#their new weaponry is so fun too...

[inkedmyths]

Hi. I'm only a little dead but I'm mildly less dead now bc FULL ARTS OF THEM!!

Finally full outfit refs... waow...

[ohbaby-here-we-go-again]

I love how vessel goes to the little archive of things he likes and is like ‘mm yes the theme of the visuals shall be… *this* for the album.’

Like I’m over here like ‘yea vessel likes flowers and swords. Like he’s always included flowers in graphics (since One) but the swords thing has been developing for while now. Also If you look at the lyrics of st songs recently there has been an increasing mention of ‘swords’ ‘gardens’ and ‘roses’ specifically’

Vessel: Even in Arcadia is gonna have different weapons for its song emblems and also there will be flowers.

me: this makes total sense thank you vessel.

[kittykatkatelol]

should i get into fallout,, i’ve been considering it but um. idk. what is ur opinion…oh mutual of mine..

YES YES JOIN US CRAWL INTO THE FALLOUT ITS GREAT TRUST

[yuzukult]

shooting your shot [preview] | kmg & reader

title: shooting your shot pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader/oc - preview genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, coffee shop owner!mingyu, assassin(?)!oc, hitwoman(?)!oc wc: ~3.8k for teaser summary: settling down, getting married, having kids, and having a 9-5 job that you go to everyday isn't really something you've ever thought about. however, kim mingyu suddenly wakes you up with a warm cup of coffee paired with that wide cheesy grin of his, and suddenly... that life doesn't sound so bad. or is it? warnings: mature themes, eventual smut, mentions & utilization of guns and other weaponry, mentions of gangs, drug dealers, etc - additional themes will be added once it is posted officially a/n: i know i have some series that are incomplete (i'm sorry) but i honestly lost a lot of inspo for writing... i want to get back into it bc it was such a fun hobby for me, so i figured i'd start over and release a preview of something new i was working on !! it's similar to the themes of i'm bad too (a doyoung fic i wrote years ago) but this is a bit more mature imo !! enjoy the teaser :)

“I like you.”

You blink blankly.

Kim Mingyu always manages to put himself in the worst situations. Last week, Hana, his employee at the cafe he owns, had asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner—being as naive as he is, he assumed a group dinner, only to find himself sitting across the table from her at some fancy three Michelin star restaurant with a small candle lit between them before she confessed her heart out to him. A month ago, he agreed to help his friend Joshua fix up his house and without asking for details is how he ended up stuck on a roof because the shingles needed to be replaced… and well, he’s afraid of heights. Then at another time, his sister asked for a ride and he quickly agreed without any questions when he clearly should have because he was sitting outside of a sketchy ass alleyway in center city. It’s where the boy he disapproved his sister of dating lived, right beside all the homeless people and junkies resided.

And now, with you laying flat on top of a building somewhere downtown, he says those words nervously over your earbuds as you watch your target through the ocular lens. Does he know what he’s getting himself into?

“What?”

Mingyu takes in a deep breath of courage to reiterate himself. “I like you. Like, a lot. I know you’re gonna say that I don’t know you well enough to like you—”

“—you don’t—”

“—but you make me feel things in my chest that I can’t control.”

“What? You’re mistaking heartburn with how you feel for me?” You spot the four blacked out Cadillacs parked outside of the building across the street with bodyguards that begin to surround the area. Mingyu better speed this up or you’ll have to hang up on him.

He sighs. “It’s not heartburn. I like you, really. I wanna give this a shot, but only if you let me.”

“Ask out Hana. She’s pretty.” 

You could hear the hint of irritation in his voice from your lack of hesitation. “It’s not just about a girl being pretty. It’s about her personality too—how she is, where she’s from, what she does for a living…” you laugh quietly and he barely catches it. “… see! You think I’m funny too. It’s a great trait in a guy. Doesn’t hurt to give me a shot, does it?”

Ironically, it does hurt when you get shot, especially with the intent you have at the moment with a rifle in hand. 

You spot one of the bodyguards pressing against the buds in his ear.

“Let me call you back.”

“Wait, what—” Click. 

Just seconds later, the middle aged man in a black suit comes out within a herd of security, all dressed in a similar fashion with dark shades and an earpiece. A warning shot, that’s all this was. It’s supposed to scare him, threaten him enough to do what your client says, because that’s what you’re always hired to do. 

Shoot the warning bullet.

All the years of training, going undercover, working for the good and the bad guys have brought you to this—a third party contract killer—wait, rephrase, not a killer, but rather just a shooter… well, not only shooting either. A threat, not a promise, and if your client prefers the commitment, you’d advise them to another person who can pull that final trigger.

A hitman? With no intent of death? Is that a better name for it?

Today, your mark is Jeon Jungsik, or better known as J.S., a drug lord in the city that’s planning to expand his market into illegal weapons. He has a wife, two daughters and three sons, all which he plans to take under his wing during this development however is slowly treading the line of your current client’s objectives. 

“I don’t kill,” you told him, the leather gloves in your hands snap with the adjustments you make. “So if you’re trying to take out the competition, I should be clear that I’m not gonna do this personally. I can refer you elsewhere, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine,” the man said, leaning back in his exorbitant chair. You could almost smell the unlawfully obtained crocodile leather material of his seat. “It’s just to scare him a little. Give him a running start to get out of the game. I wanna give people a chance to become an ally. Then maybe I’ll reach out to you for your associate’s number. I like to think of myself as a nice guy.”

It doesn’t take long, but with one press of the trigger, the man recoils and collapses on the floor with his whole team pulling out their weapons in all directions.

“Oh.”

“What? Shocked to see me?”

His face heats up but could anyone blame him? The girl he’s been crushing on is standing before him, hours after he confessed his feelings only to be hung up on. In all fairness, he thought that was a sign that you weren’t into him.

“Kinda, yeah. I thought you said you’d call me back.”

“You were on the way,” you reply, fingers skimming through the laminated menu taped to the plexiglass. “Thought I’d stop by so we could talk. If you still want to talk.”

“I—Hm,” he begins, unsure how to even talk to you at this point. “How about I make you your usual, and we can talk over a cup?”

Nodding in agreement, you shove your hands into the front pocket of your blue jeans. You’ve since switched out of your work attire, tossed and stuffed into a duffle that sits underneath the flooring of your car, along with your disassembled rifle. 

That, exactly all of that is why you could never hold a serious relationship. And that’s what you want to tell him—honestly and genuinely, it had nothing to do with him but rather everything to do with you. How could an innocent guy like him, someone who ran the neighborhood coffee shop with regulars that worked in such mundane jobs ever be with someone who was considered a hired sort-of-assassin? Marksman? Markswoman? Was there even a word for it?

Finding an empty table, you plop yourself in the seat. He’s really cute, you have to admit that, and despite keeping yourself at an arm's length with every person you meet, somehow Mingyu always oversteps those boundaries and you’ve never even thought twice in trying to stop him.

Tousled hair and apron on, he’s got some coffee stains on the sleeve of his shirt, light bags under his eyes from waking up at the crack of dawn to open up shop, he still manages to radiate that same bright energy as he always does. 

“Black coffee and one sugar,” he announces with a cheeky smile, pushing the ceramic cup to you. “Your usual. Kinda reminds me of you. Bitter, but you’re just a bit sweet.”

Gross. But why do you kind of like it?

“Why do you like me?”

His smile fades. It’s mostly out of embarrassment and nervousness, not because he lost feelings for you in that span of time, but he feels like this is grade school all over again. “I thought we went through this already.”

“I know, but…” grabbing the spoon that sits on the plate underneath, you sir the dark liquid with the steam rising. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Mingyu. I’m just a regular customer that helped you out once when you almost got robbed. Maybe you’re thinking that you owe me or something.”

Almost a year ago, when the shop was closing up at midnight, a man in a ski mask attempted to steal the money at the register with a loaded gun.

Truthfully, you weren’t really planning on stepping in at all. On your way home from another job, the thoughts that crossed your mind didn’t include going into that café, but after seeing that scared college girl’s face behind the counter with a gun to her head, you let out a sign before swinging the front doors open.

Needless to say, the man in the ski mask was flipped, kicked, and shoved, his gun thrown to the side as you call her to grab zip ties from the back so you could tie him up for the cops to arrest him formally.

“Here,” you handed off your own personal number to the girl, figuring she’d use it in case of another emergency, only for it to fall into the hands of Kim Mingyu, the guy who had already been ogling you everyday during your morning routes.

“OK, ok,” he says, placing his hands flat on the table. “Maybe I don’t know you, but I want to. I wanna learn about you, I wanna know what your favorite foods are and if you like Post Malone or if you prefer rock bands. Are you a morning person or a night owl, and if you’re just stuck waking up in the early hours because of your job because that’s the only time I see you here. I—I really like you, and I can’t seem to put into words why, but I want to get to know you.”

You roll your lips. It takes you a minute to respond, but the minute seems like hours to him. Bringing the drink to your lips, the warmth hits your tongue and you can feel it in your chest.

It’s dangerous, letting someone like him in your life. In the chance that someone figured out your identity and realized he was your weakness, it wouldn’t be long for him to get captured and kept as a hostage. 

“I’m not a good girlfriend,” you warn him, fiddling with the spoon.

“And where’d you hear that?”

Maybe it was the guy who you binded up with rope last weekend, delivering him to one of your clients when you recalled him saying something along the lines of, “Is this the type of shit you’re into? I bet you don’t even have a boyfriend ‘cause if you did, he’d fucking hate you.” Or a couple weeks ago, when that one dude groped you from under your skirt and you twisted his arm, wincing with, “you’re so sexy but you’d be an awful fuck anyways.”

Sure, they weren’t word-for-word “you’re not a good girlfriend,” but you’d say it was pretty fucking close.

“Men,” you retort nonchalantly, grabbing your drink again. “I don’t think I’m good at commitment, Mingyu. You seem amazing at it. Wasn’t there a girl that stopped by a while ago who was begging you to take her back?”

He grimaces, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. You wish it was your very own, threading through them with his lips pressed against yours, the taste of a vanilla latte lingering on his tongue, along with a sharp inhale of coffee beans from him carrying the bags over his shoulders all morning during inventory restock. 

But it doesn’t work like that. You and Mingyu can’t work out like that. Not while you remain in this profession.

“An ex-girlfriend. But you don’t have to worry about her.”

“Never said I was.” You were. Maybe just a little.

“Can… Can I at least try to pursue you? You’re not flat out saying you don’t like me, it just seems like something is holding you back.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, because it’s exactly that.

Your colleagues don’t settle, or at least, they don’t settle while they’re still taking jobs. There’s too much risk involved, all which include putting your loved ones in danger. 

But for some reason, a flat out rejection doesn’t come out.

“Don’t get mad if nothing comes of it.” With that, you grab your coffee and engulf it like a shot before placing it back on the table. 

“Girl, you really don’t need me to be here.”

You sigh. Arguing with Sunny on a Thursday morning isn’t really something you want to do, but Sunny loves to bicker.

She’s the opposite of her name—Grumpy is what her parents should’ve given her, instead they chose the bubbliest and warmest name for the coldest and most bitter person.

Nonetheless, you do like her.

She makes the job more enjoyable, somehow her dark casting clouds are a distraction to what this job really entails because your attention is too busy being on how she responds groggily to every little thing.

“Why do you say that?” You ask, adjusting the kevlar vest around your upper body. It’s tight around your frame, as it’s supposed to be, but you admit it’s a bit hard to shift into any position with this on. “I always need you here.”

