#...by using up the magic needed to kill them

[theegyal]

When I Was Your Man, [ Annie X Smoke ], +18

⚠️: Angst, Black magic, animal abuse, Blood kink, Oral sex, Brat/Daddy ; Dom/Sub dynamic, Scary environment.

Recap

"We need to talk bout some important things, fetch him fa me"

"Nah you go in. I'm pretty tired." She tossed him the key "put them above the carpet if you done searching"

He caught it one hand, then pushed the door open rough, as she disappeared in town.

Ten minutes passed.

"ANNIE— " Smoke's voice exploded down the hallway.

Part 5

Now she considered them squared. The score had been settled. However, for Smoke, it was another story.

Here, inside the restaurant restroom, he was staring at his brother. Stack immediately spout the black laced panties out of his off, glancing at the gun his brother was pointing at him.

" Got thirty seconds to explain" Smoke stormed, veins drooling along his neck.

How the hell ? How the fuck do you explain sucking on the drawers of your twin's girl? Stack was fucked up either way.

" I—I'm sorry ?" he mumbled, his eyes closing.

BANG

The bullet crashed on the tiled floor, few inches away from his dried nut crotch.

His hands flew in the air as he stood up, heart slamming against his ribs, eyes bulging as he saw death stripping for him.

"Hol' on ! Wait—, you lost your fuckin' mind—?!" Stack barked, his dick softening fast.

Smoke lowered the gun slightly, loading the barrel. He wasn't planning on killing his brother, not today at least. But one thing for damn sure, Stack was gonna pay for getting that sissy-ass dick of his wet off Annie's cake.

"That's my girl, Stack." He growled

"Was," Stack muttered, too low to matter, but just loud enough to be stupid.

"Say that shit again."

Stack shook his head fast, already knowing he messed up. His mouth ran quicker than his sense.

Smoke stepped forward,predatory. His black shoes clapping the ruined tiles. He cracked the holster against Stack's temple "You wanna die over some pussy now?"

"I ain't want her like that—she wanted me," Stack snapped, blood leaking from his head, reddening his hair, lips twitching with the panic he was trying to swallow.

Smoke burst an uncontrollable laugh. Annie ? Wanting Stack ? That boy was believing her crap too. No way, he would left his baby brother nurturing feelings for that witch, Smoke decided to knock back some sense into him.

"Oh, you sure of that? You really think she want you?"

He lifted the gun again. "Naw. She wanted me hurt. All coz that hoe you and I played with at the juke." Smoke played with the holster, an arrogant gleam flickering in his eyes "you just the dick she used to do it."

That one hit. Stack inhaled and exhaled loudly, breath caught in his throat. He tried to steady himself, shame gluing on his face, tearing his sharp features out.

"I ain't plan none of it, Smoke. I came in here to take a fuckin' change and she—fuck man, she undressed in front of me. Told me to sniff it. You think I had a choice?"

"You had a choice one, then decided to back-shotted her."

Silence. Stack didn't deny it. He could have only left the food spot, not followed her to this damn restroom. Fuck it, he wanted her too. But that hoodoo-girl trapped him, she played outta his face.

"You a lucky bastard Stack. I can't just blow your brain off. I guess I love you too"

"Smoke—" said Stack, relieved

"Don't show yo ass tonight, at Lizzie’s" the older walked out.

It was late when Annie got back home. Fog hung low over the sidewalk, brushing her calves like something alive. Her keys jangled in her hand. Her whole body, sore at finest, reclaimed one thing : her bed. All she wanted was to lay quietly. Just quiet.

But something was off, even before she reached the porch.

The smell hit her first. Rot. Then her eyes caught the shape : A possum laid there, stiff and bent sideways,blood soaked around it,stretched out on the steps like a foul offering. Few steps over, a black cat, belly tore open, neck brutally split, as if somebody gutted it for fun. Not only these, chicken feathers too, red ones, dispersed like they were thrown on purpose.

She stared. Remained still an instant, her nose pinched and eyes dark, unpleasantly.

"Motherfuckers," she cursed, passing beside the animals corpses, making sure to not crossed it.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open slow.

The air was infused with crushed sage, something sour in the back—vinegar, maybe, or old wine. She turned the light on the hallway : Jars smashed, glass glittering across the floor like salt. Her dried bundles of herbs were ripped from the ceiling hooks, stomped into the wood, her roots drawers had been cranked open, everything mixed and mangled, powdered bits of sassafras and angelica turned to dust under what she thought, the intruder's boots.

Her hands trembled with anger. She walked deeper in, jaw tightening.

The statues near her altar were broken—the Virgin's head gone, split in half, Yemaya's bowl overturned, legs cracked off the base, Ogun's blade bent. Someone had taken red chalk and drawn crosses all over the walls. Not sacred ones, of course. Either it was some pranks or warnings.

She turned to her shrine. Destroyed. They jumped on everything. The candles had been pulled up, wax thrown. Her offerings, fruits, meats, alcohol, smashed, spilled down the wall. The little cloth bag holding her grandmother's braid was shredded, scattered in the ashes like garbage.

Annie didn't cry. She stood there, breathing low but her face stayed hard. Hard as stone, covered by madness. Her brown eyes turned dark, then darker before watering in plain white color. She closed her eyes, exhaling.

This wasn't random. This was a message. And whoever send it wanted her scared.

"How funny—" she snarled, her voluptuous lips moving up.

She picked up one of the busted jars, glass still wet with water and oil. She set it down gentle on her palm, baptized it with her blood, then murmured some words above, like could rewind time.

In a blur of seconds, an image appeared on the glass. A black man, tall enough, a big afro crowing his head, ragged clothes on: Anders.

Annie spoke low,

"Aight. Darling, I see you. Let's see how far you wanna take it." She crunched the glass into pieces, wounding her hand, blood splattering through her fingers.

At Lizzie's, Smoke was completely pacing. Shirt off, cigarette coiling between his lips, chest still rising from the rage he tried to swallow back at the restaurant. He wasn't done. Nah, not yet. That fucking woman had lost her damn mind. Doing all that slutty shit, playing coy, like she ain't sucking up the whole damn restaurant's attention. Then letting Stack beat her pussy in a damn public restroom. She really thought she could play games with both twins and walk out clean huh ?

Stack had fucked up, we ever touch the blood's chicks, that the law— but her ? Annie was Smoke affair to deal with. Where did his shy girl went ? He done tripping, no more softness for this bitch.

He wasn't gone put his hands on her, who the hell would dare abuse of Annie ? If anyone ever thought about it, they better considered themselves dead-alive, Smoke didn’t stop playing about her. Nevertheless, business ? Money ? Definitely things that rang a bell. No need to put bruises on her body to make her cry.

He heard from a loudly ass nigga down on the Street that Annie ain't own that restaurant. She was renting. Some old white widow had the deed.

All it take was one envelope. One quiet meeting. One signature.

He will buy the building straight cash. Flip the locks. Toss her fat ass out. Let her only sell her roots and candles in her damn ruined cabin. He gon’ prevent her from coming back to the food spot.

Tomorrow would be a funny day. Stack would be back, he was a victim too, they will plan the ultimate blow against that witch.

Just at the time he tried to shut his eyes and sleep, a tempest ravaged his room, uninvited: Annie.

She was wearing a long, buffy skirt, a furry tank top, leaving her heavy chest hanging with her voluptuous brown tits. She had weird—surely tribal—marks around her bouncing boobs. Cleavage made up with red signs. Her left hand was wounded, blood leaking, mixed up with sharp glass.

On the other hand, she was gripping something hard. Impossible for Smoke to see what it was.

"Annie!" He crossed the room in two steps, caught her shoulders like she might collapse. "Shit. What happened? You're bleeding! Let me see—" He tried to grab her hand, see where it was torn, but she yanked back. Her eyes too far.

Smoke's fury cooled down, redirected to the no-named fucker who did his wife this messy.

"Hey, babe, I'm here, okay? I'll fix that. Gimme a name and—"

A warm touch brushing his lips. Annie was kissing him. She pushed Smoke down on the mattress, her tongue dancing slow with his. She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, her skirt up, thick thighs clamped tight around his sides, warmth sinking into him through every inch of fabric. She never stopped her wet embraces, her hungry teeth biting his lips.

Smoke melted into her, passionately, his hands traveling up her back, lost in the curve of her spine. The tank top loosened, letting Annie's large tits clap on his weighty pecs. Her swollen, pulsing deep brown nipples drawing circles on his skin.

She didn't stop. Driving, tangling with his tongue like coupling snakes, saliva drooling down his fevered lips.

Abruptly, she tore blood out of her own tongue. Smoke twitched under, opened his eyes, trying to release from her hold.

"Mmmh—!"

With suffocating grace, Annie blindfolded his eyes with her bloody, wounded palm.

Next seconds were aliens to Smoke, he sensed a cold, iron-tasting yet sweet liquid, flowing deep in his throat. Pieces of her flesh gluing on his molars.

He swallowed her fluid, hard.

Annie let his lips go, dragging her mouth away, and locked her eyes into his.

"Fuckin' witch—what you done—"

"I'm going to war, Elijah," she interrupted him, softly, tenderly, bittersweet, as if every resentment deserted her soul. Her curvilicious body completely cuddled up on his. She put her face down on his chest, eyes closed, her ear lying a few feet away from his heart. It was amusing—she could hear it beat, pound loudly. Faster, faster and faster. He got a heart after all, she thought, right this instant.

Smoke's body tensed up, shaking now. He glanced at her cautiously, as if she could evaporate anytime. Annie didn't hold his gaze. That woman done spun his head every which way—why she seemed so vulnerable right now?

"Hey—bunny." He snuggled her tightly with his trembling arms, pulling the sheet on them. Immediately Annie rose, her sudden movement pushing the fabric down to the floor.

"Put this on you. Every fu-ckin' time." Her gaze changed—more averted, urgent, worried. "Even when you fuckin' some dirty-ass whore behind a counter," she was yelling at him, insanely. "DON'T EVER REMOVE THIS MOJO BAG."

The gri-gri was stained with blood and tears. Fuck, she was crying now. She held back tears so much longer.

"I hate you, Elijah—the damn fucking way I love every shitty-ass thing about you."

