#maniac-auto

[zorangezest]

skybound

[greeneyeofenvy]

Daniel and Lucy art

Bc I have nothing better to do apparently

Tried a little comic, I hate how Lucinda’s face turned out in the first pic 😔

Jacket swap. I got DANIELS hair right (he looked better in the sketch trust), and we don’t tan abt Lucy’s face

[melioristicbeast]

comic update preferences

Still slowly chugging away at a comic project between everything else I've been posting here (sterek ofc, i'm a one-track-kinda person) - curious what y'all's preferences are when it comes to updates though! I know some post a page whenever they finish, others do a couple and some do 4-5 at a time - what do you prefer?

(While it's subject to how busy i am on other fronts in life, right now I'd guesstimate i can do a page every 1.5-2 weeks. First couple of pages are really busy and are taking longer but the plan is to bring that down a notch lol)

[mostlygibberish]

I'm beginning to think I should just stop trying to watch slasher movies.

[akjzsd]

tummy tuesday... 2!!! The Halloween special (Hex Maniac photos are under the cut)

[goblinpussy]

Shakespeare stage directions:

exit, pursued by a bear!! 🤪

Critics for the last 500 years: "wow, truly a masterpiece, the Bard has done it again, how eccentric,"

John Waters script:

Ok in this scene Divine will have sex with a giant lobster

Critics, somehow:

[onemanandhismustang-com-blog]

Avoid Relocation Woes

Moving Your Prized Mustang: A Complete Guide to Auto Transport and Relocation Wanting to travel with your prized Mustang everywhere is natural. Once you’ve driven one, it’s hard to go back to any other vehicle. But what do you do in scenarios where you can’t take a week to travel across the USA and need your vehicle on the other coast? Or what if you’re going to move internationally? In…

[occamstfs]

Rosa's Cafe

Here's a longer Racial TF set in a coffee shop, Best! Occam

Matthew had clocked up more hours of overtime for his company than they were willing to pay him. He assumed that their guidelines weren’t so rigid and that he would be fine to get ahead early. These days you really need to go above and beyond to get ahead and Matthew was determined to get in the good graces of the big bosses.

Unfortunately working so hard was a misplay. His direct boss was forcing him to take Paid Time Off in lieu of the overtime pay for the past year. Now he sits at home with next to nothing to do, twiddling his thumbs until he can return to the grind. He loved back when he was a barista in college? Maybe he can get back to customer service?

Reflecting on this he takes to LinkedIn to see if there are any managerial spots open for a cafe. Something needs to scratch his itch for administration and he night as well pour coffee while doing so. In a stroke of luck, or perhaps something more deliberate, as soon as he logs in to check listings he sees a manager position at “Rosa’s Cafe.”

He auto-submits his resume to the restaurant assuming he’s overqualified before even reading the listing’s qualifications. Glancing through them he sees that they’d prefer someone fluent in Spanish. Matthew struggles to recall what if any Spanish remains in his head from taking it in both high school and college. He starts to pull up a language app on his phone before seeing that, jarringly fast, he has already been advanced to an interview for this cafe. Rosa herself sending him a message to come as soon as he’s ready. 

Matthew then sprints to check himself in a mirror. He has certainly not slacked in his hygiene since he was asked to stop coming into work, partially in hopes that they’ll need him to come in any day. Today though he throws on some cologne and drives off to Rosa’s Cafe. He doesn’t stop to question how odd it is to already be on the way to an interview, minutes after submitting his resume. They must just really need someone?

As soon as he arrives Rosa is there at the door to greet him, smiling wide and welcoming him into her establishment.

“Hola Matthew! So glad for you to join us, your application was outstanding! Solamente, I was wondering why you wanted this job given your current one?”

Matthew blushes and explains his situation, struggling not to sound like a maniac for wanting to work despite the relatively cushy situation he is in. Although Rosa hears this and is impressed at his ethic, his crave to work. Rosa was more than happy to take advantage of his situation.

“Uhhh there was just one thing though, Miss. Oh uh, lo siento. Señora Rosa.”

“Sí, sí. You aren’t quite fluent en Español, are you Matthew?” He averts his eyes but before he can answer Rosa continues on, “Esta bien. You will just learn on the job sí?”

Putting on an air of determination Matthew pumps his fist “Sí, Sra Rosa! Uh claro que sí,” he attempts, stepping to the limit of the Spanish remaining in his head. Rosa gives him a look like an owner watching a pet as it tries to show off, offering an ambiguous smile before explaining her stance.

“Claro que sí,” offering a knowing nod, “I’m sure you understand why I would want a manager to speak Español, yes? En esta ciudad, in this city, there are very few places where Español is the default. I would just like my cafe to be one of them. The job is of course yours, I would be a fool not to take the opportunity. But while you’re here, mientras estás aquí, please work on su Espanol,” tacking on, “I can’t imagine it will be too long before you’re called back to your job eh? Una estrella como tu” 

To her point there are clearly not a lot of people speaking English in the cafe. Matthew would guess he is probably the only native English speaker present making him blush, although after being flattered by Rosa he was ready to accept. After all he had been meaning to practice his Spanish anyway. He puts his hand out to shake her hand, “when can I start?”

“Well, mi pequeño gerente, why not start training now?” Turning around she calls over the barista Juan to introduce the two, talking to Juan at a speed that made it clear to Matthew that she was quite dumbing down her language in their conversation. She then bids farewell to the two, “adios Matthew! Tengo que ah, cόmo se dice, file your paperwork. Hasta mañana!”

“Hola Matthew, it is nice to meet you! Rosa said to show you around,” Juan smiles offering him a cup of their house roast. “Espero que, ah, I hope you don’t mind but I added canella, cinnamon.” Matthew graciously accepts the cup. He may be a world removed from his time as a barista but instantly returns to his first coffee tasting.

It smelled quite strong, darker than he usually prefers and he can see cinnamon swirling through the cup as the cup steams in his hand. He begins to bring the cup up for a closer smell although as soon as the movement begins the allure of the drink overpowers him and he drinks almost too quickly. It was delicious. He always, almost performatively, drank black coffee at his old job. Or no, his real job?

Juan sees Matthew continue to gulp down the cup of coffee waiting for reaction, though he sees very little sign of his mind processing the drink at all. Matthew’s just staring ahead, his eyes ever so slightly glazing over as he finishes the cup. He grins as it almost looks like the coffee has stained Matthew’s upper lip, offering a napkin before asking, “te gusta hermano?”

Matthew snaps back to his senses, staring at Juan as a small ring of brown starts to stain the center of his icy blue eyes. He struggles to even find the words to describe how profoundly he enjoyed the coffee. It was a passion too great for him to even begin to capture in English. “Juan, that was, cómo se dice? Is there some word better than delicioso?”

Juan laughs putting his arm around his new manager, “Ay hermano! Maybe that’s what you should do now! You just go work on your Spanish and I’ll bring you some samples! Ah, aqui, the employee handbook is in Spanish, practica perfecta!” He brings over another cup and the handbook and Matthew starts struggling through it. 

Matthew figuratively bashes his head into the handbook, it’s not dense but it is per cierto not written with beginners in mind. Smirking as he notices he just reflexively thought in Spanish, going to get another drink only to find the cup emptied once more. He hasn’t been drinking nearly as much since he left the office, bargaining with himself as Juan comes to refill his cup. He can cut back his intake later, he needs to get this through this work.

And work at it he does, caffeine is not making him feel wired as usual but sensual as he continues to page through the booklet. He starts to stretch just to feel the strain in his muscles and the tension in his clothes. He looks down and sees his shirt is fitting much better than he thought it did. It’s not tight but anyone who looks can see there is muscle under there. He stares at his own body feeling strength he does not remember cultivating. Suddenly he notices it’s not only his upper body that’s filling out, as a growing package begins to demand attention under the table. These jeans were clearly not designed to handle this and Matthew is barely able to stop himself from flexing to see just how much he truly can fill this outfit and he attempts to switch gears back to working. Urgently feeling adverse to thinking any further about his body.

Struggling to find any way to distract himself he remembers being historically shit at actually speaking in Spanish. This is as good a chance as any to practice his pronunciation. Matthew begins to mouth the words in the handbook, feeling his tongue in unfamiliar ways that he swears he has done a million times before. Matthew attempts to raise his practice to a whisper and immediately goes into a coughing fit. Hope that coffee didn’t burn my throat he thinks clearing his throat and finding a much deeper voice on the other side. One that announces his Spanish progress to the whole cafe shockingly loud for a whisper though Matthew doesn’t notice. What is immediately apparent to him is how expertly he rolled an R. 