“You really don’t,” Sunny glares at you, slipping into her jacket before she zips herself up. She’s a trained assassin—keyword: assassin. Her job is to leave the assigned Target dead, without a breath or a heartbeat left. Bringing her here only serves the purpose of her making the final shot. “You are perfectly capable of following through with this job—your aim is impeccable. Why the fuck did Summers assign me to this? Does he think I need a chaperone?” With the Boss being her brother, it’s fair that Sunny thinks that Summers did this on purpose; he’d been on her ass these past few months when she accidentally missed her marque—but it wasn’t entirely her fault, there’d been a sniper on the opposing side playing defense. 

With a laugh, you snap your precision sniper together. It reminds you of those toys you’d find in the aisles of stores growing up, the ones your parents pulled you away from because they were “made for boys.” Meanwhile, there’s two girls who stand on the roof of a building in the city, holding two real ones. “It’s more so for me than for you,” you admit, popping the ear piece in. “I don’t kill, remember? I’ll aim for the warning shot first, the Client will call the Target, and if it doesn't go well, you’ll make the final hit.” 

Groaning, she climbs onto her stomach. “I don’t get why you don’t kill—your fucking accuracy is off the charts. You know Summers framed your training targets? That’s how he gets clients—that shit is hung in his office when they come in. Raves all about you.”

You can’t hold back the flattering smile as you mimic her lying position several feet away. “He assigns other people for the job though.”

She turns to roll her eyes at you. “Yeah, because you won’t fucking kill.”

You shake your head. Now, the waiting game starts. “Well, my hits are impactful and torturous. I’d say that’s worse than killing. Plus, why kill when I can use it as an excuse to hang out with you?”

“Or—hear me out,” Sunny begins, peeking through her scope, “you could just fucking answer my texts when I hit you up to go clubbing.”

“I don’t ‘club,’ Sunny.”

“Why? Are you afraid you’re gonna upset Summers?”

You furrow your brows. What does she mean by that? “What?”

“Oh, come on,” she’s turning the rifle from side to side, skimming the area. “You’re his literal favorite. My brother practically has heart eyes whenever you’re around. Like I said, he hung your training targets in his office. Last week, he told me he thought you were pretty.”

You narrow your gaze through the scope but the scowl was for Sunny. “What did you ask him? Pick between me or the Wicked Witch of the West? Who’s prettier?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Ahhh, I see,” you snicker. “Plus, even if he was interested, I might be into someone else.”

Did you really just say that?

It flowed off your tongue a lot more smoothly than you’d prefer, catching even yourself off guard. 

Sunny’s mouth drops as she looks over at you. “You’re lying.”

“Pay attention,” you gesture ahead. “And… I’m not. Someone asked me out and I’m considering it.”

“Normie?” A voice through the earpiece says. “Or is it another hitman?”

Sunny grins when she hears her brother. “Hey, Summers. What are you doing on this line?”

You suck in your cheeks.

From what you understand, Summers doesn’t get involved in any of the on-the-ground work. He’s bound to his desk at this point—besides constantly networking, and meeting with Clients, he’s writing contracts, all while managing to assign the work to his hitmen and stuffing money into their pockets. Summers is the mastermind of this all, the head of operations, and it never minded anyone that he didn’t get into the details of everything. 

That’s why when you hear his voice over the line and not Chan who sits at his computer (with the ten monitors on display) all day, you’re suspicious.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re not giving her a hard time, are you?”

“No, but you’re giving us a hard time just from your attendance.” 

He clears his throat and diverts his attention back to you. “So…” Summers calls out your name gingerly. “Is… Is he a normie or another hitman?”

You and Sunny lock eyes for a moment; yours glaring and hers content, proud of herself for making the correct observation. 

“A normie,” you state calmly, and you can almost picture Summers doing that awkward neck rub. “Nothing serious yet, we’re just talking.”

“Ah,” he chuckles softly. “Just like your mentor, right? Seungcheol? Didn’t he quit the field so he could be with his normie wife?”

“Summers, Target acquired. Status update?” Looking through your scope, your rifle follows in suit of the direction he’s walking. “Did the Client call?”

Summers uncomfortably coughs at the situation and hands the mic over to Chan. “Sorry, uh. Chan, give direction.”

Sunny shoves Summers after tossing off her gloves. “Summers, what the fuck was that? You were distracting us from our mission. If it weren’t for our prized Hitlady here, we wouldn’t have gotten the Target. Are you crushing that bad?”

Standing outside of the van parked blocks away from the setpoint, you both switch out your gear.

Your ears heat up, and so does Summer’s. “It’s fine,” pulling out the earpiece, you toss it into the bin Chan provides. “He’s our Boss anyways. He makes the calls, so if he distracts us, that’s his decision.”

“Yeah, see? Also, can you stop treating me as just your brother? I’m running an organization here. Give me some credit.”

Chan snickers quietly from the sidelines and you grin in his direction. 

Sunny takes a deep inhale. “Look, whatever. We did the job, and it worked out. I didn’t even have to kill anyone, our 98% aimed so well, the guy was so scared that he admitted defeat. Another win in our book.”

You groan. Not the “98%” shit again—a couple years ago, there’d been an internal competition between all the assassins. It was pretty much an accuracy test; how precise were your shots, the amount of times you were able to hit that same spot, and additional factors such as weather, timing, and so on were factored in.

Needless to say, you got a 98% accuracy score.

Grabbing your coffee cup from the table, you bring the slightly cold liquid to your lips. It was hot when you picked it up this morning at Mingyu’s coffee shop; his bright smile illuminated the entire restaurant, almost (keyword, almost) causing your heart to do flips in your chest, but now it’s a bit cold since you were too busy to finish it all. 

“I’m not that good, Sunny. That’s why you’re here today—covering for me if we did have to aim to kill.”

Sunny raises a brow before twisting the cup in your hand.

“Is that… hearts around your name? Who’s Mingyu?”

You turn it to your direction and your face warms up instead of the coffee. There’s scribbles and doodles around your name, signed by Mingyu at the bottom. As corny as this is, it’s… kind of cute. “Oh. He uh…. He’s the guy I’m sorta seeing. The Normie, if you will.”

Summers looks at you with a concerned expression. “Is that what you want? To date a Normie? He doesn’t know anything about this side of you—how’s he gonna react when he finds out you hurt people?”

“I mean, we’re just talking.”

“But what if he wants more? Then what? Are you going to tell him that you’re an assassin?” His tone is stern, and you sneak a glance at Sunny who just gives you that I-told-you-so look.

“I… I’ll work on that when we get there,” you blink blankly. “Is there something wrong?”

He sneaks a glimpse at his sister and Chan who watch him attentively. “Uh, no, there isn’t. Just uh… expressing concern, is all, from a boss’ standpoint. You know. I have to make sure my people don’t have any obstacles that can affect the workplace.”

When Sunny rolls her eyes and drags Summers away to avoid another uncomfortable conversation, you sigh in relief while climbing into the back of the van and shutting the door closed. 

“Well, that was entertaining.” 

You toss the vest into the bin. “Yeah, I don’t know what to do about that,” you shrug, plopping into the seat next to Chan. “Do you think I should quit? I feel like this whole thing with Summers, the missions, and potentially settling down in the future might fuck everything up. Do I even want to settle down?”

“Are you kidding me? If I had at least a third of your skills, I’d be signing up for every mission possible. Your skills will go to waste.”

You sigh, rubbing your face with the palm of your hands. “I feel like I’m at a bit of a standstill, if I’m being quite honest.”

“About this Mingyu guy?” Chan swivels his chair back to his 10 monitors propped onto the walls of the inside of the van. His fingers dance along the clackiness of the keyboard, but his ears stay perked at your responses. “I thought you said you guys were just talking.”

“We are, I just…” shoulders slouching, you release another weighted breath from your chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it is, you probably need to establish some boundaries with Summers,” Chan says, shutting down the system before turning back to you. “You know how he is.”

You quirk a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s a nice guy, but he can be a little possessive,” his eyes have hints of pity in them, like they’re directly toward you. “Even with Sunny. Like come on, when’s the last time she’s ever introduced a boyfriend to him?”

“Sunny doesn’t even really date.”

“Not since Summers punched her last boyfriend.”

Oh. Well that’s new. “I’m not his girlfriend though—and I’m definitely not his sister either.”

“You’re on his radar, that should be enough.”

thanks for reaching the end !! :) thanks for being so patient with me throughout all the years, i'm excited to start my journey all over again.. so bear with me if i suck lol pls lmk what you think !!

[theseinfernalangels]

Two Steps Behind - Brennan Sorrengail

Synopsis: When a mission goes awry, you don’t expect anyone to come back for you. That is, until, your lover becomes as deadly as a destroying angel.

Includes: CW for explicit torture and slight gore, Brennan being hot as fuck, mated dragons, new lieutenants!Brennan and Sabine, typical violence, gryphons, and all that fun stuff. Takes place years before Fourth Wing.

Your body goes limp. Whoever came up with the idea of ambushing the fliers from the ground is getting chewed out later, if you survive this.

It wasn’t intentional — the squad you and Brennan had been assigned to was skilled, and no one would risk another rider in a mission so critical. But, no. All it had taken was a stupid garrote wire and a sleeping signet, and you’d been taken from everyone, including your dragon. If Sciath isn’t tearing someone apart in fury, then she must be on the hunt…You hope.

Brennan wouldn’t leave you here, right? You struggle to shift into a more comfortable position  — if that’s even possible, given the fact that you were chained to a wall. The bitter heat stings your bruised and scarred arms, and where you’d normally welcome it, it makes you want to curl into a ball and hide. The heat here does not come from the safety of your dragon — it means to maim and kill you, even if they do it slowly.

You groan quietly, shifting as you try to see what could be going on around you. Those bastards kept you in the dark on purpose, you’re sure, so that you don’t know when they’re coming or what could be happening other than their torture. Fucked up, but smart. You curse the practice, but if the roles were reversed, you know you’d be doing the same.

That’s why you don’t expect it when a flash of brown leather appears before you — but you don’t recoil. You’d rather be killed in action than show a fucking gryphon flier that you’re nervous.

The flier, a man with long, sandy blond hair, stares down at you with a cold smile. You don’t recognize him; they must be sending different people to interrogate you so you can’t string them along.

“Well,” he drawls, looking at you like a big under a microscope. “How the mighty have fallen. How does a dragon rider fare when she’s not in the sky?”

Your lip curls, but you don’t dignify his words with a response. You can’t even wield right now — maybe the chains are enchanted — so there’s no way of protecting yourself here.

The flier’s lips dip into a mocking pout. “What? Cat got your tongue? I thought you’d have more bite than that.”

Still no reply. Instead, you just hold his gaze with the most even look you can muster. It’s probably a futile effort; you definitely look like a fool, staring up at your captor murderously while being chained, but at least you won’t die a coward.

You can’t die. If you die, then Brennan dies, too. You can’t be the one to break the connection.

The man sighs. “Oh, well. They warned me you’d be a challenge. Something tells me that a knife won’t do much to intimidate you, yeah?”

True. In the — what, three days? — you’ve been here, you’ve been stabbed at least thrice a day. You still haven’t broken. You refuse to.

He chuckles. “That’s fine. You can use more than weaponry to make someone talk.” He crouches to meet your eyes and takes your chin between his fingers. You fight the urge to jerk away. No touch, no matter how gentle, would be welcome to you. Not unless it was Brennan, but given the protocol for prisoners, you’re not even sure if he’ll be allowed to come find you.

“Now,” he purrs, “we’ll try this the easy way first. I ask questions, and you answer. Sound like a plan?”

Silence.

