#he's not going to be using ghost powers for a while

[weeeyotch]

eager to please pt. 2 ღ r.r.

robert reynolds x f!reader

pt.1

synopsis: after eating you out for the first time, bob wants to take it one step further.

warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), oral (fem receiving), dacryphilia, manhandling, dom/sub dynamics, use of toys (vibrator), nipple play, tit worship, switch dynamics

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i wasn't expecting anyone to want a second part, but here you go anyways besties

His question hangs heavy in the air: "Could you try sitting on my face?"

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you almost forget how to breathe for a second. The hand that had been lovingly stroking his hair freezes, fingers tangled in his messy curls.

You glance down. Bob is still lying with his arms wrapped tightly around you, his eyes wide and glassy as they silently plead with you. The devotion in his gaze—equal parts worship and desperation—makes your thighs clench.

"Baby," you murmur, "are you sure you're ready for that? I don't want you to overwhelm yourself."

He nods, fervent. "I'm ready," he whispers, voice rough with need. "Please."

The raw hunger in his tones sends shivers down your spine. How lucky you were to be loved so fiercely by someone who could burn down the world, yet chooses to worship you instead. Seeing him there, so pliant and needy, made your heart swell with pride.

His fingers trail down your tummy and ghost along your thigh, dragging through the slick sheen on your skin like he was painting with it. It's deliberate and teasing, and you know that he's trying to rile you up again.

And he's doing it so well.

The sight of him like this—his gaze so pure and tender while his hands move in a quiet, unmistakable filth—ignites a fire in you. It's not just desire that blooms in your chest; it's white-hot, blinding power that thrums through your veins, urging you to claim him as yours.

"You want that?" you murmur, fingers tightening just enough in his hair to coax the tiniest gasp out of him. "You want me to use you like that?"

Bob lets out another sound, a cross between a whimper and a plea. He nods vigorously as he presses his lips into a tight line.

"Say it then," you say. "Say what you want, pretty boy."

"I want you to use me like that," he whispers, reverence and want dripping from his words. "I want you to sit on my face. I wanna taste you. I wanna worship you. Please. Please—"

The desperation in his voice snaps something inside you. With a swift motion, you tighten your grip on him and force him to roll over. You straddle him as he hits the mattress with a small ungh. The way he lets you man-handle him, knowing that he has enough strength to do whatever he wants to you, makes heat shoot through your blood like lightning.

It is hot. Wild. Impossible to ignore.

There is something feral taking over you, something that is thrilled at how easily he gave in; how someone so powerful could melt into obedience at your slightest touch.

"You like being tossed around like that?" you ask, low and commanding.

His chest heaves as he looks up at you, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. "Yes," he breathes, "only by you."

That answer unlocks something darker in you. Something primal—a desire to ruin him, to make him beg and scream without restraint.

You drag a finger down the side of his face to his neck, letting your nail dig in just enough to make him flinch. He twitches beneath you, his breath hitching. Your hand slides back up, and he braces, like he's expecting you to mark him. Instead, you grip his jaw and crash your lips against his.

It's messy and sticky, and tasting yourself on his mouth only stokes the fire in your belly even more.

One of his hands slides up your body to gently lift up your shirt, bunching it at your collarbone. His large, calloused palms find your breasts, cupping them. His thumbs brush over your nipples, slow and deliberate as he coaxes them to harden under his touch. You arch into his hands, craving more.

He rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, a teasing pinch that draws a sharp moan from your lips. His other hand mirrors the motion.

You keen and arch your back further, breaking the kiss. A thin line of saliva stretches between you before snapping and landing on the corner of his mouth.

Bob wastes no time as your breasts are pushed into his face. He wraps his lips greedily around your nipple, sucking with reverence. His tongue kitten-licks your sensitive peak, mimicking the way he teased your clit earlier while his other hand kneads the other breast.

The sensation makes you collapse forward as your body trembles with need.

You couldn't wait anymore.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," you pant. "You're such a good boy. You deserve it."

He sighs contentedly at the pet name, letting his head relax back into the pillows as he drinks in your naked form. A small smile curves his lips, but is quickly replaced by something ravenous as you start to climb up his body.

He licks his lips like you are the first taste of salvation he has had in weeks.

"Tap my thigh if it's too much," you tell him.

Bob nods, eyes locked onto your pussy, pupils dark with desire. Slowly, you lower yourself, inch by inch; you were partly teasing him, and partly giving him a chance to back out.

But mostly to tease him.

The first brush of his lips against you pulls a small moan from your throat.

He groans in response, the sound vibrating deliciously against your core. Bob dives in with the same sloppy enthusiasm from before. Although now, you sense that there's a hunger to it—a need that feels borderline possessive.

His tongue moves in one long, slow stroke, taking forever to climb up your pussy and find your clit with precision. He starts to circle the swollen nub.

"Fuck, Bob," you gasp, gripping the headboard for balance.

Your hips jerk forward. He decides to repeat the movement, over and over, until each jerking of your hips effectively turns into you riding him. His quickening breath, warm against your core, and the scrape of his stubble, urge you on.

Eventually, he stops moving his head, sticking his tongue out so that you can take full control of the pleasure.

Bob's surrender sends power surging through your veins. The sight of him like this—eyes half-lidded, face glistening with your wetness—makes you grind faster against his pliant tongue. Each roll of your hips elicits a groan from deep within his chest, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure through your core.

"Good boy," you pant while gripping the headboard tighter. "So good for me, letting me use you like this. My perfect boy."

His eyes flutter close as he whines pathetically, and you can feel his hands tighten on your thighs. Not to guide you, but to anchor himself. You lean back slightly to take in the sight of him: trembling, messy curls sticking to his slick forehead, and completely at your mercy.

Then—

Three taps on your thigh.

Your heart leaps in your chest. The lust was replaced with panic in the blink of an eye.

I pushed him too far, you think. I should've waited. Should've told him no.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much? Are you oka—" you ramble, lifting off him.

Bob cuts you off with a small, sheepish smile and runs his hands soothingly up and down your hips. "I'm okay, I'm okay. I just wanted to ask if . . ."

He trails off, clearing his throat and darting his eyes away. A blush snakes its way up his round cheeks.

You lean down to brush the damp curls away from his forehead. "Ask what, baby? I need words."

With a nervous swallow, he whispers: "Can you use the vibrator on yourself? While I eat you out?"

Relief washes over you like a wave. You let out a grateful breath, heavy and trembling. A smile tugs at your lips as you stroke his hair, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against his temple. He nuzzles into your touch, sighing contentedly.

How could you ever say no to him?

"Anything you want, sweetheart."

You settle back over his face as his hands gently guide you into place. While you reach for your nightstand to find the vibrator, he busies himself by pressing delicate kisses against your swollen lips. Your fingers finally wrap around the toy that had been thrown underneath piles of clothes. Turning it on, a low hum fills the air, blending with the wet clicking sounds of Bob's mouth against you.

You press the toy lightly against your clit, just above where his tongue circles. The combined sensation rips a sharp gasp from you.

Your hips stutter and Bob moans, feeling you become wetter with every passing second. You rock against him, the steady hum of the vibrator amplifying every flick of his tongue, pushing you closer towards the edge.

But then you notice a subtle shift in his grip, in the way his hands tighten on your thighs.

His eyes, wet with tears and glassy with devotion, flicker with something bolder. Something commanding.

"Give it to me," he says, voice muffled against your core.

It's a demand—raw and unexpected. So unlike the man who, only a minute ago, was embarrassed about asking you to pleasure yourself with a vibrator while riding his face.

The sudden change sends a jolt of heat through you.

You raise an eyebrow, testing his dominance. "You think you can handle it, baby boy?"

He growls in response. "Now." The word is sharp, laced with a tone of authority that is so unlike his usual softness. It makes your breath catch.

One hand leaves your thigh and reaches up expectantly. You hand him the vibrator, intrigued by this new side of him.

Bob takes it with surprising confidence—no doubt after having watched you pleasure yourself with it dozens of times before—and adjusts the angle to press it firmly against your clit. You cry out at the painful precision, hips bucking.

His tongue dives back in. However, it's different than before. This time, he's lapping desperately at your entrance, pushing his tongue deep into your core. He slurps obscenely as he works at your gummy walls.

Then you realize: he's drinking you.

"Bob—fuck—I can't—" your voice breaks while he works you with ruthless efficiency.

He alternates the vibrator's pressure, pulling it back slightly to tease your clit then pressing it back with intensity. His tongue circles and flicks throughout your center, and the sensations are pushing you closer to oblivion.

He's determined to unravel you completely.

His free hand grips your thigh to hold you in place, a reminder of the strength he's choosing to restrain.

"Come for me," he growls, lips brushing against your dripping pussy. "I want it. Come for me."

It's the authority in his voice—thick and uncharacteristically possessive—that sends you spiraling.

The orgasm that crashes over you is sharp and all-consuming. Your hips jerk wildly, grinding against his mouth and the vibrator. A wail of his name echoes throughout the bedroom as your thighs clamp around his head, pleasure surging through you.

Bob keeps the vibrator pressed against you, albeit a little bit lighter now, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, every pulse, until you're a gasping and oversensitive mess.

Finally, he pulls back and switches off the toy, throwing it somewhere on the bed.

His face is a mess; his lips are swollen, his chin is slick and glistening, and his eyes are darkened with pride and hunger.

He gently eases you off, laying you on the pillow beside him. His lips quickly capture yours in a deep, messy kiss that tastes like you. While his usual tenderness lingers, it's laced with a new and possessive confidence.

"You're mine," he murmurs, pulling back just slightly. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you whisper.

Another kiss.

Then he retreats again, looking lovingly into your eyes. You notice his lips curve into a smile, its sweetness blending with a newfound bold satisfaction. This version of Bob was. . .different. But you couldn't say that you hated it.

You pull him closer and guide him to lie beside you, his head resting against your chest. Your fingers thread gently through his damp curls while his breathing slows.

Pressing soft kisses to his forehead, you whisper, "You were so good baby. So perfect for me."

He hums and nuzzles into your breast, finding comfort in the warm mound. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

His gaze flickers up at you, the confidence melting away back into his signature innocent, doe eyes. "Did I. . .did I make you feel good?"

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his tone.

"I felt incredible," you affirm. "I'm so proud of you."

But then, curiosity tugs at you. You smile, a teasing lilt in your voice as you ask, "Where'd that whole thing come from, though? You wanting to be in charge?"

Bob's cheeks flush, and he ducks his head back into your chest. "I-I don't know. . ." he says, barely above a whisper. "I just. . .seeing you like that—I got lost in it. I wanted to give you everything. I guess it just came out."

He pauses, eyes finding yours again. "Was it okay? Did I go too far?"

You laugh softly and cup his face. "Babe, it was more than okay. It was so hot."

Your thumb strokes over his cheek, brushing over the lingering slick. "I'd love it if you did that more."

Relief washes over him as he leans up to bury his face in your neck. "I'll do whatever you want me to. I'm all yours. Just wanna make you feel as good as you make me feel."

His words send a rush of warmth through you.

In the quiet aftermath, a realization settles deep in your chest. This man, with his unwavering devotion and gentle strength, gives you everything. You're struck by how rare it is to have someone who would shatter mountains for you, yet chooses to surrender his heart completely to you.

The thought makes you hold him tighter, gratitude swelling in your heart.

"You already do," you say, words thick with emotion as you press a kiss to his temple. "More than you know."

You start to ease off the bed, wanting to grab a washcloth from the bathroom to clean his face. But as you move, he whines and grips your waist tightly, stubbornly pulling you back.

"I'm only going to the bathroom, baby," you reassure him, brushing a kiss across his cheek. "Just getting a washcloth for you."

With a bratty huff, Bob lets you go and sits up with a pout as he watches you go. Being away from you now, even for a few seconds, was almost unbearable to him.

When you return with a warm, damp cloth, you stand over him and gently tilt his head up. You carefully wipe away the slick coating his face, his chin, and his neck. He closes his eyes and sighs under your careful ministrations.

"You're so beautiful like this," you murmur.

Bob's face somehow turns even redder.

Noticing his evergreen sweater is stained with your essence, you lift it up, and he raises his arms like a child as you peel it off. You toss it into the corner, rummaging around the nightstand for one of your shirts—his favorite; they smelled like you.

You help him slip it on, fabric draping over his broad, sculpted frame. He inhales deeply, humming contentedly.

Back on the bed, you pull the blankets over the both of you and tuck him against your side. You trace soothing circles on his back, and he basically melts into you.

"You okay?" you ask, still wanting to check in.

"Perfect," he mumbles, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. "I love you."

"Love you too."

You hold him close, your steady heartbeat lulling him into a peaceful sleep. As he nestles closer, you can't help but grin when a playful thought flickers through your mind.

"You know, you really are eager to please, aren't you?"

Bob chuckles. You can feel his smile widen into a grin against your skin.

"Always for you."

tag list: @theoraekenslover @alloboinga84

[faestunna]

WHAT IF…Remmick listened to you sing?

PAIRING: remmick x singer!reader

WC: 619

WARNINGS: fluff if you squint, mentions of death, sexual insinuation/language, fantasizing

A/N: this is the gif i was hunting for, this little smile has me WEAK. ty to my wifey @eternalstrigoii for hyping me up on this 🫶🏻 this would def be a one shot if i wasn’t on vacation so enjoy this tiny blurb!

masterlist

Despite his hunt for the power to see his ancestors, Remmick truly loves music. He loves to hear it live, through the radio, or on a record. And don’t ask him which kind he prefers. He’ll always have a soft spot for the jigs and sean-nós of his home, but he admires almost any genre.

