#shaking with barely contained rage. hey hows it going

[spindash]

hi everyone 🙂

[rafecameronssl4t]

Game of Control || NFL Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: Your ex who plays on the opposing team taunts you, prompting Rafe to confront him, dominating him on the field; proving his protectiveness and love.

Warnings: noneee

Word count: 1,301

A/n: happy new year to those who celebrate ❤️

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The roar of the stadium crowd reverberated through the tunnel, the excitement and tension of game day buzzing in the air. Your boots clicked against the concrete floor as you made your way toward the field where the Cowboys were set to take on one of their biggest rivals, the sequined blue and white uniform catching the fluorescent lighting.

It was your element—the energy of the crowd, the spotlight, the exhilaration of performing as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Rafe was already on the field warming up. You'd caught his eye earlier during pregame routines, and he'd sent you a quick wink, a hint of the smirk you knew all too well. He thrived on the attention, your attention specifically.

But so did you in your own way—a dynamic that sometimes made your relationship fiery but always magnetic. Just as you were about to turn a corner into the light of the field, a hand reached out and grasped your arm. You froze, spinning on your heel to face the figure. “Y/n,” a voice said, too familiar and too unwanted. You froze for a moment before turning.

There he was—Ethan. Your ex. Tall, smug, and unfortunately wearing the rival team’s uniform. The bold colours of his jersey were a sharp contrast to the dim tunnel, and his smirk made your stomach churn. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms across your chest. Ethan leaned against the wall, blocking your path with ease. “Relax. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” you deadpanned, attempting to step around him. He moved to block you again, his grin widening. “I see you’re still loving the spotlight,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as his eyes roamed over your uniform. “All dolled up, shaking those pom-poms, stealing the show. Bet you like this, don’t you? Being the centre of attention.” You felt your jaw tighten, heat rising to your face, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger.

“Move, Ethan. I’m not interested in whatever this is.” “Come on, Y/n,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a faux whisper. “You always liked people watching you, didn’t you? I mean, why else would you stay with Cameron? Must be nice, being his little trophy.” You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to stay calm. Ethan’s words were a calculated jab, meant to get under your skin.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship, so keep your opinions to yourself,” you said firmly. “Oh, I know plenty,” Ethan retorted, his smirk growing. “Like how guys like him only care about what’s on the outside. Cameron must be loving the arm candy, huh? But hey, if you’re happy playing the part, who am I to judge?” Anger flared hot in your chest, but before you could respond, a voice interrupted, deep and dripping with fury.

“What the hell is going on here?” Both you and Ethan turned to see Rafe striding toward you, his jaw set and his eyes dark with barely contained rage. Clad in his Dallas Cowboys gear, he looked every inch the intimidating force you knew him to be on the field. Ethan straightened, his smirk faltering slightly but still intact. “Relax, Cameron,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just catching up with an old friend.” Rafe didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes locked on you, scanning your face as if to check for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, the tightness in your chest easing slightly at his presence. “I’m fine. He was just leaving.” Rafe’s gaze shifted to Ethan, his lips curling into a cold smile. “You heard her. Leave.”

Ethan held his ground, clearly trying to appear unfazed. “Relax, man. We were just catching up.” Rafe took another step forward, his height making the space between them feel smaller, more suffocating. “You don’t touch her, and you don’t talk to her. Ever again.” There was a long pause, the tension thick enough to cut. Ethan glanced between the two of you, then finally took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

He brushed past Rafe, but not before throwing a final comment over his shoulder. “See you out there.” Rafe stood motionless, his fists clenched at his sides, until Ethan disappeared into the tunnel. When Rafe finally turned back to you, his expression softened, though the tension in his body remained. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him get to you.” His jaw ticked, and you could see the battle waging in his mind. Finally, he nodded, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Go do your thing,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll take care of him.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, his broad shoulders tense as he headed toward the field.

~

From the sidelines, you could feel the shift in Rafe the moment the game began. He was locked in, his focus razor-sharp—but it wasn’t just about football. Every time Ethan touched the ball, Rafe was there, delivering brutal, bone-crushing tackles that sent the crowd into a frenzy. It wasn’t long before the tension between the two boiled over.

In the second quarter, after a particularly vicious hit that left Ethan sprawled on the turf, he shoved Rafe as he got up, muttering something under his breath. Rafe didn’t back down. Instead, he said something that was lost in the chaos of the game. But the expression on Rafe’s face said it all—this was personal.

The referees stepped in before it could escalate further, but the warning had been delivered. From that moment on, it was clear that Rafe wasn’t just playing to win—he was playing to make a point. Ethan looked rattled, and Rafe looked like he was just getting started.

~

After the game, you waited for Rafe near the locker room, your heart still racing from the intensity of the match. When he finally appeared, his jersey was streaked with dirt and sweat, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to go that hard,” you said softly, though your tone lacked conviction. Rafe stopped in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yes, I did,” he said simply.

You let out a shaky breath, your emotions finally catching up to you. “Rafe, he’s not worth it.” “He disrespected you,” Rafe said, his voice hard. “I’m not gonna let that slide.” Your heart ached at the protectiveness in his tone, but there was something deeper beneath it—a frustration, a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I can handle myself,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m here.” The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “You’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and raw.

“Nobody talks to you like that. Nobody.” You buried your face in his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the storm inside you. “I love you,” you whispered, the words carrying every ounce of gratitude and affection you felt for him. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cup your face. “I love you too,” he said, his voice steady.

“And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Always.” In that moment, the chaos of the game, the tension of the day—it all faded away. All that mattered was the two of you, standing together in the aftermath, stronger than ever.

[lazy-ahh]

DEVOTION

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

a love that’s more teeth than tenderness—jason todd doesn’t know how to love you quietly. it’s in the traps he rigs around your apartment, the way his hands shake when he pulls you close, the growl in his voice when you’re five minutes late. he’d raze gotham to keep you safe, and the worst part? you’d let him. you’d help him burn it down.

taglist @kasarian , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro , @cynvia

you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a little more force than necessary—because honestly, who has the energy to bend down after a long day?—when you hear it. a soft click under your foot. you freeze for half a second before rolling your eyes. another one of jason’s stupid security measures.

it’s just a pressure sensor, harmless unless you’re some unlucky bastard trying to break in while jason’s out doing whatever morally questionable shit he calls "work." and yeah, okay, maybe it’s overkill. maybe the six other traps he’s rigged around the place already cover every possible entry point. but that’s jason for you—paranoid, overprotective, and completely incapable of leaving well enough alone.

your phone buzzes in your pocket—third time this hour. you don’t even have to look to know it’s him. of course it’s him. because god forbid you go more than twenty minutes without him checking in like you’re some helpless civilian who doesn’t know how to handle themselves. (which, for the record, you definitely do. you’ve thrown hands with worse than some two-bit gotham thugs.)

you sigh, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. just fondness. the kind that settles warm and stubborn in your chest, no matter how much you pretend otherwise.

"just checking in," the text reads.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. dramatic bastard. but despite yourself, your chest does that stupid, traitorous little squeeze—the one that always happens when he does this overprotective shit. you thumb out a reply before you can overthink it. "i’m fine, jay. just got home."

his answer pings back before you can even lock your phone. "good. lock the door."

no "hey." no "miss you." just straight to the point. typical. you huff out a laugh, but your fingers still brush over the screen like it’s something fragile. god, you’re pathetic.

of course you locked the door. you always lock the damn door—not because you need to (you’ve taken down guys twice your size without breaking a sweat), but because you know what it does to him if you don’t. you’ve seen the way his jaw clenches when he thinks you’re not looking, the way his fingers twitch toward his guns like he’s seconds from bolting back home just to check.

it wasn’t always like this. well, okay—it was, but not this bad. back when he was just your ghost, your shadow, the nameless presence you knew was watching you but could never prove. back when he was still dead to the world, and you were just the idiot who kept visiting his grave every other day like clockwork, talking to a headstone like it could talk back.

(the two of you never talked about what you used to say to that empty plot of dirt. some things are too raw, even for you. but you have a feeling he knows. no, you know he knows.)

then came that night—the muggers, the alley, the way you’d barely rolled your shoulders before he dropped out of the fucking sky like some avenging angel in a leather jacket and a stupid helmet. he’d made quick work of them, all brutal efficiency and barely-contained rage, and you? you just stood there. staring. because you knew.

you’d lunged before he could disappear again—because of course he was trying to disappear, the self-sacrificing bastard—and wrapped your arms around him so tight the plates of his armor dug into your ribs. it hurt, but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care, not when his heartbeat was thundering under your palms, not when the smell of gunpowder and leather and him flooded your senses like a punch to the gut.

"it’s you," you’d choked out, voice cracking like you were some heartbroken kid instead of someone who’d spent years pretending they were fine. "you idiot. you absolute idiot, did you really think i wouldn’t know?" your fingers clutched at the back of his jacket, desperate, like if you let go he’d dissolve into smoke. "i’d know you anywhere. in any lifetime. any fucking universe."

he didn't move. didn't breathe. the kind of stillness that wasn't just shock—it was like you'd reached inside his ribs and yanked out whatever scraps of his heart he'd been stupid enough to keep for himself. (as if he hadn't already given you every broken piece years ago, back when you were both too young and too stupid to know how much it would hurt later.)

his breath came out in one jagged gasp, the kind that gets stuck in your throat when you're trying not to sob. for one horrible, endless moment, you could practically feel him shutting down—muscles tensing like he was about to bolt, hands twitching like he wanted to push you away before you realized what a mistake this was. before you realized he was the mistake.

(like hell you'd let him. you wouldn’t have let him. you’d have held on tighter. you’d have crawled after him if you had to. you'd chase him through fucking crime alley if you had to. you'd done it before.)

but then—slowly, so slowly it ached—his hands came up. trembling. hesitant. like he thought you’d vanish if he touched you too hard. when his arms finally locked around you, it wasn’t the desperate, bruising grip you expected. it was reverent. like you were something sacred. like he was afraid he’d wake up and find this was just another cruel dream.

(you didn’t let go. not then. not ever.)

now? now he’s worse. so much worse. like, next-level, should-probably-be-concerning-but-is-weirdly-endearing kind of worse. the apartment's practically booby-trapped enough to give batman pause, your phone blows up every twenty minutes like clockwork, and the way he looks at you? fuck. like you're some miracle he doesn't deserve. like if he looks away for one second, you'll turn to smoke between his fingers.

and yeah, okay, maybe you should be weirded out. maybe normal people would call this obsessive. but you're not normal, and neither is he, and that's the fucking point. you get it. you get it, down to your bones. because if you'd crawled your way out of your own grave only to find someone still waiting for you? still choosing you? you'd lose your goddamn mind too.

jason todd loves like a starving man at a banquet—all trembling hands and desperate bites, terrified the food will disappear if he blinks. it should feel like a cage. it would feel like a cage, with anyone else. but it's him. so when his arms wrap around you too tight, when his voice goes rough with "where were you?" after five fucking minutes, you just press closer. because you know the shape of this fear. you've tasted it yourself.

because here's the secret: you're just as bad. you love him with the same terrifying intensity, the same need that should probably scare you but doesn't. not really. not when it's him.

you love the way his hands shake when he pulls you close after a long night—not the dramatic, crime-fighting kind of shake, but the quiet tremble of a man who still can't believe he gets to touch you. like if he holds on tight enough, he'll wake up and this’ll all be some cruel dream. you love how he remembers your schedule, how he still hums your favorite songs under his breath when he thinks you're not listening, how he makes your eggs just slightly runny because he knows you like them that way even though he prefers his 'perfectly crisp'. stupid things. little things. the kind of things that would be meaningless if it wasn't him remembering them like they're scripture.

and fuck, the way he looks at you. like you hung the goddamn moon. like he'd carve out his own heart if you asked nicely. (you wouldn't. but the fact that he would if you were ever to ask? that gets you every time.)

what you don't say—what gets stuck in your throat like broken glass—is that you're just as fucking gone for him. you know the exact pressure needed to clean his favorite knife without fucking up the edge, which snacks he craves after patrol (those delicious spicy chili chips), how to make his hot chocolate just right—extra whipped cream, because "sweetheart, if i wanted vaguely chocolate water i'd drink batman's sad attempt at comfort food." you've memorized the way his breath stutters when you trace the scar along his ribs, how his eyes go that particular stormy green when he's blinking back tears, the exact weight of him when he collapses into your lap after a shitty night, all battered armor and quiet hurt.

and yeah, maybe you keep his favorite hoodie tucked under your pillow like some lovesick teenager. maybe you've memorized the pattern of his scars better than your own. maybe you wake up some nights choking on phantom dirt, your hands still remembering the feel of cold headstone beneath your palms, the way your voice cracked raw screaming his name into empty air.

but he's here. he came back. and some days, when the sunlight hits him just right and he smiles at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen, you think you might actually owe the universe for this one. for him.