He releases your chin. If you had the use of your hands, you’d scrub the touch right off. “No one’s been able to get you to say anything at all. Why is that? To protect yourself and your little mate?”

Instantly, you still, carefully regulating the look on your face so as not to give away your surprise. How did he know about you and Brennan? Fliers weren’t privy to rider information, unless they were in the service for a long time.

“Ah,” he says with a grin. “Got you there, huh? Everyone knows about you two — the major’s daughter and the general’s son with dragon mates. It’s sweet. Real sweet.” He pauses. “Too bad he’ll never be able to find you.”

Oh, gods. I hope he’s wrong.

“And I bet your mother won’t be too thrilled when your body is dumped on her outpost door,” he continues, tracing a finger down your temple. “But enough of that. Where and when is the next patrol of riders coming through the bypass?”

The answer is obvious enough to you — in two days time, around six in evening. You won’t break it to him, though; not when the fliers would most definitely use that information to ambush your comrades, one of which is your literal husband. They could never make you sell him out. Never.

“Nothing?” He tilts his head. “Damn. And here I thought we could be agreeable.” Your blood runs cold as a sick, sadistic grin spreads across his face. “Good thing I’m the one who’s allowed to actually kill you.”

A flurry of panic spears through you, but it’s nothing compared to the dread that rises when you feel your shackled wrists start to throb. Could he manipulate blood? Was he about to make your skin burst? Can he slow your pulse close enough to make it hurt?

Your answer comes not from your body, but from the metal chain that starts steaming by your head. No, he doesn’t manipulate bodily functions. He’s a metallurgist — and he’s about to fucking melt your skin off. Instantly, that little voice in your head starts screaming — screaming for Sciath, Brennan, or even Marbh to come and fucking get you. It doesn’t matter, though. None of them can hear you, as you’ve figured out since being locked away.

“And now she knows,” the flier coos mockingly, tracing along your features with terrifying delight. “So, why don’t we try that again? Where and when is the next patrol of riders coming through the bypass?”

Despite both yourself and logic, you still remain silent, glaring up at him challengingly. If he wants answers, he’ll have to pry them out of your mouth with broken fingers.

A bolt of shock shoots through you when the heat makes its way to the manacles around your wrist, pressing a searing pain into your wrists. You suck in a quiet breath, but no words leave you. And, unfortunately for you, that must please the flier, because as soon as the moment drags on for a second longer, the pain turns searing, filling your body with heat, heat, heat.

A choked curse works its way up your throat, barely suppressed by your own self-control and RSC experience. It’s loosed, though, when the fire becomes unbearable, and it’s clear to you that the metal might get close to its melting point in a short amount of time.

“She finally speaks,” the flier says gleefully, stroking one of the boiling chains with his gloved index finger. “Not quite what I’m looking for, though.”

Oh, gods. You don’t even know what god to pray to in your haze of pain and fear. Amari, that someone from your post may value enough to rescue you…or Malek, to take you swiftly in exchange for keeping Brennan and your dragons alive. Either would suffice right about now.

Maybe the temperature rises, or maybe your head is so messed up that it’s giving into habit. You can’t help it when you let out a startled gasp, or when it escalates into a full on shriek. The scorching heat of the metal is worse than getting punched, worse than feeling blades pass through your skin, and even worse than when Sciath marked you with her razor-sharp claws during Threshing. It takes everything in you not to retch and vomit, but you can’t hold your body back from writhing in agony. 

The burning turns to pure torment, but it’s not answers that leave you — it’s pure, unfiltered screaming. It’s not secret to you now that you’re past interrogation now. No, he wants to kill you, he’s excited to kill you, and you probably have a good two or three minutes, at the very most, before you end up dead on the floor. How long has it been since he started? Five minutes? Ten? Thirty, even? You can’t tell.

Tears stream down your face as you surrender your jerking body to the cold ground below you, desperate for anything that isn’t heat against your skin. Your back arches against the stone, and it’s unclear if the “Please, please, please” that echoes through you is said aloud or mentally. You’re far above begging for you life — but, then again, you haven’t been this close to death since Basgiath.

Maybe it’s not begging for your life, though. Rather, it’s begging for death; a sweet, cold, merciful death that spares your squad from any grief or suffering. Your throat is raw from the force of your pained sobbing, but at least it’s the only thing you can hear, at least you’re staring up at a ceiling of nothing but stone and blood, as you wait for yourself to fade from consciousness.

Wait. Blood?

Your head jerks to the side just in time to see the flier being flung across the dark room, which has been lightened by an opened entrance to your right. You hear faint grunting and cursing past the ringing in your ears, but that’s nothing compared to the cold threat in that beautifully familiar voice that fills the air.

“The next time one of you fucks dares to lay a hand on my wife again, I will reduce the entirety of Poromiel to waste and ash. Remember that when you meet Malek, bastard.”

A startled gasp chokes the air out of you at the same time as bones crunch — a snapping neck.

Your voice is weak, rough and faint from enduring your torment, but when it’s his name on your tongue, it feels sweeter than honey.

“Bren?”

Sure enough, a familiar head of russet waves peers over you and drops to the ground, taking your head into his lap.

“Angel,” he breathes, pressing a soothing kiss to your forehead. “Don’t look. I’ll make it better.”

You blink stray tears from your eyes and flinch hard at the first brush of his fingers against the burnt skin of your wrists, but a quiet hushing noise followed by a little glow from his fingers calms you instantly.  

“Easy,” he murmurs, the pain being muffled to a slight ache in no less than a few seconds. “You’re okay now. They won’t hurt you again.”

You swallow against the nausea that throws you in a loop before you let out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t feel you. I couldn’t fucking feel you—“

“I know.” A hand leaves yours to gently wipe at your dampened cheeks. “I couldn’t, either. Sciath did, though, and directed us here.”

“Us?” You glance out the opened entrance. There are shadows moving, but none of them are discernable to you.

“About a quarter of the riders.” He smiles. “Sciath made a pretty convincing case to Major Irie, and she allowed a rescue party.”

You go limp with relief. Your dragon could feel you. Maybe it wasn’t mutual, but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re alive, and so is Brennan, and Sciath, and Marbh. You lived. 

“It is more than mutual, actually.”

You sob in relief at the familiar, feminine rumble that creeps into your mind. Sciath. You close your eyes, and, yes — that bond of midnight blue glows as clear as day within you, right next to Brennan’s amber and Marbh’s bright orange. 

 Sweat forms on Brennan’s brow line as he continues to mend your scarred wrists, but judging by the shouts coming from outside, you must be pressed for time. He nods, sharing the thought. “We need to get moving.” 

With some straining and difficulty, you finally stand on shaky legs, not having used them for a few days. Brennan slings one arm around your waist and hoists one of yours around his shoulders, easily bearing your weight as you move out of the chamber. It’s a blur, walking out of the compound, but Brennan makes up for it by talking you through it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard in my life.”

“Sciath almost tore the entire outpost down, she was so pissed.”

“Fuck, angel. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

“You think you can climb into your seat? Marbh would be fine with a second rider.”

“I’ll be okay,” you finally reply, resting your head by his shoulder. “I don’t think she’ll mind getting lower for me.”

Sure enough, the lithe blue dragon appears ahead of you, quick as the wind. Her silvery eyes trace your figure before she lowers her head to lay before you.

“I am so sorry, Saintly One,” she whispers, eyes full of sorrow. “This should never have happened to you.”

“Not your fault,” you rasp, shaking your head. “I made a mistake, and I’ve paid the price. I just want to go home, honestly.”

“Home?” Brennan glances down at you with a frown. “Tyrrendor is miles from here.”

A smirk makes your lips twitch a little. “My home is wherever you are,” you tell him. “Preferably, when we’re alone.”

The look on his face is almost laughable, with a deep blush tinting his ears red, but he recovers the moment by clearing his throat. “Let’s go.”

With Brennan’s help, you slowly ease up into your seat and don’t protest when you feel Sciath wrapping those little magic bands over your hips. “For extra protection,” she frets. “I will not lose you again.”

You just let it happen. No use in arguing with a fussy, protective dragon.

The flight back to your outpost is a stunning contrast to what had happened just barely an hour before. The sunset splits the sky and divides it into pinks and oranges that sit pleasantly against your skin. The warmth makes you frown — after today, you’d prefer anything that wasn’t heat — but you don’t dare to complain. You’ll take anything over torture now.

“You’re quiet,” Brennan observes from where he perched on Marbh, just ten feet away. “Are you alright, angel?”

You hum. “I will be, once I’m back in my own bed. I cannot recommend stone floors.”

You feel a twinge of annoyance flash down the amber bond. “Too soon. We almost lost you tonight.”

Instinctually, you glance down at your wrists. Luckily for you, Brennan is incredibly talented and repaired most of the damage. However, there are still scars around your wrists — both from the chains and the scorching metal. You bite your lip and wrench your eyes away, choosing to focus on the sky ahead instead.

“You didn’t hear me, did you?”

He’s silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”

Question answered. “Never mind, then.”

Brennan looks your way and tilts his head. “You called for me.”

There’s no way of denying it, but that doesn’t make it feel any less pathetic. You avert your eyes and trace idle circles on one of Sciath’s scales, earning you a growl of appreciation.

“Look at me.”

It’s not a question. You lift your head and meet his eyes, his irises fiery in the dying sunlight.

“Something was blocking the bond.”

“I know,” you murmur.

“There is no universe where I would leave you behind, especially if I could hear you. That’s absolutely unfathomable.”

You nod, allowing his words to dwell in your senses and drown everything else out. Absolutely unfathomable. Not even an option. No possibility. Inconceivable. Brennan would have found you at some point in any timeline, even though logic had forced you to question it earlier.

“That is no fault of yours,” Sciath interjects softly. “It was a natural reaction. Your mate looked like he was going to tear the outpost in half, though.”

You scoff quietly, shaking your head. “He wouldn’t.”

“I would,” comes Brennan’s firm reply. “Again and again, I would. Fly to the stars or sink to the sea, and I’ll be two steps behind.”

It’s not unusual for such raw confessions from Brennan, but they never fail to make your heart twist so hard that he can feel it in him, too.

“I love you.”

“Thoroughly and utterly, angel. I love you, too.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

[riddled-with-fear]

A Vigilante/Adrian Chase x reader Drabble U///U

Back on my Peacemaker bullshit because the new season comes out in AUGUSTTTTTT

Also wanted to try something a bit different incorporating a song into the fic OvO

MDNI!

CW: depictions of gore, killing, use of weaponry(guns and katanas), strong language, slight(?) blood play?(reader and Vigilante make out covered in blood), no smut.

WC: 579

You and Vigilante stood back to back in the middle of the woods. Both of yours and his arms were raised, guns in each one of your hands.

“Ready?” He slightly turned his masked head to you.

You sucked in a deep breath, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, Darlin’ you give love… A bad name.

The Butterflies started coming through the trees, and Vigilante’s guns rang out first as he fired at the incoming aliens. You gripped both of your guns tight, squeezing the triggers and aiming for the Butterflies coming through the trees on your side.

“Oh yeah! Boom! Headshot!” Vigilante remarked, clearly having way too much fun.

You tried focusing on doing the same, but you were much better at hand-to-hand, and using blades.

An angel’s smile is what you sell.

You promised me Heaven and put me through Hell.

“Vig, it’ll be faster if you shoot them down and I can slay the Butterflies.” You kept firing. Emptying one clip, you put one gun back in its holster on your thigh.

“Or, we keep shooting and worry about that when they pop out of these poor fucker’s skulls.” He kept firing

“I guess, but I’m not good with guns.” You emptied the second clip. “Fuck.” You shoved the second gun in its holster on your other thigh. “I’m out of ammo anyways.”

