#i do have a secret superpower! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 9

Masterlist - Previous - Next

y'all i've had this planned out practically since the beginning. i've known how this battle would go for literal months. really happy to finally be here :)

cw: violence, blood, death, dehumanization

Jimmy’s awoken quite suddenly in his cell (the door opens and he’s on his knees, he’s good, he’ll go where they want him), four guards filing in. One of them unlocks his handcuffs, another tosses the Canary costume onto his bed. He understands easily enough—his master wants him out in a fight, right now.

He wonders what kind of fight. What he’ll be expected to do.

He’s murdered two people at his master’s command since the first, a woman and another man.

He heard once that killing never gets easier. It’s always just as difficult to take a human life as it was the first time.

Whoever said that was a liar.

Jimmy’s killed three people, and he thinks less and less about it with each scream he hears. His master is pleased with him, and that’s all that matters.

Jimmy knows that if Xornoth tells him to kill today, he won’t hesitate.

The suit has more buckles than his bumbling fingers can manage, so he gestures to those and is relieved when a guard steps forward, helps him buckle up the suit while he does things like sort out the harness of the glider and pull the boots on. It’s the fastest he’s ever put this on, he thinks, even though they shove his hat on without giving him the time to clip it in place.

They attach his leash to his collar, lead him out of the room and down the hall, not toward the meeting room but instead the throne room. His heart hammers in his chest—he hates it in there, but he’ll survive. He’s not in trouble if he’s in his Canary suit, his master is just wishing to meet him there.

Sure enough, they lead him straight to the throne instead of to the covered dog crate, shove him forward. His master is reclining there, takes the leash, loops it around their wrist twice.

Jimmy stands uncertainly for a moment, waiting for his master to rise. They don’t, only gesture to their knee. He drops instantly, presses his chin up to them.

Something’s happening. This isn’t a normal meeting, this isn’t an average show of intimidation. The fight must be coming this way.

Jimmy’s right, because within minutes, there’s sounds—more than the shifting of the dozen guards shifting at the other end of the room. A door in the hall opening and closing, followed by footsteps landing on all the creaky floorboards coming from the hall. Xornoth holds up a hand, stops the guards milling around the room from seeking it out. Soon the sounds cut off, and suddenly there are two people being dragged into the room who have no business being here.

One of them is Major, mouth twisted into a snarl as he shoulders the guards holding him.

The other is Lizzie.

Jimmy can’t breathe for a moment. It’s not just Lizzie, it’s the ocean villain. Lady Shadow, or whatever she’s called. She’s only been involved in one fight with him, and he’d never had the time to properly look at her, but now she’s just meters away and mask or not it’s Lizzie.

Lizzie, whom he had presumed dead.

Lizzie, who had disappeared years ago with no trace.

Lizzie, whom he’d last seen over their parents’ dead bodies, the house burning down around them.

Lizzie, his sister.

He’s missed her. He hadn’t realized until now, until here she is, right in front of him, hair longer and eyes harder and wearing a mask, but his sister all the same. He’s missed her so desperately that it aches, more than it has in years, years in which he had grieved her and moved on because moving on is all he ever does, isn’t it?

His master is playing with his hair and the familiarity of it grounds him, pulls him back into the situation at hand. Jimmy breathes, breathes through the yank of his hair, and settles back into being a pet, though his eyes never leave Lizzie’s. Hers flick from him to Xornoth and back again, paying attention to whatever his master is saying.

Then Xornoth unclips his leash and says his name and Jimmy looks up, waits for instructions. His master tells him to keep the ocean woman out of the way.

He can do that.

Jimmy dives at Lizzie and—the guards jump aside as his arms wrap around her—barrels her into the ground. They roll for a moment—an explosion of sorts from Xornoth’s battle rattles Jimmy’s teeth—he shoves himself up to his feet, sways, then runs.

He’s got to keep her distracted, and distracted means she’s not teaming up on his master with Major. And since he really doesn’t want to hurt her, he needs to pull her away from the fight.

He doesn’t even make it out of the room before water hits him in the back, sending him down. He rolls with it the best he can. It once was second nature to pull a quick kip-up to get to his feet, but now, weakened as he is, he has to pull himself up from hands and knees.

He manages to shove Lizzie to the ground, but her water tugs at his wrist in a way that chafes at the ever-present scabs there. He bites his lip hard, somehow pulls free. A wave of his other arm and a burst of power sends five guards to their knees, electrocuted by their own batons malfunctioning. Handy.

