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[thisismedamit]

I NEED TO READ I NEED TO WRITE I NEED TO CREATE I NEED TO DRAW I NEED TO CLEAN I NEED TO WORK OUT I NEED TO LEARN *watches YouTube for 6 hours*

[thisismedamit]

dr katara (md) and dr aang (phd) modern au!!

[thisismedamit]

The Hero and Hope 4/5

Okaaaay, so there's 5 parts instead of 4! I realized that the last part was over 6k words, so we're splitting it into two! The last part will still be posted next Friday, so this will keep us on track!

Summary: The picnic has an uninvited guest that you're uniquely suited to greet.

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(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone able to catch Marie,” the Lord says, brows raised. His golden eyes track Isla across the garden and he whistles when she jumps to tag his former knight. “That was not within the capabilities of a Villager.”

Ivan scans the crowd around them. Most of the townsfolk are too far away to eavesdrop and the ones close enough to potentially hear are engaged in their own conversations. “Careful, Brennan. If the Director hears you speculate…”

“Yes, the Director,” Lord Brennan sighs. He brings his teacup to his lips, but doesn’t drink. He contemplates Director Sarah where she crouches with a glass of water near Annie. “You know this is the first time we’ve met?”

It’d been a fight to get Sarah to agree to today at all. Ivan chooses his words carefully. “Your predecessor did not have the sort of…kind interest you do.”

The former Lord’s interest Sarah shared with them was a lot more horrifying. There’s a reason that Isla at only fifteen years old is the eldest at the orphanage.

“That’s one way to put it,” Lord Brennan agrees. He settles back into his seat and sighs in satisfaction. He watches the children gradually grow tired of their game and drift towards the dessert table. He grins when the townsfolk naturally make room for them, a few of them even fetching treats from the center of the table for the littler ones. “See my people together? It was very good of me to lure you and Marie to my territory.”

“You gave us a castle,” Ivan says. They weren’t so much lured as bludgeoned with generosity. Some days it feels like they blinked and ended up standing amongst fine silk and filigree.

“It’s a manor as far as paperwork goes,” Lord Brennan says.

“It has buttresses.”

“A very fortified manor.” Lord Brennan finally sips his tea and sighs again. “This tea is from our fields, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s delicious.” The full canopies of the trees enveloping the estate rustle in the wind. The sun shines warmly overhead. Lord Brennan takes another drink. Delicious. “The land’s come a long way since we ousted my father, hasn’t it? Plentiful harvests, an established trade route, a new school. If it weren’t for the demons, my work would be done.”

“I would prefer you had no work then,” Ivan says dryly.

“Me too.” Lord Brennan sets his tea aside and rubs his eyes. “Any updates?”

“None,” Ivan admits, frustration leaking through his words. His face is still amiable and the disconnect between his tone and his visage is jarring. “We investigated the wolf tracks in the woods and only found carnage. No signs of the demons themselves.”

“So they are demons?”

“Regular wolves wouldn’t be able to evade a squadron of your knights, my lord.”

“Neither would demon wolves,” Lord Brennan says. He rubs his chin, brow furrowing. “I don’t like what that implies. Any sign of larger foes?”

Ivan doesn’t want to discuss this here. Marie’s eyes are on him, sensing his rising distress. He smiles and waves to her. “Besides the horned rabbit migration?”

“Is it a migration?”

“Isla saw five within the first four weeks of summer,” Ivan says.

The Lord’s attention falls on the teenager. She’s patiently letting one of the other children – Hera? The one who’d curtsied to him like a little noble – weave flowers into her braid. He tries to imagine her fighting a horned rabbit and his lips thin. “I’ll call for reinforcements from the capital.”

“Marie and I can—”

Lord Brennan waves Ivan off. “No, no, I’ve asked too much of you already. Aren’t the two of you too busy in your retirement already? I thought you’d be settled with a child by now.”

“It’s not good to rush these things,” Ivan says as he has the last three times Lord Brennan has asked. This time it’s Ivan who sighs. “It took Marie and I a good few months to win Director Sarah over after our misstep.”

“Asking about Destinies, was it?”

“Implying we’d value any child less for not being a knight like us,” Ivan corrects.

