#guess that devolved pretty quickly
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Hey guys
I have present for you
Not sure if there will be a WIP Wednesday this week since I’m con crunching and we leave on Thursday, soooo… this will tide you over I’m sure! The completed chapter 15!
Previous Chapter:
First chapter and AO3 link:
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I’ll Take The Highway
Time was almost slipping away too quickly in the milkshake bar, and Danny wished he didn’t have to keep an eye on it.
(Well. Seriously hoped. Even in the privacy of his head, he couldn’t make it a wish.)
He had to get Tucker back to MIT though, and back to Gotham in a reasonable time frame to get to bed before class tomorrow.
If he got to bed before midnight, there might be a chance for he and Jason to run to the Far Frozen in the morning. Or after, Danny’s classes didn’t run late. Or…
He was missing out on the fun today, trying to plan tomorrow. Much as Jazz would love him being more organised, he pushed it to the back of his mind.
They’d visit Frostbite soon. And find out how Jason’s core was, though Danny was beginning to think he knew. Here, when Jason was happy and relaxed? Not tensed, shut down, or angry?
Danny could definitely feel something he hadn’t before. Not exactly the same as another ghost, or any of the other halfas, not yet.
But it was almost like Box Lunch’s fresh core seen through a house of mirrors.
Maybe that was what had him so close to the edge today? It was taking some pretty serious effort not to react to even the mention of an old threat to Jason.
Jason, the sweet baby ghost.
And if his smile was a little sappy at that thought, well, that was no one’s business but his own. At least he had something to sit on for when his rogues started embarrassing baby stories.
Finally he couldn’t put it off anymore. Too much to do, friends to fly across country, and he still hadn’t found a good way to ask Waylon his question. He just… well.
He’d given Jason all the server info, the stuff about who his rogues were, how he beat them, the things they’d learned about the Infinite Realms. They’d even shared some stories around different bits.
That didn’t exactly explain what he wanted to ask Waylon about. And it really wasn’t something he was comfortable sharing just yet, even if he already knew it was dumb.
Jason was a good guy. Who hung out with Batman, who was apparently an asshole. He wouldn’t judge Danny for having some dark and fucked up stories in all the zany ones.
Fuck, maybe Waylon could tell him how Jason would react. It was gonna come up, it’d have to, and Danny really would feel better having someone else’s opinion.
He was reluctant to interrupt their good time, another story devolving into laughter, but it was getting into the afternoon and… well, he also had no idea how long this would take.
“Hey, uh, by the way. I’ve gotta head out in a bit, dropping Tuck back off in Massachusetts, I just wanted to talk to Waylon for a minute first? In private?” Because if Danny had learned one thing?
Direct worked best.
It worked now, Harley nodding along and hopping up, cartwheeling her way along the table and out of the booth.
“Say no more, Danno! C’mon, Jayjay, I wanted ta catch up with you on somethin’ too, so this works perfectly!” She declared cheerfully, giving Jason a fond tug to his fluffy white streak of hair.
Jason shot Danny a look that was half commiserating, half curious as he slid out of the both after her, but Danny was too busy staring into an imagined hellscape where Harley met Jack Fenton.
Fuck Dan, the world couldn’t handle that.
By the time he came back to himself, he and Waylon were alone in the booth, the big man watching him curiously.
“So, what’s on yer mind, kid?” He asked in a low voice, folding his arms on the edge of the table and leaning in.
Secret villain hideaway or not, this wasn’t something Danny wanted just anyone overhearing, so he beckoned Waylon closer to his end of the booth first, tucked into the wall.
The big guy slid his way surprisingly delicately down the seat, then leaned in again, watching Danny expectantly.
Which was when Danny realised he shoulda probably thought about a good way to put this.
Blunt it was gonna have to be.
“So… you… Harley said people called you Killer Croc before you ever hurt anyone?” He said in a rush, flinching at how bad it actually sounded said aloud.
Waylon… did not have eyebrows to raise, and it was really fucking weird that he was noticing that now, but it was definitely what he’d been doing, and Danny was distracting himself again.
“They did,” Waylon agreed a moment later, his voice low and even. Guard up, but not defensive. Not closing the topic off.
Danny huffed out a sigh, and found he couldn’t quite meet the man’s eyes. Found himself intently examining the diamond pattern on the formica tables. His own hands, twisting in front of him over that pattern.
“You… you became what they said you were. A monster.” The words caught in his throat, hard to spit out and shit he thought he was past this.
It had been years.
A scaled green hand covered his, and Danny found himself surprised by how smooth the scales were. Far from soft, but not rough. Almost smoother than the table.
“Who called you a monster, kid?” Waylon asked softly, his voice gruff with something too close to understanding.
Danny’s head snapped up and he shook it quickly, sucking in a deep breath.
“Oh, no one. Not for like, a really long time now. And they said sorry and everything, it’s not that. It’s… you gave into it. Let them make you something wrong and dangerous, and you stopped. How did you stop?” He asked quietly, finally finding it easier to look at Waylon’s face.
He looked surprised.
**
Finding Jason had been harder than usual. He’d never turned his phone back on after last night, and Bruce was still wrestling with one of his least favourite (and most common) side effect of a concussion; light sensitive headaches.
Even with the screen brightness all the way down, it was hard to even look at the batcomputer while he waited for Constantine to arrive.
None of his usual tricks were helping, spikes of pain jabbing behind his eyes every time he tried to scan the cameras for Jason’s presence.
It was Babs who found him in the end, taking her lunch at the library late to help him out. She had whole programs to scan the security cameras of Gotham for her, trained to recognise any bat or rogue from any angle.
False positives happened, but usually didn’t take more than a look to confirm or deny. They were extremely accurate.
Bruce would know.
He had copies of the same programs.
They just weren’t running properly.
He was probably still tired. He’d been pushing himself while injured, as usual, and as usual Alfred would be eager to tell him he’d been overtaxing himself too hard to work efficiently.
And then Constantine was late.
By the time the magician arrived, Bruce was regretting having taken a break to sleep at all. He should have sorted this out last night, before ever calling Jason.
They could have picked a time to meet, and while Bruce was fully aware Jason might have just told him to fuck off, he might not have. Especially if Bruce had promised to leave him alone.
He knew better than to ask Jason to introduce Danny to Constantine.
Barbara had generously kept an eye on Jason in the interim, and by the time Batman and Constantine were ready to go he seemed to have settled in Freeze’s place.
The Frozen Fields. Named for his wife, who Bruce’s top scientists still wouldn’t be able to save.
Along with Harley, Waylon Jones, and Danny.
Of course he was with Danny.
Half the city seemed to be intent on frustrating him today. They’d taken the Batmobile, and while he tended to only drive it in emergencies (and after dark), it still barely sped the journey through the city traffic.
It always felt wrong, sitting and waiting with the rest of the cars in the Batmobile. Didn’t match the “lurking justice in the shadows”. Which Constantine was quick to remind him.
Bruce just gripped the steering wheel tighter, sucked in a deep breath, and nearly bit his tongue when they finally edged up to an intersection only for the light to turn red.
**
Waylon sat back in his seat, back scraping against the wall of the booth as he surveyed the kid in front of him.
Little squirt was tougher ‘n he looked, that much was definitely true. Harley had given him the short run down on their way to the milkshake bar, all the powers she knew he had.
And that he’d been hunted by his folks for a while. Waylon knew how that kinda shit could mess ya up.
He appreciated the heads up too, cuz this kinda shit coming up outta nowhere? Also pretty damn rough. He’d wondered if the kid just wanted to come along for another fight.
If he just wanted another chance to say he’d looked Killer Croc in the eye.
But there was no real bravado there, not even when he challenged Waylon to a rematch. Shit, the kid treated him more normal than most of his henchmen had ever managed to.
Made sense, knowing he was part a ghost an’ fought ghost rogues, but it left Waylon wondering. Apparently he was getting his answer.
Same damn question he’d asked himself a thousand times, ‘specially around the kind of young vigilantes who’d taken a turn to the bad.
Didn’t mean he had a good answer.
He regarded the kid for a long minute, watching the fidgeting, the sudden shyness from a boy who’d literally tackled him from behind on a whim.
This wasn’t just an idle question. Something made him sure of that, and he’d never been involved in all that much of the really weird shit. You heard stories, especially in Arkham.
So he decided to give the kid the best answer he had.
“Cuz I was the worst version of myself. I let myself be the monster they thought I was, got pretty good at it. But it never made me happy.” He paused, mulling it over.
Chuckled softly and looked down into his half drunk milkshake. It was kinda funny how obvious it seemed, in hindsight.
“Shit, there was never even anythin’ I wanted. Not like Penguin, Freeze, or the others. People treated me like a monster so I tried to be one, cuz why the hell not? Couldn’t be worse, could it?”
His gaze shifted back to Danny’s face, watching the kid’s expression. No judgement, which was nice. But he did look confused.
“So you just… got sick of it?” Danny asked, his brows furrowed as he played with his fingers.
Waylon chuckled and shook his head.
“Kinda. Spent a while thinkin’ if people couldn’t treat me with respect, fear’d do. But it ain’t the same. An’ I never had the drive or creative cruelty to stand out in Gotham.”
Danny looked a little incredulous at that, eyebrows rising, but he caught himself before commenting. Snickered and shook his head.
“Yeah, I guess being in a city that’s used to people like Scarecrow and the Joker puts “big and green” into perspective,” he agreed dryly, and Waylon laughed.
It felt good to laugh.
“Oh yeah. City’s got more than its share of low level thugs anyway. I spent a while as extra muscle for the big boys, but I ain’t the takin’ orders sort,” he explained with a modest shrug.
Danny grinned, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward.
“What, a shy and retiring guy like you?” He asked, clearly teasing, and Waylon waved a hand dismissively.
“I’m lucky it was Gotham,” he added after a moment, reflection sobering his mood. “Got sent t’ Arkham. Met Harley. An’ the Bat’s not all that bad. He tried gettin’ me outta the life a couple times.”
Danny cocked his head, a slight frown returning to his face. Following Waylon’s lead.
“How did Batman try and get you out?” There was a little too much intensity for it to be a casual question, and Waylon noted it. Not that he’d figure it out on his own.
Just tryin’ to make sure he didn’t damage the kid.
“Oh, there were a couple ways. Got me moved down to Florida once. Out in the green, away from people. I figured bein’ a wild animal might be more my speed, but it wasn’t. An’ it got messy when I left. Like that whatever he tried, really. There’s lines you can’t uncross.”
Lines like being a cannibal.
Not that he was sobbin’ on a preacher’s shoulder about it. Most of the people he’d eaten were assholes who’d deserved it, and it’d been a preference, not a need.
For all people loved to go on about him eatin’ kids and babies, he’d never actually done it. A guy had to have standards.
Made it easy to stop, once he was in a better head space. He and Harley had talked a lotta old shit out.
Kid didn’t need to know those grisly details though, at least not from his own mouth. Watching Danny a moment longer, Waylon came to a decision.
“Look, kid. There’s a lotta reasons people go bad. Some of ‘em can’t be helped. But if they’re not gettin’ anything out of it, if there’s no goal? The appeal runs out. And sometimes all it takes is someone willin’ to reach down an’ haul yer back up to the light.”
He wouldn’t ask if that was the case with whoever the kid wanted to help. Everyone heard stories, ‘specially about heroes meeting their evil selves.
The fear looked personal, but the asking coulda been for anyone. Waylon was in no rush to judge.
Danny mulled over his words for a while, lips moving soundlessly as he frowned down at the table. This time when he looked up, there was a peace in his eyes.
He’d come to a decision. Good for him.
“Thanks, Waylon. You seem like a pretty great guy to me,” he said simply, and Waylon definitely did not feel a lump in his throat.
“This is after years o’ Harley workin’ on me,” he grumbled gruffly. Shaking his head, he slurped down the last of his milkshake quickly.
Nothing like brain freeze to explain being a little misty eyed.
**
Jason didn’t exactly object to being led out of the bar by Harley; Danny wanted to talk to Waylon in private.
Jason had figured Danny had something to ask the guy about. He hadn’t exactly expected not to be part of the conversation, but that was fine.
He’d know if Danny got into trouble. Fuck, Danny could handle any trouble Gotham could dish out, probably. And the rogues had some basic manners; not starting shit in Freeze’s place was one of them.
Penguin might put the squeeze on and make your life uncomfortable if you lit up the Iceberg Lounge. Dr Freeze’s cold shoulder was a lot more literal, and he didn’t do “proportional response”.
So yeah, he could be cool and give Danny some space.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Harley wanted to talk to him either, although he still didn’t see the point. But he let her guide him around the side of the building to a back alley anyway.
“Still fine, Harley,” he said before she could get started, both hands raised in front of him.
She gave him an all too knowing look and hopped up to sit on the dumpster. Put her about a head taller than him. Not that he cared.
“Sure, kid. You’ve been goin’ through a lot though, so I gotta ask; is there anythin’ ya wanna talk to Auntie Harley about?” She asked in her sweetest voice, interlacing her fingers under her chin and batting her lashes.
Jason snickered and leaned against the other side of the alley.
Shit, he wasn’t even annoyed with her play acting. The pit was a happy little puddle in his chest, all sunshine and roses.
A week ago he’d have walked away. Been pissed at wasting his time, getting in his way. How much of that had been because of the Lazarus pits, the problems with the ectoplasm he’d apparently been supposed to be solving?
Was that why nothing had ever been enough? Why he always had to keep pushing? Carve himself a patch of Gotham, keep going. Cut the crime out of Crime Alley, not enough.
Take up with the Outsiders, keep himself busy, rushed off his feet so that when he fell into bed for a couple hours a day he didn’t even dream?
When was the last time he’d taken a breath and just… relaxed? It all felt so long ago, but it had barely been a week.
It just. His whole life had unclenched, like it was a muscle he’d finally stopped using.
Fuck, maybe he should talk to Harley about it.
He got the feeling she knew though, those eagle eyes tracking his every move. They’d never really hung out, but he was uncomfortably aware of how well she’d known him.
How much of him was still the boy she’d known?
She was waiting for an answer, and all of a sudden Jason wasn’t sure what he’d say. Knew that if anyone in the world understood, it just might be Dr Harleen Quinzel.
He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. Fuck, he was getting as bad as Bruce.
And if that thought didn’t kick him up the ass…
“You ever wake up one day and realise your whole life’s been going wrong?” He finally asked, glancing up from the corner of his eye.
She’d dropped the cutesy act, leaning forward with her arms braced on the edge of the dumpster, her face professionally calm. Open. Sympathetic.
“Think I might know just a lil about what that’s like,” she agreed softly, and Jason snorted.
“Yeah. Well. Turns out ever since I came back from the dead I’ve been haunted. Literally. And no one ever noticed.”
He hadn’t even come all the way back, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet. But maybe he could share some of the rest.
Harley nodded slowly, giving him her full attention. Just waiting for him to go on.
It kinda felt like being under a microscope, but not in the cold, analytical way Bruce did that always pissed him off. Like she really cared, and was looking for all his broken parts so she could help him fit them back together.
Fuck, if his kid self had ever known he’d one day trust Harley Quinn over the whole Justice League…
Shit, he didn’t even know how much she already knew.
“The pit rage… it’s a psychosis people get, coming out of the Lazarus pit. Makes you angry, violent, stronger, like a blind rage. For most people it goes away. Mine didn’t.”
He almost wanted to laugh, bitter and sharp.
“Because it wasn’t just the psychosis. I’m not fucking weak, I’m not fucking broken, there’s something else living inside me and it made me so fucking angry all the time…”
The frustration was building again, but this time it was his. All his, not a bubble, not a stir, and part of Jason thrilled with it. He could feel however he wanted, just him.
He cut it off though, forcing himself to relax before Danny could notice. Could worry about whatever he was projecting in his aura.
He could kinda still feel Danny’s, which was new. Not brushing against his, not touching like they were close, but he was aware in a way he hadn’t been before.
Like if he shut his eyes he could point in exactly the direction Danny was standing.
“Danny’s the only one who noticed. Well, really, he’s the only one who could. It’s a ghost thing, and he… he got me help. I feel like myself for the first time since… since I came back.”
He hadn’t even noticed how much the background rage burnt through him until it stopped. Until he could look at his family and see their prodding for what it was; concern.
It was still surprising him, and maybe would for a while. Kinda hoped not though. It wasn’t the most cheerful train of thought.
Seeing that he’d run out of words, Harley gave him a moment to find more, then reached over and ruffled his hair. It was barely a strain in the cramped alley.
“Kid, anyone with two eyeballs t’ rub together can see Danny’s real good for ya. So why’s Bruce tryin’ so hard to keep ya apart?” She asked gently, and Jason snorted.
Rolled his eyes and folded his arms, caught himself doing it, and forced them back to his sides.
“Not rubbing his eyeballs together?” He asked dryly. Harley just snickered.
“Please, if we could get ‘im ta stop overanalysing everything that’d be the miracle. So what’s got ‘im on edge?”
Jason hesitated for a long moment, thinking about it. Finally he shrugged; as always, Bruce was a mystery to him. The man who’d taught him all the tricks to pick apart any mystery. Except himself.
“No idea. We played a prank on him and the Mansons at the gala like we told you last night?” He offered, already aware it wasn’t likely to be the answer.
Harley shook her head in agreement, which almost threw him off.
“Nah, you’re right. The whole making-out-in-a-closet shtick is classic, even if he didn’t see through it yet he’s never cared about you boys smoochin’ before,” she agreed, then sighed and tugged him in to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Whatever his problem is though, it is his problem Jason, an’ what he pulled at the gala has nothin’ t’ do with you or Danny. I already told ‘im off about not talkin’ to ya and I’m gonna do it again when I catch him. Right now I just wanna hear you say you know it ain’t your fault,” she told him firmly, cheeks held between both hands.
Jason fought the urge to roll his eyes. And the rising lump in his throat.
“I know Bruce’s bullshit isn’t my fault, Harley,” he grumbled through smushed lips. Harley squeezed his cheeks a little tighter.
“Then say it anyway. It ain’t your fault Brucie has a bug in his ass, and ya ain’t done anything wrong to deserve it.” She was firm as the wall behind him, utterly unrelenting.
And she could go on for hours, if memory served. Long enough for Danny to come out and see. That was why Jason told himself he gave in.
Nothing at all to do with the way her words ached and bled a gentle warmth into the icy void in his gut where the anger still roiled.
“It’s not my fault B’s got the emotional capacity of a wet newspaper. I don’t deserve his helicopter bullshit any more than anyone else,” he told her obediently, doing his best not to be too sarcastic.
Harley placed a kiss on his nose and released him.
“That’s my good boy. Now, more about this haunted thing. You boys got a plan?” She asked sharply, head cocked as she watched his face.
Cheeks red, Jason leaned back against his wall and pretended it made him out of reach.
“We do,” he said curtly, looking down at the trash strewn ground. Trying to explain it now would take too long, Danny would be out soon.
Of course Harley noticed, nodding thoughtfully and leaning back, kicking her legs.
“Well, if ya ever want to tell me more, you’ve got my number. An’ I’ll get Brucie off ya back for a while, even if I’ve gotta call in the Boy Scout. Whatever you aren’t tellin’ ‘im, don’t let ‘im rush ya,” she told him firmly. Jason had to smile.
“Aren’t you the one always telling us to communicate?” He asked half rhetorically. Harley grinned and hopped off her dumpster, making her way to the front of the alley.
“It only works if ya wait til you’re ready. Pushin’ an’ rushin’ only makes it worse,” she explained airily, stepping out into the street.
Turning, and freezing like a hound on a scent. Eyes narrowed, she patted Jason on the chest as he stepped out after her, not turning her head.
“Jason darlin’, be a dear an’ run get Auntie Harley her bat. The bike’s parked ‘round the back,” she said ever so sweetly, and that tone combined with the narrow eyed glare meant Jason knew exactly who she was looking at before he turned.
He did it anyway, eyes widening as he caught sight of Batman, in full gear, coming down the street towards them. Accompanied by John Fucking Constantine.
Had he seriously come to chase him away from Danny in person? In fucking costume?
The anger surged, his and the pit’s, held back only by the small woman in front of him. The dainty hand on her chest, that’d turn into an iron bar if he pushed it.
Sure, she couldn’t actually hold him back, but she didn’t need to. Whatever Jason wanted to say or do to Bruce, Harley could do a whole lot worse.
Anger melding into a vicious satisfaction, he turned straight back down the alley with a spring in his step.
**
Bruce was a little relieved to arrive outside the bar and see Jason already there. Batman walking in wouldn’t have been out of the question, but he’d rather avoid the theatrics.