He knows he could never do that, and not without trying. He probably spent half an hour practicing it his sophomore year. He reflects back on how hard he worked on Spanish in the past as his eyes start to glaze over once more. Something is off here, his hand raising to his face not notice a moustache and sloppy goatee start to push out of his face. He foes feel itchy elsewhere though, scratching at his chest and stomach, averting the more animalistic urge to scratch his pits and crotch as Juan begins to walk over.

Matthew quickly tries to meet him halfway, standing to a height just taller than the one he thought he knew to be true. His bulge grazes the bottom of the table which causes his body to convulse in pleasure. His feet are caught on the table as he falls knocking his coffee all over himself and the floor. “Mierda!” He shouts before going dark.

He awakens to Juan wiping coffee off his face, his clothes now certainly stained brown and spelling of rich coffee and cinnamon. Helping him back to standing, Juan makes sure he is alright, “quite the fall amigo! Tal vez we call it a day?” Matthew hastily agrees feeling impossibly strained and weary for what little work he has actually done. Juan continues, “Rosa said the paperwork should be good for you to start tomorrow if you can!” Stumbling to his feet Matt knows he agrees but the rest of his night is little more than a blur. 

He sees Juan wink at him and knows he is going to start tomorrow. He must drive home after that since he is now looking at himself in the mirror brushing his teeth. Something seems off, he is clearly too tired to put a finger on exactly what it is. He flexes his bicep noticing he must have completely disrobed. He thought he shaved his pits recently. He scratches at his crotch realizing that his now heavier cock is also out, pawing at his pubes and feeling his bulge expand even further into his hand before forcing it into some briefs and continuing his audit. 

Didn’t he have a tan? Looking at himself up and down he feels like he isn’t supposed to be this pale right? Isn’t he from? Matthew feels lightheaded and begins to collapse once more before being jarred back to reality smelling the coffee and cinnamon scent still hugging his chest. Using this second wind he stumbles into bed, neglecting to change into his nightclothes and he quickly drifts to sleep.

Matt falls into a dream that feels realer than the reality of his previous life. It’s the middle of the rush and he sees himself working at an espresso machine with Juan. He looks down seeing his body expertly maneuver around the bar, tossing cinnamon into drinks, chatting with customers in truly fluent Spanish. He pauses in this dreamscape to notice the tan he was so sure he had earlier. He sees the tattooed arms he has known for years, he worked hard enough for them after all, might as well show them off on the clock. He raises the hairy arms to flex at Juan and say something clever in his native tongue before being jarred back to reality by a sunbeam.

Matt awakens hearing his morning wood stretch his briefs to their near limit barely able to keep himself together before seeing the time and once more shouting “mierda!” He is already so late for work, they’ve been open for hours. It’s his first real day and he has already jod- he’s already fucked it up! He quickly inspects himself once more, seeing the true version of himself he saw in his dream. Seeing his recently shaved chest he quickly realizes he doesn’t have time for a shower. He smells his pits just to see how bad the damage is. His voice rumbles in his chest, “joder…”

He smells again even deeper, it reminds him of? Oh it is just on the tip of his tongue, which he begins to reach out before remembering his predicament. He throws on a dress shirt before giving one last whiff to his pits, flexing his pecs as he does so. It is so fragrant, almost spicy. Matt postpones the mystery after concluding it should certainly be covered by the smell at Rosa’s and rushing out the door. Not seeing as his chest pops off the top button of his shirt and his neat goatee begins to grow even thicker.

Matt rushes into the door and is greeted like a regular, which he is of course to be now, as the new manager. He feels a warmth in his chest as Juan brings over his first cup of the day. “Buenos días Juan!” Matt offers before going to meet the chef, Benito, as the plan was today.

Making his way back to the kitchen he smells something even more distracting to him than his body odor this morning. Benito runs over with a plate full of arepas that Matt recognizes instantly before Benito greets him, “buenos dias jefe! Rosa said you wanted us to start serving arepas sí?” 

“Rosa? She said, I asked for these?”

“Si! Desde su ciudad natal no?”

Matt’s mouth is overcome as he starts to clearly drool for the plate in front of him. He has no choice but to tear into one which immediately brings him back. He loved these when he was a kid, but? Didn’t he grow up en los estados? Wasn’t he from? He fails to finish the thought in his head before it is wiped away as if fireworks are going of in his mind. 

He beams at Benito as his eyes glaze over and fully darken to brown. He feels an urge to burp which he chokes down with another cup of coffee. “Ay this takes me back amigo, estos son exactamente como, like the ones mi abuela había before nos pequeños…” Matt pauses as he feels a pervasive warmth starts to grow distracting in his chest as a similar itch begins on the outside.

He doesn’t notice as his inner monologue begins to entirely shift away from English, as it should of course. He may live in los Estados hoy, but he was colombiano born and bred. He remembers how hard he worked as a child learning English as his biceps start to clearly strain the already tight dress shirt.

Matt remembers fighting for his place to get a degree at a university that did not respect his native country or tongue as he feels his voice deepen beyond baritone and into a strong bass. He remembers trying to find a place in this mierda ciudad before meeting Rosa as his chest bursts open shooting any buttons remaining off his shirt. 

Rosa then enters the kitchen to see how her new hire has progressed and slyly smiles seeing his progress. She tosses a shirt at him saying in Spanish now effortlessly understood “Oi Matteo! You’re in the kitchen put some clothes on!” 

Matteo shuffles to the restroom to change as he looks one last time in the mirror and sees the flawless trajabador he sees every time he checks himself out. He puts on his nametag flexing to see just how much he can strain his shirt before returning to the cafe, ready to conquer another day in the life he has worked so hard for.

[justaaveragereader]

hi omfg i LOVE your work so much???????????? i wanna request a dommingi (mingi acts nice in front of everyone ykwim but is a complete devil with the reader) where he’s at an award show and he brings the reader along, but reader is laughing a little too hard with his friends, mingi shows her who she belongs to. throw in a little pocket knife action too (not so little action pls make sure he seems crazy like he threatens to kill her if she tries to fuck with his friends again)

can u tell i have issues

thx again :p

First of all lemme go cry in the corner before I greet you😭🖤, hello, hey, hiiiii🖤🖤! I’m so happy you love my work ahhhh😭!!! Thank you for reading and enjoying it! Listen…if you got issues that means I got stemming trauma bc the way I was absolutely in LOVEEEEE with this request, I made Mingi more deranged/yandere then I probably should have but I can’t help it😵‍💫I got so carried away🫠none I love more when writers write the members almost psychotic /deranged, almost like true villains …I hope you enjoy this one babes🖤!

—•—•——•—•——•—•——•—•——•—•——•—•—

I Own You

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Dom!Mingi, Yandere!Mingi, Sub!Reader, Name Calling, Degrading, Knife Play, Slight Skin Cutting (Nicking The Skin, Slight Paper Cut Type Cut, No Blood), Begging, Slight Primal Play, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie, Choking…If I Missed Anything👀👀..Lemme Know!

✍️Masterlist✍️

Swirling his drink around the ice clinked against the cool glass. His eyes never leave your laughing figure. Clutching your chest, eyes crinkling with each hardy laugh that leaves your mouth. He's known all the members for a couple years, never have they been this funny. This was the con to being an idol, you guys decided to not go public for the safety of yourself. Mingi could care less about his role as being an idol, yet you insisted on not going public nor wanting to shake the public eye, and possibly ruin the group. Yet the way you were laughing with the boys it couldn’t help but make his heart clench, were they the reason why you didn’t want to go public? Yes the boys knew you were an item, but to the public you looked like really good friends…well at least you did. Mingi looked like a love sick maniac.

His eyes cut sharper at you and the seven boys, shooting his drink down, the brown liquor giving him courage. Peeling himself off the bar counter top he makes his way towards you and the members. His long stride, the way his shoes click against the floor, he was on a mission. Your eyes flutter from laughing, you can make out almost every sound that’s happening in the room. Yet there is one sound in particular that catches your ears. The high pitch clicks of Mingis shoes. He makes his way towards the members and you, only to shoot you that fake smile he does, the cool air from him passing by breezes by you and the members. It feels like the world stills anytime he passes by, the draft leaves the lingering smell of his cologne. Your body riddles with goosebumps. You watch as his broad back makes it farther and farther away.

Stretching your neck to see where he’s going, the boys seem to be background noise at this rate. Almost like static, Mingi had you hooked on him like a drug. You were like a moth to the flame, the persona he puts on even for the members has everyone fooled. It even fooled you, which is how you fell into his trap. They say the devil was once the most beautifulest angel, and Mingis beauty did nothing but blind you.

Your body moves on auto pilot, not even bothering to tell the boys that you were going to go find Mingi. Your body just sways to where you can smell the faint scent of him. Bringing you into a dark hall, the air is so still it almost feels unreal. Your body litters with nerves, rubbing your upper arm, you whisper out Mingis name, sounding like a true stray sheep, calling for its shepherd. He can see you from a dimly lit hallway, you look lost, you look astray. You look tempting, yet while his cock hardens with want, his blood pressure rises because you were also the same person laughing way too hard at his members.