Jimmy leans against the wall for a moment, closes his eyes for the adrenaline to flow through him—

The wall collapses under him and Jimmy knows he’s going to be punished for that, but for now he just stumbles through the wreckage, out of the room and into the long hallway, his boots leaving white footprints in the wood polish. Lizzie’s following behind him, good—it’s his job to keep her away from his master.

He holds her off the best he can for as long as can, darting from place to place in the hall and slashing with the long knife pulled from the inside of his coat when she gets too close. He doesn’t want to pull out his throwing knives, he doesn’t want to lose one or give his opponent an extra weapon, usually he only uses them with plenty of room to dodge if a knife is thrown back in his direction but in this enclosed space—

Lizzie tackles him to the ground, his head knocking against the leg of an end table and his knife flying from his loose grip. He struggles, but his limbs feel like lead with her pinning them down—he hasn’t eaten in who knows how long, he can’t believe that he’s gotten more than a few hours of sleep recently—he’s not good enough, he can’t do as his master commanded—

Lizzie’s entire weight is atop him, pressing into bruises and cuts and his bad hip clunks in the socket and Jimmy can’t help but cry out. He’s not winning this fight. He squints his eyes shut, turns his head, waits for her to knock him out—

“You killed my parents,” Lizzie growls, and Jimmy’s heart crumbles into pieces.

It’s been a rough day at school, from all of Jimmy’s homework getting soaked in a freak water fountain incident to opening the gym closet to find all of the sports balls had deflated.

It’s been two months of the same, and Jimmy is sick of it.

To come into a power so late isn’t unheard of, but it’s incredibly rare, so his parents had taken him to get bloodwork done after a week of unexplainable accidents. At first, the whole family had been excited—they celebrated with a cake and streamers when the results came back positive, Lizzie leaning into the fish tank to tell Jory the good news. But soon enough, exhaustion at everything in his life going wrong sets in, and Jimmy can’t help but feel depressed. Lizzie grows moody, shuts herself in her room after school every day, yells at Jimmy when the power goes out for the sixth time that month. His parents become more and more tired, assure him that it isn’t his fault through strained smiles, start looking into powers counseling to see if maybe someone can help Jimmy learn to control it sooner than the natural course seems to be taking (which is strange, he shouldn’t be this out of control after two months of trying, but he’s even worse than when it started).

It’s all thrown out the window today, when Jimmy gets home, already stressed, to find both his parents sitting at the dining table, talking in low voices.

They’re going to send him away. He knows it before they even say anything, because his father’s been crying and his mother has a notebook before her, fond as she is of pros and cons lists.

Jimmy sits wordlessly across from them, already stressed and tired, already resigned to leaving his family and his friends and his home, when the oven bursts into flames.

His brain kicks into overdrive as his parents both shout, he can't even think of what to do—

And then they go still, mid-stride to the kitchen, faces looking funny. Without any sound other than a strangled gurgle from his father, they collapse.

Jimmy’s on his knees in a moment, searching for a pulse—nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He starts CPR, he’d learned it at camp years ago, he screams for help but no one hears and his mother’s body jerks under him with no movement of her own—

The door opens and Lizzie’s there, staring at Jimmy and their dead parents and the burning kitchen.

Lizzie runs, right back out the door, runs until Jimmy’s certain that his calls don’t reach her anymore.

Jimmy runs, too, before the fire department arrives, stopping to take nothing but his backpack.

He sees his parents’ obituaries in a newspaper four days later.

He never sees Lizzie again.

He doesn’t know what to say to her now, her eyes burning with anger as she presses him into the floor. He knows what he’s always wanted to, what he’s imagined telling her so many times, but his voice isn’t his. He can’t speak without permission, can’t speak without prompting, the words that fall from his lips belonging solely to his master.

Maybe he can steal a few words, because this is the first time ever that something actually seems worth any punishment to follow.

Lizzie presses her forearm down against Jimmy’s throat for a moment before pulling back the weight—a warning. “Say something, Solidarity,” she hisses. “Say something before I kill you.”

And Jimmy swallows, then forces himself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. It’s easier, somehow, than speaking for his master. Lizzie slaps him, hard, across the face. Jimmy winces at the burn of it, but forges on. “To you, Lizzie, and to mama, and to dad—I’m sorry.”

