turned to you.” She smoothed down an nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt, then turned her dark gaze back to the other woman. “He is mine. He will never be yours. I'm all he needs. I am his love, his best friend, his home, his safety, his WIFE. You are just a hole he uses to pass the time.”

Shocked by the language and accusation, Y/N stuttered, “No we ha- haven't. I w-wouldn’t…”

Peggy held up her hand, “I do not wish to hear your excuses. Imagine if a reporter caught wind of your inappropriate relationship. His reputation would be tarnished, and you, dearie, would be ruined… You will stop seeing my husband immediately lest the consequences be swift and severe.” She placed her perfectly polished fingers on the gun, angling it toward Y/N. “Do we have an understanding?”

Y/N could only nod, terrified of the unspoken threat. She’d die, and be forever shamed as Captain America’s mistress. As the woman that came between America's perfect couple. The homewrecker, the whore. If she managed to survive, she’d lose her job and her home. Her family would disown her. She’d have nothing after such a scandal. Living on the street or dead in a box.

“Marvelous.” Peggy stood, placing the pistol back in her purse. “Oh, and I wouldn't mention a word of this friendly conversation to Steve. Stress isn't good for the baby.” She took one last look at Y/N, shaking her head. “You really are a weak thing. I do not see the appeal at all.” She closed the apartment door behind her and waited. Smiling at the sound of Y/N sobbing, she left, satisfied her first objective was completed.

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

Humming to herself, Peggy slipped into her best lingerie and matching robe. Admiring her image in the mirror as she let her hair down and applied her favorite shade of red lipstick that she knew drove her husband wild. The perfect trap.

Like all men, she knew Steve would step out of line from time to time. It was their nature. Men needed constant guidance. Could not be relied on to make correct decisions on their own. It made it all the more important to put Steve back in his place. He had been more resistant than expected. She needed to use her ace in the hole; allowing Steve to impregnate her.

It would not derail her career. She dared them to try to push her out of her position. Peggy knew she could do both successfully. A few months of desk work through the pregnancy, then hire a nanny and everything would work itself out. What was important was getting her husband on board with her agency and remaking the world in the name of the greater good. He would learn to see things her way. A child would ensure his cooperation. Hearing Steve’s car pull up, Peggy poured two glasses of champagne and waited.

Steve walked into his house, head hung low. Far too much on his mind. It had been two days since he last spoke with Y/N. Her request for space was killing him. He left her apartment on friendly terms, but it still felt like he was losing her. He couldn't go through that again. Steve wanted to respect her boundaries, but he missed her too much. That hollow spot inside him ached, the one created when he thought she left him for another man. He needed her. It all felt wrong. This didn't feel like coming home. It felt like hiding.

"Welcome home, Captain."

He looked up to a sight that would have once felt like it jumped out of his fantasies. Peggy in a robe that covered very little. Her come hither eyes trained on him as each slow and sensual step brought her closer. He couldn’t help but stare, accepting the glass she handed him without question.

Peggy wrapped her arms around his neck, careful not to spill her drink. She gazed into his eyes, smiling seductively as she spoke, “I’ve missed you terribly.” The words were innocent, but the tone sounded like 'take me now.' Leaning in, Peggy placed a teasing kiss on her husband's lips. A taste of what was to come.

Steve was momentarily stunned. "I um…I- I need to tell you something." He gently removed her arms, escorting her to the couch to sit beside him. There were many things he wanted to say to her, but was finding it difficult to start. So he picked the first topic that came to mind. Told her how he wanted to retire, put down the shield. Captain America was done.

She chuckled with feigned amusement, "You are being ridiculous. You're nothing if you're not Captain America... These last weeks have made you cranky and irrational, my poor dear. Let me make it better." Slowly opening her robe to expose what was underneath, she watched his eyes slightly dilate. "I was wrong, Steve. I want to have a baby now. I love you and I know you love me. Waiting seems silly. Can you picture it, a little boy playing ball in the yard, a little girl with her dollies. Our perfect family. Do you see it, darling?"