sometimes, when the moonlight spills through the curtains just right and your breathing's gone slow and even, he lets himself be vulnerable. his calloused fingers—usually so sure around a gun, so deadly in a fight—trace the curve of your cheekbone like he's mapping constellations. it's the lightest touch, barely there, like he's afraid you'll dissolve into smoke if he presses too hard. like you're some sacred relic instead of the same idiot who once ate an entire pizza in one sitting (despite him warning you) and then complained about stomach aches for hours.

you're not fragile. you've taken punches that would knock out people twice your size, have scars that tell stories he doesn't even know yet. but in these quiet moments, when his breath catches and his hands tremble just slightly, he treats you like something precious. like you're the only thing in this godforsaken city worth protecting. you're not. but to him, you are.

and maybe that's why you don't give him shit about the excessive security measures (seriously, who needs that many knives hidden in one apartment?), or the way your phone lights up with his texts every twenty minutes like clockwork, or how his voice goes all gravelly with barely-contained panic when you're late coming home from the fucking grocery store. because you know that fear. you've tasted it—bitter and metallic—in the back of your throat every time he walks out the door wearing that damn helmet.

you love him like it's the last rebellion against a world that keeps trying to take him from you—like every breath you take is just another way to say fuck you to the universe. and yeah, maybe loving someone this much should terrify you, should send you running for the hills. but the thing is? you've never been good at walking away from a fight. especially not when it's him.

so when he stumbles through the window at 3 AM, knuckles split and that familiar exhaustion dragging at his shoulders like a second skin, you don't even blink. the blood doesn't faze you (you've seen worse), the way his hands tremble when he reaches for you doesn't make you hesitate. if anything, you meet him halfway, your fingers curling into his jacket before he can even get his boots off.

you press closer, until there's no space left between you, until you can feel his heartbeat against your ribs—too fast, too wild, but there. your lips find the scar on his mouth (the one he got that time he wouldn't stop running his mouth at black mask), then the fresh bruise blooming along his jaw (you'll ask about that tomorrow, when he's not vibrating out of his skin). and when he buries his face against your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, you don't just let him. you drag him closer, your own fingers digging into his back like you're trying to fuse your skeletons together.

you breathe him in like he's your last hit of oxygen, your nose pressed against his hair, memorizing the scent of gunpowder and sweat and him. your hands don't shake when they slide under his shirt—they tremble, tracing every scar, every ridge of muscle, like you're trying to rewrite every hurt he's ever known with your fingertips.

and when he finally slumps against you, all that tension bleeding out of him in one long sigh, you hold him up. you always will.

then when he whispers it against your skin—lips brushing your collarbone like a prayer, voice rough with something too raw to name—"i'd let this goddamn city burn for you. hell, i'd torch the whole fucking world and smile while it burned," you don't doubt him for a second. how could you? you've seen the way his hands steady when they're wrapped around yours, how his eyes go dark and certain in a way that makes your ribs ache.

your smile comes slow, private—the kind you only ever let him see—as you card your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "i know, pretty boy." because you do. you've always known. it's in the way he memorizes the rhythm of your breathing when you sleep, how he still flinches when you touch his back (too many scars, too many ghosts) but still lean in for more, how every goddamn morning starts with his lips against your pulse point like he's checking you're still alive.

and christ, it terrifies you sometimes, how good it feels to be loved this way. not careful, not gentle, but consuming. like there's no version of this story where you don't end up tangled together, blood and bone and all the ugly, beautiful parts in between. it's the kind of love that should feel like too much, except it's him, so it's never enough.

(because here's the truth they don't tell you about love this fierce: it doesn't make you softer. it makes you reckless. it makes you dangerous. and when his mouth finds yours in the dark, all teeth and desperation, you think—with something like joy, like hunger—that you'd raze entire cities for this man. you probably would have if he hadn't saved you that night.)

"i know," you say again, quieter this time, and let him kiss the words from your lips.

because you would too. you’d carve your name into the bones of the earth if it meant he’d never have to hurt again. the real question isn’t if—it’s which one of you would burn brighter.

would it be him, with his hands stained and his heart too big for his chest, tearing through the dark just to keep you safe? or would it be you, reckless and grinning, already halfway through the matchstick before he even finishes shouting your name?

does it even matter?

when the smoke clears, you’ll always find each other in the ashes.

2.5k words of jason todd being devastatingly human—all rough hands and soft devotion, love that borders on obsession but feels like coming home. because god, i missed him. missed writing his particular brand of broken tenderness, the way he loves like it's the last thing holding him together. because it might just be. it's criminal how i don't get any requests for him compared to mark, but hey—at least this way i get to pour all my pent-up jason feelings into something raw and unfiltered. or maybe i just don't write him well enough... my pretty boy with too much heart and too many scars, who deserves the world and would burn it down for the right person. lowkey wish it's me— hope this makes someone out there fall in love with him all over again like i did. or at least makes you clutch your chest dramatically like i did writing it.

[chadobi]

I just found you and I adore your writing style it's so fun to read!! I don't have a specific request but I was wondering if you could do more of the 2012 boys? Specially Leo and Ralph, but I like all of them!

You are soo talented and I'm so excited I found your account!!

“Cracked Shells, Tender Hearts”

2012 Raphael x fem!Reader

You shouldn’t have gone on that mission. Not tonight.

Raph had said as much, too. Growled it under his breath as you all prepared to head out, muttering that something didn’t feel right. He always had the sharpest instincts, and tonight, they’d been screaming at him. But you were stubborn. Wanted to prove yourself. Wanted to show you could hold your own even in the nastiest parts of the city.

But now? Now you were lying on Donnie’s table, blood crusted on your temple and a shallow but nasty gash across your ribs, hissing through your teeth as he disinfected it.

Raphael hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes.

He was just… standing there. Arms crossed. Glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles were almost white.

You could feel his anger like a storm cloud pressed to your skin.

“You did great out there,” Donnie offered softly, trying to distract you from the burn of antiseptic. “That last move you pulled with the bo staff? Textbook.”

You smiled faintly. “Didn’t feel textbook.”

“Still saved Mikey’s shell.”

“Barely.”

“Barely’s still alive.”

You were trying to laugh when Raph finally snapped.

“She shouldn’t have had to save anyone.”

His voice hit the air like a crack of thunder. Donnie looked between the two of you, then muttered something about “letting it breathe” and disappeared into his lab. The silence that followed felt loud. Too loud.

You sat up slowly, ribs protesting. “Raph-”

“You could’ve died tonight.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. And you saw it.

The tightness around his eyes. The way his shoulders trembled just slightly. The guilt creeping in through every crack in that armor he wore like a second skin.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whispered.

“I told you to stay,” he snapped.

“I told you I could handle it.”

“You couldn’t.”

That one stung. You looked away, heart squeezing. “I made a mistake. That’s how we learn, right?”

But Raphael just paced like a caged animal, like the words you were saying didn’t matter because they weren’t enough to cover the image he couldn’t shake—your body, crumpled against the bricks, blood trickling down your cheek.

You stood with a wince and walked to him slowly.

“Raph,” you said gently, “I’m okay.”

He turned away.

You reached up, placed your hand against his plastron. “Hey. Look at me.”

Nothing.

“Please.”

And finally, finally, he did.

His eyes were red at the edges, just a little. Not from anger.

From something softer. Something he never liked to show.

“You’re not okay,” he said hoarsely. “You’re bruised and cut and limping, and I can’t-” His voice cracked. “-I can’t take it if something happens to you.”

You stared up at him, heart pounding. Because he never said things like that. Not out loud.

“I didn’t go out there to scare you,” you said. “I went because I wanted to stand beside you. Not behind you.”

“I don’t need you beside me if it means I gotta watch you bleed.”

You swallowed.

“Then what do you need?”

His jaw clenched. Then his hand-warm and calloused and shaking a little-reached out and cupped your cheek.

“I need you safe.”

You leaned into his palm.

“I’m trying,” you whispered. “I promise.”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat of him, the barely-contained rage and fear. So close that the armor cracked again-just enough.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he murmured. “I was gonna tear the whole city apart.”

“I’m still here.”

“I know.” His forehead rested against yours, his voice low and rough. “Just… stop scarin’ the shell off me, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“You better.”

And then, with a shaky breath, Raphael kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It was raw and bruising and real-like everything he’d been holding in crashed to the surface and broke free all at once. You kissed him back with equal fire, threading your fingers through his bandana tails, grounding him.

When you finally pulled back, he wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you said quietly into his chest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say this sooner,” he replied. “I love you.”

You blinked up at him. “Say that again?”

He smirked, just a little. “Don’t make me repeat it, princess.”

“Too late.”

But he only kissed you again.

And this time, it was softer.

Because for the first time tonight, the storm inside him had finally started to calm.

[vampiree-555]

"Please, I need it."

c.s - drvgdealer

contains: smut , slight(?) angst , mentions of weed , degradation , pet names

It was a long day. One of the more excruciating days I'd had in a while. I'd gotten home and immediately rushed for my stash of weed that I kept in the underwear drawer of my dresser. I was so excited to finally be able to relax and take the edge off until I saw the empty container that I kept my weed in.

"Shit." i whined to myself.

I gritted my teeth as I knew what I had to do, though I desperately did not want to do it.

My dealer was one of the hottest people I'd ever laid my eyes on... but he was scary as hell. He knew how I felt about him so anytime we would meet, he'd always keep it short and simple. Though last time, we had a bit of an argument.

{flashback}

"Thanks Chris." I took the small baggie from his hand but he didn't let it go. He stared at me with his intense and cold blue eyes that pierced daggers into you. I stared back at him with my eyes wide and my breathing had obviously gotten heavier.

"Why don't you like me, y/n? I don't know if you've noticed this, but I always under charge you, I give you extra, and I'm nice to you. Which is not something I always do. So why don't you like me?" He spoke in a monotonous tone yet I could tell by his eyes he was angry.

"I've been your dealer for 2 years and you never text me unless you need weed, y/n." I shook my head and slightly chuckled nervously.

"That's what dealers are for, Chris. I'm your customer. I'm not your girlfriend." his grip on my hand tightened as I spoke. I saw him clench his jaw and grit his teeth. He laughed softly and threw my hand down along with the baggie.

"Find a new dealer. I'm done with you." he turned his back away and walked into the night, not knowing where he was headed.

I picked up my phone hesitantly and opened his contact. I know he said he was done with me but I secretly knew he didn't mean it.

ׂ╰┈➤ texting

y/n ; hey. i need stuff..

Chris🚬 ; i thought i said i was done w u y/n.

y/n ; you did , srry but im out nd need more

Chris🚬 ; ur killing me y/n l/n

y/n ; thx chris

I smiled to myself as i set my phone down. I had a weird attachment to him. I liked him as a brother... I thought.

I changed into more appropriate clothes for meeting Chris. My white tank, black zip up hood, and my noticeably short jean shorts. He liked when I showed off my ass and as an apology for last time, I did just that.

Soon I heard my front door open and I rolled my eyes. He always walked into my apartment like he owned the place.

"Where you at ma?" my heart beat out my chest once I heard his voice. I was nervous to see him again. I took a deep breath before stepping out into the living room where he made himself comfortable on my couch.

"I'm right here, no need to yell." I said playfully at him. He looked me up and down before softly biting his lip and looking up at me with his piercing and narrow blue eyes. The way he looked at me really got to me somehow. I could feel my cheeks flush and I couldn't stop my small smile from forming on my lips.

I sat next to him on the couch and could feel his eyes on my ass while i sat. I narrowed my eyes at him and he scoffed before looking away from my gaze.

"You know just how to make me feel better baby." he spoke so softly you could miss it, but it was so quiet in that room you couldn't not hear his every move.

He pulled my usual amount that I bought from him out his hoodie pocket and threw it on the table. I slid him the cash and he stared at the bills for a moment before shaking his head.

"No. That's not what I want." He looked at me and I tilted my head in a confused manner. He sucked on his teeth before a small smirk formed on his face. He leaned in closer to me where his lips were barely brushing my ear.

"I want you, mama." I leaned back from him with my eyebrows furrowed.

"Chris," He didn't let me get another word out before he crashed our lips together in a possessive rage, for some odd reason, I didn't pull back. I let him kiss me, and I kissed back.

He held his hand on the back of my neck to deepen the kiss and let his free hand roam my waist. In a quick motion he turned us so that my back was pushed against the couch and he leaned over me.

He kissed down my neck which tended to be more sensitive and I let it be known with the small noises that escaped from my lips. I felt him smirk against my fragile skin and let him snake his hands down my waist, and to my thighs. He swiped off his shirt and let me sit up to do the same while he bent down to unbutton my shorts and throw them across the room, along with my underwear, I did the same with my shirt and Chris with his own clothing.

I felt the ocean that formed in my panties once he undressed me and apparently Chris did as well.