Lizzie freezes, arm once again pressing down on Jimmy’s throat. She stares at him, searching his eyes, even as Jimmy chokes and tries to breathe more shallowly.

“It was an accident,” she murmurs, trance-like. Jimmy nods, but forces out,

“Still—my fault.”

Lizzie opens her mouth, about to say something else, then jerks. Electricity courses through her body, shocking along Jimmy’s skin where they’re touching. Her mouth goes slack and eyes go wide with pain, then there are rough hands pulling her off and forcing Jimmy to his feet. He stumbles a bit, finds his footing, lets the guards drag him back to the ballroom.

Xornoth is watching from the other side of the room, and on the ground, Xornoth’s boot pushing into his chest, is Major.

Evidence of a fierce (if short) battle surrounds them, spikes of ice and splatters of red everywhere. Major is in rough shape—blood drips out from under his mask, his supersuit is torn in several places, his eyes are hazy and his breaths coming fast. He pushes futilely against Xornoth’s boot, but his hands fall back to his side after just a moment, worn out.

“Pet,” Xornoth commands, their voice echoing across the room. “Your opponent got the better of you, is that so? Were you not meant to keep her distracted?”

Jimmy bows his head, heart leaping in fear. He’s ready to accept his punishment. He was bad, he messed up, he needs to be corrected.

He hears the smile in his master’s voice when they say their next words. “Before your punishment: an example, for my dear brother, of what happens to those who oppose me. Pet—kill her.”

The fight is quick and bloody and wordless, despite Xornoth’s words of business to take care of. It happens so suddenly that Scott quickly becomes convinced that for all these years that they’ve been engaged in a rivalry, Xornoth has been pulling their punches. Before he knows it, he’s on the ground, breath whistling through his broken nose, trying and failing to roll out from under the boot pressed into his chest.

When Xornoth commands Solidarity to kill, Scott can’t bear to watch, but can’t tear his eyes away. He hasn’t known Lizzie for long, but long enough that he doesn’t want to see her dead.

He wonders, briefly, if Joel’s okay. What will become of him if Lizzie dies here.

The two guards shove Lizzie away from them, leaving her shaking like a newborn foal trying to stand for the first time while the forest burns around her.

Solidarity tackles her to the ground without a moment’s hesitation.

Scott chokes back a cry—somebody’s going to die here, there’s no stopping it—he’s alone and his body aches and Solidarity is going to kill Lizzie or she’s going to kill him—but—she isn’t fighting back. Lizzie isn’t fighting back.

Lizzie’s awake, she has to be awake, but she doesn’t move to defend herself, even as Solidarity slams his fist into her face again and again, even as he lifts her up by her hair and slams her back into the ground.

He wraps his hands around her neck, and Scott wants to close his eyes because he can’t watch, poor Lizzie, poor Joel, poor Solidarity, everything’s gone wrong just as he knew it would, and now that Xornoth has him they won’t ever let him go—

Solidarity freezes. Xornoth hasn’t told him to—Xornoth has done nothing to stop him, which doesn’t make sense—if he squints—blinks away the haze in his vision—

Lizzie’s saying something. So quiet that Scott can’t hear it, but she’s definitely speaking. Whatever she says, it makes Solidarity release her and stagger back, away from her. He looks down—at his hands, at the blood spattered across his knuckles.

“Kill her,” Xornoth repeats, snapping their fingers for emphasis.

Solidarity looks up at them, then to Lizzie, prone on the ground, then back to Xornoth. He raises an arm after a moment, hesitantly points at Lizzie.

Xornoth scoffs. “Yes, you idiot,” they say. “You already started the job. Kill her.”

Solidarity’s arm, still outstretched, wavers. He remains, stockstill, in the middle of everything.

Xornoth is about to speak again when Solidarity lets his arm fall.

“No.”

The word is broken, hoarse, barely audible, but it falls from Solidarity’s lips as clear as anything. Scott doesn’t know what to think. Is he breaking free of whatever mind control Xornoth has him under?

The boot presses harder against Scott’s chest and he chokes, all thoughts flying from his mind—he can actually feel his ribs bend under the pressure, that can’t be good—

When Xornoth speaks again, their voice is low, serious.

“What did you say to me, pet?”

Solidarity flinches, but his next words are stronger, louder. “That’s my sister.”

Scott blinks. She—what?