No. No. He hated that. He never cared about anything else except her tears. She could plunge his ass in a basin full of acid, fuck Stack or whoever was lucky enough to eat her cookie—as long as her resentment was gone, he decided he was deeply ready to accept it. But her tears? Oh Lord, Smoke was ready for a bloodshed.

Smoke's features turned red. He pushed Annie off him—forcefully, yet steady. He got up and headed toward his rifle, lying just behind the armchair.

"A name, Annie."

"Elijah—this is not a—"

"A name," he barked again, loading the chamber of his rifle. "I somehow prefer when you bite. Claw."

"Tch. Shut yo ass up, nigga."

"See?" He smirked. "That turns me on." He clipped the barrel into place with a click.

The sun, as they could see through the window, started to rise.

"A name, bunny. That's all I need. It would be bad to turn the whole Delta into a cemetery."

A shiver went down Annie's spine. "You can't fight this one, Smoke. I'll handle it. I was the one making sure your pretty ass stayed safe during these seven damn years. Don't ever look down on me."

Smoke threw a look at Annie. Her obsidian skin glowed by the sunlight, the strangely alluring symbols invading her huge breasts stirred a reaction in him. She saw it.

Annie stood up, slinkily walked in his way, her tits bouncing, clapping, stroking each other.

"I ain't Stack's sissy ass, you know that right?" he groaned, predatory.

Annie didn't answer, kept her mouth shut, the words swallowed in her throat. On God she was familiar with Elijah 'Smoke' Moore's game. This man was the Devil itself, a filth incubus, the one to tie you on bed and fucking your holes from noon to dusk.

she sank down to her knees, her front planets clashing sensually. She went low, like she worshiped the tiled ground he was standing on. Her big buffy skirt puffed out around her moist thighs before falling limp around her ankles, her legs parting deliberately. She wasn't wearing any panties beneath, if only he knew.

How immoral of her ! She claimed to had stopped by his place, solely to warn him about spiritual warfare. Liar. Liars.

She purposely didn't wear anything below...right from the start,when she bashed into this room, her pussy was leaking, clitoris pulsing — or maybe was it even before ?  Yes, when his bad-ass finally appeared on her porch after disappearing for seven damn years.

Shamelessly, Annie cupped her big brown tits together,fondling them with a nasty grin. She knew he was watching. Her nipples were already drooling milky juice.

Lord ! She had been milking like that since her first pregnancy. Now, every time she got aroused—or the least bit horny—those thick buttons went hard, swollen, ready to leak.

Annie's fingers trembled just a little as she slid them down the curve of her breasts, she rolled her wet stiff nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. Her shy eyes darting toward Smoke, catching his dominant gaze before quickly dropping back down.

Fuck— that look, if she didn't pay so much attention, she would've already cum. At this thought, she bite her bottom lip hard

She settled right between his legs, her eyes lifting up again to meet cold sexual gaze. Her mouth parted just a little at first, then wide, shoving out her bloody wet tongue.

He looked down on her from above, watching her surrender down right in front of his crotch, obediently.

"Good girl" he rasped, his cock already throbbing just from the sight of her like that.

With a forceful hand, Smoke tangled his fingers in her hair, yanking her head back. Annie's gaze snapped to his, wide and hungry. He had no intention of letting let her take him in. Not yet.

Instead, he just stood there, watching her gaze linger on the straining bulge in his pants. Smoke's eyes were cold and knowing, as her body trembled, as the milky sheen on her nipples became more pronounced.

"You want this, don't you, bunny?" he drawled, his voice sounding like a low, dangerous purr.

"You crave papa's dick, even after all this time."

Annie escaped a desperate whimper. "You wanting it so bad," he smirked, his eyes never leaving hers. "Seven years, and you're still nothing but a begging dog for my cock. Tell me, Annie, how much do you hate yourself for wanting me like this?"

Annie didn't answer, couldn't. He saw the struggle in her eyes, the warring shame and hunger, and it fueled him.

He pushed her head lower, grinding his hips, her nose bumping against the hard bulge straining against his pant. "I wanna hear it bunny. Tell me how bad you're such a bitch and you want a candy"

"Give it to me Smoke—gi—give candy to your fav—"

Smoke chuckled. They were no more teens but their foreplay always made him giggle.

He unbuttoned his pants in front of her watering eyes.  Annie's tongue, still slick with the metallic sweetness of her own blood, flicked out, tracing the outline of his heavy cock through the fabric. A soft moan escaped her lips.

She looked up at him, her eyes mirroring a river of lust, a silent plea for more. Smoke ripped open his fly, freeing his massive veiny dick. It sprang out, thick and engorged, its head glistening with pre-cum.

He stopped the tease, shoved it, hard, into her eager mouth.

Annie throat convulsed around him, her throat fighting a losing battle against the size of him. She took his Johnson deep, deeper than he thought possible, her lips a burning on his flesh.

He heard her choking, gurgling sounds, but—Fuck, that woman didn't pull away.

Instead, she sucked harder, her hands coming up to cup his balls, stroking them with an astonishing, practiced skill that made him clench his jaw. Her eyes still locked with his were brimming with tears, but they weren't tears of pain, they were tears of her desperate pleasure.

Annie was draining, milking him, just like her own tits had been milked, she was devouring, swallowing his essence.

Smoke watched her, fascinated, as she worked his dick, her cheeks hollowing with each powerful stroke, her body trembling with the effort of gulping it whole.

He lost his dominant composure for a flick instant. Did seven damn years turn his little cutie wife into another one? Or was it the demons she fought every day that finally possessed her?

No. This was Annie. His bunny. Fire, fierce, sassy, possessive, nasty, and utterly hers.

He didn't care of anything else  as long as it kept that wet mouth on him.

He slammed his hand down on the back of her head, shoving her deeper, ignoring her choked gasp. He wanted her to feel every pulse, every inch. His hips began to buck following an electric rhythm.

Smoke watched her eyes roll back, her brown pupils lost, leaving blank white. He burst a guttural moan, tearing from his own throat as he came.

"Swallow it, bunny ! " he roared, emptying himself inside her mouth with a hot, thick, creamy cum.

Annie took it all, the liquid flowing in her throat.

His knees crumbled , and he leaned heavily on her head. Gripping her messy afro tight,Smoke thrust the last throb  of his cum deep inside her.

Climax hit, Smoke sagged, his weight pressing Annie's head gently down onto his lap. His hands, no longer forceful, tangled softly in her damp hair. He stared at the ceiling, the adrenaline slowly receding, leaving him strangely hollowed out, yet pleased.

Annie coughed then carefully, pulled away. A sticky sheen of his cum glistened on her lips and chin, some dribbling down her jaw. She didn't wipe it. Instead, she slowly, deliberately, ran her tongue over her lips, savoring the taste, before meeting his gaze.

"Tch. You never done being messy."

He reached down, his fingers surprisingly gentle, wiping a streak of white from her cheek with his thumb. "Come here, bunny," he said, pulling her up and into his arms. She collapsed against him, boneless, her head resting on his chest, right over his still, pounding heart.

He pulled the sheet from the floor, where it had fallen, and draped it over her.

"You're a mess," he mumbled, his voice soft. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair : a mix of sweat and vanilla oil.

A war huh ? Whoever decided to be her enemy, must be ready to confront him. Nobody mess with Annie. Nobody Except Smoke.

"Huh. I'm sorry to bother but it's been a fuckin while I'm outside that damn door. If you done having a breakfast, can you open ?"

“Fuck that sissy brother of yours” Annie said rolling her eyes, Smoke just smirked closing his own.

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[b3ach-bunn7]

BENEATH THE MASK

Jason Todd is your cute coworker at the shelter you work at. Red Hood is the hot vigilante who saves you from being mugged

—————————————————————————

Your job right now is to wash the incredibly dirty dog in front of you. Not to ogle Jason from across the shop.

Your hands are pruning from being in the water too long, the suds crawling up your arms. The dog in question is Poppy, a brown retriever that keeps biting at the water, which only makes it spray all over your top, which is now thoroughly soaked. You huff, wiping your face on your shoulder.

“Poppy, please stop doing that, you’re making me all wet.” You scold. 

She just barks up at you, shaking to rid herself of the water all over her. You sigh. It's sort of hard to be annoyed at her when she’s so cute. You suddenly feel a presence behind you, and a heavy arm leans on your shoulder.

“Don’t think you should be talking about that at work.

You roll your eyes almost immediately at the low drawl too close to your ear, but a smile dances at the corner of your lips. “Shut up.”

You’re not sure when Jason appeared behind you, but you’re not complaining. You don’t know what you’d call what's going on between you guys. You saw a TikTok a few weeks ago that said workplace crushes are only a thing because of the close proximity, but you don’t think that's the case.

Jason was a hard person to figure out. For starters, he is completely too attractive to be volunteering at a lousy shelter like this. Judging by the defined muscles on his arms you get a delicious view of when the air conditioning is on the fritz, you think he’d be more suited to be a superhero or a bodybuilder. He’s also very attractive. A sharp jaw, doey brown eyes and curly hair that falls over them softly. The little strand of white that peeks through the brown, and all six feet of him is too much for you to handle.

Jason was quiet at first. Not much of a talker, but luckily you could talk for the whole of Gotham, and he’d warmed up over time. He didn’t have much of a choice. Most of the other workers are either sixty and bored or sixteen and trying to fill out their Cvs with some work experience. You were the only person similar in age and had almost all the same shifts as him, too.

You’d ask him for help with extra rowdy animals, go on smoke breaks together. It was fun. You’re friends now, maybe something more. Nothing makes you laugh as much as his dry humour does, that little smirk he always gives you after making something flutter in your stomach.

Poppy barks loudly. Jason reaches down and scratches her behind her ears. She immediately goes limp, and you scowl.

“This dog. Why does she listen to you and not me?” You mope.

He wiggles sudsy fingers at you. “I have the magic touch.”

“Freak."

You turn on the water again and start hosing her down. Jason takes a pointed step backwards to avoid the spray. He’s leaning on the wall behind you, and he’s being absolutely no help as you slug your way through her last wash.

