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blueteller · 8 months ago

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Halour, I'm kinda curious... What crimes have Cale done, exactly? I see a number of "crime list" videos about him but the wiki don't really confirm anything💀

— 🌄

...The Time Has Come. 😌

I have long promised this list, so perfect timing! Thank you very much for this question! Allow me to introduce you to:

Cale Henituse's Crime List

(Just for the fun of it, I tried to give a different example for every single one of these. Some events repeat, but not the crimes!)

1) Accessibility of Records for Tax Department

Cale looted significant amounts of money from the Magic Tower and many other places, without leaving any legal trace.

2) Affray

Multiple occasions, like pretty much everything that happened in the Molden Kingdom.

3) Aggravated Assault

Cale rarely gets physically involved in a fight, but I think suddenly strangling Prince Adin qualifies.

4) Aggravated Burglary

Every single time "Real Arm" is in business.

5) Allowing Dog or Cat To Be a Nuisance

How else would you call encouraging your animal shape-shifting kids to be involved in criminal activity? Also Fluffy the Puppy was under Cale's command even if he technically belonged to Princess Jopis, I say it totally counts.

6) Ammunition – Possessing, Acquiring or Carrying

Cale intentionally pocketed magic bombs from the Plaza Terror Incident and used them later on.

7) Animal Cruelty

...Does Cale subjecting On to his "nice act" in front of Litana counts? Oh it definitely counts. That poor child.

8) Armed Robbery

That time Cale & co. robbed the Mercenary Guilds in Leeb-An City, for instance.

9) Arson

Setting the Wind Island on fire.

10) Assaulting or Resisting Police

That time Cale & co. went to Sez Kingdom. Pretty sure the knights trying to stop them from kidnapping the king counts as "resisting law enforcement".

11) Being Disguised With Unlawful Intent

Priest Cale in a nutshell.

12) Blackmail

That time Cale talked to Antonio Gyerre.

13) Breaking and Entering

Cale coming to the Sekka Estate.

14) Careless Driving

Debatable since a fantasy world doesn't own cars – but. I count Cale breaking through walls of a maze on a mother-effing Stone Imugi as "irresponsible driving". Just think of what kind of example you're setting for the kids, Cale!

15) Carrying a Loaded Firearm in Public

Cale has Raon following him everywhere, so.....?

16) Carrying Out Plumbing Work Without License or Registration

Cale has an underground villa in the Forest of Darkness. I'm pretty sure whatever construction work they did there would count as illegal.

17) Carrying Out Work Without a Building Permit

Cale had Dragons teleport an entire castle into the Forest of Darkness. Yet again, involves a building with no legal paperwork.

18) Causing Injury Intentionally

Obviously. Like making fiery lightning bolt strike in the middle of an Elf Village attack. Or hitting a radish with a rock.

19) Collecting or Making Documents Likely to Facilitate Terrorist Acts

Everything involving Knight Rex after he became a terrorist.

20) Conspiracy

Cale and Alberu talking about anything.

21) Control of Body Armor

After reading it up, I decided that mana disruption device ABSOLUTELY falls into this category.

22) Control and Use of Dangerous Articles

Cale adopting pretty much everyone on his team.

23) Corrupting Benefits Received By Commonwealth Public Official

Cale using Alberu's golden plaque to trap the White Star with Embrace. I mean, if being infected with that clown doesn't count as corruption, I don't know what does.

24) Cultivation of Narcotic Plants

Cale letting Hong eat plants in the Forest of Darkness. It IS, in his own words, his own backyard.

25) Dangerous Non-Guard Dog Attacks or Bites a Person or Animal with Person in Control

Cale letting Choi Han beat up Adin. ...Well, Choi Han COULD be counted as a Guard Dog, but. They never formalized the paperwork? I say it counts since Choi Han isn't legally registered!

26) Dealing With Property Suspected of Being Proceeds of Crime

Cale renting a house from Odeus Flynn.

27) Dealing With Property Which Subsequently Becomes an Instrument of Crime

Cale buying the Magic Tower before he proceeds to kidnap Mueller.

28) Delaying the Entry of Police

Cale not letting the law enforcement know about the Plaza Terror Incident beforehand. Also, activating the mana disruption device, knowing it would hinder their efforts to stop terrorism. ...Yes Cale & co. prevented said terrorism better on their own but it still counts.

29) Deliberately Omitting Information

Cale making an Vow of Death to Choi Han claiming that he can't tell him anything.

30) Destroying, Damaging and/or Interfering with Any Works of a Water Corporation

Setting the Lake of God's Tears on fire.

31) Destroying or Damaging Property

Cale destroying houses in the Gyerre territory.

32) Destruction of Evidence

Cale and Raon blowing up Hais Island 5 to cover up Ron's infiltration.

33) Directing the Activities of a Terrorist Organization

Cale's entire career in a nutshell, really.

34) Discharge Missile to Endanger Person or Property

Cale blowing up the whirlpools in the Ubarr territory.

35) Dishonestly Cause a Loss

Cale tricking the White Star into the abandoned underground city.

36) Disturbing Religious Worship

Cale messing with the Sun God's Church for being mean to Mary.

37) Driving an Unregistered Vehicle

Cale & co. using Mary's bone Dragon.

38) Drunkards Behaving in Riotous or Disorderly Manner

Cale pretending to be drunk in the Gyerre territory.

39) Endangering Safety of Aircraft

Cale letting his allies abroad an airship during the Jungle battle.

40) Entering a Place Without Authority or Lawful Excuse

Cale rescuing Raon.

41) Extortion With Threats to Destroy Property

Cale threatening the slave traffickers in the Gyerre territory.

42) Failure to Notify the Authorities of Criminal Activity

Cale doesn't notify Alberu of crap, unless it's to make him clean-up the aftermath.

43) Failure to Register a Pet

Pretty sure Cale registered exactly none of his allies. ...Except maybe the Tiger Tribe that one time they moved into Harris Village with Deruth's permission. Everyone else? Not a chance.

44) Falsifying or Concealing Identity

Cale acting as Naru von Ejellan in Endable Kingdom.

45) Forgery of Documents

Cale and Taylor faking an ancient document to fool the White Star.

46) Fraud

Cale promising Plavin Singten benefits for siding with the new Sun Church.

47) Getting Funds To, From, or For a Terrorist Organization

Cale sponsoring his allies, like giving Rosalyn magic stones.

48) Going Equipped for Stealing

Cale making Real Arm uniform.

49) Handling Stolen Goods

Cale using Divine Items.

50) Identity Theft

Cale introducing himself as Bob.

51) Indecent Assault

Cale telling Choi Han to strip that one time. (Yes, it actually happened. ...Not the way shippers wished for, obviously.)

52) Inducement to Be Appointed Liquidator

Cale helping Princess Jopis overthrow her sister on the condition of benefits for the Roan Kingdom.

53) Insider Trading

Cale selling Alberu dead mana from a Dragon.

54) Intentionally or Recklessly Causing a Bushfire

Cale setting that bush monster on fire in Xiaolen.

55) Introduction of a Drug of Dependence Into the Body of Another Person

Cale letting Rosalyn drink coffee on Earth 3.

56) Kidnapping

Cale & co. capturing Venion Stan.

57) Leaving Children Without Supervision

Cale letting the kids look for Mueller.

58) Lighting of Fires in the Open Air

Cale using Fire of Destruction against Sky Attribute.

59) Loitering Near Schools

Cale & the kittens in the Sez Kingdom.

60) Loitering With Intent to Commit an Indictable Offence

Cale letting Clopeh Sekka spot him that first time.

61) Manslaughter

Cale letting Choi Han, Rosalyn and Lock go and destroy the Archduke's Estate.

62) Membership of a Terrorist Organization

Cale making up Real Arm.

63) Murder

Cale killing the White Star.

64) Negligent Manslaughter

Cale letting Ron go on a vacation.

65) Non-dangerous Dog Attacks

Cale letting Choi Han spar with Hilsman.

66) Obtaining Property By Deception

Litana giving Cale free stuff.

67) Offences Connected With Explosive Substances

Cale commissioning Eruhaben to create Dragon's Rage.

68) Other Acts Done in Preparation for, or Planning, Terrorist Acts

Every morning Cale drinks lemon tea.

69) Possessing More Fish Than the Catch Limit

Cale dealing with Whales. ...Whales are fish, what are you talking about?

70) Possessing Controlled Weapon, Housebreaking Implements, and Things Connected With Terrorist Attacks

Everything Cale owns in the Super Rock Villa.

71) Possession of Precursor Chemicals

Cale making Billos buy alchemy ingredients.

72) Prohibited Weapons

Cale utilizing the Dragon Bones in battle.

73) Providing or Receiving Training Connected With Terrorist Acts

Cale letting his people train in his backyard.

74) Public Nuisance

Cale letting Choi Han act.

75) Reckless Conduct Endangering Life and/or Endangering Serious Injury

Cale every time he uses his Ancient Powers.

76) Recruiting for a Terrorist Organization

Cale adopting the Tiger Tribe.

77) Robbery

Stealing magic stones from the Alchemy Towers.

78) Sabotage

Cale going behind the Empire's back while he helps out the Whipper Kingdom.

79) Setting Traps to Kill

Cale Ghost Operation during the sea battle against the Indomitable Alliance.

80) Smuggling

Cale helping Cage and Taylor into capital.

81) Stalking

Cale entering Alberu's bedroom whenever he wants.

82) Stating False Name When Requested

Cale never letting anyone know about the transmigration and calling himself Cale Henituse.

83) Tax Evasion

Willful tax evasion for sudden wealth increase.

84) Terrorist Acts

Cale & co. detonating a bomb at Maple Castle.

85) Theft

Cale obtaining the blood drinking crown.

86) Threats to Inflict Serious Injury

Cale & co. threatening King Bakehe.

87) Threats to Kill

Cale cheerfully informing Adin he's going to personally kill him.

88) Torture and Interrogation

Cale ordering Beacrox to deal with the Magic Spearman.

89) Unauthorized Access to Restricted Data

Cale & co. coming to the Directory. ...Yes Bud was the Mercenary King so technically it was legal, except from the Mercenary Guild's perspective, it was break and entering.

80) Unlawful Assembly

Cale hanging out with Dragons.

81) Unlawful Oaths to Commit Treason

Cale promising to destroy the Alchemy Belltower to Rei Stecker.

82) Unlicensed Driving

Cale riding Dark Tiger Alberu.

83) Willful Damage

Cale employing Archie to destroy Duke Sekka's statues.

Any other crimes I forgot to list? Let me know!

***

BONUS CONTENT

With the help of others, we've expanded the original list of Cale's crimes!

84) Aiding and Hiding Fugitives

Cale helping out Hannah and Jack.

85) Aircraft Hijacking

Cale & co. taking over the Empire's airships.

86) Being an Accessory to Crimes

All Cale's deals with Billos in a nutshell.

87) Child Labor Law Violation

Cale making children work for their meals. Even if he's actually just adopting strays under the guise of formal work, said formal work is still illegal. Just admit you care, you weirdo.

88) Defamation

Cale spreading recordings of Adin being evil acros the Empire.

89) Deliberate Damage and/or Destruction of Currency

Cale happily throwing coins into lava.

90) Ecoterrorism

Wiping whole islands off the map counts as severe destruction of the environment.

91) Fly-tipping/Littering

Cale casually defenestrating Adin. Watch where you throw garbage, Cale. There are trash bins for a reason!

92) Harassment

Cale ordering Beacrox to beat up mountain bandits.

93) Illegal Detention/Imprisonment

Capturing prisoners of war, like the Dragon Half-Blood or the Flame Dwarves.

94) Illegal Goods Trade

Cale selling and buying items at the Caro Kingdom Auction.

95) Impersonation

Cale pretending to be different people in the Indignity Test.

96) Intentional Destruction of Cultural Heritage

Cale setting the Lake of God's Tears on Fire. Also, blowing up the Magic Tower.

97) Plunder of Public Property

Cale & co. destroying the walls of the capital of the Empire.

98) Trafficking Endangered Plants Accross Borders

Cale transporting the Fake World Tree in his badge.

99) Treason of the Crown

Cale treating his Hyung-nim with utter disrespect, such as comparing the Shining Sun of the Kingdom to a squirrel.

100) Trespassing

Cale in Endable Kingdom.

BONUS BONUS CONTENT

Not technically illegal, but:

101) Crime Against One's Well-Being

Cale abusing his health in such horrific ways even a regeneration power cannot keep up with him.

102) Crime Against Fashion

Cale preferring only black and plain clothes when he could look good in anything.

103) Crime of Self-Delusion

Cale thinking he still has a chance at slacker life.

104) Spreading Misinformation

Cale's track record of causing misunderstandings everywhere he goes is frankly terrifying.

105) THAT FACE

Cale's fabulous looks are a crime in of itself. It deserves a spot on the list.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of count's family #tcf humor #cale henituse #cale #tcf cale #cale's criminal record #q&a #replies

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bradleysass · 1 month ago

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gaze - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 878

It wasn’t unusual for James to call. It wasn’t unusual for James to call too much. But tonight—tonight was something else.

