#shiny metropolis

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio talks with the traffic lady about the cost of going to see your favourite singer, mentions Stevie Nicks, the traffic lady says she'd spend 100 euro maximum. Someone called Tracy won the musical clip competition this morning. Take it away Barbra Streisand, it's your Birthday today.

Blossom upon blossom on the apple tree. I'm peering through my condensation covered window. Two young Rooks are building their first nest high above the apple trees. The ground is littered with all the twigs that fell during construction. The main Rookery is the other side of the house. I wish them luck.

Shiny metropolis part II. Town seems oddly quiet these days. Did the rapture take place again? Or did the mother ship finally find these missing people? Perhaps an unexpected portal?

Can't help but think of South Park and Cartman's alien probe. Such irreverence ... surely I'm going to hell. Best add marshmallows to today's shopping list ...

[mechahero]

//okay so like toying with the idea that metropolis!lambda is a person who’s been made to believe that he’s actually a robot (like i want to say he was gaslit into believing such? but idk). 

his adoptive dad and him travel to the city to scope out what they’re doing with their robots. (and in turn his dad wants to use this info to make new robots and “improve” lambda. he’s a mad scientist kind of). also he has no memories of life prior to living with his adoptive dad??

[lambsouvlaki]

I simply do not believe neo Gotham from Batman Beyond. You mean to tell me Gotham switched out its inexplicable number crumbling gothic cathedrals and infinite potholes for slick futuristic towers and ziggurats? By the 2030s? I refuse to believe they would have even gotten rid of sodium street lights by then

[evilminji]

"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy

He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.

Paulie's parents were PISSED.

Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.

And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.

So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.

But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?

Entranced.

In AWE.

Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.

But still, he's about to say "no", when?

Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.

SOLD!

It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?

Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?

Not even as Ghosts, man.

They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.

Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!

So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!

The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!

What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?

Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!

DO BETTER!

And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.

And it's one hell of Fake Hero!

A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!

Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...

The Town website?

Weirdly? Sanitized.

Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....

Wait...

Hey, guuuuys?

Are you finding ANYTHING?

And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.

All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.

But how about thousands?

Hundreds of thousands?

From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.

Not a meme.

Very real.

Not a joke.

The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!

Phantom is REAL!

And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.

Here to help.

A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.

A... a once living star.

And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.

And now? The weather!

@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[thevoidstaredback]

It's always graveyards. Why is it always graveyards? They're creepy as hell and, well... that's it. On the bright side, the Protection Spirits watching the gates recognize him and realize the danger he's in. Well, maybe he wasn't in real danger because the Bats and Birds don't really do the whole purposefully harming civilians things, but they are scary as hell! Chasing him down like a bat straight outta hell- obviously he was gonna run! They cornered him! Maybe he'll invest in getting them lessons in how to interact with people in and out of costume?

Honestly, Nightwing, Danny expected better of you. At least Red Hood and Signal know how to treat innocents.

Here's the thing about Protection and Guardian Spirits, though. They don't like intruders. If you're running from something and you don't have time to ask permission to enter, you best say "thank you" and bring them shiny things on your next visit. If you do have time to ask permission, you ask permission. If they think you're a threat or rude, they won't let you enter whatever they're guarding.

"Thank you," Danny said as he slowed to a walk further into the graveyard, the sound of the gates slamming closed behind him confirmation that the Bat and his gaggle wouldn't be following him in.

Wasting no time, Danny pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. It was a handy little thing he'd picked up during his stay in the House of Mysteries. Draw and door, tell it where you wanna go, open it, and go through! Beetlejuice style. Though, unlike what the Handbook for the Recently Deceased says, these doors won't actually open a door to the afterlife. He fixed that tiny glitch a while ago.

Anyway, a quick few chalk lines on the side of a mausoleum later, and Danny was opening a door to Fawcett, Philadelphia. Probably not the best choice, considering that he was trying to stay away from the Justice League, but it's better than Metropolis.

"Whoa." Damn it! He should've stayed home. "What was that, mister?"

Danny made sure the door closed behind him, praying for strength. Why did he feel like several deities were laughing at him? "Hey, kid. Can you, um, maybe not say anything about that?"

The kid, short brown hair and a red jacket stood out the most to Danny for some reason, seemed very amused. "You're gonna have to buy my silence."

Again, Danny let out a quiet, long suffering sigh. "Coffee is so not worth it." Looking at the kid, he said, "Alright, fine. I was getting coffee anyway, I'll buy ya lunch. Know any good places?"

Grinning, the kid cheered, "Hell yeah! Follow me!"

Resigned, Danny followed after the kid, easily keeping pace. About a block later, he figured he should probably get the kid's name. "I'm Danny."

"Billy."

"No last name?"

"Fae rules, dude. What's your excuse?"

He had to give it to him. "Touché."

Another three blocks of walking, Billy finally stopped at a cafe. It was a quaint place with stained white brick and a dark grey roof. There were metal chairs and tables outside the building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The table umbrellas and the awning over the black door were light blue, matching the curtains in the inside.

The inside walls were painted baby blue with a white ceiling and a pinewood floor. The tables and chairs were all stained black with light pink cushions and table cloths. The curtains, as observed before, were all baby blue, tied back with baby pink ribbons. The lights were barely yellow, giving the room a warm feel. The counters were white with black paneling on the outside and white granite as the tops.

"Welcome in," the young man at the register greeted with a smile, "What can I get you two started with today?"

Danny envied the man. He'd obviously not been doing this long enough to gain the veteran's shine to his eye. He turned to look at the menu after telling Billy to get whatever he wanted. A mistake he'll probably pay for. "I'd like a large Red Eye, equal parts coffee and espresso, with cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, mint, and vodka, please."

The 'newbie' light in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit. "Um, we don't carry vodka." Glad that's the only thing he's worried about. Priorities.

Danny clicked his tongue. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot. I'd like everything else, though, please. Mix it at your own discretion."

"Alright," he was very valiant to go back to grinning, "Anything else?"

Danny motioned for Billy and the kid stepped up. "Can I get a large mocha, three chocolate chip cookies, and two sandwiches?"

The blond entered the order. "Of course! That'll be $25.37." A quick card swipe from Danny. "Thank you very much, we'll have your order out to you soon!"

The two didn't say a word as they chose a table in the corner. Danny let Billy take the seat that was open to the rest of the cafe so he wouldn't feel cornered. He had a good view of the door, though, so he wasn't complaining.

"So, how'd you do that?" Billy asked after they'd gotten their orders.

"How'd I do what?" Danny sipped his drink.

"How'd you walk outta that wall? It's solid!"

"Magic."

"I guessed that much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Will you teach me?"

"No."

"You didn't even think about it!"

"Okay," He paused. "No."

"Not fair." he pouted.

Putting his drink on the table, Danny summed as much fake-it-till-you-make-it energy as he could. "Magic isn't a toy and takes years of practice to get a handle on, not to mention you have to actually have an aptitude for it before you can even try. Besides, I don't know you nearly well enough to trust you with anything else."

Billy finished the cookie he was eating. "I can do it! You just gotta teach me!"

Another sigh that Danny had stopped counting. "Look, you seem like a good kid, but I'm not gonna teach you magic."

"Why not!"

"However," he continued, ignoring the demand, "I'm not gonna leave ya fully defenselessness."

"What do you mean?" Billy backed away slightly, his eyes narrowing as he moved to be able to run quickly.

Another sip. "Based off of the dirt you're covered in, the grease in your hair, and the overall poor condition of your clothes, I'm gonna bet that you're a street kid. So," he pulled a small card from his pocket, very aware that Billy was watching his hand aptly, "I'm going to leave you with this."

Slowly, the brunet took it and turned it over. "What it is?"

The white card had the initials DP in the middle, circled by an Ouroboros. The initials were completely solid, but the snake of the Ouroboros was made up of tiny runes of protection and health and healing and good fortune.

"My calling card. If you're ever in danger, hold that to your chest and ask for help. I'll be there."

Still obviously suspicious, Billy took a moment to scrutinize the card. It was cute to watch the kid act like he knew what he was looking at or for. When he seemed satisfied, he shoved the card into the inner pocket sewn into his jacket. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid," Pulling out his phone, Danny saw the time and stood, "I've gotta go now. I assume I've sufficiently bought your silence on the whole magic thing?"

Billy grinned, "I guess, but you gotta come visit me, okay?"

He chuckled, "Sure thing. See ya."

Part 2 Part 4

(I don't drink coffee, so Idk how that shit works)

Tag list: @zaiothe4th

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop

Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.

Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.

They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.

Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.

The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.

It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.

Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.

Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.

Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.

He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.

He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.

"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.

"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"

Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.

"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"

Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."

"I'm sorry Charles"

"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "

Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.

This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.

No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.

Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.

Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.

But Danny didn't stop there.

Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.

People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.

Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.

Not a single staff member in sight, either.

Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.

Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.

If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.

As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.

Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.

He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.

Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '

Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.

[raccoonskoodilypoopdungeon]

magic's kamigawa wishes it could be yugioh's underworld

[sahrabarik]

maybe its bcs i havent read as many things (im mostly a gamer and watcher first, i only recently started reading comics) as i want, but i kinda feel like gotham is just. So much more distinct than any other city??? Idk like it just. Has way more character. I can tell you how gotham’s various gangs lead to a constant power struggle but i cannot tell you what is in metropolis aside from the daily planet and lex corp.

