#I did this entirely on my new screen tablet and oh my lord I’m not used to it at allSKDJSKDSJDNS

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Eusine being one of the most stacked units in pokemas will forever be the funniest thing to me because everytime I send him out I just imagine it like

Directly based on this;

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hiii, how about writing some fluff about Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying? The rest is up to you. I’m missing Poe as well :,)))

Baby Wings

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: Nothing!

A/N: I might consider writing this on my tablet because lord help me, typing these out on a tiny phone screen is not good for my hands! 😩

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering inside of your belly as Poe Dameron--the Poe Dameron--leaned into your cockpit to point out the controls of your new X-Wing.

You had just been appointed to his squadron as a fledgling pilot. You had originally been a smuggler that the Resistance hired routinely, and apparently, a flight maneuver you performed in a dogfight with a few weequay pirates got Poe's attention.

If you could fly like that in an old hunk of clunk freighter, how would you do in something designed for finer maneuvers, for dogfights?

How good would your skills be against the First Order?

Your senses were currently buzzing as everything Poe invaded the cramped space. The smell of oxidized metal, or smoke and ozone from patching up hull breaches and walls to the base; the smell of sweat and cheap juice he'd downed before spotting you in the hangar and rushing over to offer his "expertise".

He wasn't looking at you, he was practically laying on you, actually; as he supported his weight on the console with one hand and pointing out the dials, buttons, levers and latches you'd need to memorize to control your new fighter.

His face had thin rivulets of sweat trickling down his gloriously almost-olive skin, his dark raven curls falling around his face, clumped with excess sweat. His suit was soaked too, the orange having dark stains from the moisture his body was sweating out thanks to the damned heat of this Force-forsaken planet.

But honestly, you sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening for the heat, because you hoped--like some foolish schoolgirl with a crush on a galaxy-famous athlete--that Poe would get sick of the heat and tear off the top half of his suit to cool his heated skin.

You were so absorbed in staring at him, that you had almost entirely forgot to listen to him. You only realized your brain lapsed when he turned his head to smile that trademark grin of his, wrapping up his last sentence.

"...and then that's the yoke, obviously. Don't need to tell you that. Got it?"

"Wh--oh! Y-yep! Got it, commander..." You cough awkwardly, four fingers fiddling pointlessly with the controls.

"Kay, theeeeen..." He smirked at you from the corner of his eyes as he turned back to your control panel. "...repeat everything I just told you. Y'know... So I know my impeccable lessons stuck."

"I, uh--well, uh. This is the..." You began to blubber out, trying to find something you did know and give a quick, half-assed explanation on what it did.

Poe barked out a hearty belly laugh, "Don't even bother, darlin'... If you were paying attention... You'd know that I squeaked in a line about me being the former Emperor of Kashyyyk. And, as handsome as I am, unfortunately, I feel ike the wookies might have an issue with me wanting to claim the throne. ...If they even got one."

Your face flushed with color and you buried your face into your hands, "Stars, I am so sorry. I-I really was trying to pay attention, I just..."

"Got lost in all this--" He leaned back to gesture to his messy, sweaty form. "--primal, god-like, drop-dead gorgeous attractiveness?"

From the bottom of his ladder, you could hear BB-8 tweet out a response that called Poe out. You swore you could make out "nerf-herder" and "Hutt's armpit" in-between his refuting whistles and beeps.

Poe leaned back on the ladder and frowned at his round companion, "Hey, you little womp-rat! I will have you know a lot of people find me handsome!"

BB-8 once again doubted that claim, your abilities once again picking out few choice words such as; "drunkards", "a blind quarren" and "brain-dead jawa".

You need to laugh at their bickering overpowered your embarrassed, darkened cheeks and you titter and snort at what little you could pick ou.

Poe looked at you with a playful scowl, "What're you giggling about?"

You cover your mouth and point down at BB, who tweeted as he spun in a circle.

Poe looked between you and BB, his jaw going slack as his amber eyes looked to the both of you in disbelief.

He finally looked back at you for a final time, pointing at you.

"You," He pointed down at BB-8. "Can understand him?"

You rub the back of your neck. "W-well sort of... I spent a lot of my childhood working in a droid repair shop, and--"

Poe clapped, whooping happily, "Oh, I knew I liked you! Finally, somebody else who can hear what this little metal butterball is shouting at me! You'd be surprised at how many people don't understand droids!"

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "...Sometimes I think they're the lucky ones."

BB-8 twittered and shrieked a response, beeping rapidly in an irritated manner, making Poe laugh once again.

Finally, he leaned into the cockpit once more, winking at you.

"C'mon, darlin'... let's go over this again so the info soaks up into that pretty little brain o' yours. And if you do a good enough job on the pop quiz... maybe we can hit the local cantina!"

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 15

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 15

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

The book was incredibly interesting. It was written in some dialect of Mandarin. Many things were also covered in The Grimoire but several stories told there were previously completely unknown. It seemed like it was written after the other book and while the first was entirely encyclopedical, this one contained detailed stories from several time periods. What got Ladybug’s attention was that many of them were diary excerpts. 

One of the most important elements was a story about the seventeenth-century villain, Lord of Butterflies, who came to the colonial city of Gotham and tried to take control of the settlement. He was a master of deception and almost succeeded. Ladybug and Black Cat of that time never appeared. Another story told about their involvement in the Thirty Years’ War in continental Europe, where they were hunting the Snake and Bee Miraculous users that tried to manipulate the conflict. Luckily for Gotham, a witch hunter named Malleus opposed him and used jars with symbols engraved on the walls to keep the butterflies locked away so they could not wreak havoc again. The book told of the power struggle until finally, after the burning of Raphael Dent, a longtime friend of Malleus, the attacks stopped. Most people thought that the problem was over, but from the looks of it, the author of that book tried to imply that Lord of Butterflies just bid his time, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. 

Ladybug read the story twice, trying to figure out the fate of all the corrupted Butterflies or the jars, but she got nothing. Maybe if they figured out what symbols kept the akumas in, she could experiment with warding the butterflies away. It could be a breakthrough!

While she was browsing the book, Black Cat eyed the teens. “Shouldn’t you people scramble for classes?”

“Nope!” The little one, Maps, grinned. “The new school policy. In case of a supervillain attack on campus, the rest of the classes that day are canceled to avoid additional stress to students. It’s nice they care about our mental health.” 

“Yeah… Dude,” Colton looked at Black Cat, “any chance you can tell me what tech your staff uses?”

“Tt. It’s magic.” 

“No, seriously, I suppose it could be an organic metal of some sort, but it’s able to perfectly support your weight at the same time.” 

“Magic.” The vigilante-turned-hero growled.

“Come on! Don’t do it to me, man! Pom won’t let me live it down!”

“I told you magic was real!” The teen was glaring at him with a smirk on her face.

“Tt. Don’t play with magic or you’ll get burnt.” He scoffed. 

“Don’t be a grumpy cat!” Ladybug called from over the book. “Silverlock… Why does it sound so familiar…”

“Did you say Silverlock?” One of the teens peaked. “I’m Olive Silverlock.”

“Bellatrix Silverlock was the only akuma from that period mentioned here by name… I wonder why… Ugh! I can’t decipher that part. It’s too old and damaged.” The heroine groaned. “Cat! We should move back to the base.” She pulled a pair of glasses from her yo-yo and put them on. “Tikki! Kaalki! Merge!” 

As soon as the light of transformation died, a portal consumed both superheroes and the book, leaving the teens alone in the dark library.

-----------

Sabine paced around the manor in the foul mood she was in ever since she sent the kids on their way after initiation and returned home for some long-deserved rest. Half-way home, she received a phone-call from Chloé saying that Marinette was crying in the bathroom with her over another girl that threatened her. The only thing that stopped Sabine from turning around and possibly crashing the car through the front gates was her daughter begging her not to.

She admired that her little girl tried to resolve the problems herself and she didn’t want to come off as overbearing and intruding. It wouldn’t stop her from preparing for if it seemed too much for her sunshine. She made a mistake with Lila. This time, she would be ready. But first, she needed tools. 

“Tom! Where is my suit?!” She called out to her husband, who was happily baking in the kitchen. He finally managed to kick Alfred out and get control. Sabine laughed when the butler, passing her, revealed that he let him win. 

“I think Bruce wanted to put it in the vault, together with the bag!” The large man answered with a merry tone. 

“Thank you, honey! I think I’ll be going out for a while!” 

“Be safe!”

Finally having a direction, she stormed toward the vault. It was hidden under the stairs, where one had to first enter a secret passage, only to then open a door in the wall.

When she opened the doors and looked inside, her first instinct was to immediately go into a battle stance.

It looked like a tornado passed through the room, which was supposed to be neatly ordered. All the documents were scattered, two priceless artifacts got destroyed and every drawer was pulled out. Inside the wall opposite to the doors, someone made a giant hole. The concrete was shattered and the metal reinforcement cage was pulled apart. 

Warily, Sabine approached the hole. Once she got closer, she could take a better look at the reinforcement. What got her attention was the way it was bent. Someone grabbed it and ripped it apart. The hole itself also revealed a small rectangular area that was used to hide something. A secret buried so deeply it was frozen inside a wall of a hidden vault inside a hidden corridor in one of the best-guarded buildings in Gotham.

“Oh for crying out loud! I just wanted my suit…” She threw her hands up. 

