#this post hit me over the head with a metal bat in the best way possible

[mxltifxnd0m]

𝙄𝙣𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙

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Summary: You get injured and Steve is a fussy babysitter (mother)

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, The Party x platonic fem! reader

Words: 1.8K

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Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, and gore. fluff and a little spice are thrown in there. Set in season 2 

A/N: wow look at me posting a fic. Haven't done that since July lmao

tbh this fic only came to fruition bc of my dear friend Addie and I’ve been meaning to write more for Stranger Things but I have yet to write for any of the other fandoms on my masterlist lol

and as always all my thanks to my wife and beta reader @songofpatrochilless

𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

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Okay, maybe you should have listened to Steve when he told you to get back on the bus with Lucas, Max, and Dustin. By the looks of it, Steve looked like he needed help with the number of demodogs surrounding him, so you disobeyed his order and jumped out of the bus. You would protect these kids with everything you had since you'd been babysitting Lucas and Dustin since they were 10 and you quickly bonded with Max since you noticed that the two of you were similar in attitude.  

You were able to hold your own until you tripped on a piece of scrap metal, making you stumble to the ground. You noticed that Steve was starting to head back to the bus, so you got up and started to sprint to the bus. You hadn't noticed that one of the demodogs was behind you and managed to scratch your leg, which made you stumble again, but you just turned around, slashed at it with your axe, leaped into the bus, and closed the doors as hard as you could. Getting up fast, you shoved a piece of metal in front of the door and held it there for a moment until the bus shook from something hitting it from the other side. It distracted you for a second, allowing the demodog to swipe at the metal and get its claws into the bus. Quickly, you grab the bat that was in Steve's hands and start hitting it as hard as you can while Steve is trying his best behind you to help.

Faintly in the background, you hear Dustin calling for help until it manages to move up to the roof. You try to get up to go after it but feel a twinge of pain in your leg. But you ignored it and managed to get up anyway. But it seemed that Steve had a different idea. He had grabbed the bat from your hands and got in front of Max to protect her, and the others from the demodog peeking from the hole on top of the bus. Then everything stopped. It seems that the demodogs were running away. You sigh in relief and follow the others out of the bus to see where the demodogs were going.

“What happened?” Lucas asked. 

“I don’t know,” Max responded. 

“Steve and y/n scared ‘em off?” Dustin suggests. 

“No. No way. They're going somewhere.” Steve said grimly, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Well, I guess it’s time for another adventure.” You say, trying to get their minds off of what just happened. But it fails as you wince in pain, the adrenaline that was pumping through your veins is now gone and you're feeling the pain in your leg. You stumble as you try to take a step forward and Dustin notices your leg.

“Shit, your leg is bleeding,” Dustin points out. 

“Watch your language.” You say reflexively. 

Dustin shoots you a look of are you serious right now?

Steve whips his head towards you and his eyes, full of worry, dart down to the leg that was bleeding.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone your leg was bleeding!” 

“Well Steve, I didn't think that mentioning that my leg was bleeding, while we were trying to not die was high on my list of priorities right now.” You tell him sarcastically. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, “Well, we need to treat that before it gets infected.” 

“I don’t think that the boys or Max-,” you gesture to tweens, “-have a first aid kit on them. So I’ll suck it up until all of this is over or until we get to somewhere where we can treat it. Okay, Steve?” 

By the look on Steve’s face, he does not like the idea but doesn’t object since he knows you’re right. 

“Right, now that we have acknowledged that, we should probably go so we can see where the monsters are heading before we lose them.” Everyone nods their head and trek in the direction where the demodogs left. Steve makes you wrap an arm around him so he can help you put less pressure on your leg. 

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It took a while until you were able to treat your leg. You had to trudge through the woods to the Lab, encountering Jonathan and Nancy once you got there, then Hopper came out of nowhere, and you had to sit on Steve’s lap since there was no more room in the back of the truck. 

You are exhausted, the adrenaline wore off in the car and you almost fell asleep on Steve, but he kept you awake by talking to you quietly until the truck had stopped in front of the Byers’ house. Getting out of the truck, you stumbled a bit before Steve got out and slung your arm around his shoulder again, and led you into the Byers’ house.

As soon as you stepped foot into the threshold, Steve whisked you away to the bathroom, sat you down on the counter, and started opening cabinets to find the first aid kit. All the while he was sorting out the supplies he needed to clean the wounds, he was mumbling incoherent words under his breath. 

Once he found the supplies he needed, Steve started to clean the wound on your leg. Minutes passed and the only sounds you could hear were your and Steve's breathing and the occasional groan of pain when Steve would put too much pressure on your leg. Steve would apologize profusely but his face was stoic but his eyes still had concern and warmth. After Steve finished cleaning your wound, he started to wrap your leg up. 

“So, it’s a nice day out isn’t it?” You joked, breaking the silence. Steve jerked his head up from your wound to glare at you. 

“Okay, got it, not the time for jokes.” 

Getting the hint that Steve didn’t want to talk, you zoned out. You could hear the rustling of the feet through the walls of the bathroom. And you could listen to the kids' voices trying to figure out what the hell was going on with Will. What had brought your mind back to the bathroom was a jolt of pain going through your leg and you let out a low groan. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Did I tie it a little tight?” Steve asked. 

“It’s a little tight Steve, but I’m fine.” 

A tense silence fell over the two of you until Steve decided to break it. 

“What the hell were you thinking back at the junkyard, I told you I had it handled.” Steve started to scold you. 

“Okay, Mom, calm down for just a second.”

“Calm down! Don’t tell me to calm down, you almost lost your leg!” Steve exclaimed. 

“That’s an exaggeration, I just got my leg scratched, and as you can see my leg is still attached.” You gestured to your now bandaged leg. 

Steve rolls his eyes, “Still if you had listened to me and stayed on the bus you wouldn’t be here right now.” Steve says while running his hands through his hair frustratedly. 

“I don’t understand why you care about me getting hurt, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” You tell Steve. 

“I’m sorry. So caring for my best friend isn’t a big deal now?” 

You wince at the use of “best friend” but Steve just thought it was because of your leg. You’ve always had a small crush on Steve but it was squashed when he started to express interest in Nancy last year. 

“I didn’t think you cared that much about me, you didn’t hesitate to leave me for Nancy anytime we hung out when the two of you were together.” You say nonchalantly as you shrug one of your shoulders. 

Steve’s eyes seem to soften at your words. You were avoiding his gaze and looking everywhere but him. He notices that, so to get your attention, Steve grabs your chin softly between his thumb and pointer finger to make eye contact with you. 

“Hey, you know I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I would have stopped leaving you if I knew it bothered you so much.” Steve tells you. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it now.” You dismiss Steve still trying to avoid eye contact with him.

“Look at me,” Steve asks you softly. And you can’t help but listen to him. So you turn to meet his gaze. This makes you realize how close Steve was to your face. You see him study your face so intently, that you felt his breath on your lips. Steve presses his forehead to yours and stays silent.

Unknowingly both of you have been inching closer to one another. Your lips briefly brushed over his, and you threw caution into the wind and fully pushed your lips against Steve’s. Steve immediately responds by deepening the kiss. He moved one of his hands to cup your cheek and on your waist, while your hands made their way into his hair, tugging on the hairs on the nape of his neck. Both of you didn’t know how long you stayed there kissing in the bathroom, it felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. 

“Hey guys, if you’re done, come out to the living room.” Dustin interrupted the two of you, his voice making the two of you break apart. You and Steve hear his footsteps fade away from the doorway, before breaking out in small chuckles. 

“That kid is something else,” Steve says with a small smile on his face.

“He can be a pain in the ass, but you can’t help but love him.” You say which makes Steve nod in agreement. 

“We should get out there before they start getting suspicious or Dustin will throw a fit” 

“Yeah we should. Here let me.” Steve helps you get off the counter and wraps your arm around his shoulder, using Steve as a human crutch. 

You thank Steve and in return, he dips his head down to give you a peck on the lips, which makes your eyes widen slightly in surprise since you weren’t expecting him to do that.

You guys made it out to the bathroom after a couple of minutes of trying to hobble down the hall and Steve making you go as slow as you can. 

“What took you guys so long?” Dustin questions you. 

“My human crutch didn’t want me to go fast.” You gestured to Steve, who just shook his head. 

“I could let go of you if I wanted to.” Steve threatens 

“Ah you could, but you wouldn’t because you would feel bad for letting me stand on my bad leg.” You say with a teasing smile on your face. 

Completely forgetting everyone else that was in the room, Steve pulls you a little tighter to him, “Yeah you’re right.” Steve agrees. You guys just stare at each other for a little until Dustin claps his hands to get your attention. 

“Okay now that the lovebirds are done…” 

[kyohaku-kannen]

{I had scrapped the original plot of this story and remade it. Though there were some scenes I had wanted to write so that's what this is. So I changed the titled to THE OLD COURT JESTER instead of THE COURT JESTER so I won't get confused posting pieces of the actual story. 👌}

˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 'ˎ˗

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 her way through the house with a metal bat in hand, fear and adrenaline rushed through her body. She tried her best not to let the floor boards below her creek. Turning the corner she now stood in the living room and briefly glanced around. It was dark and empty with no one inside.

"I swore I heard-" Y/n muttered but was cut off by something hard hitting her in the back of the head. Falling to the floor she nearly blacked out from the pain of the hit, she wasn't sure why she was even still awake. Her e/c eyes glanced up to see Susie looking down at her with a bat in hand. The bat in her hand was decorated just like hers. Of course it was, it was the bats they bought and decorated together...

"Hmm..I suppose that didn't kill you..." Y/n's eyes widened, many thoughts ran through her head. Grunting she pushed herself up and tried to drag herself away from her supposed best friend. Closing her eyes she could hear Susie swing the bat.

'Why...'

The sound of liquid spilling onto something was heard along with a loud thud of something hitting the wooden ground. Letting out a shakey breath she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze was glued to the ground, too afraid to look up and see what she knew was true. Pushing herself off the ground she hesitantly and slowly looked over her shoulder. Covering her mouth she could see blood painting the walls and ground. Susie's limp body lied on the ground, it was too dark to see what happened to her. She was left halfway in the shadows of the hallway with only her legs beings seen.

It was like a scene right out of a horror movie.

First her best friend tried to murder her and she still isn't even sure why. Now her best friend was left dead on the ground. Flinching she could feel someone pull her into their arms. She knew exactly who the hell was holding her and she was too scared to look.

"It's alright..." Another shakey breath left her as tears slowly began to spill. Everything was growing to become too much. Her best friends, her school, her parents, and her older sister- all of it. She couldn't stand it, it's like she didn't have anyone to be there for her. Like she was alone and no one-

"I'm here..." Faltering her train of thought stopped and so did her tears. Her eyes widened and something clicked in her mind. She felt so stupid in the moment, she did have someone who'd been with her since everything began. They were holding her right now and she'd been too focused on everything else to realize.

She didn't even hold any resentment towards Macaque for killing her so called best friend.

"Thank you...thank you so much Macaque!" Y/n cried as she buried her face onto his chest. She clung to him and Macaque looked down at Y/n a little startled. He had expected her to be upset with him for murdering someone, for murdering her best friend no less. No instead she was openly thanking him while clinging to him like her life depended on it.

"You've always been here for me..and...and I've been too stupid to notice... I'm so stupid..so..so..stupid...thank you...thank you so much..." Y/n cried and Macaque simply stared down at her shocked. Slowly his tail began to sway with joy, and a grin slowly crept up. He hadn't expected such words to spill from Y/n but he was pleased. Pulling her closer he rested his chen on her head. He gently ran his hand through her hair before speaking.

"Shh..it's fine..." Macaque whispered and Y/n continued to sob. Of course he'd always be there for her, and he didn't mind getting such an amazing show of thankfulness any time he'd save her. Y/n being in such a vulnerable state, something she'd not shown to anyone- it made him giddy.

His gold eyes slowly glanced over to the dead body in the hallway. His eyes glowed purple and watched as the shadows of the hallway began to consume the dead body.

'That's right...I'm the only one here for her..'

Looking down he could see that Y/n had dozed off and fallen asleep. Pulling away enough to see her face he smirked. Gently he rested a hand on her face and leaned closer.

"And your all mine..." Macaque muttered before gently kissing Y/n.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Not satisfied with the end of this little part but I like the rest of it. Anyway as explained before this is a snipped from and old version of a story I'm writing. I still have yet to finish the first chapter. I plan to cross post it from Wattpad to ao3, I just have to figure out how to work ao3.

[unfriendlyamazon]

gonna edit this today and i'm not completely happy with it so bits will change but i wrote rrrul dragon joey yesterday and i'm very excited to post it so here's a sneak preview

Seto trained his eyes in the distance, where the fire roared in a natural kiln. A dark tail slid across the floor, scattering a pile of cards. Seto’s eyes followed the movement, trailing up and up, until he realized the lights didn’t reach the ceiling of the cavern. A dark shape moved, and then from the darkness burst teeth. A massive jaw snapped at Seto, and he staggered back, landing on the cavern floor. He raised his sword to swipe at the clawed hand that reached for him. It batted him away like nothing. The creature slithered through darkness, tail waving like a snake ready to strike. Weight slammed down on Seto, pinning him to the earth. The weight of the creature and its massive claws pressed down into his shining armor, crushing it to his chest. He thrust his sword up, and it sliced into the underbelly of the creature, catching in the scales and sticking there. A low chuckle resonated off the cave walls. Seto stared up at the maw full of daggered teeth, and the plated spikes that made a crown on serpentine head, the plated black scales that shone like metal, and a pair of broad, leathery wings stretched out. Red eyes peered at him, the sideways slit closing briefly.

“The black dragon,” Seto breathed.

The dark laugh came from deep in the throat of the dragon. A large hand curled around the sword, making it look like a child’s toy. The dragon pulled it free and tossed it aside. His snake-like tongue flicked against Kaiba’s face as he took in the sight of the knight beneath him.

“And who are you?” the dragon said. His voice shook the cavern walls. Hot breath poured from his maw, bathing over Seto.

Right. His purpose here. He shored up as best he could, projecting loudly. “I am Prince Seto Kaiba, of the kingdom by the sea.”

“A prince!” The dragon leered forward, snapping his jaw. “Much better than your average knight. Shinier armor too.”

His claw scratched against the chestplate. Seto sucked in a breath when he curled his fingers underneath, snapping it free like Seto were an oyster. He’d underestimated just how large the black dragon was. Not fully grown, he still towered over Seto. A single dragon hand could squeeze all the way around him, and his tail slapped playfully against the ground.

“Why would a prince be here?” the dragon asked. “You usually send your knights to fight me.”

“I am not interested in fighting,” Seto said. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have attacked you with a toothpick. I came here to talk.”

The tongue flickered in and out. Red eyes peered at him. The claw tapped his chest.

“I think I’m just gonna eat you,” the dragon said.

Seto reached into his tunic and removed a dagger, stabbing it into the dragon’s hand. He roared in response, tail swinging back and forth. Seto managed to make it to his feet, and then the tail swept him up, tossing him back to the ground. Two large hands held him down, and the dragon stood over him on his haunches. He opened his mouth and roared again. Hot air hit Seto’s face, throwing his hair back, and dragon spittle slapped him. He panted out breath, straining against the hands holding him down.

“I’m gonna bite off your head,” the dragon snapped.

“Wait!” Seto shouted. “What do they call you?”

“Handsome,” the dragon preened. “Devious.”

“A name,” Seto sighed.

“Jounouchi,” he sang out the syllables. “That’s the last name I took.”

“Jounouchi,” Seto repeated. “Jounouchi, I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?” His hot breath puffed against Seto’s face. “You came here to make a deal?”

“Yes,” Seto said. “I have gold for you. All the armor you could dream. All you have to do is return to my kingdom with me.”

“With you?” Jounouchi hissed, his tongue prodding Seto’s face. “I devour you now, and I put myself on your throne. Or I just snack on your long legs and call it a day.”

“I can give you anything,” Seto grunted.

Jounouchi hummed, moving his paws from Seto. His tail curled around his backside. A claw picked at Seto’s trousers, his snout huffing out a breath that waved heat to Seto’s groin. His face heated, but the dragon didn’t seem to notice.

“So I can go with you,” Jounouchi said.

“And remain with me,” Seto said. “My kingdom isn’t safe. There are those that seek to destroy it. Protect the city, protect the people. You come with me, and you’ll want for nothing.”

The dragon grinned at him, tail thumping with interest. “You’d treat me like some fat, contented housecat. I chase out vermin for you and you give me a bowl of cream, is that it?”

“All the gold you can hoard,” Seto promised. “The finest of meals. A place to lay your head. Stand sentinel, and I will make all your dreams come true.”

“And what if what I want,” Jounouchi said, “is not something you can give.”

“I have immense power at my fingertips,” Seto said with a smirk. “What can you possibly wish for?”

The red eyes still stared at him. A smile stretched his face. Jounouchi lifted up onto his haunches, drawing to an impressive height. The lamplight shone against his scales and reflected in his eyes.

“Your life,” Jounouchi said simply.

[brianedner]

Luz’s Crimes 4: Breaking and Entering

Since it was brought to my attention in the comments, Willow used her plant magic to tone down the negative side effects of the drugs she sells to her customers. I decided to not name the drugs mainly because it was getting annoying on the research into what kinds of drugs are and aren’t legal in Connecticut (they recently made Weed legal).

 I am not endorsing any felonies.

 Gus had Luz had been hiding under one of Gus’s illusions all day, waiting for Jacob to leave his house. So far it seemed like he was going to spend the whole day at home.

 Gus smiled once his watch (A human watch! He was still excited about that.) turned to 3. They would have to be home by 5 to meet Camila when she got back from work, so it meant that he had a chance to try out a new trick he wanted to try.

 “Plan B Luz?”

 She just sighed and turned to him. “Go for it you little trickster.”

 “I know you are, but what am I?”

 He then took off his ear ring mirror and then walked over with Luz to Jacobs front door. The two then stood to the side and Gus rang the door bell before making a illusion of a Harry from “Harry and the Hendersons” appear in front of the door holding a brief case while wearing a bowler hat and a plaid tie.

 When Jacob opens the door, the illusion spoke. “Good afternoon, sir.” He then brought up the brief case and opened it, showing a large collection of DVD copies of ‘SVTFOE.’ “Would you like to buy some boot legged copies of Star vs the Forces of Evil? I have season 4, obviously the best season.”