And idk id that just how it is (lack of focus on superman in less niche media) or if im just not reading enough like id love to be proven wrong on this!! Like i want to come out of reading things and think “yeah metropolis has a character. I see why hal went nutso over coast city (nts find out more about this please aqua im begging).” Stuff like that.

[suzukiblu]

WIP Wednesday Game

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

a fake cryptid and a real romantic

mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees

YJ accidental baby acquisition

merfam drama

gentle princely caretaking 

snippet from "a fake cryptid and a real romantic":

Clark hears a sudden rush of air and a thrumming, not-quite-human heartbeat, and is therefore unsurprised when Superboy pops up over the side of the Metropolis rooftop he’s sitting on and grins up at him. The kid always seems to be in a good mood, but is clearly in an even better one than usual. 

“Guess what?!” Superboy greets gleefully, pushing himself up on the edge. 

“What?” Clark asks, smiling wryly at him. The kid just gets so enthusiastic so easily. It’s kind of funny, to be honest. 

“I got a date!” Superboy says delightedly, plopping into a seat beside him and kicking his legs excitedly as he does. “Robin said I could go hunting with him in Gotham this weekend!” 

“You’re going to hang out, you mean,” Clark corrects kindly, since Superboy still has a notably skewed education and concept of correct terminology and probably calling working with another vigilante a “date” without knowing what that actually means isn’t going to end well for the kid in the long run. Especially since Robin isn’t actually an aspect of Gotham like the Batman is and would definitely be confused by it. 

Admittedly, the Batman gets confused by some very straightforward things sometimes, but still. 

“‘Hang out’,” Superboy repeats, cocking his head with a slightly puzzled expression that almost immediately clears into another excited grin. “That, yeah! I caught Catwoman breaking into some fancy cat exhibit in Gotham and dropped her off for him, and he was into it! And I gave him a diamond and he liked that too!” 

“A . . . diamond?” Clark blinks. He really hopes Catwoman didn’t manage to be that bad of an influence on the kid in one meeting, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Superboy’s impressionable and Catwoman is . . . well, Catwoman. “Uh–where’d you get that?” 

“I made it!” Superboy says proudly, puffing himself up as he mimes the act of crushing something in his fists. 

. . . alright then, Clark thinks, mildly bewildered. He has no idea why Superboy would make a diamond, much less give it to Robin, but the kid gets weird ideas into his head sometimes and he supposes it would’ve been good practice for controlling his strength to very specific pressures, so he’s not going to say anything about it.

“Did you?” he says, figuring he should keep the conversation going. Superboy’s an odd kid, but he’s eager and has a good heart and always soaks up attention like a sponge, so Clark always tries to talk to the kid at least a little whenever the other finds him. 

“I figured Robin’d like it,” Superboy says reasonably, kicking his feet again. “Birds like shiny stuff, and he’s kinda a bird, right?” 

Clark is going to assume that Tim Drake more appreciated the expensive gemstone than the “shiny stuff”, assuming a teenage boy would even care about anything like that anyway, but he doesn’t want to rain on Superboy’s parade. Honestly, he’s just glad the kid’s finally trying to make a friend or two in the community who isn’t wearing an “S”. It never hurts to have a little backup on call–or to have a friend who understands the life around, either. 

He’s not actually certain what the Batman’s latest Robin’s policy on maintaining his secret identity among the larger hero community is–even Dick still typically presents himself as a city splinter, just of Bludhaven instead of Gotham now–but even if he keeps passing for a cryptid with Superboy for a little while longer, it’s not like Superboy’s had a normal life experience. He’s not going to be bothered that he can’t talk about girls and homework with his new friend first thing. 

Clark vaguely dreads the possibility of Superboy eventually deciding to come to him to talk about girls, because he has absolutely no idea how to talk to anyone about girls, much less an impressionable teenager who’s guaranteed to hang on his every word for the whole conversation and take everything he says as gospel while also misunderstanding at least half of it, judging by most of their previous conversations. He hasn’t even been able to figure out how to give the kid the Kryptonian version of the talk, though, much less if it’s actually applicable to him. Relationship issues and dating are a whole other kettle of fish. 

Well, with any luck Superboy will stay too young for that kind of thing for a little while longer, Clark hopes halfheartedly. Just–please?

[oneshotnewbie]

You brought home two attractive people after a party. Bad news: You're about to find out what happens when a person gets bitten by a Wanda!Vampire and a Natasha!Werewolf

Warnings: Possibly 16+ Mentions of blood and bleeding bites. Slight hints of eroticism. Reader agrees to be bitten by both of them, there is agreement from all sides. CONSENT IS GIVEN!

Authors note: My first story in the universe of vampires and werewolves, so bear with me if it didn't turn out that well. I rewrote your request a bit, hope that's okay with you. Wanda in this story is a Moroi- they get their blood from human donors and they don't suck all the blood out of their bodies. After a vampire bite and the transfer of blood, a bond is created that allows the person to hear the thoughts of the vampire.

Summary: When two beautiful woman lure you from a party and ask you to play their blood donor, you cannot refuse. It all started with a simple, innocent novel invitation and it ended up turning into a lustful disaster when a pure blood vampire claims your thoughts.

𓆩_𓆪

Wanda and Natasha curiously observed the guests of Ethereal Eight, a nightclub in the vibrant and imposing metropolis of New York. The ladies knew from the start that it would not be easy to find a type of woman who they both liked and agreed with what they were up to.

"Wands, look over there!" the talented spy gently nudged the younger one in the side and pointed her piercing gaze at a bartender. "Too small, too rugged. Too blonde."

"All right, so we are looking for someone who is taller but not taller than us and does not have blonde hair?" she suggested to her copper-haired friend, who happily slurped her Greta Garbo and let her eyes wander around the room. "There,"

She gestured with the star anise that had decorated the rim of her glass to the center of the dance floor and sure enough, a young woman moved gracefully in the colors of the lights to the music.

Natasha nodded enthusiastically after spotting you and downed her whiskey in one big gulp. "Let´s get started then, you look like you are dying of thirst," she whispered with a wink and threw herself into the turmoil.

Wanda shook out of her sweaty hands before sliding onto the dance floor near you. She watched you for a while before dancing over and letting her gaze wander up from your feet, which were clad in black shiny high heels. You wore a short, fitted black dress that showed off your curves perfectly.

Your slightly sweaty skin shone in the lights and the Moroi could see a great play of your thigh muscles with every movement you made. You danced in her eyes like a goddess in complete control of her body. Your hair was curled over your shoulder, a few lose strands falling on your forehead.

She could not help but groan as she took in your classic, slim-fitting face and coveted your perfume, which she could easily filter through the gusts of unmistakably smells of cigarettes, beer and sweat.

In the crowd, she looked for Natasha, who watched you both from a different angle and gave her and unobtrusive nod. Meanwhile, the redhead found a place on the edge of the dance floor and kept a close eye on both of you.

In the immediate vicinity of her victim, Wanda began to move with a certain eroticism towards you and your gaze wandered over to her within seconds. Your eyes met hers; smiling and licking your lips energetically.

The start was made and you came closer to her, gently running your fingers over her hips. She definitely had you hooked, now she had to put her lust aside and pursue her plan. If it were up to her, she would have tasted you in that exact moment. "Let´s go have a drink?" she whispered in your ear, nipping at your earlobe at the end of her sentence and grabbing your hand. Holding on tight, she pulled you through the crowd and glanced around.

Natasha had followed you both.

Now all they had to do was to get to know you a little better, convince you of their plan and gain your approval.

𓆩_𓆪

With your heart pounding with excitement, you entered your dark apartment, lit only by softly glowing yellowish lights and approached the center of the living room with cautious steps before pausing to observe the movements of both woman.

Animated, they talked and a satisfied but mischievous grin stole across their faces. Agitated, they slowly started to walk towards their new conquest as Natasha began to leave soft marks of kisses on your chin when she reached you; her hands gently on your hips. "You know, Y/n. We have an open relationship," the assassin put in. "And it is rare that we are looking at the same woman. You are something special, my dear."

Pulling away from you involuntarily, she had that sharp look in her eyes as if she wanted to tear you apart her and now. In one smooth movement, she leaned over you, invading your personal space with ease.

A definite tingling in Natasha´s stomach told her that the longer she stared down at you, the more excited she became. Her eyes gleamed in a reddish glow and you noticed her breathing quickened while a fire ignited inside her.

You held your ground, but it was not easy.

"Oh darling, why do you mess up my mind so much? Your warm eyes make me forget who I really am for a little while," her dominant and strong voice made your body give away. Still maintaining eye contact, you took a few steps back and swallowed hard, watching her eyes burn with triumph about your subservience.

Your pulse was pounding in your veins, igniting the instinct in the vampire, who sat behind you on the sofa and watched you both intently. The Moroi quickly grabbed your hips and, startled, pulled you onto her lap. "Her blood smells so sweet."