Once she’s washed and dried, you hand Jason the leash to put her back in her cage. You dry off your hands, the smell of the berry soap you guys use seeped into your skin.

“So,” Jason hums. “You wanna go on break?” 

“I think the boss will kill us if we both leave at the same time again.”

Jason groans. “He’s not even here. It's just me, you and that old lady in today.” 

You splutter a laugh. “Her name is Doris. And don’t call her that.”

“I’m not lying, she is old.”

Jason digs in his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He shakes it in front of you and you bat him away. It’s a filthy habit you both have, and you’d have thought someone as athletic as him would be against it. He’s not though, evident by the expectant way he’s looking at you.

“Come on. I know you need it. I could see you seething from all the way over there.” 

“What I need is new clothes.” Your wet shirt sticks to your skin, the breeze in the room cooling it quickly. You shiver a little. 

You pout. “I can’t believe I have to be in this all day.” 

You should have learnt by now, really. This isn’t the first time you’ve showered along with the animals.

In one swift motion, Jason pulls his hoodie off and over his head. You watch a little too intently as his shirt rides up, revealing the sharp outline of his stomach and his abs and his v line, before it unfortunately falls back down. He holds out the hoodie to you, running a hand through his hair to fix it.

“You don’t have to-”

“Just take it.”

You don’t need much convincing, so you do, a little smile creeping on your face. “Fine, fine. Turn around so I can change.”

Jason pouts. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, you perv.”

He complies, and you quickly chuck your shirt off and pull on his hoodie. It’s warm and worn and it smells like him, and you sigh contentedly. Jason watches you with an amused sort of look on his face.

He shakes the cigarette in your face. “Now can we go?”

You bite your lip, looking back at the shop, contemplating his offer. It’s empty, to be fair. It’s twelve in the afternoon on a Tuesday, so slow is an understatement for the state of the shop right now. And Doris probably has it covered.

You snatch the cigarette out his hand and he flashes pearly white teeth at you. You both squeeze in the little alley behind the shop, passing the cigarette between the two of you. You make a horrible joke about the fact you guys are technically kissing, and Jason just rolls his eyes.

You look around aimlessly, until your eyes fall on a newspaper strewn on the floor. You tilt your head to read the title, and gasp a little.

“Hey, look.” You pick it up, ignoring Jason’s noise of disgust. “It’s about that Red hood guy.”

Jason stands a little straighter from where he had been leaning against the wall. He peers over you shoulder to see what you’re reading, but loses interest quickly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Come on, it’s kinda cool. He’s out there saving the night while we wash dogs!”

Jason snorts. He lets the cigarette fall to the floor, crushing it with the back of his shoe.

The article is actually not painting Red Hood in a very positive light. They call him a vigilante, an anti-hero, condemning him for thinking he’s got a right to dish out justice how he sees fit. You read this all to Jason, who’s looking at you with a careful look on his face.

“They have a point.” He says. “What do you think?”

“I think I need that.”

His brows furrow in confusion, a laugh leaving his lips. “What?”

“I said I need that. Have you seen those abs?”

You hold up the newspaper to him. Even through the blurry image, clearly taken in haste, the built figure of this masked man is very visible. You jab your finger at it.

“They are literally protruding out of that suit. Hence, I need that.”

“You’re so-“ 

“Really. I could show Red Hood a very good time.”

“Okay.” The tips of Jason’s ears are a bright red, and you’re a little confused why all this talk has got him so flustered.

He must sense the fact you’re about to tease him for it, because he stands to his full height. “Come on, you perv. Stop creaming over Red hood and get back to work.”

“You brought me out here!” 

————

Talking about showing Red hood a good time is all well and done until he’s standing right in front of you.

It’s your own fault, really. The sun sets too early, just as you finish work, and despite Jason’s insistence that he could drop you home, you assured him you’d be fine walking. You’d lived in Gotham your whole life. You knew how to walk home without getting mugged, even if it was too dark out.

Apparently not, judging by the knife being held towards your throat.

It’s later than you intended to stay out. You’d stopped by the grocery store to grab a few things for dinner, and the plastic bag slips from your hand and crashes against the floor. You’re regretting it now, seeing as you just wasted fifteen dollars on food you’re not even going to get to eat.

In all honesty, you’re scared. As much as you trying to not show that to the person in front of you, your hands are shaking and your chest feels tight. If you die in some dingy alley literally five minutes away from your house you’re going to be really fucking pissed.

He growls in a low tone for you to give him your wallet. Just as you’re about to comply to his demands, hands slowly reaching for your purse, he’s hit by something, or someone, as he goes careening into the dumpster beside you. Your mouth drops open a little, and your head turns so fast you think your neck might snap.

And there he is, in all his glory.

That shitty newspaper picture definitely did not do him justice. He’s tall, towering over you. He’s not looking at you, gaze trained on the man now slowly rising from the floor. His abs really do protrude out of his suit, and you’re glad you’re not the one on the receiving end of whatever the hell is about to happen. His hands, covered in leather black gloves, grip a gun with practised ease, and though you can’t see his face under that mask, you can feel how pissed he is.

The mugger seems to be smarter than he looks, because the second he looks at Red Hood and the barrel of his gun, he cowers, hands shaking as he holds them up.

“I’m- I’m sorry, man, Jesus!” He cries.

You scowl. Your confidence seeps back quickly with the vigilante standing beside you. “Why are you apologising to him? I’m the one you tried to mug!”

Red Hood makes a noise beside you that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

The flimsy covering on the mugger face has slipped off, and he looks young. Too young to be out holding people at knife point. You feel bad almost instantly, despite that fact he was the one about to stab you. You sigh irritably, digging in your purse. You pull out a twenty dollar bill. The kid looks confused and you tut, shaking it at him.

“Take it. Come on. And stop mugging people. Get a job.” You snap.

He still looks confused, but nobody is stupid enough to say no to free money. He takes it out of your hands carefully.

“Thanks.” He says it more like a question and you just usher him away. 

He skitters off, giving you one last look. You mumble some choice words under your breath, digging in your purse for your phone. And that’s when you remember you’re not standing alone.

Your eyes flicker toward him. And he’s looking right at you. Of course, you think he is. His eyes aren’t visible, none of his face is. Your gaze also flickers to his exposed arms, the curl of his bicep and the material that is stretching over it. 

“You can take a picture if you’d like.” 

His voice is full of static, low and gravelly. It makes sense, you figure, to keep his identity a secret, which is why he sounds so robotic. He does sound sort of familiar, but you don’t dwell on that too much.

You laugh nervously, a furious blush spreading across your face. “No, that- That’s fine.”

“What are you doing out this late?”

You narrow your eyes at him a little. “Sorry, dad.”

He tilts his head. “Don’t get bratty with me. You’re the one who almost got mugged.” 

“I-“ You ignore the heat that pools in your gut at his teasing tone, and try to look annoyed. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s is. Wouldn’t be if you’d gotten home earlier. Not a lot of people get mugged when it’s light out.”

You snort a laugh. “Yes they do. We’re in Gotham, in case you forgot.”

You kneel down to grab your fallen groceries, and he immediately does the same. You work in tandem and silence, quickly putting everything back. You get up with a heavy sigh.

“I should’ve taken that ride home.” 

Red hood looks at you quizzically. Again, you think. You wish you could see his face. You wonder if he’s just as attractive without it on.

“My friend from work offered to drop me home,” you explain. “And I said no. Like an idiot.”

He nods slowly. He slips the bag out of your hand easily.

“Sounds like a good friend. Why’d you say no?”

He’s nosy, this anti-hero. 

Truthfully, you were nervous. You won’t deny your crush on Jason, and you’re not sure how well you would have faired on the back of his motorcycle, hands wrapped around his waist and body pressed against his. 

You struggle with what to say. You wonder how willing Red hood will be to give you relationship advice. “He’s..”

“You don’t like him?”

“No, I- I think I like him too much.” You mumble. “That, and his motorcycle is too scary.”

“Motorcycles are cool.” You think he’s pouting a little.

You giggle. “Sure, sure.”

Red Hood tells you he’s walking you home. He doesn’t offer, but instead waits until you start heading towards your flat so he can follow.

Gotham is never quiet. It’s one thing you love about the city. It’s always active, cars bustling down the streets or apartment lights on all hours into the night. Most people hate the noise, but you think it reminds you you’re alive. 

It’s busy now. Nobody questions the man in red besides you because you don’t think any of them are brave enough to. 

“Is it smart for me to show you where I live?” You wonder aloud. 

Red hood makes an offended noise. “Hey. I’m not some supervillain.”

You laugh a little. “How am I supposed to know? You could be lying.”

“I don’t lie, princess.”

Princess. You smile a little weakly. “I hope not.”

He looks a little funny. This big strong man, guns hung on his waist, red suit glimmering under the street lamps, a Target bag swinging in his hands. You adjust your purse on your shoulder.

“The press isn’t a big fan of you, you know.” You say.  

He hums. “Are you?”

“Am I the press?” 

He shakes his head. “No. Are you not a big fan?”

Oh, you’re definitely a fan. But you don’t say that. You just give a shrug. 

“I’m not sure. Think I’ll need to do some more digging.” 

He makes a noise. “Digging? I saved you from a mugger and I’m walking you home.”

You hum thoughtfully. You’re getting closer to your place, and you’re a little disappointed. He’s nice company. And he smells good, too. Like something you know, but you can’t quite place.

“I suppose. You’re like a real life Robin Hood.”

The bag rustles as his hold on it tightens a little. He only nods once, curt, and you feel an urge to change the subject. Luckily, you don’t need to, because you’ve reached your block of flats. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s cheap enough that you can’t complain. 

You turn to him. He holds out your groceries, and you take them with a soft thank you. 

“So.” You say.

“So.” He replies.

“Thanks for saving me, Mr Hood.”

“No problem. Next time take that ride home.”

You nod. “I will.”

If you spend the rest of your night reading every article and Reddit forum about Red hood, nobody needs to know.

——

Jason has to try very, very hard not to laugh as you recount your encounter with Red Hood.

He wasn’t being a stalker, or being weird, he’d like to start with. He had business in town, and he’d gone home, changed into his uncomfortably tight uniform and instantly gone back out. It was just pure luck that Jason had stumbled across the poor woman with a knife held to her throat. He would’ve helped no matter who it was. But the second Jason saw you, eyes wide and fear plastered on your face, his body moved before he could even think.