 Jacob’s eye just twitched at that and he pulled out a baseball bat from a umbrella stand next to the door. “What did you say?”

 ‘Harry just took a step back to make room for Jacob. “I said that I have boot legged copies of SVTFOE season 4 for sale.”

 Jacob then sent outside, then closed and locked the door behind him. “No, the other thing.”

 “Oh, you mean about Season 4 being the best one of the series?”

 Jacob just yelled in rage at that. “THAT SEASON WAS THE WORST!” He then took up his bat and started hitting Harry with it.

 “Ow, Ow, stop it!”

 Harry then ran away from the porch with Jacob close behind, chasing him with the bat.

 Luz and Gus then stepped forward, looking at them as they ran.

 “How long will the spell on Jacob keep up?”

 Gus just smiled. “Normally, I could only make someone do those hallucinations for a minute before they stopped. But with this toy from Adrian, he should be chasing that bigfoot around for the next hour. And he should be spouting every flame war inducing phrase you got from the message boards he posts on.”

 He then turned to her. “Thanks for that again, by the way. I am still trying to figure out how to get the spider on the inter-web to like me. No matter how many flies I put in its mouth, the computer still won’t connect me.”

 Luz just stared in shock at him before sighing and turning to the door. “I’ll explain it later, but for now we need to get inside.”

 “How, he locked the door! As much as I hate to say it, I am impressed with how much he kept a calm head to actually lock the door behind him before he charged off in a fit of rage. Breaking a window to get in would let him know that someone is onto him, we can’t pick the lock-“

 “I just picked the lock.”

 At that, Gus just looked up at the open door and Luz crouched in front of it holding some pieces of metal in her hand. She then looked back at him with a smile on her face.

 “I spent the summer with Eda, remember? I could pick these locks in my sleep. I just needed to be sure he was out of the house first.”

 The two then made their way into the house. The living room was small and backed right into the kitchen. In front of the door was a small table with one clear space for eating and the rest of it covered in files. The wall closest to the table had a massive cork board with multiple pictures and newspaper articles attached to it, connected to each other with red string.

 “OK, you focus on the first floor and keep an eye out if he comes back. I am going to check out the basement, and then the second floor if there is nothing there.”

 Gus just nodded before heading to the table and checking out the files. They were mostly just records of paranormal sightings around the town. To Gus, about 90% of them were fakes or had normal explanations. The other 10% however were pictures of Eda and things tied to her.

 The cork board on the other hand was entirely devoted to Eda, Vee, and the Hex squad. There was even a section on Luz and Camilla to the side, with pictures of the animal clinic and school.

 “If this is how creepy it looks like from the other side, I am glad that Luz convinced me to take down my human board back home.”

 He then held up his ear ring again and began to focus, summoning ghostly forms of all the documents around him to fly out of the originals before circling him in a tornado. They then began to slowly shrink until each page was the size of a postage stamp before going into the bag by his side.

 “One room down, the rest of the floor to go.”

 Basement

 Luz expected the basement to be creepy, either containing the more disturbing parts of Jacobs surveillance stalking of her family or his adult anime collection (there are some things a teenage girl should not see).

 Luckily for her, it was just being used for Jacob’s storage, weapon training, and “Research.” There were two bookshelves in a corner filled with Earth books on the supernatural, with a small table in front of them. to the side was a punching bag with a blurry picture of Eda in her owl beast form on it and a wooden target filled with stab holes with a picture of Vee in her basilisk form on it. His armor and dagger were on a rack next to them, all shiny and ready to go.

 The other half of the room was filled with boxes that just contained the normal stuff you would find in a basement.

 The only really interesting thing that Luz found were a recipe for 3 video cameras that was being used as a bookmark. There were three locations on the back of it. “In the cabin, watching the cabin, and undecided.”

 Luz panicked a little at the 3rd one until she saw the 3rd camera siting out of its box on top of the book shelf. She then sighed in relief before putting the bookmark back in the book and leaving it on the table where it was before going to the 2nd floor.

 1st floor office.

 Gus just looked at shock at the set up inside. There were three different computer monitors with multiple pages up.

 There were two accounting spread sheets showing that he was embezzling money from the Flat Earth Association to fund his exploits towards exposing witches, maps of the school and animal clinic with multiple locations for a camera to be hidden, and multiple e-mails written out about all Jacob knew about the Hex squad ready to be sent to multiple federal and state agencies (along the lines of “there are shapeshifting witches from Mars here living in a Dominican Women’s house, they have obviously replaced her with a robot already.”)

 Gus looked at it for a bit before he just smiled.

 “Luz, can you come over here and show me how to do something with computers?”

 Luz stopped on her way to the 2nd floor and looked at the computers with Gus.

 “How would I set it up so that the stuff on the first two screens were sent with the e-mails when he sent them?”

 Luz just smiled and walked over with him.

 “Step one, put on gloves so that we don’t leave finger prints behind. Step two…”

 2nd floor

 Since the first floor and basement were both cleared, the two decided to check out the top floor together. Gus would search Jacobs room while Luz searched the other rooms.

 So far, neither had much luck. The bathrooms and closets were normal, the bedroom had several posters but nothing they were interested in, and Luz just opened the guest room slightly before slamming it shut and telling Gus to never look inside.

 “Please tell me there wasn’t an autopsy table with a witch on it.”

 “Believe me Gus, I wish that was what I saw.”

 They were about to head down before Gus noticed something odd about a picture on the wall of Jacobs bedroom. “Why are all the other decorations here just posters taped to the wall and this is a full frame.”

 Luz just looked at the picture of Nami from One Piece bathing in gold before her eyes widened. “Please let him be that dumb.” She then reached for the picture and swung it on its hinges, revealing the safe behind it.

 “Yes. He really is that dumb.”

 She then turned to Gus. You look around and see if he left the combination lying around, I am going to try and crack this.”

 Gus just looked at her. “You know how to crack a safe?”

 Luz just smiled. “Thank you, Eda; she might not have been the best magic teacher, but she was an amazing mother figure and crime teacher.”

 Gus looked around the room and at every piece of paper he could find. “So, how many crime skills do you have?”

 “Lets see? Pick pocketing, reverse pickpocketing, lock picking, safe cracking, cleaning up murder sites-”

 “Wait, isn’t that last one just part of home ec at Hexside?”

 “that is just the basics, Eda showed me the extra steps related to not reporting it to the cops. Luckily, I never had to put that into practice there and hopefully I won’t have to do it here.”

 Gus then saw that there was an autographed picture of him shaking hands with a high member of the Flat Earth Society with a date next to it.

 “Hay Luz, I think I found it.”

 At that, he heard the sound of the safe opening. “No need, I have this.”

 Gus then went over to the safe and looked inside. There was a number of documents, (social security card, birth certificate, ect), a bundle of cash, and a USB drive labeled “backup info.”

 Luz then grabbed the USB, took her lap top out of her bag and popped it in. She then started to look through the files. In it were hundreds of files, pictures, and more about everything Boiling Isle related that had happened in Gravesfield; though the lens of a paranoid Flat Earther thought.

 “Jackpot, it even said that it was updated yesterday.”

 She then copied everything on the drive onto one she brought with her and left the original in the safe. “Let’s get out of here and see if there is anything we need to worry about on here.”

 Gus just nodded before twirling his finger to dismiss the illusion copies he made before. Before Luz closed the safe, he stopped her and made an illusion copy of the money in the vault.

 “Might be a good idea to replace this with some counterfeits later.”

 Luz just smiled. “Good idea.”

 The two then left the house, locked the door behind them, and then went home.

 Later

 “I told you officer; I was chasing a bigfoot through the street with the baseball bat.”

 “Right, the bigfoot with the hat, tie, briefcase full of DVDs-“

 “SVTFOE season 4 DVD, and he had the gall to say it was the best season.”

 “You forgot to mention that he was invisible to everyone else.”

 “In my defense, I only realized that only I could see him when you mentioned that there was no on where I was pointing when we were talking.”

 “You were yelling at me to arrest the bigfoot for saying that the prequals were better than the original trilogy of Star Wars.”

 “Are you going to honestly tell me that I was wrong for that?”

 “I actually prefer the sequel trilogy.”

 “…”

 “Do you mean Rogue One?”

 “Hell no, hated that move.”

 “HOW DARE YOU! THAT WAS THE ONLY GOOD ONE OF THE BUNCH!”

 I am a casual Star Wars fan, I like the original, haven’t seen the prequals except for the 1st (I liked it), disliked the sequels because I think the quality went down with each one, and LOVED Rogue One (especially “the Hallway Scene”, you know the one I’m talking about. The one at the end before the ship flew away to set up IV.

 Jacob seems very much like he is the kind of guy that would get into flame wars online. I just had Gus and Luz exploit that.

 I am also doing “Fanfic info dumps” on multiple series to help other fanfic writers with their works. They are on DevientArt here (https://www.deviantart.com/1228248) because Fanfiction and AO3 both said I couldn’t post them there.

 Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5646512/

Tumbler: https://at.tumblr.com/brianedner/luzs-crime-list-masterpost/dia848df51z4

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrianEdner1/wo

[marauderundercover]

Day 6: Party

WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE 

Continuation of days two and three

Marinette grins at her reflection in the mirror. The costume was perfect- close enough to the original that you could tell who she was, but also with her own touch so that she didn’t hate looking at the costume. She’d even curled her hair slightly. The knock at the front door makes her squeal in excitement, knowing exactly who it is. 

“Cass!” She cheers, opening the door and grinning widely at her best friend. Sure, Cass didn’t talk a lot (she was like Luka in that way), but she always seemed to know when Marinette needed help out of her own head. And she was eternally grateful for that. She was even more grateful that Cass had agreed to do a duo costume with her since Jason apparently didn’t want to dress up. He was ‘too old’ or something. Well, Marinette wanted to have fun and wear a damn costume. 

“The suit is amazing! I’m not sure the cowl I made will be good enough for it.” Marinette says worriedly, examining the stitches on Cass’ costume. “Where’d you say you got this?” She asks, frowning. It was definitely higher quality than the Halloween store downtown. Cass just smiles, the one that basically says ‘not telling’. Mari just grins, used to it by now. She passes the cowl to Cass and grabs her own domino mask, sliding it on. Posing next to Cass in the full length mirror, Marinette takes a picture and sends it to the group chat that Jason had recently added her to. Dropping her phone into her purse and grabbing her keys, she turns to Cass. 

“Ready?” She asks. 

“Ready.” Cass says. Marinette grins. Look out, Gotham, Batman and Robin are out on the town. 

---

Dick squeals as the picture comes through on the groupchat. He was beyond relieved that Jagged had scheduled his Halloween party two weeks before the actual holiday. It meant that he, and the rest of his brothers, could actually go instead of being on the extra patrols they always had to schedule around the holiday. Grinning, he opens twitter. 

@flyingrayson

Look at my little sisters! Aren’t they the cutest?! #halloween #Waynefam #jaggedstone

[image description: One girl stands with a hand on her hip, dressed in what is obviously a spin on a Robin costume, including: a domino mask, black tights, dark red tunic with a Robin logo, gold belt, knee high emerald boots, and a dual sided cape black on the outside and gold on the inside. Another girl stands next to her with her arms crossed over her chest, dressed in what is obviously a Batman costume, including: black catsuit, yellow utility belt, black cape, and a redesigned black cowl.]

---

Marinette pecks Jason’s cheek and grins. 

“What, not a Robin fan?” She asks teasingly at his frown. He huffs. 

“Not really. More of a...Red Hood guy.” He says, and she snorts. 

“Of course you’d like the one with guns.” She says, shaking her head with a smile. “His costume is actually probably one of my favorites. Well, besides the whole helmet thing.” Jason grins, pulling her in and giving her a sweet kiss before he glances behind her and groans. 

“My brothers just walked in.” He says and she smiles. 

“Go say hi, I’ve gotta go ask Uncle Jagged a question really quick. I’ll be right back and Cass and I can show your brothers our awesome costumes in person.” She says, pecking his cheek before walking away. She looks around for Jagged, but frowns when she doesn’t see him in the main room. Pulling out her phone, she sends him a quick text asking where he is. 

In the garden with Fang!!!!!!!

She shakes her head fondly. Of course he skipped out on his own party to spend time with his crocodile. Smiling, she heads out to the garden to try and get to him. She’d wanted to see if the man planned on being in the US around Thanksgiving. Bruce had already invited her (probably to get Jason to show up) and said she could invite any of her family as well. Since her parents and superhero partner were both dead and her grandparents didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, she decided she’d really love Jagged and Penny to come instead. As she walks outside, she’s shocked that Fang doesn’t immediately run up to her. 

“Uncle Jagged?” She calls, frowning. Where was he? And why was it so dark out here? Fang was scared of the dark. Jagged never would have brought him outside without more lights on, he was too protective of him. She tenses when she notices a slumped figure next to the bench Jagged had put in the gardens for when she visits. It was one of her favorite places to sit and design. 

“Hello?” She calls, watching the figure for any movement. Seeing none, she steps closer and her stomach drops. Immediately she runs over and checks her Uncle for a pulse. She sighs in relief when she feels it, but the gash on his head is worrisome. How-

“Hello, Birdie!” An amused voice rings behind her, making her blood run cold. She whirls around and manages to catch a glimpse of the man’s pale face before a thick piece of metal flies at her head and the world goes black. 

---

“Jaybird! Where’s Mari and Cass? They’re blowing up on twitter, even MDC liked my tweet!” Dick says happily, making Jason scowl. 

“Did you seriously post my girlfriend all over your twitter?” He asks grumpily. Dick nods. 

“Oh yeah. Her and Cass looked too cute to keep it to ourselves. Where are they anyway?” Dick asks, scanning the room. 

“M said she needed to go talk to her Uncle about something. Personally, I think she was just avoiding you guys. You all crowd her every time you see her.” Jason reprimands, crossing his arms. Replacement rolls his eyes. 

“It’s ‘cause she’s so much cooler than you. And she’s not an asshole like you are.” He says. 

“Something’s wrong.” Cass says, suddenly appearing at Jason’s side. He jumps slightly, but then frowns at her. 

“What?” He asks, surprised to see the deep scowl form on her face. 

“Don’t know.” She huffs. 

“Well if Cassandra believes that something is wrong, we should investigate.” Damian says, looking relieved that he wouldn’t be asked to socialize with anyone. A startled scream from outside makes the five vigilantes tense before running towards the noise. Jason curses when he realizes it’s Penny Rolling, Jagged Stone’s….something. She’s kneeling by a slumped figure, shaking it until a groan escapes it. Jason feels his blood run cold when the figure’s hair catches the light. It’s Jagged. Then where-

“Where’s she? Where’s she at?” Jagged slurs out, blinking wildly. 

“Who?” Penny asks, gently holding the man’s face. Jason frowns at the gash. 

“M. He wanted ‘er.” He says, and though the man is looking around crazily and slurring his words, Jason can tell he’s completely serious. And M-

“Do you mean Marinette?” Jason asks, stepping forward. Jagged frowns, but nods. 

“Crazy clown.” He adds before turning and throwing up in the grass. Jason growls and turns on his heel, ready to go hunt the damned clown down. Out of everyone in this damned city that he could’ve targeted, why did he choose her?

“Jason, wait.” Dick says, grabbing his wrist. “We need to have a plan. Come on. You can’t just go out like this.” He reminds him lowly, Jason’s eyes narrow but he follows anyway. Might as well use the good tools. That fucking clown won’t make it to morning. 

---

Ice cold water falls over her and Marinette sits up, gasping in shock at the sudden temperature change. 

“Little cold, Birdie?” A voice asks before walking around and standing in front of her- a huge smile on his face and a thick piece of metal in his hands.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Marinette says, trying not to let her voice shake. This was the villain. The one she never wanted to meet. The one that gave her boyfriend nightmares that he couldn’t explain to her. And now she was alone with him. 

“If you’re sure, we could have some...fun before Batsy arrives.” He laughs. 

“Why would Batman show up?” She asks. “You do realize this is just a Halloween costume, right?” She flinches as the piece of metal- a crowbar, she thinks shakily- stops inches in front of her face.

“How stupid do you think I am? Of course it’s a costume. A costume posted by one Dick Grayson. You’re a Wayne, somehow. And Batsy always shows up when a Wayne is involved.” Joker says, his twisted grin making her sick to her stomach. 

“I’m not a Wayne! Batman isn’t going to come for me.” She argues, cursing her decision to not wear her earrings today. Some days were harder than others, especially leaving in a mask. Even if the mask was a costume. Every time she tried to put on her earrings today, she shook and started to panic. Granted, it was probably for the best. Because she would definitely be tempted to transform and she did not want to give Joker that kind of knowledge. 

“Wayne or not, one of the bats will come. You have friends in very high places, Birdie.” Joker tuts, twirling the crowbar in his hand. She flinches as it nears her face, making Joker laugh. “If I wanted to hit you, I would.” He says. She doesn’t even have time to figure out what he means because her shoulder explodes in pain. The pain is blinding and she wants to scream but no sound will come out of her mouth as she gasps for breath. 

“That’s no good. A silent bird is a dead bird. So sing, Birdie.” Joker demands, and he aims slightly lower this time, shattering her left arm. And she screams. The pain tearing at her throat nothing compared to the pain in her arm, her shoulder. She sobs, the shaking making the pain worse, but she was unable to stop. It hurt. 

“S-stop!” She manages to yell, nearly biting her tongue when Joker grabs her chin and forces her to look up at him. 

“Hmm. You’re right! The internet should definitely see this.” He laughs, pulling a phone out. She shakes her head, flinching as he whacks the crowbar against the floor near her chair. He points the phone at her, and she knows he’s recording. The bastard. 

“Hello Gotham! Look at this little Birdie. I’m afraid she flew too far, and now we have to clip her wings.” He says, sighing as if he’s actually apologetic. He sets his phone up on the table and stalks over to her before turning and waving at the camera. She watches him move the crowbar around warily, her breathing shaky. God, she hoped Jason wasn’t watching this. Hoped he was somewhere safe, not trying to go do something stupid. She winces as Joker acts like he’s about to hit her, only to stop before the crowbar actually connects with her good arm.

“I told you, I’d only hit you if I wanted to.” He chuckles. 

“Go to hell.” She spits out, ignoring the voice in her head (that sounded suspiciously like Tikki) telling her to shut up. To not antagonize the crazy man with the crowbar. 