“There seem to be a lot of unusual Destinies in the orphanage,” Lord Brennan says. He’s not an Identifier but he’s got a good eye. Though no one can know for sure until a child either develops their mark or comes into their power at fifteen, he’s seen more than a few signs of a Scholar, a Guardian, and a Teacher. Once again he finds his gaze being drawn back to Isla. She’s got a child under each arm and is running from Marie again, the game having resumed after their snack break. “That one is a Guard, at least. Nobody else would have physical abilities like that.”

Ivan ignores the Lord’s comment. “It’s been worthwhile getting to know them all.” His smile turns a little more genuine. “They’re all good kids.”

“Surely you and Marie have an inkling of who’ll be a good fit?” When Ivan doesn’t reply, the Lord clicks his tongue. “You can’t choose all of them.”

Ivan’s voice is a study in nonchalance. “Can’t we?”

Lord Brennan opens his mouth only for no words to come out. At length, he has to laugh. His knights do like to keep busy. “You’d need a castle.”

“You did give us one, my lord.”

“I suppose I did.”

The two men lapse into a pleasant silence. It is good to see the townsfolk this cheerful. This town is the furthest from Lord Brennan’s own castle and he rarely has a chance to visit. The first time he had had been very different. The people still bore the wounds of winter in gouged cheeks and brittle smiles. Now he sees the glow of health everywhere he looks.

He contemplates the Director once again. She’d been the only one back then to not seem pleased to see him ride in on his white horse. Even now he can feel the chill of her scrutiny as she stood defensively between him and the orphanage. None of that chill is present today. Her smile is as sweet as his tea while she tends to a scrape the little Scholar sustained in this round of tag. “Ms. Sarah is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“I know we can’t adopt them all,” Ivan blurts out. He doesn’t seem to have heard Lord Brennan. His gaze is turned towards his own inner conflict which is why he also doesn’t notice the blush dusting the Lord’s cheeks. “It wouldn’t be fair to them. Marie and I decided to adopt a child who would benefit from what little we can offer. Military arts and luck.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Lord Brennan says with raised brows. “You and Marie offer a lot more than a Knight’s experience. Haven’t you shown that already in your actions?” He’s not aware of everything his former knights have done, but he’s heard plenty from the children today. He didn’t think Marie had the patience to teach anyone how to read.

Ivan’s hands fist. “It’s not enough, it’s not—the little boy. Josiah. He’s so smart. I don’t even know where to start with him and even Marie says that he’ll soon outpace her—”

“Well,” Lord Brennan says, “Neither of you are Teachers, true, but there is a school for that--”

“And Annie wants to know why bread rises and why the sun sets and how many seconds are in a day—”

“All kids are curious—”

“Hera staged a whole theater production for my birthday and all we could do was clap—”

Is he missing something? “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“We don’t know any actors or directors to introduce her to!” Ivan cries out. He quickly lowers his voice, but can’t hide the stress around his eyes. “What could we give to a child like her? Like any of them?  Marie and I are out of our depth. It would be so much simpler if one was a Knight!”

The Lord tentatively offers, “If Isla’s a Guard--?”

Ivan gives a cry of distress that he barely capture in the palm of his hand. “Isla! That girl feels like my daughter already, but…she’s been through so much. She doesn’t need a father who teaches her how to fight or a mother who teaches her how to withstand a siege! She deserves to never have to fight again. What could we offer her? What could we possibly give to her she hasn’t already learned on her own?”

A light goes on in the Lord’s head. He takes in the festivities with new eyes. The town’s Baker, Blacksmith, Teacher… His friends have invited every possible parent they could in hopes of providing for the children in ways they felt incapable of doing themselves. As noble as that was…“Ivan, being a parent goes beyond the skills you can give a child. It’s more than fostering talent or an offering an apprenticeship. It’s—”

A horse’s scream drowns out the Lord’s next words.

Ivan is in front of Lord Brennan with his sword drawn before the horses and their blood-splattered riders even round the side of the castle.

-----.

 You throw Annie and Josiah behind you the moment you hear the sound of hooves galloping towards the manor.

“Isla, what—” Josiah starts to ask and then cuts himself off as the innkeepers and their entourage burst into the party.

You smell blood before your eyes register the terrible red staining their fine clothing.