Wanda took your face in her hands and bent up to you. For a moment, the thought of kissing you crossed her mind, but meanwhile she hid her head in the hollow of your neck and smelled your gentle scent.

So close to your carotid artery, her vampire instincts kicked in as the conveyed red juice was pumped through. The red-haired heard your heartbeat, smelled the characteristic smell of your blood through your mild perfume and could also make out the subtle note that showed her nervousness.

Her fangs grew uncontrollably and her gaze also became hard and cold- her pupils dilated. She gently licked your tender skin and you shivered, wrapping your arms around her and bringing her closer to your body.

Dazed with her senses, Wanda greedily kissed your neck and you let out a soft moan as you tilted your head back. Meanwhile, the white fangs of the copper-haired grazed and pierced your flesh; the warm lifeblood ran straight into her palate and tasted the sweet taste of your blood on her grinning lips.

You sat on her lap and could not hide the fact that you really enjoyed what was happening. Your face flushing, all your thoughts were wiped away in one fell swoop as a surge of adrenaline and happiness washed over you to a degree that made you groan and then fall weakly into her arms.

"May I have a turn now?" Weakly, your head rose to where the soft but dark voice was coming from and your gaze widened to Natasha walking out of the darkness with a mischievous smile on her lips. "Or did you drink her all up?"

Wanda laughed and pulled her fangs out of your neck before licking the wound; the vampire saliva would soon seal the bite and let it heal quickly. "No, she will be okay in a moment. It´s the initial weakness of the first time."

"Good," she slipped her muscular arms under your butt and lifted you off the vampire´s lap. You clung to her, sighed and smiled briefly when you slowly returned back to your full element. "It is my turn now to taste her."

The redhead took you to your bedroom and laid you gently on your bed, your back pressed into the mattress and she kneeling between your legs. She gently brushed some hair out of your face while licking her lips. You could feel your cheeks burning, the tension between you two crackling with heat.

Yet your thoughts were completely taken over by a voice that sounded like no other than Wanda´s; the resonance of your blood was screaming in the core of the vampire. She had connected your thoughts with hers and silenced yours completely.

"I can't possibly keep you; a person. Even if I would like to have you near me forever. You would die before I would be half my age, I can't do the pain to myself," Wanda scolded herself, but her mind didn't stop playing, a quiet thought slipping up. "I could turn you before it's time."

You felt her shudder and goosebumps formed on your bare skin. She tried to pull herself together, but her desperate voice was still ringing in your head; not letting you realize what was happening in front of you. "I know you can hear my thoughts. Something is different about you, darling. Unlike all the other times I have drunk other people´s blood."

By now, Natasha had found the perfect spot for her bite, hidden under kisses she placed on your body. Your thin forearm, which protruded through your strong, dark veins promised her to quench her blood thirst. She was captivated and looked at it hypnotized laying firmly in her hand.

"Are you ready?" you nodded absently, her voice falling deep in your subconsciousness as you addictedly awaited more thoughts from Wanda. It took a moment for her teeth to dig into your flesh and the vibration of her moans coursing through your entire body.

The noises that she let out, magically attracted the Moroi. Calmly, with a big grin on her face, she perched on the door frame. From the vantage point, you could sense her- making your pulse quicken anew. "I do not think it will be our last encounter and the only connection we will share,"

You tried to catch a glimpse of her face, her voice audibly louder ringing in your head. She had come closer, looking down at you with her reddish eyes, breathing easily through her open mouth that showed the tips of her fangs. "But next time I want you all to myself."

You swallowed hard, closed your eyes and cried out. The pain in your arm now evident as Natasha turned away from you. She pushed off from you and laughed at her vampire once she noticed that she was standing there, watching. "Damn, she tastes bittersweet! Best catch so far, Wands!"

The remnants of your blood, which had gotten stuck to the corners of her lips, were wiped away delicately with her thumb. Natasha raised her hand in front of her face, thoughtfully examining her fingertips that held the red liquid. "Your taste has truly stuck in my memory and it seems I shall never forget it."

But you did not hear a single word that came out of the werewolf´s mouth. Your eyes were fixed squarely on Wanda, caught in her persistent and lingering green orbs slowly absorbing the reddish color which seemed to look straight into your soul. You urgently waited for her voice, but it seemed lost- the connection was gone.

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is playing the Pink Panther theme by Henry Mancini ... then there's the 3 minutes of death, war, famine and pestilence, the newscaster's soft tones telling us how terrible the world is ... before we return to the man on the radio talking about the return of an old breed of goat on the Emerald Isle.

The sun is flitting in and out ... every so often adding extra oomph to the garishness that is the fields of rapeseed currently lighting up the surrounding land of next door's farm.

Bought some Broom as a bee treat. They're starting to get busy again. Gotta keep a close eye out for the bees that didn't make the cut ... so many dozy/wingless ones that crawl all around the yard. They all have to be collected up and moved to the other side of the gate so the dogs' paw pads don't fall foul of them.

The shiny metropolis awaits. Nice to see a different landscape but hate the noise and fumes. Amused myself with the idea of creating a perfume called 'Per-fumes', as per the fumes the town is awash with ... car fumes and people perfumes galore ... makes my head ache.

Once a week is enough, then it's back to the countryside smells ... a heady combination of flowers, animal poo and tractor fumes ... hmmmm ... (ponders) ... now what will I call that scent? ...

[frogchiro]

I NEED MORE STRAY CHILDE AND CAT READER

YOU ASK AND I SHALL DELIVER (also i'm turning this into a possible lil threesome bc i need and i have 0 selfcontrol ;;)

fem!reader, hybrids, suggestive content, love triangle, age gap but reader is explicitly stated to be an adult, implied chubby reader, jealousy and feels, a tiny bit of angst?? but it's woven in between fluff so it's okay </3 also my terrible grammar

okay soooo...i was thinking about a kinda 'lady and the tramp' scenario but with a little twist? where you, the prized kitty girl, belong to an incredibly wealthy snezhnayan noblewoman. she is already on the older side, she never married or had kids and while living a lavish life full of extravagant banquets, travels across teyvat, meeting the most interesting people, sometimes it does get lonely in a big mansion you know? sure there are the servants and many other people who'd be more than willing to converse with her but a jumpy mousy handmaiden or some boring sycophantic dignitary or two can only do so much to be considered 'good' company.

after much thinking and careful consideration, the woman decided on buying a cat hybrid. the hybrid breeding business was booming all over teyvat, it basically became a staple for the wealthy to buy hybrids, dress them up like the most beautiful porcelain dolls and flaunting them on various official occasions like banquets or balls.

there was a large variety of well bred hybrids, all from most perfect and long lineages that would put the family histories of most noble houses to shame. from bunnies through sables, foxes, peacocks up to horse hybrids but it still wasn't perfect, all of them were boring; well, until she met you. a catgirl with fluffy shiny (h/c) fur combed and groomed to perfection, pointy ears standing high and proud and a lovely fluffy tail swishing as if annoyed by the disturbance behind you. from the second she saw you, she knew that you were the one that would keep her company. you were a cute young thing, just over 16 years old and the perfect combination of politeness, shyness and sassyness, not overly clingy and desperate to be bought but also not rude or hissy. yes, you'd be perfect.

and so began your new life with your new owner in a completely new environment. sure, you'd miss the facility where you grew up in but you were also excited what your future would hold for you and judging by the lady who bought you, you'd never have to worry about anything anymore.

a few years passed in bliss. you were now just over 20 and you really grew into your new life. ever since the nice lady brought you into your new home or rather a small palace, you lived a life of luxury as the favorite (and only!) pet of her ladyship. you had your own room, own bed stuffed to the brim with pillows and topped off with a silky see-through canopy, all designed in a lovely and tasteful (f/c) palette. you even had a personal chef and groomer! after all the favorite kitty of the household had to eat the best food and have her fur shiny and not a single tangle in sight; yes, life was calm and perfect for you.

well...at least until someone barged in at full speed. it was a ginger stray cat hybrid who called himself childe, ajax for friends which he insisted on becoming with you. stray hybrids weren't a rare sight to be honest, especially in a big metropolis like the capital city of snezhnaya, but they usually kept to the more shady parts of the town, scavenging the dark alleys and slums for scraps so it was quite a fright when suddenly a big, rough looking stray jumped over the fence and right next to the spot where you were sunning!

after hissing and yowling up a storm you realized that childe had no real ill intentions but you were still miffed about the situation, why was he here? how the hell did he even get here?

after a sheepish explanation from the scarred hybrid that he was just scavenging the area for food and he got wind of a new smell he just couldn't resist and had to check out the source! he really didn't expect for you to be the source and before he could retreat he slipped and fell into your garden and here he was...ta-daaa!

you didn't really buy it, the ginger cat literally spelled trouble by just looking at him but you kinda felt a little pity on him; he was a stray for gods know how long and while he was well build and very big, judging by the growl in his belly he didn't eat for a very long time.

just because you were a 'high-born' and belonging into a aristocratic family didn't mean you were cruel or heartless so you told the man to wait here for you as you sneaked into the kitchens and loaded a cloth full of different kinds of meats, cheeses and fruit and brought them back to him to eat. your heart squeezed painfully at the wide eyes of the stray as you gave him the wrapped cloth and wished him well, telling him not the eat trash anymore and if he were hungry then to just come here and you'll give him food.