“You lost?” His raspy voice speaks up, echoing down the long and poorly light hallway. Your body does such a noticeable jump, he can’t help but smile, while his cock twitches slightly at the sight. Your head turns from side to side trying to figure out where his voice came from. You can hear the vibrations of his deep tone still ringing in your ears. Letting out a small whimper you call out for Mingi once more.

He starts laughing slowly, the sound just bouncing around the walls of the bare space. You look straight ahead, catching a glimpse of his teeth, his smile so big and teeth so bright, with the way the lights are dim he looks like a threat, almost like this isn’t the Mingi you know.

“Come over here.”

Thoughtlessly following his command, your legs move on autopilot. Your brain already feels like mush, his voice bouncing around in your ears, mixing with the scent of him. He’s addicting. He's propped up against a wall, looking down at you, while your eyes stare up at him like he’s got every answer in the world for you. His cool hand comes to brush your cheek bone, coming down to brush against your bottom lip, pulling it down with his thumb before his hand travels down to your throat, yanking your body closer to his, he’s got you almost completely off of the floor, your noses are brushing. You let out a small squeak at the sudden intrusion. His large hand is crushing your windpipe, even though you can barely make out his features you know there is a fire brewing behind his eyes.

“They must’ve been real fucking comedians to make you laugh as much as you did tonight.” He grits out, while he wasn’t physically spitting on you, it felt like he was spitting heat onto your skin. Letting out a choked out noise, he feels his cock twitch, trying his best not to let his eyes roll back with pleasure at the way your poor helpless face contorts in front of him. Your hand comes up to try and pry him off, yet he squeezes tighter. Tears streaming down your face, your nails dig into him.

Letting you go, your body slumps to the floor, your knees hitting the ground first, your hands grip the material of his pants. Your hand lightly brushes over his hard on. You are in a kneeling position, tears stream down your face. You plead with Mingi through choked sobs..

“Min-Mingi it wasn’t like th-that I sw-swear.” Throat raw with emotion and lack of oxygen from him choking you. There you went, his little helpless sheep. Letting out a tsk, Mingi, brushes his thumb across the top of your forehead.

“I treat you well don’t I? And this is how you treat me…”

The disappointment in his voice wraps around your heart and tugs on the strings of it. Your face deepening in a frown, the tears that were wetting his pants were no longer from the pain of him choking you, it was from the pain you caused him, the disappointment that you shed upon him. Your hands grip his pants in desperation. When you feel something cool brush against the temple of your head, your eyes slowly trailing up his chest. The cool steel is settled right against your temple, not daring to make a move. His mouth widens into that horrific smile. The smile that captures people, that smile that lures people in.

“Do I have to drill into your skull who you belong to? Who owns you?” He says, voice sweet as sugar. Your eyes widen even further, your cunt slickens, you're so far gone on this man you can’t help but contort yourself into what he wants. Your eyes shine, mouth opening and closing no sound coming out but a helpless whimper. The sound of that is enough to make his head roll back, palming your head with his other hand, shoving your face against his twitching cock, the small wet stain of pre cum mixing with your tears brushes against your face.

You nuzzle your face against him, making his cock twitch even harder at the new feeling. His mouth drops open, a quiet groan leaving him. The blade of the knife falters slightly, bringing him back to reality, gripping you by your elbow he snatches you up to your feet.

Turning you around quickly he shoves you chest first against the wall, bunching your dress up against your hips, undoing his belt, he shimmies his pants down on his thigh, thick cock springing free, just oozing with pre cum. The cool air on his cock makes him shiver. You let out a soft moan at him manhandling you, your mind clouded with love, while Mingis mind is clouded with lust.

The blade is on the front of your throat, while his other is on your shoulder, thumb brushing against your pulse, he can feel the quick pulsation pump through his thumb. He sticks his cock between your thighs, brushing against your clothed cunt.

“I’m going to use you how I see fit, do you understand me?” He whispers in your ears, his warm breath tickling your ear, the pulsation from his cock on your count has you whimpering, nodding your head you let out a deep breath trying to gather yourself.

The blade bites into your skin, making your body tense up. You choke out a small yes to him, which immediately follows him thrust his hips slowly, cock slickening from how wet you are getting with each second, one particular thrust makes you whimper loudly.

“Who was the funniest between them?”

Biting your lip, trying your best to keep quiet, your mind can’t even fully comprehend what he’s saying. Stopping his sudden thrusts he pulls back slightly, causing you out a small cry when you feel the cool air hit your sticky cunt, strings of arousal cling to the fabric as he hikes it down to your knees, sticking his cock back in between your thighs he gathers as much slick as he can before he starts to thrust between the lips of your cunt, before slamming his cock into your pussy.

“Don’t make me ask again.” He grits out, moving the blade, the cool steel sitting alongside the vein that runs in the side of your neck.

“None of them were as funny as you Min-Oh my god!” You yell out, hands trying to find the closest thing to grip, his hand grips the blade tighter, making it bite your skin, right on the verge of slicing it.

The sudden slamming of his hips, hike you up and down the wall, cries leave your throat, as the biting of the blade continues to rub against your skin, your cunt gets wetter and wetter by the second. The empty hallway fills with your moans, and the sound of wet skin on wet skin.

“Next time if you even think of cracking a smile at them, I’ll kill you.” He grits, toes clenching in his shoes, you’ve never been this wet before, it’s soaking his pants. Maybe you were just as deranged as he was.

“Or maybe I’ll kill them.” He whispers into your ear, his harsh thrusts making your brain mush, you can feel him brush over your cervix, the squelching noise from your cunt overrides every sound in the hallway, even your pathetic moans. His other hand comes down to your hip. Bringing you down on his cock when he thrusts back, aiding in the powerful strokes he’s delivering to you.

Moving the knife from your vein he holds it to the front of your throat, right above where an adam's apple would lie. The sharp end of the blade pokes your chin, making you moan loudly, with each powerful stroke he gives you, your chin brushes down lightly against the tip of the blade, scratching your skin. With one false move it could easily impale you.

“You hear your pussy talking to me?” He says through clenched teeth, the way your cunt is soaking him, so sloppily he’s so close to the edge.

“She’s telling me she’s sorry, she’s sucking me back in, it’s almost like she knows the boys can’t fuck you like I can, they can’t pleasure you like I do. They could never do half the shit I do.”

His words are like velvet in your ears, the degrading, dirty words flutter in your head like tiny butterflies. Loud whimpers are falling out of your mouth, you attempt to bring your hand up to your mouth trying your best to quiet down when Mingi digs the blade into your neck even harder, you are sure the blade has nicked your skin slightly. Causing you to let out a loud cry, your head knocks against the wall in front of you, crying out Mingis name like it’s a mantra while your orgasm crashes over you.

“Yeaaa, yeaaa that’s it momma, cum on my cock.” He gasps out, tossing his head back, hips speeding up, the tip of his cock crushing against your cervix, walls squeezing him tightly. Milking him for every last drop of cum. His hips jerk slightly trying to help you ride out your own orgasm, as he’s trying to ride out his own.

His body falls forward slightly crushing you against the wall, cock still buried deep into your cunt, knife still present against your throat. The tip of the cool blade is digging fully into your chin. His hot breath pants against your ear, you can feel his heart thump hard against your back. He nudges the blade against your chin, making it dig into your skin further, your head tilts up slightly, eyes looking to the side, catching his wicked smile.

“Remember who you belong to, because next time I won’t remind you. I’ll just show you.”

DO NOT REPOST.

[lightningant]

Hi!! Just finished reading Venom and Valor (amazing so far!) This is my first ever approach to Tomarry, since it ain't really my thing but their dynamic in your fic seemed to good to pass up, and it didn't disappoint 🤭 My question for you is this: personally, why do you think Tom and Harry work/would work as a couple?

Thank you 🤗

I think they're contrarian in ways that don't typically conflict - Tom is eager to dominate when resisted, and Harry digs his heels in and refuses to move when demeaned. This makes for great material in romance, as you get the impression they'd get along great if Tom gave up his contrary attitude, but it's doubtful he'd ever change that much, and that auto-generates conflict.

I do think that Tom needs someone who doesn't think much of his obsessive megalomania. Harry's arc is about understanding Tom in a really intimate way because he doesn't buy into his mythos and is the only one who can understand him in that way. I find it so compelling he asks Voldemort to repent before their duel, as he doesn't believe this could ever happen, but if it did, he would not have to die. Harry wouldn't kill him. Harry very patiently banters with him, treating him not as a Dark Lord but a man who has done enormous harm.