His breath caught when Peggy pushed herself against him, bosoms barely contained by thin lace. The smell of her perfume and her soft skin hypnotizing. Her hands cupped his face, pulling him into an unwanted kiss. He pulled away, “I'm not in the mood, Peg.”

“I’ll make you feel so good,” Peggy began kissing up the side of Steve’s neck while her left hand rubbed him through his pants, “you’ll forget all your troubles.” Her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “I'll even use my mouth like on our honeymoon.” Resting her head on his chest, Peggy grasped his manhood through the fabric smiling as he began to swell. “I know we’ve hit a little snag in our marriage, but that happens to every couple. Come on, Captain, your wife needs you.”

Swallowing hard, Steve stopped Peggy by holding her hand in his. He had to live with his choices. That was his ring on her finger. Did he still love Peggy? He wasn’t sure. Thinking too hard about it made his stomach churn. She was still his wife, but he could never trust her again. Everything out of her mouth seemed to be a lie. She tricked him, pursued him, used him. However, he basked in the attention, reciprocated her advances and forced himself to forget Y/N. Maybe he deserved this, a life under Peggy's thumb. He had to make this work.

Peggy used their entwined hands to pull her husband to their bedroom. She knew he couldn't resist her. He would always be a puppet and she knew just how to pull his strings.

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

Steve sat in his high back chair, sipping his drink, trying to quiet the voices in his head. The pleasure Peggy provided fixed nothing. In fact he felt worse. A touch once longed for, now made his skin crawl. This is not what he wanted. The love he once held for Peggy was gone, forever tainted by her actions, but he was stuck. So even though he couldn't get drunk, he let the burn of the alcohol distract him. Lamenting that no matter how much he consumed, he would never be granted numbness from these feelings. His Ma would be ashamed.

Downing the last of his glass, he poured himself another. Wishing his best friend was still around for him to confide in. Steve laughed, knowing Bucky would swipe the whiskey from his hand, tell him to stop being a punk and do something, then finish the drink himself. Maybe give him a swift kick in the ass to get him moving faster. And he’d be right. Steve couldn't undo the past, but he could change things starting now.

In the bedroom sat Peggy, scowling. “How dare he?” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, positively fuming. She degraded herself playing the whore for him and he couldn't finish. His mind clearly elsewhere.

She didn’t like this at all, she was losing control over him. Peggy had enough of the back and forth, he needed to move out of New York with her and join SHIELD, end of story. If that homewrecking hussy interfered she would squash her like the measly insect she was. Her husband would be none the wiser, accidents could be arranged. They had no idea what she was capable of.

Steve flew into the bedroom with his overnight bag in hand. Paying no mind to the woman on the bed, he began stuffing clothing and personal items into it. He had to leave and didn't want Peggy clouding his judgment. She put enough ideas in his head as it was. He wasn't going to let her control him anymore.

Peggy pushed up her breasts, prepared to continue. “Come back to bed, love.” It sounded more like a demand than a request. “We must try again. Proper insemination is required for procreation.”

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Steve turned to his preening wife. He saw her now, could peer through her illusion to the darkness and rot within. Disgusted with himself, he never wanted to touch her again. “I need to go.”

She responded with a sardonic laugh. Here she was giving him everything he wanted and that insolent man had the nerve to deny her. “I’m sorry, no. You are not going anywhere. I forbid it.”

Defying her orders, Steve walked out of their room and into the bathroom. Peggy followed at his heels. She was determined, he'd give her that. Determined and heartless. He continued to ignore her.

“You will do as I say!” Losing all composure, she shoved him with all her might, but to no avail. He continued putting items into his bag. She pushed hard at his cheek to force him to face her. “I am Captain America's wife. What good are you to me without the moniker? Without that you are worthless.” Each word punctuated by her finger stabbing into his chest.

“I have NEVER been worthless.” Finished, Steve closed the bag and headed to the front door.

Peggy ran after him. “Where do you think you are going, you ungrateful bastard!? To that waitress’ home? Your lover that cowers at the sight of a tiny firearm.”