and so started the quite unlikely friendship between you and the big stray, ajax, and you had to admit that the once seemingly meek and sheepish cat was actually the biggest troublemaker you ever saw! as your friendship progressed his true colors shone through and gave him an entirely new but lovable personality. ajax was funny, smart, cunning and a major flirt, often teasing you and making moves on you, then laughing boisterously when you flushed and hissed at him with your ears pulled flat against your head.

he even showed you his den! after weeks of convincing you to give into his pleas of sneaking out for the night because 'he wanted to show you something' you finally gave into his pleads and went with him, anxious to be away from your safe mansion but also excited for the new possible adventure.

what ajax hyped up to be his 'incredibly cool and super comfy den' was actually an old abandoned barn on the outskirts of the town. you weren't really impressed and by the look of your sour expression childe sweated a little but pulled you after him while promising that it looks much better on the inside...it really didn't but at least the attic of the barn was kept well enough and judging by the neat circle of old blankets, furs and pillows this was where the hybrid made his den and to be honest....it really was comfy.

you began to sneak out almost every night to meet childe at his barn, at least it gave you the privacy and you didn't have to worry about any patrolling guards or stray servants busting your secret friend.

soon the old barn became your second home and the circle of old raggedy blankets and pillows your new bed. it was quite liberating in some way to roll around in the nest with ajax, the catboy nothing but accommodating and happy to have you here with him. he loved to see you smile and purr up a storm when your were rolling around and nuzzling the blankets simultaneously leaving your delicious scent all over his place which often led to...some unsavory activities after you left.

but could you really blame him?! how can he not rub his cock and cum all over himself when he has the image of your perfect soft body burned into his brain and various sinful thoughts are occupying his mind the second he gets a whiff of your scent.

it will always be a secret but his favorite fantasy is of you abandoning your life at the mansion and have you run away with him. the thought of having you here with him at all times, hunting and providing for you, returning after each successful hunt to you as you smile and lick his cheek, the tiny mewls of your kitties the only noise in the otherwise silent barn besides the cracking fire in the rundown hearth and your loud purrs.

but this is all it will ever be, a fantasy. he couldn't possibly ever ask you of such a thing, such a sacrifice to satisfy his selfish desires especially after all the things you did for him. he knew painfully well that you are way out of his league, basically a princess to his tramp self; but that didn't mean he still couldn't cherish you and every moment he shared with you! yes, he was content with what he had. everything was perfect....until it wasn't.

while your lady didn't exactly know the details of where her prized catgirl went off to, she had the vague idea that you were...disappearing for the nights and coming back ruffled and dirty like some common stray and it got her thinking...what if you were lonely? what if you were just seeking out the presence of another hybrid? it wouldn't surprise her really, after all she was the one to buy you in the first place to quell her own loneliness so how could she be so selfish and possibly neglect the feelings of her favorite girl! and she knew just the perfect resolution for the issue...

imagine your surprise when one beautiful winter morning when you came down into the salon stretching and yawning to check out the noises that seemed to go on since the early hours only to notice your lady sitting on the recliner with a...hybrid standing right next to her.

you wouldn't lie when you said that you almost turned on your heel and made a beeline back to your room and hide under the various blankets of your nest. this hybrid...this...monster wasn't something you ever saw, even in childe.

the cat hybrid appeared to be older, much older than you with long flowing and well kept white hair topped with two pointy white ears and a neat beard. the man was tall, so very tall, and broad; his thick chest and arms partially covered by the fur coat he was wearing, but the most prominent feature of his were his piercing gray eyes. the slitted pupils looking almost like tiny diamonds inside his eyes when his stone cold gaze zeroed on your figure and you suddenly felt so tiny and exposed in your nightgown and see-through robe; your tail swishing anxiously behind you as the man glowered down on you.

finally after what felt like an eternity, your lady noticed you and beamed, jumping up from her seat and inviting you over to introduce the mysterious man.

his name was apparently pierro and he was the new cat hybrid your lady bought in order for you to no longer be lonely, plus judging by his sheer size he could also be your protector.

while your lady was happily rambling and telling you all about the process and all the benefits of pierro being here all you could do was stay quiet, ears pinned flat to your head as you and the big man had a staredown with you quickly loosing. you just didn't understand it! it was all a big misunderstanding! you weren't 'lonely' at all but on the other hand you guessed you got a little careless and sloppy about sneaking out to meet with childe. getting a bit too comfortable was a big mistake and you could understand it coming off as 'feeling lonely' to your lady, she probably was thinking that you were sneaking out to search for other cat people and now you were stuck with the older hybrid. maybe it wouldn't be so bad? after all, pierro looks like he's an older hybrid even for your extended lifespans, plus he doesn't really look like the type to chase you around and play or bother you, if anything he was looking at you like you're the one to bother him in your own damn house! ultimately there was nothing you could do anymore, pierro was here already and it looked like he was staying so you guessed you just had to suck it up for a bit and hold off on meeting with childe for the time being.

and so pierro stayed in the mansion for good. a few weeks passed already and honestly? it was better than you expected! just like you previously presumed pierro didn't bother you or even try to interact with you, most times keeping just to himself doing gods know what and yet you felt his constant presence, like a phantom lingering around you and keeping a keen eye on you.

even with this strange feeling you came around, breaking the invisible wall and actually trying to get pierro to at least like you a little bit which, to your great surprise, wasn't difficult at all.

the big cat hybrid was actually very pleasant to be around; he was mostly either reading something or lounging around on a recliner or next to one of the enormous fireplaces in the mansion and it provided a perfect opportunity to get to know each other. he had a very deep, rough and rumbling voice that send pleasant shivers down your spine any time you heard it, plus he seemed to naturally run hot so lounging next to him in front of the fire during a cold winter night proved to be a wonderful experience, his deep rumbling purrs vibrating and lulling you to sleep.

he even started to slowly allow himself to become more 'touchy' with you! at first it were just short and stiff nuzzles, just to acknowledge your existence, then it slowly evolved into more lingering touches, insistently rubbing his head against yours, grooming your fur with his tongue, wrapping his tail around yours and even full on spooning you when lounging on a fur rug. the ultimate sign of trust was when one night pierro invited you to his chamber to climb into his nest to cuddle and bond and you won't lie when you say you felt a hot tingle in your lower belly when you climbed into the enormous wonderfully soft nest that was drenched in his scent and you felt the man slowly rub his cheek upwards from the base of your tail to your shoulders and bit down softly, his huge fangs oh so gently clamping down on the back of your neck as he slowly pulled your back snugly to his broad hairy chest and laid down with you, his teeth still holding you.

the gesture was an incredibly intimate one, reserved only for mates but it made you feel all giddy and tingly inside, quiet purrs from deep within your chest mixing with pierro's rumbles and combined with the cracking fire from the heart it made for a wonderfully cozy and intimate soundscape.

you let pierro take care of you, his teeth finally letting loose of your neck to gently lick it with his rough tongue and growling lowly when he felt your hips shift under his, pulling you even closer and crushing you against his chest. his darling little kitten seemed to finally be relaxed in his presence, something he longed for from the very beginning when his new owner introduced you to each other. you finally stopped to sneak out so much the more open you became with each other and you no longer smelt like that wretched stray, childe.

pierro growled under his breath at even the thought of that tramp getting close to you and thinking he'd have any chance with you while you had him. instead he continued to lick you, down from your neck and towards your delicious full breasts feeling particulary naughty and sneaking a quick suck or two to your nipples, an answering delighted mewl from you all he needed to know.

now that the stray was out of the picture he had you all to himself and soon he'd mate you. while her ladyship was sometimes annoying him he had to begrudgingly thank her for bringing you two together although perhaps not in the way she thought. maybe you will present her with a nice healthy litter of well bred kittens next year with him as the proud father? who knows; for now though he had a needy kitty to take care of and the night was just starting~

unbeknownst to either of you, a pair of deep blue eyes was glaring at you from the balcony of the room. childe was furious, basically fuming from the inside but not at you, no, never at you, but at pierro for even thinking of trying to take you from him and at himself for allowing this to happen.

a few weeks back when pierro was just brought into the mansion you did warn childe that you'll be unable to sneak out as often as previously due to your lady bringing another hybrid into the household and to avoid suspicion you had to drastically cut down on your time together. at first he thought it wouldn't really bother him, he was a stray and used to being alone, but after so many weeks of having you so close, keeping him company and just simply being there for him made him feel dangerously attached to you and the knowledge that you had to stay away from him for an indefinite amount of time made him feel miserable and to add salt to the wound you now shared a space with another hybrid, pierro, out of everyone.

he vaguely knew the hybrid before; tall and broad in statue, stone cold exterior, a permanent scowl on his face that never seemed to wither. according to rumors the old hybrid had a lineage that reached as far as back to the ancient khaen'rhian people, due to that (and from what childe was aware) pierro couldn't be technically owned by someone, he was always just...there. so it had him baffled when he saw the man strolling through the gardens, his piercing diamond pupils turning into slits when they zeroed on him and made a face that could be only described as 'disgusted pity'. childe then pulled his ears back, the fur on his back standing on ends and was ready to pounce on him but retreated last second when he saw your soft body coming up from behind pierro and rubbing affectionately up against him. the ginger hybrid would lie when he said that his jaw almost hit the floor when he witnessed the scene and his blood boiled at the disgustingly smug look on pierro's face when he wrapped his long fluffy tail around you and returned your gesture before turning you around and walking away from him place of hiding like he was some afterthought you shouldn't be bothered with.

seeing you with the big hybrid, pierro, was like putting salt in the wound that he created for himself. why couldn't he confessed to you earlier? was he really such a coward that he couldn't even express his love for the girl of his dreams? and now he had to watch you being all lovely and cozy with the big male while he was left standing high and dry, plus he just knew that the white haired hybrid would rub his triumph all over his face the next chance he got.