He’s strolling the woods at night when he hears a gentle tune playing in the wind. But it’s different from the song of a filidh.

He finds that it doesn’t leave him with a greed for more—just a simple curiosity as to who could possibly be singing so beautifully. He approaches the iron-fence of a cemetery, and the sound grows stronger. He can’t even control his own footsteps as he enters.

The whispery fog swallows him whole as he follows the sound. It isn’t long before he can slowly make out the words and the gentle strum of a guitar.

Lay me down ’neath the willow tree,

Where the wind don’t cry and the crows don’t see

Your voice brushes past the tombstones like a breeze. Then, he spots the source of the song. You, in a long white nightgown looking nearly like a ghost, sit by the edge of an old stone fountain. You don’t notice Remmick as he watches from afar while you continue your ballad.

They buried your name in the dirt and stone,

But I know your hands, I knew your bones.

Sleep don’t come when the heart still aches—

So I sing to hush what the silence takes.

He wonders who you’re singing about. A lover? A sibling? Grief runs deep within the sound of your voice; Remmick knows that feeling well. But you don’t appear to be sad.

His feet begin to carry him away from behind a gravestone, slowly approaching where you sang. You notice a figure in the corner of your eye, but you didn’t glance or gasp. As if you were used to the creatures that haunted the night.

Come ‘round, love, if you still roam—

The gate swings wide and the night’s your home.

Don’t need a light if you hear my song…

Follow it low, you’ve been gone too long.

Once you finish, your fingers settling on the side of the guitar, you take a deep breath to begin again. He stands a few feet away from you now, and your eyes finally meet his.

“Evenin’, Miss.” Remmick nods, stopping in his tracks once he’s across from you. “That’s a lovely voice you’ve got.”

You smile gratefully, but there’s a hint of sorrow in your eyes. “Thank you, sir.” You look down at the guitar in your arms, and Remmick’s takes the chance to notice how your nightgown draped over your chest so perfectly.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s seen a ghost. “That your song?”

“Wrote it myself,” you hum.

“Pretty voice like that,” Remmick stepped a little closer, his hands casually in his pockets. “Shouldn’t be hidden.”

When your eyes flutter up to him, he swoons, far too weak in the knees than any girl had ever made him before. He lets his mind wander then…

How wide your eyes would go from just his lips over your cunt. How your mouth would drop open once he licked, or how your hands would pull his hair if he devoured you. Remmick imagined the sweet sound you’d make, maybe even a few tears would slip down your cheek from the stretch of his cock inside you.

There’s a hint of hesitance in your eyes. Fair enough. It was smart for a girl as beautiful as you to be cautious at a stranger in the dark….though Remmick didn’t plan on being a stranger for very long.

“I don’t often sing for a crowd,” you say slowly.

“Just the ghosts?” He teases, and he doesn’t expect you to answer. “Why don’t you sing for me?”

How delicious your pleasure would taste around him, how softly your tongue would lap it up. How you’d shake as he dragged the blades of his teeth across your neck. He doesn’t even want your blood to satiate his hunger.

He just wants to be inside you as much as possible.

Make music with me, sweet lamb. He thinks as you adjust the guitar in your arms, taking a deep breath. His lips curve ever so softly as he tilts his head. His mouth is partially open in awe. I wanna hear you sing.

© faestunna 2025.

[soulrox]

@little-pondhead - I resurrect your comment from the Infinite Realms.

Okay, we wishy washy hand wavy how they are related to each other

Sam, Danny, and Tucker are chilling in a part where clockwork freezes time, puts a time medallion on them, and chats. CW tells them that Sam's nephew is about to arrive. He needs to finish healing.

Sam, has no siblings, Manson: What

CW doesn't tell them really anything, just to give it time, and all will be as it should be.

Trio freaking out not knowing how long until this nephew shows up straight up plans for everything. Never even questioning who/where this kid is coming from, they will help. They are Loki High Key STRESSED.

(There are even baby clothes

Sam: Tucker, why did you get baby clothes

Tucker:as a human being it is my damn right to over prepar and CW did not say what age

queue even more baby things!? to Danny's chagrin)

Jazz learns the news when she sees the trio watching parenting videos online. (Thank Fuck its not what Jazz thought)(everlasting trio)

CW eating popcorn watching his favourite show.

CW showed up on Wednesday, Jason landed on Danny on a Friday.

A big brickshit house of a man fell on Danny when the trio were finally crashing from the stress. Thankfully, they were out in their secret getaway in the woods. (Just a nice clearing in the trees)

Jason sees young Sam: Aunt Sam?

Sam:Oh my baby you are definitly in need of healing

Sam and Tucker are totally liminal enough to feel/smell that Jason is sick

Jason: I'll be 19 in 2 months, I'm not a baby

The trio Damn your almost 2 years older then us were 17.

Sam also asks for an introduction as she wasn't told his name.

queue a rundown of how Jason got there, a fight with a magic person. And a rundown of why Jason is sick. Jason is cagy and doesn't say it much, just that Aunt Sam has been healing him for the last 4 months.

Aunt!Sam is the older version of Sam, around 30 years old. I fully say Jason calls young Sam, Aunt Sam.

Aunt!Sam saved him from some group that got him sick, then started to heal him from the ecto, they became fraid-mates. Because ectoplasm is emotion, and no matter what you try, you cannot lie with ecto. So even though they only knew each other for 4 months, that's years of trust built just from raw emotion. (HAHA I got them to be family) (Jason can't handle another mom, hence aunt.)

The trio knows much is left out but understands. Now it's their turn to give Jason a rundown of Amity Park.

Ghosts, mad scientists, sketchy government agencies, local hero? Jason thinks he's in a different place altogether. Surely someone would know about this place? Doing math Dick is 12 and already Robin but too early for the JL but still this place has much to deal with. (Jason do not think about the fact you are 6 here)

Jason does get a check-up by Frostbite and is told to just keep doing what he's doing in Amity Park, and it will filter out. Aunt!Sam used her latent plant powers to make ecto-infused tea and food for Jason to eat that filtered his ecto.

Skipping ahead

Jason gets a front row seat to the absolute BAMF energy the trio gives off when they have to deal with an attack. 3 years of this shit they have this down.

Jason is so fucking happy he found Aunt!Sam, that day, while running from the League of Shadows.

Skipping ahead

The trio decides that, for the time Jason is stuck in the past (CW just said enjoy the summer), they are going to take down the GIW, together, for bonding.

The trio and Jason go through a deathless crusade against the GIW, burning it and its laws to the ground.

Jason got therapy from Jazz. And while he is physically well, he is mentally much healthier.

Jason gets sent back after the trio, and Jazz and Jazz surprise him with a 19th birthday party.

Right back to where he was when the portal opened. Aunt!Sam, Uncle!Danny, and Uncle!Tucker all waiting for him with a smile.

CW smiling, all is well.

Short DPXDC Prompts #421

Jason gets flung into the past and meets his aunt: Sam Manson. She’s equally as kickass as a teen as she was helping him recover from the Lazarus pit as a League of Shadows assassin

[nightmanatee]

nice little details from 13th doctor era that i love:

13 loves being called "doc"!!! i personally hc this as her reflection to "yasmin khan. yaz to friends" bc she considers fam her friends.

graham mentions that he plays cards on his "adventures" and i'm a firm believer that 13's doctor spends her evenings playing card games with him.

she has different ringtones for each of fam members!!

even tho she has her own phone she loves using yaz's one to text/locate others etc.

i mean that's given but her weird points/stars system!!!

13's first instinct is to always protect people - shielding them with her own body - she's done this numerous times standing in front of groups of people/closing the door and leaning on it to keep everyone else safe.

she usually asks permission before doing something like entering someone's mind or offering them some devices aside from life threatening situations and always(?) after finding out about her own secret.

she ALSO favours yaz a lot esp in s11 - when splitting choosing to go with her.

13 pretty much hates being alone - it's even more obvious in orphan 55 (when she is visibly upset over fam leaving her) and in cyhm? (literally talking to herself as if fam is still here).

graham having psychic powers???? like he literally just sees and talks to ghosts and has connection with gods and everybody just accepts it.

her beautiful beautiful tardis that reflects her mood by being blue when she's very sad. and by turning on the lights when she touches it in the tc ep.

she likes fixing and creating things: from her OWN sonic to other different devices!

also pay attention to yaz's earrings and the hearts in the background - istg i canNOT find this post with this theory but i love it so so sooo much. bc there are so many hidden hearts in this era.

fam always having each others' backs (like in the tc graham saving yaz from ashad while in a cyberman suit).

all of the main couples in this era paralleling thasmin in some way!!!

there's probably more feel free to add if you want to!

[i-dared-myself]

Chaos in Shadows

ATEEZ x reader

Requested by anonymous: When you feel like, if you feel like, could you write ateez x 9th member when there's a power outage at the dorms and they all get flashlights and engage in chaos

“This stupid hairdryer never works,” Seonghwa complains to you as he fiddles with the machine in his hand. He groans and shakes it, as if that will help at all.

“Want to borrow mine?” you offer. “It works pretty well.”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.” Seonghwa flashes you a soft smile. He waits in the bathroom for you to return with your hairdryer, taking it from you gently.

“I like this one because it has this one setting-“ you begin, cutting yourself off as everything goes dark.

“Oh,” Seonghwa says in surprise. “Well… I guess we blew a fuse.”

Wooyoung comes stumbling in, smacking his face into the wall. “Guys! I’ve gone blind! Get help! Call an ambulance!”

“The power went out,” you tiredly tell him. “You’re fine. Just use your phone flashlight or something.”

“That’ll kill my battery so quick,” Wooyoung groans. “And I won’t be able to charge it if there’s no power!”

“I told you those flashlights I bought would come in handy!” Yeosang bursts into the bathroom, shoving a flashlight into everyone’s hands. He cackles manically as he flicks his on.

“It’s still an impulse buy,” Seonghwa points out. “Just because it came in handy this once, doesn’t mean you should justify it.”

Yeosang pouts. “Okay, but we could tell ghost stories now.”

“How about we find the others first and make sure nobody fell down the stairs?” you suggest, turning your flashlight on. The group all mutters agreement and begins the hunt.

San is easy to find. He’s doing push-ups in the dark bedroom just outside the bathroom, crying to himself. When the flashlight’s beam of light illuminates his form, he sits up.

“You guys came!” he exclaims, wiping the tears off his face. “I heard whispering in the bathroom and lights in the doorway crack and- and-“

“And you thought it was demons,” Wooyoung finishes.

San’s cheeks flush a bright pink and he reaches for one of Yeosang’s spare flashlights. “Shut up.”

“Aw, was big tough San scared?” you tease gently, knowing that he’s actually such a softie.

San glares at you before exiting the bedroom and into the hall. “Let’s find the others.”

The group wanders through the darkness together, clinging tightly. You have both San and Seonghwa hiding behind you, while Wooyoung fearlessly leads the way.

“My hair is still wet,” Seonghwa grumbles. “I���m going to get sick and die.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yunho scoffs and pads down the stairs. Yeosang leans on you to avoid falling.

A head peeks up from behind the couch, and a shine of the flashlight reveals it to be Jongho. He climbs over the couch, rolling across the floor to join your little squad. He stumbles to his feet, straightening his jacket to look cool.

“I did that on purpose,” Jongho mutters, dusting himself off. “The floor roll was on purpose.”

“Uh-huh,” San says, sounding not convinced at all. “Sure. And I finished watching Star Wars.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, catching the sarcasm. “You promised me! You said you liked it, too!”

“Calm down,” Yunho interjects before Seonghwa can start ranting about the cinematic masterpiece that is Star Wars. “We still need to locate the others.”

Jongho is given a flashlight as well, and the group moves on. You have collected five out of eight of the boys, with only three left to go.

You suddenly hear a crash from the kitchen, and your heart skips a beat. Kitchen + crash in the dark = someone getting stabbed. You all exchange glances before sprinting in the direction of the sound.

The flashlights show that no one was murdered, but Hongjoong is lying on the floor with Wooyoung strewn atop him. They both look dazed, with a puddle of milk beneath them.

“What happened?” Seonghwa worriedly asks, kneeling next to the two fallen members. He shines his light into their eyes.

“Wow, you know how to check for concussions?” You ask in amazement, watching him in awe.

Seonghwa blinks up at you. “No. I’m not a doctor.”

“Then what are you doing?” Hongjoong pushes Seonghwa’s hand away, rubbing his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose with a pained groan.

“Being helpful,” Seonghwa says with a shrug as he stands up. “And I think it worked, because you’re fine now.”

Wooyoung gets to his feet, staring down at the milk puddle. “Huh. I guess that’s what happens  when you try to cook in the dark.”

San scoffs. “The power’s out! You can’t even cook!“

Wooyoung cocks his hip out to the side, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what the microwave is for. Obviously.”

“You were planning on microwaving milk?” Yeosang asks in a mix of surprise and horror. He pauses before frowning. “Like… Just milk, or…”

“With chocolate,” Hongjoong chimes in. “But the microwave uses electricity too so I guess it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

“Let’s just find Mingi,” Yunho says with a heavy sigh. He glances down at the milk, scowling faintly. “Let’s clean this first.”

After dealing with the mess, using paper towels to not ruin any cloths, you shuffle off to the next room of the house. It’s empty, so you move on to the downstairs bathroom.