Regulus stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair dry, and stared at his phone screen. 20 missed calls.

19 from James.

1 from Sirius.

A message from Sirius waiting at the bottom:

"Reggie look at this puppy dog gaze at his phone waiting for you to answer."

Attached: a photo of James, sprawled on Sirius’s couch, cheeks flushed, holding his phone with both hands and staring at the screen like it held the answers to the universe.

Regulus sighed. And pressed play.

Voicemail 1: "Reg? REGULUS. Oh, it’s the beep already. Okay. So. Pick up."

Voicemail 2: "You’re not picking up. Okay. But. I just wanna say… I saw a cat that looked like you? Not, like, in a bad way. It was regal. And pretty. And aloof. Anyway. Call me."

Voicemail 3: "REGULUS. Regulus. Reggie. Black. Mister Black. You remember when you used to make me tea after Quidditch practice? You made it too strong on purpose. I know you did. I forgave you. Call me back."

Voicemail 4: "Okay, but, like. Seriously. Why didn’t we work? I mean, we did work. We worked so well! Like, so well. Everyone said so. Except maybe Sirius. But he doesn’t count. Or he does. I dunno. Call me."

Voicemail 5: "I’m not calling to get back together. Promise. PROMISE. Just… like. I need to hear your voice? Is that bad? That’s bad. I’m sorry. Ignore this. Unless you wanna call me back."

Voicemail 6: "Reggie. Sirius said I’m cut off but I snuck another Firewhisky. Don’t be mad. Are you mad? I miss your mad face. It was cute. Like when your nose does the thing. You know the thing. Ugh. Call me."

Voicemail 7: "You ever think about that holiday? That one in Greece? With the scooter? And you screamed the whole time because I couldn’t drive? I still have the helmet. It smells like your shampoo. I’m not weird, I swear."

Voicemail 8: "Regulus. REGULUS. I had a dream last week. You were in it. But you were a swan. And you bit me. What does that mean? Please respond."

Voicemail 9: "Did you know Lily still asks about you? She’s like, ‘How’s Reggie?’ and I’m like, ‘He’s fine, probably.’ But are you fine? Are you really fine? Because if you’re not I can be there in like, five minutes. Maybe ten. Definitely less than fifteen."

Voicemail 10: "I just wanna say… I’m proud of you. You’re doing so good. Even if you think you’re not. I see it. You’re so strong. And smart. And pretty. Like, stupid pretty. Sorry. Okay. Next voicemail will be more normal."

Voicemail 11: "...okay this one isn’t normal. I lied. BUT. Do you remember when you first let me sleep over at your flat? And you were all nervous but pretended you weren’t? And you gave me that pillow? I still have it. It’s the comfiest pillow. Like. Ever."

Voicemail 12: "I know we said we wouldn’t call each other when we’re drinking. But technically I didn’t promise. So I think it doesn’t count? Right? Right? Anyway. Hi."

Voicemail 13: "If you could be any fruit what would you be? Sirius says you’d be a pomegranate because you’re mysterious and hard to open. I think you’re more like a peach. Soft. Sweet. Little fuzzy. Heh. Okay. Call me back."

Voicemail 14: "Regulus Black. You beautiful, brilliant disaster. I hope you’re happy. You deserve happy. Even if it’s not with me. But also like. Maybe it could still be with me? Someday? Don’t answer that. Actually answer it. Or don’t. Fuck. I dunno."

Voicemail 15: "Sirius is yelling at me to stop calling you. I told him no. He threw a pillow at me. It missed. He’s bad at aiming. Haha. I won. Call me back."

Voicemail 16: "You know what? I’m glad we’re friends. I really am. You’re my best friend. You always will be. I just… sometimes I forget we’re not more. And then it hits me like a bludger to the face. But I’m okay. Just wanted you to know."

Voicemail 17: "Do you remember that song we used to dance to? It came on tonight. I almost called you right then but Sirius stole my phone. Rude. But now I got it back. And I’m calling you. Obviously. Call me back, Reggie."

Voicemail 18: "Reggie I think I’m gonna regret these voicemails tomorrow. But also not. Because they’re honest. And I mean every word. You’re amazing. And I love you. Not like… like. But also like. You know? Yeah. You know."

Voicemail 19: "Last one. I promise. Unless it’s not. But it is. I’m gonna stop now. I’m gonna go to sleep. Sirius says he’ll throw water on me if I don’t. Goodnight, Regulus. Sweet dreams. Love you."

Regulus stared at his phone. He didn’t hit call right away. But he smiled.

Then he opened the message thread, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

"Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. And that I’m glad he still has the pillow."

And with that, Regulus set the phone down. And for the first time in weeks, slept soundly.

#marauders #jeggyverse microfic #jegulus #sunchaser #starseeker #james potter #regulus black #microfic

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sophiethewitch1 · 1 year ago

Text

What We Want - Chpt. 4 - Nightmares Too

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“You wanna get out from under there?”

What sort of question is that? Of course, you don’t. You’re going to live here now. You’re never leaving this tiny, cramped space till you rot away and die. The stained underside of some IKEA desk was your new home.

Well, since your actual home was seeming less and less like an option. Which kinda sucks, because you’re feeling surprisingly possessive of your stuff. You don’t want fancy dresses or bubbly champagne, you want your ratty couch and the neighbour’s cat that liked to visit in the middle of the night. Your mother was right, you were the type of person to never be happy no matter what. You could appreciate the food, though.

Shaking, trembling, knees clutched to your chest, you look up. Slowly, because you’ll probably piss yourself if you don’t.

Now that you weren’t holding his hand, the vigilante known as Red Hood was much, much scarier. He was sitting on the carpeted floor with you, but he still somehow looked incredibly menacing. You preferred his old look, honestly. The helmet had less ‘grim reaper’ vibes. The hood and metal face mask made him seem like a cyborg assassin, or something equally terrifying. He was terrifying.

Still, you could appreciate the insane sort of hilarity of this situation. The notorious crime fighter and crime committer was sitting here with you, crossed legs, twiddling his thumbs away. You press your face into your hands, laugh, and then scream. The sound is muffled, but he probably still hears the exciting new phase of your breakdown.

“Don’t…” your voice cuts off, you have to think before you can manage to speak again, “Don’t you have something better to be doing?”

His giant shoulders shrug.

“I’ve got time.”

Did he? You don’t know how long you’d been up here, how long you’d been sitting here either. You’d fallen asleep, despite your desperate fight not to, so it could be anywhere between 10 to the next day. Had you missed midnight? God, you hoped not.

That stupid little ritual is what convinces you to leave. Not common sense, not the Hood, not your desperate desire to get home and sleep. No, it’s the image of your mother’s tired smile, the city in the background as you wish her another happy birthday after a long day of work. It’s a memory you’re not willing to give up, even if you technically already made your wish.

You’d lived this awful day twice. You got to blow out your candles twice, too.

Slowly, surely, you climb out from under the desk. Red Hood is quiet, careful. He doesn’t move apart from a subtle shift in his hood, suggesting he’s watching you. He’s acting like you’re a wild animal or something, like he might scare you off, or might prompt you to attack.

If he tries anything, you will. It doesn’t matter that he could snap your neck like a twig. Maybe he’s right to act that way, you’re feeling pretty feral right now. Half giving him your back, you turn the monitor for the computer on. It’s Wayne property, so you think you technically have some right to it. It’s not like you’re going to hack it or anything, you just need it to-

11:48.

“Thank god,” you sigh, relieved. Still, you’re not out of the woods yet. You needed at least a lighter, hopefully, a candle and a desert of some kind too. There were lots of cakes downstairs, if you felt you could do it. Big ‘if’ there. The mental breakdown was still well underway. And not everyone could dodge a punch like Red Hood could. Knowing you, you’d probably get sued for millions if you accidentally snapped at some poor rando.

Let’s start small. You wrench open the office’s drawer and start rooting around. You find lots of things, a Wayne Enterprises-themed stress toy, a kid’s drawing of them and their parent holding hands, and a surprising amount of hand cream, but no lighter. You slam the drawer closed and move to the next one.

“Hey, what are you doing?” his voice rumbles out, and your head snaps around.

You look down. Right. This is probably illegal. You were rooting through someone else’s private property. Of course, it wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it was definitely the first time you’d done it in plain view of a vigilante.

Crap. You hadn’t thought. That was your entire night, summarised.

“Uh, this is… Do you have a lighter?” you ask, wincing. You don’t really like the mask he’s wearing. Apart from being so intimidating, you’re shaking like a wet chihuahua, it’s also impossible to tell what he’s thinking through it. The domino mask, the metal face mask and the voice changer completely hid any emotion. Full coverage and all.

The helmet probably would’ve made that even harder. You’d still prefer it. This guy's creepy.

“You smoke?” he responds, slowly but surely getting to his feet. You back up quickly, pressing yourself to the wall of the cubicle. Red Hood pauses and then moves even slower. He’s careful not to frighten you any more than already.

This was all really strange. One of the strangest things that had ever happened to you. And you might’ve woken up this morning in an alternate dimension. Or something, you had zero clue what was going on. God, you really wished you’d paid more attention in science class. You’d thought Mr Gregory was crazy, but he’d gotten the last laugh.

“I don’t,” you clench your sweaty fists tight, “Maybe I should.”

“Don’t get started, it’s impossible to stop,” Red Hood says, digging into his pocket for something. You freeze, but relax again when he hands you a scuffed metal lighter.

Holding it close to your chest, you whisper a thank you to him. He nods his head in acknowledgement.

This was really weird. You couldn’t say it enough.

“I hate you,” you state because you sort of have to. Even when he’s being nice to you, helping you. It’s an obligation. You have to make sure that despite the show of good faith he was offering, you were certainly feeling no such thing.

“I figured,” he replies, which like- What the fuck? Does this make absolutely zero sense to anybody else? You’re not sure what about your panic-stricken tears and desperate hand-holding made you seem hateful, but you could work with it.

Maybe all the feelings you push down are starting to show. You ignore how worried that makes you because you’ve had enough for today. Today was more than e-fucking-nough.

You were going to find a cake and a candle, and you were going to make your wish. Again, because life sucks. You were going to finish this horrible day again because life sucks. And hopefully, you’d wake up tomorrow… tomorrow, not today.

You weren’t sure if you would. Life sucks, right?

You look the Red Hood in his creepy glowing red eyes and say, “I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

There’s quiet between you two for a moment. You think he’s staring at you, trying to figure you out. He knows you hate him, but you’re… well, you’re too tired to be angry right now. You just want to go to sleep. You just want this damn day to end. Tomorrow you’d go back to hating all the vigilantes of Gotham with a fiery passion, but today…

Well, you wouldn’t call it peaceful, whatever this situation is. Maybe it’s understanding. He seems understanding, for some reason. You don’t really want to think about that.

You just wanted to hate him. It was easier that way. Then you didn’t have to hate yourself so much.

“I’m going to go find some cake and a candle. It’s my birthday and I haven’t made a wish.”

Red Hood nods, “I could eat.”

That wasn’t an invitation, but whatever. Guess you’re blowing out your candles for your twenty-first with… this guy. Better than yesterday, which was with nobody but yourself and your trashy TV. Or, well, the first today.

You really think you are losing your mind. Whatever, whatever, let’s worry about it later.

After one of the most awkward and uncomfortable elevator rides of your life, squished into a corner as Red Hood took up the lion’s share of space, you find yourself back on the first floor. It’s chaos. The gorgeously decorated gala is now in rubble, and people are rushing around with the sort of fear you’d expect after the fucking Joker showed up.

He wasn’t here, which was good. It was important to focus on the good.

First responders flit around the space, checking the people who seem worse for wear and the rich bastards who think they’re more important than the service workers who are cut or bruised. All the food tables have been knocked over, the waste of it making you upset. Of course the Joker wastes food, he’s gotta be the evilest man on earth or something. It’s not just the interior that’s been destroyed, either. The giant gothic windows have been shattered inward, and broken glass covers the entire floor space. Red and blue lights flash through the gaping holes, bits of glass still attached to the stone sending it cascading across the walls.

You look down. You’re missing your shoes.

“You can’t walk on that,” Big Red says, which like, duh.

“I know that,” you mutter, looking around for another way. Ah, good, there’s a staff entrance over there, which you think probably leads to the kitchen-

“I could carry you.”

You give him a disturbed look and he shrugs. Pointing to the ‘staff only’ door, you wish you had the strength to tell the guy to fuck off. He feels like a babysitter or something.

“I’m going in there.” ‘Please don’t follow me.’

He follows you, because of course, he does.

Lucky for you, the staff entrance leads straight to the kitchen. Even luckier, there’s absolutely nobody here to witness you lose your mind. There are also lots of dishes waiting to be served, already plated and perfect. This is a professional kitchen, but it was your birthday so you have to assume they’d have had candles or a cake prepared.

You walk through the giant kitchen, and Red Hood hangs back. He leans against the doorway, crossing his tree-tunk-esque arms and glowering. Nowhere can do a scary hero like Gotham can. He was really messing with your vibe, which wasn’t all that great in the first place.