Vigilante popped out his empty clip, quickly replaced it and kept firing, “you don’t have back up ammo?!”

You unsheathed your katanas, duel wielding both swords. Vigilante turned at the sound, “Oh-ho, nice!”

“Keep shooting!”

Chains of love got a hold on me.

When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free.

You began slicing at the butterflies bursting out of the corpses.

Whoa-oh-oh you’re a loaded gun, yeah.

You heard the empty clicking of Vigilante’s gun. “Reloading!”

You turned just in time to see a running Butterfly heading towards him. You spun around Vigilante and decapitated his would-be assailant. Blood spurted all over you as the head hit the ground and the body dropped to its knees, doubling over. The butterfly tore its way out of the eye socket and you shoved your blade through it. You stepped on the disembodied head and yanked your blade free.

You turned around to see Vigilante staring at you. You couldn’t see the look on his face due to his mask, but if you could you’d see a star-struck Adrian.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit!” He finally exclaimed.

Whoa-oh-oh there’s nowhere to run.

No one can save me, the damage is done!

You stared at him, heaving, drenched in some random person’s blood, and what you could assume was the alien equivalent. You flicked your blade, excess blood flying off.

“That was so fucking hot! You look so fucking hot!”

“Vig… I’m literally covered in gore. We just murdered a fuckton of people and aliens. What exactly is hot about that?”

Vigilante put his guns away in their respective holsters and marched over to you, grabbing your shoulders once he reached you, “Everything! You, you killing, you covered in blood! Ho-ooooly shit, I’m rock-fucking-hard.”

You stared at him furrowing your eyebrows together. He was completely and utterly fucked in the head.

Shot through the heart and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love a bad name.

And so were you, because once he pulled off his mask you two were on each other, kissing like your lives depended on it.

[all-eye]

High Value Target

(Yandere!St.Figarland Garling X F!Reader)

[A/n: First of all, english isn’t my first language, sorry if there is any mistake. Also it's my first work ever posted, be nice please.

Second, the Yandere!Garling portrayal has been heavily inspired by the lovely work of @everlasting-rainfall , you should check their blog if you'd like, minors do not interact with their tumblr!

Third, this is a dead-dove fic. Read at your own risks]

I HAVE NEVER, AND WILL NEVER CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF ANY CELESTIAL DRAGON!!

Dialogues:

• Common language spoken in OP

• Local language spoken on this one island

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

Not Spoiler Free (until chap 1096), Death, Genocide, Mass Suicide, Racism/Colonialism, Slavery, Cultural Erasure, Celestial Dragons being Celestial Dragons, Celestial Dragons National "Hunt a Native" Event, Implied Rape/Noncon, Non-sexual Nudity, Stalking, Yandere Creepiness, Female!Reader, Tattoed!Reader

DEAD DOVE/DO NOT EAT

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(Three years before the God Valley Incident, somewhere in the New World)

You were a gift to the Temple, even before you could start to remember your parents faces. You learnt how to fight at the same time your learnt how to walk. The other gifted children were your brothers and sisters, and alongside them you grew up, learning how to detect your enemy's Voice and how to make your weapon and your fists as hard as diamonds. You learnt how to attack, and how to defend.

When you became an adult, you received your tattoos, your steel trident along with a new name. One which would give you strength and resilience.

You were part of the Priests of the War God. Elite of the Nation and Protector of the Island.

But those sea people... those wretched, greasy and filthy invaders... those so-called Gods. They didn't use any of those titles.

So, what did they call you?

A Super Rare Rabbit.

When they arrived, surrounded your island with their ships and made their announcement, you didn’t understand at first. You weren't really skilled in that area, you had troubles understanding their language. And when you finally got it, you still didn’t believe it. I mean, who could? It was... surreal, absurd.

You finally understood when the first shot was fired.

Mayhem was unleashed upon your people. Screaming children everywhere, families running frantically. The sound of detonations and misery. The smell of blood, powder and death.

Along with your siblings, you tried to do your duty as best as you could. Striking some of these invaders, but mostly helping your fellow citizens to flee and hide in the mountains.

This was all too sudden. You had to retreat, take a grasp on the situation, and come up with a plan.

There was also a small group of foreigners who were used as targets. Apparently, slaves. Only by taking your time to discuss with them, with the help of someone who spoke their language, did you truly comprehend the Horror of your situation.

A Hunt. These demons were planning to exterminate all of you, but wanted to have fun with it.

If you survived for 3 weeks you would be released? As if! Who could believe that?! As the slaves said, no one ever survived these fucked up games!

They would kill you all and steal your Land.

That is, only the lucky ones would be shot. You’ve heard some accounts. And you wanted to bash your skull against a rock to forget them.The things surviving civilians witnessed during the first attack. The horrendous fate that awaited many women and even some pretty young men who were left behind.

As you tried to calm down the citizens, your higher-ups were pondering their options. They could clearly sense it, most of the sea people didn't know anything about combat. However, their weaponry was way more advanced than yours. Not only that, but a tremendous number of their battleships surrounded the island, leaving no way out.

To make matters worse, there was also that one thing, that you could sense too. They counted about ten of these people, whose Voices were so dreadful they shook them to their core.

In this instance, what could they do? Their options were scarce, if not inexistent. You could feel their unease seeping through the camp, slowly making its way into everyone's mind. Once they were done deliberating, you were all gathered to hear their final decision.

You shared a glance with some of your brothers. You didn’t voice your opinion, but frankly, you didn’t need to. Most of them were having similar thoughts.

One thing was clear: you would all die. There was no need to lie to yourself. Either hunted for sports like animals, or reduced to slavery.

But still, something needed to be done. You couldn't just... wait for the sea-people to come and play their stupid games. No warrior could ever endure such humiliation. No civilian deserved to end up a hunting trophy. You needed to act quick, before any of them could reach this hideout.

So, the higher-ups finally spoke. From the beginning, there was only one true option. And even if you thought you were ready to hear that, you still felt like the ground was opening under your feet and swallowing you whole. It was so unfair... how could you tell that to the civilians? Look them in the eyes and tell them you couldn't protect them? That your vows meant nothing?

But still... all these people... the women, the children, the elderly... and those who just could not defend themselves... they finally understood. After all, they were still part of a prideful nation. If they could find a way to avoid this game, they would do it.

And then, it started.

People hugging their loved ones before throwing themselves off cliffs.

Mothers holding their children before making them eat the seeds of the Last-Kiss Fruit.

And those who picked up the poisoned corpses and threw them into water sources, slowly infecting the Land, destroying everything before the invaders could seize it.

At the end, only a few people remained.

The War Priests of the West, dutiful and well-trained. The Masked Mountain Warriors, as stealthy as deadly. The Archers of the Eastern Coast, whose bloodlust was unmatched in the whole Land. Some foreign slaves and other natives joined you as well. Every men and women who were ready to kill and be killed.

These people wanted a good Hunt, didn't they? Well, the only good hunt is one where both parties are in danger. You would show them. Strike fear into their hearts. A last time before your culture vanished, they would understand how your kind celebrated Death.

Most of them, the portly ones wearing glass bubbles on their heads, they were quite easy to catch. Some were even dumb enough to get themselves eaten by mountain beasts. And those who weren't, they would end up lost in the forest, stumbling across rows and rows of decaying bodies, before getting stabbed by ambushed warriors and hung from the trees, with their remains displayed in the most gruesome way.

However, as days went by, these people ventured less and less inland. Now, only their most powerful fighters dared to step a foot into the forest, those whose strength was so great they could wipe out a dozen of your warriors in a single blow. It was all madness.

You managed to escape them so far, but still, your numbers were quickly dwindling.

For how long had this been going on? You'd say... maybe... nine to thirteen days. You weren't really sure anymore. For now, the moon was full, shining high in the sky, you were sitting alone in a clearing hidden behind a row of trees, and frankly, you were just trying to get some rest.

As shitty as this situation was, you could say, today was a good day. A great day, actually. One of these former slaves had told you those fighters were called "Holy Knights". And just this morning, your fellow War Priests managed to ambush one of them.

You were there when it happened. You saw the true power of these so-called "knights", which could only be described as demonic. Something unholy and unheard of, that needed every ounce of your combined forces to manage to destroy it. Most of your remaining siblings died today, leaving you as one of their last ones standing. But still, you weren't going to cry just yet, because at the end of the day, this haughty arrogant scummy awful disgusting horrendous- knight met his well-deserved fate.

His head detached from his body, attached to an arrow and hurled towards your enemy position for everyone to see.

It was the one thing that made you smile, the one thing that made you almost giddy.

They were warned, not even their best warriors were safe. Your civilization may die out eventually (it was already a zombie at that point), but you weren't just going to vanish quietly, playing by their stupid rules.

You were still planning to clash with some other knights, but for now, you were just going to get some rest.

Soon, you could fully rest.

It would all end soon enough.

Garling was seething. How did that happen? How did this scum manage to get himself killed?! By half-naked peasants, nonetheless! Sure, he was one of their weakest, but still, what a disgrace for their Order! He almost wanted to crush this fool's skull under his boot.

Breath in... Breath out...

This humiliating inconvenience put aside, he could say, he was pleasantly surprised by that turn of event.

Honestly, he didn't expect these natives to go this far. Most of the regular Rabbits killed themselves during the first two days, leaving only Rare and Super Rare ones. What was initially a funny contest between Nobles was now a much more difficult competition between Knights only.

Well, he wouldn't complain: as long as there was a worthy challenge, he was willing to play.

But still, what were they thinking? If they were capable of thoughts, that is... Why bother fighting back if they were all doomed anyway? What was their purpose? Did they even have one?

Foolish, but still, quite entertaining.

For now, the moon was full, shining high in the sky, he was walking through the woods when he heard some noise.

How unfair, you were thinking... No matter what horrors were happening down there, the moon and stars were as beautiful as ever. Besides, at the altitude you were at, the stench of corpses barely reached you.

You suddenly had this urge. You weren't sure why... maybe because the night was just so beautiful. It didn't really make sense, but maybe... you just needed to let it all out.

You stood up, your feet stomping rhythmically on the grass. Your hips began to sway. Your chest filled with air. Your arms rose. Your head tilted back as the words of that old hymn came out of your mouth.

"...He is the One Mighty Dancer under whose graceful dancing feet, the heads of all the arrogant Lords of the Bloody Cliff get crushed...."

You giggled slightly. How fitting.

As you were singing and dancing to your heart's content, the man hidden behind the trees had his eyes glued to you.

Of course Garling recognized you. Large pants, bare chest, upper body covered in tattoos... you were one of their Priestesses. A Super Rare Rabbit.

With the light of the moon, he could see you almost as well as in broad daylight. He've seen you several times before: you weren't one of their strongest, but for sure you were a slick one. So far, you've been one of the rare ones who managed to escape him.

His eyes roamed all over your body: from your bare feet to your raised hands, from your heaving breasts to your pert nipples, from your wet cheeks to your eyes closed in bliss.

He'd seen countless slave dancers, far more graceful than you. He'd heard countless slave singers, far more melodious than you. And yet, he had to admit, there was something truly enticing, something he couldn't put his finger on, about the wild way you swayed and moved.

Whatever, no matter how alluring it was, you were still a primitive... how shameless of you... to flaunt your attributes like that, without a care in the world.

He assumed you were unaware of his presence, however, a part of him liked to imagine that you were deliberately putting on a show just for him.