You warily push the door open, met with the sight of Mingi in the tub, bubbles up to his chest. He looks at you curiously, illuminated by scented candles.

“What’s up?” he asks, noticing the others behind you. “Are we going out? Because I can finish my stuff and get dressed.”

“The power’s out,” Jongho tells him. He squints at Mingi for a moment before adding, “You knew that, right?”

Mingi clears his throat. “Yeah, totally. That’s um, that’s why I have the scented candles.”

“And not because they smell good?” Seonghwa arches an eyebrow. “Because I remember you telling me that these ones smelled bad. You lied to me! You said you didn’t like them!”

Mingi purses his lips and toys with the bubbles. “Maybe they aren’t that bad…”

“Smells like an old lady,” Hongjoong murmurs, sniffing the air.

“You smell like an old lady!” Mingi snaps before taking a deep breath. He composes himself before looking back at Hongjoong. “I mean, they’re actually pretty nice.”

“I’m bored,” you announce. “Let’s play flashlight tag. It’s hide and seek, except you can run if you’re found. But if the light hits you, you’re out.”

Mingi jumps up, forgetting that he’s completely naked. “I want to play!”

Yeosang shrieks and covers his eyes, falling to the floor. “I saw his penis! I saw his penis! Someone bleach my eyes!”

Mingi grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. “Whoops.”

“You don’t sound that sorry,” San dryly remarks, lifting Yeosang up off the ground. He whispers comforts to the traumatized man, escorting him out of the bathroom.

“Get dressed and then join us,” Hongjoong orders, shaking his head. “Don’t dick around- I mean, penis. No- not penis. I-“

You press your fingers to Hongjoong’s jaw, gently closing his mouth before he can say anything else. “Shh, just forget what you saw.”

Once Mingi has thrown his clothes on, everyone gathers in the living room. There is a very competitive game of rock paper scissors to choose who’s it, before Seonghwa has to stand in the corner while he counts. It’s a scramble to hide, and you manage to beat Yunho to the best hiding spot: the closet.

You can see through the crack as Seonghwa searches, immediately finding Wooyoung, who was just standing behind Seonghwa. You have no idea what the plan was there.

Hongjoong is an easy find as well, since his feet peek out from under the curtains. San is next, standing in a dark corner. You almost laugh as Seonghwa trips over Yeosang, who was just lying on the floor.

“You could’ve killed me!” Seonghwa chides Yeosang, but still checks to make sure he’s uninjured.

Seonghwa moves upstairs, coming back down with Jongho and Mingi trailing behind him. They have been defeated, but not you. You are the glorious champion, the one who shall beat all.

Seonghwa wrenches the closet door open, a smug look on his face. He shines the flashlight on you, grinning widely. “Caught you.”

You trudge over to the other losers, hanging your head. You don’t even care about the game anymore, ignoring Seonghwa as he locates Yunho. You’re still pouting as the flashlights are turned off, and everything goes dark.

“What are you guys doing?” you ask, snapping back to attention. “Guys?”

Then you’re pinned down, shouting in alarm as your hoodie is slightly lifted so cold hands can be pressed your abdomen. You kick and flail, but are ultimately unsuccessful in your attempts to get rid of them.

You hear San giggling before Jongho hisses at him to be quiet. You crawl away, only to be dragged back to the cold hands.

It’s a wrestling match from there, which goes on for several minutes. You’re out of breath by the end and panting on the ground.

The lights flicker back on, and everyone shields their eyes. You pick yourself up before sinking on the couch, quickly followed by the others. Everyone falls asleep together, just like that, exhausted from the shenanigans.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @iwuberic @mbioooo0000 @ourtimeisrunningouttt @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @lezleeferguson-120

[cumironi]

— no good deed : CRYBANGERS

Trigger & Content Warnings for Character Lore:

This story contains themes of generational trauma, toxic family dynamics, manipulation, emotional neglect, infidelity, elitism, complex power dynamics, class privilege, unhealthy coping mechanisms, obsession, sexual tension, questionable relationships, and emotionally messy behavior, unsolved childhood trauma, child grōoming. Characters are unhinged, morally gray, filthy rich, and constantly making awful decisions. . This is fiction—don’t try this at home.

Important Disclaimer : All character backstories and dynamics in this lore are entirely fictional and created for narrative purposes. They have no connection to the original canon or the creators (Gege Akutami). This is an alternate universe (AU) where characters exist as non-sorcerers in a chaotic, elite high school setting.

TAGLIST : OPEN! | PLAYLIST | MAIN

LORE, EVERYONE :

YOU

when you were nine, you used to hear it—the creak of your mother’s stilettos at midnight, the rustle of silk she only wore when your father wasn’t home, the voices of men she didn’t name and never said goodbye to. they’d leave their cologne on the towels, their laughter in the walls, and you’d listen from the stairwell, pressed against the bannister, heartbeat synced to the rhythm of your mother’s moans—moans that sounded nothing like love and everything like freedom.

you grew up thinking that was what women did: they let people in and then made them leave. so now you fuck like your mother fucked—casually, coldly, as ritual, as release. that love sounded like groaning, like slaps, like something forbidden but familiar. you thought it was normal. so you learned to be quiet. you learned to stay still. and then you grew up. you didn’t become a slut out of rebellion. you became a slut because it felt like home. you don’t want intimacy. you want control. you learned sex is how women stay in power, not how they get touched gently. you can’t remember the last time someone saw you naked and didn’t think they were winning.

GOJO SATORU

gojo was seven the first time he saw death, real death, not on a screen, not in a storybook, but in the bathroom of the family’s summer home where his mother had locked the door, crushed two bottles of sleeping pills, and drowned in the silence that wealth can buy.

watched her body seize and then go still in a white-and-gold bathroom while his father was on a business call and the maid screamed and he just stood there, staring, thinking “she’s not really gone, she’s just faking like always.”

he stood there for two hours, not crying, just watching, because something in him knew this would be the moment that rewired him, and when his father found them, he didn’t even look down—he just told gojo to clean up and the next morning, his father told him “don’t mention it again. we’re moving forward.”

and from that day on, gojo became the boy who laughed too loud, kissed too easily, and told the world he was too dumb to feel anything real.

but you know.

because you held his hand while he told you.

and you never asked why he still talks to ghosts.

GETO SUGURU

when geto was eleven, he lived in a compound in thailand with a man who was supposed to protect him and ended up teaching him what power over another body felt like; the first time someone kissed him, it wasn’t romantic—it was practiced, tested, coerced, and when he told his father, the man was gone within the hour and never mentioned again; but the touch never left, and now geto fucks to prove he’s the one in control, smiles like he’s never been used, and builds communities so he can burn them before they burn him.

no one knows.

but sometimes, when he looks at you, you see the child behind his smirk.

and that child is still waiting for someone to say you didn’t deserve it.

NANAMI KENTO

they used to time his crying. if he could stop under three minutes, they’d let him eat. it was a game. one he always won. one he still plays in his head when he’s alone. his mother kept a spreadsheet of every time he cried. It was color-coded. she called it “performance monitoring.” his father once made him rewrite an apology letter 142 times because his sentence structure was “too emotional.” he had to earn his birthday. earn his love. earn his peace. he never got it. he still keeps his own spreadsheets. even for you. you’re the only person who ever got a color code labeled “unknown variable.”

he learned to speak without inflection, apologize without meaning it, and come without making a sound. that’s why he looks so calm. that’s why you don’t trust it. there’s a storm behind his eyes that no one’s ever asked about. not even you. and he’s grateful for that.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

his diagnosis was sealed in a manila envelope and locked in a drawer before he turned eight. “primary psychopathy.” they said he lacked remorse. lacked empathy. they were right.

and suddenly, there’s no twin. not anymore. that’s the lie the school whispers but no one repeats. the records say “accident.” the truth never made it past the family estate. the trainer quit. the surveillance went dark. sukuna said nothing. and that twin isn’t dead from “accidental drowning.” sukuna killed him. held him underwater until he stopped moving. smiled while he did it. he just stood there. watching. he was six. his parents found out. his father slapped him that night and said, “if anyone asks, you weren’t there.”

paid every servant who saw it. fired anyone who blinked wrong. moved towns. changed names. rebranded his trauma as “anger issues.” he’s always been very good at pretending he wasn’t there. until he’s inside you, and then it all feels real. only you see the way his hands shake after he cums. but even you don’t know everything. and he prefers it that way.

SHOKO IEIRI

her father owns funeral chains. her mother is a silent woman who wears black pearls and speaks to spirits. shoko was raised in a house with embalming tools on the dinner table. her sister died when she was twelve. she did the makeup on the corpse herself.

she wasn’t supposed to find the body. her sister had taped the note to the door: “don’t open.” but shoko opened. and for the next five hours, she sat on the floor, watching the shadows twitch and the blood dry. when their father came home, he didn’t cry. he said, “help me clean.” that’s the first time she held a scalpel. the first time she understood that grief is just a mess, and someone has to clean it. that’s why she doesn’t flinch. why she sleeps with the light on. why she fingers her own pulse when it gets too quiet. she doesn’t believe in ghosts. she just doesn’t think the dead ever leave.

UTAHIME IORI

utahime’s father used to “discipline” her with a belt he kept hanging on the wall as decoration. Said it built resilience. her first boyfriend cheated on her with her cousin. her second boyfriend told her she was “too intense.” her third recorded them and sent it to his friends. her fourth was gojo, her first real loss—he seduced her, used her, then left. she hates him now. sometimes. sometimes she still fucks him in locker rooms just to feel seen.

she swore never again. that’s why she breaks things when she’s angry. why she pulls away when someone’s kind. she’s waiting for them to hurt her. because they always do. she keeps a note in her phone with the names of everyone who’s ever lied to her. your name’s not on it. yet.

SIDE CHARACTER:

MEI MEI

mei mei was born in the wrong neighborhood, in the wrong house, with a brother who stares too long and a bank account that never held enough zeroes, and she got into kinjouku through forged papers and a scholarship that came with conditions—conditions she met by sucking and lying and doing anything it took to be in the room; she wears fake designer, fucks real teachers, and calls it networking, and she hates you because you’re everything she pretends to be, and you don’t even have to try, and she’ll fuck your boyfriend, your professor, your worst enemy, and still show up to class like she belongs here—because in her mind, she earned it, and you were just born lucky. she hates you most because you get everything she’s had to sell herself for—and still don’t want it.

TOJI ZENIN

toji was born into money that came from blood and prisons, a trust fund paved in broken teeth, and after his mother overdosed and his father married her sister, he learned that family is currency and love is always conditional; he left home at sixteen, came back with tattoos and silence, and now he haunts kinjouku like a curse that won’t die, fucking teachers and students and maybe even admin, everyone except you—because he knows you hate him, and he loves that, and he thinks you’re the screamer, thinks you moan in microphones and ruin reputations for sport.

more crybangers coming soon. . .

[whatup345]

HIII! Again about the robot/ghost Leo idea <<<3 Sorry it took me so long to respond to this, I promise I didn't forget about this AU!!! And I'm sorry to anyone who moved on from this AU, because I have THOUGHTS, and y'all are now my captive audience /hj

First of all, anyone can write a fic based off this, as long as they credit me! And PLEASE lmk if you're writing a fic about my ideas, because I want to see all of it <3

So about the concept. I have SO MANY ideas for this AU, haha. You guys are all free to interpret the original idea in your own ways, but this is just what I thought up for the plotline:

So in the original idea, Leo actually isn't aware that he's a ghost, like, AT ALL. The reason is that he's supposed to be kinda semiconscious; he understands that something has changed since the Kraang Invasion, but he's not lucid enough to wrap his head around the concept of being dead. This impacts his behavior a lot, because he's not really in control of himself or his powers. Leo doesn't mean any harm, but he often ends up causing chaos or hurting his loved ones, just because he's not aware of his own actions. Nothing makes sense to him while he's in this half-dead state, which leads him to making a ton of awful choices out of confusion or distress.

At first, I think Leo doesn't really mean to possess the robot. He sees it as a kind of gift from Donnie- after all, the robot is literally built in Leo's image, so Leo decides that it must be his robot, for him to use however he wants. Leo basically claims the robot as his possession from day one. And since the robot is "his", Leo sees that as permission to basically practice his powers on the thing, by making it move, bypassing the AI, etc. Only after a while of this does Leo really possess the robot, and he starts using it to interact with his family and loved ones.

This is where things start going wrong. Over time, Leo gets really attached to the robot body. He sees it as not only a way to interact with his brothers, but also a sign of how much his brothers love him. After all, Donnie was the one who built this robot, allowing Leo to talk with his family for the first time in months. Again, Leo isn't aware of his own death, nor does he realize that this robot was just meant as a TEMPORARY coping mechanism. Leo is really happy with Donnie for building the robot, and he eventually starts to see the machine as just an extension of his own body. And when said body is destroyed, you had best believe Leo is not pleased.

I think it was ultimately Donnie's choice to destroy the robot, as a sort of catharsis. I don't think Leo did one big thing to upset anyone, rather, I think Donnie was growing tired of the robot in general. It would be a few months after Leo's death at this point, and the robot would start to grow less comforting for Donnie, even if it weren't acting weird. In Donnie's eyes, destroying the robot was a way to move on and accept Leo's death, instead of relying on a machine to try and replace his brother. Sure, he could just power off the robot, but it was more cathartic for him to destroy it himself, showing that he didn't need the thing to comfort him any more. Unfortunately, Leo did NOT agree with this plan.