Your eyes rove over the platters, head snapping back when you spot a tiny set of confectionaries at the back. Cupcakes, three in total. They don’t match the rest of the other high-quality foods, but you know they’re the ones you want anyway. You hope this didn’t belong to someone else, and promise to pay them back… somehow. You’d write a note or something, leave your number behind.

You were rich now. You’d have preferred the lottery instead of all this. What’s the saying, ‘beggars can’t be choosers?’ You’d certainly been begging.

It’s a struggle to reach the back of the counter without knocking any of the other food. You grab the plate, lift it up and over, and then set it back down on an empty stretch of countertop.

You look over the three cupcakes, trying to pick one. There’s one that’s a dark raspberry pink. A pink that’s a little too dark, actually. Almost… reddish. You glance over your shoulder at the devil lurking behind you, wince, and decide you’re going for the blue cupcake. You think this might’ve also been one of Sam’s favourite colours. It would’ve been at some point, at least.

Now, candles. This might be the hard part, but it’s the most important one. Again you start rooting through some stranger’s property, and Red Hood just watches silently. It’s weird. This whole situation is weird. You’re tired and confused and you’re half convinced you’re dreaming it all, but… but you’re definitely starting to think this might be real.

And that’s fucking scary. So, back to candle hunting. They had to have some, it was your birthday. Maybe, you were pretty sure. Somehow the worst day of the year had happened twice because God knows you had some shit luck. You’d really like some solid answers, instead of just ‘maybe!’. And for some reason, you really didn’t think you’d be getting them anytime soon.

Ah, shoot. You found your candle. It’s one of those giant ‘Happy Birthday’ cake toppers, all loopy and connected words. Your cupcake is way too small, and your candle is way too big. Well, you’re nothing if not resourceful. When you bend the candle, the wax snaps easily under your grip. You’re left with a capital ‘H’ and under that the ‘B’ and little ‘i’ and ‘r’ from the beginning of birthday. Good enough, you suppose.

You stick the crumbly, glittery monstrosity on top of the stolen cupcake, and swipe the lighter again. The letters sag to the side, and you nudge them back into balance.

You glance down at the ovens, reading the bright neon numbers. 11:57.

You wait, flicking the lighter open and closed. The metallic click, the rhythm of the movement, it settles you a bit.

“Why are you waiting?” Red Hood pipes up, breaking that comfortable silence. At least he doesn’t come any closer, still lingering half in the room, half not.

“It has to be midnight,” you answer, wishing him away. This is your thing. You didn’t want anybody here for it, didn’t want anybody else’s presence tainting this piece of your mother’s memory. You were greedy for it, not eager to share.

You were sharing today. There’s a part of you that wants to scream and rant at the man who for some unknown reason simply will not leave, but you imagine your mother’s frowning face, and you can’t do it. She’s the angel on your shoulder (nagging, nagging, nagging) compared to your usual devil-inclined self. She was always insisting you needed to be a better host, be nicer to people. Maybe make more friends. And after she’d gone, you’d tried, you really, really had.

But Red Hood was an altogether different matter. Everything they were, everything they represented, was an altogether different matter.

You were obsessed with the Waynes. And in a different, more bitter, spiteful, malicious way, you were obsessed with the Bats, too.

You weren’t going to be friends with Red Hood. You hated him, despised him. Mum always said you needed to get better at forgiving people. You disagreed, but just… maybe just for today, you wouldn’t make him leave.

You could glare at him, though. You felt that was fair enough. He ignores your narrowed eyes like a seasoned professional. Bet he’s had a lot of people hate him. Bet he deserves it.

“It’s 11:59,” he tells you, and you stop glaring at him to light the candle.

The light is weak, barely able to touch you. Still, it’s strong enough to get rid of those tiny glimpses of red and blue police lights, to keep away the darkness for just long enough. You sigh into the light, absorbing it into yourself. You’d always thought the world was too dark, and you hated winter when you’d lose the sun. So like you had to hate the dark, you had to love this light. This tiny little candle, burning away.

“What’re you gonna wish for?”

You stare at the flickering flame. It twitches back and forth. Casts light into the kitchen. Mesmerises you. It’s barely alive, and you’re about to put it out before it can even start. It could’ve been some great fire, some city-destroying blaze. And you’re going to kill it. Kill it before it can kill you, can kill everyone here. Kill it before it could have ever hoped to live, to thrive.

Just a baby. Just a little, little baby.

It doesn’t deserve it. That never seems to matter. It never mattered before.

“The Joker to die.”

You exhale, blowing the light out and sending the kitchen into darkness. When you manage to find the light switch and turn it on, the room is empty. It’s just you, your cake, and your tears. Your hands clench, and then you realise you’re still holding it.

You still have the Red Hood’s lighter. He left without it.

Well, finder’s keepers, right?

You’re shaking in the back of the ambulance, the blanket wrapped around your shoulders not enough to keep out the Gotham night’s chill. You don’t really remember how you got here, to be honest. Everything’s pretty goddamn blurry. You were talking to a vigilante, a red one. Not down here, staring up at the Wayne Tower. You remember his face in the shifting candlelight. Did you blow out your candles with him? That was a fucking crazy thought.

And now the Bruce Wayne has a hand on your shoulder. You don’t remember when he arrived. He’s talking with the paramedic, chatting over the top of your head. There words are going in one ear and out the other, it’s alien for as much as you can understand. You want to shake his hand off, you don’t want anyone touching you right now. Especially not a stranger.

Even if it was a guy you had owned a fan Twitter for. Those were the darkest days of your past. Even more so than the time you’d totally thought about jumping in front of the Gotham subway. You’d only not done it because you’d have felt bad for wasting other commuters' time. What were you doing? Ah, right.

In the end, you don’t shove him off, because you don’t know if you can move other than blink. Even that’s against your will. Your eyelashes are fluttering randomly, eyes flicking around the interior of the ambulance. You’re barely conscious. And you doubt you’ll remember any of this later, either. You can feel the memories slipping away, the drain at the back of your mind sucking up the fear and bad thoughts and leaving you blank and empty. Numb, safe, but numb.

The paramedic’s mouth moves. You don’t think she’s talking to you, which is good. You can’t hear her over the ringing in your ears. She does some final checks, and then she’s off to the next person.

The two of you are left to silence, to watch the rest of the world in its chaos. You feel like there’s a barrier, a pane of glass, between you and the other people here. Like your TV screen, really. The paramedic goes to a woman and her son. The woman seems fine, but the son has a long gash on his arm. She’s screaming, he’s crying, and the paramedic is handling it all with calm professionalism. You wanted to start screaming too.

You glance at a man in a suit yelling at another first responder, spittle flying into the air with his rage. You think he’s one of the ones you saw earlier in the ballroom. His suit is still perfect, and he doesn’t have a speck of blood on him. Even his hair is still perfectly brushed and coiled.

You looked like a drowned rat in comparison.

“…Are you alright?” The question breaks the silence, and you slowly turn to look up at Bruce.

Well, that’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. You thought Bruce Wayne was supposed to be brilliant. Maybe he’s just feeling bad because of the new trauma he’s gifted you tonight? It wasn’t his fault. As most of your mental health issues stemmed from, it was the Joker’s fault.

“No,” you answer, and he nods stiffly. Great chat.

He huffs out a sound of frustration, lifting the hand on your shoulder. Immediately, some of the tension in you seeps out. You hope he doesn’t notice. You think he probably does.

Someone calls out your name. Your head turns to the crowd. They call out your name again, this time closer, and you call back. You’re sort of surprised when a crying Jeanine pushes out of the throng of people. She’s a mess, her hair out of her pristine bun, her suit missing its jacket, and her glasses cracked. Seems she didn’t have a very nice time either.

You look down. She’s also missing her shoes. It’d be kind of gross, walking around on Gotham’s streets barefoot, if you could manage to give a shit. You’re still restarting, however, and all energy is going towards not crying again. You’re failing. Awfully bad, at that.

Whatever. Gotta try.

Panting, Jeanine places her hands on her knees, “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for you to load the words through your Windows XP brain, but when you do, you’re more confused than you were a second ago.

“What? Why are you sorry?” you say, for a second imagining Jeanine as one of the people that attacked you.

“Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t… hadn’t forced you to come…” Jeanine’s voice trails off, a look of horror on her face. Ah, she’s noticed Bruce. Apparently, she’s quite afraid of the man. You feel a sense of camaraderie towards the woman. God knows how many times you’d worn the exact same expression talking to one of your own bosses.

And then, well, then you usually got fired. It’s not looking good for her.

“Mister Wayne! I didn’t see you there, apologies!” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Jeanine, it’s good to see you. Are you well, have you checked with the paramedics yet?”

“I have, Sir. Thank you for worrying about me,” Jeanine answers, with a healthy dose of hero-worship in her voice. You can’t judge, you’d be staring all starry-eyed at Bruce if you weren’t falling asleep where you sat. Apparently, traumatic experiences make you sleep. Who would’ve thought?

Like you hadn’t experienced this scenario a thousand times before. First time with fucking Bruce Wayne standing right next to you, though.

“Of course, I would. You’re one of my people,” he says, giving her a warm smile. Jeanine physically sags with relief at his words, because it sounds like she’s probably not getting fired tonight.

Bruce gets a notification on his phone, hums, and then slides it back into his pant pocket.

“Jeanine, we’re going back together to the manor tonight,” Bruce continues. Also, you were? Nobody mentioned that to you, and certainly nobody asked you about it. Well, fuck what you want, right? Who cares if you desperately want your cramped apartment in the Narrows, you’re getting shipped off to the fucking Wayne Manor of all places.

You just go along with it. Just go along with it. Wayne Manor probably has lots of nice, plush beds, and you’d kill for a pillow and some ambient rain sounds right now.

Bruce looks off to the side, where Tim is on the phone. They make eye contact, Bruce nods, and then turns back to the two of you.

“I’ll be right back. You two stay here, do not go anywhere,” he commands, king of the castle.

There’s quiet between the two of you. Jeanine squirms under your gaze, obviously guilty. You think back over her words, and then you groan.

“Jeanine. Jeanine, did I not have to go to this fucking party?”

Jeanine is quiet. She’s too fucking quiet.

“Jeanine?” your voice is shaky, and you have to bite the inside of your lip to force yourself not to tear up again. It was getting kind of embarrassing, honestly. You did not cry this much. Usually. This was not a usual day, of course. You’d been Ground Hog Day-ed into another reality… you think.

“No, Ma’am, you didn’t need to go. You’re… you used to be a Wayne, and even if you’ve parted from the name, you still have the power that comes with that. You did not have to come tonight,” she says, sounding remorseful and afraid. And maybe she should be.

If you had as much power as she said, you could probably fire her. You press your hands into your face.

“I thought you said you’d quit if I didn’t go,” you grind out, digging your fingers into your eyes, clawing into your already ruined makeup.

“I was lying, Ma’am. As I always do. I’m sorry,” she apologises. None of this makes any sense, and neither does she. Why would she lie? Why is this normal? What is the new normal, and how are you supposed to hide if you don’t know how to blend in?

You realise that you’re falling into old habits instinctively. That maybe you should say something about all this, or at least that you have some weird form of amnesia. You don’t, though. You’re scared, you’re far too scared.

“Well how- I thought you were serious this time!” you cry out, stuttering over your own lies, flinging your hands from your face. Jeanine winces at you. It’s probably the dried mascara running down your face in black rivulets, making you look like an odd mix between a raccoon and a banshee.

You’d seen your reflection in the ambulance’s side mirror. It had almost been as scary as the Joker’s goons. Almost.

“…Please, please don’t fire me,” she begs, her hands clasped tight in front of her.

You realise you probably should for an admittance like that. This was too complicated, this woman and her non-existent relationship with you was far too complicated. You also realise that whoever ran this stupid body before was very used to Jeanine’s baseless threats, and it wouldn’t be at all fair to her. And she seems quite desperate for this job. Which really doesn’t make much sense, because she seems quite important, and she’s working for you, someone else who seems quite important.

God if you fucking knew. You were quickly discovering you didn’t know shit.

“I won’t, just… just don’t say anything about this to anyone, okay? I’m…” you sigh, uncertain what to do, what to say, “I’m having a hard time.”

“Thank you, thank you so, so, so much. I’ll pay you back, I won’t do it again, I’ll do whatever you ask me to-”

“That’s enough, please. I just… I’d like some quiet,” you cut her off, closing your eyes and shuffling back in the ambulance. You cut yourself off from the rest of the world, hide your head behind your knees, and try to ignore the flashing lights and yelling voices. The ambulance shifts weight slightly as Jeanine sits beside you. She’s not too close to feel uncomfortable, just toeing the line.

Bruce comes back, looking over the two of you. He seems sombre, but you’re not sure why. Is it the entire night? Did something bad happen again? Is it just how miserable the two of you look? You don’t care enough to ask.

You just don’t care.

You tune out of their conversation again, even knowing it might be important. When Jeanine leaves, and Bruce invites you to a black car, you follow silently. He opens the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you follow him in.

He knocks on the panel separating the two of you from whoever’s driving the car, and like a well-oiled machine, the car pulls out of the traffic and the paparazzi and out onto the street. Must be nice. You bet Jeanine is going to have to walk home.