“Pet—”

“That's my sister,” Solidarity repeats, voice shaking as he takes a tentative step forward. “I’m not going to kill her. I’m not. You can’t make me.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Xornoth says, their voice shaking as well—but theirs is barely repressed rage, rather than the fear that colors Solidarity’s. “Kill her now, or spend a week in the cage.”

Solidarity’s eyes flick to the side, to a sheet-covered rectangle up on the dais, but instead of acquiescing to Xornoth’s command, a horrible, unsmiling laugh tears from his throat.

“The cage,” he spits, taking another step forward, then another. “You made me into exactly what you said, you know that? I’m just a mutt, a mutt that whines for your forgiveness—” his voice is frantic and fast and rising with every word, his eyes wild, the air is veritably crackling around Solidarity and Scott’s breath is stolen from his chest as all he can muster is fear— “you took everything from me to turn me into your loyal pet—my voice, my face—do you want my name, master? Or is pet my name now, no more Jimmy, nothing but your little bird—”

“Pet—”

“You took everything from me!” Solidarity screams, and Xornoth—Xornoth flinches. “I had nothing and you took that too, and now you want my sister and you can’t have her!”

Tentacles whip up from the floor, reaching for Solidarity, but they shrivel before they can touch him as he keeps stalking forward. The lackeys who are still in the room double over, clutching at their heads. Scott can hardly breathe, can barely feel anything but Solidarity’s utter rage.

Solidarity is close now, mere feet from Xornoth and blearily—the pressure on his chest increasing with each passing moment—Scott realizes that they’re the same height.

“You made me like this, master,” Solidarity mocks, one hand raised. “You broke me! You know what happens when you beat a dog past its breaking point? It bites.”

Solidarity hurls forward, but before he can collide with Xornoth, the villain collapses, falling forward and off of Scott.

Scott rolls to the side, coughs and coughs as he gasps for air, each cough sending throbbing pulses through his broken nose. He hadn’t—what?—nothing today has gone the way he’d expected.

He catches his breath, pinches his nose, spits up a little blood that had dripped down the back of his throat. He can call an ambulance, probably should . . . his nose has been broken too many times to count, he needs to get it set and preferably professionally or else it’ll heal crooked—

What on earth is he doing? Solidarity is right here, Xornoth is right here—the fight is still going on, he can’t just check out like this—

He looks up, head sending a fierce burst of pain coursing through it at the movement. Sure enough, Xornoth is right beside him—on the ground, limp, eyes closed. Solidarity is kneeling beside them, masked expression unreadable, two fingers pressed to Xornoth’s neck, waiting . . . waiting. . . .

It’s still a fight. He still has to be ready to take Xornoth down at any moment. So, instead of resting his head back and closing his eyes and just breathing like he wants to, Scott sits up, body protesting, and crawls on his hands and knees to be at Solidarity’s side.

He reaches around him, takes one of Xornoth’s wrists in his hand and tugs up the sleeve, presses two of his fingers to it—Now that he’s looking, though, he knows. Their body is too still, eyes shut too loose. He isn’t going to find a pulse.

Xornoth has dropped dead.

The thugs are gone. Lizzie, somehow, is standing, leaning against the wall.

It’s quiet.

Scott releases Xornoth, watches their arm flop back to their body. Solidarity doesn’t move.

Xornoth is dead. They’re really, truly dead.

Scott makes a mental note to schedule a therapy appointment as soon as he can. He’s going to need it after this.

It takes him a long moment (and almost all of his strength) to gather himself to rise to his feet, but Scott does it, placing a light hand on Solidarity’s shoulder.

“They’re dead,” he murmurs, tugging gently when Solidarity doesn’t react. He doesn’t know how, but Xornoth is spontaneously dead. “It's okay. You’re free.”

He’s not sure what he expects Solidarity to do, how he expects him to react. He does not expect Solidarity to scream, to beat on Xornoth’s chest, to shove Scott away.

“No!” the man shrieks, and after a frantic moment of what may be CPR and may be simply attacking the body, he looks up at Scott, eyes bloodshot and wild. “They weren’t supposed to—it was supposed to hurt! It was—it was supposed to be long! I wanted to kill them and make them feel every bit of pain I did—”

Solidarity’s body trembles as he tears at Xornoth, as if trying to force them to wake. A literal bolt of lightning flies off his suit, one that Scott dodges narrowly.