When the robot is destroyed, Leo sees it as a HUGE betrayal. Like I said, he's not really aware of the full situation, so he completely misunderstands Donnie's reasons for destroying the robot. He sees it not as Donnie throwing out a piece of machinery, but as Donnie rejecting Leo. Not to mention, this completely cuts him off from his family, right after Leo got used to interacting with them in a semi-normal way. Leo is immediately overwhelmed with the emotions of it all, and his distress overrides whatever remains of his reasoning. It all leaves him angry and scared and completely irrational.

Leo becomes desperate to regain the attention of his brothers. A part of him wants to get back at them for rejecting him, (especially Donnie), but a bigger part of him just wants his brothers to see him again. He wants their attention, and he starts to try and get that attention in any way possible. He doesn't mean to haunt them, but that is absolutely what happens. Leo needs his brothers to see that he's there, but he doesn't understand why they look so scared every time he manages to get through to them.

That's basically how the original idea would play out if I expanded it into a full length story. I do have some more ideas for how exactly Leo would haunt his brothers (Shelldon? Mind meld?), but that's essentially what I thought up for the base plot. If you guys had different interpretations, you could totally do that too though!

Anyway if you like this idea PLEASE interact or ask questions, lol. Thanks if you read this far!!!

Little idea I just had:

After Leo's tragic death, Donnie builds a robot that looks just like Leo (like in all those fanfics). The twist? Leo's actual spirit possesses the robot.

At first, Leo's ghost can't do much. He's weak, and so the robot just follows its intended programming while Leo goes along for the ride. But slowly, as Leo gets used to his new existence, he learns to override the robot's AI, and basically use the robot as a new body. But, there's a problem.

Leo's brothers don't know that the robot is possessed. So when Leo starts to disobey the robot's programming, it causes issues. Donnie barely convinced the family to let him undertake this project, and now, his robot is getting far too invasive, clinging to it's "brothers" even when explicitly commanded not to. Of course, this is just Leo trying to interact with his family after being thrust into the spirit realm. But in everyone else's eyes, it's a weird and creepy robot, with faulty AI that can't understand boundaries.

Finally, Donnie has enough. The robot crosses a line, so Donnie takes it out into a sewer tunnel and destroys it, smashing it into scrap metal. The family is glad to be rid of the thing, which they began to see as a flawed coping mechanism. But Leo's spirit still clings to the robot.

And Leo is terrified. He doesn't understand what happened, or why Donnie would do something like that to him. Leo had been using the robot to live a second life, to speak and move freely, to talk with his family. And once Donnie destroys the robot, that is all ripped from him. Without a vessel to ground him in the mortal world, Leo is forced back into the spirit realm, separated from his brothers all over again, rejected by his family. And in his confusion, Leo gets angry.

Strange little things start to happen in the lair. People get calls that just play static, mystic powers fail more often than usual, Donnie's tech malfunctions. It's weird, but no one minds too much.

Then, one day, Donnie walks into his lab, to see Leo's robot, sitting on the table. It's perfectly repaired, to the extent that no one could even tell it was broken in the first place. It's eyelights are on, and it slowly looks up at Donnie.

"I hate you," It says in a perfect copy of Leo's voice. "I hate you."

And for the first time since his robot was finished, Donnie understands that something is very, very wrong.

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

♤|♡ "BARGAIN" — Overlord [IDW]

Post Overlord’s Defection, Pre-G-9! based off of my HCs you can find right here.

summary: Overlord left the Decepticons and word spreads fast in the Decepticon ranks. You could've cared less. And you realize that mistake a little too late when someone crashes in your ship on a fine day.

warning: robo-gore

cross posted on ao3!

Overlord was in here just to find a functioning ship and Decepticon ships were ones he was well-versed with, just about every model so it’s no surprise he chose the nearest one he could find at the moment. Overlord was an educated mech, many may have the notion he's merely a mindless brute with nothing in his helm other than destruction and while that is true, the mech is keen on educating himself. With adequate knowledge on Decepticon engineering; he knew what circuit was beneath which panel on the hull’s exterior so it was relatively easy for the behemoth of a mech to break a few panels using his abnormal brute strength, rip out the ship's shielding circuitry as well as weaponry, rendering the crew defenceless. Not like the ship’s weapons were doing much against his standard Warrior’s Elite ununtrium frame to start with but he did find being fired at slightly annoying at the moment. His own little ship was running out of energon which was the only reason he was honestly here for… and maybe a good old chaos session. The mad warrior was insane enough to jump from his own ship to the hull of this one, holding onto it for dear life as the rather skilled pilot of this ship tried to shake him off to no avail.

His pedes make a loud metallic thump as he lands onto the floor, stretching his servos a bit as he looks around. The ejection bridge, just where he wanted to be. This was probably the type of ship to have a little more skilled Decepticon personnel given the size and model but he's more than prepared for a fight, he's craving one if anything. But firstly, Overlord thinks about what he should do for his ‘fun’. He takes his blasters and aims at the escape pods, damaging them enough so that they wouldn't be able to eject; chances of escape left in flames as he walks away. The silence within the ship confuses him; there's none of those usual pleasant sounds that come along with his grand entry— no screams, no begging, no panicking, no blaster shots. Just utter silence.

No matter, he'd have his fun somehow.

Now, he could just go directly towards the storage and take all their energon but where’s the fun in that? The doors were wide open; as in whoever ran this ship had a feeling he was here for fuel and thought he’d be sane enough to just take what he wants and frag off. But Overlord’s been itching for his daily dose of violence, the one good thing about being a Decepticon was that it meant he had a daily quota of violence ensured for him always. Generally, he’d get a kick from the mortified faces of the crew members as they try to shoot him down trying to defend their ship. All in vain of course, no standard Decepticon blaster was powerful enough to pierce through ununtrium but it seems the crew of this ship was much smarter, not even a shadow of their presence in his line of sight. Or maybe they were cowards, cowering and hiding like the rest would.

At least Overlord loved a good game of hide & seek.

He roams the desolate hallways of an eerily familiar ship as he hums a tune, only alarms blaring and the echoes of his pede-steps could be heard. There is nothing but malevolent intent radiating from his frame. He can’t find the crew so far, they must be huddled up somewhere. Overlord found that slightly strange given most Decepticon commanders would’ve probably fled to a safe room, or the crew would fight over escape pods and leave the weak to fend for themselves… But this was a ghost ship. Perhaps they’ve all used the escape pods, Overlord muses. However, he knows that's not the case. He made sure to break in the exact area where the ship’s escape pods would be and he made sure to note the exact number of escape pods. Not a single one had left the ship. Decepticon engineering had gotten far too predictable for the Phase Sixer.

All in the meanwhile, you and the rest of your crew huddle in the common room, the make-shift break room. You’ve managed to calm down all of your crew, hushed whispers between them as they discuss the situation at hand— there’s all sorts of bots with you; combatants, engineers, pilots, medics, M.T.O.s and even a few of the ship’s drones for the sole purpose of keeping track of the ship’s systems. It was a tactical decision on your part; the security drones allow you to access the cameras of the ship, at least the ones that weren’t broken by his entry. There's an overwhelming sense of responsibility surging through you when you look at the twenty or so fellow ‘Cons under your charge as you struggle to compute, struggle to think of an idea to make this better somehow while you watch Overlord humming a tune as he walks through empty halls.

Why was he here? What was he here for? You have so many questions but all you know is that Overlord isn’t a Decepticon anymore and that means you have absolutely no assurance for whatever he’s planning. You know what he's capable of very, very well and it does nothing to ease your anxieties.

But you don’t have the right to panic. You can’t. You have to put up a strong face for your crew. They all rely on you. You tear your helm off the monitor to just make sure everybot was here for a moment. A little relieved you made it this far. You SIC, Faust pats the armour plating on your shoulder for a moment to calm you down— Decepticons generally don’t comfort or accept it when offered but you can't help but appreciate the action, evident from the soft smile he draws from you. You turn your helm back to the monitor of the drone, watching the hulking blue and pink mech intently with an understandably worried expression on your faceplates.

Now, usually, Overlord would’ve gotten bored by now but the mystery of where the crew went is rather intriguing to him. The captain of this vessel was intelligent; he’d give the mech that much, you had managed to sound the emergency alarms as well as override the lock systems. That meant each and every door was locked and Overlord would have to waste his time punching through doors to find the bots of this ship and this ship wasn’t exactly small, large if anything.

What a pain. But it would make his victory all the more sweeter.

He’d made his way to the safe room, he knew where those were on almost every Decepticon engineered ship at this point and he’s a little surprised to see no one inside after he rips through the door effortlessly. Overlord’s patience is wearing thin now, a small frown over his face as he storms back out onto the hall. He turns his helm to a rather… familiar door. He brute forces his way through it— it’s a CO’s workstation and he can’t help but sneer at the realization as he stands by the metallic doorway. He hated them. Having to report to those clearly less than him… but something’s familiar about the metal desk in front of him. He inspects it, long strides helping him get close quickly around the dull room.

Those datapads. Those desk stands. The hyper-specific method of file arrangement. A datapad with roll call list with ticks next to names.. Dates penned down next to it…

The realization of who’s ship he’s in sinks in and an absolutely dastardly smile spreads across his face, crimson optics gleaming with dangerous intent. He walks out of the room with a wide smile— he’s going to be dealing with you. Of course he couldn’t expect his usual routines or methods to work on you. You were far above those regular brutes that call themselves Decepticons and that meant a new experience for him, maybe even a challenge and Overlord wouldn’t refuse that. Overlord was going to enjoy this, throughly.

And the best part? He didn’t come here initially for you. This is a bonus.

He hums in thought, knowing you… you probably told all your crew to hide in their respective quarters. Of course, that would be something you would do. Not only did living space rooms (as well as weapons storage & ammunition) have doors thicker than the rest but also could only be opened by the ones who live in said respective habisuites of living space wing. He could punch the doors out too but it would take slightly more effort. He guns straight for the captain’s quarters, hoping to find you there. Overlord’s always wanted to be in your quarters before, he’d got a rather giddy look on his face only to be replaced by a scowl the moment he smashes the door open along with the HUD to see an empty room. But despite his annoyance, he lingers there for a moment longer than he should just to admire what you’ve done with the place; it literally screams out your designation to him with how boring it looks to him. He walks away, not willing to lose this game yet.

Your crew seems to go increasingly restless but you’ve managed to calm them down with Faust’s help. A quick flash of fear passes through your faceplates as you continue monitoring his actions, he is getting closer to the common room, entering the living pace sector only to tear through various habisuites for his amusement. His strength scares you, how he effortlessly rips through standard reinforced titanium doors like it's a datapad. It just makes your growing dread at what's impending worse as you continue to try and figure out what his intentions are.

Because Overlord is not a mech you can fight off; it's not even an opinion, it's a fact. But, you could mislead him. At least that you could do. Make him think and search while you keep scheming for a contingency plan. You know he gets bored easily and that’s just about the only thing you can rely on. You’ve made sure to leave the doors of the fuel storage and weapons storage open, hoping Overlord would take what he wants and leave but clearly, the mech can’t do fuel without entertainment. Besides, you were able to send Axel and Argon to grab whatever heavy artillery there was to keep with all of you as you hid in here, you knew Overlord would break through eventually and you weren't going to take any risks. It paid off.

“You know, I find myself enjoying this little game of ours, deary~” Overlord says out loud in his usual smug tone, frustration from before skimming down to none. He honestly impressed you’ve lasted this long, the other ships he’s taken down lasted about... what? Ten minutes?

You feel a primaeval fear grip your spark. He knows you’re listening. Somehow, he knows you're listening. You try to make it seem as if you weren't scared. Faust, Axel, Argon and the rest were busy whispering as quietly as they could amongst themselves.

You listen to what he’s saying, focused, on the lowest volume setting possible as your highly tuned in audio receptors take in his words. You make sure the rest of the crew can’t hear, solely in order to avoid making them panicked because the moment they are, they’d make enough noise for the Phase Sixer to figure out you’re hiding in the common area. You can’t speak back to him currently given your… compromised position so you listen to every word intently, studying his figure keenly.

“I must admit, most don’t last this long, dearest Commander…” He sighs out, making sure to stay loud. You can see he suspects that you can hear him. You can’t help but furrow your optical ridges, optics never leaving his figure as you observe him. Not daring to look away as you lean in towards the monitor on the drone. From what you can tell, he suspects you’re in the main console room because that's where he’s strutting towards, carrying an air of idyllic malice you knew him well for.

“Making me think. But that’s what I like about you. You make sure I’m never bored~” His digits scrape against the metallic walls as he walks along the lonely corridors. Now, that wasn’t good. You have a visible frown on your face. Your entire plan was to: A. let him take the weapons, ammunition and energon he needs without resistance so he would go quickly or B. make him bored out of his mind if he was looking for a fight so that he’d take whatever it was that he needed and leave.

But you made two fatal flaws: you underestimated his tenacity; you left out his inability to accept defeat and his unshakable want for something more than what he came for.

He enters the main console room and you can’t help the hitch in your vents as an idea of what he might be doing crosses in your processor, he seems rather unfazed when he doesn’t see you there; as if he wasn’t expecting it and it unnerves you, because until now, he seemed to get frustrated with all of your disappearances. The others hiding behind you seem to take notice of your subtle shift in demeanor, exchanging panicked glances amongst themselves but not daring to make a noise. You gave them a strict order to ‘keep quiet until you can hear your own internal systems’.

Overlord is the most dangerous when he thinks outside of brutality— you knew that well. You refuse to take your optics off of the screen, the reactions of your cowering crew going unnoticed.