Ah, wait, you’re one of them now. You’re one of those ‘must be nice’ types. Weird. You kept forgetting, somehow. Even with Gotham’s prince sitting next to you. Weird.

“I want you to stay at the manor for the night,” Bruce says, and you nod, barely listening. You’re barely conscious, far too tired to understand the implications of the words he was saying. If there were any, like you said, you couldn’t tell.

You’re watching the city go by, the light streaming past in a blur of colours. You rest your head in your hand, your elbow on the armrest. Even with you pressing your face to the glass, you can’t see the sky. The buildings stretch too high. And even if you could, it wasn’t like you’d see anything aside from some late-night flights. The Gotham light pollution and the smoke-filled sky would see to that.

Bruce doesn’t say anything else after that. You’re grateful for the quiet.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and maybe in some act of self-harm, try to remember what happened tonight. Try to pick through your thoughts, and understand whatever happened. That man… that horrible man. He disappeared into thin air. Gone, just gone.

And your world had changed. You’d gotten richer, more powerful. And yet, and yet… you knew this feeling. You knew this weakness. You knew what it meant when you looked in the mirror and you saw something barely alive.

You knew what grief looked like.

You want to rip out your own hair and chew off your own skin. It didn’t make any sense, and you felt crazier and crazier by the second. And none of it made sense, and yet, you had the worst feeling. An omen, a dark cloud. Something worse than the Joker, something that made even less sense.

Even in this life, were you alone? That wasn’t fair. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense at all.

Your voice is quiet in the car. Her voice is quiet in the car.

“Do you know where my Mum is?” a little girl asks the big, strong man, her tiny body dwarfed by the black leather of the car. She’s out of place, out of time. She doesn’t fit here.

She doesn’t think she ever has.

The big, strong man, the hero, stays silent, his face hidden by the darkness. The little girl sobs, cries, wails. She wants her mum back. She wants her family back. And now, she wants her life back.

All have been stolen from her.

Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were dead. Maybe this was another world, and both you and her now have to navigate another lonely place. At least you’d do it together, hand in hand.

It didn’t matter. You knew where you needed to be.

“I want to see it.”

You need to see it. You grasp desperately at Bruce’s arm, nails digging into his expensive and ruined suit. Begging him, pleading him.

He says something. You think it’s a ‘what?’

“I want to see their graves. I want to see my mother’s grave.”

Bruce’s face darkens, and you’re too tired, too exhausted to tell what emotion flits across it. You wonder if it’s the same desperation you feel. But it confirms it. They’re dead. They’re still dead. Despite everything, despite the entire world changing for you, the most important part had been forgotten.

They were still dead. And you were still here. Alone.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, but for tonight, you need to rest,” he promises you, and your hand releases. You watch your palm hang limply in your lap, and for a second, it doesn’t seem like your hand. Bruce starts speaking again, this apologetic, pitying tone. You can’t stand it. You can’t stand it one bit.

And in the rudest, most cowardly thing you’ve ever done, you cover your ears like a child.

The rest of the car ride passes in a blur of colour and sound. You’re in Gotham, driving away from the Tower, you’re at the edges of town, passing over one of the bridges, you’re driving through New Jersey’s countryside, passing green fields and old buildings. You go by the iron-wrought gates of Wayne Manor, up the alley’s winding entryway, and finally, the car rolls to a stop in front of the stairs.

To Mr. Wayne’s credit, he doesn’t open the fucking door for you again. You get to stumble your way out on your own two stubborn legs, swaying drunkenly, sickly. He waits for you at the stairs, and you ignore the arm he offers you. He’s just as blindingly irritating as his son.

Didn’t you like these people? You would again in the morning, you just needed your hate. It was the only thing keeping you going at this point. Pure rage was fueling you as you climbed those steps. You’re panting, but you don’t really know why. They’re not that tall.

You feel weak. You feel so, so weak. And you hate it. You’d worked so hard to be free of it, even when you longed for it like a toxic ex-lover, you’d pushed it away. And now it had it’s fangs wrapped around you again, and again, you’d have to climb out of hell.

Today, it was more literal. Tomorrow? God fucking knows. People were literally vanishing from thin air, Pete’s sake. You’ll try, of course. But god fucking knows.

A butler opens the door, and Bruce enters. Once you follow in, the butler closes the door behind him. This time, you really do try to hear what they say. It’s impossible. You concentrate, but all you get for your hard work is a headache. Tomorrow, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The butler rushes off, something important and butler-y to be done. You really didn’t know what butlers did. You couldn’t imagine what their jobs were other than cleaning and cooking. Accounting? Did butlers do accounting?

“I need to handle some things. Will you be able to find your old room alright?” Bruce asks, interrupting your increasingly inane thoughts.

You blink, at him stupidly. Because you were stupid. You had a brand to keep.

“Yes,” you lie. You don’t really know why you do. Some odd mix of self-protective instincts, exhaustion-induced delirium, and also a deep desire to be alone. You really, really wanted to be fucking alone.

“Goodnight then,” Bruce says, he pauses like he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. He’s done that twice now, you think. Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort. He’d be right.

You watch his back as he strides off into the darkness of the manor, leaving you shivering in the empty foyer. Your expensive ballgown is tattered, grimy, and worst of all, bloody. You want to get out of it. And then you want to sleep.

The click of his dress shoes fades, and you’re left wondering what the fuck you’re going to do next. Could you just start storming into random empty rooms? Where would you find any clothes? You were not going to sleep in this dress, no way.

So, you start up the grand staircase and start storming into random empty rooms. You find studies, bathrooms, and bedrooms. None that seem like anyone lives in them, of course. They feel like fancy hotel stays, the type you see online and sigh about.

The house, no, the manor, is quiet. Empty. It feels haunted, honestly. It probably was, a building this old and important. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know about Martha and Thomas Wayne. You didn’t think any Gotham native didn’t know about them, about the tragedy that had struck them.

It made Bruce seem like someone real, someone like you. Because if even the billionaires could get shot in alleys in Gotham City, it made more sense when the poor folks died. Like you were all human like God didn’t play favourites.

But, let’s be honest, you’d prefer to be an orphan in a mansion than the Narrows. Bruce Wayne had time to heal after what happened to him, for you it was from the frying pan to the fire.

The orphanage you’d been in for two years before you’d turned eighteen and been kicked out had had a very strict hierarchy. Probably still did, you never went back to check. It was technically a foster home, but the ancient sign beside the front door spoke differently. ‘Gotham Orphanage - Founded by Alan Wayne 1878’, the mark of the Waynes even found there. You used to touch the sign every time you went past it like it was some odd good luck charm. You still owe that sign your first successful job interview. Like you didn’t touch the copper plate every damn day, including every day you’d failed another interview.

And, well, it was Gotham. It wasn’t a good place. It had long been cemented in your mind that those theories that Gotham was cursed were true. That there wasn’t any other explanation.

You pause in your musings when you find a room that actually looks like it might be lived in. A long time ago, you think, from the dust covering the shelves. When you check the closet, you find men’s clothes, also untouched. You hope whoever lives here doesn’t care if you steal their shit, because you certainly don’t. Oh wow, this bathroom is gorgeous. The tub is gigantic, easily able to fit a group of at least six, maybe more. Still, you want to go to sleep more than you want a nice soak, so you go for a quick shower where you get rid of all… all the blood.

You watch the red run down the drain and are brought back to much simpler times.

Even as one of the older kids, you were still new blood. You hadn’t made any friends when you tried to defend the younger, weaker kids, either. The foster ‘parents’ who didn’t let you call them anything other than Mrs and Mr Hemming didn’t care about any abuse that happened under the house, as long as it wasn’t visible. You’d done this ritual before, but it actually had been your blood. It hadn’t hurt as much as this did, for some unknowable reason.

You weren’t a fighter. The very few punches you did take, you never hit back. Not like you had tonight. You’d been terrified the Hemmings would kick you out, stop feeding you. Still, you never moved, either. Never let the others take their anger out on the younger kids. You couldn’t do it. And now, looking back on it, your fear of the Hemmings retaliating was stupid. They’d needed the funds the foster caring gave them, and they were always trying to take in more and more kids.

They were empty threats. You were a terrified child. The what-ifs didn’t really matter anymore.

And maybe you were a bleeding heart type, like the other kids had said. Maybe you were gullible, naive, and a pushover. Like you hadn’t been through all the bullshit everyone else had. Like you being nice and hopeful and all those things that got you picked on weren’t all deliberate choices. One day, all the anger and rage you had would bubble over. It would destroy you and your life in a catastrophe, not unlike the one that took your family.

You’d already pushed it down so many times. Waking up today, in a different, unfamiliar world, had probably just made it worse. As always, you ignore it. It’s not worth worrying about.

Getting out of the shower, you do a very lazy towel off and then grab that mystery man’s clothes. They’re mostly dress suits, but you find a few old T-shirts. It hangs off you like a curtain, but it’s warm and it smells nice. Minty and earthy and… oddly free. Bouncy, alive, but still calming and relaxing. It’s a nice counter to the corpse vibes you’re rocking right now, which is decidedly un-alive and un-calm.

You wonder what it would’ve been like to mourn in safety. Where you didn’t have to worry if someone would steal your portion of food or the few funds you could hide in the garden. Where the glares of others didn’t constantly dig into your skin, reminding you that you weren’t wanted there. That you never would be.

That was alright. The place had stunk of mould and rat shit anyway. And maybe you had in this life. It didn't look like you were doing much better, anyway. No, this version of you somehow looked worse. You didn't know how it was possible, and then you remind yourself that none of this is possible, and you really ought to let go of that word.

Still, you lived in Gotham. You would always live in Gotham. You couldn’t leave, it was your home. It was a part of you, like every other sorry idiot who still lived here. School shootings, bomb threats, the city’s regular ol’ disasters. Even if you had been put in a good foster home, even if you had lived... here, you doubted your life would’ve been that much better. Of course, you were still bitter about it. Couldn’t the world just take a little bit off your plate? Maybe it was now, maybe this was the universe's way of saying sorry. A fancy, but empty house, with a still dead family. Maybe you were a little too greedy, a little too jealous.

You slide the duvet covers to the side, untucking them just like you do whenever you do stay in a crappy motel. When all the sides are thoroughly untucked, you slide underneath the covers. When your face lands on the pillow, you sigh in relief. Despite all the bullshit you’d suffered tonight, you had silk pillows, and this phone had youtube premium, so you could listen to rain sounds on it.

Safe. Sort of. Happy. Sort of. Alive. Sort of.

You told yourself it could be worse. And it could’ve been, so you kept on. Today, even after the night you’d had, you tell yourself it could be worse, again. At least the goon didn’t capture you, at least you didn’t actually see the Joker, at least you had a safe bed for the night, at least…

At least the Batman didn’t rescue you. You know it’s silly, but you can’t help but think it.

You hated him almost as much as the Joker, which was saying something since you regularly daydreamed about ripping that man limb from limb. Because the Bat refused to do anything about the supervillain, to finally put the mad dog down, you would always hate him. There wasn’t any other option. You sort of hated his entire entourage. Even Red Hood a bit, since even if they constantly fought, it was obvious both of them held back when dealing with each other. Still, you hated Red Hood and Robin a little less, after tonight. You kind of owed it to them.

You didn’t want to. You wanted to hate them and keep hating them till you died. It was one of your little things, the little things you couldn’t let go of. The little things that hinted at your less-than-perfect sanity. You felt that if you ever forgot what they’d done, what they kept doing every day, that you’d be disrespecting your family, forgetting some part of them. Some part of their memory, which you greedily hoarded away. Not a single precious recollection was to be lost, not ever.

You weren’t allowed to move on. Weren’t supposed to. Sometimes the many little rules you’d made for yourself felt like they were going to eat you alive. A swarm devouring its master. Swallowing you down bit by bit. Up and up, eating all the parts of you pushed down.

You wrap the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes tight. Like if you tuck your feet inside the duvet, the monsters can’t get you. Your monsters can’t get you. Sometimes it felt like they were already feasting, and you just refused to feel it.

But only sometimes, right?

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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queenofmorningstar · 2 months ago

Text

Caught Between the Vees

The Vees x f! Intern Reader

Summary: You're Vox's date to the gala, where information is flowing like champagne, and you're quick to grab it.

CW: The Vees being unhinged, Vox has some brain cells. Vox tries hardest not to simp, but fails. P in v, fingering, blowjob. Appearance Of Helluva Boss Villains.

Word Count: 4.8K

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5

Chapter Four: Tv Star

Vox’s arms were crossed, lips pursed as he leaned against the wall, eyes flicking between Val and Velvette, who were both lounging far too comfortably.

Vel was upside down on the couch, legs kicking up over the backrest, her phone in her hands as usual. “So, is no one gonna talk about the fact that I technically called dibs?”

Valentino snorted around his cigarette and waved lazily from his seat. “You didn’t call dibs, you just moved fast. That’s not the same thing, baby.”

“Fast?” Velvette grinned. “She came onto me. I didn’t even need to ask nicely.”