“Wake up,” Solidarity sobs, lifting Xornoth by the shoulders and shaking them before dropping them back to the floor. “Please. Please, master, don’t leave . . . please. . . .”

Scott can’t do anything. He doesn’t even have a clue as to what might be okay for him to do. The sight before him is so disturbing that he just wants to turn away, leave it and help Lizzie to stand on her own and find Joel and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

He can’t do that, though. He owes this to Solidarity.

So Scott stays. He can’t do anything, can’t touch Solidarity, can’t hold him. Nothing that he says calms him, his cries echoing around the now-silent room.

So he sits with him and waits, waits while an exhausted Joel stumbles in and agrees to contact law enforcement and call several ambulances. Waits while officers arrive and take Graceffa into custody. Waits while Solidarity rocks back and forth beside Xornoth’s body, gloved hands frantically pulling at his own hair.

Scott sits there, providing what silent comfort he can, until an EMT wipes a patch of Solidarity’s neck with antiseptic and gently presses down the plunger of a vial of something. Solidarity goes limp quickly, and they carry him off on a stretcher.

“Make sure the Canary gets help,” Scott mumbles as the same EMT helps him stand. “He was under some kind of mind control. Nothing was his fault.”

“It’ll all be sorted,” the EMT tells him, and Scott casts one last glance at Xornoth (and whatever they are to him) before he lets himself be helped out of the building.

#empires smp #esmp #mcyt #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #empires superpowers au #esh au #mas writes #chapter count on ao3 has been updated!#if all goes to plan - which it may not - this is the penultimate chapter #ok you guys have full permission to scream at me now #ik that i don't usually respond to comments on tumblr #but i do see them and freak out abt them #anybody want a secret about this chapter?? yes???#i had jimmy resist xornoth telling him to kill lizzie the first time #it took until today to change that #take votes: what happens to jimmy from here on out?#anyways lmk what you think!#love you guys

59 notes · View notes

squirrelno2 · 11 months

Text

some proof of life for Nightingale:

It wasn’t supposed to be a big, dramatic fight. The idea was to destroy the killer robots before it reached that point.

“They’re down this way,” Nick said. “Two guards. The problem is if we go for them, we have to make sure nobody else comes running. The doors all along this hall have more guards on the other side.”

“I can clear it out,” Flynn said.

“No, you can’t!” Carrie said. “What are you talking about? You have no powers.”

They glared at each other.

“Uh,” Nick said. He looked at Willie, who was picking nervously at his own nails. “That’s never stopped her before, but the Queen’s right. It’s not a good idea.”

“Maybe you could trust me when I say what I can handle?” Flynn said, still glaring at Carrie.

“Is this about me or –“ Nick began, but Carrie cut him off.

“Maybe you could stop putting us all at risk by trying to do things that everyone knows you shouldn’t do?”

“What?” Willie asked, jerking his head up.

“Stay out of this!” Carrie and Flynn said together.

“I wasn’t in it,” Willie said.

#julie and the phantoms #fanfiction #snippets and sneak peeks #nightingale #they're having so many breakdowns all at once folks why did i put this off for so long #can't really tag flarrie for a snippet this small but oh god do you see it. do you see the flarrie #when your fake girlfriend is self destructing by flirting with revealing her secret superpower that she's scared of and you're #going through your whole character arc about realising you're more than your horrifying power and you're terrified for her #but you can't say that because you used to hate each other and also your ex and his future queerplatonic partner are there watching #just. you know. a normal day in the life of carrie wilson the superhero #these tags also serve as a reminder of the shit that's gone down in this fic so you're welcome for the recap #this doesn't even TOUCH why nick and willie are breaking down in their own minds. rip this team

6 notes · View notes

wizardnuke · 2 years

Text

sorry boss I can't come in for a few hours today because I've been inflicted w my monthly case of bitch disease and might start to cry if the store music is too loud or something

#I have been in a Fucking Mood. today #I can handle being in this fucking mood is the thing. as long as it's not The Severe Depression it is handleable #being suicidal for several days a month every month was NOT it #would still be better if I was oooon my meeeeds but I gotta call the doc for that and it's scary :(#why do I gotta call the doc every month for my adhd medication. I have adhd. do u see the issue #'bitch disease' isn't being fair to myself it's not fair n it's valid that several days a month I'm So Upset. it's not my fault I have pmdd #but also. it's brutal out here. I am so uncomfortably angry and scared for no reason <3 every single month <3 #also it's prob worse that I'm not on my meds lol. the understimulation of today. I've been trying to stay busy but.#its always landing on under or over I can't find a good in between. adhd my beloathed. secret superpower my fucking ass