'but just you wait', childe thought with a bitter scowl. it was just the beginning as sooner the abyss would freeze over than childe would admit defeat. you'd become his mate and he'd win your heart.

just you wait

[octuscle]

Shiny fabric

As much as Mack enjoyed living in the countryside in Scotland, he also enjoyed the occasional trip to London. He loved the metropolis, which was yet another category entirely different from Glasgow. And Mack loved the East End. Here he found honest lads, real fellas, with whom one could have all kinds of fun. Fun of all kinds. Actually, it was usually enough for Mack if there were a few beers and if there was fucking afterwards. That was all he needed on a good night out in London. But tonight he was excited. He'd passed a store last night on the way to his hotel room that had Adidas Chile tracksuits in his size in the window. In XXL. Black with gold stripes. He had been looking for it for years. Just wasn't available in that size anymore. He had never understood why Adidas no longer produced it. He knew a whole bunch of fellas who got off on the shiny fabric. He wouldn't necessarily wear something like that in public. But at home. Jerking off in the fabric. He had gotten a boner right away at the thought.

The store was called CHAVTF and it opened at 11:00 on Saturday. At 10:50, Mack was at the door. He didn't want to take any chances, he had to have the tracksuit. At 11:15, a young man came and opened the door. Slim, he wore a tracksuit himself and an alpha jacket over it. Hair noticeably shorter than Mack's. Cool bastard, Mack thought to himself… The cool bastard asked Mack into the store, turned on the lights and asked how he could help. As cool as he could be, Mack asked for the suit from the store window. In XXL. The store clerk laughed. Mate, the only thing XXL about you is your dick. There are changing rooms in the back, get undressed, I'll bring you the tracksuit. Without thinking, Mack went into the locker room and stripped naked. Between his legs dangled his impressive cock, dripping precum. He looked at himself in the mirror with satisfaction. The young man came into the cubicle, the curtain of which was not drawn at all. He placed the suit on a stool, hugged Mack from behind, and grasped the massive cock with both hands. "To try on the suit, though, please wrap that beauty up," he laughed. Mack picked up the jockstrap from the floor and pulled it over his wiry, hairy legs. The jockstrap still reeked of last night's piss, cum and beer. He took the shiny size S pants and pulled them up. Fit like a glove. The store clerk cleared out a new shipment of goods and stopped briefly at the changing room. Looks extremely awesome, mate. Your customers are going to love it."

Mack reached through the fabric of his pants for his cock. "Hell, yeah," he said enthusiastically. "Here, try this T-shirt with it," the store clerk said, tossing him a compression shirt with Batman printed on it. Mack slipped it on and nodded his approval. Looked cool, accentuated his lean body. "Say, how much do you actually take for a date?" Mack said that depended on the customer, a quick blowjob here in the locker room would be free. But otherwise, he would be a luxury product. Only for an escort service he took 200 pounds an hour. Everything else cost extra. "Bloody hell," the clerk replied. 'I work two days for that. When things are going well. But don't your customers expect someone freshly showered? You smell like you haven't showered in two days." "Three, actually. I'm about to have a pervert jerk off while he gets to smell my armpits. Gives you some extra cash." "I really have the wrong job. Is the Arab accent a trick? Or are you really from there." Maleek explained in the finest Cockney accent that his parents were from Morocco, but he was born here. Of course, the Arab accent is a trick. But his clients would dig it.

Maleek paid for the three tracksuits that were still available in his size. He knew how dates with his next client went. If his tracksuit survived, his client would ask him to piss in it and then pay him easily five times what he had to pay now for three suits. So two suits on reserve was a wise investment. And just because he was a whore, he didn't have to be a bad businessman. But now let's go to the agreed meeting place and play the street hustler. That was part of the game with his client.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Metropolis

ectoberhaunt2023 day 22-portal shenanigans TW- none summary- Danny gets flung int the DCU and decides to become a villain

ao3 ectoberhaunt masterlist part 1 of TCAB

Danny was feeling so done with Clockwork right now. All Danny had said was that he wanted a break from his kingly duties. Clockwork had told him to come to the Long Now. And okay. Danny could admit that he should have been more suspicious or at least cautious. But still! 

Wanting a break was not the same as having Clockwork toss him through a random portal where he’d be able to ‘destress.’ This was the opposite of destressing and Danny would make sure Clockwork knew it when the old clock decided to let him go back.

Danny sighed. He didn’t even know where he was. What was he even supposed to do?

He was in some kind of large city and he remembered Clockwork saying something about superheroes before yeeting Danny through the portal.

What superheroes lived here Danny had no idea, and honestly, he didn’t really care enough to find out. 

Maybe Danny though, since there were already heroes here, Danny could be a villain.

Yes, that was a brilliant idea. Danny grinned, aware that his smile was stretching too wide for his face.

But what to do, what to do.

He obviously didn’t want to be a terrible, no good, very bad villain. He didn’t want to kill people or steal from people who were struggling. So obviously he just had to steal from the rich. 

And how convenient. That was definitely a skyscraper over there.

Danny flew in that direction not caring enough to read the name on the side of the building.

He arrived invisibly and used his intangibility to fly down to the deepest level. The most interesting things were always hidden in the basement. Danny would know. They had a ghost portal in theirs and Vlad had a creepy lab in his.

And ohhh!!!! Those were some shiny rocks. They looked like ectoplasm but solid. He wondered… 

Danny flew forward and grabbed as many as he could carry, stuffing the rest into one of his pocket dimensions. Pocket dimensions were a very nice perk of being the Ancient of Space, if only he had inherited the power of remembering where he put things. Oh well. He’d find them eventually. 

Danny carried out five pieces with him as he flew up through the building. He’d only just gotten outside when someone loudly and sanctimoniously proclaimed, “Halt.”

Danny paused and took in the sight of a man dressed in blue and wearing red underwear over his clothing.

“Dude, you look so cringy.” Was that mean? Oh well. It’s not like Danny would be in this dimension very long.

The man gaped at him and then narrowed his eyes when he saw what Danny was carrying. Then he flew farther backwards.

“Drop the Kryptonite.”

Was that what this was? “Finders keepers.”

“Kid, leave the Kryptonite and we can talk.”

“Why would I want to talk with you?”

The man’s expression hardened and Danny grinned.

“Are they yours?” Danny asked. 

“Listen, it’s extremely dangerous. So, you need to put them down.”

Danny frowned. “These things aren’t dangerous. See?” Danny said and stuck one in his mouth. It tasted kind of tangy but also sweet. It was actually pretty good. He popped the other two into his mouth and the older man gaped at him. 

“What did you do!”

Danny laughed maniacally like all the good villains do. “You will neer get your shiny rocks back.” Danny laughed again before going invisible and flying away, stifling his laughter behind his hands.

This was actually pretty fun. Maybe Clockwork was onto something.

[busyskin]

Twinges

Day Three for @bruclarkweek (Day One - Day Two)

Word Count: 2737

Warnings: mild descriptions of violence/injury, mention of scars, swearing

Description: where soulmates feel each other’s pain

Clark always knew he had a human soulmate. The bruising and somewhat frequent paper cuts he felt throughout his adolescence were enough confirmation of that; he was immune to receiving such ailments himself, and they didn’t show on his skin the way a human’s might, but they meant all the more to him for that. It was the regular twinges until his twenties, and Clark was grateful to his soulmate for making him feel just that little bit more normal, that little bit more connected to his family and his Earth. There was the occasional strikes of grief that ripped through his chest, the same he felt when he looked up into the vast expanse of space for too long, but Clark only rarely needed his Ma’s comforting embrace to get him through them. It was all a perfectly regular soulmate experience; his Ma and Pa said so, the internet said so, all the books and friends and teachers said so. And Clark was content with it. Happy to wait in quiet excitement for the day when he would find his soulmate. Sometimes - especially in the first couple months of moving to Metropolis, when everything was shiny and unfamiliar - the small twangs of pain would be a guilty comfort, a reminder that he was never truly alone.