That got a reaction. He froze in his tracks. Lifting her chin, her lips twisted into a sinister smirk, “Didn’t think I knew? You were not exactly discreet.”

Steve should have known she was still spying on him. Another one of her lies. Through clenched teeth he growled, "What did you do?”

“Only what I had to.” Peggy half shrugged, “No harm has come to her.” The silent ‘yet’ hung in the air. She attempted to take the bag out of his hand, but his grip only tightened.

She looked up at him through her lashes. “Steve, my sweet husband, we have a beautiful life together, don't spoil it. Don't disrespect everything we've built together. We were made for each other. We can get past this little hiccup.”

Placing a tentative hand on his arm, Peggy spoke with a soft voice, “I can understand your confusion, darling, and I forgive you. You run into an ex-lover and old feelings resurface, but that is all they are. Old. Dead. Feelings. Only memories. You would do well to pay them no mind.”

“We are only apart because of you.”

Peggy rubbed her brow, “Always so melodramatic. You are apart because you’re not a match. WE ARE. I believed you were bright enough to figure that out. That's why you married me. We're perfect together… Remember our vows, Steve. Remember your duties to me and your country. You were made for big things. Much too great for some lowly waitress with dirt under her fingernails. She could never run in our social circles…”

Steve interrupted, taking a step back, “Your circles, your friends.” 

Stomping her foot, she screamed, “I won't be a party to your childish fantasies... You need to calm down and forget this squabble. Bury the past and appreciate what we have now.” Peggy held out her hand for him to take, “Come back to bed.”

He stared at the appendage as if it was a snake waiting to strike. 

“I will not tolerate this behavior any longer. I allowed it before, knowing you needed to let off steam, but no longer. This ends now. Know your place.”

“I do.” Steve walked out the front door, and out of her life for good.

Chapter 7 (coming soon)

[wonderlandleighleigh]

She turns to Dinah when Susie is distracted in her office one day and bites her lip, opening her mouth to make a request, but doesn’t get a chance. The other woman hands her a little slip of paper with a phone number and address on it.

Midge frowns, perplexed. “What is-“

“You got hypothermia because you went to see his show,” Dinah shrugs, grinning at her understandingly. “I figured you’d want his contact information.”

Midge smiles gratefully and slips it into her purse.

*****

She thought she’d be too busy to think about him, but when it’s quiet and everyone else is asleep, she wonders how he is. If he’s enjoying the warm weather. How things are going with his daughter. If he’s happy.

She wants him to be happy.

Midge just wishes…

Sometimes Midge wishes for a lot of things.

But she keeps moving forward. She starts landing more jokes on the show. Ethan is still having sleep issues, but she knows if she’s patient and attentive things will get better. Esther is getting more grown every day and she worries she’s not doing enough for her little girl, but she does try.

She dozes off in front of the television one night, and when she blinks awake, it’s to find the sun coming up and the morning news on.

Except Walter Cronkite only does the evening news, but here he is anyway with some sort of special report.

Midge narrows her eyes at all comes into focus.

“…Found dead at his California home of an apparent heroin overdose…”

Her stomach lurches hard as she shakily gets to her feet.

“…Survived by his mother a one daughter-“

“No,” Midge mutters as the screen flips to –

She had no idea they’d be willing to show real dead bodies on TV, but there he is. She knows exactly who it is, having seen him bared before her, warm and beautiful, very recently.

She means to crumble back onto the couch but misses and hits the floor instead, and suddenly she’s yelping awake, sitting up quickly.

It’s still dark out.

The television is still on its test screen.

Midge fell off the couch.

She scrambles to her feet, rushing for her purse and Dinah’s little slip of paper, and soon she finds herself back on the living room floor, behind the couch with the phone in her lap, shakily dialing his number.

“One AM here,” she mutters, looking at the clock above her. “Eleven there…so he’s either out or-“

His voice is confused when it picks up. “Hello?”

“You need to come back,” she blurts out.

“Midge?”

“You need to come back, you can’t stay in LA,” she babbles. “It’s- bad for you. All that sun is bad for you.”