17 notes · View notes

macroglossus · 1 year

Text

this is my oc secretion. guess what she does

#this is a joke i do not have an oc named secretion. if i did though i think her superpower would be like mind reading or something #and she calls herself secretion because she likes to hear people get really grossed out by it. theyre like jesus christ WHAT is she #secreting???? i cant sleep #i started writing this post a minute ago and i already have completely forgotten where the original idea came from?? why was i thinking ab #secretions. im not trying to be quirky i just genuinely cannot remember the genesis of this post

4 notes · View notes

campirebites · 2 years

Note

Aussie anon is very correct, I very much agree (you're popular down here). You are absolutely wonderful to talk to, and I wish I could come home from work and just sit next to you and vibe and just chat. Have a lazy afternoon and make food and eat and just exist.

Also I'm very tired rn and you would make a most excellent pillow.

Maybe I SHOULD move to Australia by these odds I’ll be ruling the country in no time 😇

anyway kids that’s what we call deflection bc I’m actually emo bc yall are spoiling me 😭😭😭 I have in fact been told that my thighs and my tummy make excellent pillows and a lazy afternoon with snacks sounds lovely 🥰🥰

#camsasks #beloved mutuals #genderless-ginger #do I have a secret superpower where I just like bewitch any Australian who dare look in my direction #ahdhjshdjsjss #I’m kiddddinnngg #I did just get home from work and I’m about to make a snack and do a lil craftie 🥰#u can come sit with me while I do craftie and when I am done I will be your pillow <3 #together alone time is one of my favorite (most autistic) ways to spend time with someone #just being together talking when you have a thought but not fighting to fill the silence bc silence doesn’t have to be uncomfy #watching something doing something side by side #my favorite 🥰🥰

2 notes · View notes

plusultraetc · 3 months

Text

one thing about me is that I am good enough at drawing with a reference that it's easy to delude myself into thinking I can Draw The Thing without one at which point I immediately mess it up so bad

#this is about the ongoing present mic resolution #i am bizarrely good at doing the grid thing in my head #which means if i'm looking at a picture of something 80% of the time i can semi replicate it onto the paper #it's like my secret superpower. my quirk if you will #but the second you take that away and i have no points of reference for proportions etc?#oh man. oh no #BUT #that's the point of the resolution!!! onward!!!!!!!#liza blather #doodling while i eat my silly little lunch like man! that is cursed

1 note · View note

alyakthedorklord · 10 months

Text

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

#a few months later GL brings it up #like ‘ha ha remember funny joke’#batman: ‘…joke?’#justice league #😳#yes joke #autistic batman #batman #brucie wayne #justice leauge shennanigans #batman the playboy

9K notes · View notes

tyrantwombat · 11 months

Text

"After seeing the engraving, that smiling face will become ugly."

Should have thought of THAT before volunteering yourself for experimental pseudo-neurosurgery, probably.

Twice.

Yoojin hasn't yet seemed to grasp the bullet he dodged that Young Chaos fixed the MAJOR problem before Myeongwoo had a chance to find it instead, though. Like, could you imagine? Myeongwoo scribbling away on three days microsleep and it suddenly hits him exactly what this was doing to Yoojin's body??? Could you imagine?

Actually, no promises he won't realize what it should have been doing to Yoojin anyway and only isn't by some random ("random") ("surprise backalley surgery with a stranger but yeah sure random") miracle.

Appearing in looming sleep-deprived vengeance in Yoojin's door armed with the moral high ground and adult communication skills.

He's not mad, Yoojin. He's just disappointed.

#290-300 #reading sctir mtl i don't know what's happening #i'm reminded of when myeongwoo very calmly but clearly very upset relayed to yoojin that #he hadn't given him eunhye so he could throw himself into MORE danger #and he didn't like it #and yoojin felt like SHIT #ymw has a secret weapon and it's called candid communication #yoojin has no defenses #no but really and also imagine him trying to reassure ymw that it's fiiiiine now because a random guy he met in a dungeon fixed it #just some random guy #random superpowered guy #just doing some surgery in a dungeon #so see it's totally all right now #ymw would kill him and even hyh would have to be like 'okay yeah that's fair'

1 note · View note

evilminji · 7 months

Text

Oh... my god? Ghost Reporters.