He’s at the surveillance console. You can’t help the shallow vents that leave you but you try to keep your composure, you can't afford to panic, you keep telling yourself. Was he trying to access the ship’s camera feed? You’re certain he can’t… Only the Surveillance Officer and CO could; and your Surveillance Officer, Eris, was cowering under a desk with some of the other crew like you asked them too. But the disappointed huff you hear from the monitor's speakers as Overlord bends over to access the surveillance console has you letting out a relieved sigh. He can't access it.

Overlord walks over and sees red flashes over at the communication panel, a small beeping noise from it and walks up to it, crimson optics widening. “Oh, you are vile...” Overlord laughs as he sees the communication log. You sent a distress signal to the DJD.

::Ambushed by armed assailant in a M-18 model— Decepticon manufactured, recognized as a Decepticon, identity unclear. Thrusters damaged, ship immobilized. 12:87:09, Kimera Sector.::

::status: sent, unread.::

Unread. Narrow luck was on his side and it made him smile. Tarn and his bootlickers must've been too busy with a hunt. Even if the DJD does see the distress call, it would take them time to get to these coordinates and Overlord knows full well that The Peaceful Tyranny does not have a Transwarp Engine because of their ‘encounters’, perhaps you weren’t aware of such a thing. A miscalculation on your side. But you still had him on a timer and Overlord wasn't even aware of it.

He would’ve busted a fuse from sheer rage if he weren’t actually impressed with all that you’ve done within the time he managed to break through into your ship. Not only that but you’d manage to send a description of the ship he had arrived in. That would mean he was going to be tailgated for an annoying span of time… But unidentified? Every damn bot on this ship knew who he was the moment he recklessly made a landing on the weak point on your ship's hull. Why didn't you mention his designation? Surely, the DJD would be coming faster in that case. Unless you want to buy time… But for what?

You're a puzzle to him, a complex one. One he intends to solve. He admires your thinking. Maybe this was a slip up from your side? Not enough time to type out his designation? He sincerely doubts it. Meanwhile, you continue to watch with growing trepidation. Optics never once tearing themselves away from the monitor screen.

He takes a seat by the captain’s chair although it's a little small for him, his servos lay on the armrest of your chair, it irks you but you let it be. You had more pressing matters. His helm leans down on his servo, helm supported by his servo as he seems to be… thinking?

“If I were my dearest Commander, where would I go with my crew?”

Overlord always believed that a good tactician is half psychologist and half sadist, which is why he made sure to try and understand the way you think… but you were truly something else in his optics. He remembers seeing you read a datapad on ship mechanics during breaks and he remembers your answer to his snarky inquiry on your choice of reading: “I believe it's important to be educated on a topic before you make a decision.”. Wisdom, he might’ve said if he weren’t so prideful. It was why you were the only other mecha in this entire faction to have at least a shred of his respect. He was getting frustrated as he tries to think but masks it with a chuckle.

“Hm… I’d be with my crew… Not because I’m one of those bot that babble about ‘honor’ but because I know that they would give out positions of every bot on-board if I’m not there to keep them in line.” He muses and you scowl from where you sit and watch because he was right. If you let one of them out on their own, out of their sight and Overlord found them, they would sell all of you out immediately… and you wouldn’t blame them. Overlord was beyond sadistic.

“But… where could my dearest Commander hide with the whole crew? Judging by the number of habs in the living space, I’d say there’s maybe… eighteen? Twenty if I’m pushing it…”

Overlord says out loud, you know what he’s doing. He wants you to listen. Overlord rises up from the chair, heading out of the main console room, strutting down the corridors with an unreadable expression. He’s saying his thoughts out loud, he’s not talking to himself but to you, to make you panic, you know that. Fear is a powerful tool and Overlord is counting on getting you on edge; you can tell it's not only for baiting you to do something brash but for his own enjoyment as well.

“Now, the only rooms in the ship's layout that could fit that many would be…” He takes a turn and you continue watching as that nagging trepidation continues to build up in your frame. Your circuits feel unnaturally cold.

“One, the engine room, but you’d rather face me directly than let me near volatile engine parts with your whole crew around.” Overlord chuckles as he continues, his stride unnervingly calm and patient. He’s near where he breached through the hull and you can’t get a live security feed, earning a curse from under your ex-vent.

“Two is definitely not the main hall, I quite literally walked past it…” You can hear his voice with slight static over it but you’re able to make out what he says. The security feed returns and an immediate look of temporary relief floods your face as you continue keenly observing; however, you remain acutely aware that you cannot feel relieved yet as this threat to civilizations itself continues roaming your ship. He walks and he is getting closer to the living sector again.

You prepare yourself for the worst.

“Three, the mess hall. Plenty of space to run around in but in most Decepticon warships? Mess halls don’t exactly have doors…”

You can hear his pede-steps now. Heavy. Measured. You can’t help the fear that engulfs your whole frame as you watch in horror, glancing across to your crew. An expression that clearly conveyed the situation at hand and they all understand that look. Some whimper and some pray like they never have before to deities they relinquished when they became Decepticons as silently as they could while they remain huddled behind you. Some cling onto each other. Eris and Faust are, in hopes of some sort of comfort. Anxiety and dread continue to bubble up from deep within your frame at the sight— you don’t blame them for hiding behind you as you stand near the door. Pedes quietly shuffling away from the large metallic door as you hear Overlord’s loud, measured pede-steps right outside.

He’s here.

“Lastly, that would leave us with four, the common room.”

All of you remain prepared, your crew huddling behind you as you face the door. They really did believe you could save them from this and it just makes your tanks churn with a sense of… melancholy because of this situation… Overlord, he was far out of your control and you always had everything under control. You see a balled up servo punch at the door, about to break through. The door can only last for so long, some of your crew have hidden behind furniture in the common room and many remain huddled around you as you back away from the door. Putting the cannons and whatever artillery they had in their servos in place, knowing it would be futile.

But what choice do they have against Warriors Elite? Going down with a fight is better than mindlessly being slaughtered like cattle.

Overlord can hear the audible flinches and it just fuels him even more to take this slow and build this up so he could see the faces of mortification. But a part of him is excited at the prospect of seeing you again. There’s a wicked grin on his face as he finally bursts through the metal door and the sight makes him laugh— you at the forefront as the rest of the crew remains huddled behind you, pointing cannons and cheap Null Rays as if they could do anything against his superior frame.

And he knows they won't shoot, he can see it. Servos shaking like cowards, even if they did shoot, they'd miss and end up hurting one of their own. A pathetic attempt at a display of hostility against a force of nature like him.

Soon enough, his hulking figure looms over you, malicious intent practically radiating off of his frame.

“Got you.” He can’t help but feel smug as he purrs it out, that was absolutely fun and the result was a hundred percent worth it because he can see the absolute terror that grips all of your sparks. It took a while and that's what made the end result all the more sweeter.

His optics lock on to you as you stand on the forefront, it was humorous to see you like this now given you used to shoot daggers at him. You were supposed to look at him like this back then. Even if your optics only subtly betray your emotions, Overlord can tell you’re scared despite the stern glare you give him, he can see that you’re trying to stop your lower derma from trembling slightly.

“Aww. What’s with this face, Commander? Aren’t you happy to see an old soldier? A good old comrade?” Overlord gives a deceptively cheery smile as he leans down to you, keeping an uncomfortable closeness. You say nothing but your crew seems to take that as a signal to further huddle behind you and move back, away from him. A good call. Your crimson optics narrow at him and he can’t help but laugh at your display, he can see the swirling defiance and fear behind your optics all too well; he’s seen this look before. Many times. Though, he liked the look more on you.

“You should be proud, dearest. Not many have succeeded in making me resort to actually thinking for once… Or lasting this long, really.” He pats your back with little force but you continue to stand tense, refusing to fall into his ploy of false security. Overlord was treating this as if it were a game and he’d won in good sport. Mocking you. You uncomfortably purse your derma into a thin line, trying not to recoil from his touch; even if it was light for the metaphorical weight behind it was heavy.

“...What do you want?” You manage to speak, you try to make sure your tone isn’t shaky.

  Overlord comes to appreciate your cunning even more after making him run around circles in your ship to try and find everyone as if it were some hide & seek royale. As frustrating as it was, he will admit one thing; no mech other than Megatron himself has managed to get him to resort to using his intellect as much as he did in this situation because if he were any other somewhat sane Decepticon, he would’ve given up and just taken what he came for initially. But now you and your whole crew are basically his prisoner now.

“Why I want to have fun, catch up with an old friend maybe.” He says in a mockingly non-threatening manner with his eerie yet cheery smile but you can feel malevolence basically enveloping your frame as his intimidating stature stands upright, looming over you. Overlord chuckles as he sees you’re not buying it, a hard glare from your crimson optics. He can see the distrust and defiance. You don’t even have to use your words to tell him what you feel.

“You think I would crash a party without having some fun of my own?” He leans close towards you, his helm moving towards your crew and looking back at you with a wide wicked grin and that gleam in his crimson optics. You knew damn well what he was planning.

And you were afraid that it would indeed work.

“Don’t you dare.” Your words fall onto deaf audials as you catch on to what he’s saying

“Firstly, I want to know a few things.” He quickly snatches up one of the bots that cowered behind you, a small green bot that maybe reached up to your chassis at best and you recognize him, it was Axel. You prepare yourself for the worst. This was going to be one hell of an interrogation.

“You send a distress signal to the DJD saying that your ship was under attack, why?” Overlord asks as he holds a shaking Axel in one of his large servos, wanting to know if he was right about his previous assumption. Was it because of orders? What went through your helm? The questioning clearly caught you off-guard and he could see that in your crimson optics despite your stoic demeanour, he assumes you thought he would ask something classified which he would but… not yet.

“They aren’t too far from this star system and they could deal with you for treachery.” You reply rather blankly but he can sense your disdain, Overlord hums. He can easily feel the venomous edge in your tone. You were making it seem like you were following protocol.

“Partly true. But the real reason, not the painfully obvious.” You did not mention Overlord even once in the signal. Why give a description of his ship but not say that it was Overlord’s?

Without a second thought, Overlord’s free servo clutches on Axel’s servo, almost half his whole limb in his large servo as he begins slowly crushing his servos in front of you, his arm components giving a grinding crunching noise. Your optics widen, a scream that could freeze the energon in any mecha’s lines rips through his vocalizer. The metal of his arm slowly gets compressed, flattening in Overlord’s grip as the rest of your crew stands stupefied, far too fear-stricken to do anything as sheer horror flashes onto all of your faces. You’re no exception.

“Fine, fine, fine! I-I’ll tell you! Just… Just don’t-”

You fumble around, clearly distressed. It was a rare sight from the oh, so stoic Commander and Overlord, that sadistic streak of him, relished it. But, it was too late. You hear a horrifyingly loud crunch noise. To every bot’s sheer mortification, Axel’s entire servo gets flattened and ripped off of his frame as he writhes helplessly in Overlord’s gasp, screaming so deafeningly loud that his vocalizer cackles static and energon splurts out from where once his shoulder was. His faceplates contorted into one of utter agony and for a moment, you feel… frozen. His energon slashed a little on your faceplates and you just kept that look of horror.

You have never felt this helpless your entire functioning.

“For every lie you tell, I rip off a limb, fair?” Overlord keeps his menacing cheery smile on, as if he didn’t just mutilate a live bot in front of them.

You usually don’t feel bad when you witness Decepticons commit atrocities. Far too desensitized. Besides, you can't be a Decepticon without being either apathetic or sadistic. But the fact that this happened to a bot under your command, under your watch… it makes your tanks churn as you let out a shaky ex-vent. As if you've failed your duty as a commander. Failed to keep your crew safe as their captain. You honestly expected Overlord to kill him but of course, the sadist would only make someone suffer as much as he could before finishing them off.

“I signalled the DJD and gave a description of your ship. The model, the colours and the fact that it’s Decepticon manufactured. That way, you won’t be able to just… slaughter us all and run off. And all Decepticon communication lines contain the ID of the ship the message is sent from. So even if you wanted to use our ship instead, they would track you down.”

His smile falters, his dermas now pursed as he listens on keenly. That meant he could just kill all of you without an issue, he just had to make a rather daring escape and he could do so with an escape pod from your ship after he blows up the main console, not really convenient considering he was rather low on energon however it still works in his favor... nonetheless he listens on. Since you mentioned his ship was stolen Decepticon manufacture, it was without a doubt that wet blanket Tarn would assume Overlord’s ship had some second-rate opportunistic traitor… but why not mention Overlord? Tarn was practically aching to get his servos on him, that fanatic would come a lot faster if you did though it would take time regardless.

“But, the signal can be… shut down. You can cut off a distress signal. The receiver will only be able to save the ship’s location from where the signal was sent, not the ship’s identification. They can note it down, sure but they won’t be able to track or tell who the ship belongs to. The DJD will come here but they won’t be able to find our ship, they’ll assume some other ship already assisted us but they’d still keep a look out for the ship we described.” You speak, studying his face as carefully as you can. Optics narrowed at him. Trying to figure out anything that he’s feeling. Anything at all. But he just… stands in front of you, a shaking Axel clutched in his servo like some sort of doll missing a limb.

“Location is not an issue because you didn’t damage our transwrap-drive when you entered. We have enough energon in our ship to make one warp.”