“Wait-“

“You can move your daughter here,” she keeps going quickly. “There are tons of great apartments and schools, and we can plan playdates and-“

“We don’t do that,” he reminds her gently.

There’s a warmth in his voice that brings tears to her eyes.

“We could,” she tells him. “We should. We should do that. Ethan is weird, and he could use another friend, and Esther could use a little girl who’s a little older and probably the coolest kid on the planet who listens to free jazz and smokes candy cigarettes.”

“Kit’s pretty hip,” Lenny admits, getting sidetracked. “Midge-“

“See! Her name is Kit! That’s a cool name! She doesn’t belong in California, she’s an East Coast kid.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what has you so terrified that you called me up in the middle of the night to demand that I relocate again?”

She freezes, unable to tell him. Partially because she’s starting to realize just how insane she sounds and partially because it’s cruel to tell him.

“Midge.” His voice is so gentle.

“I had a really terrible dream,” she says, trying to steady her voice. “And I just-I want you to be happy, but I miss you like crazy even though I’ve been trying to ignore it, and I thought I was doing a good job but then I had this awful nightmare tonight and I just-“ She loses steam finally, blowing out a breath. “Sound like a lunatic.”

 “A little,” Lenny admits. “Though I admit it’s kind of a turn-on.”

“Lenny.”

“If I said I was sorry for that joke, I’d be lying,” he tells her. “Midge, I…”

She waits.

She waits for him to shut all of this down. To assure her that all is well. That he’s fine. That he has to stay in LA. That they don’t do these kinds of things. She feels herself tense up, taking a breath and closing her eyes.

“I miss you, you know.” It comes out quiet. “There’s a lot going on with the legal troubles…with a lot of things. I wish…I wish I could be…”

“You could.”.

“You have too much faith in me.”

“Just enough.”

“How did you get this number anyways?”

“I’m a very good stalker,” she says.

Lenny sighs softly. “I’m back in New York in two weeks. Let’s get a drink. We’ll talk.”

“You promise?” she asks quietly.

He means it when he says “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Did you have a gig tonight?”

“Yes, and I even managed to stay out of jail,” he says. “It went pretty well, all things considered.”

“I’m actually kind of surprised you’re home.”

“I had to relieve the babysitter,” Lenny explains. “I’ve known prostitutes with cheaper rates. There’s something in that. Something about childcare being a worse gig than sex work.”  

“With sex work you leave sticky for the right reasons,” she giggles, and it makes him laugh, too.

“Please tell me you’re using that,” he says, and she can hear him smiling through the phone.

“Bet your cute little ass I’m using that,” Midge tells him. She sighs. “I’m sorry, Lenny. I shouldn’t have- I just-“

“It’s nice to be missed,” he admits. “And if I’m being truthful, I really do hate it here.” His voice goes quiet again. “I miss the snow.”

They both sit with that for a moment, letting to quiet wash over them. Three thousand miles away, and one sentence makes her feel more connected to him than ever, even though she knows she should be giving him shit for letting her nearly freeze to death after yelling at her.

“Two weeks?” she asks finally.

“Two weeks,” he promises.

 ***** 

It turns out that while they both intend to keep that promise of meeting in two weeks, it’s harder than he thought it would be to catch her. Between her day job at the show, and her night gigs and her kids, and his lawyer meetings and his gigs it winds up being almost impossible. 

When he steps into the Button Club (previously warned hat it’s her ex’s club, and the man has no idea that Lenny and Midge…well…were ever Lenny and Midge), he lets his eyes rake across the crowd of people.

And realizes he’s just in time for Midge’s set. 

He manages to slip into a small table in the back and orders himself a scotch and water from one of the waitresses before sitting back and watching Midge do her thing.

God, she’s so fucking good.

She runs with the sex work childcare joke, too. 

“You know why it’s more expensive?” she asks. “Because in childcare you leave sticky for all the wrong reasons. There’s jam. There’s gum. There’s play-doh. What’s a little sweat and jizz compared to that?” 

Lenny laughs hard, giving a clap that catches no one's attention except the owner.

Ah, shit. 