And suddenly, the music stopped. With your back to him, you stood as still as a statue, half your limbs still in the air. You didn’t even spare a glance his way before grabbing your discarded trident and disappearing into the woods.

He chuckled, almost disappointed by this abrupt end. He almost wanted to go after you right away, but hey, it couldn't hurt to give you a little head start, right?

Frankly, he was tired of scurrying through the dense forest at night. And after all... he still had that one issue inside his pants he needed to take care of. As he continued to stare at the spot where you had disappeared, one of his hands rested on his growing bulge while the other gripped the hilt of his sword.

Don't worry, dear Rabbit... he would catch you soon enough.

You ran frantically, trying to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You didn't even have to look back. Just by feeling his terrifying presence, you recognized him.

"I remember you... Gaa'Laaaan.... or maybe Gaa'Liiiiiiin.... or whatever it is, whatever your name must mean in your worthless language... Son of a rotten spider's corpse, how dare you spy on me with those nasty eyes of yours?! I'll have your head, if not I'll claw your eyes out, if not I'll gnaw on your bones, if not..."

And so on and so on.

The thing was... you still wanted to fight them, but not him. Not right now. Not just yet. Damn... just by feeling his stare on your back, you were already shaking from head to toe and struggling to breathe... Since the beginning, if you were to count each one of your siblings, you'd say he was the one who killed most of them. For some reason he'd been the one who targeted your Order the most, and each of your encounters with him had been more terrifying than the last.

So you ran and ran until dawn.

After this one encounter, two whole days passed. You weren't sure if you were the last one standing, but you didn’t run into anyone. That is, until that fateful moment where once again, you felt his eyes on your back. For sure he was a dedicated man, you could give him that. You steadied your breathing, trying to keep your fingers from shaking, while you remembered the words of your late teacher:

"Come on, get up! You won't be able to do anything if you can't stay steady on your own two feet! Now you better listen... it's a very strong power that defends you like an invisible armor, and can also be used offensively. You need to be aware of it, to feel it going through your blood... Now breathe... Can you feel it yet? You have to allow this power in your body to flow to your fist, and then your weapon. Once it's done, this thing that covers you will become even stronger, it will enter your enemy's body and destroy it from the inside!"

You glanced back at him, gripping you trident tightly as you took up a fighting stance.

"It's been going on for too long already, don't you think? Come on, 《'Ga'Lan' 'Ga'Lin'》. Fight me."

Good grief... In all honesty, you had no expectation of defeating him- his level was clearly superior anyway, but to the point where you couldn't even do him any harm, not even a single wound... what a humiliation!

There you were, nearly beaten to death, but not quite dead yet. You lay on the ground, both your ankles broken, your beloved trident a few feet away and his lanky figure hovering over you.

Now you could clearly see him. You saw his gaze linger on your face, then move down your wounded body to finally rest on your breasts.

Oh. That’s right. You almost forgot that one detail about foreign men. Honestly, what was their problem? Were they suckling babies? Why would they be that much bothered by a woman's torso?

And more importantly, why was he taking so long to finish you off?!

He sheated his sword, removed his gloves. What was he thinking? Perhaps... even though your bloody form was far from attractive right now, you were still a woman... If he didn't want to end you just yet, maybe he wanted to... you felt your throat tighten. Maybe, just maybe, if you were lucky, you would lose counsciousness before he could put his hands on you.

He knelt down, brought his face close to yours. Too close, the tip of his weird hairdo almost tickling your cheek. You heard him talk to you.

What a joke... You were bleeding badly, on the verge of fainting, did he seriously think you would use your last two functioning brain cells to try and understand what he was saying?!

How dared he... that filthy maggot... that disgusting creature... who did he think he was?! He had no rights! No right to be this pretty, no right to look at you with such tender eyes, no right to speak to you with such a soft voice, no right to stroke your cheek as if he weren't the one who brought Doom to your island!!

It wasn't right. Things needed to end, quickly. You couldn't stay brave for very long. There was only so much you could take.

Were you in better condition, you would have bitten his fingers off. Instead, you gathered all the fluids in your mouth and spat a bloody one on his too-perfect face.

" YOU WENCH ! "

He slapped you and then stood up. You hoped he would finally draw his sword but instead he went back to his weird duck-like steed, seemingly looking for something. It was only when he came back to you, a smirk on his face, that you could see what he was holding in his hands.

A chain.

Now you understood.

He didn't want to end you.

He wanted to keep you.

"No... No way... Stop it! STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU SICK BASTARD!!!"

At that moment, whatever was left of your dignity and self-control left your body. Blood was pounding in your temples. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks. Tiny whimpers and ugly sobs were coming out of your mouth. All your limbs were shaking as you tried to wriggle out of his grasp. To no avail. In the blink of an eye, you were thrown over his steed, secured tightly by the chain.

"P-Please... I'm begging you, just kill me..."

It was all too much. Your throat felt raw. Your vision started to get blurry. The last thing you remembered before you passed out, was his hand in your hair, as he looked down at you with that sickening smile of his.

"Don't worry my dear... Even if I spare one Rabbit, I still win the game."

[mysterycitrus]

combat skill ranking of bats etc? i feel like i know what order you'd put but i love the way you explain things

idc about powerscaling except for interesting narrative reasons…. so this will be no evidence only vibes. and yeah i really feel like my opinions won’t be a surprise at all + im not interested in arguing about it but in brief

cass — obvsly. borderline superhuman eugenics baby. i don’t think there’s any elaboration needed but what isn’t talked about so much is she can dodge bullets and outrun a speeding car so like. she’s gonna curbstomp any vanilla human

dick — i know people disagree w me on this and like. yeah bruce could be considered a stronger physical combatant but dick is also the only person who’s better than cass at something and we know he excels at crowd control. he’s an acrobatic prodigy from birth, he’s got a really good strategic mind, and he’s really fast. he doesn’t hit hard but he hits a lot. u can’t catch him if he’s flipping around all over the place then launches himself at u going 80mph

bruce (and damian) — i only rank bruce higher cause damian is a lil baby. i dislike the idea that bruce is thee physical combatant, even ignoring cass, cause frankly bc and wildcat and connor hawke and richard dragon should all be substantially better. he’s really good at ten things vs a mastery of one. anyway he’s really big and still light on his feet. he has a fun belt full of bombs. he’s super bossy

once damian’s older i think he’ll surpass bruce easily (and possibly dick too). everyone else im really so so about. i’d rank babs and tim just after bruce probably. people act like tims only ability is his intelligence when he’s also one of the best staff fighters on the planet and it’s weird. steph is down towards the bottom because a lack of formal experience compared to everyone else, but is still very powerful when she hits. duke also has less experience but an edge with his powers and training w cass. jason…. he’s deffo closer to the top but idk i subscribe to the idea that there’s always going to be some subconscious adjustment to the new body he’s stuck in. he’s taller, he’s very capable, he’s a master of weaponry. but like pretty much everyone else he doesn’t have the physical advantage that someone like cass or damian have. i do not believe he can take dick grayson in a fair fight. sorry. partially for realism but mostly for tragic robin legacy reasons, yknow?

[notdotspot]

Dc x DP The Batman

Masterpost

Danny has been through a lot in the past few days. Before this, he was having the nice, normal life of a broke college student in Gotham. Minus the weird feeling of being watched, though, he thinks that could boil down to trauma and paranoia. Now, he knows that no good deed goes unpunished.

All he wanted to do was stop a robbery. The man had a gun and looked crazy enough to pull the trigger on a young teen girl. Like the sucker he is, Danny went ghost to scare the guy off, but this is Gotham. The man grabbed the girl and threatened her with the gun. Hostage situation. That was the exact moment Danny realized he had never fought a mortal. Sure, there were run-ins with his parents and the GIW but an evasive maneuver or two and he was out of sight. They could never beat his speed or agility, even equipped with anti-ghost weaponry. This, however, is an entirely new situation that even Pandora’s training could not have prepared him for. One wrong move on his part, and he could turn a light ghost zap into a fatal strike. But again, in case it was forgotten, this is Gotham. While Danny is having an internal dilemma, the feeble-looking young woman elbows the man in the jaw and digs the taser she had been hiding into her attacker’s stomach. 

After his moment of shock, Danny shoots into action, kicking the gun away and punching the man. He turns to check on the girl, but she is already running down the street. Looking back at the attacker, Danny realizes he may have used a little too much force. The man is lying on the dirty Gotham sidewalk, unconscious, with an obvious bruise forming on his face. That is when a motorcycle screeches to a halt in front of him. A muscular man in leather and a red helmet shuts off the bike and stomps towards Danny. Is this one of the famed protectors of Gotham?

“Did you do that?” The bulky man points to the unconscious man at his feet. For the second time today, Danny makes a horrible realization. He, an unknown evil-looking creature, is standing over a beaten and bruised body in the middle of one of the most notorious crime cities in the country, and whoever this is, thinks Danny is a villain of some sort. Great. 

So he takes off. What else is a ghost to do in a compromising situation? The more the pursuit goes on, the more Danny leans into his ghost powers. He missed being about to fly through a city so openly. He is not worried about the vigilante chasing him. No antighost weapons exist in Gotham. This is just a fun game of cat and mouse. Danny will only be caught if he wants to, which is fortunate since he has a paper due tonight and should wrap up this little chase. 

Danny shook him easily, but his curiosity got the best of him when he overheard the man’s phone call. That is how he landed himself in a ghost mystery that probably falls under his royal duties anyway, with a vigilante and a hot guy who dreams about him. Shit. The third terrible realization of the day: Phantom looks fourteen, so there is no flirting in his ghost form. 

After his call with Frostbite, he has a plan for both curing the Red Hood and removing the tainted ectoplasm from this realm. Even though he had wished for more of a break from ghostly activity on this, he is grateful to have something more intellectually stimulating than his physics class. Seriously, he was doing these calculations in middle school. At least the engineering for an ectoplasmic purifier will put up more of a challenge. Fourth terrible realization of the day, Danny still has a paper due. 

✩✩✩

Meeting Batman might be the worst thing Danny has ever had to face. He has heard the stories and seen the bat on rooftops before, but coming face to face with him is terrifying. With his plan made and rough sketches of the purifier ready, he found Red Hood in the middle of his nightly patrol. Now, three days after their first meeting, the bats are meeting Phantom. Hood opens the door to the unmarked building for him motioning him to walk in. 

Danny is greeted by a small boy in a colorful costume, a blonde girl in a purple suit, a taller guy in red with an R emblem, and a tall man in full black. 

“Hello, everyone.” He waves awkwardly at the small crowd. “Oh, hey, Tim!” He waves more enthusiastically. The girl giggles as the attention of the room turns toward the suited man. 

“Was I not supposed to know that? It is not your fault. I can recognize people’s soul signatures.”

“Phantom,” a deep voice rings. 

Danny’s spine goes rigid as he turns back to Batman. 

“I am sorry. I know secret identities are important. I did not mean to.”

“It is okay. It is not like our secret identities could be hidden for long. Knowing your ability, crossing one of us on the street would reveal us. You are going to be using the Batcave for the project as well, so you were bound to find out.” 

“But, Batman,” the smallest in the room speaks, “how do we know he is trustworthy enough?”

“I have a feeling he would have harmed already if he wanted to. Am I right?”

“Yes. Right. One hundred percent right. Not that I would cause anyone harm. I try to avoid meddling in mortal realms. This is a special case. That ectoplasm does not belong here, and its presence has resulted in obvious harm. It is my duty to solve these issues even if it is my vacation.” 

“Yelp.” Red Hood pushes himself from the wall he is leaning against. “Names Jason.”

“You know I am Tim but dressed like this, I am Red Robin.”