So the fact of the matter is, Harry believes at least partially in redemption. If Tom showed signs of a lack of commitment to villainy, Harry would be responsive to it. Harry also knows him well enough to know when Tom is bullshitting. Harry's values are too strong to be corrupted or bent; he's like a self-appointed Voldemort Warden.

And yeah they really would get along. Harry gets mad at the same things Tom does. Harry is eager to prove himself, though it's in regards to his passions, not fields he's challenged. Harry is very utilitarian and Tom will have his undivided attention so long as he has something Harry needs. They're both nosy and love gossip. They both tend to keep their heads down and coast when left unattended. Neither think much of authority, but both appear to yearn for validation and unconditional love. They're both highly driven, their personalities counterbalance one another, they're foils, they're unempathetic and standoffish but have opposite reactions (Tom dismisses people on the whole while Harry isn't conscious of the distance and is friendly when approached), Tom carefully curated his masks while Harry is kind of irritated by social performance. Harry would encourage Tom's passions and Tom would encourage Harry to apply himself.

Most importantly, Tom works himself up into truly MANIACAL obsession and plotting when challenged, while Harry is a low simmer who worries problems like a lose tooth and impulsively jumps on whatever seems like it will resolve the issue. The potential for mutual obsession which doesn't clash cannot be underestimated.

You see how they slot together, and how their traits compliment one another, and how their individual natures can create instant romantic conflict. Delicious.

I think their relationship would involve a lot of petty arguments that don't escalate because Harry hates arguing but also get them yapping at each other for hours because neither want to drop it. Harry takes Tom being slighted seriously but he dislikes when people have drama with each other and will keep Tom from fixating (so long as he doesn't get roped into it...Harry needs a Ron for a reason). Tom would appreciate Harry's passion even if he barely tolerates the quidditch. They are simply cute your honor.

... I'm not saying I'm necessarily against their relationship being highly toxic. I was simply asked how their relationship works. We got seven books on how their relationship can fail on truely cataclysmic levels. I love toxicity and I love drama etc

[lxnabeetv]

A Marvel Newcomer's Thoughts on The Avengers (2012)

>SPOILERS AHEAD<

It's been a while since I posted my last review (TLDR I now have a job). So on my week off, I decided to do a lil bit of catching up. And now dear GOD it's time to watch (and mayhap cringe) at The Avengers. Let's dive right in.

OK so first and foremost, what the FUCK are they doing to the Tesseract?? Secondly, how the FUCK is Loki alive??? I mean, he's a god and Asgardians are thought to be immortal, but holy shit.

For the "Robin Scherbatsky" comment at the end of my review on Captain America, Smulders played Agent Maria Hill. She was kind of a badass, but I have no fucking idea how the fuck she survived the cave collapsing around her in the beginning.

The movie was fast-paced and action-packed, just the way I like them. Every character was snarky and lovable... except for Thor (for the most part). I am not a huge fan of Thor. Not just the movie apparently; the whole character of Thor. His "he's adopted" line was GOLD, but his character was otherwise pretty dull. Yes, it was fascinating to watch him and Iron Man get in a fight and really cool to watch him light the Empire State Building up. Otherwise, anything with Thor was lowkey dull.

Loki, however, made for an entertaining villain. Him destroying the car was very amusing. I turned to my boyfriend and said "Damn, Loki really just said fuck the police" and he visibly cringed at my comment. Loki was very snarky and egotistical and amusing. The SFX for his armor were amazing.

Speaking of SFX... the Chitauri look absolutely terrifying, though I'm mad at their name. My phone kept auto-correcting them to "chianti" as I was taking notes, which is NOT the same thing. Maybe the Chitauri drink chianti, who knows? Chianti-Chitauri mix-ups aside (try saying THAT five times fast), there were so many tense scenes and amazing lines and funny moments throughout the film.

OK, so, Tony Stark honestly should've been named Tony Snark because good LORD, that man knows how to fit in some great one-liners. He's witty and a lot more lovable than he was in Iron Man (2008). My favorite moment of his was either when he Jonah-ed the Chitauri ship or when he flew the nuke to the Chitauri. I was so scared for him and so glad when he woke up. And him adrenalized talking about shawarma... I was giggling like a maniac.

Hawkeye... I felt so bad for the poor guy in the beginning, so when he came back around I was cheering like crazy. He had some insane shots and funny moments, and God DAMN him shooting the Chitauri blind was GORGEOUS. And him shooting at Loki with the arrow... I fucking loved watching Loki catching it and then promptly getting exploded. He's an insane shot and an entertaining watch.

And Widow? WHAT. A. BADASS. I love her so much. Her beating the shit out of some Russian dudes while Coulson was on the phone was just hilarious. She outwitted Loki so beautifully that I was totally blown away. I lowkey ship her and Hawkeye TBH, but I suppose you never know with the MCU. Either way, she was an absolute unit. Her using Cap's shield to commandeer a Chitauri ship... what a moment!

TBH, my favorite hero is probably Cap. He's just... a guy. The $10 scenes between him and Fury were AMAZING. Him silently handing Fury the money was personally the funniest moment in the film. I will say, however, Cap's pre-costume outfit was ATROCIOUS. A plaid shirt with tweed pants?? WTF???? He saved so many civilians and showed down the cops when they challenged him in the process. The "Hulk? Smash." line was gold, and him using his shield to refract Iron Man's beam... what a genius idea. Cap is 100% one of my favorite characters in the MCU thus far.

My other candidate for favorite hero is the Hulk. Ho. Lee. Fuck. He's not quite as witty as Iron Man or as badass as Widow, but he seems very well-rounded overall. Him beating the shit out of Loki was one of my favorite moments by far, and him saving Iron Man had me in tears. I'd honestly forgotten all about him by that point. My notes for the Hulk saving Iron Man scene were as follows:

omg iron man sending the nuke to the chianti??? (fuck you autocorrect) TONY NOOOOO NUKE EM ALL BUT NOOOOO TONY YES HULLKKKKKK YESSSSSSSSSS TONY?!?! NO YESSS HULK I LOVE YOU please tell me nobody kissed me lmao

So yeah, Hulk is 100% in the A-tier of characters, possibly even S tier. I really need to make a tierlist now, huh?

Nick Fury has made his way into my higher-tier characters as well. Him telling the council that they made a stupid-ass decision made me cackle like a damn hyena. Him telling the Avengers about Coulson's cards had me broken up, but Hill calling him on his BS made me understand his motivation to assemble the Avengers. He's a bit crazy, pretty smart, and HELA (see what I did there with the Asgardian joke?!?!) entertaining.

The ending was something I should've predicted - a hidden safety in the device. It's an easily guessed plot "twist," but I genuinely didn't expect it. And Stark tower being Avengers tower... I should've seen THAT coming but it was still cool either way.

I'm adding a new segment just before my rating called "Tidbits in Rivals" for when I recognize a power, weapon, or random line that the say in the game. Here they are:

Loki's scepter

Loki's clones & stealth abilities

The "Puny God" achievement (I predicted the line before my boyfriend, and he's seen the film before)

Hawkeye/Black Widow having a team-up for reasons other than being snipers

Iron Man missiles

8/10 due to a MAGNIFICENT lack of elongated muskrats and stellar SFX. The writing was amazing and very intense, though slightly campy at parts. So much snark from Iron Man, Banner, Fury, Pepper, and Loki. RIP Coulson, you will be very much missed. Thank you for serving as the Avengers' catalyst though.

[abyss-strikas]

Alright so I didn’t REALLY complete the page for the IU boys, but I got lazy so have whatever I have (I’m referencing this post btw; also this post is very long cause of headcanons so that’s your warning)

As before, Skarra being annoyed with Dingaan wanting to hang out with him, while Dooma looks on, also annoyed but tired he deals with this everyday.

Next, something a bit more on the headcanon side involving Rookie Season. I think that when Automatic joined Invincible United, he still held some resentment towards Supa Strikas, especially towards Shakes, Dancing Rasta, and Coach. Shakes is more obvious since the kid took his place, but Auto hates the fact that his old captain didn’t do much to help him out, as well as Coach. He had hoped Coach could give him a new exercise regiment to help him get better, he would have even taken a harsh pep talk from him. But nothing came out of it, so whenever he sees Supa Strikas from time to time, he can’t help but remember those memories, memories that were once good now have become sour.

The Web tries to get his friend to take his mind off the other team, maybe inviting him to his place where they can play pool or even play board games. I do headcanon that Web was Automatic’s first friend in the team, maybe aside from Skarra who would have looked up to him when he still loved Supa Striks. Web had been the first teammate that Automatic opened up to, probably because the goalie had pointed out that Automatic seemed to fit better as a midfielder rather than a striker. If Coach or Rasta had let him try that position, maybe Auto wouldn’t be with IU, but he doesn’t think too much on it.