Danny not being in sight didn’t come into the decision one bit.
But then Harley said something to Jason and he turned away, leaving immediately. Bruce sped up, planning to follow Jason down the alley-
“Hold ya horses, Batsy,” Harley snapped, stepping directly into his path. He could have gone around her, certainly, but he stopped.
If there was even a chance he could get her on side, that would help immensely.
“I just need to talk to Jason,” he said in Batman’s low growl. Constantine had stopped too, well back of whatever was going to happen.
At least he wasn’t a complete fool.
Harley folded her arms, giving him her very least impressed look.
“An’ if the words you’re sayin’ ain’t “I’m so sorry please forgive me I’ll never do it again”, ya don’t actually need to. Ya need ta speak to me.”
Bruce almost frowned at her words. Why now? They’d spoken before, but she’d seemed satisfied. What had changed between now and their last conversation?
Batman’s face remained impassive as ever.
“Harley. It’s important.”
“He wants me to give the kid a magic checkup,” Constantine put in from behind him, still well back. He waved at Harley when she glanced his way.
Harley’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then Jason was jogging back down the alley, holding her bat.
What the hell had changed since their last conversation?
Pinning Constantine with a piercing glare, she held it for a minute before turning her attention back to Bruce. Snapping her fingers in front of his mask before he could even open his mouth.
“Uh uh! Johnny needs ta talk to him fer that, not you. YOU need to come talk ta me. Now.” She held out her other hand without looking, and Jason slipped the bat into it.
Had he really upset Jason that much at the gala? He’d thought he understood about the public apology, but this felt… well, worse than he’d expected.
More urgent. More vehement. She was more angry than she had been.
He’d gone wrong again, some time between now and then, and he had a Justice League meeting in an hour. Less, counting in the travel time back to the nearest zeta terminal.
Did he have time for this?
Jason was glaring at him, flat and unfriendly, but with a decided undercurrent of anticipation. Bruce’s presence would only make Constantine’s job harder.
Ignoring the part of him that thought the magician deserved to have it a lot harder, he nodded and refocused his attention on Harley.
“Fine. Here?” Better to get this over with. He could put aside all of his personal thoughts and feelings for the meeting, but at least he’d have answers.
Harley gave the surrounding street another sharp look, then shook her head, crooked her fingers, and led him into the alleyway.
“We’ll go ‘round the back. You’re bad for business,” she told him archly, and Bruce followed without a word.
He didn’t tell Jason to stay and speak to Constantine; he was self aware enough to know that would have the opposite effect. The magician would just have to sort himself out.
Part of him almost hoped she would actually use the bat this time. It served its purpose as a visual symbol, but everything made much more sense when people just wanted to beat him up.
Navigating their emotions and separate interior lives and expectations was… messy.
**
Constantine and Jason stared at each other for a long moment after Harley and the Bat disappeared down the alley.
Then Constantine sighed and nodded after them.
“If they’re goin’ round back, we can take this off the main street. If you don’t mind?” Not that the boy had much choice.
They’d caught him unmasked, which raised again the fuckin’ question of why Batt-o was so intent on being masked up for this one.
Maybe he just didn’t want to change. It looked like a lot of kohl on under that mask. Probably took a while to switch in and out.
Jason narrowed his eyes back for a moment, then shrugged. His whole posture still screamed annoyance and aggression, but moved back into the side alley anyway.
“Whatever. Not too far though. I need to hear if my friends leave.” There was something about the agreement that didn’t quite sit right for John.
Too easy. He didn’t have much (any) experience with the kid, never having willingly gotten near a revenant, but… well, this? This was weirdly passive.
When he’d seen the kid coming back with a weapon, that had made sense. He’d half expected Jason to take a swing personally; the dead-or-dead-aligned tended to have a different understanding of acceptable violence.
Handing it off to Harley was basically trading a gun for a nuke, but he didn’t seem at all upset that it hadn’t been used. Hadn’t gone for Batman’s throat, no matter how much Harley seemed to think he’d be justified.
What the hell did the Bat do now?
Something was off with Jason, something that made Constantine almost rethink his earlier guess.
Kid dies, shows back up a couple years later in a storm of blood and violence, demanding revenge? Yeah, that was classic revenant. Physical body, jacked beyond anything the kid shoulda grown into? Ditto.
Even the rage the Leaguers reported checked the boxes, but a revenant shouldn’t be this calm. Not in the face of any kind of threat.
Good news, really; he probably wouldn’t go for Constantine’s throat. John was more than happy with that, though he did regret getting the Bat all worked up.
Not that there was another version of the story Batman might take better, mind. Whatever the hell Jason Todd was, the kid wasn’t human anymore, and for ol’ Batsy the rest of the details didn’t much matter.
They got out of sight of the main thoroughfare, Jason leaning back against a wall with his arms folded and a smirk on his face that was just all challenge.
Constantine didn’t rise to it, brows furrowing as he raised a hand and murmured the beginnings of a spell.
Felt it instantly crash around him, smacked down by a power so titanic he’d have fallen if the side of a dumpster hadn’t caught him. A power so old, so wrought with death, so fucking familiar that it blacked out every sense.
No way in fucking hell any kind of fucking revenant, wraith, zombie, ghost, anything could leave that taste in his mouth. No, that? That was a personal signature.
And not something that could be done lightly either. A power like that… no, this power, Constantine knew exactly whose it was.
This kind of power, reacting this strongly? This instantly, even here on Earth? That was the full force of the Infinite Realms, which had to mean…
Eyes wide and shaken, John scrabbled at the lid for support, staring at Jason. Who actually looked more than a little surprised himself.
It took him a moment to find the words, longer to steady the shake in his voice.
“You… you… holy fucking hells, Jason, do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve bound your fuckin’ soul to-”
“The same guy you sold yours to?” Jason drawled, raising an eyebrow.
And alright, fair, that was a pretty good fuckin’ point, but Constantine was well aware he was a dire warning, not a good example.
Damn hard to argue that to a smugly reclining something-or-other that had bound himself so tightly to that same king that John couldn’t even do a gentle magical probe.
He’d been planning on being polite and everything. Noninvasive, Jason wouldn’t even feel it.
Shit, had he felt the spell shut down too? Constantine was about to ask, but Jason wasn’t done talking. Or smirking, looking distinctly amused that he’d shut the mouthy magician up.
“Did you know he owns your soul eleven times by now? That seems a little low to me, surely you’re down to hocking scraps,” Jason noted with a dry chuckle.
Constantine shrugged defensively, well aware that his battered soul was nothing to write home about. Still mostly trying to work out what the fuck was going on.
What use would the Ghost King have for a bat? A use important enough to fold Jason, who’d only be risen six years, into the high court?
Sure, the kid was good, he’d proved that in Gotham’s underworld, but to the Realms? He was barely an infant, and cuttin’ off heads would not impress there.
“No one buys just a piece of a soul. Every deal’s for the whole thing, which is why they keep me alive rather’n letting me kick it and tearin’ up the bits,” he explained distractedly, giving Jason another slow once over.
The good news was, nothing about the guy smelled like a revenant. There was power there, sure, a hint of a magical signature just on the borders of recognizable, but he couldn’t quite pin it down.
Jason hummed in acknowledgement, or maybe interest, but Constantine needed him to keep talking. Needed more clues to work out what the fuck this guy was.
“Pretty sure I haven’t had anyone make the same deal eleven times though,” he commented cautiously, trying to appear as casual as Jason while watching him closely, wishing he’d accepted some bat-training, “most people only make that mistake once.”
“Yeah, I asked about that,” Jason agreed with a dry chuckle, and the bottom fell out of Constantine’s stomach.
A position that let him backtalk the king of the Infinite Realms? Triple not good, not least because that lot were volatile and fuckin’ possessive, but not more so than goddamn Batman.
“Apparently people handed you over for some kind of tax season. You’re a low value trading card over there at this point.”
And that knocked every other thought out of Constantine’s head as he straightened, unreasonably affronted.
It’d be fucking nice to be low value. People might ignore him.
And since when did the Infinite Realms collect taxes?
“Low value? Princes of Hell are fightin’ over my damn soul, it’s the only thing keeping me kickin’,” he protested, and Jason snickered.
Gave John a smug, superior smile.
“And ten entities gave your soul up for tax breaks. Let’s face it, it’s not like you have rarity on your side,” he pointed out smugly.
“It’s still only one soul,” Constantine pouted idly, his mind suddenly spinning mile a minute with the implications.
The kid couldn’t have had this much presence last night, whatever else was true. John would have noticed.
It might just have been now that he knew to look for it, but Jason practically glowed with the essence of the Realms. He’d also somehow not just gotten himself bound to the Ghost King, he had a position where he could question them.
And have his questions answered, if not hugely coherently. Maybe that was just the translation through Jason, though.
That could be a good thing. A good sign at least, for the temperament of the new king. Pariah Dark never listened to questions by all accounts; people never got the opportunity to ask. He just conquered.
Of course, John knew enough magical entities to know that “willing to talk” did not mean, friendly, helpful, safe, or even “not prone to constant and complex lies”.
Thing was, he could handle liars. Tricksters. Anything of the sort, usually, cuz if nothing else? Being willing to talk before shooting meant Constantine had a chance to confuse them.
He was bloody good at that, all else notwithstanding. Almost his most useful talent.
It might be worth trying to find a little more about the Ghost King. Doubly if Jason was willing to help, but that’d have to be careful. No way to know what the kid had accidentally sworn to on that soul bond.
Hell, how was he gonna work out what the kid even was with magic off the table? It’d be back to the fuckin’ books and Undead 101.
At least he was still in his own body. That put a limit on the possibilities, but there were still a lot of options. Bats was going to be unbearable.
Because worse yet… the one thing John did know, with absolute certainty, was that the kid was getting stronger. If he hadn’t manifested any powers yet, it was just a matter of time.
Whatever Jason was, whatever deal he’d managed to pull, the damn halfa wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. Something was feeding the power in him, whatever had yanked him back to the land of the living to start with.
Plus side? Batty could get off his ass about the kids hanging out. Jason had already taken a fuckin’ jet across whatever influence hanging out with a ghost could do, and pushed right the way to the other side.
He might as well be fuckin’ drinking ectoplasm at this point. Kid could carry Danny around on his back and not make a lick of difference.
Course, if it was the halfa who got the kid to make his deal… well, Batman would have another reason to worry about them hangin’ out together, but the damage was already done.
It wasn’t a soul buy, not to John’s experienced eye. Not a leash around the kid’s neck, not a claim stamped into his being. If anything, this was worse.
Somehow Jason had gotten himself so tightly wrapped to the Ghost King that the other’s power all but flowed in his veins. Even from here, far from the Realms, Constantine didn’t even finish the spell before it was smacked down.
That… that was new. Nothing he’d ever seen before, and he was well used to possessive metaphysical assholes who didn’t like anyone else touchin’ their shit.
Fuck, did Jason even know?
Constantine sucked in a breath and gave damn near instantly on even trying to form a tactful question a bat would understand. Kid was playing in his kiddy pool now, like it or not, and John had to know how deep he’d gone.
“So what deal did you make?” He asked bluntly. Not that Jason apparently minded in the least, still smirking as he gave the magician a cool once over.
“Y’know, I’m pretty sure it’s rude to ask. Not discussing paychecks and all that,” he drawled casually, eyes still dark with that barely covered aggression.
Constantine rolled his eyes.
“I had three princes of Hell gettin’ a little too cozy and a cursed rock lookin’ to turn the world to pink tourmaline. The Ghost King was big enough to shut ‘em up and let me push the rock to a different dimension where it’s never gonna be our problem again. Now quit bein’ an ass, I know a lot more about this kinda shit and I can tell ya if they hid any clauses.”
That did shut Jason up, the kid’s eyes widening for a moment like he hadn’t expected Constantine to share.
Tough titties for him, John already knew Batman was gonna be a bitch about this so doing the due diligence early? Pretty much their only hope.
He considered it longer than John thought was justified, since it was inarguable. John Constantine, soul selling expert. He should have business cards made.
Finally the kid shrugged. He still looked prickly, defensive, but he was listening.
“Well I didn’t sell him my fucking soul.” Which.
John stared at him, mouth agape. Snapped shut and narrowed his eyes.
“Kid, you could not be more marked if you wore a neon sign. You signed something over, the Ghost King ain’t the sort to give prizes for free.”
A Ghost King Jason seemed to think was a he, so that was a useful little piece of intel. He’d definitely know better than John if they were already on ask-questions stage.
Jason scowled and shrugged, arms still crossed.
“Lucky me. Protection from big scary human wizards, for the low low price of my service. And some help with my Lazarus problem,” he added, as if the last was the only part he though worth mentioning.
Constantine sagged back against the wall, sinking down to sit on the alley floor. Bracing his elbows on his knees he ran both hands through his hair, holding his head up.
“Great… just fucking great,” he muttered, voice muffled by his new position. Part of him wanted to laugh, but he was pretty sure it’d come out a sob.
Hysteria beckoned.
Jason made another noise that might almost have been concern, and Constantine forced himself to suck in a breath. To keep it together.
Forced his head up so he could glare at the kid who now looked just way too confused.
“You get that that’s worse, right?” He snapped, eyes narrowing. “You get that selling yourself into service is fucking worse?”
Jason glared back down at him, drawing himself up like size and muscle was gonna impress a magician.
(It might have if Jason was a decade or two older, but not the way the kid intended.)
“What the fuck d’you think will happen when he takes your soul?” He snapped back, aggression rising fast enough that Constantine forced himself to stop again.
Deep breath in. Hold. Out.
One more in. Hold. Out.
He got to ten, the kid watching him with visible confusion, deflating the longer John went without pushing back. Yippee for him.
When he thought he had his voice under control again, John forced himself to his feet.
“I sell my soul, and if anyone ever actually claims the damn thing they can do whatever they want to it for eternity. It’ll fuckin’ suck, kid, but the one thing they can’t do, no matter who it is?”
He just sounded tired now, which only wrong footed Jason even more. Why had he even gotten out of bed at all?
Maybe if he left now he could just go back. Tuck himself up in the House of Mystery, feed his League communicator to something pandimensional, and just hide for a while.
The Bat would probably come after him.
Taking another bolstering breath, John did his best to sound calm. Not patronising. Because the kid damn near definitely had no idea.
Which was why people should leave magic to the fuckin’ professionals.
Catching Jason’s eye, he held it, hoping to impress the seriousness of what he was about to say into the kid’s soul.
“They cannot compel me to action. They can try all sorts of force, all sorts of fucked up shit, but I get the last say. They say jump, I say fuck off, no jump. But selling service?”
Jason’s eyes had widened now, and John could just see all those little wheels turning. Well, set the little fuckers spinnin’ faster.
“They say jump, you’re on the way up before you can ask “how high?”. I dunno what you think you signed up for, kid, I dunno what deals with the new king are like cuz I didn’t fuckin’ ask. But you get a copy of the damn contract and bring it back to me. I’ll see if there’s anything we can do about it.”
It was the only logical option, especially with an entity this powerful. Constantine was betting the kid’s hatred of being used, being controlled, would make him agree even if he hated it.
He probably could have been nicer, though.
Jason’s eyes flashed, actually flashed a bright, ecto green as he shot John a glare that promised bloody dismemberment.
There was something else too, something that definitely wasn’t there a second ago but filled the alley now. Something hot and angry and powerfully vicious, something that wanted his blood.
If there were space to back up, he would have. As it was, he let his hand slip behind his back, ready to teleport. He had no doubt that any kind of binding would meet exactly the same fate his inquiry had.
Even in civvies, Jason Todd cut a menacing figure as he stalked the two steps across the alley to put himself directly in Constantine’s face.
“For fuck’s sake, I am not a fucking child! I don’t need you to hold my hand, I don’t need your fucking help, and I don’t need your fucking permission to live my fucking life!”
Constantine actually leaned back, his head brushing the wall behind him as Jason shoved a finger into his face, his every muscle taut with barely restrained violence.
“Like you just fucking said, you don’t know shit! So maybe, just fucking once, the whole fucking lot of you sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and stay out of my fucking way!”
This close, Constantine could feel Jason’s hot breath on his face. This close… something clicked.
He could feel Jason’s anger, projecting out of him in a way that definitely wasn’t human. Choking and visceral and absolutely nothing like the pulsating bloody rage that forced itself down his throat.
There was something fucking else inside Jason. Something that tasted of the Infinite Realms and wanted his head on a stick.
Something that wasn’t the Ghost King. Didn’t carry the touch of his claim.
John was about to teleport away, fuck Batman and all of Gotham, when Jason turned around sharply and marched out of the alley. Almost like the kid was running.
Slumping back against the wall, John Constantine closed his eyes and breathed in the city smogs, only happy that none of it actively wanted his blood.
**
Harley let Batman precede her around the milkshake bar to the parking lot at the back, a quick glance confirming that they were alone.
For the best, really; anyone present might get entirely the wrong idea.
Taking a casual roll of the wrist for added momentum, Harley took a quick shot at the back of Batty’s knee, stepping up quickly beside him to use the return swing to catch him in the gut.
Caught off guard, he crumpled, landing on one knee and glaring up at her.
“Harley…” he growled, and her eyes narrowed.
She’d done this the nice way last night. He hadn’t listened, so now they were doing it his way.
“Batsy,” she shot back, cutting him off quick and direct. Tapped her bedazzled bat gently off her other hand. “We had us a talk already this week.”
No specific times; not in an unsecured location. He’d know anyway.
From his silence, he wasn’t quite ready to admit it. But he didn’t try to rise. Conflicted, then.
Like that was new.
Harley pressed the bat gently under his chin, tipping his head up to face her.
“And yet somehow, despite you assurin’ me you’d listened real close, a mister Jason Todd is out here tellin’ me you tried to ban him from hangin’ out with his new boyfriend?” She asked sugar-sweet, her expression all danger.
She could just about see the moment it sank into his head. Even with his actual eyes covered, that cowl was still plenty expressive.
Kinda freakishly expressive. Not ideal for the crime fighting to her mind, but what would she know? She much preferred committing the crimes.
He tried to argue, frown so deep he’d have wrinkles within the day.
“This has nothing to do with that, the Fenton boy is dangerous to his condition-”
Harley cut him off by poking the end of her bat almost into his mouth, her eyes narrowed. And sure, she was bein’ delicate with his head outta concern for that concussion, but there were limits.
“An’ what d’you think ya know about Jason’s condition that a half dead kid don’t?” She asked sceptically.
Batman hesitated. If he pushed the bat away, they’d have an actual fight on their hands. One he might let her win, if he just needed the tussle.
She’d never known a man so eager to have someone put him on his ass, and so incapable of ever lettin’ it actually happen. Well, other than Jason.
Musta run in the family.
Bruce sagged back, sat on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.
“Constantine believes that Danny’s energy may strengthen something inside Jason. Something dangerous,” he explained, still in Batman’s rough growl.
She was gonna get him a vocoder. Just for shits and giggles.
Fuck, was that why Jason wore the whole helmet for Hoody? Now that she thought of it, there was a voice changer in there.
Two cranky little peas in matching muscly pods.
She dropped to sit cross legged on the ground across from him, bat laying in front of her. Talkin’ again, take two. Time to make it stick.
“Have you actually talked to Jason about this?” She asked sceptically.
The eye slits in the cowl narrowed. Harley was not impressed.
“Have you talked to him at all, since he an’ Danny have been hangin’ out?”
Bruce glared at her for a moment longer. Did not fold his arms or pout, but she could tell he wanted to.
“I spoke with him last night. He’s irrational, angry, unwilling to listen to reason…”
“He’s sick of ya tellin’ him you know what’s best and not listenin’ ta what’s wrong,” Harley corrected flatly.
Watched his shoulders sink just a little. As much as he could deflate in the suit. Even his growl lost most of its sandpaper.
“He said Danny was taking him to a doctor. More exposure to the realms could make things worse. Kill him, or give the pit another chance to take over. I can’t…” he cut himself off, voice tight and garbled around the forced gravel.
Harley watched him for a long moment.
He’d come out in the suit. It had to be for a reason.
She couldn’t ask the questions that would break him apart in the suit. Couldn’t guide him through the revelations and the grief. Not if there was somethin’ else he had ta be doing.
Another damn time then. She’d get ‘im here again.
“Batsy.” Her voice was gentler this time, and drew his face back to hers. She made sure to catch his eye. “He already died. Seems ta me somethin’ in there never really let him go.”