---------

More or less at the same time, Tim had a lazy day at the cave. He didn’t need to return to Wayne Enterprises for at least another week. He tried to solve a cold case, using the updated list of secret powers Sabine provided him. He and Bruce were both worried about how much had escaped them. Neither considered Luxembourg Secret Service to be capable of ordering a hit on a hitman that was after their Duke. And hire Lady Shiva nonetheless. 

He just got himself a new cup of coffee when suddenly, a portal appeared in the middle of the cave and dropped two superheroes and a book on a podium. The Cat landed on his feet while Ladybug fell on her rear with a soft thud. Startled, Tim dropped his mug and the coffee spilled all around him.

“Could you not!?” He shouted, a bit embarrassed that they got a drop on him so easily. 

“Tt. Shut up replacement.” Cat growled. He and Marinette dropped their transformations and she proceeded to feed Tikki with some cookies while he reluctantly pulled a small, isolated box from his pocket and gave Plagg a bit of cheese. 

“We’ve got plenty of new material after the last akuma attack. I’ve sent you a picture of a woman using the Peacock Miraculous and we’ve got an essential book.” She walked over to the bat computer. “It appears that they used the distraction the akuma caused to infiltrate the place.”

“I’m not sure, Angel.” Damian was busy with the other screen, trying to attach the tablet to it. The deciphering system managed to unlock it already and while he waited for the system to scan for any traps, he browsed the photos. “From the look of it, she only got two or three pages before we ambushed her. She must’ve arrived shortly before us or couldn’t find it for a long time. I would hazard a guess that she didn’t know about it.”

“But… That would mean she was at school when… but how would she… No! The only other person that heard about the book was Erica.”

“Maybe not. She could’ve been there trying to get some information on us.”

“But how did she get there before us?”

“Tt. It’s not like the Detective Club was in any hurry.” He huffed. 

“Um… That’s all great and all, but what the bat are you talking about?” Tim asked, trying to get between the married couple. 

“We had an akuma attack at school. Damian earned detention for calling Hammerhead old while out of the suit. After we dealt with the akuma we learned about this book,” she pointed at the podium. “We went to check it and found the new Peacock trying to photograph as much as she could. We stole her tablet and kicked her backside.” Marinette beamed. 

Their discussion was interrupted when Sabine stormed inside the cave. “I need security feed from the Gala. Someone trashed the Wayne Vault and stole some box!” She shouted at Tim. “Oh! Hi Sweetie. Go change out of the uniform and we will get tea in a minute.” She smiled at her daughter. Except it was not as genuine as her usual smile. It felt much more forced. 

“Maman. I would love to, but maybe let’s deal with the break-in first?”

“We must wait for Bruce to get back anyway. He took Cass to the ballet class today. My turn will be on Thursday.” 

She pulled the video feed from the camera that overlooked the entrance to the corridor that led to the Vault. She put it on double speed and watched various guests hang around and talk. They usually had a glass of champagne. Suddenly, Marinette lunged and pressed the pause button.

“Him!” She pointed to a younger man with jet black hair and a white mask that covered the upper part of his face. His hair was neatly combed back with no small amount of hair gel, enough that it shined in the camera. 

“He doesn’t stand out really…” Tim scanned the image. 

“The bracelet!” She seethed. “I can’t believe that bastard still carries the bracelet.”

“Tt. I can cut it off next time I see him.” Damian offered before muttering “Together with the arm.” Luckily for him, Marinette had more pressing matters than stopping his murderous instincts.

“So Agreste somehow got inside during the Gala. It’s maybe an hour before the akuma attack.” They continued to watch as he chatted with people nearby. Finally, when they left, he slipped inside the secret passage. They switched to the camera inside, only for it to then be destroyed by a cane. The one inside the vault was a bit farther away, so before it was destroyed they got a good look at the boy. 

The male figure had a dark purple suit with the signature butterfly brooch pinned to the top of the shirt. His chest was protected by two black flaps that looked a bit like the moth wings. In his black gloves, he held a cane topped with a purple orb. The face was covered by a simple domino mask that did nothing to hide the mane of blonde hair on top of his head.

“At least we know that he inherited his father’s lack of taste. At least his mask isn’t…” Marinette stopped herself when Damian poked her side and pointed toward the glass cabinet inside which the first Red Robin uniform was. Its mask was pretty close to what Gabriel wore. “Oh… Nevermind.”

Tim was clearly unamused. 

“This is still important. We’ve got a first look at his transformation. We can set cameras to, in addition to akuma tracing, scan for him personally.”

“I don’t think it would do much good. The image wasn’t the best.”

“But how did he avoid the scanners?” 

“Alfred was busy, tracking a suspicious blonde with bi-colored eyes. She was supposed to have messed too close to the kitchen for his liking.” Tim explained.

“I remember her. She said something to me. ‘You’re far from victory yet’. I considered it suspicious, but in the whirlwind of the following events, the meeting slipped my mind.”

“You! The great Damian Wayne forgot a crucial detail!?” Tim laughed. “This is gold! I need to mark the date on my calendar!”

“Tt. And I need a set of matches.” The youngest Wayne growled. 

“So we’ve got another suspect on the list?” 

“It’s getting complicated. First the vault, then the book… Hawkmoth was narrow-minded in his goals. Create akumas, have them hunt Ladybug and Chat Noir, take the Miraculous.” Marinette collapsed on the nearby chair. “Adrien is… he’s more organized. He’s got a plan. He’s not after the Miraculous. Or rather not directly. There is something else he’s trying to find. I’m just not sure what…”

“The history of Gotham is filled with so many mysteries that we wouldn’t even have any idea where to begin.” Tim wasn’t helpful. At all.

“We know they stole something from Wayne Vault and used the akuma as a distraction to carry it away. Then, they attacked the school. What could be at Gotham Academy that they had a personal interest in?”

“The book?”

“I don’t think they knew about it. The attack on the Academy could’ve been to test our abilities.” 

Tikki and Plagg floated to the group. “Gotham is a dark place.” Ladybug Kwami started. “There are so many things in this city…”

“What about the Bat miraculous, cookie?” Plagg asked. “I mean where else would it be but Gotham?”

“Bat… Miraculous…” Time starred at the two mini-gods. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. Balla is the Kwami of clarity.” Tikki nodded. “The Bat Miraculous gives the wearer supernatural perception and near-precognition.”

“What?” Marinette asked, not sure what the word was supposed to mean.

“They can see the immediate future.” Her mother clarified for her. 

“Is it possible they are after the Bat…” she tried to imagine what jewelry would be associated with bats. Tikki came to help. 

“It’s the belt buckle.”

“Tt. Bat Buckle?” Damian raised an eyebrow. “Whoever made the Miraculous had a great sense of humor.” 

“Okay. But we still need to figure out their next step…”

“Sweetie? Maybe you focus on school and let me deal with this?” Sabine asked after a moment. 

“But… I’m the Guardian.”

“And you’re also a teenager.” Her mother countered. “I’m not trying to replace you or keep you on the sidelines. I am your mom though. Teenage years are supposed to be the best in your life. You should be dating, spending time with friends. Exploring the world. Nowhere on that list is fighting against a mad terrorist.” 

“But… but… I can’t just sit back while you fight!” 

“You can still fight. And help.” Sabine tried again. “I just don’t want you to devote all your time to this. You can leave the investigation to me, Bruce and Tim and enjoy the time with friends; Or design; Or take Damian on dates.” 

“Tt. It’s my duty to take her on dates.”

“Dream on, grumpy cat.” Marinette booped his nose and giggled at the face he made.

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

Masterlist // Next

[cassiusdebeaumont]

Sunday Evening--A Chat with the Devil

Asim did not drive. Not ever. Not since Jasper Alabama in nineteen sixty eight and everyone had agreed to never discuss that incident. It had taken Collins three weeks before he could eat a hamburger again and Asim had ended up with way more saplings than even he suspected possible. Cassius was not inconvenienced except he knew what happened and the entire story had given him a headache.

So, no, Asim did not drive. Driving was a nightmare when you had omnipotence primarily because omnipotence was a game of statistics. Free Will caused the future to look less like a straight and narrow path and more like a toddler had gotten hold of a marker and a wall. When you combined that with roads full of drivers and passengers and pedestrians and overpasses and godsdamned cows and tree farmers....you got one wolf headed god that didn’t fucking drive.

So, since the country house had gotten overrun by the Lady in Tan's best of the worst, Asim had stuck to the city. Besides, even if he could drive, he wouldn’t have left the hospital. Marcy was here and, wherever she was, that was where he wanted to be.

Unless Marcy's company was Collins--which, this evening, it was. And unless the daytime nurse Allison gave him a hotel room number... which she did. Asim knew by the way her blue eyeshadow went up to her eyebrows and she smelt strongly of hairspray and cheap perfume that she was his type of woman. So, around the time Cassius was catching fireflies with Marian, Asim opted to leave Marcy in Collins' company to see how flexible a certain nurse was.

Despite being The Great Adversary and The Downfall of all Mankind to Marcy's religion, Collins was currently sitting beside her on the hospital bed because the couch was uncomfortable. He did not find the bed to be all that much more comfortable but at least it was closer to the television speakers. And the snacks. 

Collins and Marcy had been busy eating their weight in junk food for the past hour and a half. Their night had begun with Collins bringing dinner from the Brazillian Steak House down the way along with a bag so full of junk food it would make Halloween envious. Marcy's face was still swollen albeit a bit less like a pumpkin and more like some other small gourd. It was tapped and bandaged with a plastic guard around what they had been able to save of her nose and right cheekbone. One eye was still slightly red and she had a constant headache although she kept that to herself. Collins thought she looked a bit like The Invisible Man meets The Mummy but kept that to himself....for the first ten minutes anyway. He hadn’t figured out how to bring it up in conversation before then.