Until the night, when Clark felt beyond feeling, a pain so raw and intense and encompassing that he truly thought his soulmate had died and was dragging him with them. Clark was terrified. Beneath the horror, his brain fought to hold onto consciousness as every nerve he had underneath his bulletproof skin stung like it had been branded with a white-hot poker, before being submerged in artic water until even his eyes were numb, only to be hoisted out and branded again. He clawed at his cheap duvet as the cycle continued to drag him through and under. His mind felt like paper being unfolded, and he could only half register the pain subsiding before he passed out on top of the bedsheets, ripped in two.

It was with panic in his voice and lungs that Clark recounted the events to his mother the following day. And it was with wide eyes that she went to him while he was running words from his mouth like water from a tap, and reached up to touch his neck. He instinctively crouched down, even while he descended into incoherent sobs, and Ma pushed back his untamed curls from the space behind his ear.

She sagged in relief. “It’s still there, darling.” She whispered softly, and Clark, for all his super-hearing, could barely comprehend it. “Your soulmark’s still there.”

Clark was dizzy. He rested his head on his Ma’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of flour on her apron and hay in her hair. He collapsed into her embrace without any weight.

-

In the years since, there had been a steady stream of agony from his soulmate. Less grief perhaps, or maybe now it was just inseparable from the other hurts. Clark struggled to sleep for the first however many times of feeling his soulmate in so much pain, and he flew back to Kansas just to break down in front of Ma more times than he’d care to admit, even to himself. But his soulmark was always there; an unbroken circle raised like a scar, hidden behind his left ear and ink-black curls. For a long time, his hand would wander to the mark, the tips of his fingers tracing it round and round, ensuring it was still there, that his soulmate was still alive. He reassured himself in this way so much that his colleagues at the Planet began joking about how it was a wonder he could get so much work done when his hand was apparently glued to his neck.

It became something of a distraction, the worry. And beyond the anxiety that came with feeling so much injury coming from someone you knew you’d one day love so much - already did love, intensely, in Clark’s case - the consistency of the instances and the fact that pains kept coming meant his soulmate was alive, and apparently pretty strong if they could take such thorough beatings. Clark reasoned that maybe they were a boxer or a martial artist or something like that. The regularity checked out, and a lot of the wounds felt like punches and kicks as far as Clark could tell.

It was only when more superheroes started cropping up - on the streets, in the news - that the idea occurred to Clark that his soulmate might be more suited to him than he could’ve hoped.

…

Bruce Wayne didn’t have a soulmate. He had a soulmark, of course, but it was long since interjected by all the other markings and scars that criss-crossed his chest, hidden like a needle in a haystack. It was a fluke. A cosmic mistake. Not once in his life had Bruce ever felt even a flicker of pain from his supposed soulmate; not a scrape, not a headache, not even a paper cut. He’d been through his share of semi-frantic research sessions on people who’s soulmates have paralysis or other forms of numbness, other reasons for loss of sensation, lack of feeling, but they could still feel pains that were inflicted on their soulmate, whether their soulmate felt them or not - there had been some very extensive but utterly inhumane studies done by an English scientist in the eighties. Bruce, however, had never felt any hurt that wasn’t his own.

So he didn’t have a soulmate. And that was suitable. Brucie Wayne got to be a ditzy, debonair playboy without worrying about getting caught up in accidental attachments. Batman got to go out every night and protect his city without having to worry that someone else was feeling every attack on his body. And Bruce, he had Alfred, since always and through everything. And then he had Dick too, who was bright and quick and brought smiles in bundles. After him, there was Jason, who was so full of life and intensity. And then Jason was gone, and he took a bit of Bruce with him to the grave. And Tim was observant and put what was left back together as best he could. And then Jason was back, and he was changed, and he was pissed, but he was back, his boy was back, and Batman had a problem with his methods but Bruce had his son alive again, so he could do the fighting and the rage and the disappointment because his son wasn’t in a coffin anymore.

And it was enough. He’d made himself a family: a proper family. One that fell apart every once in a while, like it ought to; but mended itself in clumsy seams, like it ought to. When the grief hit him out of the blue, mourning for his parents - and sometimes someone he’d never known, while the stars smirked down at him, like they were playing a joke, like they knew something he didn’t - he could deal with it. Not just shove it aside and throw himself fist-first into a fight. Not just pull on a fancy tux and devil-may-care smile and wreck a bed that didn’t belong to him. No, he could deal with it in a vaguely normal way. He could wander down to the living room with the biggest tv and find at least one of his children there, and they could watch a movie together and not talk as much as they should; which was apparently the average way to engage with family, so that was reassuring. And then, undoubtedly, more of the flock would gather, and interrupt, and leave more things unsaid that really ought to be said, but it wasn’t the right time, and it would never be - and it was perfect.

Brucie didn’t want a soulmate. Batman couldn’t have a soulmate. And Bruce didn’t need a soulmate.

-

It was a Thursday night and a Friday morning, and the fog had rolled in from Gotham’s docks. Some gang had made a spot of the chain of alleys that ran down to the southern port. They’d dragged a handful of bankers out of their cars and had them kneeling in the wet cracks of tarmac, trying to intimidate them into some heist by pointing guns at their heads. Crouched on a warehouse roof, Batman readied his grapple. Beside him, Robin did the same.

“There’s more of them than I was expecting.” The boy muttered as he shifted his position on the wet, corrugated steel. His eyes squinted behind his domino mask. “Seems like multiple gangs from the area have collaborated for this. They’re being led by someone.”

Batman grunted his agreement before taking off towards the ground, landing between the guns and the victims. Disarm. Kick. Disarm. Punch. Kick. Swipe. Disarm. Robin’s getting the hostages out. Kick. Kick. Kick. Knife coming from the left. Dodge. Punch. Duck. Punch. Elbow. Swipe. Kick. Two thirds of them incapacitated. Punch. Robin’s back. Kick. Kick. Swipe. Tired. Punch. Not tired, weak. And sore. Kick. Missed. Fuck. Dodge. Dodge. Fuck. Sprained wrist. Swipe. Duck. Dizzy. “Batman?” Aching. Last man hits the ground. “Batman, can you hear me?” Tim. Stars.

-

Bruce woke up fully coherent. “Gleurgh beurgle.”

“Mm, indeed.” Dr. Thompkins’ face peered down at him, white hair reluctantly confined in a tight bun. Her eyes were gently assessing as she sat by his bed. In his room. Bruce’s room. He sat up. Why wasn’t he in the cave’s medical bay?

Leslie read the furrow of his brow. “Alfred insisted, I’m afraid. After I told him the only physical harm was a sprain, and that your bloods came out fine, he was adamant on you resting in your own bed.”

Bruce closed his eyes in mild frustration before fixing Leslie with a questioning look. “My bloods were normal last night?” He could hardly believe it; the pure exhaustion he had felt, the draining of all his strength, it was like he had been drugged, drunk in the worst possible way.

“Mhm.” Leslie regarded him attentively, but with more interest than concern. She had a hypothesis. Bruce sighed as he flexed his wrist. The pain flared up his arm, shooting through odd corners in his bones. That wasn’t the worrying part. What scared him was how he’d got into such a state to let a mistake like that happen at all. And Leslie was looking at him like she could see through him. If she was going to suggest he was overworked-

“I reckon last night must’ve been rough for your soulmate.”

Bruce’s eyes widened minutely, expression unguarded as it could only be in his own home. He flicked his gaze to the doctor, but she was lost in thought at a point just below his collarbone, pursing her lips at his soulmark.

He stared resolutely out the window behind her. The fog was only just dissipating, and the light still had a grey quality. His voice was empty. “You know I don’t have one.”

Leslie hummed like she didn’t know anything of the sort.

…

Batman and Diana were stood talking at the farthest end of the steel table when Superman entered the Watchtower. Well, Diana was talking; Batman was sort of just making assenting grunts. Clark half-smiled and shook his head in familiarity - for a second, the stresses of the past week became minuscule. Diana turned to face him fully in greeting, whereas Batman only flicked his eyes over Clark. Rao, his eyes were so pretty, the lashes so delicate even smudged with that black industrial strength face paint. Clark suppressed a shiver.

“Superman.” Diana’s voice was always strong, and it carried to every corner of the wide room. Her smile was strong and carrying too. “Are you well?”

Clark was about to ramble off the same Midwestern script response that he always gave to that question, force of habit as opposed to any desire for privacy, when Batman cut him off.

“No. He’s not.”

Clark turned to face him in question. He didn’t know exactly why he gave the dark figure a puzzled look. Even all the impenetrabilities of his body couldn’t hide a hair out of place from the cowled man, it was no wonder he’d noticed whatever he had; maybe a tightness of expression, or a heaviness in feet. They stared at each other. Clark could see Diana looking him over discerningly and trying to pick out any injuries with a worried crease between her brow. Batman’s eyes were hard and boring and still so pretty. Clark folded.