Vox leaned against the edge of the bar and gave a short laugh. His screenface flicked to a flat-line smile, and an expression of exaggerated boredom. “You two act like I wasn’t gonna get there eventually,” he said, sipping his liquor. “I’m playing the long game.”

“Is that what we’re calling sulking now?” Val drawled, flicking ash into a crystal tray. “Damn, baby, just say you are salty and move on.”

Vox rolled his eyes and smirked, but the twist of his mouth said he wasn’t denying it. “I can’t believe you guys fucked her first.”

“Skill issue, darlin’.” Vel mocked him. “You’re trying to be mysterious but we all know you have a large file of her in your system.”

The other two seemed in a mood to irritate him.

“She was delicious,” she drawled, stretching like a cat in sunlight. “Like, I knew she’d be fun, but—ugh. That whimper she makes when she’s close?,” She flicked her gaze across the room with purpose, “And she did—twice.”

“I just think it’s funny,” he said, the pitch of his voice warping just slightly, “how you two couldn’t wait. I mean, really? I was working on a connection. She actually talks to me. We have shared interests. But you two jumped on her like horny animals the second she stepped into the room.”

Valentino took a slow sip, unbothered. “We just didn’t waste time.”

“She’s smart,” Vox snapped. “She respects my ideas and innovations.”

Velvette bit her lip, eyes glittering with mischief. “Mmm, she respected my mouth just fine. Especially when I had her legs shaking around my shoulders.”

Vox’s grip tightened on his glass.

Val snorted. “You didn’t see her when I had her bent over the couch. Both holes full, moaning like a bitch in heat. She loved it.”

Vel chuckled. “I did see some photos of her in that pearl set from your cameras. Lovely. I get why you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Vox hissed. “I just think I should’ve had the first go. She likes me.”

Val hummed, amused. “Sweetheart likes all of us. That’s kind of the point.”

Velvette went back to her phone. “Don’t worry too much. She asks about you all the time. Gets this little smile when your name comes up.”

Vox relaxed at that.

Velvette was the first to break the brief silence that followed Vox’s pissy tantrum, stretching her arms overhead.“So…who’s gonna be the first to say it?”

Val cocked a brow. “Say what?”

“That we don’t want her to leave.”

Vox raised an eyebrow. “…Obviously.”

Val shrugged, slow and lazy, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him in full until this very moment. “Huh. Shit. You’re right. I kinda do want to keep her.”

“I mean,” Velvette said, “we could always just lock her up. Real pretty cage. Satin sheets, room service, a wardrobe full of lingerie and nothing else.”

Valentino let out a low, dark chuckle. “She’d look damn good behind gold bars. All spoiled and pampered. I’d collar her. Something delicate. Diamonds, maybe.”

Vox leaned back, watching them both with a raised brow. “You two sound deranged.”

“Oh please,” Vel purred. “You’re worse than us. You’re just good at hiding it.”

He didn’t respond, which, of course, was answer enough.

“Or or… we kidnap her?” Val offered, completely serious.

“No,” Vox deadpanned. “We are not kidnapping her.”

Val’s expression was halfway between offended and amused. “Why the hell not?”

“Because she’d escape,” Vox snapped. “She’d outwit her way out and have the whole building wired to explode, if she was pissed enough.”

Velvette looked surprised. “Oooh, I guess it does help building that long connection.”

“She’s not gonna want to stay if we trap her,” Vox continued, pacing now, caught in the kind of manic calculation. “She has to want to belong to us.”

Vel raised her brows. “I know that face you’re making. You've got something on her?”

Vox shrugged. “She has too much of a clean slate, it’s suspicious. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.”

__________________________________

The morning light was unforgiving. Everything ached.

After dragging yourself through the usual routine, you were getting ready, and then the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, a sleek black box sat neatly on the mat, with Vox’s logo, so you brought it inside.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet lining, was a dress. An elegant, asymmetrical number in deep, midnight blue. Sleek fabric that shimmered subtly when it caught the light—simple at first glance, but clearly tailored for someone he’d studied. Your curves, your height, the way you move. He’d thought about this.

And below the dress—matching heels. Jewelry. And it wasn’t the only thing matching. A bra and panties, with Vox’s logo. That smug fucker.

Tucked into the side was a handwritten note. You swallowed, suddenly far more awake than you’d been two minutes ago.

“A gift to wear for today’s meeting. It’s more of a show for fake smiles and business. Though I know I won’t be bored with you by my side.

—V”

You saw the invitation attached to it, your name under Vox’s plus one. A very fancy invitation. This was full fucking gala. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

_________________________________

It draped your body with uncanny precision, as if tailored by hands that had studied you from every angle, memorized every curve. The sweetheart neckline framed your curves, the plunge dipped low, scandalously so, a narrow line of bare skin begging to be traced. The slit along your thigh was high, as you tugged on the gloves.

Your nervousness was at an all time high as you smoothed your hands over your hips and stepped into the heels.

The static began before Vox arrived.

You had…chatted with him online, if one can call it that. You had commented on one of his public projects, a design overhaul.

You had ideas. Not critiques, not flattery. Actual, tactical improvements. Vox hadn’t expected it. He certainly hadn’t expected to agree.

Since then, the messages had become... frequent.

The part he didn’t admit, not even to himself, was how often he found himself waiting. For your name on his screen. For your thoughts. For a sentence that would needle under his skin in that way only yours could.

He’d caught himself adjusting projects to see what you’d say. Leaving things half-finished so you could find the gaps. Vox had never made room for anyone like that, never cared to.

The static got louder.

A flicker in the far corner of the room, from your TV. The faint crackle of a dead channel and flickering of lights.

You didn’t turn. You simply reached for a pair of earrings, deep sapphire drops and fastened them without urgency.

He was behind you by the time you adjusted the last one. “Subtle as ever,” you muttered.

When you met his gaze in the mirror, he was leaning casually against the frame in a deep navy suit, not quite matching your dress but definitely meant to compliment it. Like he’d walked out of a magazine and into your personal space with full awareness of the effect he had.

“You’re early,” you said without looking.

“I like watching the process,” he replied, voice near her shoulder now. “Seeing how something magnificent comes together. It looks better than I imagined.”

“I bet you imagined a lot.” You quipped before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, I did,” He immediately whispered, his hands on your shoulders. Too close.

“And the rest of the… ensemble?” he asked, voice dipped low.

You gave him a long look. “I suppose you’ll spend all evening wondering.”

His grin glitched wider. “Cruel.”

Vox took a slow turn around your apartment like it was a showroom he was about to purchase. Sleek blue claw-like digits trailed across your bookshelf, tapping one spine, then another.

“I see the other two got to you first,” he said casually, plucking a mug from the counter and inspecting it like it offended him. “Sloppy work. No follow-through. And so unsophisticated.”

You gave him a flat look. “They didn’t hear me complain.”

Vox’s smile curled on his screen. “Ah, but you didn’t beg them to stay either, did you?”

Your pulse raced. It didn't seem like he was competing, no, he seemed to say...I know I'm your favourite.

He stepped closer; but you didn’t step back. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had a feeling he didn’t tell you this ‘meeting’ was a gala on purpose. He wants to watch you falter just once.

Vox murmured. “You wear my color like it was always meant to be yours.”

Your breath caught.

Your situation has gotten more complicated now. You have to betray them at some point but… you didn’t want to leave either. And you don’t want to betray Charlie either.

He stepped back finally, offering his arm like a gentleman.

__________________________________

The car ride had been silent and you were content watching out of the window, and Vox tapped on various screens displayed in front of him.

The gala was already in full swing by the time they arrived.

Soft chandeliers hung low; wealth filled the space. Everyone here was somebody, or trying to be. The gala had gothic red colours, like the rest of Pride Ring.

Heads turned as they entered, and whispers followed them. You tried to keep your face neutral, and observe. Vox’s hand remained on the low of your back.

Conversations faltered mid-sentence, eyes turned to follow their path. Some greeted with over-familiar warmth, others with caution.

And yet, despite the gravity he carried, he never walked more than a step away from you.

They stopped at clusters of power-players—investors, tech moguls, architects who influenced Hell’s politics. Vox's voice was smooth, clipped, and professional, and you enjoyed watching him in his element.

He didn’t walk ahead of you or present you like a prize, which surprised you. He kept you precisely at his side, a half-step within reach. And every time Vox leaned toward someone with a proposition or a promise, he glanced at you first. For your insight.

You answered back to him in small nods and murmured observations, only for his ears.

The crowd noticed.

They noticed how his attention, sharp as it was, always bent in your direction before it snapped back to whoever he was dealing with. They noticed how he adjusted his approach based on your words. And more importantly—they noticed how he listened.

There was something dangerous in that. Because Vox didn’t listen to anyone.

He cut through conversations like a scalpel, left deals on the table half-finished if they no longer amused him, left people hanging on promises he’d never intended to keep. He brought you into the fold of every discussion, every negotiation, every web he wove.

They were halfway through the circuit of the room when a familiar imp, Crimson, approached them.

“Vox, my friend,” Crimson drawled, reaching out a hand. “I've been waiting for a moment with you all evening.”

Vox returned the greeting with his usual detached politeness. “You and half the room, Crimson. What makes your moment worth my time?”

Crimson didn’t flinch. “Because I’ve got an exclusive shipping corridor through the lower circles—clean, untouched, and ready to be digitized for your network. Imagine it: your signals running through every infernal trade route. We split it fifty-fifty.”

You said nothing at first. Vox casted a glance at you, silent.

Crimson, oblivious, pushed on. “No interference, no watchdogs. I’ve even paid off the Greed ring enforcers. You’d be foolish not to take it.”

You tilted your head, just slightly. “And how long before your 'exclusive' route is compromised by your interference?”

Crimson blinked. “What—”

“They’ve been scouting that same corridor for weeks,” you continued, voice calm, almost pleasant. “You haven’t bought off their informants. You’ve just distracted them. Temporarily. The moment Vox invests in your little scheme, they’ll know. And they'll come for it. Hard.”

The air tightened. Crimson’s smile strained. “And you are…?”

Vox didn’t let him finish.

He turned slightly toward you, as if Crimson didn’t exist now. “Go on.”

You went in for the kill. “You’re selling a liability dressed up as an opportunity. And you thought Vox would be too distracted by the gaudiness to notice the risk.”

The silence that followed cracked like ice. Crimson’s mask faltered, fury and embarrassment clawing at his composure. “I don’t recall inviting her into this conversation.”

Vox’s screen turned slowly back toward him. His voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “Then you’ve made your second mistake tonight.”

The tension snapped. A few nearby demons subtly drifted away, pretending to be interested in the art installations, but their ears stayed tuned to the fallout.

Crimson muttered a curse, smoothed his coat, and retreated with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn’t much.

Vox said nothing for a moment. Then, quietly said to you, “I would’ve let him string the pitch a little longer.”

You gave a soft, knowing smile. “You would've been bored within a minute.”

A low burst of laughter escaped him. “Correct. And now I’m entertained and unburdened.”

His gaze lingered on you. You didn’t just protect his interests, but enhanced them. Where he tore things apart, you slipped the knife in between the ribs with surgical precision.

_______________________________

The waltz began with a slow melody, the crowd shifted to form pairs in smooth precision, toward the center of the ballroom.

Vox was speaking with two high-level investors near the dais, his tone clipped but magnetic. You could hear the trace of static in his voice—his usual sign that he was barely restraining the urge to end the conversation. He wouldn’t miss you, not for a few minutes, right?

You stepped away with the kind of practiced silence that wouldn’t draw attention. Your eyes swept the floor until they landed on him—Striker.

The outlaw and Vox’s secret little weapon supplier. He shouldn’t have been here. He hated galas. But Vox had insisted, probably to keep the weapons trade on a short leash. And Striker, ever the opportunist, never said no to a chance to stir the pot.

You caught him just as the music pulled into a smooth dip. “Dancing alone, cowboy?”

Striker blinked, surprised but not displeased. “Doll, I didn’t know Vox let you off the leash.”

You smiled sweetly. “I don’t work well with leashes.”

He chuckled low, offering his hand with a dramatic bow. He took her hand, and they joined the swirl of bodies under the blood-crystal chandelier. Striker moved well, unexpectedly elegant for someone who normally solved problems with violence.

They moved in a quiet rhythm for a moment. “Tell me,” you said lightly as you spin, “how someone like you ends up dealing in such... divine materials.”

Striker raised an eyebrow, but he grinned. “You mean the angelic steel?"

That confirmed your suspicions. “I mean exactly that.”

He twirled you, letting the movement give him a moment to think.

You pressed forward. “So, this smuggling pipeline of yours… how do you pull it off without the Exorcists breathing down our necks?”

Striker’s pride swelled at the question. He saw an opportunity to impress. And god, did he take it.

“Well,” he said, voice dropping into that conspiratorial drawl, “most of these uptight angels don’t bother watching the lower districts. We gathered all the angelic steel left behind after extermination. The angels have endless supply, so they litter it around there. Black market salvagers sweep it, I get it refined, and poof, it’s in Vox’s vaults before sunrise.”

You raised your eyebrows, just enough to look impressed. “Clever.”