The girl comes up to him, thrusting a hand in his direction.

“I am Spoiler. My name is Stephanie. Steph works too,” she says smiling as she shakes his hand. 

The youngest turns to Batman.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” The boy sharply puts a hand out, shaking Danny’s with a deadly grip.

“Robin.” 

“And your name,” the girl, Steph, says smiling.

“Damian Wayne. Heir to the Demon Head,” he states. Batman steps forward, placing a gloved hand on Damian’s cape-covered shoulder. 

“Bruce Wayne. I trust that our identities are safe in your hands.”

“Of course.” Danny musters his most serious expression and tone, even if he thinks it may look silly coming from a fourteen-year-old-looking ghost boy. “I would never do anything to harm you or your family. I know the dangers that can come from a reveal like that.”

“Let us get to work, shall we? Red Robin, Spoiler, and Robin you are will me in the Batman mobile. Phantom you can ride with Red Hood.”

“I do not need it. Thank you, though.”

“Okay. Then follow him to the cave. We have much to do.” 

-------

taking a little break after this chapter to get ahead on writing and establish a schedule

sorry not sorry about the slight cliffhanger

Thanks for reading!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

[crazysnor1ax]

I can FINALLY show off my design for Callie in my Defeated AU! Meet Defeated Callie, or Titless Callie lmao

Text in first image is from this song

AU lore undercut (which you can also find on her Artfight page):

The premise is, more-or-less, exactly what it sounds like: the story follows the events of Splatoon 2 after Agent 4 is killed by Callie in Hero Mode's final boss fight, and Agent 8 is successfully blended during Octo Expansion. After successfully killing Agent 4, both sides retreat; Marie, hopeless on her own, flees to grieve Agent 4 and losing Callie again, and DJ Octavio and Callie flee to continue preparations to take back Inkopolis. Not long after this does Octavio decide he wants to make the effects of the Hypnoshades more permanent. What this results in is Callie undergoing a procedure that completely alters her memories and perception of the NSS. Her memories are tampered with to make her believe she's an octoling who fought her way to being Octavio's number two. To her, there never was an Agent 1, or a pop star in Inkopolis named Callie. Octavio also figured he could put Callie's agent skills and physical prowess to use, too; what this resulted in is, during the same procedure, Callie being turned into a living bioweapon. Her strength was increased tenfold, to the point where she can pick up and throw a car if she wants to. Her knowledge of how to wield a weapon is honed and perfected. She essentially becomes a walking Great Octoweapon. Her physical appearance and genetics are altered too: her tentacles, mask, and beak are changed to that of an Octoling's, and she's given top surgery and tattoos. For fun. Callie's personality is drastically different after this procedure. She is cruel. She's stern, wild, and dead-set on taking back Inkopolis. Fragments of her original personality remain, but they're twisted into something new and almost unrecognizable (for example, her hyper, energetic self translates into Defeated Callie being loud, boisterous, stubborn, and sometimes violent). After Agent 8's defeat, Tartar inserts itself into Agent 3, taking complete control of her body and using her as a vessel to make movement and world-destroying preparations much easier (in this AU, Tartar is the sludge on the telephone, not the telephone itself). Important information for the plot I'm going to explain right now: After her procedure, Callie and Octavio begin to get into disagreements about how preparations are going. Octavio is focused on tuning and improving the Great Octoweapons, but Callie thinks focusing on building up the army itself would save a lot of time and be more efficient. This disagreement gets so heated that eventually Callie...overthrows Octavio and makes herself leader of the Octarian Army.

Not long after this does Callie meet Tartar. Realizing they both have the same goal of messing with Inkopolis, they team up-Callie helping Tartar with its machines and weaponry, and Tartar assisting Callie with building her army. It doesn't take long for Callie to find out that Tartar has been stealing and sanitizing Octarians under her nose and wants to kill everyone in Inkopolis (she had only wanted to overtake it and "put inklings in their place"). She immediately breaks the deal they had, making Tartar vow to kill her, too. Callie is now set on stopping Tartar's plan, but realizes she can't do it without help. Not without the help of a familiar, grey-tentacled inkling. She goes to Marie, hesitantly asking for an alliance. Normally she would never stoop so low as to ask an inkling for help, but Tartar's plan threatens both of them. Marie is horrified at what the Octarians have done to Callie and how different she is, but she shoves it down and agrees to help, believing that, maybe, she can figure out how to reverse what's happened to her. From here, they work together to research, plan, and train to stop Tartar. They even enlist Pearl and Marina along the way, who have much more knowledge on the Deepsea Metro than either of them. As time progresses Callie begins to realize that Marie is having some kind of strange effect on her. She grows affectionate for her in a way that she hasn't ever been with anyone else. She starts to become familiar in a way that isn't simply recognizing her face. Thoughts seem to enter her head that aren't hers, and fake, dreamlike memories come to her of a version of herself that is so unrealistic. Perhaps most concerning is the fact that her body begins to feel so, so incorrect, and when she looks in the mirror she doesn't quite recognize herself sometimes.

[gamejoypod]

I got frustrated with one of the machines at work & channeled it into a weird only-slightly-related mech microfiction

"You think we install alarms for fun? They're for YOU, jackass!"

The pair were an odd sight, clashing so sharply they may as well have been from different planets. The tall, wiry pilot's sleek interface suit only highlighted the grease stains on the technician's shabby overalls. 

The hangar was empty enough for the argument to bounce off all the sheet-steel walls and back to the three occupants.

"I don't care if you get some sort of rush from hearing 'output capacity at 146%', you're damaging your mech!"

"..."

"That banana peel lookin' mess is what happens when you overexert your hydraulics. The fluid in there is incompressible, that's the POINT. If you override the limiter and just haul off on it like you did, it's gonna go SOMEwhere."

"..."

"Yeah. That's why we don't install hydraulics anywhere near the cockpit, because of yahoos like you."

"..."

"Do you see a Lucerne Frame anywhere in the hangar? They do it because their heads-up tech is garbage. You don't need the articulation. Look, we're getting distracted. It's going to be at least three months before she's ready for action again."

"..."

"No."

"..."

"Not if you keep insisting on running 'vintage' weapons. If you dispatched without those recoil dampeners, you'd rip your own arm off the moment you hit something. Maybe your real arm too."

"..."

"One's your own flesh and blood and the other's a giant pillar of steel & cables! What do you MEAN?" 

"... ... ..."

"Well clearly there's some difference, YOUR forearm's not shredded to ribbons. Anyway, the repairs will take however long they take. You can wait for new dampeners or learn to use even a single piece of ranged weaponry."

"..."

"I didn't think so. I'll do a proper inspection tonight—yes i'll stay out of the cockpit—and I'll have a more detailed timeframe for you."

"..."

"It beats getting slagged because I rushed your work."

"..."

"I'm not touching that one. You'd be putting me out of a job though. I can repair you over & over but I can only salvage your wreck once."

"..."

"I promise. But that better not happen for a long time."

"..."

"Alright, alright, get outta here and hit the Habs. Take a shower, eat some food, REAL food, drink some coffee and watch a movie or something. I can take it from here."

"..."

"You too."

[justaweirdo1-blog]

Imma just take some

Summary: after crashing the docks from overseas supplies the batfam takes out a big drug bust and theres weed and weapons supplies but bruce wants to get rid of it and before they burn it until Tim and Steph think of another idea.

Warnings:use of drugs, guns?, cursing, stoner Tim, stoner Steph, stoner Jason

I only went through it a few times so if there are grammar errors or wtv sorry not sorry

Also I mentioned dick only like once I forgot about him sorry y’all let’s just say he was in bludhaven with Kori 😌

Also I let Jason use his guns because this is fanfiction and I can do wtv I want 😏

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“Ugh when will this stupid shipment arrive?!” Tim had been ready to call it a night 3 hours ago. “We got a lead that this shipment coming in tonight is for penguin it has both weaponry and drugs he’s doing a deal with black mask but no exact time so we just have to wait for it okay” Bruce sounded like he was ready for this to be over as well.

Just when they thought the night was a bust they see the ships pulling up to the dock and they get in position. Black mask is there first scouting out the area to make sure it’s clear. “Ugh why is penguin taking forever” Steph was starting to sound annoyed now. And then right after Steph’s comment penguin starts pulling into the loading docks “It appears you summoned him” Damian said.

“You calling it Bruce? I’ve got 10 goons on my side easy enough.” Tim was getting eager to go home it had been a long day, him and Steph said that they were going to have a sesh after patrol and binge the hangover movies while eating pasta at the manor. “Just a few more minutes Tim don’t get too eager” Bruce said getting into position. “I’ll take out penguin and his 5 guards” “okay I’ve got blackmask” Damian said with a smirk. “Not a chance demon spawn black mask is mine he owes me from old business.” Jason says while checking his guns. “Jason remember don’t shoot unless necessary” Jason rolled his eyes “yeah whatever old man”

“Alright everyone in position?” “Yeah” everyone responds back. “Okay go!” Everyone drops into position and bullets start going everywhere. Tim is almost done he’s got 2 goons left, Steph and cass moved to go takeover the dock and take out the delivery guys, making sure no one gets to the new supplies. Jason is almost done with black mask he won that faster than Tim thought he would. Batman was already interrogating penguin and Damian was having fun trolling the 3 goons.

After finding intel on who penguins supplier was and why they are trying to bring in a new drug on the streets that has similar chemical compounds to what’s used in banes venom. “Okay we now know that penguin is supposed to meet with the person who works for whoever is in charge of this whole deal. They are meeting in a few hours from now on some island so that’s our next move.” Everyone nodded but all Tim and Steph did was groan. Great he thought now it’s going to be forever until they can spark up.

“Are you tired and ready for your nap drake?” Damian will never miss a moment to make a snarky comment at his brother. “No demon I can go all night I just didn’t know we would all be going is that the best choice right now? I mean is the plan to confront or just gather intel?” Tim pulled that out of his ass but Bruce looked convinced “alright Jason ,Damian, cass you will go with me to the island Tim and Steph disarm the guns and burn the drugs” Bruce said

“Sir yes sir” Tim and Steph did a stupid salute before Bruce jumped into the Batmobile with Damian and cass while Jason follows after him on his bike. When they opened the shipping container everything looked as if it was only guns and weapons and took awhile but after making sure they did whatever Bruce told them to do (idk anything about guns sorry y’all I’m faded asf) they head more towards the back of the container and see shower drapes? And lights shining behind them? As they keep getting closer it starts to feel a bit warm… and it clicks.

Tim’s looks at Steph knowing that she’s about to put 2 and 2 together and she turns to look to him and they just throw out the most funniest smirk feeling proud that they hit the jackpot. Tim reaches out to grab the drapes and when he pulls it to the side and sees what he would describe as heaven. “Bruce said we have to burn this…” Tim looks to Steph to see what she would say “that’s true he said that , but what if we just burn most of it?” They make eye contact and knew what the decision was.

They didn’t really have anything to hold the bud in but when Tim turned to look at Steph, she had already tied her cape into a makeshift bag. And he sees as she carefully picks from the sprouted plants like she had done this before. He immediately starts to do the same thing getting as much as they can with out looking too suspicious. Then they light everything as sad as it is to see the beauty of Mother Earth burn they are too fucking hyped about getting home.

Arriving at the bat cave they go and changed out of their suits and placed the weed into 2 big glass jars, then they throw their suits in to wash to get rid of the smell. They landed on making pasta and then smoking because they couldn’t risk being high in the kitchen with everyone in the manor, but no one is home. “Want to hit my dispo as we cook? I would make us a joint but I don’t want to stink up the place. And no one is home so we can’t get caught.” Tim said to Steph already knowing she will say yes. “What about Alfred?” She asked “he’s on vacation remember he’s somewhere in Europe” he said.