“Gladly.” He says with a grin, rearing back and swinging the crowbar out to hit her in the ribs. Her scream echoes around the room and she has no time to catch her breath before he’s attacking her ribs again. Tears stream down her face, but she can’t scream, she can’t even catch her breath. I’m going to die, she thinks, and the thought is terrifying. She didn’t want to die, she wanted to live. 

---

“Do we have a fucking location or am I about to go shoot up every goddamned warehouse in this city?” Jason growls as he zips through the streets on his bike. He knew Babs and Alfred were back at the cave, watching the livestream and working to locate Marinette. And even though he couldn’t see the video, the audio playing through the comms was enough to make his stomach churn. 

He didn’t give one singular fuck what Bruce said. He was going to kill that goddamned clown the minute he saw him. 

---

Marinette glares at the Joker, barely able to keep her head up. For some unknown reason, he’d decided to use his fists on her face instead of the crowbar. Not that she was complaining. She wouldn’t have survived multiple hits to the head. Not with the force he had. She watches him, and she knows he’s saying something, but she can’t tell what it is. She’s too tired, too hurt, to care what he’s saying anyway. Unless it’s some magical cure to stop her from feeling like she’s broken into a million pieces, she doesn’t want to hear it. 

Eyes wandering behind him, she’s relieved when she notices the costumed figure. The cowl, the cape- Batman did come. How strange. Though, she had assumed that Joker was live streaming. So that could definitely explain that one. Deciding she was out of immediate danger, she lets her eyes droop shut, reveling in the darkness that surrounds her. She let’s it stay, and she can feel things slipping away, some of the pain lessening. It’s nice, until someone is poking her and talking much too close to her. She lets out a whine as the person forces her eyes open. 

“‘m tired.” She mumbles, wincing at the pain that comes with breathing, with talking. 

“I know, kid, god I know. Just keep your eyes open.” A voice says. She blinks, the blue marks on the suit in front of her helping her to identify the vigilante. 

“Couldn’t fight.” She spits out, tears springing to her eyes as her attempt at conversation makes her chest ache. 

“But you’re fighting now, you’re staying awake. You’re doing such a good job, I’m proud of you. Stay awake kiddo.” Nightwing says quietly. She vaguely feels the ropes slide off her wrists and ankles. Fighting to stay sitting up, because slumping will hurt more than she’s willing to allow, she sighs. 

“Jason’s gonna worry.” She mumbles, and Nightwing hums. 

“Ambulance is almost here, kid, just stay awake.” He says instead of asking about Jason. She hopes Jason is okay. Hopes he isn’t mad at himself for letting her go talk to Jagged alone. Suddenly, sirens are close and she lets the world finally slip away.

---

The pain is the first thing that clues her in. She isn’t dead. Which is a relief. But the way her entire body aches, is not a relief. Forcing her eyes open, she sighs at Jason’s slumped form in a chair next to her bed. She wished she knew how long she’d been in the hospital so she could scold him. Because he was still wearing the outfit he had on at the party. Which meant he hadn’t given himself a break. Just as she’s trying to decide how to ask the nurses for pain medicine, Jason’s eyes open. 

“Marinette!” He gasps, starting to lunge forward, then stopping himself. “I thought, god, M, I thought-”

“‘m okay.” She says softly, and he frowns. 

“Okay? You were nearly beaten to death with a goddamned crowbar. You’re not okay.” He argues. She sighs. 

“I’m alive, and I’m with you. I’m okay.” She insists, wincing. He looks like he still wants to argue, but stops himself. He scoots closer and holds her hand, kissing the back of it softly. 

“I’ll never leave you.” He promises. She smiles softly, before falling back asleep, finally safe.

Tag list:  @maribat-october-rarepairs @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess 

[lovesanmotion]

yandere!ateez 99 & 00 liner reacts: seeing s/o kill for the first time

💌. This is: requested | 98 liner reaction here 

TW: blood and gore 

Yunho: 

The thought originally came when Yunho let you borrow his playstation controller while playing an rpg game. Situated in the living room, he made himself comfortable besides you on the couch and watched how you strategized and kill your enemies through the screen. And then the thought came into him, what if you kill with him? Slowly his mind drifted into the new found thought and kept pondering about it besides you. 

“Are you okay, love? I said I finished the game and look!” You smiled as you pointed at the screen with the words YOU WON. He smiled and placed a kiss on your cheek before turning off the controller and helping you cook dinner. 

When the following week came, Yunho was on his way home from the groceries when someone he knew particularly bumped into him. 

“Watch where you’re going man. Jesus.” He sneered at Yunho before going back to whoever he was talking to on the phone. That particularly person isn’t just a random stranger, it was your ex boyfriend who dumped you for a random girl he met online. Yunho stopped on his tracks, pondering in his thoughts before putting the paper bags inside the car and walking over to some place else. 

“Y/N look what I have for you!” you went over to where you heard Yunho was and it lead you to the living room, in the middle of the room is a man tied onto a chair with a sack covering his head. 

A smile still plastered on his lips as he hands you a metal baseball bat. You blinked twice before taking it in your hands. You were using the same kind of bat while playing Yunho’s game. He was sensing your hesitation before he went behind you and whispered in your ear. 

“This is your ex boyfriend. He bumped into me the other day, wouldn’t it be nice to take your revenge?” And with that, a thousand of horrible memories came flooding into your head. There are good memories with your ex, however, they were overshadowed by the bad ones. Gripping your hold on the base, you swinged the bat and continously swung it over his head. Hearing a few bones cracking and watching as the white sack turn into bright red. You wouldn’t stop not until Yunho wrapped his arms around you from behind and took the bat away from you. 

“That’s enough, darling. You did so well today. Done beautifully.” Sensing his smile, he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face on the crook of your neck and hearing the thud of the metal bat onto the floor. 

Yeosang: 

“Do you love me, Y/N?” 

His voice ran chills down your spine. In front of you is the love of your life, staring deeply into your eyes while a third party whose hands and ankles are binded, hid behind Yeosang’s back and body on the floor. And this was no ordinary person who’s binded and laying pathetically on Yeosang’s basement. It was your old college dormmate, now all botched up, who tried to take Yeosang from you. 

“If you love me” Yeosang says, taking your hands in his before placing a small pointed metal with a wooden handle into your hands. An ice pick. “you would kill for me.” He ends his sentence before moving away, his eyes never removing from you. Yeosand’s smart and you knew why he chose this weapon. Once stabbed, the victim doesn’t die immediately, rather, the stab wounds would turn into injuries forming blood clots until slowly the victim slips into their death. Making the victim look like they died from blood clotting, internal bleeding or aneurysm. 

You slowly kneeled down besides her head, watching as her eyes gloss with tears. 

“Please Y/N. Were friends” she chokes out before breaking into a sob. You softly cooed at her, brushing a few hairstrands away from her face. 

“This will be quick” raising your right hand and then stabbing the ice pick onto her forehead, burying the metal surface deeply into her skull, twisting the weapon and then swiftly pulling it out of her. 

Yeosang’s giggles broke the silence of the room as he takes the ice pick from your hand, placing it on top of the table before wrapping his arms around you. 

“I knew you love me too, Y/N!” He chirps. Seeing him happy made your feelings swell and warm your insides, you raised your arms and slowly wrapped them around his nape, hugging him back. 

San: 

You and San are not in the best of terms as of the moment. You had raised your voice at him and disobeyed him, causing him to leave the shared home, only to return home with a random girl he picked up from the streets and started to have sex with her in the living room. You took your earphones and mp3 player from your desk, playing a random song just to block the girl’s annoying autotuned moaning from your ears. You couldn’t care less if San was dicking her down, you knew you were bound to die in this place before you could even see San in a different light. 

And everything was going fine until your bedroom swung open and a shirtless San barged into your room, grabbing your forearm and then dragging you into the room next to yours. 

“Let go of me you manwhore!” You tried yanking your arm away from his grip only to fail. You were expecting to see a naked woman on his bed, whoever it turned out to be the opposite. The woman, still fully clothed, has her arms and ankles tied onto the bed posts. You were confused, you looked at San for an answer. 

“Do you think I’m a manwhore when I dedicate my whole life to you?” He says, walking closer to you, eyes staring straight into your dark brown orbs. “Kill her, if you hate her presence bothers you so much.” He says before taking a hold on your shoulders and spinning you around. The woman shook her head, pleading for her life. But all you did is grab onto the pillow and watch her suffocate while struggling. When she was no longer struggling, you immediately let go of the cushions, your back bumping into San’s hard rock chest. 

“That’s my baby.” He whispers softly, hugging you from behind and placing his chin on top of your shoulder. 

Mingi: 

He doesn’t see the point of you still working in your corporate office when all your boss does is humiliate you in front of your co workers. For all he knows, your boss should keep his mouth shut or else he’d kill him. Kill. The word rang into his mind. What if you, the love of his life, kill your boss? It sounded like a good plan. Better even. That night, he stepped out into the night and kidnapped your boss who is easy enough to locate. 

Your self esteem went lower and lower as your boss would continue to humiliate you inside the office. But when you heard that he didn’t come to work today, you were wondering where the devil is he. It wasn’t until you clocked out at 6pm and went straight home. 

“Hi Y/N!” Mingi smiles, waving his hand happily but with your boss all tied up into a chair. Your eyes widened in surprise making you drop your handbag. 

“I can’t let this fat fuck run his mouth and talk shit about my baby. So I did the honors for you.” How could he still smile in a situation like this? He kidnapped your boss and he’s happy about it? 

“And so, to end my baby’s pain, she gets to do this. One time big time only.” He hands you a jagdkommando knife. 

Your breath hitched. “H-how do you have this?” you asked, your voice coming out merely a whisper. Mingi takes a step closer to you, cupping your eyes as he looks into your eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t ask questions like that now, jagi. What matters here is that once we, well you, kill him, all the money he has will be wired into my account and you wouldn’t have to work for that damned office anymore. Don’t you want that?” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead. 

You turned to face your boss whose wailing around his seat, his pants dampening with his pee. Raising your hand, you brought the knife down on his neck. Hearing that squelching sound before taking the knife out, raising your hand and bringing it to his stomach and pulling it out. Your work clothes stained with his blood, watching your boss bleed out through the large holes you’ve created on his skin with the knife. 

“Don’t hurt yourself now.” He whispers, taking the knife away from your hand. “How was your day today, jagi? Let me run you a hot bath before we have dinner.” He says, taking you upstairs. 

Wooyoung: 

He got a little carried away torturing a guy who confessed to you the other day for liking you. He was having his own little fun by purposefully making him trip on his own feet and stab his legs, dodging him whenever he would lunge at him and then hit his head on the wall. That was what he was doing until you came home. 

“Hear that, idiot? She’s home.” He says, leaving the basement with a mood shift. Happily skipping to the living room to greet you. “Darlinggg~” he flings his arms around you. 

“What’s got you so hyper right now?” You chuckle softly, turning to face him. Instead of replying, he took a hold of your hand and lead you the basement. To your surprise, you see a man whose lying on the floor, pants bloodied and covered in sweat. 

“It’s your turn to get into the fun!” He smiles handing you a russian roulette with only one bullet inside. “I already had my turn with him and I reserved for you the grand finale.” He says, hugging you tightly in his arms. “Think of this as his final dying act. When he dies, the curtains will close and the people will praise you.” He places a big kiss on your cheek. 

You weren’t skilled like Wooyoung, but you hoped that this bullet would go into his head. You took a deep breath and pulled the trigged. And as you wished, the bullet pierced through the skin of his forehead and into his skull. 

Wooyoung clapped and stood up from his seat like a standing ovation. He walks up to you and takes your hand in his. 

“What a natural.” 

Jongho: 

Staring at you is something that Jongho will never get tired of doing. Even when you get embarrassed, Jongho will never keep his eyes off you. If his eyes were his stomach, they would feel so full just by looking at you. Only he can stare at you how he wants to. No one else except him. Not until his next door neighbor accidentally discovered you when you opened the door. 

He was furious at you and at his neighbor and dragged both of you into his basement. Before he left, you pleaded not to let him leave you alone. Seeing the tears in your eyes were his ultimate weakness, he hated the feeling that it was him who made you cry. But you broke a rule, and it is only fitting that you receive a punishment. 

“Wait here” he says, ascending up the stairs and going somewhere. When he came back, he has a 7 needle gauge in his hand. 

“You broke a rule, darling. You shouldn’t have answered the door. If you want me to forgive you, stab his eyes.” He says, your breath hitched. Never once did you imagine yourself killing someone. Let alone be an order from a person. When you sat closer to his neighbor, you quickly pierced the needle into his eye. Letting out a blood curdling scream, your heart raced. Swiftly taking the needle out, the man lets out a cry before screaming again as you did the same into his left eye. 

When he was no longer moving, it was your turn to cry. Tossing the needle away as you brought your knees close to your chest, sobbing. Jongho’s footsteps could be heard behind you, slowly he lifted you up and carried you bridal style. 

“It’s over now, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you anymore.” 

[iphoenixrising]

DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

**

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

**

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

**

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

[daringyounggrayson]

whumptober day 5: misunderstanding + broken nose (AO3)

Working as vigilantes, Dick and Bruce have made a lot of enemies. Most people they fight just want to get away, maybe get a few punches in just to be able to say they did, but some have a vendetta against them. For these people, it’s not that they want to carry out their plans without worrying about the Bat intervening, it’s that their plan has become causing him and anyone he works with to suffer.

And tonight, they’re dealing with those people.

They enter a warehouse, and drug-filled darts immediately rain down around them. Dick flings himself into a back handspring to dodge them, then shoots himself into the rafters, trying to get out of sight. Bruce stays on the ground and looks around for their attackers, but the darts are coming from all over—booby traps, possibly operated by remote. Luckily, Bruce’s thick armor means he can afford to be seen, can afford not to dodge every single dart.

Dick drops some smoke bombs to give them cover, then escapes through a window. He does a perimeter check around the budling and spots their attacker. He crouches down and taps through the settings on his mask, using the camera to zoom in. He sees a tiny controller in the man’s hand—Dick was right, then, the darts are being released by remote.

Ensuring that no one else is around, Dick leaps out and takes the man down by surprise. He quickly gags him and ties his hands together before attaching him to a telephone pole. He picks up the remote, looking it over quickly before powering it down and taking it apart.

Bruce still hasn’t met up with him, so Dick radios him. “Batman?” he calls into the comm. “I took down the dart commander. What’s your status?”

No answer.

“Batman, what’s your location?”

No answer.

Dick pulls up Bruce’s location from the tracker in his suit and finds that he’s still in the warehouse. He doubles back and takes a peek through his escape window. Four armed men are circled around Batman, and one of them is poking him with some kind of metal pole. Bruce isn’t reacting at all—some of the darts must have made it through his suit, or maybe he’s hurt. Possibly both.

Either way, this isn’t good.

Dick crouches beneath the window, trying to think of a plan. He’s taken down four men at once before, but not while trying to defend an unconscious Batman. Plus, he doesn’t know what to expect. These guys could be metas, or they could be on some kind of venom. There’s a rumor going around that Bane’s been getting into retail.

Dick takes another peek: still no movement, but he needs to make a plan, and fast.

His priority is getting Bruce out of there. He sends Alfred an update, and Alfred informs him that Bruce’s vitals are fine, as if he were asleep. Once that’s done, Dick slips back in through the window and ducks behind a crate a few yards away from Bruce. He’s restrained now, but his captors are silent, waiting.

Dick freezes when he hears a truck pull up outside. One of the men moves to open the doors, and it slowly but surely makes its way in.

Heart hammering, Dick forces himself to stay still. Running in and trying to take them done now would be stupid. At this range, he’d be shot for sure, and besides, they have access to an easy getaway. He’ll have to let them take Batman.

oOo

After placing one of the darts in an evidence bag and calling the police to pick up the guy Dick tied to the telephone pole, he follows the truck on his bike. The secondary location ends up being an abandoned apartment complex about twenty miles south.

Dick quickly surveys the area and enters through a basement window. He sticks to the shadows as he follows the disembodied voices. So far there are only two men, and he takes them down with a couple of nerve pinches. He restrains them with zip-ties and moves on.

He takes a lucky turn down a hallway and finds the two more men guarding a room—that must be where they’re keeping Bruce.

Dick tosses a few more smoke pellets and charges at them, disarming them and taking them down in a matter of minutes. Once they’re tied up, he kicks the door down and runs to Bruce’s side.

“Alright, big guy, let’s get out of here,” Dick says as he works on freeing Bruce. He doesn’t look too bad; aside from the drugs, they’re probably looking at some minor bruising.

Dick cuts the rope connecting Bruce’s hands, and the second his arm is free, Bruce swings at Dick.

“Aah!” Dick yelps as the fist makes contact with his nose, cracking it instantly. He quickly presses his hand against his nose, and blood runs over his glove.

Bruce moves to take another swing at Dick, but this time Dick is ready, and he dodges it like it’s nothing.

“Batman, stop, it’s me,” he says in a firm, even voice. “It’s me.”

Bruce looks at him, really looks at him, but he doesn’t seem to recognize him. Not entirely. “Robin?” he asks with an unsure voice and a confused expression.

Dick forces a grin. “Who else would it be?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, just slumps over, unconscious.

oOo

It’s a struggle, but Dick manages to get Bruce out of the basement and into the Batmobile Alfred had directed to their location. From there, he puts his bike in the trunk and drives Bruce back to the Cave, where Alfred is waiting for them.

An hour later, they confirm that Bruce will live. The drugs in the darts were fairly harmless and were probably selected for their sedative properties. Bruce will probably feel a little hungover come morning, but it won’t be anything he hasn’t dealt with before.

Alfred sets Dick’s nose and forces an icepack on him, and then the two of them work together to get Bruce up to his bed, where Dick insists on watching him until he wakes up.

Come afternoon, Dick finds himself lounging at the foot of Bruce’s bed, snacking on some grapes and reading a random Hardy Boys book he found on Bruce’s bookshelf. He used to read them to Dick all the time when he was younger, and he still enjoys the series.

Bruce groans, and Dick shoots up, relief flooding him.

“It’s about time,” Dick says, flopping sideways to land by Bruce’s head. “You were asleep forever.” He’d been worried—more worried than he should have been, honestly. But it’s easy to catastrophize when the last time Bruce had been conscious he’d barely recognized Dick. Plus, the man had been asleep for nearly fourteen hours. It was disturbing.

“Dick?” Bruce is frowning at him, eyebrows pinched in confusion and maybe a headache.

Dick grins. “Who else would it be?”

Bruce pushes himself into a sitting position. “You’re hurt.”