"Already so wet for me? hm?" his hand trailed down to my soaking cunt and he rubbed circles around my clit with his thumb while with his other hand, he entered his middle and ring finger, curling them against my G-spot causing loud moans and whines to escape my lips.

"f-fuck~ feels so good.." I heard his godforsaken chuckle as he listened to the sweet noises that escaped my glistening, plump lips. He removed his fingers and jammed them into my mouth.

"Suck." and I did just that. I stared at him with my pleading and desperate eyes as he looked down at me, like I was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen, yet his eyes were also filled with infatuation and desire.

He removed his fingers from my mouth and spit into that same hand, stroking himself before pressing his tip against my core slightly teasing me. I whined and looked at him with my puppy eyes before he scoffed into the air.

"Don't look at me like that y/n. You have no idea what you do to me." The last part was just barely a breath, I almost missed it.

He slowly began to enter into my core, his own grunts and groans mixed with mine, filling the air with a wave of ecstasy.

He pushed himself in slowly before pulling out to where his tip was just barely at my entrance before slamming his hips into mine. I let out a loud scream like moan as he continued at a fast and hard pace. A rhythm at which I'd never seen or felt before.

"h-holy fuck~" At this point my brain had turned into mush as my only point of focus was Chris and how he made me feel in that moment. I instinctively arched my back as I felt the all-to-familiar knot form in my stomach. Chris could tell I was getting close, and obviously had no intention on slowing down.

"m' close.." I moaned out. I looked at Chris after having my eyes closed for nearly the whole time out of pure pleasure. He was staring down at me with complete anger in his eyes and my heart started to race in my chest.

"You're such a fucking slut. All you do is fuck for drugs. You're mine y/n. All fucking mine." Chris spoke through clenched teeth. I would be lying if I said that didn't make me inch closer to my climax.

Chris then pulled out just as quickly as he entered inside of me and began gathering all of his clothes, putting them back on piece my piece. I looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. My chest was rising and falling and my skin glistened due to sweat under the warm light.

"Chris wha-" I was cutoff once more by an aggressive kiss from the man once he got all his clothes on, followed by a soft slap across my face.

"Don't text me again." And with that, he left my apartment, slamming the door behind him.

[angelyuji]

no love like caleb's love

helloo my silliesss a lot of discourse going down on ladstwt and honestly... idgaf what people like to think abt the characters. unless its a huge mischaracterization then im like "HE WOULD NEVER DO THATT" but then again, fanfiction is called fan-fiction for a reason lolol also i know some people get the ick from caleb calling mc pipsqueak but i like it. i also like when sylus calls mc kitten. idc i love it

18+!!!!!!!!!! MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!!!

caleb (love and deep space) x gn!reader

cw // fauxcest, COLLEGE MC AND CALEB, dubcon, gaslighting, mild violence, general yandere-ness (lmk if im missing any tags plss)

your chest hurts as you sob, sitting on the floor of your room. a knock sounds at the door, “hey pipsqueak, guess who?” you rush to open the door, throwing yourself into caleb’s arms. he laughs, “yeah, i missed you-“ he steps back, seeing your tears, “what happened?”

“he cheated on me, caleb." you sob into caleb's shoulder, he was the only one you could rely on in the end. he lets you cry, rubbing your back.

"listen, (y/n)," caleb squeezes your cheeks as you look up at him, "he was a waste of space in your life anyway. a good for nothing asshole." you snort and caleb smiles, he presses a kiss to your forehead. "stop crying about him... let me make you feel better." his lips go to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, but you push him away.

"caleb!" your face heats up, "w-we can't! i-i can't." you swallow, letting the fire in your stomach quell. caleb frowns, but relents, stepping back out of your room.

he gives you a leisurely smile, "feel better, pipsqueak."

"he told me to break up with you." "he made it all up, (y/n)." "look at the texts he'd been sending me." "he's sick."

you didn't know who had texted you the rumors of him cheating, but the proof the asshole had showed you was enough for you to doubt caleb's intentions. you sit in the dining room when a knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts. "come in, the door's unlocked." you call out. caleb peeks his head in, his cheeky smile resting on his face. for a second you hesitate to ask, but seeing the conflicted emotions on your face, caleb frowns. he sits down across from you, eyes scanning your face. you take a sip of your water, nervous.

"you know, you should keep your door locked. it could've been some maniac at the door, not me." he shakes his head with a smile, "did grandma and i not teach you better?" he pretends to sigh disappointedly. you roll your eyes.

"caleb... i need to ask you something..." you wring your hands. he doesn't respond, waiting for you to continue. you take a breath, "that jerk... he told me that you threatened him... that you made up the rumors... is that-" you look at caleb, anger dripping from your voice, "is that true?" caleb doesn't say anything, watching your face.

he looks down with a sigh, "yeah... it's true." you stand up, abruptly, sending your chair shrieking. caleb jolts, watching you stomp around the table to him. you grab his collar in your fists.

"why. what were you thinking, caleb." you shake him and he lets you. his hands grab yours, tightening to force you to let go.

"(y/n), it was for your own good-" you let him go, letting him slump in the chair.

"for my own good? FOR MY OWN GOOD?" you could barely contain your anger. you fight the urge to slap your best friend, choosing to grab your glass and dump your water on his head. he blinks, straightening in shock.

his eyes narrow, "you feel better now?"

"no." you slam your glass on the table, turning to storm back to your room. caleb grabs your hand and pulls you back into his lap. you try to fight it, but he keeps his grip tight. you look away, rage turning to tears. "how could you do this to me, caleb?" he rubs your back and you melt into his hold.

a few minutes of silence passes as caleb comforts you, "he wasn't good for you, (y/n). i know who's good for you, and.... it wasn't him."

you look up at him, "then who's gonna be good enough for you, caleb? or will i have to spend the rest of my life alone." you sniffle, trying to get off him. caleb tightens his hold on you. he swallows, eyes falling to your lips.

"you won't be alone... i'll be there, pipsqueak." he presses his lips to yours and you squeak in surprise. you try to push him off, but his hands squeeze your waist. you yelp in pain and he mumbles against your lips, "just let me take care of you." he continues, his hand moving up to your chest. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction. "all i want to do is take care of you, (y/n). you... you're the only person i care about. the only person i love..." you hold back a whimper as his thumb caresses your nipple. you give him a small nod and you melt into his touch.

[writeriguess]

I need some comfort (whenever you get to mine in the que and what bit) I just became a single mother of two under two so do you think you could write shoto todoroki or Toya todoroki x reader who is in a custody fight with her POS baby daddy and he starts talking all this shit to her and they stand up for her once she starts crying

Fireproof

Custody battles weren’t about truth.

They weren’t about love, or who deserved to raise a child. They were about power—who had it, who didn’t, and who could manipulate the system better. And right now, your ex had all the power.

You hated the courthouse. The walls felt like they were closing in every time you had to sit through another meeting with your lawyer, listening to legal jargon that all boiled down to the same thing—you weren’t winning this fight.

Not yet.

You pushed through the heavy courthouse doors and stepped into the cool evening air, trying to breathe, trying to stop your hands from shaking. But just as you thought you’d finally gotten a moment to yourself—

"Well, that was humiliating," came a voice you wished you could forget.

Your whole body tensed.

You turned, already bracing yourself. Your ex stood a few feet away, arms crossed, smirking like he had just watched you get kicked to the ground.

"You really thought that meeting was gonna go differently, huh?" he scoffed. "Thought maybe you’d finally get the upper hand? That was sad to watch."

You clenched your jaw, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. "I'm not giving up."

He let out a laugh. "Of course you’re not. You never do, do you? You keep dragging this out, wasting time and money when we both know how this is gonna end." He took a step closer. "You’re broke. You’re barely holding your life together. What judge in their right mind would side with you?"

"I can take care of my kid just fine," you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Oh, really?" He tilted his head mockingly. "With what? That shitty apartment? Your dead-end job? Hell, even if you do win, what happens then? You gonna cry every time things get hard?"

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. "At least I actually care about our child’s happiness. Unlike you."

His smirk disappeared.

"You think you're better than me?" he asked, voice suddenly colder. "Because from where I’m standing, all I see is a failure. A weak little girl who can’t even keep it together long enough to fight her own battles."

Your throat tightened.

"And that’s why you’re gonna lose." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Because you don’t have what it takes. You never did."

The words sank in like a knife to the gut. You fought so hard to be strong, to prove you weren’t the weak, helpless girl he wanted you to be. But the way he said it—so sure of himself—made that doubt creep in again.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tears burning at the back of your eyes.

"Aww," he cooed mockingly, "did I hit a nerve?"

"Hey, asshole."

The voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade.

Your ex froze.

Slowly, he turned, his expression shifting from amusement to confusion as he took in the man standing a few feet away.

Touya.

He had been there the whole time, leaning against the courthouse wall, watching. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his usual lazy smirk in place, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to his gaze—a simmering, barely contained rage that made the air feel hotter.

Your ex frowned. "Who the hell—"

Then recognition dawned.

The color drained from his face.

"Shit," he whispered.

Touya grinned. "Took you long enough."

Your ex took an instinctive step back, hands slightly raised like he wasn’t sure whether to run or try to talk his way out of this. "You—you’re Dabi."

Touya rolled his eyes. "No shit, genius. What gave it away? The scars?"

Your ex didn’t even acknowledge the sarcasm. He was too busy staring at him like he had just come face-to-face with a rabid animal.

"You’re with him?" he snapped, turning to you, disbelief twisting his features. "You’re seriously fucking dating Dabi? The lunatic who burns people alive? The guy who doesn’t care about anything except bringing down his old man? Do you realize how easy you just made this for me?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off.

"The second I tell my lawyer about this, it’s over," he said, practically vibrating with excitement. "No judge is gonna let our kid be around him." He gestured wildly toward Touya, voice rising. "He’s a fucking terrorist, for Christ’s sake! He kills innocent people! He’d burn the whole damn world down if it meant getting back at his daddy!"

Touya let out a low hum, seemingly unbothered. "Man, you sure talk a lot."

Your ex ignored him. "This case is done. I don’t even have to try anymore. The second I tell the judge about this, I—"

A hand shot out, grabbing his collar and yanking him forward so fast he barely had time to gasp.

The smirk was gone.

Touya’s blue eyes burned with something dangerous, something unhinged.

"You so much as breathe my name in court," he said, voice eerily calm, "and I’ll rip your fucking tongue out."

Your ex froze, his whole body locking up.

Touya tilted his head slightly. "You ever heard what it feels like?"

Your ex swallowed hard, but Touya kept going.

"I have," he murmured. "Apparently, the pain’s so bad you wish you were dead. But the worst part?" He leaned in, lips curling into something cruel. "You can’t even scream properly."

A flicker of blue fire licked at his fingertips.

Your ex twitched. "Y-You wouldn’t—"

Touya’s grip tightened. "You sure about that?"

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

Then—your ex nodded. It was small, barely a movement, but it was there.

Touya held his gaze for a few seconds longer before suddenly letting go.

Your ex stumbled back, almost falling, his breathing ragged. He stared at Touya like he was looking at a monster.

"Now," Touya said casually, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, "be a good little bitch and run along, yeah?"

Your ex didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and bolted, practically tripping over himself in his rush to get away.

The second he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your whole body still felt tense, your heart pounding from the adrenaline.

"Hey," Touya said softly, turning to you.

You looked up at him.

"You alright?"

You exhaled, wiping at the corner of your eye. "Yeah. I think so."

He watched you for a second, then reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. His touch was warm—not from his fire, just from him.

"You know," he murmured, "I could make this whole custody fight disappear if you wanted."

You let out a breathy laugh. "As tempting as that is, I’d rather not have to explain why my ex suddenly vanished."

Touya chuckled. "Fair enough."

His arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you in close. You let yourself sink into his warmth, letting the tension in your body finally ease.

"You’re not weak," he murmured against your hair. "You never were."

For the first time in a long time, you actually believed it.

[specialinterestshows]

hey,if your requests are open I would love to read a one shot(Dom!Rhea x Brat!fem!reader) with a hard spanking session

You got it! This ask is from way back from when I had my requests open (requests currently CLOSED.)

I’m assuming by “fem” you mean “cis lady” and wrote as such (as opposed to just “lady,” which I use when the reader is written to conceivably be of any sex but definitely lady gender.)

The following is a Rhea Ripley x brat!cis!lady!reader oneshot!

Warnings: Bratting, controlling behavior, brat-taming, spanking (hands, wooden paddle), dirty talk, discipline, threats, teasing, sadism, boot worship, knifeplay, no aftercare

-

Leaving (You) RAW

“What the hell are you doing wearing that?”

Rhea walked into the room and began seething the moment she read the white text across your chest:

“LIV MORGAN REVENGE TOUR”

Even the arm she had in a sling was shaking with rage, which made you smile. The truth was, you knew exactly what you were doing: getting her attention.