You add on, trying to make sure your voice doesn’t shake and somewhat succeeding. You were going to break many, many, many lines of protocol for this but… it's either Overlord or Tarn. And that is basically the same thing but one of them comes with four others to deal with. Sure, Tarn would not be very happy with you and he was honestly just as scary as Overlord but you’d rather deal with a harsh lecture from the DJD leader about how important his time is (if he doesn’t find out you covered up Overlord, you’re sure that would get all of you on The List) than watch your entire crew get mutilated by Overlord. Overlord’s optics wide slightly as you’ve outwitted him yet again. You’ve managed to get quite a sweet deal and the better of him in a situation where you’re supposed to be compromised because you knew damn well he can't pilot an entire Decepticon battle cruiser without a crew.

“However, I can’t do that alone, I’ll need my Communication’s Officer and technicians to help me because I don’t have Decepticon communications protocols in my memory banks… and you don’t know which bot does what duty either. You can't pilot this ship entirely by yourself. Plus, this sector of the galaxy is practically abandoned. You won't be able to find another ship here for vorns.”

Overlord can’t help but smirk at that, you really were something else. His optics subtly lights up when your quick wit finally registers in his processor. If you had mentioned Overlord, Tarn would certainly come quicker but it would take time regardless, space travel was not as quick as all those engineers boast about… and he would have more than enough of a reason to leave behind a mess for Tarn. Not only that, but then Tarn would have a description of his ship and know that it was his as well. What's the point of leaving Overlord over to the DJD for their 'justice' if it meant all of you would die?

You left out his designation so you could buy time. Not only to put Overlord on a time constraint.

“That means, you can’t cripple or terminate any of my crew if you want to hitch a ride. Otherwise, you can take what you want, kill us all, leave and have the DJD tailgate you for vorns.” You finish off, looking at an impressed and near awestruck Overlord with a convincing but fake blank look. You don't want him to know just how scared you are, though you know he probably does. From one tactician to another, he had to applaud your thinking, he wouldn’t have seen that coming. Ever. He drops Axel haphazardly as the ‘Con continues groaning in pain. But you don’t dare to help him as you continue looking at Overlord, you can’t afford to show weakness in front of him.

Meanwhile, the crew behind you mutters amongst themselves with understandable skepticism. Some try to protest, intakes agape to say something. Overlord as a houseguest? Insanity! That would never work out! Not to mention, harbouring a high-profile traitor was practically treason. You’d get them all on The List. But, they’ve come to trust you. You wouldn’t go this route unless there was no other alternative. You know what you’re doing.

Right?

“Well played, Commander.” He claps, you’re not sure if he’s mocking you or if he’s being genuine but you’re honestly… surprised. Surprised that he even considered; Overlord was not a mech of reason. The energon from Axel splattered across his servos dripping as tiny droplets onto Axel’s frame as the ‘Con weakly groans, crawling away as quickly as he can away from Overlord. The sight is… unsettling, straight out of those circuits and wires gore montages, you keep your focus onto Overlord as much as you can. He is actually genuinely impressed.

You’ve managed to secure your own safety and your crew’s in a matter of moments as well as manage to evade confrontation with him for this long. He can see how startled you look, as if you didn’t expect him to ever agree. However, you're well aware that this will only be forever the time being and that any promises with Overlord wouldn't last unless you had leverage or an offer. But he wasn’t going to let you win so easily.

By agreeing to do this for him, you were going to keep him under the radar, Overlord wouldn’t have thought his old stick-up-the-aft commander would ever even fathom about harboring a fugitive… but if it came at the assurance of your life… Overlord can see what you’re offering. You’re basically giving him a choice to remain hidden; to return to his ship, take the energon he needs and frag off to the farthest corner of the galaxy as if this never happened. Or even stay for an indefinite period. You’re giving him a major advantage in exchange for the mere promise he won’t kill you.

And lately, Tarn’s been getting a little too close to him. Regardless, Overlord has his own plans.

“Fine. But I’ll leave, only after you and your mystery Communications bot distorts that signal.” Overlord completely accepts this, folding his servos over his chassis as his figure looms over you and it… somehow feels more strange to you. You were honestly prepared for him to just shoot you on the spot. Overlord can see your crew more at ease as well. But it’s a mystery.

He has something he wants from you, you feel it.

But you can’t tell what it is.

A silence fills the room, almost as if all of them can’t believe that you managed to actually talk your way out of this with Overlord of all mechs. All of them honestly can’t believe that they have a chance of walking out of this functioning. Your processor races, millions of possible reasons flashing through. The silence is deafening as you continue to stare up at him, surprised and studying.

“Well? If you wait around, the DJD is going to show up and your sweet deal will mean nothing, commander.” Overlord unceremoniously breaks the silence with a frown as he stands with his servos on his hip struts.

“...Right.”

You can’t believe that worked but you and a group of technicians and your crew’s Communications Officer hurry to the main console, working on it near immediately as Overlord walks around the room. He moves around, seeming… bored. His optics are fixed on you, its unnerving. But almost nostalgic. It used to be one his many, many ways of annoying you.

You're mostly silent as he looms above you.

"...how do I know that you won't kill us off after we disable the signal?" You muster up the courage to ask, looking at him. Overlord would definitely do something like that. But he just smiles, again, a deceptively cheery one.

"You'll just have to see." Vague answer. This isn't a solid contract. You're gambling away lives on the basis of a chance. You know that. You're safe as long as he's not having his itch to do something heinous. He looks as bored as ever.

But his boredom is short-lived when his optics befall the navigation panel behind you. You move away as he's bending over slightly to get a better look. A flash of worry on your faceplates but its quickly replaced with the strong cold stoicism.

“Garrus-9?” Overlord mumbles, reading the location this ship was supposed to be heading to rather curiously. Why the prison planet? You freeze. You’re not supposed to say a word but.. There is a chance he might go back on his word if you don’t let him have what he wants and you still don’t know how you managed to bargain for all of your lives.

“Lord Megatron wants us on stand-by.” You say, not revealing too many details of your benefactor’s orders as Eris and the others work on the console. Too risky. Too sensitive. Your faceplates do not betray a hint of what you feel.

How Overlord wished to change that. But he pushes such thoughts away for now. Seems like the two of you had a common destination.

“Interesting.” He says, sounding disinterested. He doesn't feel like murdering all of you anymore. Even if seeing how downright devstated you would be in such a situation would be a sight for his sore optics but…

Now, at least he will know where to find you later.

this is one of my stuff back on ao3, i'll post each of them onto here one by one.

[clancycatears]

∂яαgση яι∂єя нєα∂¢αησηѕ — WITH TASK FORCE 141

AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi. i rewatched the original how to train your dragon, and recently saw the new live-action film adaption. just went on a whim and thought of what the boys' dragons would be if they were dragon riders in the series! gonna stick to four each, because there's like... 150-ish different species of dragons out there. this is all coming from a loyal school of dragons player, so i hope i deliver! do i make a bonus post with everyone else? perhaps…

Dragons with the color orange are what I believe to be the character's primary companion! All links are to the dragon's page on the How to Train Your Dragon Wiki if you're interested! [1.2k words]

JOHN PRICE

John definitely specializes in dragons that display great stoicism and leadership! He and his dragon could make the perfect authoritative pair, while also being soft and collected when they want to be! So yes, I gave him both Hiccup's mom and dad's dragons. Like c'mon, they suit him! You can't tell me he isn't giving Stoic, can you??? Both the leader of Task Force 141, and the island of Berk! But I can also see him blacksmithing with Johnny and dabbling in armoring! Taking inspiration from one of the dragons here definitely gets the gears turning for him.

CRIMSON GOREGUTTER. That thing is BEEFY. Like comparable to John’s strength. The two would make a crazy, powerful, bulky duo. And those horns (antlers)? Clear show of authority and a perfect bulletproof shield for its handler.

RAZORWHIP. Not only a bulletproof shield, but a living, breathing, double-edged sword. Weapons and hazards literally ricochet off of this thing’s scales. John studies the Razorwhip especially for that reason! Wants to keep his boys safe and make them armor that resembles it!

RUMBLEHORN. Stoic’s dragon. Enough said there, but this thing’s rough and tough like John, too! Not quite as defensive and reliable as the Crimson Goregutter, but just imagine getting stepped on or rammed by this thing??? And those HORNS? Better keep your distance, or you’re going straight to the infirmary.

STORMCUTTER. Valka’s dragon, and my personal favorite species of all time! It’s as beautiful as it is dangerous. Like, c’mon, can’t say no to those eyes! Just as satisfying as a sight as John’s silly little bear smile. But be careful. The thing’s saliva is flammable, like John’s sharp tongue. The perfect pair for sure.

SIMON RILEY

I think all of these options speak for themselves. Dangerous, deadly, and most are a legend among Berk in the series! They display power and strength equal to that of their handler, and undying loyalty to match Simon's! So no, not all of these are because they have "bone" or "death" in their names, but because they're powerful and perseverant. (But the names were definitely an inspiration. LMAO.) Totally the type of guy to be a nurse towards the dragons! Caring for them when they're injured or sick, further strengthening his bond with his (not-so-little) friends.

BONEKNAPPER. This thing’s made the bones of the dragons they’ve killed into its own armor, while Simon’s dug himself out from the grave. They’re meant for each other because of that alone. And they have matching skulls! Cute. Hehe.

NIGHT FURY. “[…] Never shows itself. Never misses.” DIRECT MOVIE QUOTE. DIRECT. QUOTE. That thing is literally a living sniper, fits The Ghost™ perfectly. Dark, foreboding, yet agile when it fights. I imagine Simon sporting a full black set of armor to blend into the night with it, too.

SILVER PHANTOM. One of the fastest dragons alive. Like borderline comparable to the Night Fury—maybe even swift cartridges. Perfect to camouflage through white or gray groups of clouds because of its colors, too! Perfect high ground for Simon to take advantage of (since he uses a bow and arrow for sure). And c’mon, does that thing not also look like a ghost?

WHISPERING DEATH. Do you see that thing? I think if I were to ever face a Whispering Death, I’d faint and probably die. That thing looks SCARY. But in all honesty, they’d be the softest out of the bunch. Like some would watch Simon give the thing chin scratches with their jaws on the floor.

JOHN MACTAVISH

Johnny definitely handles the more chaotic dragons out of the bunch. Like I swear, if I were doing two-headed (or more) dragons, he'd absolutely pair up with Kyle on a Hideous Zippleback or with Simon on a Snaptrapper, but we're sticking to individuals right now. Like personally, Johnny is LITERALLY the embodiment of Snotlout, so that's why the dude's very own dragon is in this list! Out of the group, he'd be the blacksmith. I imagine he makes the crazy big axes and maces for the lot. (He personally uses a huuuge battle axe.)

MONSTROUS NIGHTMARE. Pairing Johnny up with a dragon that can light itself on fire is a dangerous combo. Lethal duo indeed. And John, being the overprotective father figure that he is, will be making his boy a fireproof set of armor to keep him safe! Johnny and his dragon would definitely fuck around with fire 24/7, too.

SCAULDRON. Quite the opposite compared to the Monstrous Nightmare. The thing shoots boiling hot water from its maw, it can fly, and it can swim. This is why we should fear the ocean, and Johnny, because he and his Scauldron absolutely dominate a fight from the water. And I just think the two of them look silly together. LMAO.

SKRILL. Okay, I guess I have a thing with Johnny handling dragons that control nature's elements. The Skrill doesn't breathe fire or boil water in its mouth, it spits fucking lightning. And it literally rides on thunderstorms to accelerate? Are you kidding? Johnny would have a ball with this one. But in all seriousness, he and Simon are using the darkness of storm clouds to their advantage.

THORNRIDGE. Much like Johnny, the Thornridge has the most stamina out of the other dragons on this list, and lots of endurance! Sure, its abilities are a bit basic (straying from using the elements to its advantage), but it's a very reliable species. Able to fly great distances and handle excessive damage without breaking a sweat. The two would make a great match!

KYLE GARRICK

Kyle "Pretty Boy" Garrick™ handles the beautiful, majestic, graceful dragons 100%. If I liked the Light Fury just a little more, she'd be on this list, but I didn't want to get too basic on dragons from the main franchise, considering the handful I have here already. Kyle would definitely be the saddlemaker of the bunch! Making pretty saddles for every one of his teammates, while putting extra care into the ones he makes for his dragons to display his skills in the art of matching colors and shapes into his handiwork. Biggest fashion icon in Berk.

DEADLY NADDER. Kyle is literally an Astrid encarnate (diva status and fashion statements and all), so of course I had to include her dragon here! Sporting all sorts of pretty colors and deadly tactics (projectile tail spikes? hello?), Kyle would definitely put its abilities to good use!

DEATH SONG. Okay, besides the Stormcutter, the Death Song is like—my second favorite species in the franchise (and my go-to dragon when I played School of Dragons, lmao), so I had to give it to Kyle! Literally a siren in dragon form, with the ability to shoot an amber-like substance to trap opponents in place. Perfect for luring the baddies in without a tussle. (And it's just a pretty species. Like. Look at it.)

SAND WRAITH. Probably the least known species out of every single one I've covered here (it's in School of Dragons more than the actual franchise). Yes, I picked it because it's pretty, but also because of its use of camouflage! Similar build to the Night Fury, too, so it's incredibly agile and steadfast in battle.

TIMBERJACK. This thing literally cuts down trees with a single swipe of its wings, so you definitely do not want to go up against one in battle. While its wings look fragile, they're actually quite the opposite! They're huge and make the perfect shield when used for it. I can imagine Kyle dolling it up with more protective gear, though, just to be sure.