“Damn right it is. It’s all about timing and contacts. I use a backdoor through Lust’s border—nobody checks shipments going out of Asmodeus’s territory. Too busy with... other things.”

You laughed softly, your work was done here. You pulled back, gave him a coy little smirk, and twirled herself out of his arms, spun backward into another set of arms waiting just behind you. Arms that caught you without hesitation, like they’d been expecting you all along…

________________________________

It took less than a second for Vox to find you. You were on the far side of the dance floor, with Striker.

Striker’s hands rested a little too comfortably at your waist, his cocky smile in full display as he leaned in to say something, likely some arrogant pitch masked as flirtation. Vox saw the curve of your lips, soft and amused. You tilted your head, inviting more.

But Vox knew better. He’d seen that tilt before. It was the angle you used when you were dissecting someone. You were studying Striker, and Vox didn’t know why. That was what irritated him most.

Vox’s hands flexed at his sides, sleek fingers twitching in suppressed agitation. A thousand calculations ran behind his screen. What were you after? What was he offering? And why hadn’t you told him?

It wasn’t about trust. Against his better judgment, against the nature of Hell itself, he trusted you. Which made this sting more.

He began to move. He crossed the floor with precision, never breaking eye contact with the pair, though only Striker noticed. And Striker, of course, smirked. That was the moment Vox arrived.

In one seamless motion, you slipped from Striker’s grip and pivoted gracefully into Vox’s arms, your body aligning against his like it was the only place you belonged.

Your smile returned, faint and unbothered, as if this had all gone exactly to your plan.

Vox caught you instinctively, arms settling around your waist. His screen flickered once. “Enjoy your detour?” he asked, voice low, modulated just above the music.

You looked up at him with those bright, clever, utterly unrepentant eyes. “Immensely. Striker’s quite talkative when he thinks he’s being clever.”

Of course you had a reason. He pulled you closer, turning them into the rhythm of the dance with practiced grace.

“And here I thought I was the manipulative one,” he murmured.

You leaned into him, just slightly. “I learned from the best.”

That did it.

You moved with him, matching every step, every subtle shift of weight, as if you had always belonged in his orbit. And Vox knew, more clearly than he ever had before, that you weren't just his partner in business. You were his partner in war.

With a sound like a channel switching frequencies too fast, the ballroom around them flickered and vanished.

They rematerialized in a burst of blue light, the air humming with residual voltage. His room was bathed in electric cobalt glow, the walls covered in various screens.You would have thought it was the room of a nerd gamer. The room looked straight out of cyberpunk fiction. The ceiling was…part of an aquarium. The water rippled above, and you saw sharks swimming around in circles above.

“You really couldn’t wait till dessert?” you teased, walking deeper into his space. But your teasing smile dropped when you saw his expression.

He stalked toward you until he was close enough that the glow from his screens painted your skin in electric blue. “I want to know every thought you’ve ever had. Every theory, every witty remark, I want everything you have, darling.”

Oh. oh.

The second his mouth touched yours, the world fell away. His lips were soft but hungry, like he was trying to memorize your taste, like he was starving and you were the answer to every ache he’d never named. Your heart thundered against your ribs, frantic and traitorous.

Everything about you—the tilt of your head, the way your fingers grabbed at his jacket like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away—it all made his blood race in the best way. Finally. Finally.

But then you kissed him back, and Vox felt something unravel. One of the screens cracked behind them, reacting to the sudden spike in his pulse.

His mouth descended to your throat, kissing, licking and bit down, just enough to make you gasp and smiled against your pulse when he felt it flutter like wings. His fingers dipped under the hem of your dress, tracing the line of your thigh, not touching anywhere you truly wanted him but just close enough to make you ache.

Vox’s lips were on your jaw then your collarbone, then lower, his teeth scraping just enough to make you squirm. “I want to see how fast I can make you forget every clever thought in your head,” he whispered.

This kiss was filthier. All tongue and teeth and desperate friction. His hips pressed into yours like a question, and your answer was the soft moan he swallowed whole. Every part of him wanted to be everywhere—his hands roaming, mapping you like he was trying to memorize your body.

"You're unreal," he muttered against your lips, his fingers sliding to trace your ribs then down the small of your back. “Like someone designed just to fuck with me.”

The moment the zipper hit the base of your spine, your dress slid down like it was relieved to be dismissed. Vox’s hands followed it, palms dragging over your skin slowly, like he needed to feel every inch of what had been hidden from him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, just looking at you. “You actually wore it.”

The bra was delicate and right between your breasts, stitched in electric blue shimmered his logo. The matching panties clung to you like a second skin with the same signature mark in front of your pussy.

He spun you around, catching you effortlessly as he dropped into the bed behind them and dragged you onto his lap, facing away from him. Your back to his chest, your thighs spread over his.

Since the screens were off, the black surface reflected them. You felt blood rush to your cheeks.

“Look,” he said, one hand sliding up her stomach to cup her breast, thumb brushing the embroidered logo. “Look how fucking perfect you are in my colors.”

His other hand slid between your legs, pressing over the logo on your panties before slipping beneath it. Two fingers dragged through slick heat, slow, teasing, making you gasp and buck back against him.

He moaned, rutting up against your ass. “I want to watch your face when you come. I want to see every twitch, every whimper, every time you lose control.”

His fingers plunged in and you cried out, legs spreading wider instinctively. He curled them just right, and your hips jerked in his lap, the friction driving you insane.

You managed to open your eyes back to your reflection. Your head rolled back on his shoulder. His hand buried between your thighs. Your bra pulled down, exposing your breasts—one already in his hand, the other bouncing with every panting breath.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled. “And you’re going to come just like this. On my fingers and wearing my name.”

“Vox—” Your voice cracked, high and desperate.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Vox,” you moaned, nails digging into his thighs, legs trembling. “I’m gonna—fuck!”

He bit down on your neck, fingers working faster, harder, relentless and perfect.

Your body arched, mouth open in a silent scream as you come hard, clenching around his fingers, your thighs shaking.

Vox groaned, burying his face in your neck as he slowed his fingers, coaxing you through it. “That’s it,” he whispered. “So fucking beautiful. I could watch that forever.”

You were still panting when he finally pulled his hand away and brought it to his mouth, licking your cum off his fingers with a hum of satisfaction.

You didn’t like his smug grin, as if he knew he was always in control. You shifted in his lap, but instead of turning to straddle him like he expected, you slid down.

Vox stilled. “What are you—?”

Your fingers moved to his belt, your gaze locked with his as you unbuckled it. “You’ve had your fun,” you said, voice smooth, almost casual but your hands betrayed you, shaking slightly. “Now I get mine.”

Vox’s head tipped back, a sharp hiss escaping him as you unzipped him and pulled him out. He was achingly hard, flushed and leaking at the tip. You wrapped one hand around him, giving a single slow stroke, and watched his body twitch.

“Look at you,” you murmured, thumb swiping over the head. “So fucking needy.”

You smiled innocently and leaned in. The first drag of your tongue along the underside of his cock had his hips jerk. His blue-tipped claws scratched into the sheets. “Shit…fuck—”

You licked him again, slower this time, savoring him.

Then you took him into your mouth. You sucked in just the head, tongue swirling around it. Vox’s hands twitched, desperate to grab you, to thrust up, but he held back barely.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “Deeper,” he whispered. “Please—fuck—deeper.”

You took him down slowly, letting his cock slide past your lips, past your tongue, until your nose brushed his pelvis and he groaned like you’d stabbed him with pleasure. You pulled back, slow and wet, then repeated it, faster, then again—until your head was bobbing in steady rhythm.

Vox was falling apart.

The way his voice cracked when you gagged a little, the way his thighs trembled when you moaned around him. Then you sucked him in, hard and deep, while stroking the base with one hand.

With a sharp, guttural groan, Vox’s whole body tensed. His hips bucked just once, and then he came—hot, thick, spilling into your mouth as he cried out your name like it hurt. You tried swallowing most of it, then slowly pulled off with a lewd pop.

He was still breathing like he’d just fought off a damn riot, head thrown back, lips parted, cock twitching despite just finishing in your mouth. But seeing you like this–

Vox was on his feet in a second, lifting you effortlessly and tossing you onto the bed behind them like you weighed nothing. You bounced on the plush mattress, laughing breathlessly as he stalked after you, already pulling his shirt over his head.

Your legs parted for him instinctively, and he settled between them, one hand braced beside your head, the other running down your side like he couldn’t believe you were real.

His eyes roamed your body, then his mouth crashed onto yours, tongue plunging in deep, and his hips aligned with yours, cock pressing hot and hard against the soaked fabric of your panties.

Vox pulled your panties aside and slammed into you in one rough, hungry thrust. You cried out, arching under him, nails clawing at his shoulders. You felt him so deep, stretching you open with a delicious burn that made your head spin. “Fucking hell, Vox—”

His rhythm was brutal at first, but then he slowed, grinding in deep, letting you feel every inch as he stared down at you like he was gazing at art.

Your eyes fluttered open. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “The smartest, most infuriating, most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

You pulled him down and kissed him hard, legs wrapping tight around his waist, locking him in.

He picked up the pace again, pounding into you now, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room along with your moans, his groans, and the creak of the mattress as he drove deeper into you.

“You feel…fuck—you feel so good,” he gasped, voice losing control and buffering. “So tight, so warm—god.”

He shifted, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder. The new angle sent him even deeper, and you screamed, back arching off the bed as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave.

He watched you unravel completely under him. Your mouth open, your body shaking—and it shattered his control. He thrust wildly now, panting your name like a prayer, chasing his release.

When he came, his whole body seized as he spilled inside you, deep and messy and claiming.

He collapsed on top of you, breath ragged, heart pounding like a war drum against your chest. As you tried catching your breath, you chuckled at his screen with error messages.

[WARNING: LETHAL LEVELS OF BEAUTY DETECTED]

[PROXIMITY ALERT: GOD-TIER BABE IN RANGE]

[MELTDOWN IMMINENT]

[CRITICAL FAILURE: HEART RATE UNSTABLE]

[REASON: HER]

[SOLUTION: UNKNOWN. MAYBE JUST DIE??]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: The dress I imagined for the reader.

Vox’s room as I imagined.

The Foursome and Finale is coming soon and I can't wait for you guys to read it!!

Next>>>>

137 notes · View notes

saeist · 1 year ago

Text

my personal touya headcanons (yes i will make full on fics n drabbles with these in mind):

CHRONIC manspreader. literally takes up a whole love couch with the way he spreads his legs

can drive but gets motion sick easily so counting on him for a 2+ hour roadtrip? yeah pull over we’re switching seats

damaged hair from the constant dyeing but that won’t stop this baddie from dyeing it jet black every 2 weeks

only runs on 4 separate hours of sleep and snores like a truck. (u’ll need earplugs)

surprisingly tidy in regards to his room only because rei comes and checks their rooms and if its all messy they’ll get their asses whooped

doesn’t smoke cigarettes BUT has a box of disposables/juuls hidden in his sock drawer (GOD FORBIDS rei finds his stash)

^ in addition to that, contrary to popular belief his plug is unironically natsuo..

loves icy berry related related flavors too LMFAO

is supposed to be a junior in college on paper but since he keeps dropping and switching majors, he’s technically still a freshman

^ is currently taking chemical engineering (took business ad, computer science, finance, nursing (💀) and literally god knows what. his college majors that he dropped is between him, endeavor and god now)

since he’s competitive as fuck and is a perfectionist, took up multiple sports and extra curriculars growing up

prefers soggy cereal

drinks a lot but lightweight as fuck. after one bottle he’s out 💡 but that won’t stop him from drinking more!

knows how to braid girls hair thanks to fuyumi

cats warm up to him on the street cus he’s warm n shit

prettiest resting face but makes the ugliest faces known to man just for the sake of it (still pulls)

doesn’t approach girls, girls approach him

scares them away when he’s all like 😐🧍🏻

hooded eyelids + long eyelshes (both top and bottom)

genuinely starts tweaking when people say he got endeavor’s eyes solely bc hes a momma’s boy..

grew up being SPOILED rotten amongst his siblings so he doesn’t take no for an answer and will actually start stomping his feet

once he opens his mouth however.. everyone is gonna know he’s endeavors son fr 😓

keigo is his closest irl friend but tomura is who he considers as his best friend even if they’re only internet friends

has a basic pc set up and plays valorant fortnite and roblox religiously

shits on children especially shoto and his two friends

once babysat the three of them in exchange for concert tickets

did i mention he has an indie rock emo band he formed when he was in high school? yeah

bassist obviously but sometimes he plays drums

will scare rei out of her wits when he would just magically appear on their couch when he’s supposed to be at his university

his room is in the attic

dresses like hes going to an opium concert but rei makes him change before they leave to go to church so ultimately he dresses up like a cottagecore mf but with piercings and box dye jet black hair

almost broke natsuo’s hand when he first got his nose piercing

embodies the trope of “best friends older brother”

has a soft spot for grandmas and will help them cross the road each time

picks up shoto from school with his beat up hand me down car. literally one slam on the break away from breaking (endeavor gave it to him as his 18th birthday present)

sometimes ends up driving shoto’s friends home too if shoto insists (more like demands)

will also intentionally go through a drive-thru and the kids in the backseat are expecting him to ask them what they want but touya just gets whatever the fuck he was craving, pays and leaves