“ORCS!” Mr. Innkeeper screams over the frightened snorts of his horse. He stumbles down from his mount and staggers towards the Lord. “They overtook our carriage—please, my wife, she’s hurt—”

Mrs. Inkeeper is holding her side and seemingly barely holding onto the saddle horn. “Our guards won’t be enough to hold them off—”

“Inside,” Sarah hisses into your ear. She points after Hera who’s already shepherding the younger kids into the building. “Now.”

“—an army—”

“—fast—”

“—waiting for us—”

You move faster than you’ve allowed yourself since you arrived. This is no time to take care in hiding your abilities; there are roars coming from the forest unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. Your senses seem to dial up with your heartrate and you can hear the clash of steel against rock and flesh. You scoop Annie into your arms and leap after Josiah and Sarah.

Mr. Dallen’s face is pale as he ushers you all into the manor. He holds the door open for the townsfolk. The hall fills with the sounds of panic and sobs as fear washes through you like a tidal wave. There have never been orcs south of the mountains, there have never been demons bigger than a horned rabbit in the last twenty years, even when the Winter froze the river—

Mr. Dallen waves down Marie as she sprints to the large doorway. You think that he’s going to pull her inside to safety, but instead he thrusts her bow into her outstretched hands.

“Do not open these doors,” she commands. Behind her the knights are assembling into a formation, their Lord at the center. Ivan stands before them all, barking orders to ready their spears as the trees in front of them begin to sway. Marie pulls a dagger from under her skirts and slices the bottom half of her dress clean off. She kicks it away from her feet as she talks. “Take everyone to the basement—”

“Ma’am, the escape tunnel still isn’t cleared of debris—”

Marie swears so violently that half the townsfolk gasp. She grabs Mr. Dallen by the shoulder, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and her husband. “Then we will draw them away. The moment you think you can, run to the wagon. Get the children to—” She bites her lip. You can see the devastating truth flash through her mind. There isn’t anywhere to go. “Damnit. Bar the door and arm everyone you can.”

Mr. Dallen’s lips are bloodless as he nods. “My lady.”

Marie turns to everyone. Her voice is unlike anything you’ve heard come from her lips; it’s harsh and barking. A commander giving orders much like Ivan is doing outside. “Listen, everyone. We are in danger. Our best estimate is that 25 orcs are marching on the manor. There is no guarantee of survival. The moment this door is breached, it will mean the knights have failed. You must be prepared to fight. Do you understand?”

Twenty-five? Your hands ball into fists and your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard of entire villages being wiped out by three.

“Then we’ll fight with the knights,” the Baker says. He pushes away from the center of the group and marches to the wall. He pulls down the crossed axes, keeps one, tosses the other to the Blacksmith. She catches it easily. “You’ll need everyone who can hold a weapon.”

Marie never voices her protest. You can see the strain of holding it back in her tense shoulders and her poignant silence. At long last, she nods. “You’re right. Stay behind the knights. They know how to handle the frontline better than you.”

There’s a flurry after that. The townsfolk divide in half. Those unable to fight slide back as those who can start scavenging for weapons. Mr. Dallen grimly pulls two long daggers from under his coat while pointing your neighbors to decorative swords, to ornamental spears, to the heavy coatrack just inside the parlor.

Grimly, you stride past Sarah, ignoring her hiss and darting hands. You can leave the weapons to the villagers, there’s a large knife on the dessert table you can use—

Marie slams a hand against your chest. You stagger back at the weight of the blow, breath knocked from your lungs. You’re more stunned than hurt as you gape at her.

“Children stay here,” Marie says. Her eyes narrow. “No exceptions.”

“But I’m—”

“We don’t have time to argue!” She pushes you further back, clearing the doorway for the armed villagers to run outside towards the knights. “You’re strong Isla, but this isn’t your fight. Stay here. Guard the door.”

The winter wind howls in your mind. You splutter. “But I—”

Marie spins away from you. “Director Sarah.”

Sarah’s arms slide around your shoulders. “Yes, lady.”

 The closing of the door feels like a blow in itself. You stare sightlessly at the unyielding wood as your emotions rage. How could she? You’re strong, you can do more, you can help, you’re the one who kept everyone from starving—

“We need to barricade the windows,” Director Sarah is saying to the townsfolk. Half of them gaze at her uncomprehendingly. Her hands slide from your shoulders slowly, as if testing that you aren’t going to leap outside. When you don’t move, she lets go entirely. “Isla, move the furniture. Hera and Josiah, find something to tie it down with.”