“Kryptonite.” He sighed, rejecting his sight to a far corner. Continuing, ignoring the slowly pulsing pain in his wrist. “A few days ago. I’ve had a good few shots of sunlight since, so I’m A-OK now.” He turned back to his comrades with a winning smile, before it turned mildly teasing. “I was going to tell you myself but-“

“That’s not all.” Batman finished his sentence completely in the opposite direction Clark was intending. His wrist twinged and his heart skipped a beat. If Batman knew - no, the trio had never talked about their soulmates, not even Diana, who was the most open of them by a mile; the only one to have shared her identity so far. It was entirely possible that Batman knew about Clark’s; he’d made no indication thus far, but Clark wouldn’t be surprised. But he trusted Batman implicitly. Except, right now, Clark felt so vulnerable to the man contained in Kevlar; if he could he would’ve willed the lead lining of the suit to cease existing, just so he could finally see him beyond his eyes, and so he could have any chance to protect himself and his soulmate if it came to that.

In the first time of Clark’s knowing him, the Batman broke eye contact first. Maybe he saw the terror in Clark.

“I know what you look like when your soulmate’s hurt.” It was startlingly honest and entirely too revealing to have been said by Batman. And yet it was. Clark stood in jittery awe; he would’ve looked the pinnacle of strength to anyone other than those currently in the room. Or his Ma. As it was, his colleagues knew him too well, and Diana, after an unwavering glance between the two of them, put an unarguable end to the conversation.

“The other members of the League attending today will be here shortly. I have an upcoming - mercifully short - period of unavailability that I’d like to discuss. Superman, debrief as far as you believe is needed on the circumstances surrounding your recent encounter with the Kryptonite. As far as the other members…”

Clark kept half his hearing on Diana, and half tuned in - as it always was - to the rest of the world. But neither had his focus nor attention. As he took his seat at the table next to Wonder Woman, his thoughts were consumed by the man on her other side. His eyes avoided Clark’s throughout the meeting, and even given the situation Clark was saddened by the deprivation of such a sight. Batman’s mouth stayed the hard line it always was; he’d forever look more unbreakable than Superman. A solid stone gargoyle. Clark’s thoughts had calmed slightly; Batman knew his soulmate was hurt - apparently knew every time his soulmate had been hurt - but he didn’t have any desire to use that information vindictively. Of course he didn’t, Clark reminded himself. He’s a good man.

It was when Batman was using the table’s projector to highlight a network of jaded supervillains that Clark noticed something. Batman was holding the clicker in his right hand. Nothing unusual there, that was his preferred hand - though Clark was fairly sure he was ambidextrous - and straying from such an innocuous preference might arouse suspicion in a room full of people as observant as them. Might alert them to an injury, give away a momentary weakness. So Batman used the same hand he always used, and kept the same blank expression he always kept, so that none of them could know of the sprain he harboured. But Clark did, and it made something flip in his chest. Because every time Batman pressed the clicker, a tiny flicker of pain settled in Clark’s right wrist.

[justrandomfanfictionskh]

We Should have Stayed in Gotham ch1

(Almost every Maribat fic I read has the akuma class going to Gotham. But tell me which is more likely, a class touring the city of crime, or a class touring the city of lights? So here it is, the Daminette fic that only I asked for, where Gotham goes to Paris, and the poor students have to grapple with the fact that they have competition for the most dangerous city in the world. I wonder what will happen?)

ao3

The Gotham students stepped out of the airport and immediately had to squint against the sudden bright light of the mid-morning sun. Already the differences between Gotham and Paris were making themselves known causing every single Gothamite to scoff, laugh, and shake their heads at the Parisians' apparently unwarranted paranoia. There was absolutely no way Paris was more dangerous than Gotham. And yet for some strange reason the Parisian administrators of the International Friendship Conference petitioned to have the conference in Gotham? It was pure insanity.

Even the smallest child knew that having over a dozen schools from five different countries gather together in one place was a recipe for disaster in the city where the opening of a new bank could be the precursor for a terrorist attack. And yet Paris was insistent, that Gotham take its turn hosting the celebration, saying that it was “Too dangerous.” Everyone had laughed at that, literally. There was not a single Gothamite who had heard the news and not laughed. Even now driving the buss to their first location, even Damian “Ice Prince” Wayne was fighting an amused smirk and a soft chuckle, as his peers laughed at the naive and clueless Parisians walking the street below.

In Paris, the sun was shining. In Gotham, the sun barely ever broke through the smog and the rain. In Paris, pedestrians chatted amicably while walking at a leisurely pace. In Gotham, if you didn’t rush to your next location with your head down then you were asking to get mugged. In Paris, police directed traffic and waved to children. In Gotham, the police were always running from one armed robbery to another. Damian scoffed. Paris was like Metropolis, shiny and clean. Gotham was dark and dirty.

“It was probably a prank,” one of the Gotham High students said to his fellows. “You know a joke to get on our good side!”

“Ha!” one of the Gotham Academy students scoffed, “They should know that unlike Two-Face we don’t have a good side.” The bus was filled with laughter, and even Damian’s smirk twitched into a brief smile at the words.

It was no secret that the class divide in America's most dangerous city was as wide as the Grand Canyon. In fact, the only reason the students from the public high school were able to afford this trip was because of the Thomas and Martha Wayne Scholarship Foundation, which—among other opportunities, provided money for Gotham High Students to attend international trips with Gotham Academy. Damian could appreciate the elegance of the arrangement. The spoiled brats, that were unfortunately his peers, could jet off to Paris for the weekend whenever they wished and cared little for school functions where they could not display their wealth. But students from lower income families would probably never leave the city. So why not have them tag along on one of the prestigious rich school field trips where half of the students would opt out of going anyway?

Now, usually this meant that the trip was split into two very distinct groups with each side antagonizing the other, while Damian scowled in the middle. But whenever anyone said anything bag against their shared city, the class divide vanished. Suddenly they were one group united against the outsider who dared insinuate that Gotham was anything but superior in every way. So at that moment the bus was filled with rich and poor laughter as another student said,

“Can you imagine what would have happened if these people had actually come to Gotham!”

“They would’ve folded to Condiment King!”

Damian saw that even the chaperones were smiling softly at the front of the bus. They were probably predicting their easiest trip yet, and Damian found himself agreeing with them. He liked Paris. He had gone here on a mission with his mother. It had been one of the more pleasant ones, considering he had not had to kill anyone. And it was a beautiful city full of art, culture, and history, and since the class seemed to be united, Damian predicted a nice relaxing vacation with no troubles whatsoever. He found himself actually a little excited.

Eventually their laughter was cut off by the fact that they had arrived at their destination. Collège et Lycée Françoise Dupont was the host school for the conference, and they had requested that all of the attending schools participate in a brief assembly with their corresponding classes before going to their hotel and seeing the city. Damian’s class filled into a large classroom with teared desks facing a chalkboard with a projector in front of it. Two teachers were waiting for them. One was a stern looking woman with sharp features and sharp eyes, and the other was her exact opposite. One look and every Gothamite silently agreed, the second woman would not last two minutes in their home, while the first might last long enough to run screaming.

Damian found his way to the back of the class and glared at anyone who got too close, but he needn’t have bothered. The GA students knew him too well, and the GH students were subconsciously separating themselves from the “rich kids.” Once everyone settled the soft teacher cleared her throat and spoke in a sickly sweet voice that made all of the Gothamites cringe against the unfamiliarity of such a tone. No one in Gotham spoke with that level of cheer, unless they were brainwashed…or a villain…or a brain washed villain.

“Greetings everyone!” she said in English, “I am Mme. Caline Bustier, and this is Mme. Mendeleiev. We are the French chaperones for this trip. For the next week you will be partnered with our advanced English Class as you tour the sites and participate in other Conference activities. But before we begin, our class representative and her co-representative have prepared a little presentation to ensure that your time in Paris is as safe and as enjoyable as possible.”

The Gothamites snickered quietly as three girls entered the room each carrying a stack of binders which they stacked on the teacher’s desk at the front of the class. Damian narrowed his eyes at the three girls and found them…strange. They were just too different from each other and yet they moved together with familiarity. It didn’t make sense to him. First there was the blonde girl dressed almost entirely in yellow and black. With her perfect posture, designer clothes, and her narrowed eyes looking down her nose at everyone, she could easily fit right in among the Gotham Elite. Damian assumed that she would take the presenters position, but all she did was narrowly examine everyone with too knowing eyes and scoff, before sitting on the teachers desk and pulling out a nail file.

The second girl who entered the room, had all the appearance and attitude of a lacky. The first word that popped into Damian’s head was lapdog. But the demure girl with auburn hair and round glasses simply giggled at the first’s antics and took her position in front of the teachers with a confident yet shy smile.

That left the third girl. However, Damian did not get a good look at her before she glanced around the room, blushed, and promptly tripped over nothing sending all of her binders flying. The Gothamites snickered as the second girl rushed to help the third. Damian internally groaned at the blatant incompetence. But everyone was silenced by a sharp, “Hey!”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the first girl who was now glaring at them with the intensity of Poison Ivy when someone touched one of her plants. “If all you can do is laugh at someone when they fall, then you wont survive two minutes in Paris. Now apologize to my friend, and—”

“Chloe,” the third girl said and despite her flushed face and her nervously darting eyes her voice was clear and calm, and almost commanding despite the fact that it was also soft and melodic. “It’s ok. I’m not hurt, and it wasn’t their fault. It was an accident. Just take a breath, and help Sabrina pass out the binders. Please?”