Snake on the other hand is there to help convince Auto to leave the Supa Strikas alone, even as he goes on about some of the stuff he seems to be fond of them. The reason is because I headcanon that Snake actually enjoyed having Shakes on the team when they did the Rookie Swap show. I felt like Snake and Shakes could have had a sibling type relationship, with Snake being the older brother that shows his love to his sibling by pranking him every time. I do think Snake is a bit jealous at how well Shakes gets along with Supa Strikas, and he envies that fact. He pretends to not care but in reality, he really does care a lot.

Finally, my two favorite boys from this team because I am such a basic bitch- /hj

The Power Twins! Whose names were confirmed by a concept artist of the show! Now, when this episode did come out, I was the one who asked that concept artist if they knew their actual names, and they found out their names were Stan and Norm!

Now being the naive fool I was back then (affectionate), I thought this meant their full real names were Stanley and Norman. But fast forward and another fan did suggest that what if their names were legitimately “Standard Power” and “Normal Power”?

Needless to say, I really should have thought of that before because the writers do like to make use of word puns as much as possible. After hearing that, I immediately went and changed some things of their backstory. Mainly the fact that Max Power (Maximum Power) is the eldest brother of the twins and he’s joined the Silver Lions, a group that their dad hates with a passion (for the most stupid of reasons), Max has changed his name to Liam, and their dad is an ego maniac who really cares about nothing more than his surname. These guys also have an elder sister by the name of Suzanne Power, who belongs to @yanxioustrikas . In this AU, she is three years younger than Max, but three years older than the twins, and she was formerly known as Minimum (Minnie) Power until the mom and dad divorced, and Suzanne went to live with her mom in South Korea.

With all of that in mind, when the twins returned to the UK after their twin switch plan failed, there was a lot of family drama that escalated to the twins almost getting hurt by their dad. Luckily, Liam and his friends were able to protect them. As the trial gets set up for the dad, since his big booming business in sales had some low-key shady stuff in their books, an old “friend” of Vince, a former player of the Silver Lions before they went on hiatus, asks the IU coach for a favor: take back the twins into the team, as they’re not fully safe in the UK at the moment.

Vince can’t turn down a request from this “friend”, so he signs the twins back up under their shortened names. No one in IU knows about their full names and their family history. Not yet at least.

So for now, the way to differentiate between the twins is the fact that Stan has gotten piercings on his nose and ears, something his dad wasn’t too keen on in the first place. Norm still looks the same but he and his brother have chosen to not conceal their freckles, nor the shadows under their eyes from the restless nights they spent trying to deal with their crazy dad. They still play their best, even if they have to switch for the first couple of games they’re back, but their attitude and demeanor has changed because of the events they’ve gone through. They’re not looking forward to going back to London for the trial, but they’re hoping they can convince a certain striker and defender to join them as support, especially when they decide to change their names, just like their older brother and sister did.

—————

I’ll start another page at some point and draw the rest that didn’t make it, lol. I know this was a bit more headcanon heavy, but let me know if you guys have any questions or you want to share your own headcanons too!

[thecraziness]

remember how i said i might make a "the gang plays mario kart" headcanons? this is it

i shouyld be studying for exams lol

each of them have their own *specific* character (except two bit)

darry prefers miis

soda and steve twin with yoshi or shy guy

johnny is luigi/mario

ponyboy is like link

dally is bowser

twobit doesnt have a special character

instead his goal is to choose the others fave

"TWO BIT IF YOU CHOOSE F*CKING BOWSER"

maniacal laughter

no auto accelerate

but darry uses autosteering

BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES BIKES

darry sucks

swearing

"WHO TF REDSHELLED ME"

lots of powerups used

"NOT THE FCKING BANANA"

pony likes bananas a lot

steve= forgotten hero

gets in like 8th, gets a rocket and zooms ahead

"WHERE DID STEVE COME FROM"

darry, soda, and johnny lose a lot

dally= competitive

SWEARING OMG

two bit doesnt really care just wants to mess everyone else up

"HAHA GUYS I AM A FRICKING STAR BASK IN MY GLORY"

dally: spamming the button when he gets a golden mushroom

everyone hates redshells

pony and twobit likes redshelling ppl

"PONY YOU LIL SH*T ITS NOT ME ITS TWO BIT"

two also likes blueshells, but pony isnt as mean

rockets

soda likes battles but the rest dont really

*as a redshell chases them* "NONONONONONONONONO"

johnny chooses not to play when the whole gang is having game nights

bc he doesnt really know what hes doing

prefers to watch

really just lieks playing with pony

BUT WHEN HE DOES HES A BEAST

"HOW IS JOHNNY IN FIRST"

"JOHNNY"

figuring out what has the best speed/ acceleration

dally gets second a lot, gets pissed and quits teh game

dally= rage quitter

pony too but not as bad as dally

"SUCK ON THAT YOU ALL ARE LS I AM THE CHAMPION I AM THE GREATEST"

fights can and will break out

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, what can you tell us about this bizarre-looking pair of bots who were seen boarding the starship Exodus? They seem to stand out compared to the rest of the masses, what with the one's pointed hair-like protrusions, qnd the other's flat-topped dome.

Dear Boarding Buddy,

The larger of the two robots pictured was Crashcore. A medic by trade, Crashcore was a specialist on treating heavyweight-class robots. He was well known for his smooth handiwork when removing thick armour plating to access and repair internal damage. However, Crashcore’s skills did not extend to self-care, and he struggled with auto-altphobia: he was deathly afraid of his Chelonoid alt-mode.

The smaller of the two, Coda, was an organic enthusiast. Adopting his trademark helmet in emulation of a popular hairstyle among part of Cybertron’s alien population, he was well known as something of a data maniac, regularly spending time in various communities to gather more and more information on their society.

These two refugees did not find much reason to converse, and went their separate ways soon after.

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

Dick jumped from the car, walking until he was consumed by the darkness that surrounded you. Seconds passed and nothing happened, no movement, no sound, nothing. It’s now or never. The door opened without a problem, barely making a sound, but one that could be misinterpreted by the hooting of owls nearby. You stood there for a full second, waiting to see if Nightwing would come back, but he didn’t. Taking a few steps backwards, you hastily turned in your place, ready to run away as fast as you could.

Chapter 3 < > Chapter 5

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

Like all parents who care for their children do, the phrase ‘do not get into a car with strangers’ was engraved on your mind every single day since your early childhood. And you listened. Always. The sentiment of uneasiness never left you not even now you were a young adult and had to take a cab.

But if the stranger had a real life replica of the Batmobile which could go up to 500 kilometers per hour?

Well, it’s something worth risking your life for.

And did it even matter if you were already with the stranger?

“All these buttons work?”

“Yeah.”

“What does this one do?”

“That’s the comms.”

“And this one?”

“GPS.”

“This one?”

“Emergency eject.”

If Nightwing didn’t want to kill you, he likely did now. The moment your eyes spotted the car, you ran straight towards it, throwing yourself inside the second the lock was lift off, your parents’ precautions all but forgotten.

The interior was everything you expected; black leather seats with dark red detailing, more gauges than a normal car should have and you had no idea what they were measuring. The dashboard was packed with dark gray buttons, some which had numbers and others had letters.

You were set on discovering what each button does, pressing them all at random, yet the moment Nightwing saw your finger reaching for a big, red one in the middle of the dashboard, he almost swerved off the road. Apparently that was the auto-destruction button.

But you could still ask.

“This one?”

Nightwing exhaled again, taking his eyes off the road for a second to see which button you were pointing at. “GCPD radio.”

“And what about —FUCK!” You screamed at the top of your lungs the moment the car reached a speed no normal human should be able to drive so easily, the screeching blending with Nightwing’s maniac cackle. “Stop! STOP!”

The car came to a stop a second before it hit a car waiting for the red light to change, the sudden halt sent you forward with such force you almost hit the dashboard despite wearing the seat belt. “If you wanted me to shut up, you could’ve just said so.”

“I’m sorry.” He pursed his lips in an attempt to quiet down, but his shoulders were still shaking from mirth. The next time he stepped on the pedal, the car moved at a normal speed. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll survive.” You reclined all the way down on the seat with your eyes closed and taking deep breaths to calm your body before it decided to return your dinner. “So… How far is Mr. Wayne’s house?”

“On the outskirts, other side of the city.”

If you were honest, you didn’t know whether you were actually kidnapped or this was a genuinely elaborated prank. Driving in an ostentatious cars as this one was bound to attract attention, even more if the person driving was dressed in tight spandex.

Lucky for them, the streets were completely empty, devoid of bystanders that could help you escape. Maybe they’d chosen this moment to take you out for the same reason. But why? If they wanted you someplace else, why didn’t they do so when you were passed out? Why weren't you knocked unconscious again? Why take a risk with you trying to escape?