Dick raises his hand to cover his nose, then drops it. “I’m okay.” He sits up. “How are you feeling? Should I get Alfred?”

Bruce ignores him, cups Dick’s face. “I hurt you.”

Dick shrugs, pushes Bruce’s hand away. “You probably thought I was one of the kidnappers,” he explains. “And who can blame you? You were drugged. It’s not your fault.”

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, rubs at his temples. Dick hops off the bed and grabs the Tylenol, passing it to Bruce along with a water bottle. Bruce accepts them with a grunt.

Dick sits down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to get Alfred?” Dick asks again.

Bruce grunts. No.

Dick bites his lip, trying to decide if he should listen to Bruce or not.

“Don’t do that,” Bruce says, tugging on Dick’s sleeve until he complies.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dick asks.

“I’m fine, Dick.”

It’s stupid. Dick knows Bruce is fine; this is probably the best shape either of them have ever been in post-kidnapping. But Bruce had been taken, and it had been Dick’s fault. Dick had left his side, and in those minutes he’d been gone, Bruce could’ve been killed. It would’ve been his fault.

“Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Dick snaps his head around to look at Bruce.

“Your nose.”

“Oh. Not too bad. Can’t breathe out of it though, so that’s kind of annoying.” Dick doesn’t understand why Bruce feels so guilty. At least he can blame it on the drugs. Dick has nothing—he’d just abandoned his partner and didn’t even try to stop the kidnappers as they loaded him into that truck. “But if you want to be sorry about something, you should apologize for making me lug your heavy ass up a whole flight of stairs. My arms still feel like jelly—I could barely hold up my book.”

Dick grins to show Bruce that he’s joking, merely exaggerating at Bruce’s expense.

“I’m sorry that you’re not stronger. I’ll adjust your training regimen accordingly.”

“Hey!” Dick throws a pillow at him, and Bruce chuckles when it hits him in the face. Dick lies back down with an exaggerated huff. Then, in a quiet voice, Dick says, “Sorry I let them take you.”

“You did everything right, chum. You should be proud of yourself for handling things as well as you did.”

“You don’t know what happened,” Dick says, a touch of anger in his voice. “You weren’t even conscious.”

“No, but you got us home safely. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, well. I guess so.”

He knows Bruce has a point, but he still feels like he could’ve done more. Bruce probably feels the same.

Dick decides to shelve the conversation, for both of their sakes. They can deal with their guilt complexes another day.

He reaches for his book, asks, “Do you remember when you used to read me the Hardy Boys?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because I don’t want to start over.” Dick clears his throat and starts reading.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 12

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword. 

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well. 

It isn’t really funny at all.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,704 (good lord I’m tired...)

Warnings: angst, swearing, one brief moment of sexual harassment, lots of assumptions made, Dark Din returns and some familiar characters make themselves known

Author Note: Believe me I want Din and Cupid reunited as much as all of you do, but my dark side keeps saying just stretch it out a little bit longer 😈 All the love to each and every reader out there, the support you give me keeps me sane and happy each week ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 11 and Part 13

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You wipe furiously at your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, while inwardly cursing yourself for showing weakness in front of Gideon. A lump forms in your throat as you replay the last sixty seconds on loop in your head, imagining exactly how Din will react to each sentence, especially those last two words: let go. This will be the one and only time you’re thankful you can’t feel Din’s half of the bond. If he’s feeling even a smidge of the throbbing, torturous pain you’re feeling right now, experiencing both sides would have overwhelmed you. Of all the commands Gideon could have chosen, why would he choose to taunt Din with that one? It’s as if the Seraph is purposefully trying to piss Din off.

Maybe he is insane, you think, not for the first time, just as he starts to clap his hands together in applause.

“Well done,” Gideon says, almost in admiration. “You’re a much better actress than I imagined you’d be.”

“It wasn’t an act,” you snap back.

“Regardless, you’ve served your part well.” He reaches forward to pat your head, and you honestly deserve an award for not giving into the urge to break his hand. “If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget this moment ever happened. Should I require you to send a second message, it would certainly make it all the more bittersweet for you to think it was your first attempt.”

His words make no sense at first, and you merely sit there in the chair blinking back at him, some distant part of you aware of how your eyelashes are still wet and stuck together. Involuntarily, you find yourself recalling Din’s reaction to your memory loss, how he had muttered under his breath he thought someone was responsible for the blank spots. Your mouth falls open in shock as Gideon’s meaning clicks.

“You...You tampered with my memories?” you whisper.

“It wasn’t personal. There are holes in every Cupid’s head.”

Why would he use his powers so cruelly and invasively? How does he choose which memories to erase? These questions and more run through your head, but you don’t voice them aloud. Everything you’ve heard about and actually seen in person about Gideon has solidified your opinion he is a certifiable control freak. Of course he would use his memory-erasing ability to further establish his position of authority amongst the Cupids.

Your eyes drift to the Cupid twi’lek behind him. “Is that why she’s here? You brainwashed her into joining you?”

“I made my own choice,” she replies, tone as sharp as the knife she twirls with nimble fingers. It doesn’t gleam like metal, instead faintly sparkling just like your arrows do. Kyber crystal, you realize with a chill of uneasiness. “You don’t see me in a collar, do you?”

“Indeed, I cannot alter memories, only erase them. It was free will that brought Xi’an to me, not manipulation,” Gideon says with a smile, but his eyes glimmer in a way that makes your throat close up with fear. “She has become a loyal and valuable ally.”

Valuable. One word and your suspicions are confirmed. Collared or not, Xi’an is just as much a toy for Gideon to play with as you and Din are. The only difference is she doesn’t seem to realize she is one. Or, and this is a dangerous possibility, she does know and simply doesn’t give a damn.

“She’s your ally?” you echo, nervously licking your lips. “What does that mean?”

“She has dedicated herself to the achievement of my goal.”

You know he’s purposefully baiting you, but still you find yourself asking, “And that goal is?”

Gideon leans forward, invading your personal space even as you jerk backwards in your seat. The smile has been wiped from his face, replaced with narrowed eyes and a twisted scowl. He deliberately presses the unlit laser sword against the middle of your chest in the space between your breasts, thumb teasingly hovering over the activation button.  

When he answers, you’ve never heard anyone else speak as seriously as him.

“To finish what I started.”

The words linger in the air the same foreboding way Din’s reapers linger around hospitals. You don’t realize you’re not breathing until Gideon steps back after several pounding heartbeats pass and your lungs are on fire. You suck in a breath of relief, but your body remains tense, recognizing the dangerous situation you’re still stuck in.

“Mayfeld,” Gideon addresses the man armed with three guns who immediately straightens. “Take her back to her cell.”

You don’t resist as Mayfeld grabs you by the upper arm and tugs you out of your seat. It’d take a miracle to incapacitate him and everyone else in the room before they subdued you. No, you can’t make any rash decisions. The right moment will come, you tell yourself. It has to.

...Right?

“So, what’s it like being Death’s soulmate?”

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Mayfeld’s voice. You side-eye him, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

“I mean, I’ve heard he never takes off the helmet,” he continues, unbothered by your silence. “But surely you must’ve seen what’s underneath there. If it were me, I’d definitely wanna know the face of the guy I’m allegedly destined to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Allegedly?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not so much a believer in fate or destiny or true love. And now that I know the guy who’s the boss of Cupid operations?” He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Forget about ever trying to convince me the universe has a mortal’s best interests in mind when it allows a Seraph as bat-shit crazy as the Moff to have the power he has.”

“If you think he’s insane, why do you work for him?”

“The pay’s good,” he answers with a laugh. “Plus, if he really does pull off this plan of his, well...let’s just say I’d rather be in his corner than anywhere else.”

“You do realize though that anyone in Gideon’s corner is an enemy of Death’s?” you say, half-taunting him half-genuinely curious about his reaction.

“That thought has recently crossed my mind,” is all he replies.

The conversation comes to a halt when you arrive back at your cell. Mayfeld pushes you inside, but the force is noticeably gentler than the thug who had manhandled you earlier. Standing near the pallet, you watch as he digs a remote out of the pocket of his pants and activates the laser grid with a single press of a button.

Interesting.

You expect Mayfeld to immediately return to Gideon’s side, so you’re surprised and more than a little confused when the man continues to linger. A minute of silence ticks by and your confusion changes to frustration. What does he want?

Just as your mouth opens to snidely voice the question, the baby chooses that precise moment to sneak back into your cell. Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush forward to grab him, torn between forcibly shoving him back into the hole or foolishly attempting to hide him behind your back.

“There’s the little green guy,” Mayfeld says, and you pause at the audible note of cheerfulness in his voice. The baby coos in your arms, waving his hand in the man’s direction.

They kriffing know each other?

Mayfeld notices your bewildered expression. “What? You think none of us noticed he doesn’t like staying put? We might be mercenaries, but we’re not complete idiots.”

“You’re a heartless bastard,” you spit, holding the baby tighter against your chest. “He’s a baby and you’re doing nothing to get him out of here.”

“First of all,” he counters, holding up a finger. “Ouch. And second,” he points that same finger directly at the baby, “that little guy is older than me so calling him a ‘baby’ isn’t exactly fair.”

Your eyes sweep over Mayfeld, estimating him to be at least forty. You then look at the green face smiling back at you. Yeah, there’s no way he’s telling the truth.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maker, the hits just keep on coming.” Mayfeld rolls his eyes. “Why would I lie about his age?”

“I…” you trail off, unable to come up with an excuse.

“Exactly.” He nods smugly. “Look, he fooled me, too, with those big brown eyes of his. If I hadn’t witnessed what he can do when that collar’s off, I might have been suckered into releasing him. He’s cute, sure, but he’s also secretly a menacing gremlin.”

You frown. “What do you mean you’ve seen what he can do?”

“I mean he’s got powers. He can lift things with his mind, throw men against walls five times his size like they weigh nothing. What’s worse is he uses those powers to steal. I had a pack of cookies I was saving and he levitated them right out of my pocket.”

Your disbelief falters at that last bit. You had already surmised the baby had stolen the cookies, but not like this. Looking down at him again, the collar stands out more prominently than ever before. Xi’an told you they were purposefully designed to prohibit the use of powers. Why else would the baby wear one if he didn’t possess some type of special ability?

“You really have some serious trust issues, don’t you?” Mayfeld says, almost sounding impressed by your stubborn reluctance to believe him.

“I’m currently being held hostage by a psychopath,” you retort. “I think I’m allowed to be suspicious of a mercenary who says everything that pops into his head.”

His lips purse. “Alright. That’s a good point.”

“Isn’t it risky?” you ask, stepping closer to the gate. “Sharing all this information with me?”

“Only if you don’t appreciate the value of it all.”

Your brow furrows, not understanding.

“Look,” he lowers his voice meaningfully. “One way or another, Gideon and Death are gonna face each other and only one side will win. Gideon wins, great. Status quo unchanged. But if your soulmate wins?” He grimaces at the prospect. “By talking to you, I’m trying to cover all my bases here.”

Your brain works rapidly to fill in the blanks. “So, let me get this straight. You think that by getting on my good side, Death won’t murder you?” A wide grin stretches across your face, not the least bit friendly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got to do so much better than that. With what you’ve given me so far, the only kindness he’ll spare you is ripping your throat out quickly so you don’t suffer long.”

Take the bait.

“Oh, yeah?” A flicker of nervousness flashes across his face. He shifts his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “What would I have to do to not have that happen? I’m, uh, open to suggestions.”

Good, good, good.

“You get me the keys to these collars, I can guarantee you’ll walk out of here with every limb attached and not one drop of blood spilt.”

A long beat passes wordlessly. It would be completely silent if not for the baby’s quiet whining as he cuddles against you, unsettled by the tense atmosphere.

“You’re not the only one with trust issues,” Mayfeld says at last. “Maybe you can guarantee Death won’t kill me, but how do I know you won’t kill me with your bow yourself?”

You say nothing, not because you’re guilty of thinking of that specific scenario, but because you don’t know how to convince him you haven’t considered it. Anyone else in your same predicament would undoubtedly shoot him the first chance they got. He is an enemy after all. A minor one, true, but nevertheless contributing to the effort of keeping you separated from Din. He also clearly only has his own self-interest in mind, making him unpredictable and untrustworthy. Who’s to say he won’t attempt to double-cross you somehow?

All these reasons are valid and should make you hate him, but something inside of you isn’t allowing you to commit wholeheartedly to the feeling. And as much as it pains you to admit it, you know that ‘something’ is fear. You’ve never killed anyone before. Shot someone with an ichor arrow? Yes, several times, but not once was the wound fatal. As your list of escape options continues to dwindle though, you’re terrified of the possibility you’ll have no choice but to personally be responsible for ending someone’s life.

“There’s my answer,” Mayfeld says. His words are distressingly ambiguous, but it’s the way he bobs his head in a decisive manner and turns his back on you that causes your stomach to tie itself into knots.

Throat suddenly dry, you struggle to choke out, “Wait, I—”

He starts whistling an upbeat tune as he walks away, ignoring your attempts at reclaiming his attention. You listen hopelessly as the sound gradually grows farther and farther away, until eventually all you can hear is silence.

And once more, it’s just you and the baby alone in the cell.

~~

You lie on the pallet, staring up at the ceiling with the baby sleeping on your stomach. You reflect on everything that has happened since you left Arvala-7, taking every moment apart piece by piece to figure out what you know.

From what you’ve witnessed, you don’t think your superiors are involved in or even aware of Moff Gideon’s plans. Lang, Hess, and Morgan were his associates, not allies like he’d called Xi’an. The difference is subtle, but profound in meaning. You wonder if the three of them have had memories erased too, if they know Gideon was responsible.

He had told them you were being hidden away to prevent other Cupids from knowing you had a second soulmate, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Gideon wants you as his hostage because you’re Din’s soulmate. He wants to use you as leverage to get Din to do what he wants. Initially, you assumed that meant kill those who Gideon considered enemies, but that assumption was proven incorrect when you sent the message to Din without naming even one potential target.

Unfortunately, you think that is not the only wrong assumption you’ve made recently. Gideon had forced you to tell Din to let go. The bond had cried out with agony when you’d said the words out loud as it had thought you were telling Din to let go of you. But looking back at the incident with a clearer head, you find yourself wondering why hadn’t Gideon included those two extra words if that was what he meant? It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of space left to write them on the paper.

If he didn’t mean for Din to let go of you, then logically that would mean he wants Din to let go of something else. Something important enough that Gideon is taking advantage of your relationship in order to convince him to release it.

But what could Din possibly possess that Gideon wants this badly? Din doesn’t own anything valuable except for the Crest and his armor, and you doubt either of those will further progress Gideon towards his goal.

To finish what I started.

Hours later and you still can’t figure out what the kriff he’s talking about. No matter which way you twist or turn the phrase over in your mind, it’s incomprehensible. What did he start? When did it happen? How does he intend to finish it?

Considering how your previous assumptions were both flawed, you really shouldn’t be making another one, but you can’t get the moment of when he’d pressed the sword against your chest out of your mind. The action itself screamed intimidation as well as sexual harassment, but when you think about how he did it at the same time he revealed his goal, your gut instinct is telling you to definitely assume the two are connected to each other.

And then there’s Mayfeld’s comment about there being an inevitable clash between Din and Gideon. He had sounded so certain there would only be one victor, but, unlike you, he hadn’t immediately placed his bet on Din. Which makes no sense to you. Everyone knows it’s an indisputable fact Din is the most powerful entity in the universe, second only to the Maker. The chance of Gideon winning their fight is so slim it’s infinitesimal.

It’s sort of funny though, to imagine Din being defeated by Gideon’s sword.

It’s sort of funny, except...

Well.

It isn’t really funny at all.

~~

Over the span of Din’s existence, he had witnessed entire civilizations wiped out by war, genocide, disease. No matter the reason behind the tragedy, the universe always called him there in the final moments to walk amongst the ruins left behind, to watch those last to die mourn those who passed before them. In those moments, he felt powerless, knowing there was not one thing he could do to change any of it.

He realized the universe was trying to instill a lesson in him: what is meant to happen, will always happen. Regardless of who is hurt in the process.

And maybe he would have surrendered to the harsh teaching if his angel hadn’t been stolen from her rightful place at his side. No one, not even the fucking universe itself, is going to stop him from getting her back.

From their first meeting, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Then when she asked him question after question about his likes and dislikes, his hobbies, his favorite sights in the galaxy—he made the risky decision of trusting her. He revealed his face to her, allowed her to know every part of himself, and was stunned every time she didn’t fear or run away from what she discovered. He didn’t know whether to consider her stupid or brave, but the moment he first heard her laugh at one of his sarcastic quips he knew it was a sound he wanted to hear everyday for the rest of eternity.

When she showed him her marked hand, claiming they were each other’s soulmates, he swore to himself he’d dedicate himself to her happiness. Anything she wanted or asked for, he would give to her without question.

Except now she has asked him to do the impossible: to let go.

He replays the transmission enough times every word, every quiet hitch of breath, and every subtle twitch of her facial features is embedded in his mind. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh after the eighth loop, squeezing the bridge of her nose as if a headache was forming, but he can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from the hologram long enough to glare at the reaper. She doesn’t have a soulmate, therefore she can’t even begin to fathom how it feels when his half of the soulmate bond slams itself against the invisible wall separating him from his angel with all the unhinged ferocity of a feral beast.

If Din didn’t know his angel as intimately as she knew him, he might have believed those were her own words coming out of her mouth. However, throughout the entire length of the message he notices how her eyes nervously flick to the side every few seconds, as if she needs to reassure herself someone offscreen isn’t making any sudden movements. It’s all the confirmation he needs to know she’s being used as a mouthpiece against her will to demand Din gives up searching for her.

Din refuses to yield to the whims of an enemy who doesn’t have the balls to face him directly.

He channels his seething anger into steadfast determination as he stretches his powers out across the galaxy for a second time, this time searching for the twi’lek Hess so graciously identified for him. Her being the one to have dragged his soulmate out of Cupid headquarters couldn’t have been a random circumstance. If she has even the slightest notion of who the elusive immortal is that is responsible for shielding his angel from him, he’ll beat the name out of her just as he had her Cupid superior.

Bo-Katan, never one to stand still when she can be doing something useful, sends a message out to her fellow reapers to fill them in on the developing situation. Only Din can give them orders to follow, but she strongly recommends they interrogate any Cupid they come across for information about Xi’an.