“we got food at home!” - touya to a enraged shoto

also sometimes touya is shoto’s chaperone or the “parent” that goes to those parent teacher meetings when its time for get shotos report card and will deliberately say shoto has failing grades when shoto is part of the honor roll just to again, fuck with him

shamelessly flirts with the girls natsuo brings home just to fuck with him (he gets sucker punched later that night bc at the end of the day, natsuo is bigger than that man 😭)

when all the todosibs are fighting, nobody listens to him even if he’s the eldest. they all end up ganging up on him (fuyumi doesn’t stop shit, in fact she instigates further. she don’t play)

says he hates winter and likes summer more but whenever its summer time if he could he would live inside the freezer

hates the feeling of sweating 😮‍💨

sometimes goes on days without showering only popping a lil deodorant here and there so rei forces him to shower whenever he just so happened to pass by her

cooks decent meals but shoto hates it and intentionally makes gagging noises whenever he finds out touya was in charge of cooking that night

hates doing the dishes and fools shoto into doing it for him

when he goes on dates, he steals endeavors credit card and just pays for everything. will probably even take you to nobu just to do so

attempts to blame natsuo when endeavor caught on since his card decline at the supermarket but unfortunately touya cannot lie to save his own life even if he tried

OH! talks MAD game in bed but has never touched a woman in his life.. painfully a virgin. u have to teach this man PLEASEE 🙏

likes yeat and carti

basically teenager borderline adult core

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1-800-kami · 2 years ago

Text

4:23 pm | the adventures of dad!gojo

content: 0.9k words, fem!reader, dad gojo, megumi is your son, silly crack fic

gojo satoru is a man with very little fears.

in actuality, people are afraid of him. a mere gaze from those cerulean blue eyes of his sends people running off to the opposite direction, so the adjective “intimidating” was quite the understatement to describe him. some might even say that he’s the strongest, so he possesses no fear at all.

despite that, gojo has one thing he’s deathly afraid of: you–his wife, when you’re angry.

“suguru, help me out here!” geto can physically feel his bestfriend’s panic through the phone. gojo explained the situation in a fast ramble–geto could barely understand what he was saying, but he thinks he got the gist of it: you went out to run some errands and entrusted gojo to take care of your two year old child, megumi, while you were out. gojo conjured up the genius idea of keeping megumi entertained by handing him a paper and markers–so that they could surprise you with megumi’s amazing artistic abilities once you came back home.

it had gone “so well”, gojo said earlier, picking up the paper and studying it. “i think this is a drawing of a cat? or a dog, i don’t really know.. still, it’s made by my son, and it’s the peak of art and i think everyone should see it!”

gojo was so busy trying to decipher what megumi had drawn that he didn’t realize that his son still had the markers in his hands. when he peers over to look at megumi again, he just about screamed.

“gumi- no- GUMI!” he shrieks, snatching the markers away from his son’s hold. megumi, not having a paper to draw on anymore, decided to use the wall as his canvas instead—sketching a poorly drawn house with a bright red marker. “you’re not supposed to draw on the wall! aw fuc-ahem, freak… your mom’s gonna kill me…”

“gosh suguru, some advice would help!” satoru’s never been so afraid in all his years of living. you’re coming home pretty soon, and he has no idea what to do. he’s already imagining the look on your face–and it’s pushing satoru to the brink of passing out. gojo satoru–the renowned sorcerer who’s fought the king of curses, been sealed away in a box and has had multiple near death experiences–all of these things have happened to him yet none can compare to the fear of facing his wife when she’s angry.

“hmm? what is it, nanako?” satoru can hear his bestfriend trying not to laugh over the phone. suguru knows an easy solution to his problem, but he thinks that leaving satoru in the dark is funnier. it’s rare to see the strongest sorcerer like this, so geto revels in it with pure amusement. “you’re hungry? okay… let’s see what i can make for you, yeah?”

“you heard her, satoru~ one of the twins are hungry. i’m afraid i have to go… good luck about the markers, yeah?” suguru hangs up before satoru could say a word. he curses under his breath, but feels his heart stop when he hears the door unlock.

you’re home.

“mama!” megumi yells, clapping his hands and slowly crawling over to the front door. you happily greet your son, placing the grocery bags on the table.

you walk over to your husband, kissing him on the cheek before noticing the piece of paper that he’s holding. “oh? what’s this?”

you grab the paper from his hands and satoru regains a little bit of his composure once he hears you coo at your son’s drawing. “thought it would be nice for me and megumi to surprise you while you were gone… it’s a drawing of a cat-”

“horsey!”

“...a horse. yup, that’s what i said!” he sheepishly ignores his son’s glare, mentally preparing himself to tell you about the wall.

“i love it! oh my gosh, megumi, aren’t you just a little artist?” you say, ruffling your son’s hair with a big smile. “this is definitely going on the fridge.”

“...there’s one small problem, though…” satoru refuses to meet your gaze.

“what did you do this time, satoru?”

“hey, it technically wasn’t me!” he says, this time being the one to shoot the glare at his son. “so hypothetically…what if i told you that gumi thought it would be a nicer idea to use the wall as a canvas instead of the paper?”

“...”

satoru perceives your silence as his death sentence. “look, i’m sorry! i was trying to figure out what he drew and i forgot that he still had the markers in his hands-”

“satoru-”

“and the next thing i know, he drew on the wall before i was able to take the markers from him-”

“toru-”

“and suguru wasn’t giving me advice either, but then-”

“satoru!” your final yell finally breaks him from his ramble. he’s surprised to see that no, you don’t have a look of murder on your face. in fact, you’re actually smiling—looking more amused than anything.

“satoru, they’re washable markers.” you take a baby wipe from your purse and walk over to the wall, wiping away the bright red marker strokes easily with a few swipes. you’re trying not to laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “did you not know that?”

now he’s the one stunned into silence. “...”

“no, no… i definitely knew that…!”

“yeah, sure you did.”

being a father is so difficult.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru comfort #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #dad gojo #dad!gojo #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo

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flaresemily · 22 days ago

Text

bAt fAmIlY X nEgLeCtEd rEaDeR ᴘᴀʀᴛ 5

ωαяηιηg : мєηтιση σƒ вσ∂у ραят, мιgнт вє α вιт gσяє. мαкє уσυ gυуѕ υη¢σмƒσятαвℓє.

- I just found out that the cat's picture above is called the header. Well technically for pictures that are rectangles. Like the pic above

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 : Part 4, Part 5 (right now)

It's been a year since they stay in Japan (force to stay) now they finally return to Gotham (where the real story begin~)

“Finally!! No more slaying demons! No more staying late at night and waking up at 4 am!!” Jason shouts as soon as he's inside.

“Big brother welcome home” y/n greet them with a smile. (That didn't reach her ears)

“N/n~ my baby!!” Dick exclaimed and hugged her. Squeezing his cheeks with her. She just pushed him away. “You know I don't like hugs…so please stop doing it” y/n ‘gently' remind them.

“Oh! I make food for you guys~ Alfred help me with it." She smiled and led them to the dining room.

Inside a lot of dishes lay there with sparkles on them. They drool at the sight and quickly take their own seat at the table.

“Well let's dig in!!” Dick said.

As they ate they didn't notice the smiling y/n who's holding an empty pack of ‘something' inside. “Sleep tight my brother…tonight you will be very tired” she chuckled to herself.

At night

Truth to her words. The brothers feel incredibly tired that night. Right after they bath and so on they feel their eyes droopy.

Damian yawns while carrying o/n. As he gently put her down. She crawled out looking for him. “I'm sorry o/n I haven't told the others about you. I'm very tired…weird as if I'm being drugg—” as he said that he immediately fell asleep. Soft snoring can be heard from Damian.

O/n just stare at him unblinking. She crawled under his arm and wrapped it around her. Then she turned towards his chest and cuddled closer. ‘This is nice. I wish they love me again’

In the morning

News about the death of a family of 3 was all over the TV,phone and so on. Bruce just stares at the screen. Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian just woke up from their slumber.

“How did this happen? I swear there wasn't anything when I patrolled last night.” Bruce mumbled.

Tim who saw this rubs his sleepy eyes and looks at the TV.

“---- it is said that the body is being torn to shreds by an unknown entity—” his eyes widened.

“What do you mean torn to shreds!!” Tim gets closer to the tv while his eyes widen open. “This is exactly like the demon I killed back in Japan! How can this happen!”

“How would you know if it's a demon? Any serial killer can—-”

“Torn to shreds Jason…torn.to.shred.” before Jason can reply to Tim. The reporters said something that caught their attention.

“----- it is also said that the body was eaten in some parts. The hearts, liver and eyes are missing when the doctor performs surgery on them. Some important parts of their bodies, mainly the one that went missing.Not only that, this isn't the first time that has happened in Gotham City.”

“What does she mean by ‘this is not the first time’?” Ask Damian.

They all look at Bruce.

“I—-”

“----I believe this is the 87th time that this serial killer has struck for a year. The question is, why did the same part go missing? Who is this serial killer? And what is his or her motive? Stay tuned for the next update.” and that's how they all went silent

“87th time!!!” They all shout. They didn't notice the figure who's watching them from behind, hiding behind the wall and smirking at their reaction.

‘soon~ very soon~’ the figure giggles and disappears.

The same night

Damian is brushing his teeth when he hears shuffling. He peeked outside his bathroom and saw o/n standing with her original height.

He goes back inside and finishes his business and walks towards her. “Hey? What's wrong” Damian asks her.

“Mhmm…..”(demons)

“Demon? There's a demon in Gotham?” She nods. “Let's go then! I call the othe—”

“MHMMMHM” (WE MUSTN'T ALERT THE OTHER!)

“But they are my brothers!”

“Mhmhmmmh” (it can alert the demon and possibly kill them so let's act alone)

“Fine…I will prepare myself.”

As soon as Damian was done. Both of them escape using the window. They walk in Gotham Street. O/n sniff around and manage to detect one of the demons.

“Mmhmm!” (This way Dami!!)

She runs towards the direction and Damian follows suit.

As soon as they arrive. The demon already ate the human there. All that is left is the remains of the ‘human’.

“꒯ꏂ꒒꒐ꉔ꒐ꄲ꒤ꇙ ꋬꃳꇙꄲ꒒꒤꓄ꏂ꒒ꌦ ꒯ꏂ꒒꒐ꉔ꒐ꄲ꒤ꇙ! ꋬꇙ ꏂꉧꉣꏂꉔ꓄ꏂ꒯ ꁝ꒤ꂵꋬꋊ ꓄ꋬꇙ꓄ꏂ ꃳꏂ꓄꓄ꏂꋪ!! ꁝꋬꁝꋬꁝꋬꁝꋬꁝꋬ” the demon said with its mouth full

O/n growl at the sight of the Demon. The Demon WHO hear this turn around.

“ꂵꋬꋪ꒦ꏂ꒒ꄲ꒤ꇙ! ꋬꋊꄲ꓄ꁝꏂꋪ ꒯ꏂꂵꄲꋊ! ꉔꄲꂵꏂ ꁝꏂꋪꏂ ꍌ꒐ꋪ꒒! ꒐ ꉔꋬꋊ ꍌ꒐꒦ꏂ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꓄ꁝ꒐ꇙ ꒒ꏂꊰ꓄ꄲ꒦ꏂꋪ—-”

O/n run toward the demon and kick him. Judging by the voice it's a male.

—----

The battlefield was chaos—shattered stones, splintered trees, and the stink of sulfur and death clinging to every breath.

The demon loomed over them, massive and wild-eyed, mouths on its arms screeching in different voices. Its tongue lashed like a whip, its claws already stained red from the kick impact.

But Damian Wayne didn’t flinch.

He stood tall, katana glinting blue beneath the moonlight, calm in the storm.

“Stay behind me,” he muttered.

A soft growl answered him. O/n.

He didn’t look back—you were already moving.

She dashed past him in a blur, her eyes glowing crimson, clawed fingers extended as she slammed into the demon’s chest and kicked off its face, flipping gracefully back to Damian’s side.

“Tch.” He smirked slightly. “I said behind me.”

She huffed, crouched low and feral, but her smile peeked through the muzzle.

The demon roared, lunging.

Damian exhaled—focused.

“Water Breathing. Third Form—Flowing Dance.”

He spun forward like a current unleashed, blade sweeping low and then high in a graceful arc, water trailing behind the motion like a living thing. He cut through one of the demon’s mouths mid-scream, flipping over its back with fluid precision.

As the beast stumbled, she followed, charging with unnatural speed.

CRACK!

Herr claws pierced its leg, and with a shriek, you ripped the limb off, kicking away before the corrupted blood could splash her.

“ꍌꌦꋬꋪꍌꁝꁝꁝꁝ!!”

The demon swung wildly, but Damian was already there—his blade slicing through the arm mid-attack.

“Focus!” he barked. “It regenerates!”