“Can we at least turn on the radio?” You asked in hopes you could learn the city you were in, because despite that he’d been driving for at least fifteen minutes, you were still yet to recognize any part of the area. “This car has a normal radio, right?”

He hummed thoughtlessly, turning on the radio with the push of a button he didn’t even bother to check which one, his eyes never leaving the road. A voice came to life, a talk show host with too much enthusiasm not fitting for whatever late hour it was.

“...Top-up security if so many prisoners keep escaping.” The woman’s voice broke the silence. “But I guess one can get complacent when you have grown men in tights running around and doing the GCPD’s job. That’s Gotham for you, folks. Time’s fifteen past two in the morning. Temperature’s…”

Great, so the radio was of no use as well. Just how many people they have on this scheme? Did they really have a whole show pre-recorded just for you?

A bubbling volcano was brewing with a mixture of everything you were feeling: danger, curiosity, anxiousness, hopelessness, confusion. Nothing made sense, what did they want with you? Why you? Were you simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time?

This wouldn’t be happening if only instead of appreciating your surroundings, you were engrossed in your— That’s it! Your phone!

You would later have time to chide yourself for forgetting it (or so you hoped so), but right now you had to calm your drumming heart and remember what a normal person would do while attempting to soothe a cramping leg and not make it too obvious you were patting your right leg for the hidden pocket on your pant, a necessity you had to sew in most of your clothes after getting mugged the first time you moved to the city.

The rectangular bulge your fingers brushed over your thigh brought some peace of mind. It meant they hadn’t done anything to you, they hadn’t try to touch you or even pat you down to make sure you wouldn’t call the police.

Shame was another feeling you had at the moment. Embarrassed at being kidnapped by the most useless kidnappers in the history of humanity.

“Won’t Mr. Wayne be mad we’ll wake him up at two in the morning?” Another random add had ended, giving way to a love-pop song about deceiving and betrayal. Huh. Nightwing was drumming his fingers against the wheel to the rhythm of the song, holding back a yawn.

“It’s Friday. I’d be surprised if he’s already back home… We’re almost there.”

‘There’ was a pretty vague description; tall buildings had transformed into a beautiful field, the moonshine reflecting on the early morning dew on the grass. ‘There’ was nothing here, just an endless road disappearing behind a hill.

The car came to a stop in the middle of the drive and all your internal alarms began flaring at full volume inside your head, going on and off and tinting your brain red. There was no one here, there was nothing here. He could kill you. He could brainwash you and people would be none the wiser.

No one can help you.

“Wait here.”

Nightwing jumped from the car and never stopped walking until he was consumed by the darkness surrounding you, his steps gradually fading away. Seconds passed and nothing happened; no movement, no sound, nothing.

It’s now or never.

The only way in and out of the car was through the sliding roof, which luckily had been left open rather than leaving you locked inside. You jumped down to the dirt floor, the pebbles underneath your shoes a sound so faint it could be misinterpreted by the hooting of owls nearby.

You stood there for a full second, waiting to see if he would come back, if someone else would get to you, but no one did. A bubble was puffing up inside of you, but before it could burst with cheer and relief, you took some steps backwards and turned hastily in your place, ready to run away as fast as you could.

That is, if a body hadn’t impeded your escape. A ‘humph’ escaped you for the second time, and you knew you were fucked, fucked, fucked. Screaming at the top of your lungs hoping anyone would hear you and come swooping in to save you.

“Safe.” The body —a girl? said, her hands raised. “You’re safe.”

Hurried steps resonated on the dirt, getting closer and closer until they came to a halt.

“Jane?” Nightwing’s voice reached your ears, a hint of worry found in the words. When you turned around, you could vaguely see the form of a baton in his hands. “What happened?”

“I… I…” Words elude you. What could you say? ‘Yeah, my bad, I was trying to escape’? “I just… You didn’t come back and...”

“I see you met Cass.” A different voice spoke this time, older and blithely, a tone you would often hear on those air-headed reality shows of rich people. “She’s my daughter. Nice to meet you, I’m Bruce Wayne.”

The man extended a hand towards you, and your brain short-circuited. The moon shone on his face, gently caressing his exquisite features letting you appreciate how handsome he was, the type of person who had men and women alike throwing themselves at his feet.

The longer it took you to shook his hand, the more uncomfortable he seemed with his hand raised. Coming out of your stupor, you finally shook his hand, your gaping mouth closing with a click.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thanks for, uh… For taking me in. I’m… Jane.” You settled on giving him the name Robin had chosen for you. You weren’t sure if they knew your real name already, but chose not to disclose it in case they didn’t. “I’m sorry to be an inconvenience, specially at this hour.”

“Nonsense!” His chuckle was worth more than your apartment. “I’m more than happy to give you a place in my home. And don’t worry about the hour, my daughter and I were on our way home after a charity gala.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t noticed the luxurious tuxedo he was wearing, yet it was missing a button and the pristine white shirt was drenched in what looked like wine, sticking to his abdomen. The girl, Cass, was wearing a beautiful but simple black cocktail dress covered in a gorgeous white, fluffy sweater, yet the thing that stole your breath was the diamond necklace around her neck. “Why meet us here?”

“You see…” Bruce, or whatever his real name was, cleared his throat, rubbing a hand behind his back and a coy smile on his face. “I’m trying to avoid certain gossip that’s been coming up more with the years.”

Nightwing did his best to not laugh, hiding it behind a couple of coughs, still eliciting a heated glance from Bruce. “As mush as I would love to hear the story, I gotta go.” He said. “The Scarecrow’s on the loose again, but we’re getting close to capture him. Jane?”

He held you by the shoulders, leading you away from Bruce and Cass, still in sight range but far enough for them to not hear your conversation.

“I can’t even begin to understand how hard this all must be for you. To be a whole universe away from home, without familiar faces.” Was this supposed to make you feel better? “But I’ve said it before, and I mean it, you’re safe. There’s no safer place on Gotham than Wayne Manor. But if you ever feel threatened…” He placed on your hands a rectangular metal plate, barely longer than your hand, and the only thing on it was a red button in the middle. “This is a signal emitter, if you press it, both Red Robin and I will receive the signal, and we’ll immediately come and get you, wherever you are, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response was soft, barely audible, bringing the plate closer to your chest, careful not to accidentally set it off. “Thank you.”

Nightwing had a small smile on his face, and the moment he placed an arm around your shoulders to hug you, you thought you’d feel uneasy, nervous, anxious. But you felt relaxed, melting into the warm embrace because as fake as it was, it was probably the last time you’d get to hug someone.

He led you back with the Waynes. As soon as you were within arms reach, Cassandra took a hold of your hand, and the comforting hold was as heavy as a pair of handcuffs keeping you safe from running away.

The three of you watched as Nightwing got inside the Batmobile, driving far away from you and into the city until he was just a dot in the distance.

“Ready to go?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

You didn’t have to walk that far to reach their car. Hidden behind a tree was a costly SUV blending with the background with its black color, the pristine interior was something you could only achieve with brand new cars, and judging by the leathery smell that still lingered inside, it was still brand new, used to show off when meeting other people, not to do menial tasks, like groceries or errands. The built in mini-fridge only had bottled water, and the TV’s on the seat’s backrest had a WE logo idly turning around on the screen.

“So, Jane.” Bruce broke the silence, looking back at you through the rear view mirror. Next to him, Cass was bobbing her head left and right, and a white cord falling through her right side and getting lost somewhere on her lap meant she was listening to music. “How old are you?”

“22.”

“Ah, that’s great! Cass is 24, I’m sure you two will get along just fine!” Cass lolled her head to look at you, the sweetest smile on her face you felt forced to give back. “I’ve more kids, but they’re not home most of the time, only Cass and Tim are full time living in the manor right now, although Dick has been spending more time there lately.”

“You’ll like Tim. He’s nice, but he’s always tired.”

Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, he loves staying up until late with his silly videogames. I’ve tried to get him to stop, but you know how teenagers can be. Don’t feel offended if he doesn’t talk to you, most of the time he won’t recognize people until he’s had his third cup of coffee.”

“Is that… Healthy?”

“No.” Cass replied with a flat tone.

Silence took over once again, and without endless rows of buttons with unclear purposes, you didn’t know what to ask or say to continue the conversation. However, you didn’t have to wait long until something caught your eye.

Bruce pressed a button stored on the sunshade, and the whirring of metal gates reached your ears, the sight in front of you leaving you mouth agape and your gasp of awe broke the silence, earning a chuckle from both of them.

At the end of the driveway, a mansion —no, a castle loomed over you. All but two endless rows of somber windows spread all over the huge walls, with towers cutting through the darkened sky.