Imagine it. Their office is in the Zone. They literally FEED of hunting for The Next Big Scoop! And Revealing The Truth! Every honest reporter that got silenced for getting a little too close to the facts. The bloody, beating, heart of societies underbelly.

Every Lois Lane that had no Kryptonian to stop some rich and powerful jackals putting them in the ground.

Well Death sure didn't stop THEM! They STILL want answers! But now they have co-wokers. Oh~ and SUPERPOWERS! And best part?

The newly appointed KING is going too and from the living world. That must mean it's okay now, RIGHT? Your majesty? You're not a RAGING HYPOCRITE, aaaaare you? :) 🎤

And... look. Danny knows full well what these piranhas are up too. He's not stupid. But Madeline Fenton raised a lot of things. Fool? Not one of um. That a LOT of reporters with sharp, sharp teeth and bloodlust in their eyes. He wants to half-live.

He compromises. Illusion of control and all that. Yeah, yeah, they all tooootally respect his authority etc. Give them Them Scoop! He, wisely, gets the fuck out of the way. Whoosh! Off they go!

Thats.... probably gonna be a problem. *siiiiiips his morning coffee* But it's not HIS problem. Not right now.

And? Suddenly all these politicians and business leaders are getting fucking AMBUSHED. Oh? You thought you'd get soft ball "aren't I a man of the people. Buy oil!" Bullshit questions? HA! Where were you on June 27th, 1978, at-

And "according to YOUR words, exact quote as follows-"

Just? They BEAT the leader with the STICK. "Oh but you'll lose access". They'd love to see HOW! They can go through WALLS! Answer the question, coward. "Your gonna make powerful enemies!" Oh nooooo, what are they gonna DO?

Shoot us TWICE?

Hey Mr. Family Values! How's the three mistresses your wife doesn't know about?? "No comment"? That's fine. We already have THEIRS. >:D Good luck with your upcoming election!

And like? As newspapers are shutting down and turning clickbait all across the country? This ONE(1) tiny, middle of nowhere town? Somehow has a horrid, horrid, ARMY of Satan's own Reporters. All apparently willing to die for the News. Throwing themselves at dictators and Supervillians alike.

"We see no God here but the Truth" is literally their papers MOTTO.

The damn thing is basicly a BRICK. You get a paperback of news. Entire planet AND THEN SOME. How?! How are they reporting, IN DETAIL, on the break down of talks between two planets 16 galaxies over? Hal says it's accurate. But what Earth paper would even HAVE that information?

And?? The whole town treats this as normal? There are human children, complaining about the weight of papers, because it makes their paper routes a pain in the ass. Soccer moms discussing alien celebrity drama. Farmers muttering over foreign unrest and how it will impact their corn harvest.

Fucking Lex Luthor, clearly deciding to roll with it, coming to sign himself up for a paper. Gaining a new life long Nemesis upon meeting Vladimir Master, whom he decides is both hot and unbearable. Someone is heard shouting "oh god, there's TWO OF THEM!"

And?? Look. Clark isn't MAD. Or JEALOUS. Nor is he in a secret Reporting War with Jerry from the Amity Chronicle. Because that would be petty and childish. He's just SAYING, maybe they should check the place out!

Maybe Jerry is a DICK and deserves it, is all. (Lois stop laughing.)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #Ghost Reporters Au

3K notes · View notes

foldingfittedsheets · 3 months

Text

I feel like I told this tale previously but I cannot find any record of it and so here is the story told once again of the time my betrothed lost sight of their humanity.

I joke sometimes that my betrothed is really a superhuman hiding their secret identity. It honestly tracks based on how often they forget how strong regular people are. They accidentally hurt me just moving around and often overdo acts of strength. I’ve always been pretty waify so it’s bewildering to me.

On this occasion I was sitting calmly on our couch. Our kitchen has a cutout counter so you can see from the kitchen to the sliding glass door on the far side of the room. Between those two points, I lounged on the couch.

“Hey,” they said to me from the kitchen. I looked up.

They held up a mandarin orange, a small inoffensive fruit that didn’t deserve the fate what was about to befall it.

“Catch.”