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Been following your blog for a while & thanks to you I've been able to understand the mdzs storyline on a deeper level. However I wanted to ask since wwx & lwj share the same moral compass of righteousness, when wwx went to save the wen remnants why didn't lwj go with him? Has it something to do with his sect? Because going to save the wen remnants with wwx would mean he'll make himself the the enemy of the cultivation world like wwx did & the lan sect will be targeted by the cultivation world?

Hi hi!

Simply put, while Wei Wuxian may have respected him, he did not expect anything of Lan Wangji. There is a certain level of proprietary that kept them distant. They weren't seen as friends. Especially when their interactions consisted of instances such as this:

Lan WangJi looked at him, as though he could tell at once that he didn’t take it seriously. He took in deep breath, “Wei Ying.”

He continued stubbornly, “The ghost path harms the body and the heart.”

Wei WuXian seemed as if his head began to hurt, “Lan Zhan, you… I’ve heard more than enough of these words that you say, and you still feel that you haven’t said them enough?

You say that it harms the body, but I’m fine right now. You say that it harms the heart, but I haven’t become that frenzied, have I?”

Lan WangJi, “It is not too late yet. In the future, even if you regret…”

Without waiting for him to finish talking, Wei WuXian’s expression changed. He suddenly stood up, “Lan Zhan!”

Behind him, red light had begun to glow within the eyes of the girls. Wei WuXian, “Stop it.”

For Wei Wuxian he fully did believe Lan Wangji saw him as lesser, their most significant interactions before this were Lan Wangji implying Wei Wuxian was a terrible person who shallowly flirted and was careless with his words,implying that Wei Wuxian had drifted from his morals (or worse never had any) as a person during their confrontation at the Qishan Wen Outpost and was a danger to others and himself. The danger was never what Wei Wuxian would do, but what he could do for it to be manipulated and twisted to make Wei Wuxian a villain the world desperately wanted every turn of generations.

Lan Wangji did not do anything to dissuade this idea for Wei Wuxian. His proprietary lead to his hesitation to speak with Wei Wuxian deeply. Lan Wangji also believed that Wei Wuxian disliked him due to his lack of being able to fully address their misunderstandings with each other. He had been the cause for Wei Wuxian to raise his defenses around Lan Wangji just as Lan Wangji had done to him when they were fifteen years old.

Even if Lan Wangji followed him, unfortunately, so what. The world already saw Wei Wuxian as a problem, no matter who was by his side, it would make no difference, when those in power wanted him on a leash for their use like a dog waiting orders. Anyone by his side was just another target for the cultivation world to besmirch and it was only a matter of time for something to occur. If Lan Wangji somehow chose to stay within Burial Mounds it would have been nothing more than further fodder for the jianghu to insist Wei Wuxian was stealing cultivators to make his own sect.

There is also hypocrisy there as we are shown others pursuing the idea of their own sects and founding them, but Wei Wuxian had a lot of power with the Yin Hufu at his disposal that the jianghu didn't like. Even when Lan Wangji did stand by Wei Wuxian's side, his own brother continued to see Wei Wuxian at fault for seemingly leading Lan Wangji on. And thirteen years later Lan Wangji's own clan insist that Wei Wuxian must have enchanted Lan Wangji with some kind of evils. The tragedy is that the Jianghu would have always hurt the Wens, there is nothing in their world that could have fully protected them because the world didn't want to.

Lan Wangji believed he was not wanted or welcomed, and to a certain extent he was not until Wei Wuxian was resurrected. Lan Wangji had to face his regrets and move on. It is why he was able to stand by Wei Wuxian once more fully. It was on Lan Wangji to patiently stay by Wei Wuxian's side while actually supporting him to earn trust that had been lost, very stubbornly like Wei Wuxian did when they first met. He had the time to mature and become an adult. As an adult he does listen to Wei Wuxian, he provides input on their plans together, they work coherently and naturally together once they're both able to drop their walls built up for years in the safety of realizing they can be friends as they both originally wanted to.

There has to be care in the words and actions said and done to those you love. As Jiang Fengmian said:

"There are some things that can’t be said even if you’re angry"

[mist-see]

Do you still want me after this?

Pairing: Ghost x Tall, Dominant Black Female Reader

Setting: Quiet barracks room, late night.

Tone: Emotional intimacy, confession, vulnerability.

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, suicide, war, torture, PTSD, implication of SA. Gentle but heavy themes.

You don’t ask for the story.

Not with words, anyway.

You trusted him to tell you whenever he was ready. It could be tomorrow, three months, 10 years. So when he one day just pulls you to your bunk, away from your peers. You knew it was serious, because he never was so obvious with your romantic life.

You sit across from him. One leg drawn up, arms resting loose on your knee. The way your eyes don’t demand, don’t prod, don’t pull — just wait. Open. Ready.

The room is dim, storm hissing gently against the barracks windows. Power’s stable but flickering. It smells like rain, like skin, like cotton and old gun oil.

Simon pulls off his mask.

Lays it gently on the desk that was pushed underneath the window. Not of surrender — but of trust. He sits down on the creaky wooden chair and faced you head on.

And then he says:

“You sure you want to know?”

You just nod.

So he begins.

⸻

“My name’s Simon Riley.”

“Born in Manchester. Eldest son of a bastard.”

He introduced himself to you, even though he already knows you. But you really don’t know him.

His voice is low, calm. Like someone reciting a list of coordinates. But there’s something trembling underneath.

“My dad was the kind of monster that didn’t need to roar. All he had to do was walk into a room, and the whole house’d fall silent.”

He jumps right into it, he watches as you blink, obviously caught of guard. He huffs before continuing.

“He beat my mum. Me. My brother, Tommy. I got the worst of it, ’cause I was older. Tried to shield him. Failed, mostly.” He rubs his jaw, like muscle memory. Like his father’s ghost still lives under the skin. “Used to lock me in the dog kennel overnight. Said I needed to learn loyalty.” “Said fear was the same as love.”

You feel something cold settle in your gut.

Not pity.

Rage.

That old man knew to get killed before you got to him. He recognized that look on your face, but he just shakes his head: it’s been over ten years, he’s dead. we both let this go.

And so you breathe out, and continue listening.

“I enlisted young. Eighteen. Joined up, climbed ranks. SAS eventually.”

“It felt right. Orders, discipline, no room for softness. Killing was clean. Quiet. Straightforward. I could disappear into missions. Didn’t have to feel.” He leans forward, elbows to knees. Still not looking at you. “That worked for a while. Until Mexico.” Your breath hitches.

He notices. Nods.

“Yeah.”

This is where his trauma comes into play. The touching, the zoning out. No sex, no long kisses, rare sleep overs.

“We were tracking a cartel splinter cell. Los Almas. I went in with a small team. Thought we had a lead on Hassan.”

“They set a trap. Grabbed us, took us underground. Into tunnels and pits and cages. They weren’t after intel. Just wanted to hurt us. Break us.” You stay still. Let him speak. His fingers tap the tabletop, slow and steady — like Morse code. Like counting breaths. “They flayed one of mine alive. Made us watch. Drugged me so I’d stay lucid. Heard every scream…called me pretty. Said they liked my voice. Said they’d make me talk.” He stops. And you feel that dreadful feeling in your stomach. He didn’t need to elaborate, you knew.

For a long moment, the only sound is thunder.

Then:

“I played dead for three days to escape. Dragged myself out of a pit of corpses. Flies, blood, rot… one hand, two fingers.”

“When I got back, I thought it was over.”

“But they found me again. Buried me alive in a coffin. Pumped me full of ketamine and let me scream ‘til my throat bled.”

You feel the breath leave your body.

Ghost finally looks up.

And it is Ghost now — not just Simon.

The man who came back from the dead and decided he’d never be buried again.

“I clawed out. Again.

And when I did — Simon Riley was gone.”

“Ghost was what survived.” He leans back. Exhales slowly. “It wasn’t just the cartel. My own command left me. Said I was compromised. That it was better PR if I didn’t come home. They buried the op. Deleted the files. I wasn’t a soldier anymore — just evidence. So I erased everything. Burned IDs. Cut ties. Masked up. You know how people say the mask hides you? For me, it’s the only thing keeping me seen.”

He lets that hang there.

Like it hurts more than anything else.

And you realize—

He never wanted to vanish.

They just made it easier than being human.

Then his voice softens.

“Tommy… didn’t make it.”

You blink. “Your brother?”

Simon nods.

“Got hooked on pain meds trying to help Mum. I was deployed when he OD’d. Didn’t leave a note. He was the best of us. Didn’t deserve what we grew up in. I was supposed to protect him.”

Your hand moves toward him instinctively.

But he takes yours instead.

Grips it tight — tight enough to hurt, but you don’t pull away.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told this to,” he says.

“All of it. From start to now.”

You can barely breathe past the emotion choking your chest.

But you manage.

“Why now?”

He swallows.

“Because if I didn’t… I’d lose you without you ever knowing who I was.” He pauses, his eyes staring down at your bruised knuckles, blue a stark contrast to your brown.

“And that’d kill me…” he sounded like a whisper.

“You’ve seen the worst of me. In the field. In pain. Losing control…But this…This is the real worst of me. The boy who survived all that and never learned how to be loved without bleeding.”

Then, quieter:

“Do you still want me after this?”

You don’t answer.

You move.

Slide from the bed. Walk over and climb into his lap without a word.

Arms around his neck.

Legs locking him in place.

Your body — grounding his.

Your voice — steady as your heartbeat.

“You were never hard to want, Simon. Just hard to reach… don’t say no shit like that ever again..” He breathes in like he’s been underwater for years.

And breathes you out.

Like coming home. “…yes ma’am.”

He doesn’t cry.

But he breaks.

In your arms, face in your neck.

[dopscratch]

Just felt like yapping about the batter

He’s such an interesting protagonist ( probably because I’m a sucker for a messed main character) one of my favourite things is when we fight with him and see how the enemies look so big and more powerful than him to kinda give us a false impression of ,, the batter .,, that his mission is a good thing the typical rpg killing bad guy ,I always loved when the creators focus on small details like that , and how the table turns when you go against him and see the true face of his ,the person we helped

Hes my favourite character from off

Also fun fact : I heard that off inspired important things from undertale, like the genocide route and papyrus

I AGREE! i love the batter he's such a cool character. i really love exploring the idea that he's not only a vessel for the Player but a perfectly willing one at that where he feels he's fulfilling some higher purpose, but also that even as that puppet he's also more in tune with (and accepting of) the actual implications of his actions and The Goal than the Player can be especially if you choose the special ending.

like there's just this separation of the Player, the Batter, and the Task and the player and the batter work together in service of the Task- while the batter is dedicated TO it, the player can back out and i think that's a super cool idea

i also love how he's less of an organism and more of just an entity or a tool for a job and also is mildly eldritch truly unknowable horror in only appearing as the viewer THINKS he is or EXPECTS him to be and i think that's a lot of fun to play with

also dedan totally inspired papyrus and i think pepper steak inspired the song ghost fight!

i've always thought about creating a mashup of the two called ghost pepper if i had any musical skill

anyway thanks a lot for the ask i love rambling about off and hearing rambles about off there is a reason my pfp is the ducky himself

[theotherrookie]

"Pretty much. Somebody else gets picked every new generation and the powers remain after death with a few limitations typical of ghosts." Rook explained.

"Aye. But 'tis a good port t' stay at."

"The city is a supernatural hub. All that pent up energy is like caffeine to ghosts."

Edmund did a little spin to showcase his ability to remain solid as well as his very energetic personality. He felt so well he could have even walked around, but he just enjoyed floating too much to bother.

"Well, me family be here wit' me! We all take care o' our ship 'n look aft me new grandson. He's a good young swabbie, ye know."

"That one is also my teammate." Rook added, "You'll have no trouble recognizing him if you happen to meet him."

If they didn't go bother Josh now. Edmund looked very thrilled to show off his stuff. It was rare to find someone as enthusiastic as Lilli. Most ran away at the sight of his guns…or just at the sight of him.

"I be pretty ole, lassie. Ye've got a lot o' time t' waste when ye've got the rest o' eternity t' yourself." the ghost pirate replied, raising his gun, "But I put it t' good use."

At that point, a little demonstration was in order. Edmund aimed off in the distance and fired his flintlock. The shot got a decent distance away, before it exploded into ice spikes.

Rook nodded, "You bet. We had a microwave that spawned popsicles for a while."

"Well, I get my magic from my mother, but it all started way back with the Phoenix."

"'n I be one o' the Leviathan's!" Edmund declared proudly.

"Hence why you can shake hands. Edmund gets a boost from his bond with his patron. It’s almost one of a kind, if not for the rest of our relatives."

The two smiled, as if they've had this conversation before. Though it was time to leave the spotlight to Edmund, who strutted along with the confidence of a peacock.

"Why, yes! I've built all kinds o' things. Me ship, me distillery, 'n these beauties."

The captain promptly reached for one of the flintlocks tucked onto the front of his coat. The gun looked like it hadn't aged a day despite having been modified and used in many battles.

"They be me pride 'n joy!"

"And then there's everything else they put together whenever I don't keep track of my kitchen appliances." Rook added with a smirk.

[sleepy-grav3]

Coping Mechanisms

A/n: This was sitting in my oneshots folder for a while, unfinished. I finally finished it so uh, here you go. Enjoy.

Backstory: After taken by the GIW, Danny's core was shattered. The bats found him and took him in. However, he's severely mentally damaged and is starting to stall his healing process.