“I thought you said I looked good in skimpy black tees,” you pouted, leaning forward a bit to give her a full view of your bra and cleavage through the slits you had cut across your shirt.

“Not when it has that shit written on it,” Rhea fumed, practically shouting, “Go change.”

“Or what?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

“Oh baby girl,” her low chuckle and an unsettling glint in her eyes made her seem even more dangerous now as she approached you slowly, “You should know the answer to that by now.”

Of course you knew the answer: Rhea’s go-to punishment when you were being a brat. But that was exactly what you were aiming for - it had been too long since you’d gotten a good, hard spanking from your domme.

“Bedroom, NOW,” she ordered, shoving you in that direction with her free hand. It was almost a shame she was behind you now, missing you rolling your eyes completely. If she had seen it, maybe the bare-handed slaps she was hitting your ass with to keep you moving would have more force behind them.

Wasting no time, Rhea bent you at the waist over the edge of the bed as soon as you crossed the threshold to the bedroom. Looking over your shoulder as soon as you were released and had regained your balance, your eyes land on the wood-and-leather paddle she had already pulled out. Standing over you, she smirks and twirls it in her hand once.

“Bet you want to take that shirt off now,” Rhea chuckled, gaze probing you for remorse or fear - you weren’t sure which.

“Not really,” you insisted, looking away from the “BRAT” that was carved backwards into the finished wood and making yourself yawn loudly.

“Bad girl,” Rhea snapped, using the edge of the paddle to flip up your skirt and expose your panties before landing the first blow. It was a bit harder than what she usually started with, but you expected it enough to make sure you barely reacted.

“You might not yet, but you’re going to regret buying that shirt soon, slut,” she spat, hitting you again, hard enough to make you inhale sharply.

“Buying?” you laughed, relishing the slight sting, but still hungry for more, “How do you know Liv didn’t just give it to me herself?”

The next hit from the paddle made you yelp in surprise and grip the sheets in front of you to keep yourself steady, just before another harsh blow landed.

The ache in your cheeks was more permeating now, the intensity getting closer to your ideal range of pain. Rhea noticed too, sliding one corner of the paddle across the damp spot in your panties, parting your swollen lips and making you whine.

“Dirty girl, getting wet from being punished,” she teased, unable to contain the amusement in her voice, “Looks like Mami isn’t being rough enough with you. Let’s change that, hmm?”

Slap.

A moan rolls off your tongue as the stinging sensation plays off the ache again.

Slap!

You’ve started flinching when you hear the whisper of the paddle cut through the air.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The more tender your ass gets, the harder you grip the sheets, reaching the upper threshold of what you considered more of a pleasure and less of a punishment.

“Feel like taking it off yet?” Rhea asked sweetly, setting her shoe down against the edge of the mattress so she could press the tip against your ruined panties, “If you do, we can switch right to you cleaning your mess off my boot.”

“Taking what off?” you asked, so wet and wonderfully vulnerable that you’d forgotten why you were being spanked in the first place.

Your domme, however, seemed to think you were still being a brat intentionally. Before you realized what was happening, your underwear was pulled down and your punishment continued.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

The quick succession of harsh blows to your bare ass was inescapable as you squirmed, legs kicked open when you tried to move away. Your cries of pain punctuated the short time between them, creating a cacophony of suffering.

Just when you were about to tap out, there was a pause before you heard the paddle clatter to the floor. Then a weight shifting onto the bed made you realize you were now askew and, somehow, most of the way onto the mattress at this point. You pulled yourself up on your hands at the motion.

“Stay still, bunny,” Rhea warned in response to your whimpers at the friction of her straddling you, “Mami is going to make sure you can’t wear this miserable excuse for merch ever again.”

The click of her switchblade opening made you jump slightly.

“What did I just say?” she tutted, sliding the blade under the bottom of your shirt.

Despite the cool metal giving you goosebumps, you did your best to stay still as Rhea tore through the fabric. Soon, her warm breath fell onto your naked back and she was reaching around you, easily ripping through the already cut-up front of your shirt.

Every time the sharp blade dipped back toward you, you held your breath - even with the pressure Rhea’s weight was putting on your raw cheeks.

“Now then,” she said, snapping the switchblade shut again, dropping it, and shifting her weight before grabbing your ass, “Does Mami need to keep punishing you, baby? Or have you learned your lesson?”

“I’m sorry, Mami,” you say immediately, wincing at the light squeeze, “I won’t wear anything you don’t approve of again.”

“There’s my good girl,” Rhea praised, moving off the bed, “Now stay still and I’ll see if I can get a good photo of my work.”

[end]

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@domripley , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence

[sawpaingsheadband]

And sometimes inspiration directs your energy on a specific Pathetic Wet Cat of a Man.

There. There you go. Canon Divergent AU where Xia Ji gets his life together and finds a purpose by training hard in Seki's dojo.

I just felt like it.

Hope you enjoy.

Teen and up for foul language.

AO3 LINK

Katahara Retsudo has visited once again the prisoner - supposedly a big shot, supposedly the head of the South-eastern branch of the Worm, but all he is feeling now is disappointment.

This guy was beaten by Narushima Koga nonetheless, and whilst Retsudo recognizes that the boy is strong, that should have been a harder task.

He is even unsure whether this man is going to be helpful at all.

Katahara Retsudo lets out a sigh, exhaling out the smoke of the sigarette he is smoking.

And then he hears footsteps and it is none other than Tokita Ohma. The latter just leans against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and looks straight at the cell where Xia Ji is being held captive and in wait for a judgement of some sort.

"Still nothing from this guy?" Ohma asks in a calm and nearly apathetic tone. Retsudo replies in matching tone.

"Nothing. Zero."

Silence falls again, if not for the deranged mutterings from Xia Ji.

Retsudo adds, moments later. "Are you here for any reason?"

Ohma doesn't beat around the bush. "I have an idea."

"A good one?"

"An idea. Not necessarily a good one."

"Tokita, I trust your judgement, but I reserve the right to say no."

Ohma laughs lightly, then approaches the cell and Xia Ji.

"Hey."

Xia Ji doesn't wait - he has now eyes filled with rage, the cell barely containing him now. "What, have you come to do your little dance? Have you come to mock me, just like everyone else has done? What the fuck do you want now?"

Ohma is unfazed. "I am here to propose something. Or better, to Let Yamashita Kazuo propose something to you."

Xia Ji is taken aback. He looks at Ohma and then at Retsudo as if they both just grew another head. In that moment Yamashita Kazuo steps in, a little uncertain on his steps, but he is there.

And Xia Ji widens his eyes. "YOU! I tried to KILL you. If I had done that I WOULD BE THE HEAD OF THE WORM, I WOULD BE WHERE I AM SUPPOSED TO BE, you-"

Retsudo cuts him off with a quick elbow in his stomach. "Looks like no one taught you manners."

Yamashita Kazuo shakes a little bit. "Now, now, we are here for something relatively peaceful."

Xia Ji shots him a glare so evil that if glares could kill Yamashita would be already dead in a pool of his own blood.

Somehow the middle-aged man presses on.

"Xia Ji is your name, right? I may have a good proposition for you, if you would like to listen to me."

Xia Ji looks at him like a snake ready to bite. The other keeps talking. "I believe it would be beneficial to you if you started being trained as a Kengan fighter. Of course I still need to figure out more details, and also I would like to speak to Nogi-san and Katahara-san before making a decision, but I wanted to hear your opinion in the matter."

And Xia Ji is once again taken aback.

The gall.

The nerve.

The audacity.

How much further are these people going to humiliate him? As if he had not been humiliated enough? He so wants to cut off every single one of their heads.

"H-how dare you MAGGOTS? I should be the one forcing you to stand down! I should have had everything! I had power, I had an army, I had EVERYTHING and now BECAUSE OF YOU I HAVE NOTHING!"

He yells and he feels out of breath, the wounds have not yet healed fully and they hurt, but in that moment he is just. So angry.

"And to add to this, WHAT IS YOUR PRIZE, you Kengan FUCKERS?"

Retsudo may have caught on what Yamashita is proposing.

He steps closer to the cell and speak. "Hey. Listen here, you small hurt beast. How can you possibly do ANYTHING when you lack your own pride and your own depth? Can you even call yourself an enemy? Maybe being with other fighters will give you some sort of pride and depth, you poor excuse of a cartoonish villain."

And Xia Ji is silent, his head lowered down, as if thinking, as if weighting the pros and cons of this offer.

What could the Kengan association possibly gain by making him a Kengan fighter?

Could it be so that he can destroy them from the inside? This would mean that he would have an even easier time getting back what he wants.

He could even have a rematch against the wretched brat who beat him and also against the two bloody dipshits who beat him to a pulp in the arena.

To him it's a no-brainer.

"Fine. I accept. I am gonna kill everyone anyway."

And a few weeks later Xia Ji, healed and with clean clothes, is brought to Sekibayashi Jun's Super Pro-Wrestling Japan dojo.

Xia Ji is fuming.

The nerve, the gall, the audacity, etcetera.

He is greeted by none other than Sekibayashi Jun - h has been explained the situation, he knows he is gonna train a potentially dangerous assassin, he would not have agreed with this if not for very good reasons.

And as soon as Xia Ji is introduced in the dojo everyone is silent - of course everyone knows who is Xia Ji. The latter is pissed.

Sekibayashi does not waste time. "So, who wants to give us a show? Anyone offering to fight this guy?"

No one moves.

"Come on, do I need to do everything myself?"

"Are you sure he's okay?" Someone chimes in and Sekibayashi lifts a steel chair and hurdles it on the ring. "The brat beat him to a pulp, do you think so? Now which one of you cowards is gonna take this guy down?"

Xia Ji can't hold back. "AND why do you assume I am gonna be the one defeated?"

Sekibayashi grins. "Oh, did I hit a nerve, bitch boy? Then go on that ring and demonstrate your strength to us!"

Xia Ji just steps into the ring - everyone is going to pay.

The gall. the nerve, the audacity, etcetera.

And Josè "El Ninja" Kanzaki steps into the ring. "Come on, Mr. Assassin, let me see what you are made of!"

And the fight is brief, but intense. And it results with the utter and complete defeat of Xia Ji.

And he can't understand why, as Josè is hailed as the victor of the match. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He points at Josè. "I-I don't understand! I am stronger than you! I have Superman Syndrome! I have experience! I am the most fearsome man-"

Josè cuts him off. "Well. You are not special, Wakatsuki Takeshi also has Superman Syndrome. I have seen him punch stuff."

That is Sekibayashi's cue to step in. He leans against the ring, next to Xia Ji. "See, Mr. Dangerous Man, this is the first lesson in pro-wrestling. When you take a hit, you take it head on and give it back with double strength. The first rule is: stop bitching and get to work. You wanna be someone, have something? Then work for it and demonstrate that you will get that."

Xia Ji looks at him dumbfounded. Sekibayashi keeps talking. "As you are now, you are just a pathetic rat lacking pride and self-respect."

"Careful, Mr. Pro-Wrestler, I-"

"You have just been beaten by my student. Do you want to mope a bit more or do you want to start working on those indian squats?"

And now Xia Ji, speechless and still dumbfounded, starts getting the whole plan - he should have thought about it.

"Do you pity me?"

"Pity is for the cowards. I raise up fighters."

Xia Ji doesn't want to admit it, but the man called Sekibayashi Jun is right, to an extent. Maybe he has lived too comfortably for too long. Maybe his dragon fangs and claws have been dulled by a life spent mostly delegating.

And before the Kengan association, he has to get back at Xia Yan for stealing his thunder, and to the "Connector" for mocking and ignoring him.

Maybe he needs to find his own pride and maybe he can understand some of it by staying in this place he doesn't like.

And so he starts working on those squats like his life depended on it.

He does hear Sekibayashi shout. "Looks like the new guy is starting to get it! Hey, new guy, from now on you eat with us and train with us! I'll make a grand fighter out of you!"

Sure, Xia Ji thinks, sure, let's see your face when I defeat you all!

Little does he know that his thoughts will be bound to change a lot from now on.

[fourwingedwriter]

An Incident - Part 2

AN: Hope this comes acrss well. Love these guys

First Part - Other things with them

CWs: drugged, reference to SA

----

After reassuring her many times, Isabel relaxed into me and eventually fell asleep on me in the back seat of Eli's car. She's pale and clammy, obviously unwell.

"How's she holding up?" Damian asked, looking back briefly from the driver's seat to check on us as he waited for a red light.

Isabel had her eyes closed, discomfort etched across her figure. She had her head resting on my thighs like it had many times before, but it's not comforting this evening.

I brushed a hand through her hair, "I don't know. She's not actively dying but I hate seeing her like this."

I looked up to see Damian, knuckles white on the wheel and one hand gently holding Eli's. I can only imagine the feelings he's going through right now. I have no idea what happened to Eli, but my mind can only wander to the worst thoughts.

When had this happened? Had I known them yet? Who do I need to beat up?