“Ohhh right right” she said “alright let’s get faded!” After getting all the ingredients to make a Cajun chicken pasta. Tim said he will cook the chicken and Steph can cook the pasta. After taking a few hits they decide to put on a podcast. They put on Stephanie soo and start listening to a scary murder episode. They are laughing at the obvious signs throughout the video making comments on how they would have covered their tracks if they were the killer or how to escape if they were the hostage.

Surprisingly everything is going well they are vibing and the food smells so good. “Let’s make our plates and head up stairs to my room” Tim said. “Okay we gotta a make sure to bring our dishes back because Alfred would kill us if he knew we ate in our rooms.”

“Okay if we remember” Tim starts to laugh because he is geeked right now off a whole melt (dispo brand). As they walk up the stairs they head into Tim’s room and place their food on the dresser and Tim grabs his box as they climb out the window. “Okay let’s start by hitting this” Tim passes Steph a joker shaped pipe, along with some crushed up weed. “You can hit it first while I roll this up.”

He starts with forming the filter and then lining it up with the paper and forming a cone then he grinds up some weed and starts to pack then twists it closed and lights it up. He takes a big inhale and then passes it to Steph while she hands him the pipe, they continue to take hits and spark up one more joint. They are completely stoned right now, they some how ended up laying down and looking at the clouds drift in the sky, well that’s what they wanted to believe it was, they knew damn well it was gothams spicy pollution air. (I just know Gotham is stinky y’all) then someone stomachs growls.

Steph looks to Tim and starts cackling like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “Looks like you’ve got the munchies hehe.” She said but it mainly sounded like mumbling. “OUR PASTA YASSS” Tim practically jumps up and falls on the slanted roof and starts to roll towards the edge of the house barely catching himself on the ledge feeling his reflex’s kicking in. “Omg Steph did you just fucking see that” he said barely catching his breathe and wheezing out his lungs. He couldn’t see Steph but he could hear her bursting out with laughter “Tim no fucking way you almost fell off the roof!?!” “Well yes fucking way because I just did now can you help me my arms feel like jelly I don’t know how my body is holding on right now!” Steph gets up carefully making sure she doesn’t trip over her own self like Tim did and leans I’ve the edge to grab Tim and pull him up.

“Alright let’s go inside and fuck up this food we made” Steph says climbing back into Tim’s room. As they put on the hangover Tim is already eating his pasta and all you can here him say is mhmhmm. He is like morning with each bite “Jesus Tim are you going to orgasm when your done or what? Stop moaning” Steph is giggling because she finds this funny. After finishing their food they headed down stairs to put the dishes in the sink. Steph looks into the fridge and spots ice cream. “Omg look Tim ICE CREAM want some?” “Oh fuck yeah” he nods while hitting his whole melt. Then they hear the back door from the cave open and they freeze. Tim is holding in the smoke in his lungs since he knows that if he exhales it will definitely smell, he looks to Steph who looks like she is deciding whether or not to make a run for it.

She mouths to tim who is it? And Tim just shrugs his shoulder he doesn’t have clue in the world. Even tho they are still high they feel like their blood has drained from their body both of them in panic mode and they reek of weed too so it’s over. As the door opens Tim exhales his hit because he can’t hold it in anymore, as soon as they hear the combat boots and leather jacket shuffling through the door they know it’s Jason but don’t want confrontation right now so they start sprinting down the hallway. Not daring to look back “where are we headed your room?” Steph asks Tim while keeping up with his pace “No it smells like we hotboxed the room let’s hide in the library!”

After walking into the kitchen Jason just hears shuffling and running, his instincts kicks in and he thinks there’s an intruder. So he pulls his gun out his holster and starts walking quietly towards where he can hear the footsteps running and he focuses until he hears a door open and close. He continues down the hallway making his way through the rooms. “Do you think we are in the clear?” “SHHHHH” Tim says to Steph not noticing how loud he is being from how fried he was right now. Jason hears him and makes a run for the library busting open the doors and it scares Tim and he shrieks like a little girl. Steph starts to lose it and can’t stop cackling at Tim for his girly scream “Tim what the fuck was that” she said barely keeping it together “I don’t know I heard the doors burst open and it scared me like shit my heart dropped” Tim responded they were so out of it that they didn’t fully grasp the fact that someone found them.

“What are y’all doing?” Jason asked looking down at Tim and Steph. They both look up to the voice and see Jason leaning over the couch that’s in the library “oh and terrible hiding spot like seriously behind the couch?” He was not impressed I mean they are trained vigilantes. They stare at him in silence not one of them saying is word not sure how to respond and not actually listening to what he is saying “Jason what are you doing home is everyone else here? We were just playing hide and seek haha” Tim can’t lie when he’s high it’s so obvious. Now that he was close enough and was looking at them face to face he knew exactly what they were on, he’s not stupid he knows when someone is high he used to be a crime lord not to mention he likes to get faded every once in a while, plus they smell like straight dank. Jason decides to tease them a little “no it’s just me Bruce, Damian, and cass are still on the island he sent me back to make sure that you both handled the shipping container.

“Ohhhhh” they both said with relief “oh yeah it went great we dealt with the weapons and burned all the drugs easy peasy” Steph said taking over because Tim is too high to function. “Oh okay I’ll tell Bruce that” and he paused for a min before thinking of a way to scare them. “Are you alright Tim you look a little out of it, you feeling good? Your eyes look red too” Jason says with fake concern in his voice. “Oh umm I uh I’m fine actually never felt better” and a giggle slips out. And when Tim giggle Steph giggles it’s like contagious, “what’s funny?”Jason says in a serious tone trying to intimidate them. And they freeze because what is so funny? They know they are zooted and can’t seem to focus on what’s happing right now. “What where y’all doing in the kitchen? And why did you run from me?” Jason asks putting them even more on the spot.

“Oh we just uh were messing around we didn’t know who it was and so we just decided to run?” Steph didnt sound sure of herself at all but it was better for her to talk than Tim. “Okay then let’s go back down stairs you left the ice cream out.” Jason said standing up from the couch waiting for Tim and Steph to follow after him. “Do you think he knows?” Tim nudges at Steph he literally cannot whisper because Jason hears him loud and clear. “Shhh” your being loud and i dont know let’s just play this out till we can get back to your room. Jason is trying hard to suppress his laugh could these kids be any more obvious boy was this going to be fun. As they pass Tim’s room the hallway literally smells like pure weed boy were they lucky Jason came to check on them and not Bruce or dick or even Damian. That would definitely turn out bad

Back in the kitchen their attention is back to the ice cream and they start making sundaes and Jason even asks for one. Then they clean everything up and start heading up to their rooms and it’s go time. “Hey doesn’t it smell a lot like weed right here” Jason asked casually and both of them freeze in their steps. Jason can hear the movie that they left playing in Tim’s room. Oh this will scare them he thought as he heads towards Tim’s room “Oh what are y’all watching sounds funny can I join?” he says walking up to the door and puts his hand on the door knob getting ready to turn it open. “NOOOO” they both leap in front of the door and they look so distressed. Tim clears his throat “mhm I mean no it’s a mess in there and the movie is boring like just not good so don’t waste your time here best to just call it a night” Tim was practically pleading to Jason.

“Well I don’t mind the mess and it sounds like the hangover and I love that movie” he opens the door and sees a bong in the middle of the floor along with 2 big jars of weed next to some rolled up joints on the floor and a bunch of snacks. He pauses as if speechless and makes sure he keeps a straight face before slowly turning around to look at Tim and Steph. And they look at the room then to Jason them back to the room then to each other then back to Jason.

“PLEASE DONT TELL BRUCE!” they both screamed looking as if they were both going to start crying. “BAHAHAHAHA” Jason can’t hold it in anymore and just starts cackling that slowly spurned into a wheeze as he ran out of breath. “Why are you laughing” Tim is starting to sort of panic. “Yeah this isn’t funny we are scared right now and definitely too high for this!” Tim yells at him his voice cracking a little while he clings to Steph by holding onto her arm. Jason just keeps wheezing like his was on some sort of joker venom and it was just freaking them out. “Okay okay im good” he puts his hands on his hips and releases a deep exhale “I was just messing with you two I noticed you were both high when I walked in the kitchen it smelled like weed mixed with pineapple cart.” They both stayed silent with no clue as to what their next move is. They look to Jason with literal puppy dog eyes ready to beg for their lives that Jason keeps this a secret from everyone especially Bruce.

“Eww don’t look at me like that what’s with the weird faces?” “ARE YOU GONNA SNITCH IN US TO BRUCE?!?” Tim couldn’t hold in his nervousness anymore he needed to know in order to prepare himself for whatever Bruce would say. “What no why would I snitch on you guys?” Jason looked at them like sort of offended. “REALLY!?” They both screamed with joy and went in for a hug towards Jason. “Woah back up” he extended out both hands and kept them each at arms length “yeah I’m not going to say anything because I would sort of be ratting myself out too” “huh” Tim responded as he watched Jason walk over to where the bong was on the floor and proceeded to pack a bowl and light that shit up. “Oh my god” Steph said “okay this is kind of crazy but I’m not against it” Tim said pulling out his dispo and hitting a blinker then coughing up a lung.

They all sat down in front of Tim’s tv and finished watching the hangover they had never heard Jason laugh so much and it made them cackle even more and they even planned their next hangout to finish the other movies at Jason’s apartment. Once the movie ended Jason made sure they cleaned up and opened the windows to air out the place and then made sure they both got to bed. Jason was fucked up he took an edible after leaving the island and was already high asf then he did a few hits on the bong and smoked the joint he taught Steph how to roll and next thing he knows he was home. Tim was still awake and walked to Steph room where she was watching glee on her iPad and munching on some grapes she got from the kitchen boy did the munchies always hit her hard. “Ooo give me some” Tim snatched some grapes from her plate “ hey these are mine get your own” as she tucked the bowl towards her side.

Tim climbed into Steph’s bed and they continued to watch glee and talk about how freaked out they were when Jason was messing with them and how they were so lucky that they didn’t get in trouble and need to be careful next time. They both knocked out after that and it was the best sleep they had ever.

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Yall it took me forever to finish this I just kept losing focus or I would get too faded or I was asleep anyways I hope this is good because this is not at all how I thought it o would turn out. But I decided to include Jason because he just gives me casual stoner energy anyways let me know what yall think and like this!!! 🙏🏻🌚 I notice I use yall a lot and I’m from Texas but after reading several fics here I notice it’s not used a lot 😭 so yeah wtv I can’t help it.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 20: FINAL

So guess what I realized this morning. Today, November 13, 2023 is the one year anniversary of me posting my first DPxDC fic to tumblr. It was the original fill for this very fic. (Which you can find here.)

So I decided I just had to finish this arc and get it posted. This year has been amazing and so much fun. I've become a much better writer and joined a community that has brought me so much joy. I'm glad to be here and I'm glad so many of you like to read what I'm sharing.

I noticed I got a few new readers over the past week or so, so welcome to all of you! Hope you enjoy this early update!

In personal news, my nephew was born and he's adorable and I'll be meeting him tomorrow! (As soon as I'm done posting this, I'm off to make food for his mom.)

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

Arc 1

Arc 2: Part 1, Previous

Word Count: 1.2k

-----

In the end, it ended up taking several hours for Danny, Sam, and Tucker to escape their families and converge on the park. In that time, Tim had called Bruce to let him know he’d be back in Gotham by tomorrow and finished most of his homework.