You move on autopilot. There are other hands alongside yours as you push the sofa and armchairs in front of the windows, the townsfolk coming together to defend the manor. Hera darts between you all and pulls the curtains closed, reclaiming the curtain ties to use as rope. She’s got a grim determination in her eyes that looks uncomfortably familiar.

Your attention is on the noise outside. The orcs are slow, but loud. The roars change to squeals and bellows of challenge. Branches break and there’s a terrifying, splintering crash as a tree falls. Metal rings as the knights raise their shields. You can see it all in your mind’s eye, the knights in a defensive line across the length of the garden, the Lord securely in their center. Ivan is shouting about this being what they’ve trained for, that there are more of them than there are orcs, that this city won’t fall—

And the Lord is speaking too, quickly and quietly to Marie. The escape tunnel? Damnit, I should have sent more men—

It will be fine, Marie says. Her bow sings as she holds it ready and you know the way her muscles flex and her eyes narrow from experience. We won’t let a single one of those monsters past us. We won’t--

The knights bellow alongside the orcs. Your heart leaps and your focus is jarred. You’re standing in front of the door again, your hands balled at your sides. Everyone can hear the battle now and the townsfolk scream when the orcs’ battle cries shake the manor.

“Quiet!” Is that your voice? It is. Your eyes slide to the frightened faces behind you. “You’ll distract the knights.”

Sarah steps up alongside you. “And let the orcs know exactly where we are.”

The villagers quiet into aborted whimpers and muffled sobs.

The battle rages, louder and louder. Are orcs big? They sound big. When you close your eyes you can hear the way their feet pummel the earth. Do they have weapons? Metal clashes. A knight screams that their hides are too thick. The Lord shouts back to aim for their eyes. A table splinters, a bow sings, there’s a liquid gasp—

BOOM!

You slam your hands against the door, muscles straining as another blow lands against it. The wood convulses under your hands and the lock creaks. The villagers scream.

“No,” someone whispers. “No, they found us.”

You’re eight and the snow spirits are howling for blood. Your shoulders ache with the effort to hold the door against the wind. The cold is biting at your fingertips and there is an old hope dying in your chest--

Small hands slam against the door next to yours. Hera is snarling and swearing, Josiah is crying. Sarah is telling the kids not to worry, Isla and Hera and Josiah won’t let them in –

They’re here. You’re not alone.

“GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

The orc’s bellow isn’t nearly as loud as Ivan’s roar.

The blow you’re bracing for never comes. Ivan goads the orc to follow him, to leave the manor alone, to eat the man readily available to him—

It does not sound like the knights are winning now.

“My Lord!” Marie’s voice is strained.

“Do not fall back, they’ll corner us—”

“Who is that? Who is—”

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

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Thanks for reading! If you'd like read the last part of Isla a week early, please consider supporting me on Patreon(X)!

[thisismedamit]

in a world where you get superpowers for doing good deeds, write the story of a super villain.

[thisismedamit]

for a prompt! santa monica by everclear

Nice, get some everclear in the mix! Thanks for the prompt :) 

“Look,” I say, “it’s not you, it’s me. I think I’m just heading in a different direction right now. I can’t let our relationship hold me back anymore.”

Light, fastest man on Earth, superhero extraordinaire, stops struggling against his bonds to stare at me. “Did you kidnap me to…break up with me?”

My heart skips a beat. “No! I mean, we’re not even, like, dating so I’m not. Obviously.” I adjust my rubber gloves nervously, tucking my lab coat more securely into them. “Just, um, letting you know that you don’t need to save the day anymore. From me at least.” I laugh and stop abruptly, face flushing. My laugh is off putting, so I hear.

Light speed kicks the chair I’ve tied him to and grimaces when it doesn’t break.

“It’s titanium,” I say, shoving my hands into my coat’s pockets. “I’ll let you go, just wanted to tell you goodbye, I guess. We, uh, probably won’t be seeing each other again.”