If he’d have looked for a second, he would’ve been able to tell that the person mugging you was just some overzealous teenager. But he hadn’t, which is why he pushed him away from you hard enough to knock him into the dumpster behind him. 

But you’d been kind. Given him money and ushered him along his way. And if Jason didn’t already love you, that would’ve been enough.

You’re sitting in front of him, legs crossed. You fiddle with the laces of your worn out docs as you watch him feed the litter of kittens they’d recently gotten into the shop. You’re trying to mask your jealousy as they all clamber in his lap, but you’re not doing it very well. 

You sigh dreamily. “You should’ve seen him, Jason. So tall, and his voice was all deep and gravelly. And I was right!” You exclaim.

“About what?” He asks. One of the kitten mewls loudly and he scratches the back of his ear.

“His abs do protrude out of his suit.” 

Jason laughs, and you grin. “You should be more careful. And I’m dropping you home today. Whether you like it or not.”

You shake your head quickly. “I’m not getting on that death machine of yours.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “First of all, shut up. Second of all, I have my car today.”

You dangle your fingers in front of the kittens. They paw at you, tiny claws catching on your skin. Jason thinks you look the prettiest like this, all worn out and soft after a long shift. The tiredness that gets to you both, and the final few hours of the day you get to just sit and talk. 

He wonders how you’d react if he told you that he’s Red Hood. It had taken strength he didn’t know he had to not rip off his mask and take you in that alley right then and there, especially with how horribly you were hiding the fact you were blatantly checking him out.

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping to get mugged again so he could save me.”

“You need help.”

“From him, yeah.”

Jason rolls his eyes as you laugh loudly. 

Jason likes you. He thinks he likes you too much, in a way that makes his heart ache like he’s never felt before. He doesn’t think he’s all that deserving of love, but when he’s with you, Jason likes to pretend that he is.

You both get up, placing the kittens back in their respective cages. You leave slowly, talking too much as you stuff your things in your locker and head out. You’ve still got his hoodie on. You haven’t offered to give it back yet and he doesn’t ask. 

It’s only six as you both leave, and Jason wants to ask you to hang out. Not on a date, but. As friends. Or coworkers, whatever makes this not weird for you. Maybe to grab some food, or-

“Do you wanna get a bite to eat?” You suddenly speak up.

Jason isn’t exactly shy, but he is when it comes to romancing. He doesn’t want you to think he’s being too forward, but you never seem to share the same notion.

“I’m starving. And I’m really craving something greasy.” You hum, and he nods.

“Yeah, sure.” 

“You’re paying, by the way.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Says who?”

“Says me. As your apology for hogging all the kittens today.”

You’re walking close to him. Close enough that your fingers ghost against each other as you swing your arms beside him. He wonders if you’d pull away if he held on.

“Not my fault they all love me, princess.”

Jason curses internally. He instantly sees the cogs turn in your head as you give him this look of something. He looks away too quickly, praying there’s no recognition in your gaze.

“You know, that’s what he called me!”

Jason nods, hoping the relief isn’t too obvious on his face. “Really?”

“God, he was flirting.” You almost whine, “Definitely. I’m going to tell the six o'clock news that Red Hood has a crush on me.” 

Jason knows you’re joking, so it really is quite funny how accurate you really are. Instead, he just scoffs.

“Like he’d ever like you.”

“Don’t act jealous, Mr Todd. It’s unbefitting of you.”

—————————————————————————

guys.. Ik im always posting anime guys but dc.. Jason Todd he is my roots and I wanna take a bite of his big biceps

[chimckenns]

Babe sometimes felt like they spent their whole life playing catch-up.

They took a while to get a job out of uni where all their friends were already settled in their new companies. They didn’t date until their late 20s. In fact, Asher was their first.

They struggled to get a promotion with a new position within their company too, something that Asher had comforted them about.

Ever since Asher opened their eyes to the world of magic, deep down they felt daunted. They had so much to learn. So much to get used to.

They couldn’t help but wonder if they were really enough.

Sitting next to them, Asher was born into this world and already knew it inside and out. He was used to everything that happens when magic was involved. Babe wasn’t.

In these moments where they’re forced to face the reality of their different worlds, Babe felt like Asher was somewhere far away that they’d never be able to reach, even if they try with all their might.

For a while when the inversion settled and they had some time with just the two of them, they were able to forget the pressure that loomed over them and enjoy their time with their mate.

But then the summit happened, and it felt like a slap to the face. It was the first time they saw it first hand too - someone being killed on top of the fact that magic was involved. Angel, despite being unempowered too, seemed fine, unfazed, even. They somehow still held their head up high.

How befitting of an alpha’s mate.

Babe, on the other hand…

They felt like they were falling behind all over again.

The next week was filled with sleepless nights, the events of the summit repeating over and over again in their mind. They remembered it so vividly it plays out like they see it again right in front of them. It plagued them.

How could they stand next to Asher, the beta, if they couldn’t even handle this?

Do they even deserve to stand next to him?

A mere human?

They couldn’t help but spiral.

They were drowning - something pulled at their feet and they couldn’t swim their way back up despite kicking with every ounce of strength left.

A silent tear escaped them as they stared at the ceiling in the darkness.

But of course, Asher being the observant, kind, considerate man he is, realised almost immediately.

He found himself waking up seemingly out of nowhere that one night. But a glance in Babe’s direction and he knew what was up.

He held them throughout all of it. He explained that he didn’t want them to be anything they weren’t. He told them he was there for them. He wiped their tears and told them he loved them.

Maybe Babe didn’t need to hurry to catch up.

Asher would always be there, turning back, waiting for them.

[honourablejester]

It feels slightly odd to be worried about all the cool mystery-solving spells and abilities when presumably your party want to play out a murder mystery and therefore want to have cool abilities to break out and have fun with? Like, the fun with a murder mystery is solving it, and the fun with a D&D murder mystery is solving it with all your cool D&D toys. I mean, that’s half of why I enjoy playing knowledge and divination focused characters. You want to be able to interact with the mystery, and look cool and spooky doing it. That’s the fantasy. Who doesn’t want to step into a cozy murder mystery as a goddamn necromancer who can just ask ‘hey, dead guy, who killed you?’, you know?

But also … the same cool magic that gives you all the fun tools to go digging with also gives your enemies cool tools to make your life difficult with. In particular, the illusion and enchantment schools of magic. Also certain transformation spells and abilities.

You have Speak With Dead. You ask the victim who killed them. And they don’t know, because the killer was invisible, so they never saw them. Or they were swallowed by a pitch black shroud of darkness, knowing only blindness and terror before a blade as cold as ice slid into their chest. Or they heard a strange skittering at night, as if some rodent had gotten into their room, but thought nothing of it, and then there was only pain (fucking druids using innocuous wildshapes to get in places and assassinate people will never not be my jam).

Or, on the flipside, they do know exactly who killed them, chapter and verse, name and occupation. They saw them clear as day. But that person, tearfully and desperately, proclaims their innocence long after the city watch has led them away, and they’re being completely truthful, because the killer was using the very basic first level illusion spell Disguise Self to take out multiple targets with the same knife. (Or they were a changeling. Or a doppleganger).

But, you say, surely Zone of Truth would sort that little snafu out instantly! Ask the suspect if they killed someone, they say no under enchantment, free and clear. The question there is, does anyone think to use that spell? Is your party going to suspect that kind of switcheroo the first time? Does someone get executed for a crime they didn’t commit, on your party’s word, before they realise what’s going on? (Yes, this is cruel, use cautiously).

Also on the subject of Zone of Truth, it only specifies that the person under the spell cannot tell a deliberate lie. As anyone who’s ever tangled with the fey would know, that says nothing about misleading truths and basic obfuscation. A little careful set-up, and a villain can blithely tell absolute truth while breezily skirting around some things that need not be mentioned.

Also also, on the subject of truth, D&D has a little spell called Modify Memory. Which. A person can truthfully say they didn’t kill anyone if they don’t remember doing it. Now, does this mean there’s multiple parties involved, one to kill and one to cast the spell, and if so, what exactly is the relationship between those parties?

Or … do you, as the GM, bend the rules of the spell slightly to allow the killer to have cast it on themselves? Not that I think that’s actually explicitly forbidden by the spell, though it does say you’re attempting to reshape another creature’s memories, but the only limit on that creature itself is that it has to be a creature you can see. I don’t think it’s bending the rules too far to say that could include yourself. So you can easily manufacture a situation where the killer themselves believes they are innocent, and can testify to that effect in front of a damned planetar if need be.

(Granted, if the planetar in question thinks there’s something fishy happening, then one little Greater Restoration or Remove Curse will sort that problem again, but that’s still steps and suspicion that have to happen before we get to that point).

You’ve also got all the nasty little enchantment spells that can influence and command people into doing things they don’t necessarily want to do. Such as messily kill their neighbour. Now, obviously there are limits on most of these, but it still invites complications when it’s easy enough to find the direct killer, but how willing a killer they were and who’s manipulating and/or commanding them is still a very prominent question.

Going back to Modify Memory, holy god that spell is paranoia fuel, especially in combination with other enchantment spells like Geas or Dominate Person. Because when the timers on those spells run out, after you’ve made them murder someone, you can just wipe their memories and they forget why they’re suddenly hostile to you. Which would be a fabulous clue for a party to pick up on, if some kneejerk distrust and horror at being magically forced lingered through the memory wipe. One or two people in the town, completely innocuous otherwise, just mention in passing that they’ve suddenly developed a mistrust and wariness towards someone, but they don’t know why. Maybe it doesn’t mean much, but if your party are in decent mystery-solving form, maybe it makes them take a look or two at that person, especially if one of those innocuous people gets pinned for a murder and is deeply terrified and confused about it, sure of their innocence.

Basically, if you want a horrifying serial killer in your D&D game? Druids, bards and enchantment wizards are great choices. What magic giveth, magic also taketh away. Such as nice, easy answers to murder mysteries. Heh. If you get to use cool toys, so do your opponents.