While he worked, Wulf and Bart were having an animated conversation in Esperanto.

Tim was pretty sure Wulf would be bringing Bart to the Ghost Zone for a tour sometime and started making plans to learn Esperanto himself and bribe Bart to get in on them.

Cassie was helping Conner sort through some of the music Sam had given him. Tim was jealous as he solved more banal trig questions. Why did school have to be so boring? He tapped his pencil on the paper in time to the beat of whatever music Conner had playing.

Tucker was the first to arrive. “Danny and Sam not here yet?” he asked as he plopped down next to Bart and Wulf.

“Nope. Haven’t heard from them, either,” said Tim. He opened his phone notifications again just to be sure, but there was nothing new.

Tucker shrugged and pulled out a stick of jerkey to munch on. “Not surprising. The Fentons will be all overprotective after the mayor was kidnapped by a ghost on live TV. And Sam’s parents are just as bad. Only they smother rather than check the weaponry.” He turned to greet Wulf in Esperanto.

An email came through on Tim’s phone and he groaned. “Our evening interview was canceled. No one wants to hear us try to defend Phantom anymore.”

Cassie cursed. “Course not. Bet the paper won’t publish our editorials either.”

Conner looked over, confused. “Won’t they? Clark works for the Daily Planet. They publish stuff like that all the time.”

Tim didn’t look up from his math as he answered, “That’s the difference between a big, Pulitzer winning publication and a small-town op-ed.”

Tucker sighed. “Well maybe someone will remember your interviews from this morning in a positive light.”

Bart rolled his eyes. “Come on, we can’t change it. So let’s move forward. Next step, make friends with more ghosts! Wulf says there’s a bunch of cool people in the Realms.”

“Realms?” asked Tim.

“It’s what he says the Ghost Zone is actually called. The Infinite Realms.”

“Huh. I’ll have to check JL databases, see if they have any information on them.”

Tucker asked something in Esperanto and Bart burst out laughing as Wulf looked on in confusion.

With Bart’s help, though, he rephrased until Wulf was able to reply. And then the three kept to Esperanto. Tim really had to find time to learn it.

Sam was the next to arrive. She grinned and sat down next to Conner. “How you liking the music?”

Conner grinned and showed her the sheets where he ranked the bands so far based on which songs he’d listened to. She then took over the speakers and searched for specific tracks to try and change his mind about some of the bands he liked the least.

Tim let his eyes close as his friends’ voices washed over him.

After some indeterminate time where he dozed between sleeping and awareness, a foot nudged his hip. Tim grumbled out what was supposed to be a, “What?” but was too mumbled to really be understood.

“Come on, Secrets. You can do better than that.”

Tim cracked an eye open to see Danny grinning down at him. He pushed himself up slightly and blinked heavily in the sunlight.

“Finally got away from your parents?” asked Tim.

Danny collapsed on the ground next to him. “Ugh, don’t remind me. They’re freaking out over everything that’s happened the last few days. Jazz and I are basically going to be on lock down until they feel confident the ghosts are gone.”

“Did you have to sneak out to get here?” asked Cassie.

Danny shook his head. “No, I told them I was going to find you guys to make sure you were all safe. You’re welcome to come back to ours tonight, by the way. Mom and Dad basically insisted on it.”

“What do you guys think?” asked Tim. “Spend one more night here at Danny’s and head out in the morning?”

Cassie sighed. “My mom’s already freaking out that I’ve been gone longer than planned. I should get back tonight.”

“I’ll stay,” offered Conner. “I’m your ride home, anyway.”

“Why don’t you come to my place, Conner,” offered Sam. “Your nails need a fresh coat after fighting today. And I need teach you about the different brands of makeup and what to look for in terms of cost, quality, and ethicality. Plus I can get you more music.”

Tim laughed when Conner looked to him. “Go for it. Have fun.”

Conner grinned. “Then yeah, let’s do it!”

Bart shrugged. “Wulf is going to go back to the Realms soon. I’ll head out after. Wally and Linda want me over for a family dinner tonight.”

“Well, looks like that’s it, then,” sighed Danny. “Been fun having other heroes around.”

Tim nudged his shoulder. “Join the Young Justice. You could join us and we'd help out whenever you wanted. Get you around people who actually appreciate what you do for them.”

But Danny was already shaking his head. “I have to stay here. And now Amity trusts heroes even less. I want to improve that, not make it worse.”

“Even if you don’t join,” declared Conner. “You’re not getting rid of us now.”

Bart nodded his agreement. “Yep. We’re gonna be stopping by all the time. You’re in the group chat.”

“Exactly,” agreed Tim. “And we’ll figure out ways to help you. Starting with how to minimize property damage. That seems to be the big thing people focus on. You can make shields, right? How big can you make them and how much power do they take?”

Danny smiled wryly. “Can’t say I’ve really tested it.”

Tim laughed. “Well, I know one thing we’re doing tonight. We’re going to go back to Nasty Burger—” Tim looked around at the whole group “—all of us. Then Cassie and Bart are going to go home. Danny and I, at least, are going to take a nap. Then we’re gonna test the current limits to Danny’s powers.”

Danny bumped their shoulders together. “You know, this is just like gaming with you all those years.”

“Yeah, well, it’s best to be thorough.”

“We’ve measured, like, his top speed and stuff,” said Tucker, pulling out a PDA. “Want to see what we’ve got so far?”

“Absolutely.” Tim took the device and looked through it. “You’ve a decent amount of information here. Maybe instead of taking a nap, I’ll help you organize it and come up with a testing plan.”

Conner flew over to him and pulled the PDA out of his hand. “Not after pulling an all-nighter you won’t. We’re going to get some food, then the two of you are going to sleep for at least four hours.”

“I’ll set Jazz on you, too,” threatened Sam. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tim pouted as the device was given back to Tucker. And grumbled more when Conner picked him up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Come on, food time.”

“I am going to put kryptonite in your phone,” threatened Tim.

“Bingo!” shouted Cassie.

Danny laughed as he stood. “Does this mean I can join the next round?”

Tim scowled. “Traitors, all of you.”

-----

Next

And that's the end of this Arc! Arc 3 will pick up where the original fill did. (Only this time, Tim won't be the only DC character there to help Danny.)

I'd say something like I can't believe it's only been a year, but so much has happened to me in the last twelve months that it feels like a lifetime ago, to be honest. But it's been a good year and I'm glad this community has been part of it.

Please follow the subscription post if you want updates for when I start transferring this arc to AO3 or begin posting Arc 3.

[roxirinart]

✨ Aventurine Analysis: Which Came First - the Stone or the Stoneheart? ✨

Do you guys ever think about how aventurine (AKA Goldstone) is a man-made semi-precious stone created by a reduction of copper ions added to molten glass and sealed in a hypoxic (no oxygen) environment that gives it a glittery effect known as aventurescence?

And do you ever think about how the word 'aventurine' itself (to quote Wikipedia) "derives from the Italian "a ventura" meaning "by chance". This is an allusion to the lucky discovery of aventurine glass or 'goldstone' at some point in the 18th century."

And do you ever think about how Aventurine (the natural gemstone) was named after the glass instead of the other way round, because it has a similarly glittery quality?

Because I do!

And then I think about how Aventurine (the character) was originally bought/sold for copper(!) coins, and came from a desert planet (glass is made from sand), and how it's actually pretty plausible that Aventurine's Cornerstone - based on the natural stone and not the man-made stone as far as I can tell - was actually named after him and not the other way round.

Analysis/explanation below! :)

Theory: what if the Cornerstones aren't a set of predetermined stones that get passed down, but rather a new Stoneheart gets their own stone that's unique to them upon induction?

For example, take Obsidian: she expresses an enjoyment of bloodshed, has a line where she says that it's 'no fun for prey to die a natural death', and has vampiric design motifs, which can be thematically-aligned with real obsidian. Historically, it's been used to craft weaponry sharper than steel out of volcanic glass, therefore associating it with bloodshed and destruction, plus the word 'obsidian' means 'of darkness' - suitably vampiric!

I personally think it's more likely that she was Like That before receiving her Cornerstone and that it was created to fit her, as opposed to the other way round (although I recognize it's not completely implausible for Diamond to have had the Obsidian stone conveniently vacant at time of hiring, or even actively searched for employees who fit the stone's 'aura', maybe).

Kakavasha's trial was called the 'Egyhazo Aventurine Case', which would - unless it's A) lore oversight on Hoyo's part, or B) just a wild coincidence - support the idea of him being called Aventurine before receiving his Cornerstone, especially since he would have needed a name other than his birth name to go by in-between being hired by the IPC and becoming a Stoneheart (based on conjecture and educated guessing). Jade told him the following at the end of his trial:

"Kakavasha... A good name, but unfortunately destined to be buried in the dirt. You though, you deserve to live, to create even more wealth for us. Go, pick the clothes you like, then choose your desired identity... and then use them well, child."

Naming himself after the court case that became his job interview is as good a pick as any, especially on short notice since he probably didn't have a lot of time to mull it over.

*deep breath*

So: Aventurine, forged in a suffocating environment from copper pieces and desert glass (and displaying the potentially lucrative 'glitter' of schemes and stratagems long before assuming his current role) being the inspiration for the similarly-glittering Cornerstone, the Aventurine of Stratagems, doesn't seem too far-fetched to me!

Plus it also clears up the vague irritation I always felt at his pre-employment (let alone pre-Stoneheart) court case being called that lmao

Thank you for reading! I wrote this instead of working on a project I was supposed to be working on ✌️😌

Bonus content for getting to the end of the post: some nice pictures of Goldstone vs natural aventurine :)

[sazzujazzu]

Clone OCs are taking over my brain again (in other similarly shocking news, water is wet) so I decided to do a silly little sketch of one.

Well, the only other one I've (sort of kind of) made besides Shrieks. I just couldn't figure out his face, I've only ever drawn him with a helmet even though I know exactly the kind of hair he has. (I feel a bit worried with the hair I gave him and the small face tattoo that he resembles Tup too much, but it was an honest coincidence I swear 🥺 maybe he and Tup were friends as cadets and grew matching hair? Who knows! Not me. I just love undercuts and man buns 😶)

Known to some of his brothers as "ARC trooper with the emptiest head in GAR" (his only brain cell is being kept safe by Shrieks), Jain is both a fierce fighter and an absolute sweetheart.

(and, apparently according to my phone, a valid slut 🫢 I guess he likes to have fun on shore leave, and I won't judge)

Jain is always the first to volunteer on every high-risk mission. It's not that he has a death wish, he does it to "enjoy the thrill" and also to protect his brothers as much as possible. He is incapable of feeling fear, and it's one of the reasons he picks the most high-risk suicide missions; because he knows he won't freeze in any situation.

He prefers heavy weaponry, and in battle situations, he will not back down until Shrieks or Nem gives the order.

The nickname "the emptiest head in GAR" refers to the fact that Jain is not as smart as most of his brothers. While this originated as an insult, the man himself found it funny, and after proving his skill in battle multiple times, some brothers began turning the "emptiest head" into a compliment, claiming that "Jain's head must be empty to store all that kriffing bravery".

Jain is Shrieks's right hand man and a dear friend to Nem. He has immense respect in them, having dyed a few strands of his hair pink to honor the general. (the similar hairstyle is, again, a pure coincidence) He has also Nem's facial marking tattooed to his left cheek (after asking if it is culturally okay, of course) as a sign of loyalty.

I'm releasing him into the wild, go arc man go ✨ make friends and be the valid slut my phone wants you to be ✨💃✨