She didn’t know much about the Infinite Realms… or anything at all, really. All this magic and mayhem and ghosts was fun an’ all, and she always liked to play, but it wasn’t her wheelhouse.
Didn’t have ta be. She knew how to listen to the professionals.
Bruce had stiffened, the mask of Batman pulling back, and she cut him off with a raised hand.
“An’ you only have ta look at Danny ta know that whatever all that is? Jason ain’t the first. Won’t be the last. Someone’s gonna know what went wrong, and Jason believes they’re helping him. You need to believe Jason.”
“But he could be wrong.” It was barely more than a whisper. Low and grinding and completely devoid of Batman growl, like it’d been pulled right out of his soul.
Harley gave him a gentle bop on the head with her bat.
“Then we deal with that then. But all ya doin’ by bossin’ him around an’ not listenin’ is pissing him off and makin’ him more likely ta run right off to these Realms. He’s not the sweet kid followin’ ya shadow anymore, Batsy. He’s a man, and he gets to make choices. And mistakes.”
This sure as hell wasn’t one of ‘em, but Bruce had never been good at taking that on faith. He had to be shown, and he’d never stop waiting for the tables to turn.
Which was how he usually made things worse. But he did at least know that.
He still looked mutinous, scowling across at her, so she gave him a slightly harder bop on the shoulder.
“Batman, listen ta me. I know you mean well, but Danny makes him happy. All Jason’s seein’ right now is that he’s happy, an’ you wanna take it away.”
That hit harder than any of her blows, though she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t known him so long. His whole body stiffened, sudden hesitation in even his breathing.
Harley stared him down through it, then nodded in satisfaction as his shoulders lowered, just a fraction.
“I can’t lose him again, Harley,” he whispered, barely audible even less than a foot away.
She gave him an even harder bop on the other shoulder.
“Then stop driving him away. You ain’t even said sorry for the other night yet an’ now you owe him another apology. There’s always that things might go wrong; he might get hit by a car crossing the street. The only sure thing is that if you keep treating him like this?”
She leaned forwards, grabbing his chin and forcing him to face her. To look at her, and see how serious she was.
He was reluctant to meet her eyes, but even under the white outs Harley knew when she had someone’s attention. Good. He probably knew what came next.
“You will lose him, Batsy. And it’ll be no one’s fault but your own.”
**
Danny couldn’t have missed Constantine making his way up the street blindfolded and with his ears plugged. It might have been the whole “owned his soul” thing.
It also might have been the vortex of swirling magical attention that followed him like a cloud. The guy clearly wasn’t trying to advertise his presence, but to something like Danny…
Well, trying to hide that hard always caught his attention. A magical “nothing to see here” tasted like liquorice in the back of his throat.
Maybe the trench coat was actually cursed, in more than just the unfortunate fashion sense.
Part of him wondered if this had anything to do with them. The rest, well aware what his luck was like, wondered if he’d come barging into the restaurant.
It wasn’t like he shouldn’t be getting ready to go anyway, but he just… well, he was having a surprising amount of fun just hanging out with Waylon.
The guy was old enough to be his dad, but he was a great listener. Really encouraging, and he’d told Danny another couple of stories too, some from his darker times but all with happy endings.
He was probably trying to make Danny feel better after their talk, and it was definitely working. It just… well, he didn’t even really like thinking about Dan.
He’d asked Nocturn to put him to sleep not long after becoming king, to give the guy something to do other than stew in a thermos and plot vengeance.
Part of him still kinda expected that to bite him in the ass, but even if Dan broke out of Nocturn’s dreams, he couldn’t break out of Soup Time. For whatever reason he’d never learned Danny’s portal trick.
All the people who kept souping Danny were dead in Dan’s timeline.
Danny had almost been ready to wrap things up with Waylon (as little as he wanted to; they’d already exchanged numbers) when he felt Jason’s rage bubble.
He didn’t realise he’d blanked out until Waylon tapped the table in front of him with a claw, concern on his scaly face.
“Somethin’ th’ matter, kid?” He asked in a low growl.
Danny shook his head, staring down at the mostly empty milkshake and chugging the rest.
“Probably nothing… just got a bad feeling about Jason,” he explained with a shrug.
Reached out just a little, extending his senses but not aura. If Jason was already mad, that might send him over the edge.
Just as he reached out a sudden flare of fury made his hand clench, the glass he was still grasping shattering. Great, he had a hand full of milkshake and shards.
Shaking both free, Danny shoved his way out of the booth at the same time as Waylon, the big man going from concerned to battle ready in an instant.
For the first time, he almost looked dangerous. Danny was glad to have him at his back for the visual component at least; anyone who didn’t think twice about pissing off a tank like Jason wouldn’t even blink at Danny.
Killer Croc though? He got that name on his looks alone, long before he earned it.
They didn’t even make it across the bar, wait staff scattering to what were clearly well established positions in case trouble came in.
Trouble didn’t; barely.
Jason Todd did, all but vibrating with rage and steaming green with Pitty’s contribution.
Wait; steaming? Jason had mentioned the Lazarus pits did that, but Danny had never seen ectoplasm steam before. Could everyone see it?
Whether Waylon could or not, it didn’t stop him from hurrying forward, attention fully focused behind Jason for anyone following.
It was maybe the teeniest bit cute that even so angry he had a personal heat haze, Jason didn’t even think Waylon was going for him. His attention was fixed somewhere else; somewhere internal and probably bloody.
Instinct pulled Danny forward, Jason slipping easily into his aura and for a moment Danny felt like he’d drown in Jason’s rage. Answered it himself a moment later, stroking across the anger with worry-protect-safe now.
Jason twitched just a little as the aura washed around him, looking around on automatic until he faced Danny.
The rage softened just a little as he caught Danny’s eye, shoulders sagging. His jaw unclenched enough to talk; visibly enough that it must have been painful.
“Just fucking B again, treating me like a fucking child,” he spat, fists still clenched tight at his sides.
The effort it was clearly taking not to go out and start swinging kept Danny on edge, even as Waylon relaxed.
“Yer a long way from that, kid,” the big guy agreed with a low chuckle, still between Jason and the door, and rested a large hand lightly on Jason’s shoulder. “Want me to go have a word?”
Jason shook his head sharply, the smallest of smiles flicking across his face before the anger replaced it. Yeah, definitely cute.
“No thanks. You’ve only just got out, you don’t need bat trouble again already,” he said through gritted teeth, then nodded to Danny. “I just wanna get out of here.”
Danny nodded immediately, going from maybe-fight to flight. Which was kinda literally an option. Ghosts knew how to make an exit.
“Do you wanna take your bike or just disappear?” He asked simply.
Jason gave him a tight smile, barely layered over anger he was still struggling to control. Fuck, if this was what he’d been dealing with every day before Danny came along…
“Harley’s out back with Batman. I just want to fucking go,” he growled, shaking his head.
Danny nodded again, turning and crouching a little for Jason to hop onto his back.
“Phantom Express it is then.”
And yeah, he knew it looked stupid without Waylon’s confirming snort of laughter.
So did Jason, and the tinge of mirth that coloured his rage-burning-break in his head was more than worth looking silly.
Seemed like Jason was finally starting to trust his strength too as he hopped up without question, Danny not reacting in the slightest to his added weight.
And definitely not the way Jason now towered over him, or having those thighs wrapped around his waist. Nope. No horny in the aura today.
Giving a last nod to Waylon, he turned them both invisible and flew up through the roof, intangibility phasing them through at the last second.
Once they were high enough to be beyond any eavesdropping, he slowed to a stop, not quite looking back at his passenger.
“So, where do you wanna go?”
As Danny had kinda hoped, the sudden exhilaration of flight had tamped Jason’s anger back down until it was less a physical presence. It still seethed and boiled inside him, but it was losing steam.
About half of what he could feel from Jason now was just tired, and honestly? Couldn’t blame him.
Danny had been told how bad his pit rages had been, a visceral wrath that almost possessed Jason and made him lash out in all directions. And by all accounts? He still hadn’t seen the half of it.
It made his core ache just thinking about living with that much rage stuck inside. Feeling like that all the time… Danny had always respected Jason, but this? This demanded a whole new level.
And a little bit made him want to put Jason in a nice ectoplasm hamster ball so he could roll around the streets and nothing would ever hurt him again.
Gonna have to keep that under wraps too, since apparently Danny was losing his fucking mind all up in Gotham.
(Not that he’d never hamster balled anyone before. It was just usually a punishment for Tucker, or Wes if they were being assholes. Derogatory hamster balls were totally fine and not evidence of losing anything at all.)
The man himself was quiet for a long moment, struggling with just everything that was going on inside him.
Danny waited, turning them both intangible again just in case Jason could still be affected by the cold. At this height, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.
Made him side eye all those pictures of witches in dresses and long socks on broomsticks. Good way for the living to get pneumonia, in Danny’s opinion.
Jason didn’t even seem to notice, letting out a frustrated huff of air.
“We’ve gotta get Tucker home. If B is off being an asshole we can at least go to the manor,” he grumbled.
Danny paused for a long moment himself, considering another solution. After all, for ghosts it was simply unthinkable that they hadn’t even had an introductory brawl yet.
Whenever he got that pissed, getting the shit kicked out of him had always helped burn off the energy. But maybe Jason’s was different.
Danny was pretty sure he’d never been that pissed, not even at Pariah. Not even at Agent K.
Danny wouldn’t judge. For now, he nodded, turning to head towards the manor.
“We can go to Frostbite after we’ve dropped Tuck off. It’s been long enough, and you definitely feel stronger?” He offered, kinda hoping it might help Jason feel better.
The grunt he got in return didn’t sound convinced, but Jason also didn’t argue.
Neither of them were expecting to run into traffic in the Gotham airways though, at least not below airline level. Or to be interrupted.
With a sudden loud gust of wind, another black haired young man in a black leather jacket pulled up in front of them, looking around with a frown.
“Hey, I heard someone up here? Jason? Where are you?” He asked loudly, brows furrowing like he was still listening.
Danny’s confusion was better than words as Jason gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.
“Superboy the first. Tim’s boyfriend,” he explained quietly, and Kon’s head whipped around to follow the sound.
“Okay Jason, I know you’re up here, what the fuck?” He asked impatiently, which was when Danny remembered.
Still invisible. Hiding from the Bat and also concerned citizens. He popped them back into visibility with a sheepish grin, waving at… Connor? Or Con? No, kinda sharper. Kon.
It might have been a secret third level of alias, but Danny was pretty sure the bats had called him by a couple names over the various stories.
“Hey… sorry, forgot we were invisible,” he explained, trying not to laugh. Mostly at himself, but best not give the wrong impression.
Superboy’s eyes locked on them for a moment, narrowed briefly, and then his face broke into a grin.
“So, I’m gonna guess you’re Danny, Tucker’s friend that Tim has been gushing about?” He asked eagerly, reclining comfortably in the air. Then paused. “Well, gushing about Tucker. You were mentioned, though.”
That sounded about right.
Danny snickered and nodded, giving Jason a careful reshuffle. If they weren’t gonna be travelling for the moment, they could get a little more comfortable.
Thick thighs tightened around his hips and Danny very specifically did not melt into a puddle of goo. Not even a little bit.
“Yeah, we were just gonna go get Tucker and head out. Are you coming to see Tim?” He asked, kinda half wanting to wait around long enough and see what Tucker and Connor made of each other.
Kon if he was here in official capacity? But he wasn’t exactly wearing a super uniform, or logo. But Jason hadn’t mentioned a name, because Jason wasn’t a helper.
There was one easy way around that though. Bouncing Jason just a little more roughly than strictly necessary, Danny stuck out his hand.
“Danny Fenton, by the way. Since we haven’t been fully introduced.” He gave his best cheerful-but-totally-human grin. No point unnerving the first official alien he met, even if he was only half alien.
The boy reached out easily, giving him a firm handshake back.
“Kon El. Connor when we’re on street level. And yeah, I was just heading the same way when I heard you guys. Tim asked if I’d bring Tucker home though, he wasn’t sure what you guys’ plans were so if you had anything else to do?” He glanced from one to the other, so clearly not asking that he might as well have.
Could Kryptonians see the heat haze of Jason’s anger too? Or did he just know the family well enough, know Jason well enough, to know the signs?
Danny hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the other halfa. He could almost taste Jason’s indecision, holding each other this close. Bitter and tight in the back of his throat.
How much did he want to deal with his family, with that rage still burning inside him? Hell, they hadn’t even worked out what Jason would do while Danny took Tucker home.
Danny kept quiet though, leaving the choice up to Jason.
It didn’t take long.
Sucking in a deep breath, Jason let out a heavy sigh, a wave of pure relief washing over him.
The anger was still there, a hot little coal right between the dual cores, but it couldn’t drown out the gratitude-sorry-safe. Barely tempered it anymore.
His voice was still gruff when he spoke, still stiff with emotion, but Kon seemed to understand.
“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks Kon.”
The younger man tipped them both a sarcastic salute, straightening in the air and turning towards Wayne manor.
“You’ve probably got like, a text from Tim about the change of plan, if he even bothered to mention it, but I’ll let him know I saw you. Seems like you’re sticking around, so I’ll probably run into you again, Danny.” He gave them both a cheery nod and flew away.
A tiny part of Danny was sorry that they wouldn’t be around to watch Tucker spiral when confronted with Tim’s boyfriend.
Tim Drake Wayne was a hottie, no point denying it, and he was easily Tucker’s second biggest tech crush beside the mysterious Oracle. With all that hero worship though?
Tucker probably hadn’t actually noticed he was also hot yet. He’d have been in love with him if he’d looked like a snail.
Kon El though? Kon El had exactly the kind of leather jacket, too cool for school, sculpted good looks that Tucker fell head over heels for on any gender.
(Danny absolutely was not a hypocrite, he’d be the very first to admit that he and Tucker had very similar taste in partners, at least as far as appearances. Tucker just preferred a little more “step on me” energy.)
In all the reminders that Tim had a boyfriend, no one had said his boyfriend was hot.
Danny didn’t mention it. It wasn’t like he’d have been able to fully enjoy things anyway; the night before had proved that, and Jason’s mood had been rosy by comparison.
He did offer just one comment though, watching Kon fly away thoughtfully.
“Should we have warned him that Tucker is going to spontaneously combust if Kon tells him to ride him?” He asked mostly hypothetically, fading them out of visibility and tangibility again.
It startled Jason into letting out a snort of laughter which became a cough with his last rasp of thinner air.
“You just did, with Kon’s hearing,” he managed once he could talk normally again, and Danny considered feeling bad about it.
That sizzling coal of rage was almost buried under amused-anticipation-relief.
Nah. No matter what form Tucker’s next wave of vengeance took, this was worth it.
“So, where to next?” He asked, again… kinda hypothetically. From Jason’s sigh the older man was just as aware of what the answer had to be.
“Let’s just fucking go see Frostbite. If I keep looking at the city something’s gonna piss me off again.” He sounded reluctant, resigned, but a slow creeping glow of amazement spread through his aura.
About to pop open another portal, Danny tipped his head up as far as he could and made them visible again, looking for his face.
“What’s up?” He asked, willing to put dimensional travel on hold if there was anything they might be able to do to actually help.
Jason shook his head to focus himself, glancing down at Danny and quickly looking away. Was Danny imagining that sweet pink blush in his cheeks?
“It’s nothing.”
Danny waited, secure in the actual empathic sensation of Jason warring with himself on his back. Finally he won (and also lost, as all civil wars end) and sighed.
“Just. I’ve never come out of the pit rage this fast before,” he admitted gruffly, glaring down at the sparkling lights of the city below. Like this wasn’t something to celebrate.
Danny let them fade back to invisibility, since Jason pretty clearly didn’t want to be looked at.
“Hey, that’s great news! We’ll just have to short circuit Tucker’s gay ass every time you need a boost,” he chirped brightly, and popped the portal open to Jason’s laughter.
**
In his heart of hearts, Bruce knew why Harley was taking him to the parking lot.
If there was any chance of witnesses, any possibility of being overheard, he couldn’t listen to her. Not in the suit. Couldn’t show what any of his rogues (who hadn’t met Harley) might misconstrue as weakness.
If there was a single place in the city which could be trusted to be unsurveiled, it was the parking lots to his rogues’ side businesses. They had their own professional courtesies.
He appreciated it, in his own way. The closest thing to privacy they could have outside the Batmobile at the moment (and even then his children could listen in).
The baseball bat had been… well, not a total surprise, she’d had Jason fetch it in front of him and it wasn’t likely to be an empty prop twice in a row.
Still, he wasn’t as prepared as he could have been, and the first two blows hurt. His fold to the ground was mostly genuine, though part of him was definitely leaning in.
Concussion be damned, he’d been taking an emotional beating this week. At least exterior bruises would show him when they were healing.
But he hadn’t had time after her warning to do anything but head to the meeting.
Had he?
All he remembered was the seriousness of her face, the weight of absolute certainty in her words.
He would lose Jason, because he himself had pushed him away. Because Jason didn’t think Bruce trusted him. Thought Bruce would take away his chance at happiness.
Maybe Danny had been right. Maybe Jason didn’t even know Bruce loved him.
Things were so much worse than he’d made himself believe.
He knew he’d risen when his alarm went off, giving him ten minutes to head to the zeta tubes. Found Constantine again in the alley, since the man was with him now.
Couldn’t remember talking to him. But that wasn’t unlike himself anyway.
There was a hidden zeta tube downtown, only just far enough to justify the Batmobile, but Bruce would rather not leave it to drive home from Freeze’s place anyway.
He set it to return to the cave as he climbed out, at the end of another dark alley. The sun was already beginning to sink, painting the city in yellow and gold.
Constantine tapped carefully on the hood of the Batmobile between them, then jumped back as the car drove itself away, swearing. By the time he finished dusting himself off, Bruce was watching him again.
“Are yer back in there?” The magician asked cautiously, his own voice rough.
Bruce took a moment to assess his colleague. Never exactly tidy, Constantine looked more dishevelled than he had before Bruce and Harley left him.
Jason’s checkup likely hadn’t gone well.
Of course it hadn’t. Not if Jason felt the way Harley said… no. The way he’d told Harley he felt. Because Harley asked.
Something deep and weary in him tried to pull his shoulders down to sag, but he ignored it with the aid of long practice. Just gave Constantine a stiff jerk of the head.
“Hn.”
The man rolled his eyes, turning and heading for the defunct phone booth disguising the zeta tube.
“Great, monosyllables. Well, since yer back, listen up.”
The results of his examination, if Jason even let him perform it. Still, maybe the man would have something? It wasn’t like he couldn’t have cast a few spells without Jason knowing.
“First of all, yer boy ain’t a revenant.”
That jerked Bruce to a stop, his brows furrowing as he turned to face Constantine head on again. The magician had pulled a cigarette from somewhere, likely because they were heading for the Watchtower.
Bruce didn’t bother trying to stop him. He was too busy trying to process.
Constantine didn’t look happy either, so this probably wasn’t actually good news?
“What do you mean?” He growled, stepping closer and lowering his voice to avoid eavesdroppers.
Constantine rolled his eyes, waved his free hand, and the smoke from his cigarette crackled briefly in the air.
“None o’ that cloak and dagger shit, Bats. No one’s gonna hear us. But the kid, Jason? He’s not a revenant. Not sure what he is, actually, an’ not too keen on lookin’ deeper.”
It might have been the longest Bruce had heard him speak without saying “fuck” since the Amity Park question came up. The fact that he looked distinctly uneasy made that less reassuring.
“Why not?” Bruce growled, a little grateful to be able to step back and away from the smoke. Harley had left his head be for the most part, but it was already pounding again.
Constantine fixed him with a slow, speculative look.
“See, here’s my issue,” he began, raising a hand to cut off a growled protest and pointing directly at Bruce. “You? You’re Mr Worst Case Scenario. Can’t stop pokin’ at shit til it gives you an answer, or bites yer head off.”
That was certainly true. It was something that Alfred… Selina… Clark… Dick… Diana… almost everyone close to him had complained of.
Bruce wasn’t convinced it was a shortcoming, but he knew it about himself. It had been an underlying theme this whole investigation; Constantine telling him things because otherwise he’d go poking.
So what changed?
“You’re not gonna like whatever I tell you. An’ I could try an’ temper that by lyin’, or I could treat you like a fuckin’ adult on yer promise the you don’t go punchin’ inter shit yer don’t understand.”
Constantine stared expectantly at him, taking another long drag on his cigarette.
Ah. Waiting for Bruce to choose an option. As if there was any doubt?
“I swore your oath,” Bruce reminded him gruffly, and Constantine rolled his eyes again.