"We're almost to your place. Are you sure you'll be alright? I can stay with you." Damian offered, obviously hesitant about the idea as he glanced reassuringly to Eli.

"I will be fine. Just keep your ringer on in case something happens."

Feeling Isabel tense suddenly, I look down to see her unfocused gaze tracked on my face. I lean down and brush a hand through her hair, mustering up a comforting smile, "Hi baby, I've got you. We're almost home."

She became more concerned, searching my face as she mumbled, "Wha- What happened?" Isabel tried sitting up more, only to be met with my hand keeping her down, "Who upset you?"

I nearly cried, tears welling in my eyes, "Just rest. It'll be over soon."

I didn't dare say more, my voice shaking too much.

-

I sat up for hours after, thinking about what happened. The car ride had by far the worst of my life.

Eventually, I got up the courage to look away from Isabel for a moment and look at my phone. Damian had texted me about half an hour before.

[You two doing alright?]

I messaged back [yeah. Isa fell asleep again.]

He immediately read the message and started typing, [can we talk?]

I felt myself tense, not sure if I was ready for this conversation. I laced my fingers through Isabel's for comfort, typing back with one hand, [Yes.]

[I've got Eli here, he's making sure I dont get any information wrong but would rather I type it out. We've been meaning to tell you two for a while but... yeah.]

[Alright]

I was shaking, unsure what to do with myself as I watched him type. All I could do was watch in anxiety as he typed. I didn't think this night could get worse, but it was actively degrading before my eyes.

[Eli was sexually assaulted in our freshman year a few months before we met you. He was out alone one night and got drugged and carried off. We've been working through it for a while. There's not much else to say, I guess.]

I put my phone down, letting go of Isabel's hand and digging my nails into my arms. I could barely contain my emotions. The rage towards whatever asshole hurt my friend and the overwhelming concern for them.

I wanted to hug them so tight. I want to protect him against the world. Or, at least let Damian hold them while I go find the asshat that hurt Eli.

[Cassidy?]

[Cas you there?]

[Hey, are you okay?]

I picked up my phone and typed back with shaking hands, [yeah Im fine. Tell Eli I love him please]

[Alright. Stay safe please. Love you <3]

I climbed into bed and held Isabel close, not daring to fall asleep without making sure she was safe all night. Safe against the reality of the world.

----

Tagging: @tildeathiwillwrite @whumperofworlds

[rikamae]

"What did you call me?"

"Wait, fuck no I mean-"

Our hero is stunned silent as his nemises punches the ground at his feet. The tremor shakes up his body but he is unharmed. The heat from the strike, her fist, radiating off her body like a reactor ready to explode could be felt through his elemental resistant suite.

The dark look in her smoldering eyes was different. She had always claimed to hate him, dispise him for his optomistic nature and do-goodery, but her anger was no longer directed at him.

"You're mother talks to you like I do?"

"I..." he'd never felt so out of place. "You won't get any hint to my secret identity out of me!"

"Silence, Fool-- child." Her anger gave way to barely contained patience she had never afforded him before. "I do not care who you are or what you do when it does not pertain to me. But I BURN-" Flames erupted from the fists and spires on fire shot out of the cracks of the ground around them. "To think a mere child fights harder than any adult in this cursed city. A stupid, idealistic brat, with so much stupid hope and faith, does not go home to the annoyingly stupid happy family that made him that way."

Our hero felt his shoulders drop. He managed a smile, stupidly visible beneath his mask. "I believe dispite my homelife. The world can and is better. All it needs is people who care. People like you."

"I DO NOT CARE! I AM THE SPARK THAT LIGHTS THE FIRE, THE BURNING RAGE OF A LINAGE OF FIRE MASTERS WIPED FROM THE EARTH-"

"Who cares that the kid they were fighting doesn't have a good home life? I think your heart is bigger than you give it credit for. We need a little rage, to light a fire under people's butts and make them demand better. I think that's where your true powers lie, Chandra."

The fire that burned everlasting slowly began to fade, now a cool flame held close to the woman's heart. Her brow remained in a scowl, but now our hero could see for the first time the exhaustion in her eyes. She gave a heavy sigh. "Fucking kid. How am I supposed to be angry with you? All your damned positivity..."

"I've been told it's refreshing!" He grinned as he threw his arm over her shoulders. "My friends think so, anyway. They're my real family, you know? Hey, hey Chandra. Chandra. Does this mean you'll join the team?"

"And hand out stupid flyers and speak at protests like your disgusting lot?" Her answer was in the form of his huge grin, showing off braces of all things. The villian of fire and carnage growled into the night. "It's not as satisfying as burning them to the ground."

"That's fair."

"And it's humiliating!"

"Well, we have other work-"

"And I must keep my families tradition of fire mastery alive."

"You can keep the fire powers!" The hero cried happily as he led her out of the deserted downtown streets. "You have to give up the supervillian equipment that makes it all deadly, but I'm sure my tech guy can help you make something just as useful-"

"One condition." Chandra interrupted, stopping in her tracks and stepping out of his annoying hold. She unbuckled her braces and aggressively pushed them into the teens chest. "I still want a word with your mother."

For all of our heros talk about "revenge is never the way," or "aggression is not a solution," his ex-nemesis' concern for him made him throw his head back with elated laughter.

"You got a deal!"

The teen superhero accidentally just called the supervillain “Mom”.

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Boy in my Bed - Chapter 30

*Warning Adult Content*

Elliott Jones

"And like the love for my team, the love for this person is eternal and infinite and that's why I wanted to say... I'm Casey Donovan... I'm gay... and I'm in love with Danté Evans," the words fall out of his mouth like butter, muzzling the cheering crowd, his words suffocating the bleachers as all eyes start to look towards us. 

'Dividing. Conquering. Identifying.'  

"What the fuck is he on about Danté?" my plead falls silent to his ears, his fixated gaze on the football player unhindered. 

I shake his shoulder in an attempt to draw him back to me, failing as he shrugs it off, shrugs me off.

"Danté. What's going on?" my tone rises, unintentionally transferring into a yell, piercing his daze like a dagger through a balloon. 

His eyes flicker as he registers the situation - his jittery gaze indicative of the whirling emotions shown through his eyes. 

A stray tear trickles down his cheek, resting before cascading down to the ground. 

'Oh shit. Don't cry Danté. Please don't cry.' Panic rises within as I watch him search for an answer, his pursed lips barricading attempts at mumbled sentences. 

"I'm sorry, Casey," his reply barely meets my ear but it does, the whisper swiping across me like the kiss of death.

'I wish it hadn't. My name's not Casey. Why the fuck is he apologising to Casey? What about me?' My thoughts grow internally, fostering a rage as his water-blurred eyes drop down, avoiding me. 

My anger disperses as he turns, pushing through the crowd and and running off, disappearing around the corner. 

Running away. 

'Running away from me?' "Danté wait," I call out unsuccessfully, my yell unmatched to his sprinting pace. 

I weave my way through the bleachers, eyes following me as I make my way to the hallway, Danté's silhouette fading slowly into the distance.

"Danté," I scream through dispersed breaths, sprinting up to him as he finally slows down, hunching over to catch his breath. 

I run my eyes over him, heart-broken at what I see. 

The confident boy I picked up a disheveled mess, red eyes the source of pooling tears.

"Hey, I was calling out to you. What's wrong?" 

He shudders as I catch up to him, his trembling frame unable to contain the anger - his emotions translating into words. 

"I SAW YOU KISSING THAT BLONDE WHORE, YOU MOTHER FUCKER," he yells, the sentence falling like poison off of his tongue;  each word a bullet with my heart as the bullseye.  

"Danté... I..."

"Danté? I thought my name was Sunshine. Oh wait, that's not my name now, that's her name." 

'When the fuck did he see that? How the fuck did he see that?' 

His eyes turn into slits, a flaming glare burning into me, the situation intensifying as he straightens up his posture and backs me into the wall.

"All the sweet talk. All the text messages. All the compliments. For what huh? You just wanted to get into my pants?" 

Despite my height, I feel smaller then ever, cornered by reality as his jarring tone berates me, each word ripping away the delicate relationship I've woven with him. 

"And the whole time... you were fucking around with another bitch."

My words are gone, stolen. 

Each attempt to form a sentence fumbled as I stutter for words, his unrelenting gaze not making it any easier.

"Why the fuck are you so angry? You've been two-timing me this whole time," I yell. 

He's taken aback, my accusation deconstructing his anger as his mind slowly unravels my statement.

"What? No I haven't."

"A dude literally just confessed his love for you in front of the whole town." 

I try to hold back the tears, droplets welling in my eyes as I spew out the revelations. 

"And last night when I went to check on you after the party... you were... you were in bed with another fucking guy... and... your clothes were on the fucking ground. What the fuck do you call THAT?" 

I clench my fist over my eyes, blocking out the world as the pressure finally hits me... 'and he has the audacity to critique me?'

"We're just friends," he mutters out, the burning fury dissipated.

"Oh? Friends? Pffft sure. Do you sleep naked with all your friends? Do all your friends confess their love for you to whole stadiums? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE." 

Silence follows my gurgling, his tears drying while mine continue to fall, distance separating us, physically and emotionally.

"You've loved him this whole time haven't you?" the words float out of my mouth, met by a perplexed Danté.

**********

Casey Donovan

"And like the love for my team, the love for this person is eternal and infinite and that's why I wanted to say... I'm Casey Donovan... I'm gay... and I'm in love with Danté Evans." 

My confession murders the crowd, each pair of eyes filled with intangible specs of judgement. 

Harvey's grip around my shoulder loosening as he looks at me, brows furrowed, mouth agape. 

'I'm sorry, Harvey. Please don't hate me.'

Small talk starts to arise around me, my ears blocking it out as I scan my eyes through the crowd, one target in site... Danté. 

I find him, distance unable to disconnect our locked gazes, an imaginary conversation floating between us as time stands still, Danté's presence submerging us into a bubble.

I furrow as he starts talking to someone next to him.

Elliott Jones.

'It's always fucking Elliott. Why the fuck is he with Elliot?'

My silent observation is shattered as the crowd murmurs, Danté shuffling through the crowd. 

His eyes shoot back a final time before he disappears, his run carrying him away from the prying crowd, from my heart, from me.

Suddenly he's being tailed, Elliott not far behind him as he also enters the hallway.  

"Um bro? I think you have some explaining to do," Harvey snaps me out of my visual stalk, dragging me back to the area o podium, his words slicing my attention away from Danté. 

I look at him, his raised eyebrow an inkling of my greatest fear. 

'He hates me.'

"Look Harvey. I've really gotta go. I'll explain everything later."

"Uh... okay... sure..." he mutters as I turn around, a stadium full of curious eyes following my back as I sprint to the hallway. 

I avoid the judgemental glares, my selfish grand gesture not only failing in wooing Danté but now it's pissed off the whole town. 

I send out a mental apology to everyone, their winning game disrupted by a star-crossed love affair.

My pace quickens as I contemplate the conversation I want to have in my head, nervousness infecting my stomach, each step I take becoming heavier, slowed by unyielding anxiety.

'What if Danté doesn't chose me? What if I did this all for nothing? What if he really was running away from me?'

I wipe the fears away as I near, homing in on Danté and Elliott, their quiet mumbles becoming audible, my ears picking up the conversation.

"You've loved him this whole time haven't you?" Elliott yells, his vicious tone destroying any faux-confidence Danté has portrayed, the question stumping him, their conversation falling victim to an elongated silence.

I recover my breath as I cast my eyes on them, tense postures holding each other at bay, irritation flaring in both of their eyes, an intangible battle of angry tempers and bruised egos, the stare down acting as their silent pre-empt to conflict.

"Yes. I love Casey. I've loved him this whole time," Danté says, pushing his face into Elliott's, carving the message into the nooks and crannies of his hear.

Elliott pushes past him, his loud strides echoing as he turns around the corner.  

Danté's eyes trail him, laying on his back before he's no longer visible.

"So you do love me after all?" I ask rhetorically, startling Danté as he realises I'm here.

"Casey... I..." 

I don't let him speak, my lips slamming against his, words unnecessary for the expression of our emotions. 

The taste of his mouth is ecstasy, my eyes rolling back as his tongue ventures further... 'deeper'. 

I whimper as he bites my lip, hungrily devouring my mouth, our hot breath filling the hallway.

"You don't have to say anything. I know," I squeeze out before reconnecting my lips with his.

'This is it. This is how it was all meant to be. This is perfect.'

[a-cacophony-of-silent-words]

Still Breathing Part One: Into The Tiger's Den

Chapter 3: The Sun It Does Not Cause Us To Grow

Bruce wakes up every thirty minutes just to reassure himself that reality doesn’t match his nightmares. The horrible feeling of arriving too late. Watching the warehouse going up in a fiery blast. The fear that he’s failed the last person he ever should have. It all lingers like a bad taste even as the dreams fade. Then he opens his eyes and Jason’s there. Sleeping peacefully in the hospital bed. Expected to wake up any day now and make a full recovery.