“We can give you a tour tomorrow, I’m sure you’re tired.” Bruce mentioned, helping you get out of the SUV. Looking back, the skyscrapers that one moment ago seemed statuesque, now didn’t look so grand, so tiny in the distant sleeping city. “I’ll go park the car in the garage. We have a room ready for you, Cass can show it to you in the meantime. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

“Sure. Thank you again, Mr. Wayne. Goodnight.”

He nodded with a smile, getting back inside the vehicle and closing the door. The two of you stood there waiting for him to leave, the gravel under the tires breaking the silence. A familiar slender but calloused hand took hold of yours again.

Cassandra opened the grand door without an issue, making no sound. Most lights inside were off, a couple of lamps here and there to help you not bump into things, but it wasn’t enough to let you admire the hall you were in, your steps the only ones resounding on the walls, Cass’ as silent as a cat’s.

You followed her further into the house, and up the stairs, passing halls after halls with paintings adorning the walls, faces not visible with the low late light.

“This is your room.” Cass whispered after getting you lost. You’d taken too many turns this place felt like a maze, properly getting you confused to lower your possibilities to escape. “This one’s mine.” Hers was directly in front of yours, and you didn’t know whether to feel safe at having another girl nearby, or wary of being monitored at all times.

“Thank you, Cassandra. Goodnight.”

“Just Cass is fine. Goodnight.”

You didn’t even bother to acknowledge the room they’d put you in, you could do that tomorrow (if tomorrow ever came), instead making a beeline towards the bed, throwing yourself on top of it. A groan of pleasure escaped your lips once your back touched the softest bed you’d ever lied down on.

You were close to falling asleep, but forced your eyes to open, using the low energy you still had to attempt to make sense of everything that’d happened so far.

How did all of them managed to get coaxed into this? Who was the one behind it all, pulling the strings? Who was a puppet, and who was the puppeteer? What did they want with you? Why you?

Was it possible that all this was… Real?

[cecilysass]

Shine On (1/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One: Vandy

Rawlins Middle School Rawlins, Wyoming February 3, 2015

“Vandy.” Louis slams into Jackson with the force of his entire body. It’s an affectionate body slam, but also hard enough for Jackson to lose his pencil and nearly his armful of books and binders. “Did you hear? I hope it’s true. It better be true.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson bends over to pick up the pencil, trying not to get knocked over again by the continual current of students on their way to third period.

“The police came to shut the school down. We’re getting out of here, bro.”

Jackson looks up at his friend skeptically. “Louis, what are you talking about, seriously?”

“Second period we could see the police coming into the building.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. And I heard it was because there was a bomb threat and they’re going to close school right after lunch.”

“If it was a bomb threat, they wouldn’t wait to close school,” Jackson points out. “They’d close it right away.”

“Maybe it’s not a for sure bomb threat,” Louis replies. He looks suddenly doubtful. “Fuck, it better be true. I haven’t finished my essay yet.”

“What did you plan to do if there wasn’t a bomb threat?” Jackson asks curiously.

“Hey Vandy.” Delia Rich suddenly appears next to Jackson, and he quickly straightens his posture. Delia is so pretty: brown hair, bangs, pink cheeks, round behind. “Did you hear about the girl in seventh grade?”

“No, I didn’t,” Jackson says. His tone is considerably more polite all of a sudden. “What about her?”

Delia leans toward him seriously and lowers her voice. “She killed her parents and herself and the police are here to question everyone.”

“Naw, the police are here for the bomb threat,” Louis says dismissively, shimmying to the side to avoid a group of loud and oblivious sixth grade girls walking past them.

“Who told you about that?” Jackson asks Delia, frowning.

“Hannah R. in 8C,” Delia says, shrugging. She seems to think of something else. “Oh, Vandy.” Her eyes widen and roll dramatically. “Did you study for algebra? Oh my god, it was awful.”

“Yeah.” Jackson nods, but he’s distracted, even from a conversation he would normally be thrilled to be having.

“I spent three hours last night on quadratic equations,” Delia says. “I’m not even exaggerating. I should have asked you for help.”

“Because he’s such a fucking nerd?” Louis adds helpfully.

“No, because he’s really good at helping with math,” Delia says to Jackson, bumping into him a little. “Can you quiz me before class?”

Over Delia’s shoulder, Louis begins to raise his eyebrows up and down significantly like a maniac. Jackson studiously ignores him.

“Yeah, but I, uh, gotta stop in there first,” Jackson says, gesturing vaguely behind her.

“Stop in where?” She looks around the hall.

“Restroom,” Jackson says, irrationally embarrassed.

“Oh, right.” Delia turns back around. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, attempting the most winning smile he can muster as she darts across the hall into the classroom.

Louis immediately shoves his shoulder. “What are you doing, dumbass? I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” Jackson says pathetically. “But I have to use the restroom. For real.”

“Jesus, you have absolutely no game.”

Jackson decides not to bring up his friend’s own unsuccessful record with girls. “I’ll talk to you later, Louis.” He begins to make a beeline for the boys’ room.

“Wait, are we playing GTA after school?” Louis calls as Jackson begins to walk away.

“Uh, no,” Jackson calls back. “I can’t today. My parents stayed home to meet the guy delivering our new washer and dryer.” Jackson’s mom hates Grand Theft Auto, so he can only play when she’s out of the house.

“You’re a loser,” Louis responds good-naturedly. “See you later.”

Jackson flees, weaving in and out between students hurrying to make it to class on time.

As soon as Jackson is inside the restroom, he heads directly for the third stall, the only one with a fully functioning lock on the door.

By some miracle, it’s unoccupied. Actually, the whole bathroom is empty. He hurries inside and fastens the latch as quickly as possible.

And then for a moment he stands there, clutching his books and trying to catch his breath. He stares at the back of the stall door. It is covered in scrawled “suck my dick” and “turrrn uuup” in black marker.

Jackson’s not sure why the news of the police coming to his school has him so worked up, but it does. He can still feel his heart racing. Every muscle in his body is tense.

Calm down. Calm down.

He places a hand on his chest and counts to four as he breathes in, then holds his breath for a count of seven, then breathes out. It’s a technique his therapist likes to recommend to him. He’s slightly skeptical that it really works, but he tries it anyway. When he’s getting worried or irrationally fearful, when his emotions start to betray him, he wants anything that will help.

After a minute, the bell rings. Now he’s officially late for algebra. And they’re having a test, one he’s prepared for.

He should leave this bathroom.

He should go to class right now, take his tardy gracefully, sit down, smile at Delia, get out his pencil, and take his test.

Still, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even begin to move. Every instinct is telling him not to move.

Instead, he closes his eyes and empties his mind.

Hesitantly, he begins to push out cautious little tendrils to probe around him in the school. He doesn’t really want to do this, but something deep inside tells him it’s important. That he needs to.

People’s minds feel different, have different textures to them. Right now, as he shines into people, as he gently touches the minds closest around him with his own, he can tell that most of them are kids, his friends and classmates. Kids’ minds are usually sort of bright and loud and flashy, like commercials for kids’ cereals. Every once in a while there’s a kid mind that’s very sad, unusually sad, but even then it’s sad in stark, dramatic colors, clear and tragic and obvious. Kids don’t hide things well.

But he brushes against adult minds in the school, too: teachers, mainly. Adults’ inner lives are so much more complicated than kids’. Harder to get into. Some of them are complex and curlicued, like honeycombs, and others are like smooth stones you find on a riverbed. Some are like an animal carcass rotting, full of holes you don’t want to shine into too deep.

It’s because of adults’ minds that Jackson doesn’t like shining into people’s heads very much. He’d prefer to stay out of other people’s minds as much as possible.

He peeks into the teachers’ minds just enough to identify them, to see their memories: their own faces in the mirror, their classes back up at them, bored faces staring from desks. He’s not looking for a teacher, so he moves along quickly. He doesn’t want to see any of their secrets.

Finally he’s found something different: the front office, a group of minds clustered together, a cloud of anxiety shared among them. One of them he recognizes must be his principal, Mr. Werther – he can see in his memories speaking into the intercom for the morning announcements today. Mr. Werther is feeling very troubled about something right now. His thoughts are racing. He’s wondering what the right decision is. He’s wondering whether he will be blamed if something goes wrong. His mind feels like a soda bottle shook up, ready to burst.

Quickly, Jackson switches his shine to another mind in the group, someone calmer. This mind is sharper, metallic-feeling, and he realizes that it’s a police officer, someone in charge, someone named Davis. He pushes further into Davis’s mind, into his current consciousness, and he sees that Davis is trying to explain the situation to Mr. Werther, trying to assure him that everyone will be safe, trying to let him know that there is back-up waiting right outside the school. Davis doesn’t think Mr. Werther is very smart.