“An’ I’m fully aware you’re a tricky piece of shit that’ll try and work around it the second it comes up. That’s why it’s generic. You hear about the Ghost King, you back the fuck off, shut the fuck up, and run. That’ll include any of yer precious reports.”
He took another slow drag of his cigarette, watching Bruce the whole while. Bruce stared back, unsure what he was looking for but determined that he’d find nothing.
Shit. So much for having Red Robin and Oracle prod around for him. Though he had been planning to warn them to be delicate.
It barely occurred to him that showing nothing might tell Constantine more than anything else before the magician sighed and shook his head.
“Listen, B. The shit you need to know? Actually, really need to know? Jason’s… safe. There’s not a damn thing in the Infinite Realms that can hurt him now, whatever he is. I’d even put money on him bein’ demon proof, with the wards on him now.”
And wouldn’t it be so, so nice to believe that Constantine had put those wards on him? Bruce could feel the wish for it, a flight of fancy he rarely allowed himself.
Bruce let himself indulge in the want to believe for about the same length of time as that ominous pause.
“What wards?” He asked flatly, the low rumble not exactly hiding how he felt about the situation, but since he’d almost rather yell, he considered it fair.
Constantine, again, was not impressed. He folded his arms and prodded at Bruce with his still smoking cigarette.
“See, there’s that prodding. I’m trying to do this the nice way, B. Give you answers instead of just shutting you down, but you aren’t gonna know everything without a couple decades of practice, and you need to get over that.”
The magician took another drag, closing his eyes tightly for a second. When he opened them again, he looked entirely uncompromising.
The stern professional Bruce had only seen previously in life and death situations, and ones getting worse at that. Was this situation that dire?
“I could speak a word and make you forget this whole damn thing. Four more, and you’d have no choice about droppin’ it,” Constantine growled, clearly bitterly regretting not choosing that option. Bruce’s eyes narrowed in response.
He’d clearly ruled it out, but he hadn’t wanted to. Whatever he didn’t want to tell Bruce, Constantine expected him to have a powerful response.
Which meant that is was very bad, but also that Bruce’s natural response would make things worse. He could work around that.
He chose not to address the remark at all, just waiting for Constantine to continue. The man stayed silent just long enough that Bruce wondered if he was changing his mind on trying to make him forget.
This was why he hated magic. But he’d broken through it before. No spell could stand up to intense, detailed scrutiny, and he would surely have plenty of clues to remind himself when the problem was with his own son.
Finally Constantine sighed, flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under one heel. He seemed to have come to a decision, new purpose under the fear he’d been hiding since he first arrived.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he sighed, heading for the zeta tube. There was just a little more spring in his step.
Bruce frowned and moved to block him.
“The wards,” he pressed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. This conversation was important.
Constantine looked surprisingly chipper actually, raising his chin to give Bruce a sudden and almost startling smirk.
“Oh no, big guy. You had your chance to promise to behave like an adult, so we’re going with option three.”
He’d noticed Bruce’s lack of comment. Obviously, but Bruce hadn’t really thought he’d need to say anything.
Investigating was what Batman did. He knew how to do it tactfully, and without stepping on toes. He just wouldn’t promise not to do it.
None of which explained Constantine’s suddenly improved mood. It was almost the same satisfaction he’d show when he’d worked out how to pawn an unpleasant job off on someone else.
“And that is?” Bruce asked warily, suspecting he wouldn’t like whatever made this not Constantine’s problem. Constantine waggled a finger at him, like he was nothing more than a naughty child.
“I let you ask questions, after Wonder Woman promises to keep yer in line.” He said it with the finality of a lead weight, and it dropped through Bruce’s chest like one.
Shit.
Diana… Diana knew him far too well. If Constantine convinced her of whatever gave him this level of caution, she would camp in the bat cave to stop him if necessary.
Diana didn’t tolerate what she considered risk. If Bruce could convince her he was right instead… she could be a very useful ally. And she had always liked Jason.
Jason adored her. Wonder Woman had always been his favourite hero, even as a child. If Diana asked him, he might even agree to a consultation.
Bruce still didn’t know what had happened with today’s consultation, and apparently he wouldn’t even find out until they spoke to Wonder Woman.
He could extrapolate from that alone, frankly, even if Constantine wasn’t visibly rattled.
Bruce stepped aside somewhat reluctantly, letting Constantine step into the zeta tube first. They could technically fit in together, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to play sardines.
The magician’s vehemence was troubling him, as was his conviction that Wonder Woman would be the answer. It was possible that Bruce had miscalculated the scale of the threat they were facing.
Whatever had warded Jason must be touchy enough to dislike any form of questions, and powerful enough to have its displeasure matter. And if it would be able to detect the questions being asked…
Contrary to popular opinions, Bruce did know how to temper his investigative instincts when called for. People only had to ask.
And.
Impress on him. A few times. That they meant it.
Honestly if they just told him why and what to expect, set some limitations and boundaries, it wasn’t like he was unreasonable. He just liked to verify data through his own sources.
Justice League Dark were a perfectly reputable source when he had to involve himself with magic. He could cross reference things between other members if he needed to check Constantine’s intel.
The unfortunate fact of the matter seemed to be that however little Bruce liked it, he did now need to learn more about magic. He’d been content to leave it to the experts for as long as he could, but…
But it now concerned one of his children. His second son, the one he’d lost.
At the very least, he needed to understand enough about the Infinite Realms to know how to keep Jason safe. What he would need, if there was anything they should be doing for him.
Not that the JL Dark had bothered to let him know when they thought Jason was a revenant. That might have been nice, even if apparently he wasn’t.
He’d already planned to start with Constantine’s attached reading on the Infinite Realms, and the Ghost King in particular for his new researches.
(Just the thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Bruce stepped into the zeta tube a little faster than necessary. Was that his oath? On just the thought?)
He could get information on these specific wards too. Cross reference with Zatanna when she was available. Perhaps contact Dr Fate.
The Justice League Dark had their own sections of both reference materials and secured artefacts in various bases around the world.
Studying those should be a sufficient compromise; he wouldn’t reach out to the Infinite Realms directly, not until the Anti-Ecto Acts had been dealt with.
Then they could get in touch with Jason’s mysterious doctor, provided he was willing. Have the dismantling of the acts as a show of good faith.
He’d have to ask Constantine about a sufficient apology too. And mention the acts themselves; somehow there just hadn’t been time today.
Stepping out into the Watchtower, Bruce was maybe just possibly anticipating the magician’s reaction, in a dark way. Let someone else have a bad day for a change.
The poor man had been so upset with the idea that Bruce might ask questions about the realms. The fact that the United States had declared a kill order on all its occupants was not going to go over well.
And all that sass and defensive aggression could be pointed at someone other than Bruce for a while.
Actually? He should wait until Constantine was sitting down. He could add it to his meeting notes, bring it up to the whole League at once.
There would be someone on site if the magician actually fainted.
Or if Bruce’s head actually exploded.
Bruce made a mental note to check their medical supplies and defences, in case there were any unpredictable reactions. He could swing by the infirmary before they got started.
Giving Constantine a quick parting nod, he turned away from the hall and walked quickly towards the infirmary. Just to check in.
Today’s meeting was just the Justice League, with Constantine as the sole representative of JL Dark; Dark’s members all seemed to know about the Infinite Realms and Amity Park already. They didn’t need the briefing.
They’d have to read Bruce’s meeting notes now though. The same ones he was fully aware most members of the League just ignored, considered wasteful paperwork.
They expected to be told directly if something was important. As if he had all the time in the world, and they had no personal responsibility.
The lights thrummed softly as he walked, all the little noises of the satellite’s systems ticking over in perfect order helping Bruce settle into his purpose.
Jason’s report had been thorough, and though Bruce could easily see the bias around his son’s words… in this case it was more than justified.
The wording used to describe Jason and others like him in the acts contained less expletives, but were no better. The veneer of detachment only made the disdain shine through more clearly.
As if his son were beneath contempt. If Jason were to be believed (and Bruce would confirm with Constantine and Shazam) then most of his family were ecto-contaminated.
It was almost nice to have a tangible problem to solve. An enemy he could face and defeat in simple, easy manoeuvres. It was unlikely to be a physical fight, but that hardly mattered.
The delicate machinations of politics were better left to Wonder Woman, Aquaman, damn near anyone but Batman. No, Bruce Wayne was far more influential in that arena.
A little money in the right places, press coverage, a big “himbo with a heart of gold” performance. They weren’t his preferred weapons, but he knew they were effective.
And for Jason, there was nothing at all he wouldn’t do.
Purpose and the time limit combined hastened his step, his cloak billowing around him as he stalked the halls of the Watchtower. The infirmary was empty; always good.
Their stocks were full, and there were three nurses on duty that Bruce had personally selected. He trusted all of them, and none looked worried at his visit.
Batman was well known for overpreparing. It always came in useful.
He was just making his way back towards the meeting hall, feeling markedly better himself with a firm goal in mind, when Superman rounded the corner ahead of him.
The man of steel was heading his way, worry writ large on his face. If he’d heard Bruce’s talk with Harley… actually, if he’d been able to overhear Constantine’s talk with Jason, that would be very useful.
Bruce prepared a few brief words to reassure his friend as succinctly as possible, and get them both moving back towards the meeting. They could actually talk afterwards.
He never got to say them. Superman ignored his little nod of greeting and hurried up to him, standing close enough that they couldn’t be overheard. Blocking Bruce’s path.
A thrum of dread wormed its way back into Bruce’s heart as he looked up into his friend’s earnest, deep blue eyes.
Clark kept his voice low, urgent and concerned as he whispered five words that shattered the world.
“Bruce? I can’t hear Jason’s heart.”
—————————
😈
Now quick, for extra bonus points, who can name what was supposed to happen at some point in the last two chapters and didn’t? This is your chance for a treat from the beginning of the next chapter
Tag List: @welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 2 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer er @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation n @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna a @alcorbearson @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook
Next chapter!
#danny fenton dead and loving it#dp x dc#dead on main ship#danny x jason#chapter 15#i’ll take the highway#the highway to heeeeeeeeeell/The Ghost Zone#anyway rip to bruce wayne but i would simply not tell my son he can’t have nice things#i’m just built different#so is harley#and she has a bat#and a bat-shaped problem#fuck i’m so looking forward to the start of the next chapter it’s a joke i’ve been waiting on for months#hint: sam#dpxdc#dc x dp#dcxdp
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i’d be home with you // by daisyful
18+
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pairings: jake x reader
tags: bf!jake, a mild amount of what i would consider hurt/comfort, sweet sex, oral sex (f receiving), ummm, so many pet names i apologize it’s kinda excessive lol
word count: 2.2k
summary: jake comes home from a few weeks on the road and i’m sure you can guess what happens after that 😌
notes: title is from ‘in a week’ by hozier 💘
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“Angel,”
The name carried through the house as the door latched, and your head turned so fast it almost hurt.
“Babe,” you sighed back, scrambling off the couch to greet him.
He was beaming, despite the tired hollows under his eyes.
“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmured, dropping his bag and suitcase handle, letting it all smack the ground with disregard, as you fell into his arms.
It was like this every time you went without him and then rejoined; warm, full of butterflies, like all the tension in your muscles drained.
After burying your head in his hair and letting him hug you so tight you couldn’t breathe, you pulled back to kiss him hard.
He exhaled into you, breath warm, his lips cold from the December air but steadily adjusting to yours.
He kissed you again, then again, until it devolved into something needy and sloppy. He backed you up against the kitchen counter, and you hissed at the cold marble against your back, only veiled by a thin t-shirt.
Laughing at your reaction, he pressed his hips into yours and licked into your mouth.
“Jake,” you sighed into him, feeling your cheeks heat, your thighs clench.
“Mm, yeah?” he grinned against you, “My girl need me?”
You nodded, moving to kiss his neck, “Missed you so much,”
“Oh, but I missed you more,” he murmured, head tipping back to let you lick at the skin, “Missed you in every way,”
You whimpered, pulling him back down by his chin to kiss you again. He nearly growled, finally losing some of his composure.
“Come here,” he breathed, gripping your ass and lifting you against him. He carried you down the familiar path to the bedroom, leaving the lights off, before laying you on the bed.
The room was only lit by the overflowing glow of the living room lamp through the doorway. The silhouette of him taking his shirt off and the sound of his belt undoing made you bite back a moan.
You reached for the hem of your shirt, prepared to yank it over your head, but he stopped you:
“No, let me,” he said, leaning over you. His pants were on but undone, and you had to resist the urge to reach for him.
Gently, he pulled the shirt over your head.
“I missed you so fucking bad,” his hands darted to your pants, yanking them and your underwear down in a swift motion.
“Please,” you found yourself whimpering, “I need you,”
“Mm, need you, angel,”
There was no point in the back and forth, you both felt the same way and you knew it, but there was some sort of way that it added to the desperation that made it worth saying aloud.
His fingers descended between your legs as he crawled over you on the bed, and the broken moan that fell from you couldn’t have been stifled if you tried.
“Yeah?” he teased. You could hear his smirk, “You miss my fingers?”
You nodded though he likely could hardly see it in the dim lighting.
The two fingers slipped inside easily, and he groaned softly at the feeling.
You canted your hips into it, silently pleading him to keep going.
He was breathing next to your ear, cheek pressed to yours. Pathetic moans fell from you.
“Let me hear you, angel. Missed your pretty voice,”
“Fuck, Jake,” you were writhing, because while the fingers were filling you perfectly, you missed him far too much, you just wanted him.
“What, angel?” he kissed your jaw, your neck.
“More,” you breathed, “Please, I missed you.”
“Mm,” he licked at your neck, down to your collarbone, fucking his fingers into you quickly, “Beg for it,” he murmured into your skin, “Tell me how bad you missed me.”
“Jake…,” your voice was shaky, both from the way his fingers were working, and because you didn’t know how to redirect his request.
You didn’t want to beg—not after the week you’d had, and not after you already felt like he was barely yours.
It wasn’t true; he was so entirely yours, but it didn’t always feel that way when he was gone for so long, playing shows for strangers. You didn’t want the harsh reminder that you were desperate for him.
But oh, how to say that in a way that wouldn’t ruin the moment…
“Go on,” he was grinning against your skin, voice rumbling, nibbling here and there at your chest, “Beg, angel, let me hear your pretty voice beg for me inside you,”
“Jake, I…”
“Feeling spoiled, mm?” he skirted his teeth over your nipple, “Come on, if you want it so bad then use your words,”
“Jake,” you felt tears stinging in your eyes, and you wished so desperately that his fingers were not in you anymore, and that this wasn’t happening—that he could have just came home and loved on you, and that you weren’t being like this, that you could just play along with his little game—
“Angel?” His voice was back to normal, “Hey,” his withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the sheets, bringing a hand to hold your cheek.
“Hey,” he repeated softly as you fell silent, “Talk to me, what happened?”
“I…” your voice cracked, “I just…”
“It’s okay,” he reassured, laying between your legs and grabbing your hand gently with his free one. The weight of his body on your legs was grounding.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he breathed, kissing the palm of your hand.
“I don’t wanna beg,” you said in a voice so small it was embarassing, “I fucking missed you, Jake. I just want you, I don’t…” you took a shaky breath but he didn’t interrupt, “I don’t want to beg, not right now,”
His eyes softened so noticeably that you wanted to cry.
“My angel,” he kissed your stomach, “You don’t have to beg,” his voice was calming, “You don’t have to beg at all. That’s just for fun, it’s not—“ he took a breath, “You have me, I’m yours. You never have to beg for me, I’m yours.”
Small tears fell from your eyes even though you felt much calmer now. You nodded gently.
“Okay, sweet girl?” He reached up to stroke your hair, “I need you to know that. I only asked ‘cause it’s hot to hear you do it. I’ll give you whatever you want whenever you want, always,”
His hand cradled your cheek and you nuzzled into it, nodding again.
“Okay,” he whispered, kissing your stomach again, “Wanna cuddle?”
You shook your head without another thought, “No, I want…I want you,”
“We don’t have to—“
“No, Jake, I really…,” you sighed, feeling a tinge of frustration with the situation.
“Okay, angel,” he nodded at you, lifting his torso to lean over you, kissing you slow, “I understand. Let me take care of my girl,”
You sighed against his mouth, lifting your head up to kiss him again. He hummed.
“Can I go down on you?” He breathed, “For just a second? Then I’ll fuck you, sweetheart. Just wanna taste you,”
You whined, suddenly right back in it.
“Yeah,” you whimpered.
He nodded, moving down to suck on your nipple. Your back arched up into him as you gasped.
His other hand trailed down between your legs, teasing at your inner thighs.
“My angel,” he groaned, slipping two fingers back into you. You sighed and let your head fall back for a moment, “My beautiful fucking angel. I missed you, baby.”
You nodded, biting your lip and watching him descend. He placed a soft kiss to your clit before licking gently.
His name left your lips in a shaky breath, and he hummed into you, brows furrowed in concentration, tongue working slowly, savoring it.
“Wanna cum once like this?” He peered up at you.
You licked your lip and submitted to the warmth in your belly, nodding at his question.
“Yeah you do,” he breathed, “Lemme make you cum. Bet you miss that, huh? My poor girl has had to do it herself for too many days,”
Your eyes rolled back as his fingers worked expertly in you. A soft, “please,” escaped you.
“I will, angel, you just relax and enjoy it,”
You sighed, melting into the bed as he lapped and licked. He was groaning and whimpering, which only made your stomach hotter.
After a very short time, the combination of him pressing his fingers just perfectly and the slick warmth of his tongue rolling over you sent you over the precipice, tumbling into a much awaited bliss.
He groaned loud when your thighs squeezed around him, and his free hand clutched your hip with desperation.
After letting you come down, he was biting kisses up your body, murmuring curses.
“So hot,” he said, breathless, lips locking onto your neck near your shoulder, “You’re so perfect, fuck,”
You whined, fingers clawing at the warm skin of his back, “Please, Jake,” you breathed.
Reaching down between your bodies, you slipped a finger under the hem of his boxers and pushed down, allowing you to grip him. An uncharacteristically needy moan spilled from him as his head dropped onto your shoulder.
“Fuck,” he bit out, “Missed that,”
You hummed in understanding and stroked him gently.
“You like that?” you murmured, enjoying his wanton reaction.
He pulled his head back up to look at you and nodded, his jaw slack, hips pushing up into your hand.
“Then let’s just do this for a second,” you grinned.
He nodded again, leaning down to kiss you, a moan breaking past his lips as soon as they met yours.
You enjoyed the warmth of him in your palm, and his subtle whimpers against your mouth. He let you touch him for several moments, which only made the need for him stronger.
“Jake,” you managed, “Please, can we just…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he kissed your cheek, “Of course, angel,”
He pulled off of you and stood at the end of the bed to rid himself fully of his jeans. Quickly, though, he was right back on top of you.
“Is this okay?” he murmured, rubbing himself against you, his face over yours, “Wanna be close to you.”
“S’perfect,” you whispered, focusing nearly entirely on the teasing feeling of him against you. “C’mon, babe,” you urged, “want you inside,”
He nodded, pulling you into a deep kiss and easing gently into you. All of the air pushed from your lungs at the full feeling that you’d missed so much. Like this, you felt whole.
“Oh,” he rasped out, “God, I missed you,”
You nodded, just whimpering, overwhelmed at the feeling of him. His hair hung in your face, and oddly enough, that is what made you feel at home.
You smiled in a blissed out way as he began to draw himself out and then back in, working up a steady pace.
His skin was hot against yours, his cheek pressed to yours, his warm breath near your ear. The closeness was everything you needed.
“Fuck, babe,” he spoke in a low, tempting voice, “You feel so good. Warm and soft and wet for me,”
You gasped, and your cheeks heated.
He licked at your neck as he fucked you, nipping at the skin occasionally. He pinned one of your hands above your head, and the other held your face. Your free hand hugged his side, palming the soft skin.
“My angel,” he breathed, “You’ll never know how much I miss you when I’m away. Love how close we feel like this, almost makes up for it.”
You were just along for the ride, listening to him, taking him in, breathing in the smell of his cologne and deodorant and sweat.
“Never wanna stop fucking you,” he kissed at your jaw, “Never wanna stop kissing you,”
You whimpered as he brought his mouth to you in a heated kiss. The both of you could hardly breathe, but that didn’t matter at all. He finally felt so close, so much like yours.
“How’s it feel, sweetheart?” he murmured against your mouth, “Feel good?”
“Yeah,” you said in a broken groan, “Yes, please keep—just please—“
“I will,” he kissed you again, “I will, baby. Cum for me when you’re ready.”