“Are you dying?” he asks, strangely alarmed. He lowers his voice. “Or is someone threatening you?” His eyes narrow. “Is it Technomaniac? Because he’s from Texas, this isn’t even his turf, I can contact the heroes down there to come get him–”

“I’m not being threatened,” I blurt out. He’d kick another villain out of LA for me? Why? “I just, it’s time for me to move on, that’s all. I, well…”

“You are dying,” Light says, face horrified. “Oh my god, and I threw you through that window last week!”

“I’m not dying!” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m quitting being a villain!”

The words ring in the empty lab. All of my equipment has already been disposed of, the experiments, everything. I’m ready for a new start, totally and completely.

“You’re…quitting.” Light seems unable to comprehend it. “Like, quitting quitting? Or taking a break? Or maybe you mean rebranding, I hear that’s popular these days–”

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[thisismedamit]

Your lover is gone and you are packing up the last box of their stuff when you find something unexpected.

[thisismedamit]

You were once the most powerful villain. You retired early and are engaged to a minor super hero who isn’t aware of your past. They are about to be killed right before your eyes..but you step in.

[thisismedamit]

Mind Over Matter

(This short story takes place in my superhero universe! It was originally posted on my Patreon (X) about two weeks ago. I really love Mary as a character and can’t wait for you guys to see her in more things!)

“Mind over matter,” Ray says, balancing three stacked coffee cups in his open hands. He’s sitting in his chair backwards, arms held directly out over the table. If the cups fall, they won’t fall far, which is good because she certainly wouldn’t be cleaning the shards.

Not again.

“Of the same mind,” Georgia counters. She’s got two forks wobbling on the tips of her fingers. Mary’s got good money on her, but that’s hardly worth much. Everyone’s got good money on Georgia.

“Mindful meditation,” Ray tries.

Hansen makes a noise like a buzzer, long, white hair hanging over his eyes. He picks up another coffee cup—this one emblazoned with a cartoon bee—and adds it to Ray’s teetering stack. “Phrases only, no nouns.”

Ray swears. His hands are steady but Mary can see his index finger twitch. He’ll be trembling soon, the fairly light cups becoming heavier the longer he has to keep his arms outstretched. “Uh, mind the gap?”

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[thisismedamit]

Wizards Stole My Brother

 Summary: Being the Chosen One fucking sucks. That’s why Erika is furious when she finds out her brother got picked.

——–.

I find out my parents let the wizards take Ben an hour after I get home for spring break.

“You have to understand, Erika,” my mother says tearfully, “there was a prophecy! What were we supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to stop a group of ancient wizards from dragging off my fourteen-year-old brother to die,” I snarl at her. I dump out my small suitcase on the bed and leave it face open on the floor. I throw open my closet and start tearing all of the hanging things out of my way. “Or, I don’t know, maybe call me?”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” my father says. He’d be a lot more convincing if he stopped hovering around the doorway and avoiding my glare. He tucks his terrycloth bathrobe around himself. “You know what they’re like. We couldn’t say no.”

“That excuse is a little tired, Dad.” I flip the latch of the secret compartment at the back of my closet. It swings open to reveal my collection of swords. My mother gasps, but I’m too mad to point out that she knew I kept the weapons, just not where. “I let you use it when it happened to me because I expected you to never fail your children quite so spectacularly again.”

“We’re just normal people, Erika,” Mom wails. She’s dressed in overalls and has smears of dirt from ankle to knee. “We couldn’t stop them! We’re just as upset as you!”

“Are you?” I whirl around, three swords under one arm and a crossbow in my free hand. “Is that why Dad smells like a lavender bath bomb and you’ve been gardening all morning? Because you’re upset?”

“Yes,” Mom says.

“No,” Dad says.

They exchange quick, guilty looks.

“No,” Mom says.

“Yes,” Dad says.

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[thisismedamit]

“I’m not exactly the person to come to with these things. I’m, like, super evil, you know?”

[thisismedamit]

No Heroes Here

Summary: Daz was raised by a hero. That’s probably why she isn’t one.

—————————————————————

The lip isn’t split so badly that she needs stitches, so Daz sorts through the kit on the counter for a thin bandage. She gingerly presses it over the wound and studies the results. If she can get the swelling to go down, she’ll be able to tell her work that it’s a cold sore. Embarrassing, but safe.

Ha.

Safe.