Also, nearly forgot, I actually remembered a game I played where there was a sort of a 'locked room' type mystery, where something had vanished from a locked box with no sign of what had happened except that a broken piece of lodestone had been found on the floor nearby. Which. Relies very much on people knowing and thinking about how to cheat using D&D spells and rules. Well. You might also need at least one player who chose a component pouch instead of an arcane focus/holy symbol. Because it's such a cheeky little clue, and such an incredibly simple use of magic. Cantrip level, even. Heh.

Magic is not an impediment to the mystery. Magic is the whole fun of a D&D mystery. Both villains and players have a whole smorgasbord of fun toys to play with and make each other's lives difficult.

How would you handle a murder mystery in D&D? A lot of spells would make short work of most mysteries (speak with dead, zone of truth, various command spells, etc). Now of course those spells do have limitations but still.

Does the party you're currently running the adventure for have access to these abilities? No? Then don't sweat it. Part of leveling up is gaining access to abilities that let you circumvent certain types of adventure ( such as teleportation letting you skip minor travel). Mysteries are best run low level when the culprits are mortal with mortal motives.

Agatha Christie It: one of the hallmarks of detective fiction is that due to circumstances, all the suspects of the crime are bottled up in the same location, letting the detectives ( and audience) have a limited number of targets to chose from as they build up a case. Have your mysteries happen in isolated places with a limited number of variables to sort through.

Magic can only go so far. Any society that knows about magic is likely to have laws about when/how that magic can be used, especially in matters of law. Cornered your likely suspect and used dominate person to force out a confession? A) the party aren't lawmages recognized by the magistrate, that confession isn't reliable in court B) someone ensorcelled could be compelled to say anything, so enchantment isn't trustworthy. C) Using magic against someone in that way is tantamount to threatening them with a weapon, hope your party is prepared to also go to court.

A good mystery is all about piecing together incomplete information, meaning that no one person ( and thus no one spell) contains the complete truth. The dead person won't necessarily know what killed them, just who they suspect, and any good killer would know they needed an alibi/decoy in order to throw off witnesses. Having your party pick through these clues is the fundamental fun of solving mysteries.

Likewise, it's not enough to know that someone did the crime, the party has to PROVE it, which requires gathering more evidence than just a magically compelled confession. Sure a spellcaster could kit themselves out for solving crimes, but that just means the murderer is liable to take a swipe at them while the gang is split up and searching for clues.

[sircantus]

Hello, Hi, yeah is the anon who sent the Epic The Musical/The Odyssey AU concept. I have more ideas if you want them, because why not.

The setting is an urban fantasy city, that’s basically Ancient Greece combined with modern day cities and architecture. Due to Techno activating the curse, it has started to rain nonstop, and although there are times where the sun peeks out through the clouds, it never stops raining. Godly magic and blessings are real and is what powers the technology and machinery.

Those of divine, godly blood are both revered and feared, as they usually possess great power, but they also tend to suffer tragic ends, and if you’re too close to them, you might get caught up in their punishment.

Techno’s family is old money, and their house is an opulent mansion with Grecian elements. It helps that their ancestors is a fabled hero and king who caught the eye of the goddess of wisdom herself. They have a disgusting amount of boats.

SBI frequent a diner in Athens, and they try to visit every month. McPuffy’s is a hole in the wall restaurant that serves amazing Keftedes and Souvlaki. It’s run by Puffy and her son Foolish. It’s where the team meets Niki.

Niki is an apprentice of Circe, and she is a talented sorcerer with a speciality in nasty curses. SBI approach her as they want to help break Techno’s family curse of repeating Odysseus’s journey. She offers to help them at a price-that they help her with her curses. She has a shitlist she needs to be fufilled, and lets say the group leaves with some warped morals.

Phil ends up falling in love with a fellow nomad, Kristin. She’s a travelling witch/prophet, who’s prices usually range from money to herbs she uses in her rituals. She’s infamous in certain towns due to foretelling great danger and death, and ends up with the moniker of the “Dead-Eyed Prophet”. Phil turns into a stuttering, blushing puddle when around her, and Techno almost forgets that he’s in fact a giant sea monster that tried to kill him first time they met.

The “Lotus Eaters” are the most infamous criminals in all of Greece, as they specialize in drug trafficking. They specifically sell the titular Lotus Fruits that captivated Odysseus’s men all those years ago. It’s currently run by unusually peppy and bright eyed Tubbo and fiancé Ranboo, after his late father died of a heart attack. He recently decided that the Lotus Eaters should broaden their horizons and he’s now currently dealing with weapon deals.

Ironically enough, despite Techno getting into this mess because of his pursuit of knowledge, he doesn’t have the blessing of Athena. No, Techno has the blessing of Ares, God of Bloodshed and War. While Techno is smart, he panics in high stress situations and ends up just attacking things in a blind panic. This Techno isn’t an experienced veteran in fighting nor is he some kind of warrior to begin with. He’s a scrawny college student who possibly bit off more than he could chew. Wisdom was something he initially ignored, so now he’s left to pick up the pieces with the Blood God himself.

OH GOD THEYRE COOKING AGAIN OH FUCK

[shiiro-arts]

Watch me yap about something that i wanted to share..

it's been seen since the beginning that Natsu has been overexerting himself. It's gotten to the point where Natsu got the equivalent of magical cancer because of it. As soon as he woke up he was back fighting again and immediately used his fire dragon king mode. If it wasn't for Brandish he would've died. The rest of the guildmates makes sure he's okay but it goes no further than that. He continues to use his all during fights with no limits.

The cancer should've been a wake up call for him and the guild but it wasn't Natsu won't reach his full potential until he acknowledges that he needs to be more careful with himself. So many people care about him. The burns from turning into E.N.D and using his dragon king more shouldn't be encouraged.

I bring this up because in 100 year quest the other members practically pressure him into eating Ignia's flames. Natsu didn't want to, but if he didn't he wouldn't have been strong enough to defeat the water dragon. They should've just accepted that where Natsu was at the time wasn't strong enough to defeat Ignia. They basically cornered Natsu into making that deal with Ignia. Wendy being able to heal any of Natsu's scar doesn't make them hurt any less.

In fact, it takes away the consequences from each experience. The scars show a constant reminder of what happens when he overexerts himself and they can just disappear.

When Natsu ate Ignia's flames he lost himself to E.N.D. Afterwards you see Lucy terrified of what Natsu becomes. This is extremely unfair, even under the effects of E.N.D Natsu still had to beg from help from the others. Not because he couldn't do it alone, but because he doesn't want to do it alone. However even after they defeat the Water Dragon, Natsu keeps going. This scares not only Lucy but everyone else too. This is the consequences of leaving everything to Natsu. He overexerts himself to the point he harms himself. He had burns so bad that even his muscles were exposed. In the next chapter however, they just continue to joke around. If no one actively condemns Natsu, he will eventually lose himself. This and Iced shell aren't that different, both spells rid the user of themselves. However, no one is there to stop Natsu. Lucy may have stopped him this time, but what will they do when they need E.N.D again?

In chapter 18 of 100 year quest Karameel asks Natsu to kill Mercphobia since he was the only one who possessed dragon slaying magic. Natsu doesn't want to do this since killing people he considers good goes against his own morals. This puts the burden of killing someone entirely on Natsu despite his protests. Even when they met with Mercphobia the first thing he said was if he was a good guy, they would have to figure out a different way to complete the quest. Natsu was never going to kill him if it had been his choice alone.

In the next scene literally everyone pushes Natsu into a corner practically forcing him to take on this burden. Even though he pleads with the others begging for their understanding, they all stayed silent. Eventually he just sucks it up and decides to do it anyway. No one in this scene understood the weight of what they were putting Natsu through.

Although he was the only one capable of killing Mercphobia, no one offered their understanding.

Carla does try to say there's no other way but they were all still putting him against his own moral. No one else had to directly deal with getting their hands bloody which explains why Natsu was so pissed at Karameel since her meddling is what caused this chain of events. Her choices are what led to Mercphobia's demise but it was Natsu who eventually had to deal the final blow.

The next scene also bothers me a ton because Lucy basically says to figure out the issues unless he wants it to happen again which was a very poor way to change the mood. Lucy was one of the members who was pressuring him to eat the flames yet she still blamed him for the consequences he couldn't control.

I think this arc highlights the major issues with Natsu's complex of needing to be strong and toughen up very well. No one takes him or any of his issues seriously which is why he bottles so much inside. It also make sense as to why he still only turns to Happy when he's feeling down like this. I have hopes that after this recent chapter they learned to appreciate Natsu a little more and hopefully give him a break. Internally, he has a lot more going on than anyone would expect.

Do u have any thoughts on this? Since yk ur the expert of Nalu

Okay, this is a REALLY big Ask, so I'm gonna try and do this by points because if I don't I'm gonna lose my mind

100YQ SPOILERS AHEAD

Natsu's cancer and the control of his powers

2. The pressure to eat Ignia's flames

3. The healing of his scars

4. Is Lucy becoming scared "of him" actually unfair?

5. Going against his morals and the burden that goes with that

6. Lucy telling him to learn how to control his powers

7. Natsu's general need or obsession of taking care of everyone and taking the burden all alone

Part 1: remember that what he had was not cancer provoked by overuse of magic, it was the seed he had inside. The cancer was a misdiagnosis from Porlyusica part. Still, the initial diagnose should have scared him enough from overdoing it in the future knowing it would still be a possibility.

Natsu is always going to over do it because he has the need to protect everyone from everything. So he's not gonna stop anytime soon.

Part 2: You say that he didn't want to eat Ignia's flames and that everyone was pressuring him, while this is technically correct we need to look deeper into this.

Everyone was preasuring him into eating the flames because they knew it was gonna give him the power up they needed to defeat Merc, who, at the moment, was a very dangerous threat. No one thought Natsu was gonna lose it.

Now, it's true that Natsu didn't want to eat the flames, but the only reason was because of pride. He was mad Ignia was stronger than him and that he was Igneel's bio kid so he made a tantrum. He was mad he needed to rely on Ignia to defeat Merc, but ultimately, he needed to do that to save everyone. Did they pressured him to do it? yes. Was it needed? Also yes.