“Jake,”
You nearly sobbed out the name, all at once desperate for him and beside yourself with how much you adored him.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Missed you so much, but I’m here now. Let go for me, babe.”
So you did, jaw slack and eyes rolling back so hard you couldn’t tell if they were open or shut. With a mantra of his name, you came harder than you had in weeks. Your cheeks flushed as it washed over you.
“So perfect,” he breathed, “I’m—oh—“
“Please, please, please,” fell from you in a chanted whisper, as suddenly you needed him so badly you could hardly stand it.
He nodded and rutted his hips into you a final time as he came undone, mouth parted gently and sweat beading on his forehead. He rested against your shoulder as he came down.
“Mmm,” he hummed, “Don’t wanna get up.”
“Then don’t,” you kissed his hair, “We’ll shower and change the sheets in the morning,”
“That’s a good fucking idea, babe,” he laughed softly as he pulled out of you carefully and laid between your legs, his arms reaching up to grab your torso, his head laid on your stomach as if it were a down pillow.
“Missed you so much,” you whispered, toying with his hair. He looked up at you with loving eyes.
“I’ll always miss you more, angel. And I'll always come home to you.”
fin.
taglist: @starshine-wagner @dannywagners-middlefinger @writingcold @kels-gvf @aconfusedhippie @jordierama @fearless-wanderer @finelinejpm @thehourbeforesunrise @madz-0217 @gretavanbitches @doodle417 @rhythm-of-space @milkgemini @st4rdust-ch0rds @thegardensgate @myownparadise96 @gretavanfleas @josh-iamyour-mama @jake-kiszkas-smirk
#gvf fanfiction#gvf fic#greta van fleet fan fiction#gvf fics#greta van smut#gvf smut#jake kiszka fic#jake gvf#jake kiszka x reader
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Digimon Tamers: Brave Tamer - Final Thoughts
Phew! If you're wondering why I've been quiet for a bit, it's because this game took me 3 weeks to beat. It was kind of grueling at times. It definitely assumes that you played the previous 3 (or 4 if Anode and Cathode count for 2) games and does NOT baby you at the start. It definitely wasn't my favorite game in the series, but the fact that it did away with the terrible old Jogress system earned it a lot of points in my book. There are still some Wonderswan games to play, but I think that's really it for Ryo games! Thank goodness :)
Notes:
Major downgrade from D1 Tamers visually! D1 was so colorful and exploring the world was actually interesting. Brave Tamer follows the Digimon World 2 strat of making every single dungeon pretty much identical and the hub world is bland as heck as well. You don't even need to travel to get to the dungeons you just walk up to the same hole every time. Lame.
Thank God this game lets digimon level up and evolve normally. It basically follows the Pokemon style of evolution. In previous games there were bullshit level caps unless you jogressed a zillion times. This game still has that dumb mechanic where your digimon devolves into a baby. I get that that happens in the show, but it felt pretty silly in the game. They get back to normal pretty quickly after a few battles.
Digimon recruitment is limited to borrowing digimon from digidestined from the various anime series. What an awkward concept. Ryo comes out of nowhere to save the day and then each partner digimon is like "See ya partner, I'm ditching you for Ryo!" I'm just imagining the characters that are left partner-less facing certain doom after Ryo leaves lol. Maybe it's one of those situations where they're only gone for a few minutes due to dimension hopping.
The card slash system (based on the Tamers universe of course) was interesting, but kind of annoying to figure out. After I got a handful of strong cards I couldn't be arsed to keep trying new jogress combos.
Speaking of taking the lazy route, I didn't use the majority of the digimon I recruited once LOL. It's more efficient to just stick with the same digimon for the whole game unless you want to spend a lot of time grinding, so that's what I did. I ended up with only mega-level digimon at the end which is frustrating because MegaloGrowmon and Taomon were at level 30! (They upgrade to mega at 31).
The bosses were strangely easy in this game (except for one that took me like 5 tries). What made it hard were the frickin' labyrinthine dungeons (the last one is TIMED! Evil). I have a terrible sense of direction IRL and in video games so the dungeons in this game were torture for me. You have to traverse up to 5 floors and sometimes there are so many dead ends and roadblocks that it takes what feels like an eternity. Also, there are random battles every 2 seconds that increase the suffering. In the later game I planned my route ahead of time by figuring out where the boss was on YouTube and mapping backwards from there. Here's a screenshot of me and my map in MS Paint:
(By the way, I always play Wonderswan games in windowed mode or else they look wonky. This time, that really came in handy).
I had to use multiple guides to figure out some of this game because the most popular walkthrough wasn't very good. It barely gives you any instructions on getting through dungeons, which was what I really needed.
Most scandalous part of this game was when Millenniummon called Ryo his lover (koibito)? Whaaaaa...?
I didn't realize that this game is a prequel to Tamers so I kinda did things out of order, whoops! I didn't realize that Cyberdramon was supposed to be the outcome of a Monodramon/Millenniummon jogress. Makes me want to rewatch some bits of the anime...
There was so much dramatic build up for the final battle and then it was so easy? I didn't even need to use the 10 low-level healing items I stocked up on. Oh well, guess I was well prepared.
Of course there's a post-game where you can scan all the digimon you missed, but that just seems silly. They're not partners in this game, they're cards. If I can't a raise a digimon I don't really see the appeal in collecting them all. (I mean I guess I wouldn't see the appeal in raising them all either, but the cards seem like even more of a waste of time).
The Wonderswan games have always been my fave digimon games but this one felt simultaneously half-assed and overly complicated. I'd give it like a 5 or 6 out of 10. Let's call it a 5.5.
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Regarding Utena, I wouldn't use the phrase "sleeping with each other" when most of the sex is outright abuse.
For example, Utena and Anthy are 14 years old, and cannot consent to having sex with Akio, so saying they're just "sleeping with" him frames the issue as if it was consensual and an active choice on their part.
Ah I wasn't just talking about Utena and Anthy. Akio also slept with Kanae (and Touga... I think) Shiori slept with Touga. Touga actually slept with everyone in school.
Our main three sibling groups in the show, Akio & Anthy, Touga & Nanami, Kozue & Miki were all incestuous.
So that statement was just an overall. Pretty much every relationship in this anime is heavily messed up in some way
Forgive me, I haven't watched Utena in a very long while, so there are some things I totally forgot about, but from my memory, the love square was insane. Utena started dating(?????) Akio, and then found out he was sleeping with Anthy, and then the two of them seem to passive-aggressively fight over him briefly??
This show is absolutely beautiful and started off with a somewhat clear story. A tomboyish girl named Utena joins a strange magical fight club at school for the hand of Anthy. Anthy is maybe under some kind of spell to serve whoever she is betrothed to. Utena doesn't seem to get it, and really only wants to fight for Anthy's freedom and happiness. After living together, the two become good friends and maybe even start to fall in love.
Utena loses at one point and falls into a depression, dressing up like a girl again, doubtful and insecure about herself, only to make a comeback. There's a mysterious prince who descends from the heavens to grant her power through the sword she pulls from Anthy's heart. That castle could be real magic, from another realm, or just from her imagination from the prince who saved her as a child- (sike!!! its a projection in the sky?????? guess what, everything is fake!! ??? ....except for the swords pulled out of peoples hearts. Those are real, somehow.)
But yeah once Akio is introduced the show quickly devolves from "Magical LGBTQ+ highschool girl challenges gender roles and relationship norms, saving a princess in the process and falls in love with her," to backtracking, incest, sex, sexual abuse, weird comic relief, manipulations, illusions where everything isn't real yet at the same time it is, shirtless men, driving cars, dead people, etc.
The bitter-sweet confusing ending where Anthy is finally free but at the expense of Utena, who in the end realized she could never be a prince, apologizing in despair at her failure, pierced with thousands of swords in Anthy's place...
It still has an interesting aspect parallel of Anthy, a princess, sacrificing herself for a prince who in the end becomes a corrupt shadow of himself. Vs. Utena, a princess acting as a prince, sacrifices herself for the princess who was a shadow of herself to free her. The fact that the thing that saved her all those years ago was her want to save Anthy was really poetic.
Like there's a lot of metaphors to be found here, really beautiful, surreal amazing ones, but in my head I can only see it as a horrific confusing tragedy. But the cliffhanger is like "Utena is out there somewhere in another universe! I'm gonna go travel to find her : ) " how and why did that happen and where on earth did she go-
(I don't know how to associate the movie with the anime because those feel like two completely different universes and probably are.)
The show mid to 3 quarters of the way went absolutely bonkers. I feel like it kinda lost sight of where it was trying to go for a while. The ending was truly beautiful, but it was so odd due to prior inconsistencies in the story. You couldn't tell what was actually real or not, or how things came to be or why. And things that happened before, like all the sexual abuse is never addressed or brought up again. And it acts like the ending is happy, like there's hope for Utena and Anthy, but it just feels like nothing was really resolved. Anthy leaves the school, which, you know, good for her, her freedom was the point of the anime, it was what Utena was working towards her whole life, even if she didn't remember. But I don't know if she was well and truly saved if Utena was now in her place. Feels like they're just gonna go in a loop. Doomed by the narrative when the narrative itself doesn't really acknowledge that.
I just got a "Don't try to be something you're not because you'll succeed but at your own demise" kind of moral from it, which felt like a loss rather than a win when it came to the gender role commentary.
#with a surrealist metaphorical show unless stated otherwise by the creator#its left up to interpretation- and with this show there are many#just everyone in this show is just so messed up#Nanami killed a cat#Akio slept with kids#Touga slept around#green haired guy abused#Utena and Anthy themselves fight over Akio#everyone is manipulating each other in some way#and then we turn around and have nanami becoming a cow- laying eggs- anthy collects bugs like a quirky school girl-#anthy and akio gaslighting some guy into being in love with their cousin who set the school on fire#its inconsistent tonal shifts#like what on earth was going on#utena#revolutionary girl utena#utena critical#ask#text post
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LOL that guy you were arguing with a few days ago changed his entire blog. i think you radicalized him LMFAOOO
here's him still malding about your argument: https://www.tumblr.com/mommabearlaciii/732929534465359873
It's been 3 days, honey. Why are you acting like a martyr? Please move on. Get a job. Or a hobby.
This is doubly hilarious to me because he warns others not to waste their time speaking to radfems while wasting multiple days seething about our conversation, to the point that he changed his whole blog...
Guess I have to address this in its entirety since he won't shut the fuck up about it. Buckle up, gyns.
For some added context as to why I immediately assumed this was a troll when I saw his post, this is what his blog looked like:
Jeez, I thought, what a terrible troll. It was so on the nose as to be comical. I soon realized that he was anything but a troll.
I was incredibly tame in my response to his insanely misogynistic post, to the point where I chided myself afterwards for not going harder on him.
In retrospect, being "civil" with him was the best way to go, as my reblog is simple, concise and clear: woman = female. That's literally it.
In spite of how simple my comment was, he still went on an unhinged rant mere minutes after I pressed reblog. It's honestly not worth reading, but for the sake of transparency I'll include screenshots.
Honestly, I was shocked to see how quickly he typed this whole thing out. Rage must increase your typing speed.
It's pretty funny to me that someone whose blog name used to be "adult human female" got so incredibly mad at me for stating that women are female. Shouldn't you agree with me, if you think trans women are female? Hm.
Following this, I wasn't planning on interacting with him again. I left a one word reply and thought that would be it. He kept replying with questions, which devolved into an extremely long exchange in the replies that had some interesting moments. Like him elaborating on why he believes trans women become female, which boils down to "amalgamation of female-approximate traits = female."
Source for his claim that sex is a bimodal distribution between two poles? No clue.
Basically this:
The graph he provided in lieu of a source:
I'm confused about this graph for multiple reasons, namely, the fact that it conflates sex and gender. Mostly, I'm confused about the extremities. Are the people on the far left of the graph "ultra female", and people on the far right "ultra male"? It's complete nonsense, not to mention that he doesn't provide a link to the source this graph is from, it's a commentated screenshot of a tweet with the graph.
Looking into it, the graph comes from a blog post by a transgender real estate agent. I would not consider this a reliable or credible source whatsoever, especially when the post goes on to say this:
You heard it here first, folks, having a small penis means you're less male, and a larger clitoris means you're less female. That makes total sense. I was half expecting them to include this image:
Back to the post: I attempted to explain to him that being in the female range of a specific trait doesn't mean you're female, without much success.
Speaking with him felt like trying to capture a feral cat. It was like I kept having to appease him with treats to keep him from hissing and scampering off. I've never had this feeling when speaking to any other trans person on this webbed site, they usually either block me immediately or have a conversation and then block me when they realize I actually have valid arguments to make. It was definitely a new experience for me. I have screenshots if anyone cares enough to see the full thing.
He did end up realizing I wasn't as complacent as he thought, and blocked me after leaving another beautiful essay in my DMs. The post that pushed him over the edge? The one where I made fun of the breastfeeding fetishist nominal.naomi. Why? Because I implied that males are ugly slobs that can't take pictures. Lol.
It's funny that this interaction seemingly got him to reconsider his time on Tumblr, to the point that he did a complete 180.
You know what, I'll take it. Some of his posts unintentionally call for gender abolition and acknowledge gendered labour inequalities. Sure, he reinforces gendered stereotypes while doing so, but at least he's saying something.
If I can get a misogynistic lesbian fetishist to change his entire blog to regurgitate basic feminist talking points and think he's owning Le TERFs... That's probably the funniest thing to happen to me here.
To be clear, that doesn't make him any less violent towards women he disagrees with.
To conclude: This entire exchange has made me realize that I don't have that many serious posts on this blog compared to my previous blogs. I'll start working on some more serious posts. If you gyns have any suggestions for subjects I could discuss in more of a serious or analytical tone, feel free to shoot me an ask or a DM.
#radfem#radfemfox#tim moment#male entitlement#trans exclusionary radical feminist#radblr#radfem safe#radfems#radical feminism#radical feminist community#radical feminist safe#radical feminists do interact#radical feminists do touch#radical feminists please interact#radical feminists please touch#radical feminst#rad fem#peak trans#gender critical#trans cult#terf#terfblr#terfs#terf safe#terfsafe#sex not gender#radical feminist#anon#mommabearlaciii#intersex
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You said that asks may help you formulate your au thoughts and prompt you to talk about it so if it helps- I'm very curious about the cliffhanger the last lore dump left us on, re: Luz! Very curious to see how she fits into all of this. Sidenote about hunters deal: is Belos like. A stagemom in this au? A stage uncle? Highly entertaining if so. Demoted in power but still just as evil
Hmm!! Yeah I think it would absolutely be easier to drop info about the AU in little bits at a time depending on what questions I get. I've already thought about almost everybody in this AU and where they're situated but I guess I was getting overwhelmed with thinking about writing it all down at once.
Anyways!! Miss Luz Noceda!!
In this universe, the "fancy hospital" was located in California so Luz and her parents packed up and moved from Conneticut when she was a little kid. Her Dad Manny spent a few years drifting away, slowly at first, and then all at once. And Luz, a girl who's already a bright and imaginative storyteller, falls deeply in love with the fantasy book he left her.
What begins as a healthy coping mechanism devolves into escapism as Luz desperately clings to fiction in order to endure the difficulty of real life. School is hard, making friends is hard and nobody really understands her hobbies and passions, not even her mom (Even if she tries. She tries so hard.)
Living on the outskirts of the world of showbusiness, Luz quickly takes an interest in the magic of the screen. More than anything else, Luz wants to create. And creation comes in many forms and she has no intention of being confined to just one. Luz wants to be an actor, a writer, a director, an artist, an animator, a singer, a dancer, etc etc.
It's when her mom Camila finally puts her foot down and insists that Luz needs to learn to separate fantasy from reality, that her life really kicks off.
The Reality Check Center, an after school program which Luz is meant to attend every week day at 3:30pm sharp.
But after meeting somebody special, this is not where Luz goes every day after school.
Instead, Luz is hanging out in the house of Edalyn Clawthorne, an ex-starlet who Luz recognized on sight as Hecate in the 1980s Azura film adaption.
It's always been a mystery why Eda did not reprise her role for any of the sequels/spinoffs that Hollywood churned out for years afterwards. But upon meeting her and learning a little more of her story, Luz learns the truth from behind the scenes.
Eda has a chronic autoimmune disease and she was considered too "inconvenient" to have as a star of the franchise, so she was quietly let go after the first film released. She hasn't acted since and really has no intention of returning to that life.
Luz idolizes Eda and quickly latches on to her, demanding that she be her mentor and show her the ropes of showbiz. Eda hems and haws for a while before being worn down by Luz's persistent enthusiasm.
Luz meets Willow when the latter is trying to talk herself out of having a complete meltdown and the two quickly bond over being a pair of neurodivergent academically and socially challenged silly billies.
Willow is weak for pretty girls so she lets Luz talk her into sneaking her on set. Predictably, Luz causes havoc and gets banned from the premises within a few hours.
But that's okay! Because guess what! Turns out Luz is a perfect third musketeer for the funky little friend group Willow and Gus already had going on.
Luz does tons of stuff. She writes fanfiction. She has several notebooks full of anime art. But most notably, she has a YouTube channel.
Remember mid 2000s YouTube? Before it became the corporate husk that it is today? Back when it was just kids dicking around and posting their dumb silly vlogs.
Thats what Luz does. She posts dumb silly vlogs. She infodumps to the camera about her interests, she films herself while she's out with her friends. She just has fun, yknow?
Willow and Gus have fun too. Considering they are featured in like 90% of Luz's videos, laughing and joking around with her. But thats not all they do.
Willow, who has spent several months being the butt of the joke in the the Hexside show, is experiencing what it's like to be behind a camera while being respected and loved.
Willow is an exceptionally talented rollerskater. So of course Luz is filming her do tricks around the skatepark, whooping and hollering and chanting her name. Willow has a huge interest in botany. And superhero comics. And photography. And romcoms. And Luz will let her share fun facts about her interests, or maybe even babble for a bit, and Luz will act as though she's privileged to speak to a professor of the subject. It makes Willow blush and giggle, pretending it's not a big deal.
It's a huge deal actually.
It's through Luz's vlogs that Willow's authentic personality finally bleeds through the screen. Willow Park is not Paulina. She's not ditzy. She's not unobservant. She's something else entirely.
Willow Park is soft spoken but opinionated. She is witty and expressive. She's tough and sporty. She's wise beyond her years. She's wild and mischievous. She's sweet and silly. She's so many things that she'll make your head spin.
The scripts of the final Hexside S1 episodes are beginning to trickle out around this time and honestly? The writers are sick of Paulina. They're tired of the character. They're tired of the "She's stupid" joke. They feel like they've hit a brick wall with her, in a creative sense. But now they have Season 2 to work on and...ugghhh...
That's when one writer just happens to stumble across TheGoodWitchLuzura on YouTube and finds two young actors that they know very well, just existing outside of the set.
Willow is different on Luz's videos. While on set around the likes of Amity and Adrian, she simply keeps quiet, keeps her head down and does what she's told. She doesn't really spark any inspiration, yknow?
But after seeing this? This bright, sharp witted, skater girl on a griny camera recording? Well after seeing that, they really start feeling the urge to maybe spruce up Paulina's character a bit. Make her a little more compelling.
So, in that way, Luz Noceda completely changed Willow Park's life.
Willow still doesn't think she believes in God but if angels exist, Luz is definitely one of them.
If you said this to Luz, she'd disagree. She'd prefer to be a Demon >:3
________
ANYWAY!! On to the Belos question.
See, I think I'm going to take inspiration from the show's canon version of the Wittebane family as an endless cycle of pain and suffering.
Philip and Caleb Wittebane were a pair of orphan boys that managed to somehow weasel their way into the spotlight at an early age. It fed them well. It kept a roof over their heads. So that meant that this was a nice life, right?
The two brothers were considered timeless stars and their names would go down in history as some of Hollywood's finest.
In the year 1990, Caleb Wittebane was found dead in his home at the age of 30. Based on the evidence, it appeared he had taken his own life.
Philip was then given custody of his brother's infant son and promised that the boy would be raised to understand just what a wondrous legacy his father left behind.
Caleb Wittebane may have been buried 6ft under but Philip had no intention of letting him die. His DNA was still preserved, attached to this fat clump of an infant.
This baby was Caleb's second chance to live. Philip was going to make sure his stupid brother made the right choices this time.
Caleb wasn't going to throw it all away this time. Philip wouldn't let him.