“꒐ ꅐꄲꋊ'꓄ ꒒ꏂ꓄ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐ꋊ!! ꒐ ꅐꄲꋊ'꓄! ꒐ ꅐꄲꋊ'꓄!!!” The demon roared.

She nodded quickly, eyes narrowing.

He dove forward again, faster this time.

“Water Breathing. Fifth Form—Blessed Rain After the Drought.”

His sword struck true—clean through the neck in a single, merciful strike. The demon let out a final hiss before crumbling to ash.

Silence fell.

Damian panted lightly, blade still raised.

She padded forward on silent feet, sniffing the air—cautious. But the threat was gone.

Finally, Damian turned to her.

“You held back,” he said bluntly. “You could’ve torn it in half.”

She blinked at him, then nodded once.

He looked away. “Thank you.”

She blinked again—surprised.

“…For not going too far,” he added, sheathing his blade.

She smiled behind her muzzle, and for just a moment, he let himself return the look.

“Come on,” he said, already walking away. “More reports of demons nearby. You’re not going back in the box yet.”

And this time, she didn’t argue.

She just ran beside him, her shadow and his blade moving in perfect sync beneath the silver moonlight.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

ᵦᵧ : ғʟᴀʀᴇs ꏂꂵ꒐꒒ꌦ

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

@darktrashpoetry @fortunatelydifferentqueen @floathyblues @kyuumeee @bunniotomia @sirenetheblogger @seemeee3 @luffypixie @rainschnael

ɪs ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀɢ? ɪғ ᴜ ɢᴜʏs ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ

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yuurei20 · 6 months ago

Note

Is it safe to assume that White Rabbit Delivery is TWST universe equivalent to UPS or Amazon?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🐰

"White Rabbit Delivery" is often considered by fans to have been based upon Japan's "Black Cat Delivery”! 🐈‍⬛

The names are quite similar:

🐰 シロウサ宅急便 🐈‍⬛ クロネコ宅急便

And many fans pointed this out during the event (post 1) (post 2) (post 3) (post 4), with this user even saying they had predicted that the game's event would be named White Rabbit, based on Japan's Black Cat delivery service!

(note: Black Cat Delivery is not technically the literal name of the delivery service in Japan, just a recognizable and popular nickname based upon the company logo.)

(It is very often parodied in media! They also did a collaboration with Idolish7 ^^)

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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flamingpudding · 1 year ago

Note

I'm back with a part 4 if you want to do it it's kind of more of a crack write I just need Klarion trying to explain the family tree

But not explaining how he was made at all So Young Justice and the Justice League are now convinced that a the Ghost King was a teenage parent who is now 27 years old and just passed college with a degree in astronomy and machinery

Klarion's other parent is a a crazy fruit loop 64 year old millionaire who went to college with Klarion's Mom parents who had an emotionally unhealthy obsession with his mom's mother and then it passed on to his mom.

And he has an older sister who is technicality a clone of his mom but also has the bastards DNA so fundamentally making Ellie Vlad Master and Mom's first born kid but there's six other siblings that Klarion had that died back a while back but Mom got granddad who's apparently the time lord AKA Cronos which is a whole another long story to go back in time and save those kids get them fixed up and now Klarion technicality has seven older siblings which all do their own things

And then he starts mentioning his uncle who is a 9 ft yeti his technicality auntie who is a medieval ghost princess who can turn into a dragon his auntie Pandora and his his grandfather cronos

My names for the six other clone children are Donald (he/him), Cecelia (they/she), Bartholomew(Them/They), Kyle AKA Bite(He/It), Brutus(He/They), and then there's Danna (She/Her) who actually really like the name Dan and asked Klarion if could have it when Klarion changed his name

Sorry if this is a little bit too much I've just really been thinking about au for this after the last part you made I hope this helps you with your writing or at least makes you laugh but I really love the idea of Danny's AKA somewhat clone children and finding their own personalities and and fighting themselves out of just being failed clone of their mom also I love the idea of Danny going back in time to save the rest of the clone kids cuz now he's a mature adult who wants to save their lives and wants them to grow into their own people.

(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I probably did way to much research into all the fandoms I am in to see what I could tie into this... And yet this feels shorter than it should but I also currently lack the time to add more. But for now I hope this will be satisfactorily.

Also this family tree idea especially the part of saving the melted clones. LOVE IT!

So even though it took me a while! here is Part 4 you inspired! Thanks so much for the ask!

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

"Dude, you are making us only curious!" Impulse spoke up as he sat down next to Klarion who had his head in his hands. "Like you and your mom can't just drop your family lore like that!"

The witch boy on the other hand looked up with narrowed eyes at the speedster. "What lore?"

"Let's see, the part that apparently a Vlad tried to kill your Grandpa to make friends several time. That your mom is 'ghost' adopted by the lord of time Cronos and Pandora, which makes us family too by the way, and that you have a sister that apparently is even crazier than what we got to know of your family so far." Wonder Girl counted off her fingers next to him grinning as she mentioned the part of probably being a part of his 'crazy' family too. Which hell yea, that sounded like a lot of fun to be explored she would have to talk with Wonder Woman about that as soon as possible.

"Also..." Red Robin added as he flipped through the photo album that apparently no one remembered he had. He was turning it around and pointed at a particular photo with a wild bunch of people in it that varied between more human and well... less humanoid people. One of them definitely was a Yeti and there was also what looked like living armor as well as Teekly (they knew that demon cat at least), a giant green dog and for some reasons there was a green aggressive looking Octopus in the background too. "...how are you related to a Yeti?"

"Hey that man there and those other teens in the picture actually have some resembles with you! Do you have older brothers too?" Superboy additionally asked as he moved around Red Robin to see the photo better pointing at a man that appeared to be in this late twenties, blue eyed, black haired and a little on the buffer side. If he didn't know any better and the fact that he should keep his mouth shut about their actual identities he would have jokingly asked Red Robin if his family would like to add more kids considering Klarions family apparently had a bunch of black haired blue eyed members too, judging by the photo at least.

"What are you talking about. That man is my mom and yes the others are actually my older brothers and that Yeti is uncle Frostbite who also happens to be the best medic in the Infinite Realms" The four teen heroes looked stunned at the picture and then back at the Ghost King that was smiling at them, still seated by the dinner table with their mentors. Who by the way were now perking up at the change of topic and the information they could gain with it, well Wonder Woman was more interested in the apparently extended family she had.

"Oh I remember we took this photo last year, it was such a hassle to get everyone into one place with them all being busy doing their own things." Danny mused for a moment, remembering fondly how he had to literally drag some of the kids home through a portal.

"It was more annoying than anything too since I was declared to be the youngest...." Klarion muttered also remembering that day not as fondly as his mother.

"Wait, wait, wait! That is a picture of your family? I need an explanation buddy!" Impulse cut in without shame, quickly removing the picture from the photo album to get a better look at it before holding it out to Klarion so he could explain all the individuals. "Plus why does your mom look soooo.... human?"

The witch boy on the other hand stared at him for a couple of seconds before looking over towards his mother as if waiting for something. After a moment the teen heroes as well as their mentors saw Danny nod with a little smile. "This dimension doesn't have the GIW so its fine, the Justice League Dark won't be a problem either, right?." Constantine flinched at the smile the Ghost King was giving him, muttering something under his breath as he had hoped his presence had been forgotten.

"Since mom is giving his okay...." Klarion mutter sitting crosslegged on the ground as he snatched the photo album from Red Robin and flipped through it. "Lets start with the easiest stuff to explain."

Danny chuckled noticing that not only the teen heroes but their mentors as well showed an interest. He choose to stay quiet letting the adults listen in on the kids, and if things went bad he would just ask Clockwork if they could revert time back to this moment and he would change his nod of permission to a shake of denial.

"Okay first of, this is my mom and his sister Jasmine, this is Danielle my older sister and that hulk with flaming white hair and blueish skin is me. That was before I got deaged because of destabilising." Klarion explained flipping to a photo of him, Danny, Jazz and Danielle. "Mom was around fifteen, Aunt Jazz about seventeen and Ellie should have been about a year old but she was aged up to twelve. They look human in this one because well they are. Mom was originally human and became what you call in this dimension a Meta through an accident."

"Wait... that would mean your mom... How could he have two kids at that age of fourteen? You look like an adult and your sister was aged up?" Wonder Girl couldn't help but ask as she looked from the photo and back to Danny at the dinner table again.

"That's cause Vlad was a fu-"

"Language Klarion!"

"Vlad was a fruitloop. That photo was taken shortly after Vlad and I sort of redeemed our selfs. Plus, mom didn't really have my sister and me willingly.... we were kind of forced upon him in a way." Klarion explained shrugging. "Old Man Vlad had an obsession with his mom that then turned on mom, which resulted in my oldest sister Danielle first. Actually, a lot of my elder siblings resulted from that, but they didn't survive it the first time, Mom got Old Man Clocks help to save them once he got used to being the Ghost King. I got added to the mix shortly after my sister, but... i wasn't in the best state of mind at first, kind of went through a redemption phase in which mom had to fix the timeline of our original home dimension, too."

Danny chuckled again at the disturbed looks the teens were giving his son as well as the looks their mentors sent him. He probably should correct Klarion's wording... but being one of the gremlins of his family he just smiled on, not commenting. He really understands now why Pops Clockwork liked watching the chaos he used to cause as teen, and still sometimes causes as adult.

"Klarion... how old is this Old Man Vlad?" Red Robin asked grimacing as his eyes under the mask flicked up to the Ghost King and then back to the witch boy both seemingly unbothered by the disturbing information they were sharing.

"In human years... probably around 67? You stop counting age at some point if your a halfa." Klarion shrugged, not noticing the grimaces of the teens around him. "Anyway, Ellie is sort of the first born. I came in after that, with my core being a mix of Mom and Vlad. Not DNA wise though since I came to be because of their ghost cores. That's why I look like that in this photo. Though human DNA wise I am probably now mostly Moms, we never bothered to ask the old man."

Danny muffled another chuckle, coughing as Superman sent him an incredulous look of shook while he felt Batmans burning gaze on him.

"You... mentioned more siblings?" Red Robin asked carefully sharing a look with his team, feeling like there was a whole lot of trauma in Klarions family he wasn't sure they should address or not. So asking after his siblings was probably, hopefully the safest option. They didn't know that while there was trauma in the witch boy's family it was not the kind they were imagining.

"Yea I got a bunch more brothers, Vlad was a evil crazy fuitloop, before he redeemed himself. They all kind of melted in one timeline but mom and Grandpa Clock found a way to save them." Klarion nodded flipping to another photo containing him, as he looked now, and all his siblings.

"So, Ellie you know about already. The one with the sunglasses and died hair is Bartholomew, second oldest. They made themselves a home in other dimension, barely at home cause he has to much fun messing with something called a 'Starstream' by being a 'Constellation' and throwing gold coins at 'Incarnations'. Don't ask me what that means, I barely pay attention when he gushes about his favorit 'Incarnation'. They spent like all their money and pocket money there. Aunt Jazz thinks he might develop a gambling addiction if we don't stop his spendings." The teen heroes eyed the teen that looked like a young adult grinning in the photo as the witch boy pointed at the one next to them. "The one with the vile is my elder brother Bite, most responsible one of this bunch. Mom even allowed him to take care of a couple of dimensions by taking the role of being their God of Death. I think he messed them up more than helped but he is doing a somewhat good job, even if he is sort of obsessed with making some red head his saint or something..."

"One of your sibs is a God?" Impulse gabbed and Klarion just blinked at him with a shrug. "My Grandfather is the ruler of Time, your point is? Wonder Girl is also related to a God of your dimension."

"Never mind him, moving on." A yelp resounded as Superboy pushed Impulse head down leaning in more to see the photo better. "You got one emo looking brother there!"

"Oh that's Yamikumo, he is like a year or two older than me right now, in human years. He barely got any of mom's powers so he choose to try to life a somewhat normal life but weirdly enough he choose a dimension that is ruled by people who have powers and abilities, you know like the Meta Humans of this dimension. Now that I think about it, he is also the only one who actually is studying on how to be a Hero."

"Do you end up fighting with him if he studies to be a hero?" Wonder Girl whisper asked him with a quick glance towards their mentors, to which Klarion shook his head. "As long as we leave the dimensions one of us choose to live in alone we usually don't fight about stuff like that, aside from the usual sibling fights that is. Then again I do have some siblings that like to make bets like who is better at ruling as demon lord, or who can safe a dying timeline quicker."

Danny chuckled again as he watched the kids, Klarion had definitely caused some misunderstandings with his wording. Then again it wasn't like Klarion said anything that wasn't true, but then again his son loved chaos. So there was a suspicion that Klarion intentionally choose the way he worded the explanation about how he and Ellie came to be as well as the rest of siblings.

"So....." Superman slowly started wondering how he should bring up the topic. "...you became a mom at 14?"

"Say Danny is there a way for me to meet this Vlad? You know since we are family." Wonder Woman also asked smiling in a certain way that reminded Danny of Valerie when she was mad but didn't want to show right away how mad she was, to which the Ghost King on reflex could do nothing but gulp for a moment. Not noticing that a green post it note appeared on the table before him.

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