She sweeps the last of the blood-soaked pads of gauze into the bathroom trash before limping back out into the bedroom. Lumps of shredded fabric litter the carpet, blood-soaked and already dry and flaking. Her mask is torn nearly in half down the ridge of the nose piece. Not salvageable. This costume will need to go in the trash too. Once her cracked ribs let her bend over anyway.

Daz’ stomach growls just as she’s trying to figure out how she’s going to climb into bed with her hip freshly popped back into socket. Maybe if she sort of flops over onto the duvet and rolls…? Her stomach growls again and she scowls down at it. Between sleeping and eating, she knows which she’d prefer. But she’s hardly going to heal running on fumes. “Fine.” She leaves her room to go to the kitchen and stops in her tracks.

There’s a ghost sitting at the kitchen table.

“Not tonight,” Daz says. She reaches out for the doorframe blindly, unable to take her eyes off the man in front of her. It’s the same damn shirt as that day, the same dress pants–! “Please, please not today.”

Her father doesn’t hear her. He carefully flips a page of the binder in front of him, head moving as he slowly reads each line. It’s dark in her apartment, too dark to read, but her father isn’t squinting. It was sunny the day he read that paper and he wasn’t here at her table. He was at his own table, her mother next to him, waiting for Daz to come down for breakfast.

Daz squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t need this today. She’d hoped her powers were too exhausted from the fight to do this. Usually, she can control them so that the past whispers answers to her, locations and dates and witnesses, bits of information that she can process and use. This is…it’s cruel.

And she’s doing it to herself.

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[thisismedamit]

The Civilian and the Reluctant Hero

Summary: When Shireen’s city falls to a Supervillain, she knows there aren’t any Heroes to save the day. So she does in more ways than she knows.

——.

There’s a man in the garbage.

Shireen tries to keep walking. She watches her red heels take one step. Then another. She stops just past the mouth of the alley, unable to keep going. She glares down at her shoes.

It’s not safe to go see if that man is okay. Even before her city fell under the control of a Supervillain, it wouldn’t have been safe. It’s almost two in the morning and the streets are deserted, the only pedestrian being idiots like her who missed their last train home from visiting friends. Only about half the streetlamps are working. The bulbs are shattered in some, switches have burnt out in others. Apparently, supervillain dictatorships don’t care about repairing them. Everybody tries to avoid driving. The asphalt is chewed up by the Supervillain’s henchmen sparring all over the place. The street – once a main thoroughfare – looks like the set of a zombie movie.

Keep walking, Shireen tells herself. Her hand tightens on the strap of her satchel. She doesn’t have pepper spray anymore. If any of the Supervillain’s henchmen caught her with a weapon, they could brand her a Hero.

The whole city knows what their loving Supervillain does to Heroes.

Shireen turns on her heel and tiptoes into the alley. There aren’t any more Heroes here. Nobody to save the day or look out for people who are passed out on top of piles of trash. Maybe that’s why she’s carefully approaching the man in the garbage. She’s not going to save anyone, she knows that. But, maybe, she can help make sure he does whatever he’s doing in a hospital or something.

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[thisismedamit]

If people were too mean to you when you were growing up, a newborn animal will materialize inside your brain and it’s so so scared and shivering and it will stay there for years. Decades, even. And whenever you say something kind of weird but true to your heart the animal will tell you “Noo! You can’t say that! If you say that, everyone will hate you!”. The animal means well. It’s so so small and everything is so scary for them and it’s just trying to protect you. But listen to me. Listen to me. Whenever this happens, you can’t do what the animal says. You can’t. If you do, you’ll become as scared as the animal. You have to keep saying weird shit. You have to keep doing things the animal wouldn’t approve of. If you do enough things that scare the animal, maybe one day it’ll go to sleep.

[thisismedamit]

Many think that your power is the strongest in all the lands. “An ever changing and growing power” they say. Your power is called “legacy” and it’s effects are based on what your opponent thinks it does.

[thisismedamit]

Prompt: You’ve been a hero for half your life. You’ve fought villains so powerful that they’re called monsters. You’ve foiled bank robberies, saved babies, and stopped the city from exploding into flames. Being a hero is all you know and yet…this is it. The last straw.

Today is the day you become a villain.

[thisismedamit]

Pride and PowerPoint

by pinna.blu_ on ig

[thisismedamit]

tiny damian has a LOT to live up to