Transmissions start flooding in an hour later of reapers reporting what they’ve learned. Turns out Xi’an is the type of person who finds joy in antagonizing others. No one claims her as their friend nor do they know what region of the galaxy she usually operates in. The most interesting tidbit learned from the interrogations is that several Cupids have admitted they often saw the twi’lek in the archives at headquarters, studying datapads and flipping through holobooks.

“She was searching for something,” Bo-Katan murmurs, brow creasing thoughtfully.

“Or she was gathering information on someone’s behalf.” Din’s eyes remained closed, focus split between the conversation and the search. “Only Cupids are allowed at their headquarters. She’d have no issue slipping in and out without anyone giving her a second—”

Every soul has a unique aura that can only be sensed by power-sensitive beings like himself. No two are the same, similar to fingerprints and snowflakes. Having a specific target in mind hastens the search of detecting them amongst the trillions of other beings inhabiting the galaxy, but it is not the fact that Din’s powers have just locked onto Xi’an’s soul that has his eyes snapping open. It is her location.

She’s on Umbriel.

“Stay with the ship,” he tells Bo-Katan.

Din teleports before the reaper responds, arriving at the front entrance of his soulmate’s apartment in the next blink. The front door is wide open and his jaw clenches as he recognizes the gesture for the taunt it is. Rolling his shoulders back, he enters the apartment, purposefully shutting and locking the door behind him.

“About time you showed up.” As soon as Din hears her voice, he’s reminded of a loth cat screeching when its tail is grabbed. The anger he’s been forcibly holding back starts to simmer beneath his armor, fingers twitching at his sides with the desire to wrap around her throat and squeeze.

He finds a purple-skinned twi’lek Cupid standing in the center of the living room. Or, what used to be considered the living room at least. Every piece of furniture has been broken and torn apart. The pile of newspapers kept in the corner are shredded and scattered across the floor. If he didn’t know how precious they were to his angel in her quest to reclaim her memories, he wouldn’t have cared about the mess, but he does know and his wrath increases exponentially.

“Xi’an,” he says, the name bitter on his tongue like a curse.

“The rumor mill says you’ve been looking for me,” she drawls, looking coy and fluttering her eyelashes. “I gotta say, I’m flattered by the attention.”

“Tell me where my soulmate is and you won’t meet the same fate as your boss.”

Her head tilts, tapping her fingers against her chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are you referring to Hess? I heard no one’s been able to reach him lately, but since I report to someone of much higher ranking I could hardly bring myself to care.” Her lips curl into a wicked smirk, revealing the faintest glimpse of her fangs. “You’ve piqued my interest now though, what’d you do to the bastard?”

“I ripped out his soul and crushed it into dust.”

She giggles, unpleasant and shrill. “How scandalous.”

His patience snaps.

“Enough of this.” He steps forward. “Tell me who you work for and where is my soulmate.”

A pair of knives appear in her hands, summoned in the same quick manner as his angel had drawn her bow.

“My answer to the first part is no. And as for the second, you need to be more specific.” She sneers. “Which part of her are you looking for?”

The noise that tears itself out of Din’s throat is one never made by another entity before. It is an outburst of ravenous fury, a promise of bloodshed and carnage, and a predator’s roar before they consume their prey all blended into one deafening war cry.

Xi’an maintains a brave face as she throws knife after knife at him, but as each one harmlessly deflects off his beskar and dissolves into a flicker of light, he sees her mask begin to crack, revealing her nervousness.

She resorts to throwing punches when he’s close enough, but there is no finesse and each one is sloppy. He catches her fist mid-swing with his own hand and twists, shattering her wrist. She gasps out a curse, but the unexpected reappearance of her mischievous smirk manages to catch him off guard.

“Are you gonna do it?” she asks, voice tight with pain, but the intent to provoke him is clear. “Unleash that beautiful darkness I can sense writhing around inside of you?”

He pins her against the wall harsh enough her teeth audibly clack against each other. Still she keeps smirking, still her voice drips like poison into his ears.

“You know you want to, sweetie, so just let go.”

Din’s powers lash out, incensed by those two words he’s sick of hearing. Latching onto her soul, she starts to choke, but the deranged glimmer of glee in her eyes makes him think she’d be laughing if she could.

Darkness starts to ooze out of his armor, resembling thick, black smoke. He can feel the sinister energy emanating from the very core of his being, as if the box it’s been trapped in has been unlocked and is seconds away from bursting open.

Some distant, far part of him is ringing every warning alarm and urging him to stop. But he ignores that voice of reason when he sees Xi’an’s soul start creeping up the back of her mouth, glowing brightly as it squirms in a futile attempt to free itself from the hold of his powers.

He grits his teeth, impatience prompting him to tug at it again, and—

The world lurches and transforms in a blur. When his vision adjusts, he’s no longer standing in his soulmate’s apartment, but instead surrounded by an abundance of scorched trees. Chest heaving, he struggles to clear his head of violent thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Someone suddenly calls out from behind him, “I summoned you here to speak with you.”

Din recognizes the speaker’s voice before he actually turns to see the female togruta. She wears her usual blue-and-silver tunic and a brown headpiece embedded with a gem over her montrals. The ground is green beneath her feet, the only glimpse of flourishing nature for miles.

“I was in the middle of something, Ahsoka,” Din answers, stalking forward until they stand nearly toe to toe. He’s lost count of how many encounters they’ve had with one another over the years, but no matter the number he remains reluctant to consider her a friend since the Oracle has the irritating knack for disrupting his life when he least desires her presence.

She stands tall, but her hands move to rest on the hilts of the two sabers attached to her belt. “Have you forgotten your creed? When the universe needs you, you listen to it.”

“My soulmate needs me!” he shouts, trembling as another pulse of dark energy discharges from his body. It washes over Ahsoka like a harsh gust of wind, but while she remains unaffected, the patch of grass withers instantaneously.

“The universe recognizes that,” Ahsoka says, and while her calmness does nothing to ease his frayed nerves, her next words have him freezing in place. “And I’ll take you to her so long as you promise me one thing.”

Tentative hope slices through the erratic storm of frenzied emotions in his chest like a beam of sunlight. He searches Ahsoka’s face for the faintest hint of deception, but finds only sincerity.

“What is it?”

“You cannot kill Moff Gideon.”

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[bigskydreaming]

Okay, long time followers will probably remember having read this, but I can’t find the original post and I’m trying to like.....force-reboot/jumpstart me working on my ‘Kings of the Sky’ AU again because I haven’t touched it in awhile and I have like literally eight different installments in various stages of completion and that’s ridiculous even for me. So here’s a repost of the first part of “Teachable Moments” the canon-divergence point of that AU series, where Jason calls Dick for advice after the Garzonas case and everything changes from there.

******

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s kinda the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[shelobussy]

Gimme "kiss", gimme "River", gimme "sonic", gimme "bisexual awakening"

how in the FUCK did you hit literally every single word in this I'M DYING

“So. Women, huh,” Jack says, leaning casually over the console, oblivious to the stripped wires and hazardous opened panels scattered around them. Out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Amy squinting suspiciously at them, but ignores her. And Jack.

She can be professional about this. She’s here to do a job and then it’s straight back to her universe. Or, better yet, to Jack’s guest bedroom where she’ll wallow for a few months and then get her shit together and call Martha or something. She’s sure there’s a place for her on UNIT’s payroll.

There’s definitely room for her on Torchwood’s, but considering how much she hates the way Jack is smugly grinning down at her, she’d sooner offer up her services to…

Her eyes cut across the room to where Dr. River Song is re-calibrating her stun gun. Her wild red hair is as eye catching as her curvy figure, which Rose does not linger on thank-you-very-much. She turns back to the panel she’s rewiring and starts stripping more wires. A fair distance away, Amy continues to do the same with her panel, one eye on Rose and one eye on her curly-haired friend.

Jack continues to drap his stupid, hot body all over Rose’s work station and grin like the kitten who got the cream, or whatever.

Rose ignores him.

If there’s one thing you should know about Jack Harkness, it’s that he doesn’t like being ignored. In the time it takes her to reconnect the stupid red wire to the stupid switch board and then wrap wire tape around the exposed metal, he’s rounded the console and pressed the entire length of his body against her back. She’s short enough that he easily rests his chin on top of her head, keeping her in place.

“You’re not gonna let this go,” she mutters.

“I’m just saying, if you wanna talk about it-”

She pushes him off and he goes willingly. The distant knowledge that she could tell Jack to do just about anything and he would eagerly agree both pleases and amuses her. She glances over her shoulder, nervous about Amy and River’s close proximity before turning back to her best friend.

“I don’t,” she finally says.

Jack raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, fine. But not-” she glances over her shoulder again. “Not here.”

“Why not here?” He’s grinning again. Judging by the way his eyebrows tick up when he looks over her head, he’s probably making eye contact with River again. And by eye contact, Rose- naturally- means they are…eye shagging or whatever.

“There are worse bisexual awakens to have,” he says, still maintaining horny eye contact.

Rose squeaks, batting at his shoulder. “Shut up, shut up-”

“I’m just saying, if you went up to her right now and kissed her, she probably would-”

“Jack!”

“And the way she was using that sonic spanner- I’m just saying she looks good with her hands.”

Rose buries her face in her hands and screams.

send me a word and i'll post a wip drabble with that word in it

[george-fabian-weasley]

Oliver Wood - Shoot My Shot

Summary: You and Oliver Wood have been enemies since your first Quidditch game during your second year. You, being a Slytherin makes it far harder to find a liking to the Gryffindor boy, yet somehow you managed to do so. While playing a Quidditch match of Slytherin against Gryffindor, you decided to shoot your shot, literally and figuratively.

Words: 2,522 words

Warning ⚠ : Cheesy, Fluff, Only the Good Stuff, The Sexual Tension Is Real™

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

"Oi, Wood!" You shouted as you looked up. The Slytherin Quidditch Team had just arrived to the field to have a few hours of practice for an upcoming match against Gryffindor. As if they have been summoned, the Gryffindor Team had just finished their practice. Oliver Wood, the captain slash Keeper for the team looked down to see you, and snickered, “Y/L/N!”

As he flew down, he smirked at you and your team, “What’s the occasion here, lads?” You scoffed, glaring at him, “What do you think, Wood? Doing a theater play?”  

He laughed, “Now, why so tense, Y/L/N? Did someone put Puking Pastilles inside your drink?” You rolled your eyes as you folded your arms, “No, but I do remember a pair of redheads sneaking Dungbombs under my bed a couple of days ago. Any idea who they are, Wood?”

As if on cue, the Weasley twins came swooping down laughing hysterically, Oliver was obviously trying to hide a laugh by hiding his lips, “N-nope, no idea, sorry.” 

Oh, he definitely knew.

“Funny.” You sneered, when suddenly a certain small body flying around caught your attention. “Is that...?” You trailed off, squinting to look better. Oliver followed your eyes and shrugged, “Harry Potter? Yeah.” 

You gave him a look, and he understood it completely, sighing, “I know the chiseler’s a first year but McGonagall wanted him to be a Seeker. Can’t say no now, can I?” 

You shrugged back, “No matter, we’ll simply beat your arses this time at the match.” You smirked, and Oliver mirrored your expression with a scoff. “Oh yeah?” He walked closer, almost looked like he was about to kiss you.

You had a silent staring match, his eyes on you and vice versa. If anyone didn’t know better, they’d say you two were lovebirds. With a soft smirk on his lips, he inched closer to you, his nose slightly grazing your cheek.

“We’ll see about that, Y/L/N.” He whispered closely to your ear, the breeze of his breath hit your ear softly. He inched away and gave you a wink, a playful one as he walked away with the rest of his team.

You huffed in annoyance, seeing his obnoxiously fit body slowly disappearing into the ring. You won’t ever admit to anyone, not even a single soul, at how he had you so bothered.

In a good way.

You turned around to your team who witnessed the whole thing, some of them playfully smirking at you. You sneered in disgust, “What are you idiots looking at? And what the bloody hell are you waiting for? Practice!” At your command, your teammates fleeted away on their brooms to their designated places, leaving you alone on the ground.

You took a few deep breaths trying to calm your heart down, but with bloody Oliver Wood out there simply existing, you found your heart picking up its pace. You groaned in annoyance at the flustered heartbeat, yet you couldn’t sneak away the small shy smile your lips had etched on.

After practice, you returned to the Slytherin common room. You were exhausted, everything was a mess. As a beater, you used the nerve-wrecking excitement Oliver Wood caused you to have earlier for the better, by beating the Bludger as hard as you can.

One of the reasons you love Quidditch, it allows you to express your anger and frustrations, and sometimes excitement, through something else without hurting anyone else, well, involuntarily.

UGH.

The Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor will be held in two days, you have no time to fawn over Oliver Wood, no matter how handsome, or witty, or funny, or-

You slapped yourself with a nearby pillow, physically shooing away those unholy thoughts. ‘You’re the bloody captain, for Merlin’s sake! You can’t be thirsting over the captain of the opposing team!’ Your mind shouted.

Yeah, as if you didn’t know that already.

Suddenly, someone tapped you on the shoulder. You looked up from the dark green pillow to see a little boy with metallic blonde slicked back hair. 

You sighed, “If you’re here to be a part of the Quidditch team, then you know my answer-” “But if Potter can join in first-year, then I can too!” Draco Malfoy retaliated.

“Yeah, but Potter is a Gryffindor whose teacher is Minerva McGonagall, Draco. You really think Mr. Severus Snape would allow a first year to join Quidditch?” You asked him back in a tired tone. This wasn't the first time Draco had asked you to join the Quidditch team as soon as he found out Harry joined. And seems like it’s not going to be the last either. You saw his eyes darted away for a few moment to think, then he reverted them back to you sadly, “But Y/N...”

You felt pity for the boy, sometimes you felt like he feels inclined to beat Potter in everything he does. And being his older cousin doesn’t help, because you knew how severe Uncle Lucius can get around the little boy. If it weren’t for your parents, you would’ve taken Draco under your wings as your little brother already. 

“Look, Draco...” You sighed, trying your best to be understanding towards the boy, even if he gets on your nerve sometimes. “My answer is still no, but you can join in next year if you want it that terribly. Terrence Higgs is graduating and won’t be here next year, so there would be an empty spot for a Seeker. The best I can do is save you a spot.” You offered. He sighed, and grumbled a ‘fine’. 

“But if I don’t get it next year, my father will hear about this!” “Your father is my uncle, Draco. The one telling him first would be me, do you understand?” You voiced out sternly, Draco cowered immediately at your dominance. “Yes, Y/N.” He said quietly.

“Now run along, Draco. Your friends are waiting.” you softened your voice to him. He left, and you sighed. Sometimes, you needed to be stern to that boy, or else he’s going to treat everyone like his minions. 11 years old and already sound as snobbish as his father, sigh.

The next day, Slytherin and Gryffindor shared a classroom for Transfiguration class by Professor McGonagall. Unfortunately, she made everyone sit with the opposite house. And guess where she placed you?

“What’s with the long face, Y/L/N?” Oliver snickered as you moved to sit beside him. You gave him a sickly sweet smile, before frowning again, “Neither of us want to be here, so shut it.” You muttered.

“Oh no, darling, I want to be here. The one who doesn’t is you.” He chuckled as he supported his head with his arm, turning himself completely towards you. You grimaced, in spite of the increased heartbeat over the nickname, “Is this how you flirt, Wood? It’s so pathetic.”

Oliver smirked and leaned to you ridiculously close, “Oh yeah? Then why are you blushing?”

?????!!!!!!!!

You scoffed in surprise, the audacity of this lad made you speechless. And then you felt it. The heat rushing up your cheeks, making it glow red. The blush in your cheeks just widened his smirk, “If I’m being correct here, Y/N Y/L/N, you look like you like me.” He whispered and bit his bottom lip.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt of embarrassing you more. Despite your heartbeat going crazy, you won’t let him cod you. So you leaned closer, Oliver was obviously surprised and stunned, your noses were almost rather touching each other, as you whispered, “And so, what if I do? What do you do then, Oliver?”

You had never called him Oliver. You both knew that.

“Mr Wood and Ms Y/L/N,” McGonagall’s voice made you both flinch away rather quickly. “I would really appreciate if you could continue your love drama somewhere else and focus on my class, thank you.” 

“Sorry, Ma’am.” You heard Oliver mutter, as he glanced at you with rosy cheeks. You couldn’t dare to spare him another glance throughout the whole class. 

What the bloody hell was that?

Next day came like a pop, and you were getting ready to throw everything in to the match. The last Gryffindor vs Slytherin match, you had won. And you were definitely certain to repeat that once again. After putting on your uniforms and safety gear, you went outside to the pitch. The whole school was there cheering you on. The jitters from before had flown out of the window, the adrenaline was now kicking in. You flew on your broomstick to the air, all of your other teammates were already there, the other Beater in your team nodded at you, and you nod back. 

Looking to your front, Fred and George Weasley smirking nastily at you.Those two were as violent as a bloody honey badger when it comes to Quidditch, you groaned as you imagined the pain those rascals will be giving you soon. At the far back of the Gryffindor Team, was Oliver Wood, already at his post, the middle goal. As he caught your eyesight, he winked and mouthed, "Good luck." You smirked at him and just motioned your thumb across your neck, causing him to scoff.  

The whistle started, the Bludger was released, the cheers erupted, and the game has begun. 

You flew everywhere to keep the Bludger off of your teammates as your Chasers tried to goal some scores. A Gryffindor, Lee Jordan was the commentator of the day, and you could hear his shouts and comments on your every move. Knowing how distracting that could be, you tried your best to block his voice and focus on the game. With the bat in your hand, you swung the Bludger with it with full force to one of the Gryffindor Chasers, but they were saved by the twins. 

Once in a while, you would glance at Oliver, watching him catching every single quaffle and toss it back out to the field, successfully protecting his goal. You always knew Oliver Wood is a great Keeper, but Merlin, he sure did shine that day.

The game continued until the second half, time out. You flew down and drank a hella lot of water and cast a pain relief charm on your left arm. One of the Weasleys had Bludgered your arm pretty nastily, and you weren't too keen to find out whether it's broken or not. After muttering "Lenio," to the rest of your body, you flew back out. The score currently was 20 to 30, Gryffindor was leading.

Either your Seeker gets the Snitch, or your Chasers score another 2 goals to win this match.

Suddenly, you got an idea. It's a pretty terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless. What if you distract Oliver Wood so your team can shoot goals? 'That's a stupid idea, Y/N.' Your heart voiced out, but hey, either go big or go home.