After Collins had finished his steak and Marcy had managed what she could of mushroom ravioli; the chocolate had been broken into and Collins had demanded she share the bed as they watched Mean Girls play on the television. The two made casual conversation.

"You know," Collins licked the last bit of chocolate pudding from his spoon. "I know some very good plastic surgeons. The best money can buy."

"I don’t have any money." Marcy admitted.

"No? Does Cassius not pay you?"

"He does but I donate it to the church."

"All of it?" Collins raised both brows now in surprise and looked away from the television to the girl beside him. "Marcy, do you mean to tell me you've never kept any of it? Not a dime?"

"Nope." She popped the ending of the word on her lips.

For a pause, Collins said nothing but allowed this new knowledge to sink in. He considered the seventeen year old beside him. "Marcy, you're too pure for this world."

She laughed.

"No, I mean it. Too pure. Well, don’t worry. You wont have to pay the surgeons. I've got it handled."

"I cant accept money from the god of temptation, Mr. Collins." She spoke as if he should know better.

"That's where you're in luck. Its Asim’s money. I nicked his card on the way in." Marcy laughed again and Collins grinned. "What? It's not like he’s doing anything with it. Spending his money on you will be a vastly better expenditure than whatever he has planned." He sighed and waved his spoon. "I know, I know, you think I'm hopeless."

"No one is without hope, Mr. Collins."

"Even carnations of evil?" He smiled.

"The word is incarnation and yes, even evil." Marcy attempted to grin back.It was a painful expression but Collins didn’t voice this.

"Oh, you've been hanging around Cassius for too long. Correcting me on my words? I take everything back. Shrug your face. I'll spend Asim's money on new shoes."

Marcy giggled louder. It ended with a sigh and her eyes glancing down into her own pudding cup. She scooped a bit of what Hershey’s would declare as ‘smores flavor’ and brought it mindfully up to her lips. "...Do you think Lord De Beaumont would be angry if I got plastic surgery?"

"Why ever would he be?" Collins frowned. His eyes back on the television, he watched Tina Fey make a shirtless embarrassment of herself.

"Because of vanity. Wouldn’t it be egotistical? I mean, he must have wanted this to happen to me or else he would have prevented it. I'm supposed to learn something...." Her voice trailed. This conversation was digging into a new worry she hadn’t voiced to anyone; not even Asim and she told most things to Asim. Still, she had known Collins almost her entire life and she felt he would understand this topic more than anyone else.

"And you think you wont be able to learn it if we put a nose back on your face?" Collins, still looking at the television screen and ignoring the way her voice trailed, offered a tone that proclaimed she should hear how silly she sounded. "Darling, everyone needs a nose. If you're that worried about it, pick an ugly nose. Be the next Chloe Ferry."

"...Maybe they could reconstruct everything but keep my scars? Or maybe that's a bad idea...I don’t want to be a distraction in Lord De Beaumont's meetings."

"Distraction?" Blinking in confusion, Collins turned his head to see Marcy looking hopelessly into her pudding cup. Her eyes were welling in tears her body ached too much to cry. He realized, as egotistical as she felt to admit it, she worried she would be too hideous to manage professionalism. Out of everything she could possibly worry about, Marcy worried about being a disservice and distraction to her deity. He imagined that must ache at her because followers of The Divine Couple truly believed that, if any bad happened, it happened because it was allowed. They believed they would be protected otherwise and any struggle was a lesson. To a girl who had decided to dedicate her life in service of her deity, to worry about being a problem due to her injury meant she was doubting Cassius’ judgment. He imagined Marcy had far more on her mind than she was even brave enough to discuss...Especially if she was willing to vent to a god ‘intent’ on leading people astray. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Collins sighed through his nose before leaning over and pressing a kiss to her temple.

The action caused Marcy to blink in surprise.

"Cheer up, old girl. This too shall pass. And I promise you, Cassius does not give a shit what you look like. You're the only person in a hundred years that has kept up with his business without flopping. As long as you can operate that little bluetooth and tablet of yours, you could look like Sarah Jessica Parker and he would still adore you."

This time, Marcy laughed loud enough it hurt and caused another dose of morphine to be administered.

[pimpson18]

Month of the Sad Boy

I know this is tl;dr as heck but whatever, here you go.

In honor of #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, I decided to have probably the worst breakdown I've ever experienced in my life. I'm ok now, but I feel compelled to share my experience, because as much as I appreciate all the memes saying "It's ok to take a day off" and "Being Bipolar isn't just moodiness", I feel like it makes struggling with mental health issues feel "cute".

It feels like struggling with mental health is a brand that's being promoted. Burger King made freaking UNHAPPY MEALS for Christ's sake. Your brain might not be able to produce serotonin, but it's generating some great marketable content.

My Mental Health Awareness Month® started with the death of my grandmother. I tend to handle death and loss pretty well, but this absolutely wrecked me. At first, I thought this was because I had lost my final grandparent. An entire generation of my family was completely lost. Cue a heightened sense of mortality and existential dread.

This was also the first time I was over a thousand miles away from my family; Outside of reasonable driving range. Air travel costs $700-$1000 for a last minute ticket. Cue resentment and helplessness caused by capitalism and class struggles. It's reasonable that maybe my anxiety and depression would be heightened by this predicament.

Thanks to some help from my parents, I was able to make my way out to my grandmother's funeral and spend some time with my family. It felt nice spending time with them. We cried and laughed in equal measure. A salve filled the wound left behind from the loss. Healing had begun.

But something felt off.

My foundation had shifted.

In quiet moments, I felt fear. Not "ooohhh it's kinda dark and creepy in this room" fear, but "Dear lord the specter of death has their (that's right, death is a they. I'm progressive) hand around my heart" fear. I have never felt this way before. It was terrifying. I truly thought I was dead.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every second all I could think was, "You've lost your mind. You're dead. You'll never stop thinking like this. You've lost your mind. You're dead."

It was like The Tell Tale Heart but I hadn't murdered anyone. My only crime was being alive and having a brain.

There would be moments where I could distract myself. I could get caught up in a conversation, or watch something engaging enough on TV, but these moments were fleeting. I'd feel myself get pulled back in, the demons inside dragging me, clawing and screaming, back into the endless abyss. I’m not being melodramatic here. If this were an UNHAPPY MEAL, it would be the Supreme Deluxe Family-sized XXL Jumbo Anxiety Box with a Large Cup of Depression and a tote bag full of Chili Cries (Sorry, it was too easy).

The thoughts went on for weeks. It was constant. Each passing thought a stone piling on top of the last one, slowly crushing me. I was trapped inside of myself. It was the opposite of an out of body experience. I was withdrawing deeper and deeper, sanity slipping further and further out of reach. I was plummeting like a rat that had been given a pair of brand new concrete shoes.

During all of this, I was seeking the help of professionals. I’ve been seeking help since I moved out to DC. My wife (who is a saint deserving of a thousand Michelangelo murals) and I left hundreds of messages with psychiatrists. A few have gotten back. Most of them weren’t available for an appointment well into the fall. Nothing really soothes an anxious breakdown like sitting and waiting.

We kept searching. I tried getting a teleconference with a psychiatrist so I could get at least some temporary relief. The app my insurance provided me hooked me up with some dude who was holed up in Alaska. He was an older gent who could only seem to get his wispy white comb-over in the frame of my phone screen. I don’t remember his name, but he was very warm and considerate. He recommended I double the amount of Welbutrin I was taking to help curb my anxiety.

“Isn’t Welbutrin an upper? Won’t that actually make my anxiety worse?” I asked.

“It is an upper but it will actually help lower your anxiety.” He said comfortably from his remote psychiatric ward/icefishing hut in Alaska.

One of us was right, and it wasn’t the person who has a license to be a psychiatrist.

I receded further. The thoughts of death and insanity looping tighter and tighter around me like dual anacondas, preparing to swallow me whole like Jon Voight in the movie Anaconda, only I wasn’t going to pop back out and wink at Jennifer Lopez and Ice Cube. My wife consoled me as I sobbed in her arms, terrified I would never be able to enjoy another second with her ever again. This had been my life for two weeks, why would it ever stop?

My wife finally found me a psychiatrist who could see me immediately. A stroke of luck! She also found a therapist who specialized in CBT and sounded like a nice guy on the phone who could see me the same day. A two-for-one luck special!

The psychiatrist was part of a larger “mental healthcare group”. Whoa! Cool! It’s like they’re the Avengers of giving out happy pills!

Not really. It’s more like they’re brain farmers herding sad cattle into a slaughterhouse, grinding them into a bunch of manufactured Happy Paddies™. I got prodded into a cold, desolate office where a woman stared unblinkingly at a tablet, while she entered all my symptoms into some kind of program. The algorithm confirmed my medications were out of whack and suggested I #glowup the milligrams of my bipolar meds, while I cut down on the Welbutrin, which was not sparking my joy. The psychiatrist never made eye contact with me and the visit ended within 10 minutes. It was just like my wedding night, hey oh!

Next was the therapist. I thought I wanted eye contact until I saw this dude. He was 100 going on 100,000 years old. His eyes were bloodshot, his office smelled like soup, and his phone rang at least 20 times. It felt more like an interview to be his caretaker. I was so deep within my mind that I was about to fall down my throat and into my stomach.