"Mr. Bruce. It's an honor to have you at my club," Joel Maisel tells him. 

Lenny glances at him and then nods to Midge."I'm here for her."

"Midge is good," Joel agrees. "Is there anything I can get you?" 

Lenny could just let it go. 

He could. 

He won't. 

"Yeah, a martini, up with olives for when she wraps up."

Jo stands there frozen. "You uh…you know her drink."

"Three years of camaraderie and closeness I fucking should by now," Lenny comments, before turning back to watch her set.

To Midge’s credit, she hasn't let seeing her ex and whatever Lenny is to her throw her off her game, and he's relieved when Joel walks off. 

Lenny grins at her mischievously.

*****

She heads for his table, sits and takes a sip of her martini. "Did you torture my ex?"

Lenny considers. "Maybe the tiniest by knowing you cocktail preference."

"Lenny."

He grins and leans in. "Hi Midge. Great set."

"And I didn't even have to go on a date with you this time to get the compliment," she teases. She sighs. "Thank you for meeting me. I know the setting isn't ideal."

"I did promise. And scheduling was tight, but we made it work," he says. He gazes at her for a moment and impulsively reaches for her hand. "Anymore bad dreams?"

She lets her guard down a little, letting the warmth of his long fingers envelope hers as she nods. "Same thing, over and over."

"Ready to tell me what it is?" He asks. 

"No," Midge admits honestly. "But we worked so hard to meet in person so I kind of have to." 

And she does. About waking up in front of the television to a news broadcast about his death. The graphic photo she keeps dreaming about. How she wakes up before she really knows what's happening other than "Lenny died alone."

His thumb is circling her palm by the time she finishes. Her eyes are glassy. She hates that a silly dream makes her cry but she can't help it. 

Lenny takes a deep breath. "I don't have the best proclivities, as you're aware," he admits. "But I'm going to do my damndest to keep that from becoming reality."

She opens her mouth to offer help but stops when he holds his free hand up.

"I know you want to help, Midge, and I love you for it but-"

He stops as they both adjust to the weight of those words. 

"You-"

"I-"

"Refills?" Joel's voice asks from over them, and Lenny moves to let go of her hand, but she tightens her grip. 

"Wait," she blurts out, staring into Lenny's wide, shocked eyes. "You love me?"

"He what?!" Joel snaps. 

Lenny swallows. "Midge, here? Now?"

"You tell me, you said it," she snaps.

"I don't expect you to feel the same," he tells her quietly. "I just-"

"Of course she doesn't," Joel blurts out nervously. 

She can barely hear Joel's panicked voice as she gazes at the man in front of her. She lets go of his hand to stroke his jaw. "Lenny, don't be stupid. You know I do." 

"You do?" He asks, a little baffled. 

"You do?" Joel asks in shock. 

 Midge can’t help grinning warmly at Lenny. “A little hard not to at this point, don’t you think?” 

“You scraped me off of a sidewalk, watched me have an utter meltdown, and then do the pee-pee dance in front of your building,” he points out dryly. 

“The pee-pee dance?” Joel ponders, confused.

“So attractive,” Midge jokes. 

“You nearly lost a toe because I yelled at you instead of sleeping with you the night of my Carniegie gig,” he adds. 

“I would not have slept with you after you yelled at me,” she argues.

“I’m sorry?” Joel asks, really panicked now.

“You also watched my entire suitcase fall open and dump its contents onto the carpet at JFK and then watched as I stood there and didn’t clean it up,” Lenny goes on.

“Endearing,” Midge shrugs.

“I am standing right here!” Joel snaps loudly, finally getting their attention. 

“Right!” Lenny cries, turning to him, looking more than a little annoyed. “Drinks! She’s have another martini up with olives, and I will have a double scotch and soda.” 

“That’s not-” 

Midge takes a deep breath and looks up at her ex-husband. “Joel. We’re trying to have a conversation. Can you please-” 

“No!” he cries. “No, I won’t please! I want to talk to you in private. Now.” 

“No,” Midge says simply.

Joel stares at her. 