So you went on with your plan once the whistle started. As you Bludgered one of the twins (consider it karma), you flew close to Oliver, who eyed you curiously. "Decided to visit me in the middle of the game, Y/L/N?" He said loudly, the cheering made it harder to converse.

"If I win this match,"  you said loudly, sort of multi-tasking as one of the Weasleys tried to Bludger you again as you beat the Bludger off with your bat. Oliver faced you, waiting for you to go on.

"If you win this match...?" "If I win this match, you owe me a date to Hogsmeade!" 

Oliver had his eyes widened, "A what?" He managed to say before swerving another quaffle out of his goalpost. Your teammates were now eye-ing you in confusion, what the bloody hell are you doing there at Gryffindor's goalpost rather than protecting your teammates?!

"A date!" You shouted. For a second, Oliver was in a blur and then cracked up a big smile, "And if you lose?" he remarked. You rolled your eyes, the small grin your lips widened significantly, "If I lose, then it's your choice!"

After that you went back to your original position, ignoring the glares of your teammates. The game went on until Harry Potter had caught the Snitch, spitting it out from his mouth.

Gryffindor won. 

As disappointed as you were that you lost, you were more disappointed over the fact that Oliver now owes you nothing. 

... Maybe your plan wasn't to distract him all along.

After the match had finished, you found yourself at the hospital wing, tending to your broken arm. Madam Pomfrey had said if it weren't for the pain relief charm, you wouldn't even be able to hold a broomstick mid-air without immense pain. The Weasleys were beside you seemingly injured as well, and you shook their hands professionally before they left. 

It's just a game. Good sportsmanship is far better than continuous winning streaks.

"Y/N." You looked up to see Oliver, standing near your hospital bed. You groaned in embarrassment, "You owe me nothing, Wood. Now go away." "Yeah, about that," Oliver was fiddling with his sleeves, his broomstick was placed between his armpit and arm. Oliver Wood looked... Nervous?

 "You said before that if you lose, then I get to decide, right?" He said, furrowing his eyebrows at you, licking his lips. You slowly nodded, already thinking of possible things he'd want you to do.

Oh no, does he want you to run around the hallway naked? Or does he want you to cast 'Riddikulus' to Snape? Or does he want you to be the Bludger puppet for the twins for a week? Or-

"You owe me a date to Hogsmeade."

W...what? 

You were now a blushing mess. Both of you.  "B-but I thought you hated me?" you asked, the heartbeat of yours was really close to a rhythm of a heavy rain. Oliver widened his eyes in shock, denying that thoroughly, "No, I don't! I actually... like you since the second year. You know, after the match?"

You remembered your first Quidditch match in your second year, that was the first time you ever laid eyes on Oliver. Both of you had broken an arm and a leg, and your beds were side by side. For 2 days, you had talked to each other like friends, but as soon as your senior came by and visited you, he prohibited you to talk to a filthy Gryffindor. Being brainwashed since young, both of you hated each other.

Well, at least you thought so.

"So... What do you say?" He asked, looking rather nervous again. You were speechless, your lips were suddenly dry, you were suddenly conscious of how you looked like at the moment. "Wait, so all those times, like at McGonagall's class and at the field, you really were flirting?" 

He grimaced in cringe, rubbing his neck and looking away, "I guess you were right about my flirting being pathetic." He laughed shyly. That made you laugh, it made you break out from that awkward phase you had just now. "But you were right, though?" You teased, tilting your head to him playfully, smiling genuinely to the boy.

"I do like you."

COMPLETE!

[xgutter-glitterx]

This was a day for going to the dentist, and my body spat out the shitty unfinished filling the last dentist had left in my face like a chewed-up vhs tape right into the dental hygienist’s hand. “Oh, we’ll have to fix that...”  Every day, it caught my tongue, and every day, I could feel the seam where it would make itself my problem eventually. Pop! Now it’s the new dentist’s problem. Keep the change!

The dentist is in a part of town barely just within my reach, the cup on the top shelf I can bat with my fingertips and knock over so I can grab it. One bus an hour. 3:35. I could have waited, but it couldn’t be that far, right?

I found myself sending pictures. Friends, where am I? Look at this view. The streetlights weren’t metal, but big glass lanterns on wooden posts, so far apart that I might feel safe in the dark between them. Discovering places I’d been so close to, yet never knew existed. A swan flew over my head. Where am I?

Here I am! I can see everything. The sky’s been ripped open, gold god rays and pale blue peeking through back at me. There’s the theater, big and gaudy, always there to guide me home even when the light is so bright that I can barely see it. I didn’t know that the street went this far up. I didn’t know anything went this far up. this is the best view I’ve ever had, but my legs are tired. I can’t stay.

If i take my hand out of my pocket, the song in my headphones is so old that I can pretend it’s playing from the Ipod from 2008 that hasn’t yet been delivered to my address. I used to think I didn’t like it, but I had just listened to it too many times. Now, it tastes like the color of the sky; golden, dark, glowing in a way that kept my eyes turn upward as a child. I always looked up, even when the light was so bright that it hurt my eyes. I can look now, and see the light without having to squint, even when fat raindrops from purple clouds make the sun’s glow even hazier. I can walk now, far enough to be here at all, after how far I’ve already come.

I have to walk past the intersection where, six months ago, the universe tried to remind me of something. Maybe that the flesh is weak and bones can be broken? I think I took a different moral from the story of me being hit by a car. You can’t even tell, now, after how far I walked today, that four months ago I bought a cane. I’m not weak, or breakable. I’m lucky. I refuse to be anything else.

I’m wearing a backpack from the 90′s, with stickers on it that I bought yesterday. My hoodie is a throwback to early 2000s Hot Topic, manufactured in 2021. I’m listening to the same songs I played on repeat in 2009, on a beat-up Ipod from 2008, and today, the sky and the taste in the air of cool rain and golden haze say that it’s 2005 on a summer afternoon. I can see nothing and everything all at once, so I choose to see nothing. Nothing but the glowing sky and the rainy haze and the intersection where my blood was spilled. My legs are tired, but I keep walking. They don’t hurt anymore. It’s as if nothing happened.

I turn up the path, and I make it home again, and I show my boyfriend the hole that the filling left.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Chapter 144 Review: Old Soldiers

Story: Why Are You Hitting Yourself?

We open with the various heroes who came out of the Hero Hospital all working together to evacuate what civilians they can. There's a lot of casualties in even that small area. Tank Top Girl's tanktop sleeve snaps and the others take it as Symbolically Broken Object -- what a way to start the story after the last chapter.

Pig God arrives and disgorges the mercenaries and disciples before passing on Tank Top Master's last message which rouses the heroes on scene to redouble their efforts. He then runs back to the battlefield...

...where we're treated to one of the best rescue efforts ever. We open up exactly where the last chapter left off, with Fuhrer Ugly leering over Tatsumaki while Gums chews on Tank Top Master like the latter is an overgrown gummi bear. Then Gums is gone, pierced clean through by Bang, who snatches Tank Top Master clean out of the monster's maw. Genos follows up immediately, sticking his arm into the monster's wounds and burning its insides to discourage that bottomless stomach.

Fuhrer Ugly springs up to try intercepting Bang and throws a punch, only to find himself punching himself in the face. Down he goes too! Bang and Genos try to revive Tank Top Master, who has no pulse, but when Bang tries to take off the tank top, it snaps back and Tank Top Master comes back to life. 'Tank... Top... Magic...' he mutters before Bang bids him to be quiet. The monsters aren't done yet -- Gums comes back to life and grabs Genos by the arm, while Fuhrer Ugly asks Bang for his last words.

Bang deflects Fuhrer Ugly's blow to hit Gums and Gums retaliates by eating his fellow monster, during which time the heroes sweep up Tank Top Master and Tatsumaki and make off with them. With Tank Top Master in such a grievious state, Bang remarks that they have no choice but to ask Fubuki to help yet again.

Meanwhile...

...

...Fuhrer Ugly has had a makeover thanks to Gums's digestive processes. Exactly as you would expect of a monster obsessed with its looks, he's got a mirror stashed away somewhere.

He isn't impressed.

Meta

I think that Tank Top Master's relationship with the tank top is much along the lines of that of Metal Bat with his eponymous metal bat: an object that gains power from having been invested in. Heck of a world, this one! :) However it has happened, I am disgustingly happy to see that Tank Top Master is alive, if not well.

The heroes who gave up their hospital beds gave me a pang. One of the important functions of being recognised as sick is that you get excused from normal activities. They're the heroes who could have stayed relatively safe in hospital without anyone looking askance and yet they chose to give up on sanctuary and head into war only partially-healed. Giving up on safety that others might find it. The cheerful way they encourage each other takes nothing away from the seriousness of it.

This is probably getting into a completely separate post, but I don't think that Pig God is the first hero who has been struck by a person they saved. People in pain are rarely thinking straight and one thing that's clear is that even people who have never contributed a penny to the Hero Association nevertheless have expectations of heroes and get really upset when they're not met.

Speaking of Pig God, I'm wondering whether his bringing up the prophesy now is going to mean we get to see what he's talking about later this arc or if it'll be kept a mystery to be solved another day, like it was in the webcomic.

Man these monsters are tough! Gums and Fuhrer Ugly are so resilient and able to come back repeatedly from a drubbing is very scary: the 'get out of my way' and 'let's make you lose your appetite' attacks only inconvenience them. It's going to take serious effort to put these guys down. Fuhrer Ugly taking out Gums was so satisfying, one less problem. Or one more problem given how Fuhrer Ugly's strength derives from his sense of inferiority and that's just received a huge boost. Ew.

Speaking about unexpected resilience, I was amazed that Gums wasn't able to bite off Genos's arm. Doubly so given that most of the armor has melted off his arm. For a guy whose build focussed on offence at the expense of defence, this has to be his toughest build yet. I have some more thoughts but they'll have to wait for another post.

Genos feeling responsible for Tatsumaki's state... sigh. I wish he'd said it out loud so Bang could grab him by a beautifully-sculpted ear and give him an earful. The strength he'd need to spare Tatsumaki and Fubuki their suffering, he'd have needed to be able to burn Psykos-Orochi so thoroughly that not even one little bit of its furthest-flung roots would survive.

This isn't over by any means. Whenever Vomited Furhrer Ugly catches up with Bang, it's going to be quite the fight.

Fun Observation

On another server, user Kakera's eagle eye spots a visual pun: below Fuhrer Ugly's fist is a No U-Turn sign. Yup, there's a subtle riposte in there!

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 5.7k of the unsinkable 8 during the zombie apocalypse. good for fans of leatin and goodfoe. it’s super unedited and i’m mainly just posting it for fun cause i finished it today. some references to world war z the book for fun, and i used the zombies from that too.

A flash of blonde and Dot’s gun went up, pointed directly at the head of whatever made their way toward her. She had two bullets left, six cigarettes, and the last mini of hard liquor she raided from the motel back in Aquilla.

She’d have to get it in one shot, which would be hard sitting down, with her back to it, half delirious.

She grunted as she pulled herself around, her leg still out in the makeshift splint. The zed crept closer, not going at the usual hobbling pace. It definitely had caught her scent though, maybe it was down a few limbs already.

She cocked her gun, flicking off the safety, keeping her finger off the trigger. She’d wait until she could see the whites of its eyes. Get it in one shot.

The blonde head crept closer and she finally tucked her gun over the rocks, making eye contact with it for the first time.

“Shelby Goodkind?”

“Dot Campbell?”

Shelby stared at her, lowering her own gun and Dot let out a breath of relief.

“Dottie, oh my god, I thought you were one of ‘em.” She put away her gun, Dot doing the same and she ran over. “It’s so good to see ya, what’s wrong?” She looked at the leg, her face paling.

“Ankles broken,” Dottie muttered. “Was gonna treat myself to one last drink,” she gestured at the bottle.

“Oh lord,” Shelby said. “Well that’s no good, I got a place not to far from here I’ve been camping out in. Some first aid stuff too.”

“I can’t give you anything back for it,” Dot said.

“We both know two people are more likely to make it,” Shelby said.

She looked sunburned and hollowed out, a little hungrier than the last time Dot saw her, headed with her family to that military base. She was alone, and desperate, everyone was. Because here was how it went in Texas. You could trust a stranger as far as you could throw ‘em, but you needed people to live. So if you had people, you lived. And Dot was people, or as close to people as Shelby was willing to get. She musta lost a lot to lower her standards so far.

“Alright,” Dot said. “We’re gonna have to go slow and you’re gonna have to carry a lot of shit.”

“No problem,” Shelby beamed.

Back at the camp, an old rusting trailer with some battery Shelby told her she was saving for a rainy day, Shelby re-splinted her, fed and watered her, and they pooled their resources. Twenty-six cigs now, which might get ‘em a few hours in a safe car north, if they wanted it. Or it might get ‘em some food, or a get out of jail free card, depending on the hunger of the people hunting ‘em.

It was late at night when Dot realized she hadn’t even asked yet.

“Family’s gone then?”

“Yeah,” Shelby said. “You?”

“My dad died before this shit show,” Dot said.

“Lucky,” Shelby said. She took a swig from the mini, and passed it over to Dot. “What’s your plan?”

“I heard there was a safer spot near San Antonio,” Dot said. “Running water and shit.”

Shelby shook her head, “Gone, three weeks ago. Heard it on the radio.”

Dot nodded, “What about you?”

“Radio said Hawaii’s better,” Shelby said. “There’s an operation ferrying people there on the west coast. It’s a thousand cigs per person. But there’s work by the dock if you’re willing to do it.”

“Work for you?” Dot asked.

Shelby’s jaw tightened, “I’ll do what I have to do. Lord forgive me.”

Dot sighed, “Sounds like we go west then.”

They hung around in the trailer for three days, pushing the limits of what was safe, and stumbled on to a new place in the area at daybreak on the fourth day. Dot’s ankle wasn’t broken, with the inflatable cast Shelby had in a week or so she’d be something regarding useful, and as long as she didn’t push herself she’d be more than fine.

Spending time with Shelby Goodkind was another story. For one thing, despite the zombie apocalypse, complete destruction of their lives and modern society, the death of her family and everyone in their town, Shelby was still good and kind. She’d clutch at the cross around her neck every time they’d pass a body, and would never touch one, even the ones that were recent and obviously not stripped clean. It made Dot kinda mad, she found five cigs just walking, and she wondered how many Shelby passed off being squeamish.

But Shelby also wasn’t squeamish, wasn’t afraid to take down a zed with a kitchen knife, and with that same hand wipe the gore off Dot all gentle. She called her Dottie, gave her the last blanket, and always volunteered for the first shift so Dot could watch the sunrise. Dot hadn’t been cared for in a long while, hadn’t been around people in even longer. She decided she might love it.

But Shelby was a magnet, always had been, she talked about god’s light long enough that she got Dot believing it all fell on her. It wasn’t a real surprise when she showed up with a stray.

“What the fuck,” Dot said. “Did you kidnap a child?”

“I did not kidnap a child,” Shelby said, picking the girl up with some difficulty and lifting her onto the backseat of the broken down minivan they were holed up in.

“I sent you out to get sunscreen,” Dot said. “How did you come back with a child?”

“She’s our age,” Shelby said. “I think. And listen, I found her barricaded in a utility closet with a bad fever, I knew we had some tablets but I didn’t wanna leave her.”

“Like bite fever?” Dot asked. “We don’t have enough bullets to—”

“No,” Shelby shook her head, “Look,” she gently unwrapped a bandage around the girl’s arm, revealing a bad slice. “It’s infected. Not a bite. We’re okay.”

Dot sighed and nodded. The girl’d probably try and rob ‘em blind but if they watched her hands and got away fast enough they should be fine. They’d be fine.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Dot muttered. Shelby smiled, all sweet and gentle and bright and Dot rolled her eyes.

The girl took the tablets, they washed and changed the bandages, after about fourteen hours she blinked awake, unfortunately while Dot was on watch.

“Who—who are you?”

“Dot Campbell,” she said.

The girl stared at her.

“My friend saved your ass,” Dot said. “Shelby.”

“Um,” the girl inched back, “Why? Where am I?”

“We’re on the twenty-two, not from from the ten-eighty,” Dot told her. “You got a nasty infection there, got any cigs?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

Dot blinked at her. “Alright then.”

“My friends will be looking for me,” the girl said. “I should get back to them.” She didn’t have an accent, Dot realized, not even a thin one like her own.

“Shelby found you around Mr. K’s, we can draw you a map if you’d like,” Dot said. “Where you from?”

“Austin,” the girl lied, badly.

“Alright then,” Dot said again. “Well we’ll draw you a map in the mornin and you can leave a day break. It ain’t far.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. “For helping me.”

“Shelby’s idea,” Dot said. Neither of ‘em slept the whole time, the girl smart enough to keep an eye out, and Dot’s whole job to watch out. She woke Shelby up when she was supposed to and easily muddled into a slumber.

A nice thing, about the zombie apocalypse, was Dot had gotten a lot better at sleeping. She used to stay up for hours thinking ‘bout how she’d pay the bills, how much her dad’s meds cost, whether he was coughing more that night than he did most nights, but now she hit whatever soft looking rock she decided to call a pillow and conked out until Shelby woke her. Shelby, on the other hand, barely slept a wink, shooting up at the slightest sign of trouble, even when Dot was on watch. Too much time on her own, Dot’d guess.

Before Shelby Mateo wandered with Dot. He was quiet and sweet and she had took care of him as best she could. Shelby didn’t have nobody before Dot. Just her dead parents, and if Dot remembered eighth grade soccer well enough, a couple of dead siblings too.

So Dot pretty much conked out and missed the way the girl and Shelby giggled all night. But even she wasn’t blind to their bond when she woke, the way the girls smiled easily at one another, laughed with each other, kept up with each other.

“Dottie,” Shelby said. “Martha,” so that was the stranger’s name “said you told her we could draw her a map but Mr. K’s ain’t far, we might as well take her.”

Dot grunted, she didn’t wanna waste a day but it wasn’t like Mr. K’s would take all day and they might as well see if they could find any more cigs. She hadn’t met any non-smokers in a long while. Apocalypse sorta took the fun out of being straight-edge, if Dot had to guess.

Dot took the back, a metal bat out and ready, and Shelby and Martha took the front. Shelby had a makeshift spear made, good for longer range, but worse up close, and she gave Martha the other bat they had. To borrow, Dot had emphasized.