The icing on the Shit Cake™ was when I mentioned that I did comedy (I can’t help but brag about myself, even when I’m completely collapsing. I’ll probably plug my Twitter page on my deathbed.). He stopped the therapy session and began plugging his side hustles. He mentioned that he did career counseling and could help me get gigs that paid upward of $40-$50 an hour. He also said I should bring by show flyers for him to look over. He dabbled in graphic design.

I was furious. Our session was 45 minutes in. I had opened up, cried, and begged for relief. He merely saw me as an opportunity. Someone he could upsell.

I had some choice words and stormed out.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I got in my car. They were bitter and hopeless.

At least I got a new prescription.

Turns out that was actually a decent enough solution. I’m 5 days into my new medication regiment and I’m close to normal again. The thoughts will pop up every now and then, but they’re faint and go away quickly. I’ve had two good days in a row. Feels like I’ll have a lot more.

The reason why I wrote all this is two-fold:

1. I like the attention

2. I wanted to show what the struggle looks like in all its ugly glory.

Depression, anxiety, bi-polar, etc. can be managed, fought back, and abated; sometimes for short periods of time, sometimes for years and years. It can be like a common cold or it can be full blown brain AIDS. You may need to take a mental health day; you might need to go to the ER.

Treatment can be as capricious as the sickness itself. You may feel safe, seen, and cared for. You might feel like a product on a conveyor belt, being inspected by an uncaring factory worker or gobbled up by an unqualified Lucille Ball (does this metaphor track? I think it does.)

Mental illness is hard because even the person suffering through it doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Sometimes all we need from others is to know that. Sometimes we might appreciate some effort, like going out and getting us an UNHAPPY MEAL™.

[petehparker]

Last Night

Prompt: can you do one where the reader is Tony's daughter but he doesn't know the reader and peter are together and he tries to set he reader up with a close friend or whatever and Peter gets jealous ??

Word Count: 1,793

A/N: Written by Claire xx

Your name: submit What is this?

 You wake up with your neck aching and your hand resting on something soft and warm. As your eyes slowly open and register your surroundings, you find yourself looking at the piles of books that you and Peter had abandoned during the night. Speaking of Peter, you were half tucked into his side, his slow breathing dusting the side of your neck.

You smiled softly, sitting up to move the books off of your bed and snuggle deeper into Peter, wrapping your arms around him and surrounding yourself with his warm scent.

The alarm comes on what feels like seconds later, jolting the two of you awake. Peter groans, rubbing his eyes. You’re already sitting up again, slamming your hand on the alarm to stop the obnoxious beeping as your heart rate begins to return to normal.

“What time is it?” He moaned, halfway through a yawn.

“Um,” you checked the clock. “6:30. You better get out of here before my dad gets up.”

Peter curses, beginning to gather his books from the floor and running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. You took a moment to appreciate him; the rising sun through the window painted him multiple shades of gold and his messy hair waved over his forehead. His voice was low with sleep, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked at you.

“I really didn’t mean to crash here last night, sorry Y/N.” You were already rolling his comments off.

“Oh, please, you know I never mind.” You grinned at him, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek.

Your smile was reciprocated on his face. “What time did we even fall asleep last night?”

You began tying your hair up, thinking back to the previous night. The last thing you remembered was leaning against the palm of your hand as your eyes began to shut with exhaustion, Peter’s fingers absentmindedly twisting a strand of your hair, listening to the gentle sound of his voice as he talked you through the equation again. “I have no idea.”

The sound of a door shutting heightened awareness in both of you as you exchanged wide-eyed looks. “I really gotta get out of here.” Peter finished cramming the last of his things into his backpack, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning to leave. You grabbed his wrist before he could leave, pulling him in for a sweet kiss before pressing your forehead to his.

“I had a nice time last night, Parker.”

“I’ll see you at school, Y/N. But now I really have to go, you know I don’t want to but if Tony Stark catches me in his daughter’s bedroom this early in the morning, we’ll have some problems.”

You laughed, pushing his chest away. “I’ll see you later, Spiderman.”

The last thing you saw before Peter’s head disappeared behind your door was his blinding smile, dimples and all, before he was gone.

By the time you came into the kitchen, coffee was already waiting for you on the counter. Your father was seated, scrolling through the news on his tablet. “Late morning, Y/N?” He didn’t even have to look up.

You grimaced. “Yeah, big science test today. I stayed up to study.” You sipped your coffee, reaching to grab cereal from the cabinet.

“You didn’t forget about tonight, did you?” You freeze, looking questioningly at him.

“Tonight?”

“The Thompson’s are coming over tonight, we have to talk business but they have a son for you to entertain.”

You made a face. “Entertain?”

Your father shrugged at you, his familiar boyish smile tugging at his lips. “One way or another, he needs to be distracted. I’ve heard he grew into quite a handsome young man, who knows what could happen?”

“Dad...” You groan, nudging his shoulder with yours. Ever since you had asked him to not be opposed to the idea of you dating, he had done a complete 180 and insisted on “looking out” for you everywhere he could, doing everything short of designing your dating profile.

If only he knew that you were dating possibly the only boy that he wouldn’t want you to date.

***

The dinner was going fine, if not achingly slowly. Harry, the son that was supposedly your age, turned out to be a year older. He was actually quite good-looking, with strong features, and might even have been your type if he hadn’t had all the personality of wet cardboard. He didn’t seem to really want to discuss anything with you other than his mission trip to Haiti and his future in his father’s business, but he smiled along nicely enough to hear your own ideas on what you wanted to do after school.

After dinner, Tony took Harry’s parents into his study for “adult mumbo jumbo”, as he so fondly referred to it, leaving you and Harry in the living room alone. You wanted desperately to take off the unfortunate heels you had chosen for the occasion, but Harry’s stiff gaze didn’t quite make you feel comfortable enough to do so.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You suggested, your cheeks almost hurting from the smile you had glossed over it. You were desperate to avoid struggling through more discussion.

“Yes, I would love that. Do you have any documentaries you would like to watch?”

You half thought he was joking, but his choice of a political documentary about George W. Bush’s presidency proved you wrong. You weren’t sure if it was your late night with Peter catching up to you, or just the nature of your ever-so-boring company, but you felt yourself becoming more and more exhausted.

When the doorbell rang, you were more than excited to answer. “I’ll get it!” You announced, although Harry hardly glanced at you and you weren’t entirely sure who else would answer it. You checked the monitor on your way to the door and were surprised to find your boyfriend on the screen.

You swung the door open excitedly, already feeling your mood brighten at the thought of even a few minutes in Peter’s company.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” You felt frenzied, almost too excited to have an excuse to leave Harry.

“Oh, uh, I was just testing these for your dad and he said I could drop them off today, I just got off work.” Peter held up a bag, presumably of new tech for his suit. “What’s the occasion?” His eyes roamed over your makeup, stronger than it had been at school, and the dress and heels you were wearing.

“Are those my gifts I hear?” Your dad’s voice rang from behind you. “Ah, yes, Mr. Parker, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

You stepped aside so Peter could come in, finding yourself facing the Thompsons and Harry as well. Peter set the bag down, surveying the scene before him.

“Right! How rude of me. Angela, Brian, this is Peter Parker, one of my scientists in training.” Tony addressed Harry’s parents, although you’d never heard him introduce Peter like that. “Peter, this is the Thompson family.”

Harry stepped forward, his posture admirably straight. “I’m Harry Thompson, please to meet you.” His hand gripped Peter’s so intensely that you cringed from your position. “I take it you and Y/N are friends as well.”

Everyone’s eyes went to you, and you felt an involuntary blush warming your cheeks.

“Yes, Y/N and Peter are good friends from school.” Tony’s smile brightened just a bit. “You know, Harry, I’m sure Y/N wouldn’t mind making other close friends, if you’re interested.”

Harry nodded. “Noted, sir.” You made immediate eye contact with Peter, trying your best to express how little you wanted Harry to be your “friend”. He was chewing the inside of his cheek, staring at the ground like he was trying not to draw attention to the sting of being called just your friend. You felt it too.

It didn’t take long for your father to use his social prowess to escort the entire group out at the night drew to a close. By the time the door shut, his entire face shifted.

“Dear lord, could those people be any drier?”

Had he made that comment any earlier in the evening, you would’ve laughed in relief and agreed heartily, but all you could think of was getting to Peter and explaining.

“Yeah, although I just remembered that a friend borrowed my notes and I really need them back before tomorrow, I’m just going to go grab them okay? Thanks, Dad.” You spoke so quickly that you weren’t even sure he knew what you said, but he waved you off.

“Oh, and Y/N?” You stopped just short of the door, turning to face him. “I’m one of the world’s most famous geniuses. Give me a little credit with the excuses, okay? Just don’t come back really late from wherever you’re actually going.”

You smiled at him. “I won’t.”

***

The drive to Peter’s seemed to be much faster than you remembered, but soon enough you found yourself standing on his stoop, your knuckles rapping on the door. He answered in his pajamas, clearly confused to find you there.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Peter, let me explain, I-”

“Oh yes, please do explain to me how I seemed to have interrupted quite the little date between you and some other guy tonight. I’d love to hear it.” You winced at the hurt in his voice. “Look, Y/N, what’s th-”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You surged forward, your hands seizing around his shoulders and pulling him in for a strong kiss. His hands tightened on your waist, and you almost began to lose yourself before reminding yourself what you had to say.