Dimly, Jackson is aware that he is tightening his grip on his books, his anxiety rising. Something is very wrong here. He feels it in Davis’s thoughts. He sees flashes of himself.

He prods the shine deeper into Davis’s mind, pushing back thin layers that seem a little like aluminum foil.

In Davis’s recent memory, there is an image of something horrible: a crime scene. Bodies, shot, a man and a woman. Lying on their kitchen floor in a pool of blood, their faces vacant. Davis stands over them, shaking his head, writing notes.

The bodies’ faces are familiar. They’re Jackson’s parents.

Jackson feels himself start to breathe faster.

As though seeing light behind a dirty window, he starts to see what Davis thinks happened.

He thinks Jackson shot his parents before he went to school that morning. Davis pictures it happening: Jackson, shouting, lifting a gun and shooting first his father and then his mother. Davis thinks he possibly has a gun on him now, at school. The police want to apprehend him safely, with no one being hurt.

“We need to consider him dangerous,” Davis’s voice is echoing through his thoughts. “But we can do this in a way that makes sure no one gets hurt.”

All at once Jackson opens his eyes, falling back into his own consciousness, feeling short of breath.

He realizes he’s trembling. Mom. His parents.

Are his parents really dead? How could they be? He saw them just this morning. His mom had reminded him about his therapy appointment tomorrow and his dad had told him to stop leaving lights on. He hadn’t kissed his mom good-bye. He had been in a hurry.

Jackson feels sick. Mom. Mommy.

It’s impossible. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants his mom. He wants to throw up.

There is a crackling sound echoing through the bathroom, and then the sound of a tinny voice speaking over an intercom. “Students and teachers, please pardon the interruption. Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, would you please come to the main office? Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, come to the main office.”

Jackson tenses his whole body behind the door of the bathroom stall, ready to push through, an instinctive defensive maneuver.

They’re really going to try to arrest him, he realizes. They really think he killed his parents.

He feels panic rising in his stomach, seriously threatening to make him lose his breakfast. They think he’s a killer.

You don’t have to worry. Not you. You can protect yourself. Stay calm.

He closes his eyes again and carefully shifts the perception of all minds around him, giving himself a thirty foot perimeter of altered reality.

It’s a big effort for him — bigger than his usual modest experiments — but he doesn’t feel any headache. Maybe it’s the adrenaline.

Walking like he’s in a dream—like he’s in a nightmare, really—he cautiously steps out of the bathroom.

Anyone looking in the hall simply sees Louis.

Jackson, as Louis, walks down the hallways of his school at the same slow pace, so as not to attract attention. It’s an effort to keep the minds around him altered and his own posture casual and unassuming. He walks past classrooms, watching all around him with his peripheral vision and the little fingers of his mind. Louis, please don’t happen to come out in the hall to use the restroom at this exact moment. Please.

He heads towards the entrance of the school, which means passing the front office. As he approaches, he sees that now there is actually almost no one around the front office at all. That seems weird—usually there are tons of students and teachers congregating near it.

Just keep walking, he thinks. Hopefully you’ll be unnoticed.

As he’s stepping past the door, two policemen emerge, moving quickly.

“Where are you headed, son?” From a quick tap of his mind, Jackson recognizes this man as Davis, the officer apparently in charge.

“My mom’s car. Dentist appointment,” Jackson mutters.

Davis glances out the door, where there is fortunately a car in the parking lot that looks plausibly like a waiting parent. “All right, go quickly. Don’t hang around. We need all students out of this general vicinity.”

Davis waves him out, and Jackson eagerly follows in the direction of his gesture out the door.

The February temperature hits him like a slap in the face. Regretfully he realizes his good winter coat is in his locker, back inside the school.

He keeps walking casually down the steps of the school and down the driveway, already beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

When he gets to the road, out of easy eyesight of the school, he drops his books on the ground and begins to jog. The school is on a wind blown, gray, desolate-looking Wyoming road, with little traffic except for those coming to the school. He drops his Louis perception filter. There’s no one to see.

And after he does, he discovers to his surprise that he’s crying.

He has no idea where he’s going now.

He has a vague idea that he should get out of town—maybe to a big city, like Cheyenne or Denver—but he isn’t sure how to get there. He has no money. He could hitchhike, but the idea of hitchhiking scares him, which makes him feel ashamed.

It’s just he’s too familiar with the kinds of things that adults think about. And after all, someone just killed his parents.

Why did someone kill his parents? Who would do that? His parents never did anything to anyone. They weren’t drug dealers or thieves. They were Lutherans. His mom made casseroles, and his dad carved wooden ducks. They were cheerful, optimistic, the type of people to see the good in everyone. Sometimes Jackson felt like he didn’t have much in common with them— like they saw the world very differently from him— but he loved them. He could never have hurt them. And he hates to think of what they thought, in the moment they died.

He finds himself crying harder as he jogs. He shouldn’t do this now; it’s too cold for tears. He tries to wipe them off with the sleeve of his sweater. But it’s hard to stop crying once he’s started.

He tries to jog faster. Turns it into a run. Maybe this will snap him out of it, clear his head. He’s always been good at running. At the very least it will warm him up.

Just keep running, he tells himself. He smiles a little, because it reminds him of a line from one of his favorite movies when he was a kid, Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming. His mom would repeat the line to him as a joke when he was learning to swim.

He blinks back the tears again and runs harder.

He wonders if Louis will think he really did kill his parents. He wonders if Delia will. He wonders if the other kids at school will all talk about it: Jackson Van De Kamp, the psycho kid who shot his family and was planning on shooting up the school. If they will make up stories about why he was going to do it.

A car passes on the road, and he quickly slips a filter into the driver’s mind: he’s a nice old lady picking up trash along the side of the road.

When the car passes, he continues running and considers his options. He doesn’t have a phone. His parents were waiting until high school to get him one. Even if he did, he couldn’t use it now anyway—the police would track him.

Shelter is an immediate problem. There’s a Frontier Museum in downtown Rawlins. He wonders if he might go inside and find a place to hide overnight, at least until he has a better idea. But the museum costs money to get a ticket, and he doesn’t have money.

He could try to contact his Uncle Wyatt to see if he would help him. But what if Uncle Wyatt believes the story and thinks Jackson killed his parents? Uncle Wyatt has always found Jackson annoying, ever since Jackson threw that basketball into his flatscreen TV when he was six. He could very well decide to turn his nephew in.

Then there is his birth mom. Jackson wishes he could ask her. He thinks he’s seen her, once or twice, in his occasional visions that come in fast and bewildering flashes. At least he thinks it’s her. It’s a woman he has some very close connection to, a red-headed woman, who is always very sad. He wonders if she would help him. He likes to think she would. But that’s a childish fantasy, because he has no clue where to find her. He can’t reach out and try to shine every mind in the whole world to try to locate her. He needs to stick with practical ideas right now.

He’s been walking and running for three miles, the wind biting incessantly into his clothes, when he hears another car coming down the road. With the fingers of his mind, he reaches out towards the driver’s mind to tweak their perception.

But strangely, he finds he can’t. Something in the driver’s mind is pushing back, keeping a wall up so that Jackson can’t change what they see.

He feels a stab of panic. He didn’t know this was possible. He’s never seen this before. Some paranoid part of him wonders if this is the person who killed his parents.

The car is sleek and black, with mirrored windows. It slows down right next to him. Jackson looks wildly back and forth for somewhere to run and hide, just in case there is someone inside with a gun—but there is nothing around him but open land, no possible shelter for miles.

He finds himself doing nothing but standing there stupidly, an open target, his eyes widening as the window rolls down.

“Jackson Van De Kamp?” a female voice says.

“Yeah,” Jackson manages, his voice scarcely a whisper.

It’s a woman: a surprisingly young woman wearing mirrored sunglasses, her blondish hair pulled back in a ponytail. She doesn’t look like a killer. But Jackson knows very well that evil people don’t always look evil.

“It’s come to my attention that you might need some assistance.”

He can’t think of anything to do but bob his chin up and down in a nod.

“Why don’t you get in the car, and we’ll talk?”

It looks so warm inside. He has nowhere to go. She dangles the promise of information, something important he doesn’t know.

Still, some sense of self preservation keeps him from stepping forward. Desperately, he tries to noodle a shine into her mind, trying to see what she’s all about. But he can’t. It’s like it’s boarded up.

She smiles a little at him in a guarded way, not showing her teeth. He has the weirdest feeling that she knows exactly what he is trying to do.

“W-who are you?” he says hoarsely. “Do I know you?”

She sighs, as if she expected this. “If you get in the car, I promise I’ll explain, Jackson.”

He hesitates. Then, taking a deep breath, he starts to make his way toward the passenger door.

Really, what other choice does he have?

***