One of the other things that never got old about the apocalypse, was walking up a highway. Walking straight up that middle line, knowing no one would dare drive a car ‘round there. It felt like the world was yours and empty, like you were finding it, rebuilding it, building it. It was as close to a cowboy as she had felt since her daddy let her ride on his back. It was as close to free as she had ever felt.

They got back to Mr. K’s and Dot saw the approaching figures first, aiming her rifle right at ‘em, safety off and gun cocked, but her finger off the trigger. It was Shelby’s hunting rifle, actually, but she had handed it to Dot first chance she had, looking kinda pale. She had Dot’s old handgun now, useless with this kinda range.

“Live ones?” Shelby asked.

“Can’t tell,” Dot said. “Just kinda standing there.”

“They could be waiting for me,” Martha said. Dot glanced at her, hoping the girl wasn’t actually as naive as she seemed. She probably was.

They walked as close as they dared, before Martha was able to confirm that yes it was her friends.

She ran at ‘em and one of ‘em collided with her, slamming her into a hug. There were two more, just kinda watching Dot and Shelby.

“We should go,” Dot said. “We did what we said.”

“Dottie,” Shelby said.

Dot sighed and the two of ‘em trudged up to the happy pair, reuniting like they had been separated for years, decades, instead of a few hours. It was a miracle they were reunited at all, Mateo said he’d meet her back at the camp in an hour and she had to bash his head in six months later with a sledge hammer.

“Who’re your friends, Martha?” One of the other people asked. It was four girls counting Martha, lucky, none of ‘em white, but they all looked around the same age as Dot and Shelby.

“This is Shelby,” Martha grinned, “And Dot.”

Dot nodded at them.

“I am just so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Shelby smiled, holding out her hand to the girl who still had an arm wrapped around Martha.

“This is Toni,” Martha said, squeezing the girl’s side when she didn’t take Shelby’s hand. “And Rachel and Nora.”

“Ah,” Shelby smiled, “Toni your sister right?”

Martha nodded, Toni glared. “Yeah it’s great to meet you or whatever. There a reason you kidnapped Martha?”

“I saw her passed out and worried she was alone,” Shelby explained. “I knew we had some tablets back at the camp but—”

“What do you want?” Rachel asked. “We got about six hundred if that’s—” Martha from Austin, Dot’s ass. Money hadn’t meant shit in Texas for awhile. These kids were from up north, probably pretty far up north too. Maine or some shit. Delaware.

“Got any cigs?” Dot asked.

“Yes,” Nora said. “We have a couple packs.”

“Great,” Dot held out her hands and two packs were dropped into them. Nora didn’t make eye contact the entire time, her hands fidgeting with anything. She was covered in scabs and scars, picking at her own skin probably.

“Where y’all headed?” Shelby asked.

“None of your business,” Toni said.

“Apparently the San Antonio Zone relocated to Tyler,” Martha said. “We heard some people talking about it last week.”

“Y’all got a radio?” Dot asked.

Martha shook her head.

“If you had one you’d know that that’s what they’re pulling now, telling people to go to Tyler, they shoot you as soon as you step foot in Athens.”

“So where are you guys headed?” Rachel demanded.

“West,” Shelby said. “Radio says they’re ferrying clean folks to Hawaii. It’s an island so.”

“Clean how?” Rachel asked, taking a step forward and lifting her jaw.

Dot sighed.

Shelby’s eyes widened, “Clean as in not infected, I mean.”

“Chill,” Rachel smiled, all thin, “I was kidding.”

“Great,” Dot said. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but we should be going.”

“Wait,” Martha said. “It’s just, we might as well go west too. And we might as well go west together.”

“Marty,” Toni grabbed her by her uninjured arm, “I wanna talk to you for a moment.”

They got into a whispered argument for a few minutes. Rachel joined and it escalated but Martha came out on top, smiling as she approached them.

“We might as well go together,” she repeated.

Shelby’s smile was just as wide, “We would be alighted to have you.”

The new girls were a nightmare. Rachel and Nora, sisters as Dot would learn, hated one another. And by hated Dot meant, had a complicated relationship of love without trust or mutual respect. Nora didn’t trust Rachel, Rachel didn’t respect Nora, and they were constantly going at one another. Toni had some sorta toxic jealousy thing going on, despising Shelby because she was monopolizing Martha. She also tended to fly into these rages, making her wander off for long periods that had Dot itching to grab her gun and demanding the girl strip to check for bites. Mateo’s dad used to do the same thing, wander off to check his bite.

Shelby also was wholly focused on two things now: Martha, and Toni’s hate. Dot ambled along behind all of ‘em, keeping the sisters from killing each other, Toni’s voice down, and everyone else alive.

The worst part was it took Dot nearly three days before she caught sight of it.

“You have one hand,” Dot glared at Rachel. Rachel slung the pack over her shoulder.

“You’re just noticing that now?” Rachel asked. “I must be getting better with it.”

“The fuck happened?” Dot said.

“My hand got bit,” Rachel shrugged. “Cut it off before it spread, didn’t even know it would work.”

Dot whistled, low and quiet, like they were all used to being.

“I cut it off,” Nora corrected, sullenly.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I’m still quicker on the draw than you,” Rachel said, the words clunky in her mouth.

Dot set her jaw, “So y’all are sticking with the story that you’re from Austin?”

“We’re from New York,” Nora said. Rachel glared at her. “What? You think some group would waste three days on four teenage girls?”

“New York?” Dot asked. “Everyone knows it’s safer up north, why the hell are you down here?”

“You hear about Yonkers?” Rachel asked.

Dot shook her head.

“It was the last op the US military set up before they fell apart. We’d made it out by then but we watched it happen on the news. Someone in a group we had still had a phone and the whole thing was live streamed. All of the death. The group were supposed to go to some military bases up in Canada but we wanted a wide open space with plenty of guns.”

“Texas,” Dot said.

Rachel nodded.

“Stupid,” Dot told her. “You probably came for San Antonio too.”

Rachel sighed, “Nobody was gonna survive those Canadian winters without a base, and we weren’t sure we were gonna get one. Rather get bit than freeze.”

“How’d you meet Toni and Martha?” Dot asked.

“Toni and I got into a fistfight over some Takis,” Rachel said.

Dot nodded, “Fuego?”

“Fuego.”

And yeah they were a nightmare but quicker than Dot wanted they became her nightmare. Still though, she dragged Shelby away from Martha and Toni’s sides, and muttered, “we can still go. Ditch if you want. Whenever. We don’t know ‘em.”

Shelby, in high school, woulda been scandalized, muttered some bible passage at her. This Shelby was a little more grown and only looked at her all serious.

“You knew what I was when you picked me up,” she said. “And I knew what Martha was. We’ll face our consequences, I reckon.”

Dot nodded.

Walking all day, everyday, wasn’t easy stuff. Especially since they had to strip as many bodies as they could find. Nora figured it out pretty quick, mumbling something to Rachel who recruited Toni to storm over to Dot.

“You don’t smoke them, but you’re hoarding them,” Rachel said. “Why?”

Dot kept her easy pace. “These things are currency now, the value’ll only go up over time.”

“Currency for what?” Toni asked. “What are you trying to buy?”

“You think a ferry to Hawaii is free?” Dot asked. “I’m saving for all of us.”

“Dottie,” Shelby walked over, Martha sticking by Nora, “What’s up?”

“How much?” Toni asked. “Really, how much?”

“A hundred each,” Dot said, too quickly.

“Try again,” Rachel said.

“Dot,” Shelby got between them, looking at Dot. “Thou shalt not lie, right? Tell ‘em the truth.” Dot glared at her and Shelby turned back around to Rachel. “It’s five hundred each. We got about a hundred now, so no one’s going to Hawaii.”

“What if there aren’t enough?” Toni asked. “Who decides then?”

“We’ll draw straws,” Shelby said.

It was as easy a solution as anything but the tenseness started building up, Rachel and Toni viewing Dot with more suspicion. It’d fade, over time, Dot knew. Or they’d all die.

The worst it got, was actually Shelby’s doing, the easy peace maker of it all. They hadn’t bothered building a fire, despite how cold and exposed it got in Texas at night, but they huddled together between three cars they found abandoned along the highway that they pushed into a triangle. Someone got to the seat cushions of all three first, so there was nothing comfortable to lie their heads on. It was easy for Dot though, the asphalt as soft as anything to her now.

They stayed up later than they should’ve talking. Trading stories about their old life that all of them knew weren’t doing any good. Toni played basketball, was pretty good at it too. Rachel had a skill for swimming she’d never have again. Nora did quiz bowl, surprising no one. Dot talked about metal, fishing with her dad, what types of pills sold for what. Martha was a dancer, and a vegetarian once. It was something that made ‘em all crack up. When humans become man eating beasts, and once upon a time there were jokes online about vegans. Shelby talked about the yearbook, mission trips, Andrew.

But then cause Shelby started it by prattling on about Andrew Toni got it in her head to talk about Regan and Shelby was talking about Leviticus.

The next morning, Rachel quietly pulled Dot aside and told her to take all the cigarettes and head out. That they could make their own way west. Dot didn’t ask for an invitation to go with her.

They split off at the twenty-five, Dot and Shelby heading for the forty, Toni, Martha, Rachel, and Nora heading for the sixty.

Shelby was heartbroken for a few days, apologetic too, and grateful. Dot didn’t let her have any of that, only said, “It’s cause we’re from the same town. We might be the only ones from there left.”

They trudged on.

In Arizona Dot found the love of her life, her soulmate, Fatin Jadmani. In a completely straight way too. Fatin matched her tit for tat, spoke a language Dot hadn’t realized she’d been born knowing. Her girlfriend was an anxious woman named Leah, who Shelby got on with. Dot had worried, upon bringing the two back to camp, that Shelby would chase ‘em away again, but she hadn’t. Just smiled at the two of them, easily offering up a couple granola bars.

Whenever tenseness came about Fatin just laughed, and Leah rolled her eyes. It wasn’t perfect, Dot knew, there was too much hate for that, but it would last ‘em long enough. The four of ‘em just worked in this great lovely way.

Only problem was their destination.

“We barely managed to get out of LA,” Leah mumbled, she hugged her legs, her head leaning on Fatin’s shoulder.

“LA?” Shelby asked. “That’s where we’re headed.”

“What the fuck?” Fatin glared at Dot, “Dorthy I thought you had more sense than that.”

“There’s some military guys ferrying people to Hawaii,” Dot said.

“Where’d you hear that, the radio?” Fatin asked. She sighed at their nods, “They’re broadcasting out to whoever will hear it, but there is no ferry to Hawaii. The entire thing is just selling and shipping as many girls out as possible. We have no idea where though.”

“So when you say you barely made it out,” Dot said.

Fatin’s face was grim.

“We have to warn ‘em,” Shelby said.

“Warn who?” Dot asked.

“Toni and the others! They don’t know!” Shelby stood up. “I’ll plot out the course now and we’ll start out fresh tomorrow. We aren’t leaving ‘em to—to—we aren’t leaving ‘em.” She stormed off and Dot watched her go.

“She wants to go towards LA to help some motherfuckers who kicked you out of their group?” Fatin asked.

“Yeah,” Dot said.

“Are you gonna go with her?” Leah asked.

“I knew what she was when I picked her up,” Dot said.

“What do you wanna do?” Leah asked Fatin.

Fatin pressed her cheek to Leah’s head, “I don’t know if I can risk you.” Fatin looked at Dot, “Are you gonna be stupid?”

“No,” Dot said.

“Then we’ll come,” Fatin sighed. “Leah that okay?” Leah nodded.

Neither of ‘em were as good at offing zed as Shelby and Dot. Fatin was decent at finding stuff though, scoping stuff, and Leah had endurance none of the rest of ‘em could match. She was like a zed sometimes, just kept going, could keep going, until her knees wore down to dust and then she’d crawl, crawl until her fingers wore down to nubs and then she’d inch, inch until something put her out of her misery. It terrified Fatin and Shelby, but Dot couldn’t help being impressed.

So Dot ambled after Shelby toward Bethlehem on the forty but they were gonna leap back on the interstate and hopefully head ‘em off. Hopefully Martha, Toni, Rachel, and Nora’d be alive, and they’d find ‘em. And if they didn’t find ‘em, hopefully they’d be dead. And Shelby stopped sleeping about a day or two into trek. Would just keep staring at the maps and keeping watch, and taking inventory and thumbing around her necklace.

When Dot woke up on the third day of their walk, Shelby’s hair was much shorter and Fatin looked real scared. Shelby kept walking and walking and, in a fit of rage that matched Toni’s, launched her necklace off the highway. She looked like she regretted it after but they had no choice but to keep going.

They passed an arm and it looked like Rachel’s.

Shelby walked faster. Leah had that glint in her eye. Fatin took Dot’s hand and looked very very scared.

After two more days Shelby said fuck it, and found a car with some gas in it and told 'em to get in.

Dot stood in front, “Shelby,” Shelby glared at her, “This’ll attract every body in the fucking country. The sound, the smell, I’m not just talking about the dead ones neither.”

Shelby swallowed hard, “You gonna stay behind then?”

“Shelby,” Dot said. “If you leave me here I’ll get caught up in the hoard. That what you want?”

“Get in the damn car, Dottie!” Shelby said.

“If we get to ‘em in time, but there’s a fucking hoard following us, we won’t have anywhere to go but on,” Dot said. “Fucking think!”

“I am thinking,” Shelby spat back. She shoved Dot, “I’m thinking about Toni, and Martha walking from Minnesota to Texas only to die in California. I’m thinking about Nora and Rachel watching Yonkers fall and then getting shipped off to who knows where. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Shelby we can make it,” Leah said.

“No we can’t!” Shelby said. “I’ve done the math, I keep looking at these maps, there’s no way we’ll make it in time without a mode of transportation. No car and they die.”

“Then what the fuck are we going there?” Dot asked. “If it’s too late—”

“It is not too late!” Shelby said, her throat was all closed and choked sounding. “I can save ‘em! Jesus fuckin Christ we have to help ‘em!”

“Shelby,” Dot said, she put a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t take a car, and we can’t make it by foot,” Shelby’s face crumpled. “They’re gone, alright? We should be planning our next move.”

“No,” Leah said. She shook her head, “We have to help them.”

“You don’t even know ‘em,” Dot said.

“I’m not letting four innocent girls go through what I nearly went through,” Leah said.

“I’m with Leah,” Fatin said. “We’ll take the car and play it by ear.”

“Play the-hoard-that-will-start-coming-after-us-the-second-we-turn-on-the-engine by ear?” Dot asked.

“Let’s vote,” Shelby said. “All in favor of going?”

Fatin, Leah, and Shelby all raised their hands.

“C’mon,” Dot begged. She looked at Fatin, “You told me not to be stupid!”

“So don’t be stupid,” Fatin said. “Get in the car.”

Dot sighed, wanted to punch something, wanted to cry, was too tired to do either, got in the car.

The car attracted so many fucking zed, they wouldn’t be able to stop, and they had to hope there was enough in the fucking tank to get them to wherever the four were. Dot watched the dead bodies creep closer, at their slow hobbling, relentless pace. Fatin drove, Shelby used her pike to spear any who got too close, Dot watched the maps and steadily got herself into a panic.

They were gonna die trying to save the asses of some girls they spent a couple days with.

This was not what Shelby was when Dot picked her up, this was not what she was. Shelby had gone behind Dot’s back and fucking grown as a person, hadn’t she? How the fuck was Dot gonna get away from her? She’d have to pack Fatin in a suitcase and then Leah too and that would mean entirely abandoning Shelby to be on her lonesome oh god.

Dot was stuck, wasn’t she.

As they kept driving Shelby had to keep spearing zed. It started off as one or two, but as the hours wore on they were leaning on five, six, a steady growing mass ambling behind ‘em.

If that had really been Rachel’s arm, they were probably dead. All of ‘em. Or maybe in the mass behind ‘em. And if they weren’t, they’d hear the car coming and head for the hills, assuming it meant a hoard was close behind. Which it was.

This was such a fucking terrible idea.

“So what, we just wait for a sign to say welcome to LA and then give up? We won’t find ‘em like this,” Dot said.

“Shut up!” Shelby said, she speared another.

“At least check you ain’t offing one of ours,” Dot said. “They could all be zed, for all we know.”

“I said shut up,” Shelby turned to glare at her and a zed slammed against the door. She speared it and Dot’s mouth clamped shut. “We just gotta keep going,” she said. “We’ll be fine, we just gotta keep moving.”

“You’re crazy,” Dot said.

Shelby didn’t have anything to say to that.

It was worse at nightfall, with visibility down, and they just had to keep going, to hope their car wasn’t stripped when they went over the bumps of mutilated corpses still hungry for a last meal.

“We’re almost to LA,” Shelby said. “We got nearly a hundred cigs, we might be able to bribe someone if they jump us.”

Leah snorted.

They were driving through an empty enough part of Nevada though, less corpses hurling themselves off the road and towards them. Still the ever growing mass behind ‘em now, maybe fifty, seventy five, but about twenty out.

“I gotta piss,” Dot said.

“Hurry,” Fatin said.

Dot stumbled out, no one noticing her grabbing her pack. The zed would follow the car, she’d make a clean break. She’d survive.

She was only seven minutes south, judging by the north star Shelby taught her to find when someone’s hand grabbed her. She pulled out her hand gun, jamming it into the head and flicking the safety off.

“Dot! Jesus Christ!”

The girl was wide-eyed, tan, hollowed out, empty and desperate. Reminded her of the empty pill bottles around her house after her dad died.

“Toni?”

Toni nodded, “Why are you here? Fuck that I don’t give a shit, you got water?” Dot handed it to her and Toni downed it. “The other’s are close, c’mon.” She stumbled as she got up, clearly dizzy, and Dot grabbed her forearm.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” Dot said.

“Don’t tell me it’s you in the fucking car,” Toni said. “We’ve been running from that thing for ages.”

“I fucking told Shelby,” Dot said.

“Shelby?” Toni asked, she was almost too exhausted to sound disgusted, but she managed it.

“Listen, LA isn’t safe, we found out. They’re not taking kids to Hawaii, they’re taking them.”

Toni went pale, “Fuck.” She even sounded choked now. “Shelby’s having a fucking aneurysm worrying about you so I don’t even think she’s that fucking homophobic. I’ll get everyone back to the car, you tell ‘em I’m coming.”

Toni nodded, stumbling towards the street and Dot walked back to the direction Toni pointed to before she left. Rachel, Nora, and Martha were all in various points of disarray. Exhausted, dehydrated, starving, aching and bleeding. Dot had to half carry, half drag Nora with Martha and Rachel had to get a stick to lean on as they stumbled toward the street.