You broke it off, looking straight into Peter’s eyes. “Tonight was one of the most boring nights of my entire life, Peter. I was thinking about you the whole night, I couldn’t wait until Harry left so I could text you literal direct quotes of all the terribly boring things he said to me.” Your hand found his and you intertwined your fingers with his, bringing them to your lips. “Peter, I-”

He kissed you before you could say anything else, his hands buried in your hair. You eagerly retaliated, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. He ended the kiss, grinning ear to ear.

“I want to tell your dad about us.”

You laughed, pulling him closer. “Well, if you would let me finish, I was just getting there, Parker. I want to tell him too. He loves you and I can’t imagine why he would turn this down.”

You almost didn’t get to finish your sentence before he was kissing you again.

[dickie-gayson]

Me and the Devil

Jason Todd was tortured and killed by The Joker and Dick Grayson had disappeared; murdered by the Court of Owls.

But everyone knows a Robin Redbreast in a cage puts all of Heaven in a rage. And even dead birds can fly again when the Gods demand it.

So, when the Talon catches wind of a new crime lord gunning for the Bats, he goes to investigate. After all, birds of a feather flock together and nobody clips a Robin's wings and lives to laugh about.

Characters: Arkham Knight!Jason Todd, Talon!Dick Grayson

Warning: Violence

Pairing: None

Genre: Supernatural? Crime? Horror? idk lmao

Words: 3k+

Other Parts: --

Also: I take prompts/requests. Can be found on FF here and Ao3 here

Notes: Mori Shej is 100000% still being worked on, I promise! I'm halfway done with the next chapter, this has just been in my head. ngl this is a self-indulgent fic. There is basically zero canon-compliancy here. Just consider it a total AU. I've been wanting a fic where Talon!Dick and AK!Jason meet.

"If you could only see the beast you've made of me I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallow'ed ground"

In the belltower of the abandoned Saint Louise de Marillac Cathedral in Old Gotham perched an unholy, subhuman creature wearing the face of a hero. It was truly a nightmare to behold with it's garish blackened veins against lifeless chalky skin. The luminescent yellow eyes that lit up the shadows only added to the grotesque imagery. That it took the church as its temporary home was a travesty of the most profane form. The Talon had been quite handsome once upon a time and so good at heart. That was years ago, before The Court of Owls plucked Nightwing from the rooftops and brought him to their home in the sewers. The horrors that occurred behind those granite and lime walls were unimaginable. They twisted Dick, made him into a cold, cruel monster and they suffered dearly for it.

It was their fault, really. What did they expect, taking a highly trained hero and corrupting him down to the core through torture? Loyalty? No, Dick Grayson was far too stubborn and spiteful to bow his head to his captors. He could play the game though. He could play it with the best of them. For years he pretended to be their subservient little pet; their lethal weapon of mass destruction. When the time was right and they grew comfortable with the horror they created, he struck them down. It had been pure chaos. Only the other Talons posed a threat to him, and hardly so. Before he was given the serum, the Talons had been a challenge, but he could still hold his own. Now that he had their very same abilities? It was laughable how he tore through them. The utter fear in the Parliament members' eyes when they finally realized what Hell they unleashed on themselves was oh so delicious. Each and every one of them was hunted down and executed without exception. They paid for what they'd done in blood.

The last thing Talon remembered before the Court got to him was his frantic search for his missing little brother. Upon his escape and after the systematic capture and execution of the Court, he took to hunting his old family out of curiosity. Dick needed to know why he'd been left to the torture the Parliament put him through; why he was abandoned in the sewers of Gotham to become the monster he was now. What had been so important that nobody rescued him?

It hadn't been hard to get into the Cave and find what he needed. The memorial cases displaying his Nightwing and the Robin suits would have left an odd feeling in his chest, but emotions had all but been stripped from him. Now he was only hollow and so very, very cold inside. It was in his temporary 'roost' that he watched that video. The brutal torture and death of Jason Todd at the hands of The Joker played out on the dimmed screen of his tablet. The piercing 'bang' of the final gunshot may as well have been the sound of the last nail in the coffin for the clown. Talon knew exactly who was next on his list. Nobody clipped a Robin's wings and lived to laugh about.

The whispers of The Arkham Knight reached him in his hunt for the Joker. Word spread through the underground of a newcomer armed to the teeth with a getup like Batman and gunning for the Batfamily. It was more than enough to pique his interest. Curiosity was always a strong point with Dick and that was something no amount of torture could take from him. So, he waylaid his hunt for a brief period to figure out who was encroaching on his territory. After all, if anyone was going to do some bat-hunting, it was Talon.

That's where the stalking began. He dogged the armored man's every step. From his hideout near the Bowery district to the base of operations in an abandoned shipping facility between Otisburg and Burnley. He could go nowhere without Talon shadowing him. The man had damn good instincts. From the way he looked around, often in the direction of Talon, indicated that he could sense he was being followed. It was almost amusing how paranoid the man became. Cameras were set up all over the place, state-of-the-art security systems were installed, and extra guards were positioned. Not that it stopped the highly trained assassin from slipping through it all.

The new gang seemed to be laying low. If Talon had to guess, it was to avoid unwanted attention of the vigilante sort. His constant watching led him to learn the man was indeed planning a big move against the hero. Talon grew bolder in his movements as his curiosity rose. Soon, he was searching through the office and even rifling through the masked man's various hideouts. That was when he learned that it was not some new crimelord in the making, but rather his 'deceased' brother, Jason Todd, beneath that helmet. He wanted to rip the mask off and see for himself that the dead bird wasn't quite so dead. Talon grew nearly obsessive with his stalking. He felt a sort of kinship with the hero-turned-criminal. Both had been snatched from the Bat, both had been tortured, both had been presumed dead (though it was a little truer in Dick's case), and both had been forgotten by their so-called 'family'. All they were anymore were empty suits in display cases and cautionary tales of what happens when one flies too far from the nest.

Perhaps he grew a bit possessive of his brother and killed those that conspired against The Arkham Knight. Perhaps he grew a bit obsessive and watched the man at nearly every waking, and sleeping, moment. Why shouldn't he be? That was his brother, his successor. It was his responsibility to make sure Jason suffered no longer. He failed his brother once already and he'd make damn sure he didn't fail again.

For weeks now, The Arkham Knight had the eerie feeling of being watched. At first, he searched but found no one. Then, he thought it might be his rampant paranoia growing worse. After all, the time to attack Batman was growing near and it was setting his nerves on edge. However, he wasn't entirely convinced it was all in his head. So he decided to ramp up security discreetly. He had extra eyes around the facility, hidden cameras in every nook and cranny, security systems to rival the Cave's. Still, nothing came of it. That would have put his mind at ease, but the feeling only increased. It even followed him to his hideout. In an act of desperation to escape the eyes, he dropped everything and picked out a new hideout. Jason made sure to take obscure routes to throw off any stalkers upon entering and exiting his new place.

The feeling was gone, but only for a short period of maybe two days, before it resumed. It made the man want to tear his hair out. He didn't want to admit the rising fear he felt, but it was absolutely undeniable. The nightmares only worsened from there. There was a constant thickness in his throat and a buzzing beneath his skin. Jason felt on the edge of panic at almost every point. It was a good thing he had full-body armor to cover his discomfort from the world. Sometimes when the anxiety got to be too much and the walls felt like they were closing in, he would lock himself in his office or his room and try to calm himself down through meditative techniques. The fear was all the worse because he had no idea who was following him so closely. The possibilities nearly petrified him.

That fact brought the anger he was oh so familiar with. The heat of rage was almost comforting in these times. He could handle anger. Hell, it was one of his driving forces at this point, but fear? He had too much of that at this point. He was sick to death of being scared of painted freaks and crowbars. More than once he caught himself screaming at nothing to come out already. Jason was so on edge. He just wanted them to stop. But no one ever came forward and he felt slightly silly for shouting into the shadows. He just couldn't help it.

Once, he thought he saw glowing yellow eyes watching him in the hallway of his hideout. Jason immediately went on the offensive and tried to catch the stalker. However, when he got closer, the corridor was empty. He searched top to bottom, every last corner and hiding spot, but he was alone. An acrid taste had coated his tongue and he was afraid he really was losing his mind. Jason thought he escaped the madness of the Joker, but it seemed he was wrong. It only followed him home. He nearly vomited at the realization. It crushed him on a soul-deep level and left him trembling in despair.

Jason had screamed and screamed and beat his fists into the walls as if they were responsible for his state. There was a pounding in his head that wouldn't subside. Laughter shrieked in his skull, so real he couldn't help the tears that burned his eyes. His fists nearly broke from the force and abuse. That night, he didn't sleep a wink. The next night he abandoned that destroyed hideout. Oh, how he wanted to blow the building sky high as a catharsis, but he couldn't. It'd draw the wrong attention to him too soon.

Unknown to him, those luminous eyes were very real and watched his breakdown with rapture. Nightwing would have wanted to comfort the distraught man. But Talon was only interested in seeing the man come undone. The intense reaction was so interesting. The sheer volume of Jason's emotions was almost addictive to watch. Dick felt so incredibly empty inside, like his heart had been carved straight out. To see the fire of Jason's spirit left him hungering. He craved that heat; wanted to tear his brother's chest open, consume him whole, and fill the abyss left in place of his own lost soul. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so cold and hollow. If Dick had even the barest trace of his old self left in him, he'd be utterly horrified and downright sickened at the thoughts running back and forth through his mind. That man was long since dead.