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Another fic- Una and Hemmer! (Friend-fic haha)
Words: 1.8k
Rating: Teen- creep at a bar, plus some mild mentions of death/drinking/self harm via drinking
Summary: Una and Hemmer fend off a creep at a bar…it devolves quickly into an existential chat and some shenaniganizing
Timeline: Between ep 2-3! (Before the Illyrian colony)
(Not a ship thing between Hemmer and Una- they're buddies.)
Title: He'll know.
It was dark, crowded, and loud. Hemmer hated events like this. He never understood the concept of getting drunk under the table as a bonding exercise between species and peoples.
So, he got up. Made the excuse he needed air.
Then, he made a beeline for the bar.
Usually, most bars didn’t have what he was looking for, but this particular bar was run by a Human. She had to have something like it.
“Excuse me can I get-”
He cut off.
Something wasn’t right.
He glanced over. Una was a few seats down, with a humanoid man practically breathing down her neck. Her shoulders were tense. For an Illyrian who could pack a punch– that was pretty damn tense.
Something cracked in his grip. That man was a little too close for Hemmer’s liking.
And– as Una’s body language suggested– hers as well.
Setting down his glass, he stood and stalked over. Before he could ask Una anything, the man reached out and grabbed her hand.
The words just came out.
“Get your hand off of her.”
The man turned. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry.” Hemmer sneered, “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough.”
He took a deep breath, the plan forming in his mind almost instinctively.
“Get your hand off my wife.” He snapped, “Touch her again without her consent and you’ll no longer have a hand.”
Una, bewildered, gave him a quick look. Hemmer winced a little in return, trying to keep his body language imposing.
Play along.
She gritted her teeth and nodded.
“Excuse my husband.” She smiled, baring her teeth, “He’s Andorian, you know how they get.”
Hemmer rolled his eyes. “Afgain’im, ayiid oona’ek boh.”
My friend, maybe we should leave.
Standing, Una smiled sheepishly at the man and leaned in. “That would be the Admiral’s son. The Admiral, who we’re meeting tomorrow for the conference.”
Hemmer stopped in his tracks. “Oh.”
Oh.
“How are we-”
“-Going to play this off?” Una groaned, “Great question. We better go tell Chris before he has an aneurysm.”
Hemmer held up a hand.
“Excuse us.”
Leading Una back to the table, they sat down. Hemmer looked at Una, and Una looked at Hemmer. They both sat in silence for a second before they moved to speak.
“You go first.” Hemmer said quickly.
“Oh no, it was your amazing idea.” Una snipped, “You get to tell him.”
Wincing, Hemmer laid a hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Pike, my friend-”
“-I got hit on at the bar and Hemmer had the genius idea of pretending to be my husband!” Una blurted, head falling into her hands, “It was to fend off the Admiral’s son too, which means we’re in deep if they find out.”
Hemmer blinked. Once, twice.
“What happened to me telling him?”
“Ok.” Pike sighed, “So, let me get this straight. You lied to the son of the militant, die-hard Admiral we’re trying to reason with, and the lie is that you’re both married…to each other?”
“Yes, Captain.” Hemmer scoffed, “Who else’s husband would I pretend to be in this scenario? Yours?”
“Just checking!” Pike sighed, “Well since you both are on the welcome team tomorrow, I guess you’ll have to fake it until you make it.”
At Una’s disgusted face, Pike raised his hands. “I didn’t say it was fair. It’s only two days.” He shot Una a look.
“Two days, okay?” He smiled gently, “You’re strong, you’ll make it.”
“You know, I’m here too.” Hemmer groaned, rolling his eyes.
“You’re the one who got us in this mess!” Una snapped, “I could have handled it!”
A pause. A quick silence fell over the table.
Hemmer took a deep breath. “Una. I didn’t do that because I thought you couldn’t ‘handle it’, I intervened because you shouldn’t have to. It’s not because I don’t trust you, or think that you’re not capable, but because I…”
He coughed a little, “You’re my friend. I do not stand by when my friends are in danger– or god forbid– getting hit on by a drunk creep at a bar.”
She sighed, “Alright, alright.”
“Now what?” Hemmer scoffed, “Do we craft more lies, or should we both hide in our quarters for the rest of the trip?”
Pike nodded slowly, “I may…have an idea.”
…
Twelve hours later:
“This is stupid.” Hemmer scoffed, “We are going to get caught.”
“Chris said it’d work!” Una hissed back, adjusting her dress.
Hemmer winced, fixing her headdress for the fifth time. “You put too much faith in that man-”
“-Oho! Says the man who managed to befriend the socially anxious cadet! Where’s your optimism? Or do you save it all for Uhura?!”
“Let us not bring-”
“-No, no! Let’s both be irritable and miserable!” She cried quietly, “I’m sure that this plan will go swimmingly if we look like we want to drown ourselves!”
“Una.” Hemmer’s hands dropped to his sides, “I don’t like this either. Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve worn this?”
He gestured to the old tunic covered in swirling patterns. Engagement patterns.
The idea was to announce their elopement to the welcoming party and the crew of militant humanoids. The planet that they surveyed happened to be warp-capable, unfortunately, and Pike was trying his best at diplomacy despite wanting to bash his own head in.
The Admiral and his son happened to be questioning the legality of Una’s marriage, which had somehow seeped into all of the conversations so far. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were both skeptical and hoping to use her as collateral.
So, the idea was to announce their elopement, and then renounce their previous statements as soon as they were back in Federation space.
Una’s face fell. “I know. I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be.” Hemmer scoffed, “I got us into this mess-”
“-I should have asked Chris for a different plan.” Una sighed, “It’s only been a few months since-”
“-It’s ok.”
“You keep saying that.” Una huffed, “I don’t think you mean it.” She leaned down, eyes filled with understanding. “The last person you need to hide from is me.”
Hemmer’s head jerked to the side.
“I…We do not have to like things to accept them.” He adjusted her headdress again. “I do not like this, but for you, I will make an exception.” He snorted, “Especially since the Admiral’s son seems adamant to add you to his collection.”
Una sighed, “Alright. If you still don’t want to do this, I can go out alone.”
“No. Just be glad I didn’t ask you to wear my wife’s old engagement dress.”
“Why?”
Hemmer leaned in, whispering, “I have no idea what ‘neon-pink cheetah print’ looks like, but I assume it’s horrendous.”
Una let out a laugh, “Oh? You didn’t tell me your wife liked color!”
“Yes.” Hemmer smiled, “I was gracious enough to give her the budget when we decorated our home.”
“Doesn’t the male Aenar usually decorate-”
“-Yes. I made an exception for her.” He rolled his eyes, “As I now do with you. Be grateful I let you pick your dress.”
Una’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, you ‘let me’ pick my dress?”
“Oh, great.” Hemmer sighed exaggeratedly, “Here we go.”
The door creaked open.
“Will you guys quit bickering for five seconds?” Pike hissed, “I’m starting to think you might actually be married-”
“Oh no,” Hemmer said dryly, “I’m way too expensive for Una’s tastes-”
A dull thud echoed through the room as Una whacked the Chief Engineer with the nearest heavy object. Unfortunately for him– an empty ashtray.
“Shut up!” She giggled, “We need to look serious!”
“Oh?” He sneered, rubbing his arm, “I thought you said this wouldn’t work if we looked miserable?”
Her chuckling subsided into a small smile.
“Alright.”
Pike raised his hands, “Are we going or are we not going?”
Hemmer rolled his eyes, “Please, let’s get this over with.”
…
They were still chuckling as they exited the boardroom. Not a bad way to start a sham marriage.
As they returned to their quarters on the Enterprise, Hemmer slowed as they passed by the mess hall. His senses were much better than a human’s- and sometimes even surpassed Una’s.
“Fork. It. Up.” Chapel crooned, “He wore the fucking hat.”
Hemmer groaned. The conversation was most certainly about him and his traditional garb.
Noticing his slow pace, Una stopped in the hallway.
“What-?” She paused, no doubt her ears picking up the scattered conversation.
“Oh.” She smirked, “Is it the hat?”
“Shut up.”
It took a bit to get un-ready, but soon they were back in casual clothes at the Enterprise bar.
“What were you going to order?” She asked, pushing his glass towards him. “You know, before this all went down?”
Hemmer smiled, his hand reaching for a bracelet that was carefully hidden under his uniform.
“A blue Hawaii.” He chuckled, “That was…her favorite.”
Una stopped.
“You don’t drink.”
“Not anymore, no.”
At her confused expression, he exhaled heavily.
“It’s been eight months since she passed. To the day.” He nodded curtly, “I…drank a lot after the funeral. Too much. Almost killed myself, actually.” He shrugged.
“I…didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think the pain would ever go away.”
Una nudged him.
“Are you alright?”
“No.” He smiled a little, “No, it still hurts. But, if I may, there are two types of hurt people. Those who are hurt and hurt others, and those who are in pain and choose to do better.”
As he stirred the blue drink, he took a sip and winced. “I admit in the beginning I didn’t feel this way. But now, I can’t imagine wishing this on anyone else.”
Turning to the side, he coughed a little. “B’Ashera. That still tastes like-”
“Hemmer.” Una leaned in, “Thank you.”
“For what?” Hemmer spat, trying to dull the taste of coconut with a glass of water, “Trauma dumping?”
“It’s not trauma dumping if I asked, and secondly, I wanted to thank you for being honest.”
“Eh.” He grinned, “The last thing we need to do is hide from each other.”
Una winced, her hand immediately rising to her badge.
There was a slight pause.
Hemmer shook his head. Despite his constant affirmations, Una was still scared of what other people thought of her. Of what she was rather than who.
His head turned towards a distant table, where Pike was groaning and handing over what looked like a stack of credits to Chapel.
Hemmer scoffed.
“...He’ll know when he needs to know.”
Una sighed, “The last thing I want to do is hide from him.”
He leaned in, “So, I say again…” Pausing, he smiled sadly.
“Chris will know when he needs to know.”
#star trek#star trek headcanon#star trek strange new worlds#star trek snw#aenar#my fic#captain pike#una chin riley#lieutenant hemmer#i love them
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I wanted to raise Promare as an example of long running movie fandom but looking up the fic it actually dried out pretty fast too. I guess it felt longer because I was actually living it haha
I was in the big discord server for it at the time, and as the movie released in the US and more and more people joined it quickly devolved into lots of petty drama and people being overly sensitive about which content was allowed : at first there was just an nfsw channel, but when people didnt like certain kinks being discussed they demanded another nsfw channel for 'darker' content, and even in the darker one there were complaints so some kinks were relegated to another sub channel etc etc
It definitely cemented for me that big fandoms arent my thing and especially that discord servers with hundreds of people are never a good idea, at first I was like 'yeah more content!' but it's not worth it, I had a lot more fun with it when the movie was only out in Japan and I just checked the good liogalo porn fanarts every morning, those were good times...
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Payday 3 theory for New Character Designs
This is hella long, so the rest of it is under the cut, but if you want to see why that "Collar" is on Wolf and Dallas, from a lore and character design perspective, please click the "Read More"
Alright, you clicked, so you wanna know, what do I think the metal collars on Wolf and Dallas's necks are. For Wolf, you might think he was committing to the Dog Bit TM, but then you see an identical one on Dallas's neck, and he has no associations with canines of any sort in all of his years of being The Face of the Payday Gang (except for, of course, liking dogs on a casual level, he was on a team with John Wick after all, which could be counterargumented (Not a real word I know) by "but Jacket was on that team as well, and in his games, he is known for killing a good score of Doberman Pinschers" which is a bit of a theory for a different time) So the next thing you can assume, as you dirty minded Tumblr users, and as I've seen some other people say, is that they're just kinky bitches, to which I say BEGONE THOT! But in all seriousness I don't think Starbreeze would intentionally add something so noticeable to two of their most beloved characters and their only reason being "The tumblr and 34 community can logically go ApeShit now) Oh no no no my friends, if I can entertain your eyes for perhaps a paragraph longer, I'll tell you why that kinky shit in that google doc for Payday 3 with WolfHox using that collar thing would quickly devolve into more of a bloody angst story, logically.
You see, in short, these collars are helping them breath. Weird, right? But let me explain! Because, when you think about it anatomically, it will actually make a lot of sense. Lets take a look at our heisters in question real quick:
Wolf and Dallas respectively. Now, do you notice anything? (Besides, Dallas being bugged, this game works as intended) The collar is on the same place on both of their necks, right in their jugulars (yes you have 2, one for each side) Right on the Interior Jugulars/ Internal carotid arteries, though, considering the circumstances, probably the carotid arteries. This is common place knowledge, but for those who don't know, Wolf is very close to Hoxton, shown in game through various nicknames they give each other, and Dallas is the oldest of the OG four, being 44 at the time of Payday 2 (since I don't know the exact gap in time from 2 to 3, but if it is 10 years, like rumored, that means he is 54 as of "today") For reference, the other oldest character, Chains, was 37 at the time of Payday 2, Wolf 34, and Hoxton being a fucking child at 32. So, Dallas is an old man, and he's been smoking since... well the first game (that is 100% confirmed.) so his lungs are fucking WRECKED. But, why is this related? If Dallas's lungs are heavily damaged, running, vaulting, sneaking around, and doing normal heistery stuff, his lungs wouldn't be able to keep up with the oxygen needed to run his brain/other body functions. So, Dallas's lungs are wrecked, yeah, duh, but why would Wolf, the second youngest little man, need this "collar"? Also simple, he's a heartsick bastard.
Wolf lost his best friend, Hoxton, for 2 whole years, do you really think that this man, who basically lost everything, his company, his wife, his kids, his sanity, and now his best friend, wouldn't take to some pretty destructive habits? 2 years of chain-smoking and drinking and doing whatever he could to get his mind off it (be it committing violences or building machines) wouldn't take a toll on him? His lungs would be 100% destroyed, even after only 2 years, because, if I had to take a guess, he started those bad habits when he initially lost his job and went on a rampage. That man has probably been smoking for at least 2 years casually (with periods of mental breakdown chain-smoking) and then 2 more years of hard chain-smoking, non stop, destroying his body. Though, statistically, it takes 15-20 years to fuck up your lungs as bad as maybe Dallas's would be, so whatever Wolf was doing to get himself on that collar device thing must have been pretty hard core.
BUT I'M GETTING OFF TRACK!!! You clicked read more because you wanted to know what I thought the collars did! My thoughts? They artificially pump oxygen into our beloved heisters blood streams, to give them the stamina and brain function they used to have, but still probably being cheaper than a lung transplant. (A quick google search will show you that, for both your lungs transplanted, it would be $1,295,900 in America. Crazy shit, especially for 2 people. Also, if the lungs and heart were damaged, the collar things would be basically a necessity if the guys wanna run around as much as they do in game (don't ask me why you can sprint for like a minute in a half straight in a light ballistics vest when they are all old men, I couldn't tell you). Why doesn't Hoxton have one? Probably because he's a stubborn bastard. Why doesn't Chains have one? He's just built different. The fact that these things are adding extra oxygen to people's blood would mean that the collars are imbedded in their necks, which means if some pulls on them, major ouchies (plus theirs a lot of nerves there and it's really just a whole mess of a time)
THERE YOU GO! This took me 4 days to write, off and on, so for the love of god I hope I got everything right. My area of expertise is reptiles, not humans, but story writing and character development were my first things studied. But this is all head cannons, nothing concrete yet! Anyways, thank you for sticking with the ramblings of a mad lad, and have a wonderful day/night!
#payday 3#payday wolf#payday chains#payday#payday hoxton#dallas payday#payday dallas#This was unreasonably long I'm sorry#BUT I'M SO PROUD OF MY THEORY CRAFTING GUYS!
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I love your Sonic exe stories. Could you do prompts G-1, I-2 and Y-3. For him with a mobian reader?
Sure! I, again, assumed you were a cat mobian in this.
Prompts Found Here
Yandere! Sonic.EXE Prompts G-1, I-2, Y-3
(Halloween Event - Virus)
Pairing: Romantic (Mostly just a horror short)
G-1: "Here, kitty, kitty."
I-2: "There's nothing left for you but me. Everyone else is gone."
Y-3: "You don't know true pain. I'll show you what it really means to crave something."
Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Blood, Murder, Gore, Vomit mention, Manipulation, Sadism, Torture, Violence, The mobian equivalent to dehumanization.
Right before your eyes you witnessed the place you called home devolve into destruction. The flora was wilting and the ground was stained with gore. Even the smaller animals littered the zones with their insides for all to see.
Your fur was stained with blood and vomit. Your mind desperately tried to block the memories of your friend's deaths. All caused by someone you thought was a hero.
A virus had plagued the speedy blue blur. Slowly but surely he became a monster, an animal that fed off bloodshed. He was no longer your friend.
He was a demon that had chosen you as his next victim.
"Here, kitty, kitty."
The demon beckons, drawing closer. You could run all you wanted, it didn't matter. You'd be too slow.
Just like the victims before you.
"It's just us now, you're in my world, MY game. I could chase you forever!"
Your ears were flat against your head. You knew this resistance was worthless, but you had to try. You wanted to live.
Yet instead you were going to suffer.
"Boo!"
You scream and stop in your tracks, "Sonic" teleporting in front of you. You stand in front of the demon, his sharp teeth and claws stained in blood. He killed them...
He killed them all.
"Poor scaredy cat..." He taunts, stepping closer. "Nowhere left to run from the big, bad, HEDGEHOG."
You back away, looking like a scared kitten. "Sonic" laughs before quickly slashing at you, cutting your arms. You cry and hold the bleeding wound.
You were going to die, weren't you?
"Stop, please, it hurts- Just do this quickly...!"
"You don't know true pain. I'll show you what it really means to crave something!"
Another lunge, the wounds are deep.
"You'll beg for mercy! You'll crave companionship to save you from the pain of those wounds and your crippling loneliness! But, guess what...?"
You're grabbed by the back of the neck, roughly dragged towards the beast.
"You only have me. You'll ONLY have me for the rest of your days!"
Another demonic laugh pierces your ears. You're dropped to the ground before you feel him place a hand on your head. You don't dare move, scared for your life.
"There's nothing left for you but me. Everyone else is gone."
He rubs your head in a false sense of affection. You don't lean into it, you don't pull away. You just accept what he's doing-
"Don't worry your little head, they could never play my game with you and me anyway."
"Your game?"
The demon never stops grinning, kneeling down so you were eye level.
"They weren't very fun toys. I didn't like them very much. But YOU'RE new. I think we'll have fun, alone, just us in a world of torture and gore."
You shake and shiver like a leaf. Why you? Why were you the last to suffer? Why was it you!?
"I plan on toying with you for a long time, (Y/N)."
Your chin is tilted up, those dark red eyes holding a strong desire for your upcoming carnage.
"We'll play until I tire of you. Maybe you'll win my mercy."
He then stands up, backing up. You stare at him with worry. Mercy? What good was mercy now?
"How about another game of hedgehog and cat..."
There's another laugh before he disappears into smoke.
"Keep me entertained, pretty kitty."
Once he's gone you collapse in on yourself. Tears pooled down your cheeks while you cry loudly. You were alone, left to play a dangerous game with a murderous entity. You wished the pain would be over.
This beast didn't want it to be over, however. He loved you when you suffered. He thought your despair was delectable.
You were his new favorite toy.
A precious pet only meant for him to play with.
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How do you think Yuri or natsuki would handle Monica's power/knowledge? How long do you think they would last?
Hm, good question! I like this one because we do get to see President Sayori at the very end, which poses the question of what Yuri or Natsuki might do!
I mean, with Sayori we see her devolve to the Just Sayori scene veeery quickly, much faster than Monika did herself. I think it's fair to say that the others would probably do something similar; it's less about the actual person with the power/knowledge, and more about how they react to it, and Sayori I think sets a precedent for "skip the foreplay, just us!" yk? I guess what I'm trying to say is, the power seems to corrupt in the same way, so regardless of who holds it, things end up pretty much the same.
Or at least that's my off-the-top-of-my-head take on it. Good question, anon!
#doki doki lesbians club#ddlc#doki doki literature club#ddlc natsuki#ddlc yuri#natsuki ddlc#yuri ddlc#ddlc headcanons
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thoughts on callista and gavin? have a great day!
Loving these asks! I am always happy to get up on my soapbox about these characters. This time I'm focusing on how Gavin is convinced that Callista is the one who wrote A Tradition of Tragedy and how it shapes/reflects their relationship. It's actually super interesting to me that he thinks this, and I was glad they addressed it in All of Our Demise.