The rich girl, Chloe, grumbled under her breath but obeyed (even if she slammed the binders in front of the students who had snickered). As this was happening, the clumsy girl brushed herself off and took her place in front and center. Now that Damian could examine her, he found that she was even more different than the other two, and he could not comprehend how she could have possibly commanded this Chloe. She was small, with black hair pulled back in pigtails like a five-year-old. Her bright bluebell eyes and blinding smile screamed innocence and naivety. Every single Gothamite thought the exact same thing,

“She would have died in Gotham.”

But despite her earlier clumsiness and the thoughts of the visitors, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Damian stared in fascination as a change came over the girl. Her posture straightened. Her shoulders squared. She lifted her head, and when she opened her eyes, there was nothing but confidence and clarity in them. Damian huffed in consideration and leaned back in his chair suddenly very interested in what this girl had to say as the other one, Sabrina placed his binder in front of him with a smile.

“Hello,” the girl up front said in near perfect English. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I am the class representative for Lycée Françoise Dupont Troisième Class. Or as you would say, sophomore year, same as all of you. This is my co-representative Sabrina Raincomprix.”

“Hello!” Sabrina waved as she took her place at the front of the class. “It’s nice to meat all of you. By the way this is our friend, Chloe Bourgeois. She’s a little overprotective.” Chloe just huffed and retook her seat on top of the desk, electing to ignore everyone else.

“Any way,” Marinette continued with that same blindingly bright smile. “Due to the current state of Paris, we felt it only fair to walk you through a ‘How to Survive Paris Crash Course’ before the conference gets into full swing.” The Gothamites stared at the small Parisian girl in astonishment. She wasn’t serious was she? Didn’t she know who they were? Where they were from?

Apparently she was because she ignored their incredulous stares and pulled up one of the extra binders and presented it to the class. “You were all handed a Paris Survival Guide made by the student council for the conference. In it you will find everything you need to know about our villain, our heroes, and the protocol for surviving their battles, including a map to the akuma shelters near the conference’s various locations, and a list of apps that you will be required to download in order to ensure you and your friends safety. Now if you all open your guides, I will briefly go over the most important information before turning you back over to your teachers.”

“You can’t be serious!” Damian saw Chad, one of the GA students, stand up and stare at the girl in amused disbelief. “All this for a villain? Singular? You know we’re from Gotham right? We can handle whatever cutesy little trouble maker you throw at us. We have the Joker.”

 While no one particularly liked Chad, Damian thought he was an idiotic prick, the students couldn’t help but mutter and nod in agreement. But Damian only raised his eyebrow as a change came over every single Parisian in the room. They all stood up straighter, their shoulders tense. They watched the Gothamites with a mixture of fear, frustration, and annoyance. But before any of them could speak, Chloe leapt from the desk and stomped up to Chad.

Everyone fell silent, before the fire in her eyes and the fury in her step. She slammed a hand on his desk forcing him to flinch back in his seat so that she was looming over him in a storm of black and yellow. “Oh, you think you’re so clever, huh? Oh we have the Joker! We can survive anything!” she said mockingly, “Well Monsieur ‘I’m from Gotham,’ I wish we had the Joker. Do you know why? Because—”

“Chloe!” Everyone snapped back to Marinette. Her voice was suddenly as sharp and as cold as her expression as she glared at her friend. Damian unconsciously flinched at how closely this small girl’s ferocity resembled his father’s patented expression. And everyone recognized the quiet command she held, as even those who had continued to snicker at Choe and Chad were silenced into rapt attention.

“Take a breath, Chloe,” Marinette said a bit more gently. And Damian watched in amusement as the other girl visibly relaxed as she made her way back to her friends. Once her view was unobstructed, Marinette studied the Gothamites and sighed. She set down her binder and fell into a more relaxed posture as she leaned against the desk. She then turned her gaze on Chad. From his position behind the other boy, Damian saw yet another thing in the girl that threw him into confusion. Exhaustion. “What would you do,” Marinette asked Chad calmly, “If the Joker was robbing a bank and you told a tourist to avoid that street, but they just laughed and continued walking?”

“Um,” Chad said, his eyes searching desperately for support, “I would wish them a speedy death, cause that’s all they deserve for being so stupid.”

The Gothamites chuckled, and Marinette nodded with a soft, understanding smile. “Exactly,” she said. “In your city, you respect you villains and the danger they pose, and you ask everyone to do the same. All we ask is for the same curtesy. Is that too much to ask?”

Damian found himself impressed as he watched his peers silently straighten in their seats, and begin fingering their binders. With one question, she had gained the attention and the consideration of an entire group intent on mocking her. Now she was in complete control, as she nodded and straightened. She turned, opened her binder, and said, “Now, Paris only has one villain and his partner, however, he is probably the worst villain you will ever encounter outside of Gotham. The reason is simple, he enslaves people.”

Everyone jerked up, confusion filling the classroom as Sabrina picked up the thread, “If you will all turn to page one under the section marked ‘Heroes and Villains,’ you will see the latest picture of our villain, Hawkmoth, as well as a list of his powers. On page two you will see a picture of his partner, Mayura. The rest of the chapter is a list of the heroes currently fighting them.”

“Right now Paris is at war,” Marinette said, her calm seriousness perfectly contrasting with Sabrina’s light lecturing. “But the soldiers are not willing henchmen and crooks like in Gotham. They are people, normal people just going about their lives, until Hawkmoth strikes.”

“The magic item he wields allows him to create akumas,” Sabrina said over the sound of pages turning. “Akumas are magic purple butterflies that possess Hawkmoth’s victims transforming them into villains that will do his bidding. But do not be alarmed, in order for Hawkmoth to possess you, certain qualifications must be met.”

“Negative emotion,” Marinette said, her exhaustion seemed to seep into her words as she said it. “Anger, sadness, fear, pain. These are the thoughts and emotions that Hawkmoth uses to possess his victims. Should you at any moment feel any of these emotions then you are at risk of being akumatized. And once that happens you will only care about two things. The first, will be the thing that caused the negative emotions. Be they a person, or an action, you will become obsessed with fulfilling the need the negative emotions created. The second is obeying Hawkmoth’s will without question or choice.”

“Section two in your Paris Survival Guide,” Sabrina said with unwavering cheerful professionalism. “Has a list of the most common akuma, their negative emotion, and the actions that created them. Section three has a list of self-calming techniques, as well as meditation apps, and the number for the Self Care Hotline in case you need immediate assistance. If you do not have a phone, one will be provided for you curtesy of Wayne Enterprises.”

Damian felt all eyes glance at him, but he ignored them as Marinette continued. “Akumas vary from person to person. The only thing they really have in common is bad fashion sense. But you never know how dangerous they are going to be. Some will only cause a traffic jam. Some…some will make you think the world is ending.”

“A complete list of every akuma to ever appear,” Sabrina declared, “Is listed on the website miraculousparis.gov, as well as on the only hero approved blog, SpotsOn.com. On both sites, the akumas are organized by their danger level. The weakest being a level one, the strongest being a level ten. On both sites there is also a list of protocols to survive each akuma, which can also be found in section four of your guides.”

“Your going to want to download the Akuma Alert App,” Marinette said with an almost bored air, “It is the most efficient way to avoid and survive akumas since it will alert you of their location, threat level, and which protocols to follow. Teachers, you are required to have the app, and to report on it whenever one of your students are akumatized.”

“Due to the number of visitors here for the conference, and Hawkmoth’s patterns,” Sabrina said her cheerfulness giving way to something akin to sternness. “It is very likely that we will be experiencing at least one akuma a day. Our calculations have predicted, that at least one of you will be akumatized before the end of the week. All of you will be caught in at least three akuma attacks, and since you’re from Gotham, should any of them be higher than a level six, then at least half, if not all, of you will die.”

All of the Gothamites dropped their jaws on the floor before Marinette continued with a half-amused smile, “Try not to worry too much about dying though. If you look at our main hero, Ladybug, on page three you’ll see that one of her powers is the Miraculous cure. She reverses any damage done during an akuma attack, and yes that includes resurrecting the dead. But still, do try not to die. Dying sucks, and you will remember it. If not when you’re awake, then at least when you sleep, and nobody wants a nightmare akuma, anytime soon. They suck!”

All of the Parisians stared at nothing, as they nodded in unison, before Sabrina continued in her chipper tone, “At the back of your guide there is a list off all of the apps and websites we just mentioned. We recommend you study them thoroughly before you begin your tour of the city this afternoon!”

“But please,” Marinette said almost pleadingly, “Above all else remember this, the people who are akumatized, are not the enemy. They are the victims. They will do terrible things to anyone who get in their way. But they will remember none of it. No matter who they hurt, or what they destroy, they will never remember the things they did while akumatized. It does nothing to blame them except create an opportunity for another akuma. They are not at fault no matter what happens. The enemy is Hawkmoth and Mayura. They are the villains of this city. The only villains. Please keep that in mind, and do your best to be kind and respectful to others. You do not want to be the cause of an akuma.”

“Anything else you need to know is in your guides and on the sights mentioned,” Sabrina said closing her book with a snap.

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“Welcome to Paris!” Chloe said with a scoff, and with that, the girls left.

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