Tonight, The Arkham Knight was running a deal between his own gang and the Falcone on a shipment of weapons. Talon slipped through the security as if it didn't exist and perched in the dark of the rafters. This deal was going to get very interesting. Carmine had no intention of playing fair with the newcomers. He wanted to 'show them their place'. It was going to get bloody, and that's why he sent a lieutenant in his place. Well, Talon was going to make sure 'The Roman' got his message loud and clear. No one was allowed to mess with what was his.

Jason had that feeling of being watched again. He tried to ignore it as he conducted the deal, but that was growing increasingly difficult. It was as if someone were trying to pick him apart through sight alone. Like a mantra, he reminded himself that it wasn't real. It was all in his head. That is, until smoke started forming around his business partners. It was a familiar sort of smoke screen, like that of a pellet he used to carry as Robin. He started to internally panic, thinking the Bat had found him out already. It was almost instinctive to draw his gun and hold it at the ready.

The frantic cocking of the others' guns had him yelling out for everyone to stand down in an effort to prevent friendly fire. His helmet allowed him to see thermal imaging through the thick cloud. It wasn't Batman that dropped into the smoke, however. The figure was far too sleek in build to be Bruce and moved like liquid. At first, he thought it was Nightwing, back from wherever he disappeared to. The fluid way he flipped around screamed of the hero. But then Jason noticed the knives. Bodies dropped like flies around the unknown intruder. Screams filled the air and before he could get a shot off, the group sent by Falcone were dead. All except one.

As the smoke cleared, he got a good look of the assassin. In Jason's opinion, the owl mask was fucking stupid looking, but the rest of the outfit screamed 'professional killer'. He had lethal looking clawed gauntlets with what looked like throwing knives poking up like feathers and a bandolier of more throwing knives strapped to his chest. There were even more knives on his belt and God knows where else. Jason knew those claws could rend flesh because he saw the man take out a few throats with what seemed like casual swipes.

The last of the guest entourage was held by force before the man. The way the assassin had him kneeling was very close to that of the execution position. One of his many sharp blades was pressed snugly against the mobster's throat in such a way that even a wrong flinch could prove fatal. Those hideous goggles were staring directly at Jason but the knife-happy killer made no move to end the man. Jason had his gun trained expertly on the other's head. After a brief staredown, Jason spoke up with anger.

"You have one chance to give me a good reason not to put a bullet through that fuck-ugly mask of yours."

What he got in response was a slow, almost avian-like tilt of the head. Truthfully, it was downright creepy and made him want to pull the trigger. Before he could, though, the man spoke. Jason had to listen closely as the mask distorted his quiet voice.

"Confess."

He was about to respond with a resounding 'what the fuck' when he realized the assassin wasn't talking to him, but to the man in his grasp.

"What the hell do you mean?! Carmine's gonna hear 'bout this!"

The masked killer leaned down slowly until he was nearly brushing against his captive's face. Talon knew the man was lying. They had all been in on the plan. He had already taken out the reinforcements on the way in.

"Confess."

The way his voice dropped, frigid and soft, was frightening on a primal level. The mobster's shaking was visible even to Jason. The sentiment of 'what the fuck' still applied pretty heavily to the situation at hand. It seemed that was all it took to break the man. He cried out with a voice pitched high in fear.

"Alright! Carmine was plannin' on clippin' some of ya 'n musclin' in on the rest! Just lemme go! I won't say nothin' to the boss, I swear!"

Jason's blood boiled at the scheme. He knew doing business with the Falcone was tricky at best, especially since they were new on the scene, but this? Oh, that Sicilian fuck was going to pay. He was brought out of his angered planning when his apparent ally spoke up.

"Omerta, Jimmy. Omerta."

At the word, the man struggled briefly before stopping once the blade began cutting into his neck. He was all but crying at this point. Jason would say he felt for him, but he was a little too pissed to sympathize with the little shit. 'Jimmy' broke the code of secrecy and was fucked no matter which way he looked. It was tempting to just put a bullet through his head right now, but Jason decided to wait and see what the assassin was planning on doing with the man. Then he'd cap this waste of space and ship his body back to Carmine. 'The Roman Empire' was going to come crumbling down after this, he'd make sure of it.

Talon had no more use for the man. Any other knowledge was above the low-level thug's paygrade. Dick had heard far more in his time spying on the gang than this man was granted access to. All he needed was a solid confession, which he just got. His attention drifted back to The Arkham Knight. The gun pointing at him was of no concern to Talon. Bullets, at best, only slowed him down anymore.

"It's your head they came for, Knight. How would you sentence him?"

His voice, just as before, was all but a whisper. Jason was thankful for the enhanced audio of his helmet, otherwise, he'd have trouble hearing the lilted voice. The masked man was poised as still as a statue, ready to execute Jimmy if he gave the word. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about the unknown assassin at this point, though he was relatively certain that this was the one who was stalking him. That would most definitely be addressed later. For now, he had a rat to deal with.

He walked around the table, gun still pointed at the knife-wielding man in case he tried anything funny. When he stopped in front of the two, Jimmy was basically hyperventilating and blood dripped from the worsening wound on his neck. Jason noticed the knife had been shifted to prevent accidental death. This guy was really serious about letting Jason decide his fate, it seemed. It might be flattering if the guy weren't so damn creepy. He still wanted to at least stab him a few times for stalking him.

"I got it from here."

That earned him another one of those odd, bird-like head tilts. Then, the thug was pushed toward Jason in a sort of sacrificial manner. Before he could try to flee, Jason grabbed his collar and lifted him up to eye level.

"You're gonna deliver a message to your boss for me, Jimmy."

The man shook like a leaf as Jason spoke. The fear was evident in the way his voice raised and stuttered over his words.

"S-sure thing, Mr. Arkham Knight sir. Whatever ya s-say."

Jason was smirking beneath the helmet. The deference given to him for his position in the underground crime scene took a bit of getting used to. It wasn't the same sort of respect and fear that Robin had gotten him. Robin scared criminals because that meant prison and The Bat. The Arkham Knight scared criminals because he was either their boss or their rival, and rivalries usually ended in death. They feared for their freedom with Robin. They feared for their life with Knight.

"Never said you needed to be alive to deliver the message."

Before the man could make another peep, Jason threw him to the ground and shot him through the head. He made an indistinct motion for this whole mess to be cleaned up. There was a whole lot of work to be done now that the Falcones pissed him off. But first, there was a certain bird-themed stalker he needed to take care of. He turned around, ready to start grilling the masked man, but was surprised to see the facility assassin-less. The fact that he just got Batman-ed by some guy in an Owl mask made his eye twitch.

"Where the fuck did he go?!"

A few of his men pointed upward. Jason followed the line and immediately picked out the sunroof he could have sworn he reinforced, welded shut, and set up with alarms to prevent just this. He wasted no time in grappling up to the spot and inspecting the window. If the killer had slipped through here, he took the time to rearm the alarms, much to Jason's frustration. The fact that he even knew how to deal with his security system made the situation significantly worse. This was Bat-level tech. Who in the hell knew how deal with Bat-level tech? It set his teeth on edge.

The guy was probably expecting Jason to disarm the alarms and slip out to find him. A diversion tactic to buy him more time to escape. Well, Jason said 'fuck that'. He slammed it open and let his men deal with the blaring sirens now. There were more important things he had to deal with. Like catching a homicidal stalker that liked to cosplay as a bird. The head start he got from slipping out when Jason was distracted made this all the trickier. But he was trained by the Bat, and if there's one thing Jason can do right, it's hunt someone down.

His hunt, however, was cut short when he swung over to the neighboring building and was met with a pile of dead bodies. Jason nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. There was at least twelve people stacked together and bleeding out over the rooftop. He needed to take a brief moment to recompose himself before assessing the situation. He recognized a few faces vaguely as belonging to a few ranking members of the Falcone. They were strapped with some heavy weapons. Jason had a growing feeling he knew exactly what happened and who did it. That's when the white sheet of paper caught his attention.

Someone, he was betting that black-clad assassin, pinned a note to one of the bodies with a fucking knife. He reached over and ripped the note off. It was a bit difficult to read the somewhat messy lettering when he opened it due to the blood smeared all over the paper, but he managed. The note was short, sweet, and to the point.

You're welcome, Baby Bird.

That was it, but it made his blood run cold. Nobody knew who he was before The Arkham Knight. Jason was really, really hoping it was just a stupid nickname the guy chose to keep on with the bird-theme and not a reference to his time as Robin. It couldn't be. Jason Peter Todd, the second Robin, was legally dead. He wasn't in the system any longer. It was just a name picked by an obsessive freak with a bird fetish. That didn't stop his gut from churning at the thought. He radioed to his men, informing them of the mess that needed to dealt with up here.

Just across the way and perched on a billboard sat the Talon. His enhanced vision allowed him to watch Jason quite clearly, even from this distance and darkness.

"Don't worry Little Wing, nobody will hurt you again. I'll kill them all first."

He watched until The Arkham Knight returned to the compound, out of his sight. Then, Talon turned and started making his way toward the high-end area of Gotham. There was a certain crime lord that made his list tonight.

[lordofthebigtimesupernatural]

Thought up another one! How about Shiro teaching Keith how to drive and freaking out in the most hilarious way possible? And Keith is all like, "You went to war! GET A GRIP MAN!" And when it's over Shiro tries to play it off as if he wasn't worried at all. "I wasn't screaming, I was cheering you on there's a difference." But Keith recorded the whole thing because Lance told him he should, having already been there with his own parents. And you can bet he'll be showing it to all of their friends.