“We got like ten minutes,” Fatin said. “People are gonna have to double buckle, and before anyone else makes a decision, we’re going north.”

Dot strapped everyone in and found herself sitting next to Shelby who met her eyes in a hundred yard stare.

“You took your pack.”

“Yeah.”

“But you came back.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

They started on again. Dot saw Toni keep sneaking glances at Shelby and Shelby kept sneaking ‘em back.

They weren’t far from Mt. Tobin when the two finally stopped dancing around each other.

Dot convinced everyone to ditch the car near LA, walking as quickly as they could once they did, knowing it’d take awhile to ditch the hoard too. Dot watched Toni talk to Shelby in low tones, Shelby full of apologies and panics and Toni keeping her cool longer than Dot had ever seen it.

Martha took to Fatin quickly, everyone did, and Nora and Leah spent long hours walking beside each other mumbling about books or something. Not anything Dot gave two shits about.

Rachel ambled along with Dot most of the time. Whenever Fatin and Leah were all over each other and Dot didn’t feel like third wheeling. Rachel was always listening to the radio and as time passed it became clear that the two of them were the most capable of keeping everyone alive. And not in a more knowledgable way. Because Nora knew what plants were edible, and Shelby was a better shot. Or in an emotional way, because Fatin and Martha handled that. But in a planning sorta way. Because Dot knew how to get them to point B, while Rachel was working on point E.

“We should go to Washington,” Rachel muttered on one of the late nights they spent keeping watch while they poured over maps. “We might be able to find a boat to Victoria.”

“Victoria?” Rachel pointed her out.

“It’s a Canadian island. Canada lasted a little longer than we did, Victoria might not be in such a bad way.”

“Less guns in Canada,” Dot said. “And there might not be a boat that’ll take us there. Plus, we don’t know the currency.”

“We’re eight teenage girls,” Rachel pointed out. “We stick around so close to Cali, we’re asking for trouble. We need to put an ocean between us and whatever the fuck they’re doing there.”

Dot sighed. So they’d go to Washington.

On the way they’d probably run into another group who’d tell them Washington was overrun but there was something decent in Wisconsin. Half way to Wisconsin someone would tell ‘em their information was bad and they need to get south where there were guns and space. They’d almost be in Georgia when someone would tell ‘em there was some real government up in New York again.

They’d follow pipe dream to pipe dream to pipe dream. They’d probably die young.

Toni curled around Shelby, holding Martha’s hand. Fatin and Leah held on for dear life. Rachel didn’t take her eyes off Nora. Dot watched them all.

Yeah they’d probably die young. Better than dying alone.

[dazenightmare]

I’m Half Human, And Half Machine

Please read the post in the wheel spin tag called Cabinet Man to fully understand this :)

Wow I think this is the most trigger warnings I’ve ever put on anything

T.W.: Electricity, someone being electrocuted, mentions of someone getting electrocuted, death, mentions of dead bodies, dead bodies, implied dead bodies, crying, implied drinking, bullying, bruises, injuries, mentions of breaking in, breaking in, flashbacks, memory loss, mentioned memory loss, implied memory loss, crises, identity crises, shouting, arguing, arguments, blaming, let me know if I need to add more!

~~~~~~~~~

The boy blinked his eyes open, as he felt electricity surge through his veins for the first(?) time in his life. He looked down at his pixelated hands, then up and craned his neck a bit.

What did the text above him say? Un.. unbeetble? Wait wait hold on, he can get this. The boy swears it’s just the angle.

Unbeatable Madness. Why did that sound familiar?

The boy then stared straight ahead. Outside the screen, his mind provided as he looked out on a clearer environment than the pixelated one behind him.

A man stepped into his view. He was much bigger than the boy, he couldn’t help but notice. The man had red rimmed eyes above dark bags, mussed up hair, and overall seemed miserable and out of it. The boy tilted his head as the man teared up, staring at each other.

It’s okay, the boy tried to reassure. I’m here, please don’t cry.

The boy’s words never made it out though. He wasn’t programmed to talk in the title screen. The boy did his best to frown and held a hand up to the screen, a force meeting him far before the glass.

The man gave a broken chuckle before walking away, leaving the boy alone.

——

Another night the boy sat, curled tightly in a ball. It was night outside, and the lights of the machines kept glowing and going despite the arcade having closed a while ago. That meant the owner -the man- was still here. Probably pouring over his papers, numbers and bills, perhaps.

The boy wasn’t quite certain where he got that assumption from, but he fuzzily remembered the man doing it, waving him off with a tired but fond smile.

That was what his coding had assumed before the man came stumbling over to his machine, more red in the face than he usually was, hiccuping and close to tears.

Perhaps the boy was finally getting the plug. He’d been there for quite some time without a single player. His game was a waste of the electricity bill, and he hadn’t got a single quarter to make up for it. Maybe the man would replace his game with a more popular game, like the yellow circle thing or the shooty alien game. Something that would actually get the man money.

But no, the man only leaned on his machine, balling his eyes out which got worse every time the man so much as glanced at the boy.

Play the game, the boy prayed. I can’t comfort you unless you play the game. Just play until you feel better.

The boy didn’t like seeing the man upset.

As if god himself answered him, the man calmed down enough to slip a quarter in, standing ready to play the game.

“Insert name please!” The boy chimed out, smiling and pointing at the keyboard that appeared. The man chuckled quietly, typing out the name slowly.

When the man finally hit enter, the boy just smiled wider as he processed the name in his database.

“Welcome, player Pops!” The voice chimed, getting his own battle stance ready. “To Unbeatable Madness, the game that never ends!”

Pops wiped more tears out of his eyes as he widened his own stance, smiling.

“Remember to drink water after you cry!” The boy said, a reminder he made up. The game officially declared the start of Round One.

——

The boy stared out at the world, watching all the kids play the games. If he could sigh, he would. He missed Pops. It was lonely in this corner of the arcade.

He watched two small children pull each other around, looking at all the bright shiny lights and older kids playing the same games they’ve been playing since the boy’s game turned on. They both seemed amazed, and the boy let out a slight chuckle sound. Must be their first time in an arcade.

The two kept walking and looking, and the boy wondered what they were looking for. An empty game? They had passed plenty, though. Perhaps they were looking for their soulgame, like all the older kids had.

Eventually, they ended up in his corner of the arcade, staring at all the older and less liked games. When their eyes settled on his game, he swore they had frozen.

The two boys, surely younger than he was designed to look, pulled over one of the many stools to get a better look. The boy felt like jumping when the one with dark hair got ready to play after the other inserted a quarter. If he hadn’t been a PG game, he would’ve cussed from the shock.

Either way, he smiled as brightly as he could as a pixelated figure, and pointed at the keyboard.

“Insert name please!”

The two young ones whispered back and forth to each other before a name was typed in. The boy smiled all whites.

“Welcome, player Boo , to Unbeatable Madness, the game that never ends!”

His stance widened, and he wanted to laugh at the way Boo copied it with a determined look.

“Hold on to your hats, it’s about to get bumpy!”

——

Cabinet boy, or Tubbo, as his players called him, was watching the dark arcade bored. He thinks it was winter, around Christmas time. His only guess was Pops’s weak attempt at decoration. The arcade had also been closed today, and the day before, and likely tomorrow at this rate.

He missed his players. Holidays sucked, Tubbo decided. He was bored, and his players likely were as well. All the two did was go to school and play his game.

Even so, he was not expecting them to just appear out of thin air! Okay, well not out of thin air, but close enough!

Tubbo heard glass breaking in the office and frowned. He hoped nobody was robbing the place. They’d find nothing but grimy quarters that Pops had earned by dealing with these children all day.

There was shouting and thumping, and Tubbo pressed as close to the screen as he could to try and see what was happening. It soon became clear though as six people came into the room, two putting up a heck of a fight only to get dragged along.

Tubbo swore he short circuited realizing those two were his players and these kids were mocking them.

He went against all coding he ever had as he tried to yell profanities at them, punching the barrier between him and the screen.

Don’t you hurt them. Don’t you do shit.

“Aw, look,” one of the kids not holding his players said, pointing at his game. “Never seen the game do that before.”

Tubbo tried to growl and kicked the barrier. His game purred as if overheating. He punched and punched.

Give me quarter and I’ll show you “never seen”!

His players looked a mishmash of upset, in awe, and shock. Tubbo started shouting, but no sound left.

The players, his players, started screaming, close to crying as the kids started damaging his vault, thrashing. All three of them could do nothing.

Eventually, one of the kid’s pulled out a bat.

“NO! Put that down or I swear to Mr. Schlatt—“ Innit shouted. They fought more, and then Tubbo fought more as his players received a black eye and bruised cheek.

The next thing he knew, a bat was crashing through his screen.

Tubbo woke up with a gasp, curled up in a tight, dark space. He could feel wires, and something unnervingly stiff and cold, which he did his best to not touch. The box smelled, and he pressed against the metal wall.

There was muffled shouting outside. He started punching the wall, gasping when it hurt. Nothing in his existence had hurt physically before.

After a moment, the shouting picked up volume, and Tubbo pressed his ear against the wall. Until of course, his world had severely shaken quite literally as the box tipped over.

He groaned quietly, rubbing his head. He wondered if he would have to get used to pain. A panicked shout, sounding very much louder brought him out of his thoughts.

Looking over, Tubbo saw a piece of the wall seemingly gone. He quickly but carefully crawled out of the awful smelling box, and took a deep breath in as he stood on shaky legs. Gasps echoed behind him, but he paid no mind.

In front of him was another wall, but different yet familiar. Presumably, one of the walls in the arcade. But... how?

Tubbo slowly turned to his hands, and inspected hands like the kids in the arcade, albeit more dainty with scars. He flipped them over, watching small spots become pixelated before going back.

Another noise from behind him finally attracted his attention as he looked over his shoulder before slowly turning around.

The arcade. The one he’s been seeing for years now.

Oh, also six kids. That seemed pretty important.

Tubbo’s eyes were immediately on the ones he recognized, his players were staring at him with wide eyes, tears still gently flowing. They had a couple bruises, and they were slumped in the kid’s hold, as if they had given up. They looked disbelieving, but it seemed the recognition was mutual.

His eyes drifted to the other four kids, glancing over at his game, decently broken. Tubbo frowned, feeling electricity trail down his arms. He just stuck his tongue out, like he had seen Innit do so many times to Boo.

“Nobody likes a cheater.”

——

“WE INVITED A GHOST TO YOUR HOUSE!”

“YOU THINK I WASN’T AWARE TOMMATHY?!”

“OH GOD WHAT HAVE WE DONE?!”

“ALL WE DID WAS EXIST AND GAME!”

“WELL I GUESS THAT’S A SIN RANBOOB!”

Tubbo watched his players go back and forth, curled into a ball. They were watching the news, which was apparently like an arcade game but a lot more boring, as it was explained to him.

Anyways, they covered the break in on the arcade, thank god. Also, apparently he was a ghost of a kid inside his game. He honestly would’ve never guessed.

Getting slightly dizzy from watching them go back and forth, he settled his gaze back on the tv. Tubbo sat up straighter at the crying man on it.

He pushed his hand against the screen of the tv, frowning.

Why was Pops crying again? He had been so happy recently. He doesn’t deserve to feel so bad.

“Don’t cry Papa, it’ll be alright!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Soon I’ll get a job, and we can pay the bills together! You’ll have all the money for juice that your heart desires!”

“Heh, thanks Tubs.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, now that he could. “I’m here, please don’t cry.”

Tubbo got more upset, and put both hands on the screen. He bit his lip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay...”

“Tubbo?”

He looked back at the quiet kids, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

“Why’s Pops crying?”

There was confusion before one of them saw the tv and lit up in understanding. Boo moved closer and grabbed one of his hands, holding it.

“Well uh, Pops is sad that there was a child- or um, your body in the game.”

“Why?” Tubbo tilted his head, wiping his tears before they fell.

“He- he cared about you a lot before you died,” Innit said, taking his other hand with reluctance. Tubbo sat rigidly as he thought.

“... I cared about him too,” Tubbo murmured, curling up again.

——

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tubbo whispered, glancing around as he stood on the back of the bike. It was pitch dark out, the only lights being porch ones and the ones that occasionally littered the sidewalk.

Innit started pedaling, scoffing.

“Of course, just throw on your hood, ‘kay? Last thing we need is night owls seeing a person that glitches out sometimes.”

Tubbo did as told, watching the passing houses before he spoke again.

“Won’t Boo be mad we did this?”

“Oh, no he’ll be downright furious,” Innit shuddered. “However, we’re running low on snacks, and Mr. Schlatt needs to know you’re... are you alive?”

“I like to think so,” Tubbo responded, setting his head down on top of Innit’s. “I can breathe, and feel emotions and pain. I’m just a different person now, I guess. Or maybe I’m the same as I was before, and I just can’t remember.”

“Dang. Well, Mr. Schlatt needs to meet you. Maybe he can tell you whether you’re the same or not.”

“... maybe,” Tubbo sighed, staring at the scenery. It had been a ‘fun’ time discovering he was alive before his game turned on. All this time he thought he wasn’t a person or had a personality, just some code someone had made to entertain. And now suddenly, he was human? Or human-ish?

Needless to say, it’s been a not so good time discovering who he was or if he even had a place in the world still. Tubbo didn’t know if he preferred just being a character in a game, or a person who shouldn’t exist.

“Hey, I know you’re having a crises up there. I’ve been Ranboo’s friend for years, I can spot them a mile away,” Innit joked, and Tubbo snorted. They sat in silence for a bit before Innit spoke up.

“So, what you havin’ a crises about?”

“... who I am, mostly. Who I was. Who I might become... I could’ve been sixteen by now, Innit. I could’ve been living a normal life instead of whatever this has become. I don’t even know what a normal life is supposed to look like, or if I’ll ever become older.”

“Hm, that my friend, sounds like baggage.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“... it’s nice getting to know you.”

Tubbo raised an eyebrow, glancing at the blonde hair below him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, you know almost everything about me and Ranboo from one way conversations,” Innit started explaining as their surroundings slowly turned from houses to local businesses. “Years of consciousness, taking in information, watching us grow. Meanwhile you’ve only been able to say one liners that never mattered. It’s nice, hearing you say your thoughts, and seeing who you become.”

“I also like saying my thoughts. The privilege of speech is not one to be taken for granted,” Tubbo mused with a smile. There was a huff of amusement from below him as they finally reached their destination.

They got off the bike slowly, perching it against the wall. Innit peered into the glass, and they watched the games glow proudly.

“Well, seems as if he’s still in there,” Innit said before turning to him with a smile. “You ready to do this?”

Before Tubbo could even open his mouth, another bike suddenly almost crashed into them, startling them. Boo sat on the bike, panting as if he ran a marathon, which he must of done in order to catch up with them.

“Ranboo?! What are you doing here?” Tommy whisper shouted to not alert anyone. Ranboo glared as he tried to regain his breathing.

“What am I doing?! What are you doing?! We’re supposed to be asleep and not freaking any adults out!” He whisper shouted back, waving his arms drastically.

“How’d you even know we were gone?! You were dead asleep!”

“Gee Tommy, it’s not like I’ve been sleeping with one person on top of me for weeks now! Not that I mind it,” Ranboo reassured, glancing at Tubbo. “But it’s kinda easy to tell when nobody’s sleeping on me!”

“We gotta tell Mr. Schlatt, Ranboo! His son is still alive!”

“And what if he freaks out, huh?! What’ll we do if Schlatt calls the authorities?!”

Tubbo frowned as they kept going at it, glancing back inside the arcade. His gaze immediately glued on the figure that moved behind rows of games, disappearing. He hummed quietly, glancing between his players and the glass uncertainly before stepping to the door, closing his eyes as he glitched through into the arcade.

With only one more glance at the two on the other side of the glass, he started walking forward slowly, taking off his hood as he looked around. It was nice to see the arcade from a different angle.

He turned a row, immediately seeing Schlatt leaning into a machine and—

His foot was stuck, and trying to get it out only resulted in his right arm and left wrist getting tangled, a wire lightly pressing against his throat.

Tubbo decided to just wait for Papa. Papa could get him out.

Sudden pain. Oh god it hurt somebody HELP HELP ME IT HURTS! PAPA!

—Tubbo flinched backwards with yelp, hiding from the sight behind another game. He pressed his hand to his mouth, breathing shaky as he slid to the floor. The electricity that had always flowed through his veins was no longer comforting, and instead served a harsh reminder of the pain.

What had he done to deserve that?

“Hello?” A voice called out. “Anybody here?”

Tubbo held back tears. It was now or never, he told himself as he moved his hand.

“... hi.”

“Kid, the arcade closed a while ago,” Pops said, sounding like he was coming closer. “You need a ride home?”

“No... no, they’re outside.”

“That’s good. Come on, I’ll unlock the door so you can leave.”

Tubbo stood up just as Pops rounded the corner, and he froze as they stared at each other. Tubbo smiled shakily.

“Hi Pops,” he whispered, waving. Pops started crying, and Tubbo did nothing but leap forward to hug the man. The tears he held back left his eyes, soaked by a shirt as arms wrapped around him and hugged just as tight.

“Please tell me this is real,” Pops whispered into his hair as they sunk to the ground, still embracing.

“I hope so,” Tubbo sobbed. His fuzzy memories cleared in some spots, making him cry more. He only had bits and pieces of a previous life, and it only made him more sad. “P... papa?”

“Y-yeah buddy?”

“I- I don’t, I don’t remember too m-much,” he cried more. Tubbo earned it, surely.

“Sh sh, buddy it’s okay. I’ll help you remember, I promise. We’ll be okay.”

They calmed down not too long after, both running out of tears. They probably would’ve sat there until dawn if it weren’t for the shouting outside.

“Is that-?”

Tubbo nodded, separating himself from Pops as they stood back up. He held a hand much bigger than his own as he dragged Pops to the front door, where his players were still arguing. Pops unlocked the door and they pushed it open to hear the conversation.

“—HOW COULD YOU LOSE HIM?!”

“WH- ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE WHO BROUGHT HIM HERE!”

“YOU STILL LOST HIM THOUGH!”

Tubbo sighed, pulling his hood back on. Sometimes he was embarrassed these were his players.

“This is your ride?” Pops whispered to him, obviously trying not to laugh. Tubbo only nodded and pulled his hood over his face as his face burned.

“Why are you like this?” Tubbo said loudly, moving his hood to see them as he glared.