Part 3: About his scars, you are absolutelly right. The fact mashima takes his scars away is incredibly foolish on his part. As you said, scars are reminders of what happened, Natsu getting rid of every scar he gets in a mayor fight is careless because not only is he relying entirely on Wendy, but he will never learn about being careful in the future.

Natsu refusing to heal the scar Future Rogue gave him is so incredibly mature of Natsu's part. It's a constant reminder of his "failure" to protect Lucy and her future, so he keeps it, so he doesn't forget.

Now, if Natsu never healed his scars he would look like a burnt chicken nugget. BUT, if he kept the first ones maybe he would be mature enough to realize that he can't always rely on brute force to fix things (and on Wendy).

Part 4: You say Lucy becoming scared of natsu and his flames is unfair from her part, but is it really? Even if she told him to eat Ignia's flame to gain more power, no one though he would lose himself in the process.

Lucy wasn't scared of Natsu, per se, she was scared of Natsu losing himself. If she knew Natsu was gonna end up going insane and with his arm muscles literally exposed from his own fire, I'm sure she would have never even considered telling him to eat Ignia's flames.

All of E.N.D's apearences where not planned, is not that they need natsu to transform, it's just that something happens and he appears, I'm sure no one in the team expects Natsu to somehow control END's transformation and use it for their venefit. They know Natsu is deeply unconfortable with the fact that he's a demon, during 100yq he makes sever statements that just scream DENIAL. But the "what will they do when they need E.N.D again?" makes no sense to me, because they don't expext him to use it at all.

Part 5: Even if Merc was/is a good guy, at the moment he was a threat. It was killing him or being killed. While Natsu had every right to be upset, we don't live by just making decisions that make us feel comfortable; it was a necessity.

At that moment, killing Merc was not only necessary, but also merciful. Remember, Merc cared deeply for his people; in his state, he could have killed everyone he loved and cared about; that's not fair to him. Even though it was cruel because he was a good guy, at that moment killing him was the sensible thing to do.

Natsu didn't see the bigger picture; all he could think about was what a good person Merc had been when he'd first met him. I'm not saying Natsu wasn't on his right to be upset; he was. Carrying the death of someone innocent and good isn't easy, but at no point was it supposed to become his burden. His whole team was supposed to carry that burden with him, but Natsu was the only one capable of finishing the job. (which is not fair but he is also aware of this)

Part 6: Again, even if Lucy told him to eat the flames, she had no idea it was going to make him go mad, it's not really fair blaming her about something she had absolutely no idea nor control over.

Her blaming Natsu about losing control wasn't fair either, but she is kind of right. Maybe she was able to make him come back, but what will happen the day she can't? Maybe she is being harsh, but she is also looking out for him. Hurting the people he loves is the last thing he wants.

Part 7: Natsu's constant need about showing he's strong is something I talked about before (Here). He is trying to make an statement, he is trying to scream "You can rely on me" without saying any words at all. He wants everyone to know they are safe with him, that's why he constantly chalenges Fairy tail's ace's; Erza, Laxus, Gildarts, etc. Natsu has the need to be the strongest, because he was taught from very early that he had to protect his family no matter what.

TW: Suicide

Natsu's mental health is extremely poor, and this is somewhat canon.

Natsu is borderline suicidal, but not consciously. He's a hypocrite, vaguely speaking. Because he yells and scolds Gray and Erza for sacrificing themselves, but then he does the exact same thing.

While Gray's suicidal tendencies are more obvious, Natsu's are more subtle. Natsu has nearly died countless times, all under the excuse of trying to protect his loved ones. Not only does he try to always take the hit, but he doesn't even try to get them away from danger; he simply stands in front of them, thinking he's invincible.

The most obvious one was when he though Lucy died during Alvarez. She died and he went after Zeref knowing no matter the outcome (if he won or lose the fight) it was gonna kill him. He did that willingly, knowing what going after Zeref meant. He just didn't care. (I talk about this here)

You say no one takes his mental health seriously, but that's precisely what he wants. He doesn't want to appear "weak" in front of everyone because, if he were, how could they rely on him? All those sacrifices, all that hard work, for nothing. He makes himself stupid and hides his issues behind a mask so everyone thinks "He's Natsu, he will be fine".

He knows, he just doesn't want to change anything.

[anonymousewrites]

Nobody's Soldier (Book 1) Chapter Eighteen

Found Family! Supernatural x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eighteen: Tarot Cards

Summary: (Y/N), Dean, and Sam come across a strange series of magician deaths.

            “This isn’t a trick, okay? I-I-I don’t do tricks. This is a demonstration about demons and angels, love and lust—” the magician in eyeliner and leather continued to pontificate about the symbolism of his magic.

            “What a douche bag,” said Dean, rolling his eyes as they spotted the group of women, camera crew, and magician.

            “That’s Jeb Dexter,” said Sam.

            “How do you know that?” said (Y/N), looking at Sam incredulously.

            Sam coughed. “He’s famous…kind of.”

            “For what, douchbaggery?” said Dean, and (Y/N) snorted.

            “No matter how messed up it gets, don’t touch me,” said Jeb. “For your own safety.”

            “I think he’s here to flirt with girls instead of doing magic,” said (Y/N). Which, you know, they couldn’t blame him. The lack of focus on the craft was a little ridiculous and obvious.

            Jeb took a dramatic breath and shook his body, “warming up.” He violently gasped, body jerking slightly. In his violent shaking, he cried, “Go back to Hell, demon!” All the cards exploded from his hand and bounced off a window. However, one stuck—the ace of diamonds. Finally, his raptures halted, and Jeb looked at the girl before him. “Is this your hard?” In surprise, the girls nodded and applauded his skill.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Seriously? Faking a demon possession?”

            “Not amused?” said Dean, grinning.

            “No, I don’t like magicians,” said (Y/N).

            “Me neither,” agreed Dean. “Almost as bad as witches, just less real danger and more full of crap. I can’t believe people fall for that.”

            “It’s not all crap,” said Sam defensively.

            “What part of that is not a steaming pile of BS?” said Dean.

            “Okay, that was crap, but that’s not all magicians,” said Sam, gesturing over his shoulder at Jeb. “It takes skill.”

            “Oh, right. Right, I forgot,” said Dean, grinning playfully. “You were actually into this stuff, weren’t you?”

            “Sam, you did magic tricks?” asked (Y/N).

            Sam groaned in embarrassment. “I was thirteen. It was a phase.”

            “He had a wand and deck of cards,” said Dean.

            “Did you never go through a phase like that with your parents?” said Sam.

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “Not stage magic. Parents were pretty clear on messing with supernatural stuff. Makes more sense now, but at the moment it was weird.”

            “They had the right idea,” said Dean. “I mean, playing at demons and magic? The real thing will kill you bloody.”

            “Like a guy who drops dead of ten stab wounds without a single tear in his shirt?” said Sam. That was the case itself—a mysterious death like that couldn’t be ignored by hunters.

            “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Dean.

            “What do you want me to do while you interview the magician’s assistant?” asked (Y/N), hovering on the steps of the hotel Dean and Sam were heading into.

            “Keep an eye out for anyone strange hanging around. We’ll see what we find in the room,” said Dean.

            “Hopefully we’ll find a clue to point us in the direction of the culprit,” said Sam.

            “Like a hex bag?” said (Y/N). Magicians dying felt…well, magic-y.

            “Maybe,” said Sam. “We’ll see.”

            (Y/N) nodded and watched them head in. Lookout duty for them again. I need to grow up faster.

l

            “So?” asked (Y/N) as Sam and Dean emerged.

            “Vance stole magic from other magicians,” said Dean. “Big no-no.”

            “People definitely had a grudge against him,” said Sam.

            “Any weird stuff?” asked (Y/N).

            “Just this.” Sam held up a tarot card. “He didn’t do card tricks.”

            “And looks suspiciously like our vic’s cause of death,” said Dean.

            “Ten of Swords,” said (Y/N). “And he was stabbed ten times.”

            “Exactly,” said Dean.

            “And the symbolism matches, too,” said (Y/N). “It represents martyrdom and betrayal. Other stuff, too, but if this is real magic, betrayal fits.”

            “You know tarot?” said Sam.

            “I went through a phase,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “I thought your parents didn’t want you messing with magic,” said Dean.

            “Flipping over cards and learning symbolism is different than casting spells,” said (Y/N). “And it’s like horoscopes. It can all fit your life if you think about it.”

            “Any idea what it means for the case?” asked Dean.

            “Other than the obvious ‘magic is involved?’ No,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, there’s a local magicians theater nearby that Vance frequented. A ton of people he stole tricks from also work there,” said Sam. “We should check it out.”

            “I’ll go,” said Dean. “Sammy, book us a motel room.”

            “Seriously?” said Sam.

            Dean shrugged. “Someone’s got to do it.”

            “Do I get to do something?” (Y/N) wanted to be really helpful.

            “Buy us food,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) huffed. Damn it.

l

            Supporting a bag of takeout sushi—Dean would complain, but he put (Y/N) in charge of food, so he’d get what they wanted—(Y/N) checked their phone for the address and crisscrossed the streets to the motel. They knocked on the door, and Sam opened it.

            “Here,” said (Y/N), holding up the food. They frowned as they saw Sam’s slightly tense expression. “You okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” said Sam quickly, smiling.

            “Okay.” (Y/N) didn’t believe him. They had learned quickly that Winchesters kept secrets. “Are you still on FBI duty?”

            “Unfortunately,” said Sam, adjusting his tie. “Put the food in the fridge. Dean and I are going to see the magic show tonight since Dean got sent on a wild goose chase by some magicians.”

            “And I stay here?” said (Y/N) knowingly.

            “Sorry, (Y/N), this case just doesn’t really fit with bringing you along,” said Sam. However, he was glad (Y/N) wasn’t always going to get dragged into every case.

            “I know, I know,” said (Y/N). “I can’t pass for an FBI agent until, like, sixteen.”

            “Seventeen,” said Sam.

            “Sixteen,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t rush into things, (Y/N),” said Sam. “It’s not…” He shook his head. “It’s not good for you.”

            (Y/N) saw years of exhaustion catching up to Sam. “I know,” they said. But they wanted to grow up now. They needed to be stronger to protect people.