Dismissing the last of his lingering fears Bruce reaches out and gently holds Jason’s hand in his. As much as he wants Jason to wake up soon, he hopes that he has enough time to prepare. There’s a long road of recovery ahead for Jason when he wakes up and Bruce isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to give him Sheila’s message either. It’ll be hard to come to terms with that. He might feel like he’s been abandoned and Bruce needs time to find a way to make it clear that he’ll always be there for Jason.

For now he can only take the moment to marvel at how much Jason’s grown since he arrived at the manor. There was a time when Jason’s entire hand was only half the size it is now. Back then Jason was barely more than a few muscles on a skeletal frame, surviving on scraps and sass alone. Now his hand’s nearly as big as Bruce’s own. He’s grown so much in only two years. Two years that Bruce would never trade for the entire world.

Smiling slightly to himself and reassured that Jason’s really there – really alive – Bruce closes his eyes and leans back, resting his head against the back of his chair. Until, that is, he hears a familiar sound approaching the room from down the hall.

“Knock knock.” Barbara’s voice is soft as she pushes her wheelchair into the room.

Bruce blinks the sleep from his eyes and sits up a little straighter. “Barbara.”

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” She maneuvers her chair up next to Jason’s bed.

“You didn’t.”

She smiles, oddly amused by his response. “Of course. I, um, I told them I was family. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Never.” She practically is family after all. “I… How did you hear about this?”

“Alfred called me.” Her eyes focus on Jason’s face for a long time before she finally looks up at Bruce, her eyes wet with the tears she’s holding back. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

Bruce nods. “Yes.”

“That’s… that’s good.” She tries out a smile, but it’s weak and slips away so quickly. “God, I’m sorry, I’m such a wreck. I just… Again? He did it again.”

He can’t really say anything to that. Looking down at the floor trying to contain all the rage he feels for the Joker. If he could bring himself to leave Jason’s side right now… he doesn’t know what he’d do. “Has there been any news of him?”

“Clark caught him coming back into the country in Metropolis… but he got away.” Her voice is shaking. “God, the past few months have really been hell...”

Bruce sighs, deeply, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. “It's... frankly hard to believe it's only been months.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, bitterly. They sit in silence for a while longer. Then, “I’ll call someone to look after the city until you’re ready to go back on patrol or Dick gets back.”

“I…” Bruce hesitates a moment. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She looks over at him, tired, grateful, sad, afraid, something else entirely, all of them at once. “It’s the least I can do.”

.

In Dick Grayson’s lauded experience off-planet missions can go only one of two ways; They can be fun, interesting trips to distant parts of the galaxy or they can be complete nightmares. There’s really no in between although occasionally a type one does inexplicably turn into a type two with no warning. The latest one was of the, regrettably far more common lately, type two variety. Everything feels like it just keeps getting more and more fucked up. Maybe that’s just a product of not having Bruce and Alfred as buffers anymore, but… it’s not like he was ever a sheltered kid.

Whether it’s always been that way or not, Dick is too tired to deal with any more of it right now. As he limps into his apartment with Kori almost literally hovering behind him, all Dick wants to do is take as many painkillers as is technically safe and collapse into his bed for the rest of the week. Unfortunately as soon as he’s in the door he hears the familiar sound of silicone rumbling against wood and stops in his tracks. For a long moment he just stares at his cellphone sitting where he’d left it on the coffee table however the fuck long ago. The call is from the manor. Not Alfred’s cellphone. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s Bruce, but the risk is there.

“Are you not going to answer it?” Kori asks, softly, with some trepidation.

Dick takes a deep breath and adjusts his crutch. “I’ll handle it later. After I change. Bruce can wait until then.”

“Are you sure?” She glances back uncertainly as she moves to support him when he goes to take a step. “What if it’s important?”

“If it were important he’d be here in person,” Dick grumbles and, yeah, maybe it’s the bitterness talking, but, hell, after what he’s been through – after what Bruce has put him through – over the past couple of years, he’s earned the right to be a little bitter.

So he hobbles to the bedroom and changes his damned clothes, then returns to the living room. He grabs the cellphone off the coffee table and makes his way over to the fridge, pulling a bottle of water out before he plays his messages. After the announcement that he has one new message, Alfred’s voice begins speaking and Dick feels like a grade A heel before he gets passed the first word. “Master Dick, there’s… Please, call as soon as you can, there’s been a most unfortunate incident.”

Dick drops the water bottle without even thinking, getting out of the voice message menu as fast as he can and opening up his contacts. He finds Alfred’s number as quickly as possible and hits call. His heart is practically in his throat as he waits for Alfred to pick up. He hardly even feels Kori’s hands on his shoulders.

Possibilities race through his mind at light speed. If Bruce were hurt or… or worse, surely Clark or Diana would’ve met him at the tower to tell him. Someone else then. Barbara or… or Jason. Before he can even start to pick through that series of fresh hells, the line clicks and Alfred greets him, “Master Richard.”

God, he sounds so tired. “You said something happened, is everyone okay?”

“I’m afraid not, sir, Master Jason…” Alfred’s voice falters and he pauses. Dick holds his breath, he feels fear rising like ice and fire running through his chest. “Master Jason has been seriously injured and hospitalized.”

Dick lets his breath go, shaky, stuttering. Relief that Jason’s still alive only serving to loosen the tension in his gut a little. “Is… is he going to be okay? God, Alfie, how did this happen?”

“He is expected to pull through alright, however at the moment we are still waiting for him to wake up.” Alfred responds, gently. “He ran afoul of the Joker while abroad.”

Stunned, Dick doesn’t know what to say first, until the words hiss from his throat, unbidden, “Joker again?”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred says, quietly. “It was quite bad from what I understand.”

Dick shakes his head, Alfred’s right, Joker’s not the important part here. “I’m… I’ll come home. Right now.”

“Shall I come get you?”

Dick looks at Kori. She nods without him even needing to ask. “No, I’ll be there in an hour, Kori’s dropping me off.”

“Very well, I will see you then.”

“Yeah,” Dick says and hangs up after Alfred.

Kori hugs his shoulders. “It will be alright.”

Dick really wants to believe that.

.

The flight to the manor goes by quickly and it’s less than an hour before she deposits him on Wayne Manor’s doorstep. She’s disappointed that she can’t join him to visit Jason, but understanding as well. Whether or not the press has gotten wind of this situation already, Dick Grayson showing up to a Gotham hospital with Starfire would be all over the news in seconds. So she gives him a parting kiss and makes him promise to call her when he knows more. Then she flies away as Alfred opens the front door.

“My word, it would seem you’ve been injured yourself, sir.” Alfred says, indicating Dick’s cast and crutch.

Dick adjusts his weight on the crutch. “This is nothing, but I do need a lift to the hospital.”

“Of course, sir.”

Alfred leads the way to the garage and, with some difficulty, Dick situates himself in the passenger seat of Bruce’s most inconspicuous car, before asking, “How’s… How’s Bruce taking it?”

“Hard, I’m afraid.” Alfred fixes the mirror as he continues, “It took both myself and Mr Kent to convince him not to set out to kill the Joker when we first heard he was returning to the country.”

Dick… can’t blame Bruce. It’s a little frightening thinking of Bruce so angry that he’d throw away his code, but Dick kinda feels like he’d like to get his hands on Joker himself. “What happened with Joker?”

Looking at Dick out of the corner of his eye, Alfred says, “Missing. Superman stopped him from unleashing a cloud of his poison at an assembly of the United Nations and destroyed his helicopter before he could make his escape, but Joker fell into the ocean. We haven’t found a body.”

Quietly Dick just hisses, “Fuck.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything to that.

“Where is Bruce now?” He’s a little concerned he might hear that Bruce is down in the cave hunting for the Joker. He can be stupidly obsessive like that.

“At the hospital with Master Jason.” Alfred answers to Dick’s relief. “He hasn’t left the boy’s side for more than a moment since they arrived.”

Good. That’s the way it should be. Even if it makes Dick’s chest sting with jealousy. “Can you… tell me more about what happened?”

Alfred is quiet a moment before nodding. “I shall do my best, sir, though I’m afraid my knowledge is somewhat lacking as I was not present at the time.”

“That’s fine.” Dick leans back in his seat watching the scenery pass by out the window. “Whatever you know is fine.”

“Well… to begin at the beginning as it were--” Alfred explains the entire incident. From Bruce attempting to get Jason to step back from being Robin for a while – as if that would work – to Jason discovering evidence that Catherine Todd wasn’t his birth-mother to Jason meeting Sheila Haywood to the Joker’s plot and finally Jason and Sheila being rescued from the warehouse before it exploded by a mysterious young man. “--And that, young sir, is all I know.”

“God…” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before letting his head fall back against the headrest so he can stare up at the fuzzy, gray ceiling of the car. “None of us can catch a damned break, can we?”

“It would seem not, sir,” Alfred says, sounding about as tired as Dick feels. The car slows down and turns right. “Here we are.”

As the car comes to a full stop, Dick lifts his head and grabs his crutch. “What room are they in?”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I will simply accompany you.” Alfred removes his seat belt and opens his door. “It will give me a chance to see the boy for myself again.”

Good, old Alfred. He deserves a more peaceful life than the one he’s got as surrogate grandfather to a pair of a reckless vigilantes, but somehow it seems like he wouldn’t trade this family any more than they’d trade him. Dick smiles softly. “Yeah, alright.”

They head up to the top floor in the elevator and then down the hall to stop in front of an open door to a room where Jason is lying on a hospital bed. Sleeping. Peaceful. At Alfred’s silent urging Dick limps into the room, feeling a little trapped when Alfred closes the door behind them. He looks down at Jason and… he doesn’t really know what to think. What to feel.

Dick has always… always struggled with having any kind of real affection for Jason. They’ve never been on what anyone might call ‘good’ terms. He’d like to blame it all on Brother Blood. To say it wasn’t really him, all that anger and jealousy. He knows better. He’s never really thought of Jason as a little brother, just as a usurper, a replacement. Always felt like Bruce adopted Jason just to twist the knife in the already wounded relationship between him and Dick. Even though he knows that’s not why. It might have been the reason Bruce gave Jason the Robin role, but it was never why Bruce adopted him. And even if it were, it’s not like that’s Jason’s fault. Jason is… He’s just a kid.

He’s just a kid that’s lying there covered in bandages and casts after being almost killed by the Joker. More than anything Dick wishes he could just erase every nasty thing he ever said to the kid and start over from the very beginning. So that right now he could feel like he’d have the right to tell Jason he looks like shit when he wakes up and know that they could laugh about it. As it stands he knows that it’d just sound like another unfair criticism in a long long line of them.

Dick shakes his head and blinks away the tears that are blurring his vision. Trying anything just to get out of his own head and his own personal failings, Dick looks over at the person occupying the chair at Jason’s bedside.

Bruce is awake. Despite his restful posture and closed eyes, anyone who knows him well can tell easily. He knows exactly who’s in the room right now and probably knew they were coming before they even got out of the car. That’s just who Bruce is. Dick knows Bruce well enough to be sure of all of that. He also knows that he’ll have to be the one to speak first. Bruce is capable of many things, but extending verbal olive branches is not one of them. Not because he’s holding a grudge. More because he just doesn’t know how. So Dick has to do it for him, which is hard, because Dick is holding a grudge. Even if he’s trying to let it go. It’s hard to swallow the bitterness and anger, but Dick does it. Not really for Bruce. For himself. Maybe someday they’ll actually sit down and find out where they really stand, for now… for now it’s just gotta be one step at a time. For now, Dick takes a deep breath and just says, “Hey.”

Slowly, Bruce opens his eyes and tilts his head down to look at Dick. His expression remains pretty neutral, though Dick kinda hopes he sees a hint of happiness there. Over all he just looks tired. “Dick… You’re injured?”

“Just a sprain, it’ll heal fine.” Dick shrugs off Bruce’s concern, there’s a part of him that finds some joy in the fact that Bruce still worries about him, but that’s not why he’s here. “More importantly--”

Before he can continue, Bruce stands up and gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Accepting that as an order, not a request, Dick obeys. They’d be fighting over it all day otherwise. Besides, he was getting a little tired. Setting his crutch aside, Dick reaches over and carefully pets Jason’s hair. Something that’d probably earn him a punch to the face if he tried it while the kid was awake. Then he looks up at Bruce and finishes his thought, “As I was saying; More importantly, what did the doctors say about Jason’s condition?”

Bruce leans against the nearest wall, crossing his arms loosely and sighing before he responds, “A few broken ribs, multiple fractures in both his legs, fracture of his right forearm. His injuries are extensive, but they expect he’ll make a full recovery. We were… very lucky.”

“Thank god,” Dick murmurs, then adds almost as a joke, “And, I guess, that guy who saved him.”