“I’m in the middle of a conversation,” she reminds him. “It’s an important one. And it has nothing to do with you. So you can either go get our drinks, or we can leave.” 

He stands there, weighing those options, and Lenny glances down at his watch.

“You get fifteen more seconds to decide,” he announces without looking up. 

Joel gives a groan before storming away, leaving them to their conversation as the other patrons of the club turn back to their drinks and conversations.  

Midge closes her eyes and takes a slow breath, letting it out.

“So that’s the ex?” Lenny asks, hiding a grin behind his hand. 

“That’s him,” she confirms. “I don’t know how much you would love me if you had to deal with him all the time.” 

His voice comes out soft again. “It would be worth it.” 

She finds herself re-taking his hand, playing with his fingers. “What do we do?” 

“Well,” Lenny drawls out.  “I hate LA. It turns out the lawyers here are, actually, better, you keep having nightmares about my untimely death and it turns out we’re in love with each other. And while I very much should not drag you into all of my horrible garbage…” 

She watches him carefully, knowing that there’s hope written all over her face where there shouldn’t be. That this could all blow up spectacularly, she can’t can’t help herself. 

He leans in, his eyes avoiding hers in favor of looking at their hands. “I want this with you.” 

His words have her tugging him in closer, letting go of his hand again to cup his jaw, pulling him into a tender kiss. 

**** 

Susie Myerson tries really fucking hard not to get involved in her clients’ personal lives. 

Because they’re actual friends, Midge makes it fucking hard to stay out of it, though. 

So does her shitty ex-husband. 

“I don’t need to be here,” she snaps as she steps into the Button Club. “The whole point of her gigging at this place is to try out new material, and give me a couple of nights where no one needs me to hold her fucking hand!” 

Joel looks livid and pale, and he points aggressively toward the main room of the club.

“What?” Susie snaps. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

He points harder. 

Susie rolls her eyes and wanders over to the entryway, letting her eyes scan the crowd, and eventually she lands on-

“Oh,” she says simply, watching as Midge pulls away from Lenny Bruce her hands still cupping his face in the most tender gesture Susie has ever seen in her entire fucking life. 

She’s had the misfortune of seeing Midge with a number of men. That Benjamin guy. Nice, but stiff. Joel. An asshole. 

She’s never seen her alone with Lenny, though, and it’s-

Fuck. It’s love. 

“You gotta stop it,” Joel demands. 

Susie snorts out a deep, dark laugh. “For so many reasons, go fuck yourself.” 

“Susie-” 

“First and foremost, Midge’s lovelife is none of my business,” Susie stops him. “Is this ideal? No. Do I think it will probably blow up in her fucking face? Yeah.” 

“So stop it!” 

“Second of all: That’s not just some fling,” Susie goes on. “That’s not just grabbing a quickie in an alleyway after a gig.” 

“Thanks for that mental image,” Joel complains, squeezing his eyes shut, looking pained.

“Look at his face,” Susie goes on. “Look at hers. That’s real. And I may be a heartless asshole sometimes, but even I know not to stand in the way of that shit.” 

“Susie,” Joel says warningly. 

“And third of all,” Susie says as she grins slowly. “It’s gonna be way too much fun to watch you lose your wind over this. It already is.” 

Joel glowers at her harshly, and, without a word, storms back behind the bar, slamming the office door behind him. 

Susie rolls her eyes and slips back to the bar to get a drink.

***** 

“The kissing is nice but it doesn’t solve our problems,” Lenny points out gently as he allows himself the indulgence of brushing his fingers through the ends of her hair. 

“What’s the lease like?” Midge asks. 

“Month-to-month,” he admits sheepishly.

She laughs. “Lenny.” 

“I may be a man with a lease, but I never said I was any good at it,” he admits. 

Midge takes a breath, and he knows she’s talking about how long he should stay at the house in LA, and what they can do to plan his move back to the east coast and she’s dropping the name of some lawyer her father knows, but he’s missed her so much all he can do is gaze at her face; commit her eyes to memory; let himself be soothed by that lilting intensity in her voice. 