            “Good,” said Sam. He needed them to know that. They were still so young. “We’ll see you later, okay?”

            “Okay,” said (Y/N) as Sam left the motel room. The door swung closed behind him. (Y/N) looked at their sushi. Quick snack, then I’ll follow them. Listen, it was one thing to not pretend to be an FBI agent. It was another to sit around and do nothing. And theater was open to kids. (Y/N) grinned.

l

            (Y/N) handed over ten dollars, and the attendant handed them a ticket. Satisfied, (Y/N) walked into the theater. They spotted Sam and Dean talking to two magicians and tried to turn around. Shit, they had hoped they’d be looking at the stage.

            “(Y/N).” Dean’s firm voice made (Y/N) freeze.

            They turned back and coughed awkwardly. “Hey, Dean. Sam. Who knew you’d go to the same magic show.”

            “We told you to stay at the motel,” said Sam.

            “And you said you’d listen to us,” said Dean, hands on his hips.

            “Oops?” offered (Y/N). They really weren’t guilty. Well, if they’d blown their cover, then yes—

            “Another up-and-coming magician?” said one of the two magicians.

            Sam said quickly, “Yeah, our assistant. They were supposed to be practicing…card tricks at the motel.”

            Oh, they know they’re not feds, thought (Y/N). Fantastic. They could stay. “I got bored. I wanted to see bigger magic.”

            “You want to see big magic?” said one of the magicians. He cast a strange look at the stage as the lights dimmed. “Stick around.”

            “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the magician onstage. The sign with his face plastered on it named him as “Jay.” “What you’re about to witness is a feat so daring, so dangerous, even the great Houdini dared not attempt it.”

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam settled down into seats. (Y/N) leaned forward, watching for any hint of real magic. It had to be somewhere.

            “I give to you…the Executioner!” Jay flourished a hand, and a rope fell from the arch over him. A noose was looped through it. He stepped onto the platform. “I will hang myself from this noose and escape—with my arms tied up.”

            The audience murmured.

            “However, there are no tricks.” Jay gestured to the side, and an assistant brought out a straightjacket. Jay pointed at an audience member. “You, sir, would you do me the honor of ensuring this is fitted tightly to me?”

            The audience clapped as the man rose and headed to the stage. (Y/N) tilted their head as they watched. This felt highly dangerous—fake or not was the question. If he did manage to escape, well, even (Y/N) could be impressed.

            “Thank you, sir,” said Jay as the man finished. “You may return to your seat.”

            (Y/N) watched him shift slightly. He’s nervous, too. They furrowed their brow. He shouldn’t have been nervous if he knew the trick. Stage fright? Maybe. He felt a bit old for it. He felt a bit old for all of this.

            “Now I will have one minute—sixty seconds—to escape certain death,” said Jay. “Let’s see if I can do it. Charlie, close the curtains.”

            Charlie, the old man who had spoken to (Y/N), Sam, and Dean, drew the curtain closed, and a spotlight from behind shone Jay’s silhouette onto it. Everyone could see him, bound and about to hang. A timer began, and a clock quickly counted down from sixty to one, each second a million years and a moment in one as Jay jerked and attempted to free himself. He wasn’t having any luck as it hit thirty seconds, but magicians had to wait until the last moment for theatrics. (Y/N) knew that. Yet worry still mounted as other magicians murmured.

            “I don’t think he’s gonna make it,” said Dean, staring at five seconds, four seconds, three…two…one…

            The buzzer sounded, and the trapdoor opened. Jay’s body dropped, and the crowd gasped. Sam and Dean stiffened. (Y/N) stared, and they spoke before they could think.

            “The Hanged Man.”

            Dean and Sam stared at them, and (Y/N) stared at the stage, eyes unmoving from the shadow.

            Charlie pulled the curtain open, and, miraculously, Jay stood, free of the noose and straightjacket. He was breathing deeply, but as the crowd applauded and stood, he smiled.

            “Oh, that was amazing!” said Dean. “That was actually amazing!” He could understand magic tricks being cool now.

            “That was…not humanely possible,” said Sam. He looked at (Y/N). “What did you call it?”

            “The Hanged Man,” said (Y/N). “It looked like the Hanged Man tarot card. Not completely, he wasn’t hanging by his foot, but it felt similar. Like his other trick. It means surrender, letting go…not being able to help yourself.”

l

            “Looks like that guy Jay was a pretty big deal in the ‘70s,” said Sam, looking up from his computer.

            “Which in magic land means what, exactly?” said Dean, starting at possible spells for the first murder.

            “Big enough to play Radio City Music Hall,” said Sam.

            “What happened?” asked (Y/N).

            “Nothing strange or supernatural. He just got old,” said Sam, shrugging.

            “And now he’s back in form,” said (Y/N). That wasn’t suspicious at all.

            “So maybe incredible Jay is using real magic to stage a comeback?” said Dean.

            “It’s possible,” said Sam. “Some kind of spell that works a death transference.”

            “Can we look at what his other shows have been recently?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said Sam, searching it up. He paused and stared.

            “It was a sword trick, wasn’t it?” said (Y/N)

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “Swords fell from the ceiling and supposedly impaled him, but he escaped unharmed through ‘stage magic.’ ”

            “Sounds like real magic,” said Dean. “And sounds suspicious.” The vic had died in that way.

            “So the question if someone died through hanging last night,” said (Y/N). “He had to transfer the death to someone.”

            “But how does the tarot mix into it?” said Dean.

            “I don’t know. A tool for the magic, maybe?” asked (Y/N).

            “Man,” said Dean. “I hope I die before I get old. Whole thing seems brutal, don’t it?”

            “You think we will?” said Sam suddenly.

            “What?” said Dean.

            “Die before we get old,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) frowned. This life was dangerous. At some point, they wouldn’t be able to keep up with the monsters. The question was what they would do then. Die? Retire? Retirement seemed out of the question, as Sam, Dean, and Bobby had all commented on.

            “Haven’t we both already?” said Dean.

            Okay, so they’re exceptions to the rules, thought (Y/N), nearly rolling their eyes.

            “You know what I mean, Dean,” said Sam. “I mean, do you think we’ll still be chasing demons when we’re sixty?”

            “No, I think we’ll be dead for good,” said Dean. It was a tough reality, but it was true. “What? Do you want to end up like Travis?” (Y/N) grimaced. “Or Gordon?” They didn’t know that name.

            “There’s Bobby,” said (Y/N), seeing Sam’s hopeful expression falling.

            “Oh, yeah, there’s a poster child for growing old gracefully,” said Dean.

            “Maybe we’ll be different,” said Sam.

            “What kind of Kool-Aid are you drinking?” scoffed Dean. “Sammy, it ends bloody or sad. That’s just the life.”

            “What if we could win?” said Sam.

            “ ‘Win?’ ” said Dean.

            “If there was a way we could just…put an end to all of it,” said Sam, staring off.

            “Is there something going on you’re not telling me?” said Dean instantly.

            “No,” said Sam.

            “Sammy,” warned Dean.

            “No. Look, I’m just saying I wish there was a way we could go after the source,” huffed Sam. “That’s it. Cut the head off the snake?”

            “That’s a lot of heads,” said (Y/N).

            “…Yeah,” said Sam.

            “Sammy, we both know there’s one way this ends,” said Dean. Sam nodded slowly, head hanging lower.

            “…How old do hunters get? Normally?” said (Y/N) quietly.

            Sam and Dean exchanged a look. (Y/N) knew that meant old was often not applied to a hunter. They nodded.

            “Don’t worry, kid,” said Dean. “You got some time on you.”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. Hopefully, this kid made it. He couldn’t lead a kid to death.

            Dean cleared his throat. “What if you track down Jay? We know all we can about the tarot card.”

            Sam nodded, glad to focus on the case. “Yeah.”

            “Okay,” said (Y/N).

l

            “Hey,” said Sam, walking into a hotel with (Y/N). Dean had called with news—Jeb, the magician they’d seen pretending to be possessed, was dead. Another vic.

            “What happened?” said (Y/N), eyes following the stretched with the body wrapped in a body bag.

            “Maid found Jeb hanging from the ceiling fan,” said Dean. He looked at (Y/N). “Police thinks it was a suicide, but…I beg to differ.” He held up a tarot card. The Hanged Man. “You were right, (Y/N). A vic to match the trick. It’s death transference with a tool.”

            (Y/N) was oddly glad they were right, even if it meant another victim to prove it. It meant they could track down the cause now. It meant (Y/N) was getting better at hunting.

            “Any connection between the victims?” said Sam.

            “Jeb was a total douchebag to Jay yesterday,” said Dean.

            “What about the first vic, uh, Vance?” said Sam.

            “Asked around. Apparently, Vance was heckling Jay at the bar the day he was killing,” said Dean, grinning. Direct connections to the man making the comeback of a lifetime.

            “Okay, so Jay sneaks a card into Vance’s pocket, doe the Table of Death—”

            “—And Vance takes ten swords to the chest,” finished Dean.

            “Jay slips a noose; Jeb doesn’t,” said (Y/N). They paused. “I wonder if he’s an experienced witch. I’d guess no. He seemed really nervous onstage. He’s probably not sure if the magic’ll work.”

            “Good,” said Dean. “Easier to kill witches who don’t know what they’re doing.”

            “Let’s go and talk to him,” said Sam.

            “Any luck tailing him?” asked Dean.

            “He slipped us,” said (Y/N). They made a face. “Magicians.”

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[mzminola]

Library had the collected run of Chip Zdarsky's Batman: The Knight. Really enjoyed it! Every character used and story arc felt like it fit or built on the Batman themes well. Paris arc in particular set up for what we know is coming with Bruce empathizing with and taking in other orphans, without making blatant reference.

Props to Carmine Di Giandomenico's art! Wonderful use of shadows, and Bruce visually ages from teenager to settled adult subtly, I found myself flipping back to earlier pages for comparison.

Appreciated the sparse use of time markers, and all the ones we get being vague, with occasional references to teachers we didn't see in the gaps. Leaves a lot of room for future writers to add characters and stories in that era.

Amused that Bruce has a friend called Dana and uses the fake name Jack. Twice can be coincidence (how many Helena's are there?) but if we get a Janet I'm going to call shenanigans.