At that, Bruce makes a face, frustrated and thoughtful. “Yes. Him.”

Well, that’s… interesting. Dick raises an eyebrow at Bruce. “You really have no idea who he was?”

“None.” Bruce grumbles and that kind of explains it. He’s not fond of mysteries he can’t solve. “He said his name was Alvin, but I’m not sure how much I trust that. More than anything it bothers me that he got away… It’s unnerving to know there’s someone out there who knows our identities and I don’t--”

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” Dick tries to keep his voice down but this is kind of a big deal. “Alfred didn’t say anything about the guy knowing our identities.”

Alfred seems equally surprised and confused when Dick looks to him for confirmation. “I was not informed either.”

Bruce looks from one of them to the other and then sighs, heavily, running a hand through his short hair. “It… It must not have occurred to me to mention it in all the chaos. Yes, somehow Alvin knew Jason and I and referred to us both by name. From what I gathered there’s no way he could have learned our identities from Sheila or Jason and… he seems to have no connection to Joker either. At this point I don’t know how he got that information.”

This could be really bad. Dick hisses on a deep intake of breath. But something doesn’t quite make sense, if Bruce knew that this guy had that information then, “How did he even get away?”

“I was distracted,” Bruce says, a little defensively. “I… I took my eyes off him for a moment to speak with Sheila and when I turned around again, he was gone.”

That sounds awfully familiar. Dick leans forward a bit fighting a grin as he says, “You mean to tell me, he pulled a Batman… on Batman?”

“I’ll admit I was impressed,” Bruce answers wryly.

“Ha!” Now he knows how poor Jim Gordon feels. Still, respect for the disappearing act aside, Dick’s not quite sure what to think of all this. On the one hand the guy did save Jason and that does earn him some ‘benefit of the doubt’ points. On the other though they don’t know anything about him and he knows more than enough about them to cause real damage. God, this could be bad. So Dick brings himself back to a serious attitude. “Have you got any theories about how he could’ve found us out?”

Of course Bruce has theories, theories are Bruce’s element. “Could be someone we’ve met before, he was comfortable enough calling me ‘Bruce’ rather than say ‘Mr Wayne’ though so you would think I would have recognized him. Magic and telepathy are both options but ones that seem… unlikely. I’m not enthused to entertain the ideas of him deciphering our identities for himself or time travel, but I won’t take them off the table either. Clark said he’d stop in later to watch the cowl recording and see if there’s anything he can hear that I might’ve missed. I want you to check the recording too, maybe you’ll recognize him.”

“Well, I can tell you that I don’t know many Alvins.” Dick relaxes in the chair and lets out a soft sigh. “But I’ll take a look.

“Even if you don’t recognize him another pair of eyes on this would be useful.”

Bruce yawns as he finishes speaking and Dick suddenly starts noticing all the little signs of exhaustion in Bruce’s face. It makes sense, Bruce probably hasn’t done much sleeping in the past few days. “B… you know, if you need to go home and get some sleep, I can sit with Jason for--”

“No.” Bruce’s voice is firm and a little sharp, but Dick does his best not to feel offended. He knows why Bruce is so high strung. He gets it. After a second, Bruce’s expression turns guilty. “Thank you… for offering, but… I’d rather be here. I know, it’s selfish of me, but I can’t…”

Dick sits still and silent for a long moment before saying as calmly as he can, “I understand. But call and keep me updated alright? I’m next to useless right now with this ankle so all I can do is sit around worrying.”

Bruce looks incredibly fond as he nods. “Of course, you and Alfred will be the first to know when he wakes up. I promise.”

“Okay.” Dick stretches. “I assume, Babs has already got someone on patrol while you’re out?”

Nodding Bruce answers, “She called in Black Canary, so no need to worry about that.”

“Good.” That takes some of the pressure off, but Dick’s still got things he can do without feeling superfluous. “I’ll handle the Alvin thing and see if Clark can sub for you for few nights so people don’t get suspicious. If you’re not ready to come back by the time my ankle heals, I’ll take over. Sound good?”

“I appreciate it, Dick…” Bruce looks down at the ground. “Really.”

Choosing to ignore that statement for both their sakes, Dick leans over closer to Jason and whispers, softly, “Get better soon, little brother. You gotta help me bully Bruce into taking a nap.”

Having said his farewell to Jason, Dick grabs his crutch and goes to stand. Bruce holds out his hand, for a moment Dick almost considers rejecting the offer, but what the hell. He lets Bruce pull him up and is only a little shocked when that little assistance is turned into a hug. Bruce’s arms wrapped tight around him like he’ll never let go.

Dick leans his head into Bruce’s shoulder and wraps one arm around him. Doesn’t react when Bruce places one hand on the back of Dick’s head and squeezes him tight. Even though he feels like he just wants to collapse into his father’s arms and cry until he has no tears left, he doesn’t. He just holds on.

Finally Bruce murmurs, “It's good to see you.”

“You... It's... good to see you too." Dick answers, feeling a bit awkward.

Bruce puts his hand on Dick’s shoulders and gently pushes him back looking down at him with a serious expression. “And you’re never useless.”

For a second Dick doesn’t know how to react, then he just barks a laugh. “That was a joke!”

“I know.” Bruce smiles gently.

Dick adjusts his crutch carefully and clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be at the manor if you need me.”

Bruce nods and almost reluctantly lets go of Dick’s shoulders. “Get some rest.”

That demand is worth nothing more than a scoff and, “I will when you do.”

.

Next Chapter →

First Chapter

← Previous Chapter

[lightpost]

Hey love today already sucks mom and I are at each other throats she's a cunt and I'm a bitch blah blah blah her bi polar stress is enough to make anyone want to be drunk until they can't see straight ontop of a funeral today yeah things are wonderful makes me already want to be drunk and it's not even noon so I can't imagine what the rest of the abusive bi polar family is going to be like my cousin always hits me so I'm ready to hit back and this time make her fucking bleed I'm just done playing the nice guy when I'm already hurt with a collapsed vein and a man who really did beat me almost to death I am done being everyone's fucking punching bag I want to punch back for once I'm fucking tired of taking everyone's shit and having no protection for myself so no I don't want to deal with today it's already stressful enough with my own medical stuff going on that I have to hide from everyone I want to run away and not even show up today but I know that's not how support and these type of things go so I have to suck it up and take the higher road but i swear someone lays a hand on me today and my claws are out and I'm out for fucking blood my demons aren't kind and my angels are fed up so I can play this one card for once in my life I got the balls too and the strength and the pain says I need to just give them the strength to run away when she's on the ground barely breathing so another funeral doesn't happen today give me the strength to keep my demon in check and let her come out cause enough is enough but keep her calm cause she's a nasty little one and she's out of her cage today ready to rage out even my body is shaking a bit at this power I hold my core is shaking for how much energy I have to contain I wish you were here to keep me more in check be my rock I need to lean on you and hold you close to me be my emotional support human my emotional support voice cause my family really is abusive and I do everything in my power to stay away from them but funerals and weddings it's hard to say no guess I can just come home and drink to forget about all this even you have to let it all go have to forget about you somehow and run away from how much you've brought me peace I have to let my spiritual feelings go I have to let you go and that is going to kill me I hope you know I can't keep doing this to myself holding on and letting go is a battle I can't fight anymore brings to much pain into my soul my heart and my life I'm not well when you are away from me and I have to find peace and accept that you will never be with me today is hard enough and life is even harder it's pure hell and I'm not making it any easier holding on and letting go all the time it's a battle and a war I'm done fighting with you.

[larluce]

Fortunately the bandit, presumed rapist, isn't killed in the horde of livid and thirst for blood knights, but is badly beaten and injured when they finally bring him to the dungeons. His death sentence is certain, but the knights decide they'll torture him until he confesses what he did and where the rest of his gang is (they didn’t believe Merlin killed his men for a second). It gets to the point even Merlin feels bad for him. He wants to tell the knights what really happened, but he's so afraid they'll see him diferently and they won't forgive him. Especially Arthur.

Suddenly one day he overhears a conversation between Arthur and his knights.

Arthur: (tense) He asked to see Merlin.

Gawain: (furious) This son of a bitch!

Arthur: (in contained fury) He said he wanted to "apologise".

Elyan: And you believe him?

Arthur: It doesn't matter if it's true or not. I'm not letting this man near Merlin.

Merlin: (enters the room) I want to speak to him.

Arthur: Merlin...

Merlin: I deserve that much, don't you think? Please let me speak to him.

Arthur: (conflicted and concerned) Are you sure?

Merlin: (nods) I need this.

Arthur: (sighs) Alright.

There's a bit of a fight, cause Merlin wanted to speak to the man alone. But, with a lot of effort, Merlin manages to convince them and goes to the dungeons.

Merlin: (awkward and wary) Hey... you said you wanted to apologise?

Bandit: (barely nods, cause all his body hurts) All the pain I inflicted you. Was it this bad?

Merlin: (shakes his head) I'm used to physical pain. The torture you did was nothing in that sense. But the cold Iron… it was like my very soul was being ripped apart. So it was worse actually.

Bandit: I'm sorry. I really am. I was just following orders and I don't have anything against sorcerers, I was just mad you murdered my friends.

Merlin: (smiles softly because he can see he's sincere) From king Sarrum, I know. I'm sorry too. I didn't want to kill your men. My... gift... exploded for being restrained for too long.

Bandit: It doesn't matter anymore. (Sighs) They’re going to sentence me to the pyre.

Merlin: What?! 😨

Bandit: That's what they told me. Once they get bored with me, the king is going to give me the most painful death.

Merlin is stunned. Arthur hasn't sentence anyone to the pyre since he became king. Not even the sorcerers he executed during his reign were sentenced like that. Arthur always consider it too cruel.

Bandit: (begs almost in tears) I know I don't have any right to ask. But please, tell them to just kill me already. Please!

Merlin doesn't say anything. Just leaves, very affected. He doesn't feel anything but pity towards the man, but it worries him that Arthur has gone this far. There have been other rapists and his king has never been this sadist with them. He decides it's time to tell the truth.

Merlin: Are you really going to burn him alive?

Arthur: (rather coldly) Is what he deserves for what he did.

Merlin: Right... Arthur, I need to tell you something.

Arthur: (concerned) Did he do something to you?

Merlin: What? No!

Arthur: (incipient rage) Because if he did I'm going to-

Merlin: He never did anything to me!

Arthur: ... what?

Merlin: I mean, he did torture me and stuff, but he never raped me.

Arthur: (shakes his head, sadly) Sometimes you're too nice for your own good, Merlin.

Merlin: What?

Arthur: You don't have to lie just because you feel bad for him. He doesn't deserve your pity, much less your mercy.

Merlin: I'm not lying! I know I should have told you before but it’s true. He never touched me like that. I swear!

Arthur: (with anguish) You don't know how much I want to believe you. How much I wish that was true.

Merlin: It's true!

Arthur: But I've seen you. When I finally find you you were terrafied, Merlin! You wouldn't let anyone near you, much less touch you! You were silent for months. Months! and you hardly slept and when you did sleep you... (cuts himself, the memory too painful)

Merlin: What?

Arthur: You kept having nightmares. Crying for them to stop… and for me to save you (finally breaks, sobbing) And I couldn't. I couldn't save you. (Sits in his bed in a crying mess)

Merlin: (his heart breaking at seeing Arthur like this and feeling guilty for letting him believe this for too long) Arthur... (kneels infront of him and takes his hand) Look at me, please. (Arthur does) Now, I want you to not stop looking at me. No matter how scared you are.

Arthur: (confused) Why would I be scared?

Merlin: Just do it. Please.

Arthur: (still confused but complieds, cause Merlin is holding his hands and he hasn't done that in forever) Okay.

Merlin: (conjures a flower in Arthur's hands)

Arthur: (in shock, but mesmerised at the same time for some reason) What...? What was that.

Merlin: I'm a sorcerer. I have magic. The men that held me captive descovered that and they put me in cold Iron. That's why I was so traumatized. See? (Shows Arthur’s the marks on his wrists and neck) The bandit didn't lie. I did kill all his men while trying to scape. But it was an accident, I swear! I only ever use my magic for you, Arthur. To protect you and Camelot.

Arthur: (still processing) You have magic.

Merlin: Yes.

Arthur: You are a sorcerer.

Merlin: Yes.

Arthur: The bandit didn't lie.

Merlin: Yes! Arthur, are you alright?

Arthur: (so relieved he might cry again) Oh, thank the Gods! (Hugs a very confused Merlin into his arms) Thank the Gods!

MERLIN PROMPT

Merlin is capture by some bandits for information. Normally he would escape quickly, but these ones figure out soon that he has magic and restrain him with cold Iron. They do torture him in other ways to try to make him speak, but being cut off of his magic is what really traumatizes Merlin. He manages to escape in the end, but one of the bandits shouts at him while he’s running that he will tell the king what he is. So, even when Merlin is later save and sound in Camelot, he’s in constant fear his secret will be exposed at any moment.