“Are you paying attention to anything I’m saying?” she asks finally. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he tells her. “I think the kissing would solve our problems.” 

She laughs, and it’s the best sound ever. 

Sadly, they’re interrupted again by the scrape of a chair coming up to the table, and Susie taking a seat with her drink, which she sets down with a loud thunk. “Okay.” 

Midge looks deeply confused. “Wasn’t tonight a Midge-less night for you?” she asks. “You didn’t even want to hear my name tonight.” 

“Joel called, said there was an emergency, and then alerted me to…whatever the fuck this is,” she explains, gesturing towards the two of them.

Lenny sighs and pulls away from Midge, sitting back against the wall. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Susie says. 

Midge hesitates, and glances at Lenny, before both of them wind up launching into a years-long tale of irresponsible flirting, ridiculous weather-related shenanigans, and their current predicament. 

“Right,” Susie nods after they’re done. “So you’re in love.” 

Again, Midge hesitates. 

“It’s a new development,” Lenny admits, even though it really fucking isn’t. 

“Sure,” Susie waves a hand. “Look, I could care less, but the press is gonna eat this up hard, so we’ve gotta strategize your story here, and while I typically don’t condone telling the truth, I think it’s our best bet. It makes both of you look like sweet, adorable disgusting lovebird angels.” 

Lenny opens his mouth to protest, but the short woman lifts up a hand. 

"You wanna keep fucking my client, you're gonna do what I say."

He shuts his mouth. 

"Good," Susie nods. "I'm leaving. Don't fucking get arrested."

*****

Joel steps out of his office as Susie heads for the exit. "So? You get rid of him? Put a stop to it?"

Susie grins then. A strange, satisfied grin. "He'll see you at the next family dinner."

With that, she leaves, and Joel feels bile gather at the back of his throat. 

***** 

They sit and talk for another hour, and in the back of Midge’s head, she knows that they should have left after Susie did; that sitting here for another hour is likely driving Joel up a wall, and leaving will be much harder the longer they stay.

But Midge is selfish sometimes, and she just doesn’t want to break whatever spell Lenny is under that has him talking about real things, as his real self. 

Because what if he chickens out? 

What if she chickens? 

What if it all just crumbles? 

What if her terrible dream becomes real anyways?

Lenny leans in then, narrowing his eyes at her. “I can see the wheels turning, you know.” 

She grins sheepishly and shakes her head. “It’s fine. Everything is fine. Really.” 

His eyebrow lifts skeptically. “Having second thoughts?” he asks.

“No. I’m afraid you might be.” 

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he admits. “But I want this much too much to run now.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Midge asks softly. 

Lenny sighs softly, thinking it through. “Then…we’re gonna break up, and we’ll probably hate each other for a while, and you’ll talk shit about my dick on stage, and I’ll sleep with a woman who’s far, far too young to make myself feel better, and then maybe one day when we’re old, we’ll look back on it at some sort of comedy special where they wheel out the geriatric set and we’ll laugh about it.” 

“Even if we don’t break up, can I talk shit about your dick on stage?” she asks hopefully.

He chuckles and sips his drink. “You have blanket permission to tell audiences whatever you would like about my shvantz in your act.” 

She beams. “You really do love me.” 

"You wanna head out? See if we can sneak past guard at the door?" Lenny offers. 

Midge finishes her drink and gets to her feet. "I'm going to have to face him sooner or later." 

Lenny nods, getting to his own feet and helping her into her coat before they wander towards the exit.

Midge makes eye contact with Joel as he downs his umpteenth drink behind the bar, and shifts from Lenny to at least say goodnight. 

"His place or yours?" Joel asks bitterly. 

"Probably coffee in the village," Midge tells him truthfully. "Go home, Joel. Sleep it off."

"You coulda told me," he snaps. "Shoulda told me." 

"I didn't want to," Midge tells him honestly. 

"Why?"

She pauses, gazing at him for a long moment. "Because there are so few things in my life I don't have to share. That are just mine. This was just for me. Goodnight, Joel." 

She wanders back over to Lenny, taking his hand and heading for the door.