I think my only complaints are that the League arc felt a bit rushed, and while I understood 'Anton''s overall aims, some of his specific choices were so opaque they kicked me out of the story a little. What's going on in your head, man? What are you trying to do here?

Did a really good job explaining why Bruce is not going to learn magic. Like, Bruce is trying to be the Best At Everything, as soon as he discovers magic is real he wants to learn it, of course he does. But from a meta-narrative standpoint, if Batman is a magic user he stops being Batman, so we need an in-universe reason for him not to. The reasons the Zataras each give made a lot of sense, emphasized the story's themes, and didn't get us bogged down.

The end of the story with Giovanni & Zatanna Zatara did make me cry. The emphasis on memory there also set up for some may their memories be a blessing feelings about Bruce's specific thoughts about his parents as individuals. Martha enjoying his singing leading to those metaphors about his life as a song, Thomas being a doctor while Bruce is stitching himself up and refusing to kill.

"Who do you think you are?!" "I'm the son of a doctor. I save lives - I don't take them."

[thenexusofsouls]

"Understand... each other..." Xenos concluded. Perhaps that really was a large reason why they seemed to be connecting so well after such a short amount of time, the fact that they both saw life from similar perspectives, having been treated in similar ways. He also understood not being in full control of one's abilities.

Xenos had a good handle on his powers now, but that was after centuries of acclimation and practice. When he was first trapped inside a human body, however, everything functioned differently. The way he called his magic was different. The way it felt, coursing through him. Even what he could do had changed. Some abilities had been lost while others were strengthened, and still others seemed to develop over time, as a result of him gradually becoming permanently bonded to his physical shell. It took him a long time to master his magic again in that new and unwanted existence. "Maybe... I could help?" he asked, his hand laying over his chest. "Practice? Together? Could learn... from each other," he suggested.

While he really didn't understand liking loud noises, he did understand the concept of having something to focus on other than panic or fear. He'd experienced that before. Just today, in fact, as Wanda had helped him several times to focus on her instead of on what was scaring or overwhelming him. Xenos nodded in agreement. "Understandable," he admitted. He nodded again to hear that her friends were act first ask questions later group. "Want to protect... humans. I know," he said, surprisingly having empathy for their treatment of him even if he didn't like it. "Better... to be unkind... to protect... than to be... unkind... to harm," he said with a shrug. If they were jerks about saving the world, at least they were saving it, and not trying to kill and destroy.

Xenos slowly opened his hands when Wanda laid hers on top of them, parting them like the pages of an imaginary book. Seeing that she trying to lace her fingers together with his, Xenos moved to slip off his gloves once more, setting them beside him on the bench. Then he put his hand right back where they had been, inviting Wanda do as she did before, but this time feel his actual hands. When she did, he turned to look at her and smiled. Just that simple gesture was enough to soothe whatever anxiety had surfaced as he'd explained how he happened to exist in this plane. One of his hands laced his fingers together with hers while the other laid over the back of her hand.

When she asked her next questions, he chose to answer the second one first, since that was much shorter of an explanation. "Just... wandering. Lonely. Wanted... to see... something new. Made a... mistake. Would... have left. Needed... to... calm myself... first." Hence the dome, but that hadn't gone according to plan either.

With regard to his face, Xenos reached up and touched the edge of his dangling hood before laying it back down over Wanda's. "Many reasons," was his short but cryptic answer. He gathered his thought before replying in more detail. "Sound... overwhelms. Light can too. Helps... to dim... everything," he said, though that was more a reason for wearing the hood, not necessarily for hiding his face. He had reasons for that too, though. "My... natural form... No eyes. No... Nothing... to be seen. In... Invisible. Others... could not... stare. With eyes... the stares... are..." He searched for the word. "Unsettling." He lifted his hand again to lift the fabric of his hood a bit so that Wanda could see through it as he did. "I... can see. They... cannot." he explained, gesturing outward and then inward. "Safer. Feels... safer... to me."

On to the next reason. "This face... is not mine. Belongs... to a human. Never... met. Never... asked permission... to have... his face. Feels wrong... to... put out... to..." Another pause to search for the right word. "...display... someone's face... as my own... without... permission." He wished he had known the man who used to own the body he now inhabited. Xenos wondered if the man would've been alright with him using his body. He assumed not.

And now, the last reason, for which he let go of Wanda's hands, and after a deep breath and a sigh to steady his nerves and prepare for the brightness of daylight, he reached up and drew back the hood, just to the middle of his head. He would've felt too exposed to push it all the way back, but this was enough for Wanda to see the whole of his face and some of his hair. His hair was long to his jawline, dark and curly, and his facial hair was kept trimmed short. Unlike the unnatural black color of his hands and forearms, his skin tone on his face, neck, and chest indicated that the man whose body he had inhabited could have been of darker-skinned Spanish descent, perhaps. He was, by human standards, likely considered rather handsome by most... but for his eyes. And that was the final problem with showing his face.

"Also... you see?" he asked her, gesturing towards his eyes, the irises of which were a faintly glowing red color. Not only that, but his pupils were a bit strangely shaped, more almond than perfectly round. "My eyes... cause fear... in humans. They see... and they think... evil. Demon. And they... attack. Or... just..." He thought for a moment. "Hate." He shrugged rather sadly and reached up with a mind to draw his hood down where it had been. "So... I hide."

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[smile-files]

HELP???

[andi-o-geyser]

“we’re doing another groundbreaking storyline with batman fighting his greatest enemy, the joker-” pack it up.

[phoenixcatch7]

Cap should be allowed to teleport to the rock with his transformation lightning. I mean that's where it's coming from, after all.

He would use it to get out of so many situations XD.

Batman: captain, do you have a minute to stay after this meeting?

Billy, going to be late for school if he doesn't hup to: um haha sorry the wizard wants me back at the rock I'm already pushing it hahaSHAXAM

The wizard, looking up from his orb: *raises an eyebrow*

Cap, transforming back with more lightning and rushing for his bag: I'm sorry I'm sorry Mrs Ermine is going to KILL me if I'm late again this week!

The wizard, to his rapidly retreating back: this is the seventh time this month you've used me as an excuse.

Billy, halfway down the hall of sins, voice echoing: I said I'm sorrrryyyyyyy!!

Batman, left all the way on the watchtower: :|

[lastoneout]

Grandpa Joe Defense: The only answer needed is that his miraculous recovery is a metaphor for how having something to live for can genuinely improve one's health and that things were so shitty for so long just the chance of seeing where the magic comes from can give someone a new lease on life, but also oh my god he spends the entire song nearly falling over and he needs a cane for the rest of the film, plus the job market/economy is so fucked even a chocolate bar or pinch of tobacco is outside of their means, who tf is going to hire a 70+ y/o man who needs a cane to walk and hasn't had a job in decades?? Plus being able to go on a tour of a factory for a day is not the same as being able to work a job. Like it's not that deep, this is a comically simple metaphor, but y'all sound like those people that insist someone being able to go out for dinner or sit up and play video games means they aren't really disabled. Fuckin' ableist nonsense.

Rose Defense: It's a fucking tragedy of COURSE Jack dies, like wtf y'all gotta stop trying to solve tragedies, they aren't puzzles, they're fucking sad and people die and that's the point!! The movie establishes that they can't both fit on the door frame, IDC what math or the Mythbusters say, if the film shows the wood not holding them then it won't hold them. And this criticism always blames Rose like it wasn't JACK who made the decision to not try climbing on again. (Plus a deleted scene shows that people were killing each other over the few things there one could use to float. He didnt try again in part because he could fight people off easier from the water but that was a deleted scene so I'll let it go.)

But fr why are you blaming Rose for his choice, especially when the film made it clear she was ready to die there with him, he was the one demanding she save herself. The entire story was Jack giving Rose a reason to keep living and the will to follow through when all she wanted to do was die. How are y'all missing the point this badly. Jack isn't the MC, Rose is, the story is about her, and again, I cannot stress this enough, SHE SPENT THE MAJORITY OF THE FILM DEEPLY SUICIDAL DUE TO THE FINANCIAL, EMOTIONAL, AND PHYSICAL ABUSE SHE WAS CONSTANTLY FACING FROM HER MOTHER AND FIANCÉ, and JACK was her only life-line, she SAYS AS MUCH, HE SAVED HER IN EVERY WAY A PERSON CAN BE SAVED, SHE SAYS THAT. And like fuck, even IF the board could have held them both, then it's even more of a tragedy because Rose was not in control of Jack's actions. He could have tried again and he didn't because he was prioritizing saving her, as he has been THE WHOLE FILM. That's not on her.

This shit is just SO transparently misogynistic which makes sense given the fatphobia and misogynistic hate Kate Winslet was getting from the public and also the abuse she faced on set and I hate seeing it constantly treated as fact that she just let Jack die because she was a selfish rich girl. Y'all hate women so much it makes you stupid.

Anyway sorry I get so heated about Rose but Grandpa Joe also gets done dirty and it's honestly really obnoxious. Please actually pay attention to movies when you watch them ffs, and if you won't don't go acting like you did and making up bullshit that the text contradicts and spreading it around like it's true. God it's annoying.

Grandpa Joe from Willy Wonka 1971 🤝 Rose from Titanic: Being seen as selfish due to piss on the poor reading comprehension and general bigotry directed at disabled people and women respectively.

[artuurle]

You will come home one day and realize that they took everything from you, even the ability to recognize yourself in the mirror.

You're just the abandoned shell of someone who was loved. All the people who loved you are dead.

[eatsbooks]

31

31. Which brother (besides Lucien or Eris) is your favorite?

this is honestly so much tougher to answer than i was expecting it to be. i think marius, but emile is a really close second. mostly because they're the most compelling and make me the saddest to think about. marius and his half-life, carrying a dead body around with him forever, wanting more than anything to be reunited with his twin but not being able to do that to the family he has left; emile who will never be enough, not to himself or anyone else, no matter how hard he tries and tries and tries, who can do nothing to stop himself from destroying everything around him over it. i'm sick actually

[azierum]

i love cooking up oc lore. it makes me so giddy coming up with good ideas. usually from the most random inspiration