The thing is, when Arthur, after sending a lot of search parties, finally finds Merlin in the woods all scarred and terrified and later Merlin refuses to talk about what they did to him, yet Merlin flinches of every touch and is constantly a mervous wreck around everyone, he thinks the worst: Merlin was not only tortured, he was raped. His best friend, the person he treasures the most and has feelings for has been hurt in the worst way possible and it was his fault.

Arthur shares his suspicions with the knights, who share his grief, and they make a vow to protect Merlin. They basically take turns watching over him. Even Lancelot believes this, since Merlin hasn’t told him anything either, but he does think there's more to it, because he finds weird Merlin hasn’t been able to defend himself with his magic. They also make their own investigations to find the bastards who did this to Merlin.

Then the day comes where a man appears in the castle, saying he has relevant information for the king regarding his personal manservant. Arthur, believing is someone who has information about the bandits who took Merlin weeks ago, lets him in. However when the man is about to speak Merlin storms in.

Arthur: Merlin? Bandit: (smirks at Merlin) Hello, little pet. Merlin: (to Arthur, begging in full panic mode) Arthur, please don't listen to him! Arthur: You know him? Bandit: (points at Merlin) This man is a sorcerer. He killed all my men with magic! Silence. All the knights and Arthur somber their gazes. Is not the first time Merlin is accused of magic, but it's definitely the first time he looks so terrified. Arthur: That's a grave accusation you're making. Bandit: I can prove it, sire. If you allow me. Arthur: (turns to Merlin) Merlin? (Thinking) Why aren't you denying it? Merlin: (breaks into a crying mess) I'm sorry I didn't want you to find out this way. Bandit: You see? he confessed! Lancelot: Wait, why did you call him like that? Bandit: What? Gawain: (incipient fury) You called him "little pet". Why? Leon: That's a strange way to call the evil sorcerer who killed all your men, don't you think? Arthur: (conects the dots, hardening his features) It was you. You are the bastard who raped him! Merlin and Bandit: (utterly confused) ... what? 😧 Arthur: (roars in rage an launches at the bandit) Gawain: (does the very same thing) Elyan, Percival and Leon: (trying their best to stop Arthur and Gawain despite being as furious cause the man can't pay for his crimes if he's turn into a pulp) Merlin: (too stunned, not knowing what's happening or how to feel)... Lancelot: (to Merlin) He didn't do that to you, did he? Merlin: No. Lancelot: (sighs in relief) Should we tell them? Merlin: Maybe later... when they are, you know, more willing to listen.

[obsidiancreates]

An Honest Talk

(Got to the episode where Valerie gets the ghost hunting stuff. I just want her to be happy and not Filled With Vengeful Rage so, here's this.)

Jazz sees the whole thing.

Really, Valerie isn't even good at hiding it. As soon as that Ghost Hunter shows up at that school game, Jazz figures it out. Not just because her voice is the same, but because of the insults she shouts while hanging in that basketball hoop. Sure, Jazz is in a higher grade, but she's heard that A-Lister group plenty of times in the hallways and after school.

They're real jerks. But not murderous jerks.

So she decides to do something about it. No-one attacks her baby brother. ... Well, except other ghosts. But Jazz can't always help with those.

This? No problem.

"Hey, Valerie."

Valerie jolts, yelping and almost dropping what is clearly some kind of ghost-detecting device. "Who are- ugh, aren't you Fenton's sister? What do you want?"

"To talk to you," Jazz says in her most empathetic voice. "I noticed you're having kind of a rough time."

"Why do you care?"

"Because my brother does." Cares about not being pummeled, at least. But Jazz is sure Danny hopes the best for his schoolmate, even with the attacks.

Valerie huffs. "Great, pity from the loser kids."

"Come on, it won't hurt to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? That some ghost kid and his dog ruined my life? That we're broke, and all my friends hate me for it? yeah, talking will fix everything."

Jazz sits down on a bench, and pats the seat next to her. Valerie looks away.

But then... she sighs. And sits. "I keep thinking about that five hundred dollar shirt I ruined. Maybe if e hadn't bought that, or I hadn't worn it to school, we'd be a little better off right now."

"It's not your fault."

Valerie grits her teeth. "Yeah. It's that ghost kid's."

"Ghost kid?"

"... You believe in ghosts, right? Because of your parents?"

Jazz nods. "Plus, that thing during the school game,, Kind of hard to deny."

"Heh. Yeah. ... That dog broke into the place my dad was working for. he was showing off what he did for their security, and none of it stopped the dog or the kid. And then they showed up again at the garage sale and wrecked our moving van, and the dog stole my lunch after all my friends rejected me!"

Valerie wipes her eyes, scowling. "It's not fair!"

Jazz hands her a tissue. "It's not, not at all."

"I wanna destroy that kid," Valerie growls. "Like he destroyed me."

"... Valerie... how old is he?"

"About my age, I think."

"And he's a ghost."

"Yeah. And?"

"So... how do you think a ghost kid comes to be?"

Valerie doesn't reply. But after a moment, her eyes widen a little. "Oh... no, no, but... but he's a kid. He can't be any older than me."

"Yeah," Jazz says softly. "So something horrible must have happened to him already."

Valerie looks at the device in her hands. "... But... he still ruined my life." She sounds a bit unsure now.

"Maybe he didn't mean to. I mean... imagine one day you wake up and everything is... different. Suddenly you've got no gravity, and-and no-one can see you sometimes and you're this weird thing-"

God, how scared was Danny when it happened? She's pretty sure by now that it was The Accident that did it, she can't think of anything else that explains it. What was it like for him, waking up as something different?

"It would be tough," Jazz finishes, looking at Valerie.

Valerie still won't meet her eyes, looking at the beeping device. "Then why is he following me around?"

"... Well... does he show up first, or the dog?"

Valerie thinks for a long moment. "... The dog. It's always the dog."

"So maybe he's trying to catch it."

"... I mean, I guess that could be it. But he's been fighting me!"

"And you've been fighting him."

"But-! ... Aw, geez..." Valerie deflates. "What do I do now, then? I can't... I can't keep attacking some kid who... we've barely lived, I can't just make it so that he's barely lived twice."

Jazz stands up and offers her hand. "How about we try talking to him?"

Valerie looks at her. "For real?" She's skeptical.

Jazz nods. "For real. Maybe we can clear some things up."

Valerie turns away again. And then, with a hefty sigh...

Takes Jazz's hand.

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

"Cujo?" Danny calls out. "Cujo! We need to get you back to the Ghost Zone, buddy! Come on, where is he?"

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he yelps as he shoots up in the air.

He turns around, and sees possibly the worst thing he could see right now.

His sister, and his hunter.

"Hello, Ghost Boy!" Jazz calls out.

"Um... hi." Danny waves, still looking startled.

Jazz nudges Valerie, and Valerie huffs. "Hi," she says shortly. Jazz smile at her, though.

"I'm here to mediate a talk between you two," Jazz says, walking closer (and somewhat pulling Valerie along behind her). "I figured there might be more to this story than we all three think."

"Um, you're not- I mean, I'm a ghost, you're just... casual about this?"

Jazz nods. "My parents are well-versed with ghosts, this is nothing."

A straight-up lie. Jazz hadn't even believed in ghosts until she peeled Spectra. But maybe it's to save face for Valerie? Or maybe Jazz recognizes him as the ghost from that day.

"Anyway," Jazz says, "Valerie here has something to say."

Valerie, arms cross and back hunched angrily, glares at Danny. "Who are you, and why are you out to get me?"

Danny floats back down to the ground, standing on it now. "I'm, um... Phantom-"

Valerie gives him a disbelieving look.

"Uh, Ghost Names are uh, different! It's this whole thing. And, I'm not out to get you, I swear. It's all been terrible coincidences."

Valerie scoffs.

"Val, we're here to listen," Jazz reminds gently. "Let him explain his side of things, and then you can explain yours, and we'll come to a solution. Trust me, I read a book about this."

Danny doesn't doubt it. "I don't own that dog, I found him wandering around outside. I thought he was cute at first, and then he turned into the big dog that keeps haunting you."

"And why's he doing that?" she snips.

"I don't know yet." Danny rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm trying to send him back to the Ghost Zone, but he keeps coming back out! I'm starting to think it's some cliche 'unfinished business' thing. But until I can figure it out I don't know how to get rid of him. All I can do is try to minimize the damage."

"Doing a great job." Valerie rolls her eyes. "Ruining my father's business, ruining our garage sale, ruining my lunch!"

"I swear, I was trying to help! He's really, really hard to get under control! He's like five times my size!"

"And you can't grow bigger and handle it that way?" Valerie retorts.

"No! I'm only a few months into this, I-"

He cuts himself off at the look on Valerie's face. "What?"

"A few months? ... So... so I could've known you?" Horrified, is the best word for her expression.

Danny shrinks, holding his bicep and hunching a little. "Um, nevermind. I just mean I'm not super powerful."

"No, no, we're going back. Did I know you? Is this a revenge thing?"

"What? No! I already told you, I'm trying to help prevent things from getting worse! And... no. I'm a loser kid, and you're popular."

"... Was," Valerie says quietly. "... All my friends ditched me when I lost my money."

"That's awful."

Valerie nods. "I don't know why I thought they liked me for more than money, looking back. But it still hurts. Being a lonely loser is the worst."

"Tell me about it," Danny mutters. "I mean, I have friends, but sometimes some stuff just makes you feel alone no matter what."

He thinks he sees Jazz tear up at that, but he's not sure. He's distracted by Valerie letting out a sob.

"I don't have anything left," she says, voice quavering. "I don't have the popularity, I don't have money, I don't have the grades..."

"... So you turned to revenge?" Jazz's voice is soft.

Valerie sobs again, and Jazz gives her some comforting slow pats on the back. She looks at Danny, nodding at Valerie.

Danny gets the hint. "You... you could, um, make something, more?"

Valerie gives a somewhat bitter teary chuckle. "What is that supposed to mean, huh? I'm already hunting ghosts. It's... something."

"... You could try to make new friends."

"Oh sure, that's easy. I'm a social pariah."

"So am I. But even just one or two friends helps a lot."

"You got a lot of ghost buddies?"

"... Humans, actually. An if I can make friends with some high school kids as a loser and a ghost, you can make friends too. You just might have to lower your social radar a bit."

Valerie rubs her arm. "... You're really not out to get me, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I want to protect people, not hurt them."

"... I'm sorry I shot those missiles at you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep the dog contained."

"... I'm sorry you're a ghost so young."

Danny snuffles a little. "... Thanks." Sometimes he is, too.

Valerie looks at her hand, and then holds it out to him. "Truce? I won't mess with you. I can't promise the same about that dog if it keeps showing up, but I won't mess with you."

Danny sighs. "So you're keeping the weapons."

"Oh, you know I am. Even if I'm not hunting you, now that I know about ghosts I want to be prepared."

"I guess I understand that." Danny shakes her hand. "Truce."

Jazz grins. "See? Just needed a real, meaningful talk!"

Valerie laughs a little, wiping her eyes again. "Yeah, I guess. But... now what? Who do I blame for this?"

"Probably the boss who decided that Ghosts Suddenly Existing was your father's fault," Danny says.

Valerie's eyes harden. "Yeah. Yeah, I can go with that."

"But," Danny and Jazz say at once. They look at each other, and Jazz let's Danny speak.

"But," Danny says again, "Maybe focus on making some more friends, first. One thing about us losers, is we don't ditch someone just for money reasons."

"... I'll give it a shot." Valerie smiles a little at Danny. "With better aim than the ones I took at you."

Danny chuckles a bit.

They both wave goodbye, Jazz and Valerie leaving Danny to continue his search.

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

"Hi."

Danny, Sam, and Tucker all look up. Valerie is standing nervously with her brown paper bag of lunch. Tucker brightens up, and Sam gives a little, slightly suspicious, wave.

Danny scoots over. "Wanna sit with us?"

Valerie looks over at the A-Lister table. They're all staring, smirking, whispering.

Mocking.

She looks back at the 'losers'.

They're looking at her with... openness.

"Yeah. Sure."

She sits down, and gets out her lunch. For a minute, she just listens to them talk while she unpacks the sandwich.

"Hey, is that peanut butter and honey?" Sam asks. Valerie nods.

Sam holds up a thick roast beef sandwich. "My parents are trying to get me to eat meat again, but I'm staying vegetarian. Want to trade?"

Valerie blinks. "Uh... sure?"

They swap sandwiches. Valerie looks at the sandwich, mentally trying to figure out the carbs and calories and fat content-

She looks around the table. No-one else is analyzing their food. Or, judging hers.

She takes a bite. It's pretty good.

This... is pretty good.

She smiles, and laughs a little at a joke Danny makes.

Yeah. This is pretty good.