Because if you think about it, the theory doesn't make much sense. To begin with, the "Grieve" who is the author is constantly making reference to "their" family and Callista wouldn't devote so much time and energy writing about the family that she was just going to leave. I mean, she was probably engaged at that point, right? At a bare minimum, she knew she wanted to become a Payne and leave her old life behind. So publishing a whole book from the perspective of a member of her family wouldn't make sense.
Obviously, we know that she didn't write it, but even when Gavin doesn't know that, he could have thought about it and his theory wouldn't hold up. Even from a practical standpoint, I find it hard to believe that he wouldn't have noticed his sister constantly disappearing to do extensive research (bc Reid seriously did his homework) or getting calls from agents and editors and publishers and the like. All while she's supposed to be planning a wedding? The idea that Callista wrote the book makes no sense.
But Gavin still believes that she did for a really long time, and it heavily colors his interactions with her. Never once does he outright ask her about it. He doesn't have to. And I think it's because, at the surface level, she was an easy candidate who was well-informed about the Grieves and had mentally checked out of the family a long time ago, so she wouldn't feel guilty about spilling their secrets.
Gavin is firmly convinced that his sister wrote the book that made everyone look down on the Grieves, and his resentment of the book and how the public treats him because of it quickly devolves into resentment of his sister (which isn't helped by the way she effectively abandoned him as kids). When he finally accuses her of it, he doesn't even try to hide his bitterness: "Maybe you could make our family sound even more pathetic, too—although I guess you've already done that, haven't you?"
And Callista denies it, and he believes her, and that's that.
But here's the thing: Callista has clearly done a lot of thinking about the book, because she's the first one to theorize that it wasn't actually a Grieve who wrote it. She tells Gavin that she thinks they were set up. So she's read the book and put thought into it, and she's clearly a little upset about it, too. So even though she's fully checked out of the family, the blatant sharing of their secrets bothers her.
Not to mention that she's kept up on what Gavin is doing. She reads his interview with the Inquirer and even encourages him to work with Briony and Finley if it means he'll survive the tournament. So she obviously cares. But she didn't care enough to comfort him through his nightmares, or be there for him when he was training to be a champion, or hide her insulting shock when he shows up alive. But she cares enough to take in a kid that he drops off at her door and tell him the story of the first Grieve and try to help him survive.
Callista cares about Gavin, but every time it came down to it, she didn't care enough to make a choice that would help him, and ultimately it was because she wouldn't let herself care. It isn't fair to expect that she had an easy time of it, growing up with awful parents who had completely cast aside her brother and, debatably, her—but it also wasn't fair for her to pretty much turn off her love for her sibling and then turn it back on again once two external parties came up with a possible solution for the all-Grieves-must-die problem.
Which is why it gives me shivers when Gavin finally snaps, when he points out that the ongoing pattern for his family doesn't dictate his own odds of survival, that treating him like he was already dead was a fucked up thing to do. Callista is kind of faltering and she says that they all know the odds (implying that his odds are pretty much zero).
"Yeah," Gavin says. "One in seven."
This is a lot of words to say that I'm really fascinated by the minor plotline of Gavin thinking that Callista wrote the book and eventually being proven wrong. Because at the heart of that mostly-internal sibling conflict is their central problem: Callista cares about Gavin, but she's never allowed herself to care enough to make a difference, and he hasn't let go of expecting her to.
#all of us villains#all of our demise#all of our demise spoilers#aouv#aood#amanda foody#c. l. herman#gavin grieve#callista payne#ask
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So imposter syndrome is a thing and I need to give myself a pep talk. Like. Now.
And if anyone else is dealing with it needs one, then I'm sharing it. This is pretty personal, but I don't like the thought of anyone dealing with this because I know how utterly miserable it is, and absolutely no one deserves it.
So I just want to take a minute (or an hour, or several) to talk about this because I realized during the past decade (or longer), when I wasn't letting anyone read any of my writing whatsoever, that imposter syndrome is a lying fucking thundercunt, and that it hurts so many creators, and that it shouldn't be allowed to exist at all.
I got burned out constantly when I was publishing on fanfiction.net back in the day, and another site I can't remember the name of for original work that doesn't exist anymore.
Would get stuck in a rut on everything I wrote and never finish anything.
Good or bad feedback, didn't matter. It always devolved into, "This is shit, and I am shit, and I shouldn't be shoveling this shit to other people," and I'd try to just ignore that and write and...nothing would come out. Or what did come out, I felt like it wasn't ever good enough.
I'd read over what I had already written and just cringe. Cancel a project entirely and trash it because thinking about it made me want to vomit.
The same way you might cringe hearing your own voice on a recording, or see an unflattering photograph of yourself and second guess everything about what you see in the mirror.
This always led slap into a writer's block, which for me also tends to lead toward depression and general self-loathing because I don't feel like me when I'm not writing.
Same thing has happened on and off with most of my hobbies through the years. I started getting deeply into culinary arts when I was sixteen, wanted to learn more and try new recipes out daily, and messing something up would just destroy me. I started playing guitar at thirteen, played daily through most of high school, and went through a few stints that lasted for literal years where just looking at a guitar made me physically sick because I felt like I had hit a wall that I couldn't get past.
I guess because writing has been with me for the longest, it was what helped me the most. I was writing silly little "horror" short stories and Pokémon fanfiction as early as six years old. Writing is ingrained into me to the point that I feel like a different person entirely when I'm not doing it. I feel like I don't know myself.
And that feeling of being inadequate when I was actively writing, I realized, didn't actually start until I began letting other people read what I was writing regularly. Largely when I started posting it online. That was when it went from being my joy to being my dread.
Dread that if I didn't finish a chapter or a story quickly enough, people would stop reading.
Fear of making even one single typo that someone might point out.
Fear of being insulted or berated.
Of not being good enough.
Of failing.
I realized during my extensive haitus from writing that I never had that fear when I was a child. When I was writing for me. Writing what I wanted to. What I enjoyed, what made me happy. That at some point, writing had changed from a form of self-love into people-pleasing.
I spent a few years not writing at all, and gradually started again. A short story here or there when the mood struck instead of trying to force it out. That made the mood strike more and more often.
I eventually bit the bullet and read over some of my old work that I would cringe over, and it made me smile instead. Still made me cringe a little, but instead of that resulting in a need to pull into a shell and stop entirely, it turned into a desire to improve.
It clicked that it was because the only audience I had was myself, and I could do whatever the hell I wanted and just have a good time with it. No worries, no deadlines, no one to impress, just creating what I wanted to and enjoying it.
It's not fool-proof, but when the feeling starts to flare up, the following is a rough inner monologue of how I try to address it.
"Look self, who cares if you're a talentless hack or not? If you like doing the thing, do the thing. If it only brings you joy when other people care you're doing the thing, or you only do the thing when you're hoping it could even potentially impress other people? Then you're not enjoying the thing, you're enjoying the attention, or even just the idea of attention. Take the attention out of the entire equation, and just do the goddamned thing."
Art is passion in physical form. Passion stems from happiness. That happiness stems from you. From you, looking at what you've created, before anyone else has laid eyes on it, and smiling. That moment when you finish your creation, the feeling of fulfillment in knowing that you created something that wouldn't otherwise exist if you hadn't taken the time and energy to do so. That one moment before any potential second guessing or anxiety can rear its head in. That moment, that comes from you and only you, free of any influence from the outside world, is happiness.
Basically, the old saying, "dance like no one's watching?" It applies to everything. EVERYTHING that imposter syndrome could butt its disgusting lying filthy head in on. Sing, play [instrument of choice] like no one's listening. Paint and draw and sculpt and mold and create like no one else but you is ever going to see the finished product. Write like no one else is reading. Enjoy it for what it gives you first and foremost. Extend that moment of happiness and enjoy it, because you did something no one but you could have done, you created something that no one but you could have created.
After that, if other people enjoy it, great! It's always nice to share happiness!
If they don't like it, or if they pressure you to do better or work faster or harder than you're capable of doing in your present state?
If they take your peace and mold it into pain?
Then they can take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.
It's your passion. It's your love. Not theirs.
If they don't like it, they don't have to look.
If you were kind enough to share your happiness with them, and they're miserable enough to stomp on it in any way, shape, or form, then that's their problem, not yours.
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Let the Poison Spill
Let the Poison Spill
Chapter Four - HIEROPHANT (prev chapter) (ao3 link)
summary: your first ritual isn't what you expect, but the Cardinal finds a way to help you participate.
word count: 5k
tags: Papa Emeritus III x female reader, Cardinal Copia x female reader, occult secret society, 18+ Minors DNI, NSFW, a little bit of smut, and a little bit of google Italian, not beta read, more tags on ao3
Chapter Four
HIEROPHANT
“Okay, one more time,” Mary said through the door, conjuring the most encouraging tone he could. “What did we learn?”
What you’d learned, in Mary’s absence, was the Order must have been watching you for months. How you’d never noticed was beyond you, but the evidence was laid out across the bathroom counter. Everything you used, from the same toothbrush to the exact brand of hand soap you preferred was waiting for you in the large en suite bathroom. Makeup, shampoo, even those expensive perfumes you collected in those tiny vials but could never convince yourself to purchase lined the shelf below the mirror. Guessing your clothing size could have been easy enough, but there was no way anyone could build this collection without being in your apartment.
All you wanted was to take a shower and work out some of the feelings Copia had left you with.
Now you were faced with the unsettling reality that someone had picked through your life and reduced you to a pile of things. It made your throat itch to imagine someone, probably masked, touching parts of your private life without your knowledge or permission. What else did the Order think they knew about you? How long did they give themselves to learn before they approached you? You scratched at your arms, trying to rid yourself of the feeling of being treated like prey. Like an object of desire to be held to someone else’s standard and examined under a harsh light.
None of that was what Mary meant.
With a heavy sigh, you stared at your reflection and swallowed down the discomfort. You turned to the door and called back to him. “Smile, be polite, and let the upper clergy speak without interrupting.”
“I promise it’ll get easier after tonight. Hell, it might even be better to rip this bandage off your first night—” He stopped short and let out a low whistle as you stepped through the door, his eyes trailing down.
The gown Mary had suggested was gorgeous and it hugged your frame beautifully. But the beading made it uncomfortably heavy, and it was difficult to walk in. That, coupled with the heels already making your feet ache, made you feel like you were standing in someone else’s life. You felt less like yourself the longer you had this costume on. The things in this room weren’t yours, they were just things in a room they said is yours.
“Can we just get this over with?” you mumbled, bunching the dress in your fists. It was hard enough to move without the weight of knowing Imperator was going to show you off like a pageant mom. At least Mary had tried to prepare during his little speech about being polite.
Mary’s face softened. “There’s no need to be nervous, kitten. Just remember what I said and after 10 minutes everyone will get bored and move on.”
“Really?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re the shiny new thing in a Satanic church that openly worships carnal lust. Don’t be surprised if your dance card is full. But these things usually devolve into an orgy pretty quickly, so it should be easy to slip away at the end if you’re not into it.”
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Mary, I need you to be honest with me. Have I just signed up to be in some old pervert’s hell demon sex cult?”
“That’s a tricky question. I mean, no, I really wouldn’t call us a cult. No one is going to brainwash you or make you fast or sign away your family fortune. There is a fair amount of illicit activity that is encouraged, but consent is key. Everyone is really into free will here, like, it’s one of our most basic tenants. And yeah, there might be hell demons and an old pervert, but he’s pretty benign these days.
“The point is no one is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. Try to look at it like the Order and Olde One as ideas. The idea of all those things you’re not supposed to like, heavy metal, horror movies, casual sex, or witchcraft or whatever. All those things that are thrilling because they’re a little bit dangerous, that temptation and the pleasure of allowing yourself something you shouldn’t, that knowledge you shouldn’t have. That’s what we worship. That’s what He stands for.”
“So…hell demon sex cult.”
“Hell demon sex cult,” he confirmed with a shrug. “But at least it’s fun. Let’s get you to your first ritual, virgin.”
Mary looped his arm around yours as you made your way out of the dorms. He was chatting away the entire time, about what you didn’t know. You were too lost in your own head, considering the consequences of your actions. That tiny cut Imperator had made reopened, the sting reminding you just how short-sighted you’d been. You had no idea what you were in for.
You took a deep breath, trying to ready yourself for what you might see tonight. Mary had been vague, save for the mention of the orgy, but you suspected that had more to do with his disinterest than trying to spare you.
The walk to downstairs took longer than expected. For the first time since you’d arrived, the building was buzzing with life. You were dodging Siblings of Sin dressed in their finest attire as they moved through the crowded hallways. Some stopped to admire and fawn over each other. Some spread bits of gossip between themselves, snippets of things about people you didn’t know that barely registered as you passed.
Beyond the busy Siblings and Ghouls littering the main hall, a stunning cathedral stretched so far back you almost couldn’t make out the end. The walls were even higher than the main hall’s, towering impossibly high above the people below. Each wall was dramatically inlaid with stained glass that must have taken years to build. The floor carried on from the main hall, all those blue, white, and gold patterns dancing their way toward the white stone of the pulpit. The room was dim, washed in candlelight from the thousands of black candles burning around you and an unsettling tune weaved its way through the cathedral, like a lullaby from a ghostly Wurlitzer organ.
It was overwhelmingly beautiful. And it all felt like way too much.
There were men stationed at the entrance handing glasses of wine to everyone as they entered. The look Mary gave you suggested it was required to take one, so you did as you were told. He had convinced you upstairs that it was easier just to grin and tolerate the evening, but you couldn’t shake that fear that had rooted in your stomach. There was no way to tell, after only a handful of hours, exactly what this organization was capable of. If they had the time to wait 10 years between invitations and the manpower required to unnoticeably spy on you for months at a time, what else were they willing and able to do?
What exactly was the purpose of this ritual?
“There you are,” Sister Imperator managed through gritted teeth, narrowing her eyes at Mary. She latched onto your arm and wrenched you away from him, nearly spilling your wine everywhere. Your one lifeline was gone before you could even think to shoot him a sympathetic look.
“Sister Imperator, can I ask you something?” you inquired quietly, the millions of questions you had bubbling up in your brain at once.
“No, not now,” she snapped, patting your hand dismissively. She pulled you through the crowd toward the front of the cathedral, eyes scanning for something or someone as she went.
It was odd to see her in anything other than that habit, but she seemed at home in her sensible pantsuit. Even in the dim light you could see she’d carefully applied a bit of mascara and eyeliner and blushed her cheeks just so. There were facets of the nun you hadn’t considered yet. She was still a person at the heart of everything. There was no doubt in your mind she had a past and stories that could fill volumes. You wondered who she shared them with, if you would come to know more about this mysterious nun the longer you were here.
But the way she tugged at you made you want to kick her in the teeth.
She seemed to relax when she spotted Cardinal Copia and another man having a heated discussion near the front of the cathedral. Leaning close to each other, their voices were lowered quietly as they appeared to argue. The second man had a heavily painted face in the vague shape of a skull, his dark hair falling over his eyes as Copia said something into his ear.
The Cardinal had changed out of his cassock, trading it for a tight black suit, tailored carefully to fit only him. The other man was in a black suit of his own, the silhouette different from Copia’s, but equally fitted to his slight frame. Ornate embroidery of upside-down crosses decorated the breast of their suits, making them look like some kind of Satanic royalty.
“Do not embarrass me,” Imperator warned through her teeth before fixing her face in a bright, fake smile. “Papa Emeritus, Cardinal Copia,” she started, inclining her head to both men. “I would like you to meet the newest member of our flock.”
The men immediately halted their discussion, failing to mask their annoyance at being interrupted. As they turned to look at you, their expressions softened considerably. You realized you’d seen the painting of Papa Emeritus in the main hall, that haunting white eye was hard to forget. But while Papa Emeritus had watched you cross the hall, Cardinal Copia’s eyes had followed you outside the library. That, you nearly missed under the over-stimulation of everything else in the abbey. Something about the portraits managed to fall flat when it came to each man’s features, the way they held themselves seemed to be lost in the translation to swirls of oils. Both men were far more handsome than the artists let on.
Sister Imperator poked and preened at you, smoothing her hand over your hair before urging you forward, like a Victorian mother presenting a daughter and a dowry to potential suitors. Without missing a beat, Papa Emeritus gracefully took your hand and brought it to his lips with a smile.
“Pleasure to meet you, agnellina,” Papa Emeritus purred. “Welcome.”
Copia followed suit, his lips lingering on your hand just a beat longer than Papa’s. “Lovely to see you again, Sorella. How is your head?”
“Better. Thank you,” you replied politely.
Sister Imperator bristled beside you, irritated by Cardinal Copia ruining her chance for a proper introduction. She swallowed hard, the muscles in her neck flexing against the effort as she switched tactics. “Papa, I was hoping you could perform the baptism ritual within the week? That is, if you’re not too busy your Eminence,” Sister Imperator asked with a tone that implied it wasn’t a request.
“Never too busy for you, Sister Imperator,” he answered tightly.
“Wonderful!”
“Eh, Sister Imperator? Might I have a quick word with you?” Cardinal Copia asked nervously, an odd look of worry spreading across his face.
“Of course, Cardinal,” she replied with a saccharine sharpness. “Though I’m afraid your words are rarely quick.”
He mumbled in agreement, wringing his gloved hands. You caught Papa Emeritus raising an eyebrow at their exchange, before burying his face in his wine glass. Sister Imperator hurriedly whisked Copia away, berating him as they went.
“That woman is a viper,” Papa grumbled into his glass, but you pretended not to hear.
“Sorry?”
“Oh, nothing, agnellina. Forgive me,” he said suavely, placing his hand on his heart as bowed. “I’m Papa Emeritus III, or Papa Terzo, for short.”
Mary’s voice popped into your head chanting be polite, be polite, be polite. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Terzo snorted. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I promise I’m no gentleman.”
“Right. Hell demon sex cult,” you mumbled to yourself.
“If only, agnellina! Then things might finally be interesting around here.” He paused to take a large gulp from his glass. “Tell me, how are you enjoying your new home?”
“Honestly? The last six hours have been really fucking weird.”
“Hours?” he asked, the shock evident in his voice. “Did you only just arrive today?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Sathanas.” He trailed off into an unintelligible string of beautiful sounding Italian phrases that were likely swears as he raked a hand through his jet black hair. He tipped his wine glass over yours, doubling the contents. “You are going to need more wine.”
It was curious how different Terzo was from Copia. While Copia had an ease about him, Terzo seemed to have no filter at all. It was slightly refreshing after a day filled with half-truths and a blood promise, but his charm also put you on edge. He wasn’t the least bit shy about touching you while he spoke or adding a suggestive connotation to everything he said. It was hard to tell if that was just his personality or the impending orgy, but you doubted it would be hard for him to find a partner when the time came.
Like Copia’s kindness, Terzo’s confidence made him that much more attractive. After five minutes with the man, you were almost certain he had never doubted any move he’d made. He wore that paint with pride, even if you still had no clue what that was about.
The sound of chimes drew everyone’s attention to the front of the cathedral. Above you, three figures moved into place on the pulpit. All three had their faces obscured, one with skull paint and the other two with shiny black mouthless masks peeking from under their hoods. As the skull-faced man approached the lectern, the masked figures knelt on either side of him as he adjusted the microphone. The room fell silent almost instantly.
Terzo placed his hand on the small of your back and leaned over to whisper into your ear. “That’s my brother, Papa Secondo. He’s a real asshole.”
You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing as Secondo began to speak.
“Children of the Order,” he started, his tone deeply serious. “We wish to thank you for joining us for this evening’s ritual. The success of the Project is one of His most unholy blessings and we can only hope to continue to appease the Olde One in all of our endeavors.”
The two masked figures stood and moved forward, stepping behind the stone altar sitting directly in from of the lectern. Each figure revealed a dagger from under their robes, metal catching the light from the surrounding candles.
You tried to hide the hitch in your throat, covering your mouth with your hand. An impending orgy was one thing, but ritual bloodletting was not something you’d prepared for. Mary had been joking about the sacrifice, right?
“This ritual is about trust, agnellina,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, his voice as smooth and warm as the hint of wine on his breath. He twisted a piece of your hair around his finger as he spoke. “Don’t you trust us?”
“No,” you mouthed. He just grinned.
“We ask that the Olde One accept this offering of flesh as a symbol of our continued devotion to the Order,” Secondo called from the lectern, dramatically raising his hands as he began to chant in Latin.
The pair turned to face each other, raising the daggers to each other’s throats.
You jumped as the couple behind the altar stepped toward each other, using the daggers to sever the braided cords holding their robes together. The heavy fabric slipped from their bodies, revealing the nude forms of a man and a woman. Beside you, Terzo wiggled his eyebrows.