Lol, nonny this was so beautiful to read. It had me laughing for a long time before I could even begin writing. Then I was giggling the whole time. I hope my sense of humor is still funny! I think many of us can relate to parents freaking out over new drivers (whether we are the parent or the new driver!). This was great and thank you so much for the prompt! I love you all sending them in! Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

x.V.x

              “Dad,are you ready to go?”

              Shirolooked up from the tablet he was reading on. Red was snoring across his legs;the poor girl was worn out already due to her age and often spent time sleepingon Shiro or Keith. The glasses slid down the bridge of Shiro’s nose when helooked up at his fifteen-year-old son.

              “Forwhat?” Shiro frowned. He didn’t remember making any plans with Keith, not thatit would stop him from making sudden plans now, but usually Keith made plansahead of time. Last minute deals weren’t his style.

              “Todrive? Remember, you said you’d start teaching me on the 11th.That’s today.” Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his father. Of course, he would forget. Silly old man.

              Shiro’seyes widened at Keith’s explanation and suddenly he saw the keys in Keith’shands. Oh. Right. Now Shiro didremember telling Keith that he would help Keith practice his since Keithalready had a permit and knew all the basics.

              Admittedly,Shiro had been putting off actually drivingwith Keith for a few weeks now. But there was only so many excuses Shiro couldkeep giving Keith, every time that he couldn’t drive with his son. Shiro didn’tknow why he was so nervous to drive with Keith. Keith had never given himreason to believe he would be a baddriver, and Shiro knew that his son was one of the most responsible people onthe planet. Though, there was a teeny-tiny bit of influence towards Keith’sdriving, judging by his Mario Kart and racing game skills. Keith wasn’t exactlythe best driver in those games.

              But ofcourse, that had nothing to do with Keith driving in the real world.

              No;absolutely not.

              Thatwould be ridiculous.

              “Ah, ohyeah.” Shiro chuckled nervously and scratched the scar on his nose. He set thetablet down and shifted, causing Red to whine and move into a better positionoff Shiro. Shiro immediately wished the dog had tried to make him stay.

              “Right.Let’s go!” Keith said, eyes bright with excitement and Shiro almost felt guiltyabout his hesitance for letting Keith drive. If he could keep that look ofexcitement on Keith’s face forever, then Shiro would drive with Keith athousand times over. Keith turned out the door and ran to the car in theirdriveway, with Shiro lingering behind wearing a gentle smile.

              Maybe this won’t be so bad.

x.V.x

              Correction: This is bad. This was so bad.

              “Keith,Keith slow down.” Shiro felt his grip on the handle on the roof, tighten untilhis knuckles were white. His entire back was stiff as a board against the seatand his other hand was digging into the material of his jeans.

              “Dad,I’m literally going the speed limit.” Keith huffed from the driver’s seat butslowed down once they came to a stop sign.

              “That’sthe fastest you should be going.”Shiro whispered tightly. “There’s no shame in going slower. Why you go even goabout ten to fifteen below - oh sweet lord!” Shiro’s entire body tensedwhen the car turned sharply to the right and onto a busier road. Keith grinnedfrom where he was seating when he had easily maneuvered into the other lane.

              “Car.Car. There is a car right next to you!” Shiro’s eyes widened when he tried toinform Keith of the car beside their own, when Shiro heard the dreaded noise ofthe blinker being signaled on. That could only mean one dreaded thing.

              Keithwas going to change lanes.

              “I know.I have mirrors.” Keith did, in fact, roll his eyes this time. He waited untilthe car passed by them and switched over in the next lane.

              “Are youchecking all of them? Every three seconds? Make sure you look in the rear-viewmirror.” Shiro swallowed thickly and when he tried to let go of the handle onthe roof, he found that he could not. Instead, his grip tightened once morewhen the speed of the car began to go up.

              “Rememberwhat I said about going below the speed limit? That’s a thing and you can dothat. No shame in it. Keith!” Shirocould feel his heart racing in his chest. He was sure that it was about to jumpout of his throat and out of his body. Shiro didn’t know if he could livewithout his heart. Would Keith have todrive him to the hospital if he had a heart attack right now?

              Would Keith even be able to getto the hospital?

              “Redlights. Keith there are red lights.” Shiro suddenly said, leaning back in hisseat. Instinctively his foot went down to the floorboard as if he wereattempting to hit an imaginary brake. “Red lights!”

              “I cansee dad. And if you could too, you would see we are slowing down to a stop.”Keith muttered under his breath but the car did stop behind another car, with agood distance between them. This didn’t help Shiro to calm down or for hisheart to stop racing in his chest.

              What if this is it? I’d have to make mywill. Make sure Keith doesn’t get this car. Or any car for the matter.

              “Dad I’mturning left here right.”

              “Useyour blinker – holy shit Keith slow down –yes. Stay in your lane. For the loveof god Keith, the furthest lane.” Shiro almost whined and he prayed toanyone listening. I’d leave the house andall of my old belongings to Keith of course. He’d live with mom and dad untilhe was at least 18, but knowing them they’ll keep him around forever.

              “Keith,stop. Oh, my god. You need to goslower, Keith there could be children!”

              “Do yousee any children dad? I’m not even going that fast. Relax.”

              Antok can have my old bike. Ulaz can havethe guns; Keith doesn’t need them. My old bed set can go to Allura. I know she’sbeen eyeing those Egyptian cotton sheets.

              “Children!Keith think of the children. How did you end up like this? I am a goodperson.” Shiro hadn’t even realized that he was slipping back into hisnative language in his panic when Keith took another sharp turn into anotherneighborhood. There weren’t any other cars on the road, but that did nothing toease Shiro’s panic and worry.

              “Doyou see any children? Stupid old man.” Keith muttered back in Japaneseand Shiro gasped loudly.

              “Howdare you insult your father? After risking my life like this?” Shirogripped the handle even tighter when their stop was a bit jerky. Keith snorted,his own hands nearly white as they held onto the steering wheel.

              Keith doesn’t deserve my makeup kits then.Maybe Lance wants them. Or Hunk. They wouldn’t kill me driving. Hopefully.

              “Make aleft here. Keith, I said make a left. Oh lord. You can’t just make asudden turn like that.” Shiro felt his heart slowing. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

              “You can’tjust tell me to turn at the last minute!” Keith argued back and the speed ofthe car increased.

              “I ama good person? At least, I think I am. I know I’ve done wrong but please, I donot deserve this.”

              “Get agrip! You went to war. You were in the army!”Keith shot back when his dad muttered a prayer under his breath. He would laughat how comical the whole situation with his dad was if driving wasn’t stressfulenough. He’d save the laughter for once they got home. Keith looked through thewindow and could see the familiar color of their house just in the distance.When he looked at his dad, Keith saw that his dad’s eyes were shut and didn’tknow how close to the house they were and Keith smirked.

              “Heydad, how about we try the highway! I can get off right here.” Keith joked andShiro’s eyes flew open.

              “KEITHAKIRA SHIROGANE DON’T YOU DARE GET ON THAT HIGHWAY – oh.” Shiro blinkedwhen he realized that they were not getting onto the highway but had parkedright outside their house. He ignored his son, trying to stifle his gigglesafter he put the car in park and turned off the engine.

              For afew more minutes, Shiro sat in silence, waiting for his racing heart to finally calm down while Keith snickered.Shiro eventually, pulled down his hand, only to realize that the handle was inhis hand. He had torn the handle offthe roof. He stared at the broken handle in his hand before looking at Keith,who was silently staring at the handle too.

              Until heburst into uncontrollable laughter.

              “Oh, mygod, you broke the handle?!”

              Shiropouted at his son’s laughter, cheeks dusted red with embarrassment.

              “It wasloose anyway. I needed to fix it. I wasn’t worried at all.” Shiro said cooly,pretending as if he wasn’t having a mental breakdown mere minutes ago. Keithcontinued to laugh even harder and ignored his dad.

              “Youwere practically screaming the whole time.” Keith managed through his gigglesand Shiro huffed before crossing his arms over his chest. He would not be embarrassedby his son.

              “I wasnot, I was simply cheering you on. There is a very big difference.” Shiro saidpointedly and Keith snorted but managed to not burst into giggles again. Hegrabbed his phone which had been sitting in a cup holder between them beforetapping a few buttons on the screen. Shiro frowned and tried to speak only tobe cut off by the sound of his own voice.

              “Useyour blinker – holy shit Keith slow down –yes. Stay in your lane. For the loveof god Keith, the furthest lane.”

              Shiro’sentire face went red and he spluttered in his seat.

              “Youwere recording me?!”

              “Ohyeah.” Keith grinned cheekily and Shiro almost wanted to strangle his son. “Lancetold me to do so, after his parents freaked out when they started teaching himand it was worth it. Wait until everyone hears that the big, bad, fearsomeTakashi Shirogane screamed when he tried to teach his son how to drive.” Keithlaughed and exited the car. Shiro was frozen for a split second as theimplication of the words actually sunk in and his heart raced again.”

              “Oh noyou don’t!” He raced out of the car and after his laughing son. “You give meback that phone! Keith, I am serious; give it to me! Don’t you dare run awayfrom me! Keith! I will ground you until your 80! Keith!”