TW: Mentions of vivisection, mention of organs in jars, mention of Jason's death, flashbacks, hallucinations, mention of injuries

Danny's obsession is Space and Protection; Danny is the Ghost King; Never mentioned what happened to the rest of the Fentons, that's up to speculations; Assumed that the Drs. Fenton had been experimenting on Danny long-term before fully locking him up in the basement; Bruce/Lady Gotham; Alfred is dead or dead-adjacent, making him immortal; child/baby ghosts are referred to as wisps

This is for sign language because there isn't a way to underline the words, which is my preferred style

He didn’t know how long he spent there. All he knew was that the damage done had left scars, something he wasn’t able to gain ever since the accident. He remembered words, cut off sentences from people, that told him why that wasn’t possible.

“Injuries to your emotional state are dangerous”

“You can heal physical wounds, but not those from the heart”

“You can regenerate limbs”

“Your human form is weaker”

“You’re stronger than most ghosts”

“Halfas have extra healing abilities”

“Your core can regenerate as long as your heart keeps beating”

“The subject’s heart is slowing down”

“The subject can live without a heartbeat”

“The Subject can regenerate vital organs”

“Like a human, the spine controls it’s movements, and shuts down the subject similarly to when its brain is removed”

Danny gasped, trembling as he pulled at his hair. No tears came, not even fake green ones to make up for it. His body was still trying to heal the damage done to it, working against his broken core for his sake.

His chest hurt differently. Each time he moved or felt something, his core would cry out in pain. He thought he’d let out a pseudo-wail if it wasn’t broken. If he weren’t broken.

Danny remembered all the jars around him, choking out another gasp as he dragged his hands down his face. He could feel stings from his temples down to his chin before he felt the bandages around his neck.

He couldn’t understand where the stinging came from, only seeing an empty lab with him sitting on a metal table, chains on his wrists and ankles. He blinked a couple times before he saw images of the dark room he was in, but the lab wouldn’t go away.

He stood up, ignoring his body that screamed in protest, and ran out of the room into fake white hallways.

-

The bats were at the table, only Jason, Duke, Damian, and Danny being missing.

Jason was taking advantage of the fact that he had a flexible schedule to work day and night.

Duke was out on patrol, now having an extra job of helping the dead that resided in the city (only recently he became able to see them, though with some practice).

Damian, however, had only left recently, rushing to get to Danny who was having another episode.

They had saved him a month ago, but it took about 3 weeks for him to wake up. Ever since he woke up, he’s been having episodes. The only way to snap him out of it was to have certain family members shake him out of it, the rest being attacked or avoided outright.

Jason and Alfred were the exception, as Danny would try to save them. They avoided having them get Danny to snap out of it as much as possible, as it would lengthen the time it takes to calm him down.

It hurt them each time an episode came around. It hurt to see Danny’s bandaged and practically mummified figure each time he left his room during an episode or to get some fresh air. And even when the latter happened, he would dissociate or end up breaking down with no tears.

It was only a little over a week into the start of the episodes and they were seeing signs of new injuries. They had to do something, but what could they do? They've filed down his nails, removed sharp objects from his vicinity and locked up the ones that belongs to others, they've safety proofed sharp corners of furniture!

But it wasn't enough.

They had to resort to putting visible cameras in his room. It at least made him hesitate or stop when he was fully there.

-

Ding-Dong

Alfred shivered. Of course their only proper visitor was a ghost. They never can have a normal one, can they?

Alfred walked over to the front door, opening it without hesitation. There, he was met with a gray skinned woman with a long black dress with a slit by her left thigh and a V neck. She also wore gold hoop earrings, a black sun hat, held a black and gold smoke pipe, and had black sunglasses to cover her near-black purple eyes.

“Lady Gotham, I was not expecting you. Come in.”

Alfred stepped aside, allowing her into his haunt. She smiled at him, waltzing into the manor as she had long bypassed the gates. Alfred led her to one of the living rooms. The one they’d use for interviews. Alfred started to prepare some tea as she took a seat at the edge of a sofa, taking a breath from her smoke pipe and letting out a purple haze.

Alfred didn’t mind it, as what she was smoking wasn’t harmful. It was for the sake of refueling at least part of her strength. Her eyes glowed a lighter purple, black nail becoming a little lighter. It was hard to see her so corrupted by the curses that resided in her haunt.

“Phantom is beginning to stall his healing process.”

Alfred froze for a moment before picking up the tea pot and pouring the tea.

“It’s already difficult to calm him down when he’s in his episodes. He’s barely able to hold down anything he eats and can’t sleep well. We’ve given him multiple shots and used healing magic from the local witch shop. We don’t know what else to do.”

He served the drinks and sat down. Lady gotham picked up her cup and plate, taking a sip from it. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, remaining silent for a while so the 2 could at least finish their drinks before acting on plans.

“I was thinking about having another rogue run about.”

“Isn’t it difficult enough with the ones we have? And how would another help Master Danny?”

Lady Gotham smiled, looking at the tea left in her cup.

“Obsessions have a tight hold on those like us. Perhaps, if Phantom gives in a little to them, he’d stop trying to punish himself.”

“His obsession is protection. How would he even be a rogue?”

Lady Gotham’s smile widened, showing her sharp teeth behind gold-dusted, violet lips. Alfred hasn’t seen that smile since she elected to make Bruce her official knight through a spirit contract.

“Don’t you know? He absolutely adores space. Wouldn’t it be quite the process to rid this city of its polluted and cursed smog to view it?”

“His core is cracked and small pieces are missing. Not to mention his severe injuries. How would he be able to work? Ancients- how would he be able to avoid fighting your knights?”

“Mm, I’m sure he’d figure something out. Being powerless never stopped any of our other rogues. He might even get inspired by that politician. Lewis, was it?”

“Lex Luthor. At least you got the L right this time.”

“Ah, no matter. He’s not relevant.”

“You brought him up.”

“Oh shush. We have work to do. Finish your tea, let us speak with the wisp of a king.”

Alfred drank the last of his tea and stood up, leading Lady Gotham to Danny’s room. Once there, he found Danny completing a space puzzle on the desk of his room. From the new bandages on his face and hands, Alfred could tell the episode from that morning had resulted in further injury.

“King Phantom,” That title made Danny perk up, turning to them with brighter blue eyes. “Lady Gotham and I wish to speak with you.”

Danny adjusted his chair and body to face them without trouble. Alfred summoned a small table and 2 chairs, allowing the spirits to sit down.

“Phantom, I’ve noticed that you are stalling your healing process.” Danny flinched at Lady Gotham’s words. “My little wisp… you must know that this dimension and those that branch with it will cease to exist if your End comes to be.”

Danny’s eyes widened. Panic seeped into him as he tried to push his healing to go faster, ignoring the strain of his core. Alfred cleared his throat, making Danny jump and stop forcing the healing out of surprise.

“Master Danny, straining your core isn’t necessary. In fact, it may make things worse. Might we suggest another method.”

Danny hesitantly nodded.

“Lady Gotham offered that you indulge in your obsession. And yes, the sky is covered in smog. That’s where our suggestion comes into play.” Alfred smiled at him. “Why not become a rogue?”

Danny’s eyes widened once more as he quickly shook his head. Lady Gotham gave him the stare, making him freeze up.

“Now, now. A wisp like you should be allowed to indulge in their obsessions in peace. Really, it wouldn’t be a problem with how you’ll work. Attack those causing the air pollution, get rid of some curses, free the sky. Maybe steal some space themed objects here and there. I’m not quite sure how you’d move about or what your alias will be, but it’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to hurt people to be a criminal. And fulfilling your obsession will recharge your power.”

Danny was slow to process. And soon, the way he thought through it transitioned to plans. He pursed his lips as he thought of it all, but eventually shook his head.

“Bats”

“We could speak with them.” Alfred insisted. “Go over plans and ideas. Your health is still a concern, but I highly insist that you go through with this. We are all worried for you, Master Danny. It hurts to see you suffer. Please think more about it.”

Danny remained silent. Lady Gotham stood up and the 3 pieces of furniture disappeared, Alfred starting to clean. She went up to Danny and held out her hand. Danny looked at it before reaching out his own and placing it on hers.

“You’re safe here, my wisp. Trust in my knights. You needn’t fight any longer. Only exist. Do not End yourself. You’re worth more than you believe.”

-

Bruce and Damian perked up when they came back to the cave to see Danny sitting by the computer. He was watching clips of Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian fighting. It was a nice change of pace compared to other times they interacted. It was peaceful.

“Daniel, I did not think you were interested in the cave.” Damian hummed as he walked over, taking off his mask.

Danny turned his chair and looked over at them.

“My healing is being stalled.”

They froze. Damian’s breathing had stopped before the boy convinced himself to do the breathing practices taught to him. Bruce, on the other hand, felt his heart drop. His hands trembled. The sight of Jason’s dead body flashing through his mind.

Bruce almost asked for a ‘report’. That tended to be something that calmed him and his children down enough for them to talk. But that wouldn’t work for Danny. That shouldn’t work. He hoped Danny was willing to talk more. He hoped that there was something to fix this.

“Is there anything we could do?” Bruce asked.

Danny pursed his lips, averting his eyes. Damian narrowed his eyes.

“Daniel. If there is something we could do, speak. It is troublesome as long as it is related to you.”

“Damian is right, Danny. Please. Tell us what to do.”

They got closer, practically at arms length. Damian didn’t have his domino mask on, but Bruce kept his cowl. He needed Batman. He wouldn’t be able to stay together as Bruce right now.

Danny looked up at Bruce and over at Damian before sighing.

“Lady Gotham said that I need to indulge in my obsession more. But when ghosts don’t pull back… it gets extreme. It appears unhealthy. I would…” Danny hesitated once more. “Lady Gotham and Alfred thought becoming a rogue would be the best way.”

The vigilante stood silent for a moment, Bruce processing what was told while Damian thought it through.

“Would going to the Watchtower not be enough?” Batman asked.

“He’d only crave more from there.” Damian mentioned. “What he needs is something long-term. We cannot safely allow him to go to other planets as he is now. However, if he steals and tries enough to get rid of the smog, the amount of time should be sufficient, assuming that’s how obsessions could work.”

Danny’s shoulders let go of some tension.

“The harder it is, the more it satisfies the ghost. I was thinking of targeting companies that cause air pollution. But there’s also curses, so I’ll need to work through them with magic practice.”

Bruce and Damian grimaced at the mention of magic.

“You should talk with Tim about this. He’d be able to plan out how you’d go about. Just don’t overdo it. We don’t want you to get hurt. But know that we will try to stop you.” Bruce said, taking off his cowl, smiling at his new son. “Go and design your suit. I’ll have it made. But make sure your identity is hidden, alright?”

Danny nodded and got up, leaving the 2 to clean themselves up before heading off to bed.

————————————————

Everyone in the batfam got into the vigilante business. It was just a thing. Danny broke that trend, but not the way any of them expected him to.

One day, Danny will retire. No capes, no masks. Just a civilian.

But that day will only come when his healing is finished. With how difficult it was to mend a broken core, not to mention the organs his body had put off regenerating, it would be a long time until then. Years, decades maybe.

The backstory was simple.

It was publicly known that he was a lab rat. Though they thought it was his parents had begun it from young like they had with Jazz (which was the reason why she was smart enough to skip a few classes in college, an excuse really). He’ll play into that. I want to see the sky. And he’ll be a crazy brat about it.

Commissioner Gordon had already shared with him that he had legal immunity until the acts and the GIW were fully taken down. Otherwise, he’d have to be executed under the law. In other words, any and all crimes he committed until then was permitted. He was going to use that to his advantage.

The suit was hard to come up with. He had to make it look shaggy and like normal clothing. He needed an easy to follow theme. He visited Selina and Nygma for it all. Jason came around and gave him some pointers. Tim had made him swear that he had to be on his game to not be caught early or at all. He couldn’t ask any of the bats to help, not unless his life was in danger.

Red Hood could help him.

Signal could hang out with him.

Red Robin could banter on a personal level with him.

It was difficult to get there, but the process helped feed his obsession. He was ready. He wanted to get better. He had to. He had people who care about him. He couldn’t hurt them by allowing himself to waste away, no matter how draining and painful it was to continue to heal.

He was going to get better. For them.

[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[hypewinter]

Danny can no longer Go Ghost. Oh his powers work perfectly fine, but whenever he tries to transform, it seems as if the universe itself is screaming and begging him to not transform

So he goes to Clockwork who explains that Phantom has simply grown too powerful and that Danny simply needs to empower someone to act in his stead like an avatar

Unfortunately, Danny can't really choose anyone he knows. Tucker is not responsible with powers and the less is said about an empowered Sam, the better

It'd be absolutely hilarious if the avatar gets selected via a tournament arc. I imagine it wasn't Danny's idea but he was taking too long since he didn't want to burden anyone with this responsibility leading to the Observants deciding they'll take care of it. Cue all of Earth's heroes being summoned to an arena and told to fight until a victor is crowned. Really? This again? They all collectively groan. Meanwhile Danny is blissfully unaware of what's going on as he's back at the Clocktower trying to figure out the best candidate (the Observants thought they'd gain favor if they just surprised him with a new avatar).

I'm not honestly too sure how the tournament itself would turn out. Maybe the heroes would go along with it until they could figure out just what the reason for the tournament is this time. Maybe they would immediately jump to revolt. Punch first, ask questions later and all that. I could go either way to be honest.

All I really want is for the heroes to bust down the door and confront Danny about this whole tournament, ready to take down another crazy in power, only for this painful sleep deprived child to blink up at them, "What tournament?"