The man moved to relax against the altar, his cock already at full attention as the woman climbed onto him. Mary may have told you what to expect, but they definitely left out the ritual sex.
Moans and grunts of pleasure floated up from the altar as the woman sank down onto the man and began to fuck him in earnest in front of everyone. It didn’t strike you as obscene when examined from the view of an offering. If you were honest, you’d seen people give weirder things to the chosen deities. In an organization that worshiped lust and encouraged sin, this seemed almost tame.
You couldn’t help but wonder how hard that altar was on the woman’s knees.
It didn’t take long before the Siblings and Ghouls around began to shed their clothes and pick a partner (or two or three). The room devolved into a swarm of naked bodies that quickly outnumbered clothed ones, just as Mary had promised. The sounds of sex filled the cathedral, every surface becoming home to a mass of writhing bodies chasing pleasure in each other.
“Papa,” a Sister whined nearby, making a big show of the other Sister pawing at her exposed breasts. “Come join us.”
“It appears my congregation needs me,” he offered with a little bow. “Would you like to join us, agnellina?”
Something in his tone of voice made your legs tighten just a little, the question sparking a fire in your core. He was handsome and charming enough, and under the right circumstances you could entertain him, but this was just a little too much, a little too soon. You offered him a small smile as you shook your head. “Maybe next time.”
“I will remember that,” he replied with a wolfish grin. He kissed your hand one last time before disappearing into the crowd.
Slowly, you made your way toward the back of the cathedral. As Mary said, it was far easier to slip away unnoticed now that everyone’s attention was elsewhere. The activities seemed to be focused more at the front of the room and you passed more and more empty pews as you tried to remember how to get back to your room. You doubted you could tap someone on the shoulder to ask for directions right now.
Closer to the main hall, the sounds of pleasure faded, and one angry voice rose above the others—Sister Imperator’s.
Cardinal Copia stared at the floor, his shoulders sagging as Imperator continued hurling insults at him. There was a string of childish names and words like weak and useless being thrown at the man, who seemed to shrink a little more with each one.
“—I’m not asking, Copia. Get it done,” Imperator snapped, poking at his chest with each word before storming away.
He waited until he was sure she was gone before he straightened again and tugged at the ends of his jacket, pulling it back into place. He was easier to appreciate in this light, the angles of his face unmarred by the flicker of candles. You’d thought he was handsome before, but now you took the chance to really appreciate and admire that little mustache above his painted lip and just how well the cardinal’s suit hugged his frame. Those pants could not have been comfortable.
“Sanctimonious bitch,” Copia hissed bitterly under his breath, surprising you enough to draw you out of that increasingly lustful gaze.
“Does she always speak to you like that?” you asked. You tried not to smile as the Cardinal practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of your voice.
“Lucifer below!” he yelled, gloved hands clutching his chest. “How long were you hiding there?”
“I wasn’t hiding, I was standing. And don’t worry I didn’t really hear anything, other than the sanctimonious bitch part.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. Sister Imperator and I have a…complicated history. I’m afraid she is not my biggest fan, but don’t worry about me, Sorella. I’m quite used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it any less shitty.”
He offered you a fond smile. “No, but you should be careful saying such things. I’d hate to see you get in trouble.”
You shrugged. “She already said I have a problem with authority. It not like she doesn’t know.”
“All the more reason not to have her ire directed at you, dolce.” He stared off into the cathedral for a moment. “Not joining the others?”
“You know, I kinda like to get a feel for a place before I engage in group sex.” As if on cue a loud moan and the sharp sound of a smack rang behind you. “What about you, cardinal? Am I keeping you from someone?”
“No, Sorella. I’m afraid you have my undivided attention and the company of such a beautiful woman is very much welcome.”
You felt the heat rise in your face. “I don’t know about that,” you mumbled.
“Then I’ll repeat it until you believe me,” Copia smiled warmly. “Would you, perhaps, care to go someplace a little less…noisy?”
“Why not? It’s not like this day could possibly get any weirder.”
“Oh dolce, never say never,” he replied lowly. “Especially within the walls of the Order.”
You followed him to a staircase on the other end of the main hall and up several flights before finally slipping into a hallway. The paneled walls were fixed with elaborate filigree, proving once again the Order couldn’t do anything understated. About halfway down, he paused at a large wooden door and pulled a key from his pocket. With a click, the lock turned and he held the door for you, motioning for you to step inside.
“Please, make yourself at home,” he said as he moved behind you.
As soon as he said it you knew that wouldn’t be possible, but you slipped out of your heels anyway, letting your feet sink into the soft area rug. He’d brought you to his home, to a large apartment that stretched around you and begged to be admired like a peacock’s feathers. It was filled with plush Victorian sofas, heavy velvet drapes, and ornamental plaster and you wondered how much of it was his choice versus the Order’s.
“Is everything around here always so…lavish?”
“Eh, we are a coven of sin, Sorella. I’m afraid the clergy doesn’t understand subtlety,” he called from the kitchen. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Got anything stronger?” you asked as you slid into one of the high barstools at the island. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Is wine alright? I’m afraid that’s all I have. I don’t entertain often enough to stock much more than that,” he explained.
“That’s perfect.”
He gave you a small smile before turning to grab a bottle from the rack on the counter. He uncorked it with a practiced ease, biceps straining against the tight sleeves of his jacket as a knot tied in your stomach. There was something in the way he looked at you as he slid the wine glass across the island to you, that feeling of predator and prey itching at the back of your mind again. Except with him, it excited you.
Copia didn’t strike you as a particularly dangerous man, but the reality was you didn’t know him. Whatever quiet and reserved tendencies he’d displayed so far had been offset the second he brought you to his room. His intentions were still a mystery and maybe he didn’t really understand the implication of his actions. It was possible he understood all too well.
You snatched your glass and moved to one of the sofas in the sitting room, rather than dwell on what was or wasn’t. You were just two adults having a glass of wine while a ritual orgy happened downstairs. It didn’t take long for Copia to follow your lead and settle into the spot next to you. He seemed to relax a little more with each sip, the little worry lines between his eyebrows fading as the alcohol soothed his nerves. The conversation was easy between the two of you, general get-to-know-you questions flying between you. Where you were from, how long he’d been with the order, likes, dislikes, pet peeves, and absolute deal breakers. You were surprised to learn he kept pet rats and liked to sleep with his socks on; he was surprised to hear about the teddy bear that slept in your bed until well past your formative years and the irrational worry that followed as you realized the bear would not be in your room when you got back.
Maybe it was the wine, maybe he was just easy to talk to, but by the end of the bottle your knees were touching. No longer just gentle, accidental brushes, the two of you were seated so close to each other that you were in constant contact. He had an arm draped over the back of the sofa, staring at you in astonishment at your latest confession.
“Are you saying you’ve never done anything just to see what it felt like, dolce?” he asked with an amused grin.
“No, I just…” you trailed off, losing your train of thought as you looked into his eyes. The way he said it had sounded like a dare. The corner of his lip quirked up as you looked at him, trying to decide whether or not you should take it.
Fuck it.
You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, surprised by the gentleness with which he returned the gesture. He brought a hand to your face, easing you toward him as his soft lips brushed against yours. That knot in your stomach tightened as he dared to deepen the kiss, just barely.
“Careful, dolce,’ he murmured against your lips. “One might think you’re trying to tempt me.”
“Me? Never,” you whispered, batting your lashes innocently.
“Oh? That’s too bad. I was hoping you would,” he said lowly, his words going right to your core. Trailing his hands to your hips, he pulled you into his lap with a confidence that had begun to emerge the longer you talked. “Or maybe you want it the other way around?”
You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped as he nipped at your bottom lip. His gloved fingers traced down your thighs, bunching your dress just enough to get his hands under it. He caught you in a heated kiss, tongue darting across your bottom lip as he grabbed at your ass to pull you closer. You were unprepared for the passion with which he kissed you, how terribly good at it he was. When his mouth moved to your neck you couldn’t help the mewling sound that left you. That feeling stirred in your stomach, the knot beginning to coil and tighten as his hands drew lazy circles on your thighs. You were embarrassingly wet, soaking through those stupidly priced lace panties the Order had left in your room. It had been so long since someone had touched you with such desire and your brain and cunt were aching for more contact.
“Copia,” you asked in a breathy whisper. “Please.”
There was a faint smile on his lips as he pulled away, just enough to watch your face as he pushed your panties to the side and ran a gloved finger through your folds. The leather was a different sensation, but you weren’t about to tell him to stop, your body too needy for anything he wanted to give. You gripped his shoulders as he circled his thumb over your clit, your hips involuntarily bucking up from him as he traced the sensitive spot. He used the opportunity of your raised hips to slide two fingers against your entrance before dipping them inside. Another moan fell from your lips as he slowly started to pump his fingers into you. The Cardinal’s smile was gone, replaced by the dark glint of blown pupils that watched you closely as he coaxed you to the edge.
You tucked your lip between your teeth as he curved his fingers, reaching for that spot inside you and finding it far too easily. His thumb sped up as you cried out and pulled yourself closer to him, whispering and pleading for him not to stop, that you were almost there. You were chasing that fleeting feeling, riding his fingers as that coil tightened impossibly until it snapped and sent you over the edge.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, burying your face in his neck and body tensing as you came around his fingers.
“You do you feel now, dolce?” he asked softly, lips brushing against your neck.
“I…um—” You huffed out a breath, trying to remember words.
“Oh?” Cruelly, he curled his fingers against that spot again, drawing another loud moan from your lungs. He withdrew his hand and brought his fingers to his lips to taste you on his gloves. With a sigh, he spoke again. “We should get you back to your room before curfew, Sorella.”
“But—” He stopped you with a finger to your lips.
“I am a patient man, Sorella. And we are not done.”
He helped you to your feet, your legs still unsteady as he caught you in a rough kiss that suggested he’d meant what he said. You wanted nothing more than to find out just what that entailed, but he walked you to the door and said goodnight.
You were able to wind your way back through the abbey, past the gold, paintings, patterned floors and the over-the-top decadence that saturated every room. The cathedral was quiet, and the halls were empty again as curfew approached. You promised yourself to read through that guidebook a little more in the morning, but for now you just wanted to hold onto the taste of Copia on your lips.
He wasn’t wrong about the day getting weirder.
“Oh, hey. I was just checking to see if you made it back ok,” Mary yelled down the hall as he spotted you, pointing at your door. He watched you approach, studying you a beat longer. “But here you are.”
You knew what it looked like, standing there with your dress wrinkled and your shoes in your hands. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At some point someone had freed Mary’s neck from his collar and covered it in fresh love bites, so you doubted he was going to comment on the blissed out state of you.
“You good?” was all he said.
You nodded. “Just tired. It’s…been a long day.”
“I’m sure. Well, as long as you’re ok—"
“Mary, come on. My wrists are starting to hurt!” someone yelled from inside his room, cutting off his train of thought.
“Well, goodnight!” he said quickly and darted into his room. You caught the unmistakable shape of someone sprawled across his bed before the door shut. Possibly a Ghoul.
might be posting too much for one day, but it made more sense to me as two chapters. thanks again for your time, love!
#my wriitng#the band ghost fanfiction#ghost band fanfic#cardinal copia x female reader#papa emeritus iii x female reader
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Ready up, battle fans: Interview with social media celebrity Nina Vievin
From Mewtube and Tinkatok to our very own Mewnite Battle Network (eh?), the Chucklefvcks found the time in their busy days to come for a chat! Watch the full video h̲e̲r̲e̲ in all its glory.
\\guest writer @poke-muns / @ferrunough. Nina is their character, once they post nina's info i'll link it. this also counts as credit for stealing their ooc barriers because oo trophee looking//
( Lawrence is sat in the usual right-side chair. He is as professional as ever, paying no notice to his interviewee being a Greedent. In all fairness, the Greedent is sat very politely. )
Lawrence: Battle fans, hello, hello! I am Lawrence Renfield, the Unite Battle Network’s go-to guy for making special content just for you and today I have managed to snag a treat of an interview–
( The Greedent waves at the camera and squeaks. In the blink of an eye a redhead leaps up from behind it's chair and swings her arms around the back. The pokémon is unfazed. Lawrence is certainly fazed. )
Nina: HIIIYA!!
( She cackles and scratches the Greedent's head. Lawrence, meanwhile, recovers. )
Lawrence: –the Chucklefvcks themselves, Nina Vievin and Chuckles! Are you going to stay standing?
Nina: Nahhh, I'll come down. If he'll let me.
( Chuckles, on cue, looks directly up to Nina. He reaches into his neck fur, retrieves a berry, and offers it to her. She shakes her head. Chuckles hops off the chair and sits between the two chairs to munch on the oran himself as Nina swiftly takes his seat. )
Lawrence: Please don't stain the carpet... So, Nina! This is 3 years in the making?
Nina: ... Oh fuck I guess– wait can I swear on here?!
( Lawrence looks to the cameraman. )
Cody: I mean, they are called "the chucklefucks".
Lawrence: ...we will see in editing.
Nina: I'll try be clean. But, uhhhh, OH YEAH. 6 if you count B.C.
Lawrence: B..?
Lawrence & Nina: Before Chuckles.
( Nina nods as the Greedent looks to both of them. He resumes eating quickly. )
Lawrence: What was life like B.C.?
Nina: MISERABLE!!
( Nina and Lawrence laugh. )
Nina: It was fine I guess? Like I battled but only really as something to do. Got bored of it for a while. Stopped and then I got Chuckles.
Lawrence: What got you back into battling then?
Nina: CHUCKLES! Someone let slip Skwovet are legal and he would not let me anywhere near the place without going for a battle. I started enjoying it once we changed his build to be very tanky–
Lawrence: Once you discovered you could troll people?
Nina: Pretty much, yeah. Once I discovered I could really piss people off– SORRY.
( Lawrence shakes his head with a strained smile. Nina awkwardly laughs while covering her face, sliding down in her chair. Lawrence takes a breath to regain his composure. )
Lawrence: Was your immediate thought "I can make content from this" or did the online stuff come after?
( Nina pushes herself back up enthusiastically. )
Nina: Nah, the vids came after a Tinkatok of Chuckles wiping the same Wigglytuff twice went viral. The maker was a teammates girlfriend who was up with us in the-the-the... bits where we watch and talk from!
Lawrence: Stands?
Nina: No clue. Probably. The end of it caught the WIgglytuff trainer's reaction and the joy that it brought me, I had to keep going!!
( Lawrence chuckles and flips through his notes cards. )
Lawrence: I cut you off earlier, by tanky you mean?
Nina: Loads of bulk, high HP, high attack, decent speed for a Greedent. People did not like it when, like, a turret just follows them as they try retreat. It's very fun!!
Lawrence: Did not and do not based on your last match.
Nina: OOOOOO YEAH THEY WERE SALTY, HAHAAA!!!!
( Nina begins cackling and kicking her feet. Her laugh devolves into crazed wheezing; Chuckles waddles over to the edge of her chair. With tears in her eyes, she strokes his head to calm herself. Lawrence has stopped laughing by this point and seems greatly concerned. Nina's voice is still croaky when she speaks. )
Nina: I'm good, I'm good. Heeeh... The Decidueye guy was soo p– malding.
Lawrence: I take it you're enjoying your time in the professional world?
Nina: I'm acclimating. I get to still screw with people. While I'm still quite low tier at least. As long as it doesn’t hinder teammates. I think we're getting better at actually playing. Chuckles' got mvp a few times, scored like 200 at some point.
Lawrence: Impressive!
( To show his enthusiasm he looks to Chuckles, who completely ignores him. )
Lawrence: Right... Uh, how much time..? One last question alright with you?
Nina: Yep, go head!!
Lawrence: How are you going to deal with the fans outside who know you’re here?
Nina: A good Bullet Seed spray should help!
( Nina giggles and Chuckles finally takes his attention off of food long enough to join in. )
Lawrence: Haha, that’s legally a joke, right?
Nina: Yes, yeah, obvi. I can spend a bit of time outside the place signing stuff. Don’t wanna clog your hallways. Chuckles’ll give berries to everyone he can.
Lawrence: I’ll be sure to watch from the windows. Thanks for joining us today, Nina. And you, Chuckles.
Nina: Anytime, it’s been a blast!
( Chuckles squeaks in agreement. He looks at Nina with his paws close to his tail fur. )
Nina: OHOH!!! What kind of berries do you like?
Lawrence: Uh… Wepear.
Cody: Do you happen to have any topo?
( Chuckles roots around in his tail until he finds a pale berry with a dark centre. As he throws it behind the camera, he take a wepear out and places it on the interviewer’s lap. Lawrence tentatively moves it onto the table beside him. )
Cody: Thank you!
Lawrence: Yes, thank you. And thank you, battle fans for watching this interview! Links to the Chucklefvcks’ socials will be below. If you want more behind-the-scenes content or battle clips, check them out here on our website or find them on our rotomblr blog! I’m Lawrence from the UBN, we’ll talk later!
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"Get back here, you bastard!" Cesar snarled, chasing his prey. He was hungry and he witnessed someone make a severe fuck-up. He didn't want to think about it more than he already did, opting to focus on what he was trying to do.
He was careful to follow them discreetly until they were alone, but they heard him accidentally kick a rock and now there's a chase.
Lucky for Cesar, he's done this before and he knows how to catch his victims. No, targets. Prey. Thinking of them as victims makes him feel guilty.
With a pounce, he landed on top of the person. He lifted them off the ground, put a hand over their mouth and latched onto their throat with his teeth and began feeding. He nearly jumped out of his skin when they went limp, but not from the body.
"C-Cesar?!"
Shit.
He was so focused on following this person, he wasn't listening for another set of following footsteps. He took his mouth off the throat, blood dripping out of his mouth and down through his split chin. His white button-up and red bowtie were now stained with deep crimson. He dropped the body as he looked over his shoulder, panicked. He turned around to face the woman who caught him in the act.
"Sarah, I–I—" Cesar tried to speak but he just devolved into messy stammering; he was searching for words he just didn't have. He retracted his fangs and brought his chin together to make speaking easier. Finally, after what felt like forever, he found words. "P–please don't be scared of me! You know I'd never hurt you! …R-right…?"
"I–I… I'm calling Seth!" Sarah blurted out and began digging through her pocket to grab her phone.
Cesar's eyes widened even further. He shook his head frantically, reaching palms with splayed fingers in Sarah's direction. "S–Sarah, no! It's a full moon tonight and the sun's been down for an hour!"
Sarah stopped, seeming to ponder his words.
"Look, I know you want comfort right now and I can't provide it but please, just… don't be scared of me. I–I'll do anything…!" Cesar lowered his arms to his sides, keeping them in an open position. He was desperate, he didn't want to lose their friendship; not over something that couldn't be helped, at least.
His eyes teared up when Sarah took half a step backwards.
"Cesar…" Her voice had a low, wobbly warning tone.
Cesar was suddenly knocked down onto his stomach, teeth sinking into the nape of his neck. Cesar screamed, his mind dragging him back to the moment he got his first bite. He could tell he was getting drained. He started to lose consciousness, feeling incredibly weak.
~~~
Cesar snapped awake, quickly looking around the room he realized he was in.
Oh… It's my room. So then… was that just a nightmare? My neck feels funny…
Someone knocked on his closed bedroom door.
"Hello?" Cesar's voice came out scratchy; his throat was apparently raw.
"Hey, Cesar. Can I come in?" Seth asked through the door.
"Yeah."
Seth opened the door and walked into the room. "How are you feeling?"
"...Strange. My throat's raw and my neck is like… numb."
"Yeah, the numbness is from the Lidocaine ointment. Sarah said you were screaming pretty loud. You're lucky she found you, you might've died…" Seth sniffled, breaking eye contact; the thought clearly pained him. "Please be more careful next time you're out, okay?"
"I will. By the way, where's Sarah…?"
"She's taking care of a simple investigation not too far from here."
"Ah, okay. Can I talk to her when she gets back?"
"I'll ask her. Now, you should probably try getting more sleep. Do you want any water or anything first?"
"No, thanks. Goodnight Dad." Cesar said with a slight sigh.
"Alright. Goodnight Cesar." Seth said with a little nod before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
Cesar closed his eyes to return to sleep but he struggled. Did Sarah tell Seth his secret? He wished he asked how long it'd be until Sarah comes home.
I'll just have to wait and see, I guess.
OOHHHH /pos
The monster dudes. The guys
#asks are neat#super cool fan stuff#monster alt au arc#didn’t. think a random idea I had for Halloween one time would get here but you know what? why not I think it’s neat#anyway this is pretty cool I like it#Cesar did an oopsie. a fucky
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