[cut-off-the-grain]

Writing Meme

I was tagged by @obsessions-and-dreams last week, but I had a string of migraines which pretty much resulted in me coming home from work and going to bed with no desire to stare at a screen (0/10, would not recommend) so I'm doing it now. Be warned, I rambled quite a bit. Is there a snack you like to eat while writing? Not really a snack, but I usually have a drink by me. What time of day do you usually write? During the week I write a bit here and there in the evenings when I’m home from work. Occasionally I scribble ideas down during my lunch break. But I’m off work on Sundays and Mondays and lately I’ve been blocking two to three hours into one of those days just for writing. Where do you write? Those chunks of time I mentioned I dedicate to writing I go to Starbucks, because if I go there specifically to write I spend that time actually writing! The rest of the time I write at home, usually while sitting at my kitchen table so I can look out at my bird feeder now and again when I need a break from staring at my screen (I’m sitting there right now, and a little goldfinch has been at the feeder for the last ten minutes! He’s so bright and pretty!) How often do you write a new fic? I’ve been averaging about one a month, along with a couple little ficlets here and there. The strange thing is before I started writing Kylux I really hadn’t written anything in a long time. I think the last time I wrote for a fandom was the Sherlock fandom, and I stopped after season 2 came out. And that was 2012, I think? So about five years, but once I started writing what I kept swearing was going to be my one and only fic for them Hux and Kylo grabbed me and refused to let go. Do you listen to music while you write? Yes! My dad is a musician and growing up I always did my homework in the same room he practiced in. So I think I now have this ingrained response that listening to music means I’m going to be productive and do something. And music has largely influenced my writing. Each fic seems to have one particular song I kept listening to while writing it, and I’ve ended up taking lyrics from those songs to use as titles. ‘Don’t Be Shy (You’ve Been Here Before)’ is a line from Dusty Springfield’s ‘Breakfast in Bed’, which is a sweet, sad, and very seductive song. ‘If You Should Fall Into My Arms’ is from David Bowie’s ‘Let’s Dance’, which is a fun, light, catchy song that never fails to make me smile and want to sing along. ‘The Minor Fall, The Major Lift’ is taken from the Leonard Cohen song ‘Hallelujah’,although it’s about how draining relationships can be but, for some reason, most covers leave off the final verse, which goes “And even though it all went wrong, I’ll stand before the Lord of Song, with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah” which to me is about overcoming hardship. So for me the song fit the fic perfectly- Kylo and Hux have both been damaged by their pasts, but together they will overcome them and be stronger for it. (Whew, that got long!) And ‘Don’t You Ever Tame Your Demons’ is from the Hozier song ‘Arsonist’s Lullabye’, because the opening line is “When I was a child I heard voices” and from the moment I heard that lyric it screamed young Ben Solo. What's your writing utensil? Paper or laptop? I actually use both, but for different purposes. I write outlines on paper, sketch out scenes, put down specific dialogue or descriptions I want to include, etc. And then I write the story on my laptop (technically it’s a tablet and I have a keyboard I use with it). I do this for two reasons 1) It makes it really easy for me to reference my notebook while I’m typing, I’m not trying to flip back and forth between two different screens. I can cross things off as I go so I know roughly what scene is going to come next. It’s not hard and fast, I switch things around, add scenes, delete scenes as needed, but it helps keep me on track. And 2) It’s easier to pull a notebook out while I’m standing in line or waiting at the doctor’s office or something and jot a quick note down than to pull out a tablet. And if I write it down with pen and paper I tend to remember thing better than typing, so I’ll probably still have whatever idea fresh in my mind without having to go track down what file I saved it in. Do you have a special pre-writing ritual? Not really. I pretty much just pop my headphones in, open up the document, and start writing. What do you do to get into the writing mood? Occasionally inspiration strikes suddenly and I drop whatever I’m doing to write, but usually just scheduling time makes me want to write. There’s something about having time put aside just for writing that inspires me to do it- I think because I look forward to it all week, so when I get the time I’m excited! What do you always have near the place you write? A drink, coffee or tea if I’m at Starbucks, water at home. And my notebook with ideas. That’s about it! Do you have a reward system for word counts? Umm, sort of? It’s not specifically for word counts, but for scenes. As in, after I finish this scene I’ll get a refill on my drink, stand up and stretch, check my e-mail quickly. And it’s not really a reward so much as it is just building little breaks in so I don’t get burned out. It’s amazing to me how a five minute break where I watch a video, close my eyes and just hum along to a song, look at pictures of cute animals, can be just enough to rejuvenate me so I’m ready to write again. And I don’t really care about word counts. I’m actually pretty terrible at guessing how many words it’s going to take me to write a scene- I think I’ll say everything I want in five hundred words, then a thousand words later I’m finally getting to the point. I just write what I want to write, and however many words it ends up being is fine. So, no. The answer to the question is no, but I had to write two paragraphs to say that ;P Is there anything else about your writing process your readers don't know? It’s not necessarily about the writing process, but I both enjoy and am simultaneously horrified by going back and reading stuff I wrote after it’s been posted. I will swing wildly back and forth between ‘oh, what lovely phrasing, I forgot I wrote that, it’s wonderful’ and ‘this is terrible, how did anyone manage to slog through this all the way to the end, let alone enjoy it enough to leave me a comment?’ In short, like probably every writer, I manage to be both completely smug and self-congratulating while also being almost entirely consumed with self doubt. That just means I’m a complex, interesting individual, right? I am low-key (no pressure!) tagging @an-r-1 @thegoodlannister and I'm going to break the rules and tag a wonderful artist too, because most of the questions will still work, just change writing to drawing @youdidnotseeme

[cloudscratchercomic]

The Ballad of Page 43

It started around late December when I got word the Cloudscratcher site had been hacked. Specifically, it was redirecting anyone who accessed the site through Google to some Chinese viagra store. So I call my provider, get the site cleaned of malware (which takes a few hours), and get myself some website security. Costs me over $200, but it's necessary, so I do it. Around the same time I finally get myself a Cintiq, which I've wanted since I started this comic in the first place. It's just  a Cintiq 16, mind you, but it's a great drawing tablet all the same. After procuring the necessary HDMI-to-USB adapter, it's time to get started! And wouldn't you know it, around the same time I get a copy of Clip Studio Paint! So, I decide to take a week off from the comic to practice using the Cintiq and learning CSP...

Turns out none of my drivers work.

CSP isn't registering my pen pressure, even when Photoshop can do it just fine. I look up some online guides and troubleshooting sites, nothing. Nada. Zip. So I spend the next couple days uninstalling and reinstalling my drivers for everything I can; CSP, the Cintiq, the HDMI adapter, even Photoshop. Somehow I finally get the right order of installations to get it working. Since I don't have the time to make some cool picture as practice, I spend the remaining days coloring over some old illustrations I did, getting the hang of CSP's interface and how its tools work. Okay, now we're ready to get started on the next page! I do the page in pencil, but this time I don't ink it; I'll be doing that digitally this time!...

Then we get another problem...

Inexplicably, after running for some time, a bizarre glitch would cause the mouse cursor to lock into a grey shadow of a mouse cursor icon (either the arrow, pointing finer, or up-and-down arrows). Once it would do this, that grey shadow was there permanently, even if I switched to a brush in Photoshop or CS Paint, the grey shadow would still hove over it, getting in the way. The only thing that made it go back to normal was a full reset of my computer. Great... I take screencaps and videos of the issue, and contact Wacom. After days of dealing with their tech support, they got nothin'. They say it's not the Cintiq's fault, it has to be the drivers. Always the drivers. But I knew the drivers were fixed this time. Lord knows I spent DAYS fixing it. Then I figured it out; it was the crappy Chinese HDMI adapter I was using. Alright then, I'll just buy a new one! It costs more than I'd like, but what the heck!

Okay, done! Now to work on this page and deal with this annoying problem until the new update gets here!

Then one night, as I'm unwinding with some Starsector and YouTube before bed, the sound suddenly stutters before I get the Windows 10 frowny face screen, and everything turns to black. Nothing responds. I turn my computer off, turn it back on... No response...

The motherboard is dead.

So I take my computer in to Geek Squad. It'll take them DAYS to diagnose the problem. Wonderful. Eventually they get back to me and tell me the motherboard is fried, possibly the CPU as well. After dealing with Geek Squad (and Best Buy's horrific telephone service) I get the info I need on the motherboard to buy a new one compatible with my computer. Costs me almost $300 on top of the $100+ I'm paying Geek Squad for all this. So they get the new motherboard and, oh joy, it'll take another couple days to replace it. So, more days go by and finally they get back to me.It didn't work, the CPU is fried. Gonna have to buy a whole new computer.

So I do. Can't get a cheap one considering everything I use this computer for, and the last one was over $800 and I still burned the thing out. So I'm in a bind; I need a new computer NOW. I go to Best Buy, get my money back for the motherboard, and see what they have. Find a better computer for the same price range as the last one. Perfect. Go to the counter to buy it, THEY DON'T HAVE IT. They have it on display for you to buy, just not that day. Awesome business model. So I find out what they do have available that day in the scope of PCs I need. The cheapest one available is over a grand. And that's the sale price. Luckily I'm frugal, and I have an emergency fund for disasters like this (or if something happens to me or my car). So, luckily, I can afford it, but it's way more than I wanted to spend. Now I just need to get my data from the last computer transferred to the new one... Which takes another day...

So finally, FINALLY, I get my new computer home... And the HDMI adapter I bought is the wrong type. Now I have to buy an entirely new one. There's another week of no comic, great. In the meantime, I get everything installed and running on the new PC. Then the adapter gets here, and I brace for another round of a driver circus. Luckily, everything installs smoothly and works like a charm! And just as I thought, no cursor shenanigans with the new adapter! Thanks, StarTech!

So, that's it! That's the adventure that brought us here! That's why you haven't seen an update for a month or so! Thanks for your patience, and let's hope this kind of crap never happens again.