Now, a gentle underhanded toss could have easily brought the orange to me from where they stood in the kitchen. It could have plopped gently onto my lap if I failed to catch it.

But I think you know that’s not what happened.

Instead, they cocked their arm back for an overhand throw and launched the orange toward me with enough force that I heard it whistle past me. It flew in a blur at high enough velocity that it exploded into a mess of juice and dismay against the glass door.

Not only had they launched the orange fully across the room but there was no conceivable universe that they were even aiming at me, as it’s trajectory was easily two feet away from my placid couch body.

I stared in shock at the wrecked fruit and slowly turned to stare at my betrothed, who was equally stunned. I looked back at the orange juice dripping down the glass, the sad husk of its corpse laying burst and spent on the ground.

“Wh-…. Why?”

They couldn’t say. They had no idea what happened. They honestly thought they were doing a nice toss to me before they committed citrus crimes. But I know they just forgot to put on their human disguise and revealed their superpowers.

#ramblies #my betrothed #funny #ffs foibles #writing #story #story time

999 notes · View notes

st4rtar0t · 1 month

Text

Helping your recognise your superpower

I'm currently doing donation based readings to pay for my tuition fees. DM to purchase a reading!

Thank you so much for your time and energy and I hope you have a great day ahead!

Picture 1

Your lust for knowledge is your superpower. And I know you may think that is a lame power to have but I do want to your realise that knowledge is everything. The more knowledgeable you are, the more mature you become. Maturity comes from a sense of understanding and experience. The way you're always ready to learn new things makes you unique. Some of could be an higher achiver, or your sense of self comes from your academic performance. I think it's good to be knowledge but don't bring yourself down when you don't perform well. Give yourself time to learn and revise.

Your another superpower is your ability to look at situations from different perspectives. You know sometimes our pain clouds our vision making it difficult to acknowledge the hurt of others. But not for you, no matter how bad your situation is, you wouldn't let your emotions cloud your judgement Which is an remarkable ability.

Your faith, whether in yourself, in others or in something greater than us all, gives you strength and resilience in times of difficulty. Your belief in humanity, your trust in kindness and your faith in the possibility of a better future awaiting us uplifts not only you but also the people around you.

Picture 2

Your planning is your superpower. It's like having a secret weapon in life. When you plan, you're like a master strategist, able to foresee obstacles and navigate around them. You can set goals and figure out the steps to reach them. Planning helps you stay organized, focused, and prepared for whatever comes your way. It's not just about making lists; it's about taking control of your future and making things happen. So, embrace your planning abilities, because they can truly make you unstoppable. Some of you could be INTJ/ENTJ.

Your another superpower is your protectiveness. It's your ability to shield and guard the ones you care about, keeping them safe from harm. Just like a superhero, you have an instinct to watch over others, anticipating dangers and swooping in to shield them from harm. Your protective nature is a strength that shines brightly, offering comfort and security to those around you. Embrace this superpower, for it is a reflection of your love and dedication to keeping your loved ones out of harm's way. you may think that this makes you more feminine but caring for the people that you makes you stronger. Your constant transformation is your superpower because it means you're always evolving, learning, and adapting. Instead of being stuck in one way of thinking or doing things, you embrace change and use it to your advantage. You're like a chameleon, able to adjust to any situation or challenge that comes your way. This flexibility allows you to grow stronger, wiser, and more resilient with each transformation. So, don't fear change, embrace it, because it's what makes you unstoppable.

Picture 3

Your love for others is your superpower because it has the ability to transform lives in ways beyond imagination. When you extend kindness, understanding, and support to those around you, you create an atmosphere of warmth and positivity. Your love has the power to heal wounds, mend broken hearts, and inspire greatness in others. It's a force that spreads joy, brings people together, and fosters deep connections. Through your love, you become a beacon of hope and strength, capable of uplifting the spirits of those who may be struggling.

Your powerful presence is like a superpower. It's all about how you carry yourself and how you make others feel when you're around. You don't need special abilities because you are your own strength. People notice you without you having to do anything flashy. Your confidence and the way you connect with others make you stand out. Your presence is like a magnet, attracting attention and admiration wherever you go. It's what makes you truly remarkable.

Your voice and the words you choose have immense power. When you speak, it's like magic weaving through the air, touching hearts and minds. The tone, pitch, and rhythm of your voice can convey emotions and messages in ways that no other form of communication can. And the words you select? They're like arrows hitting their target, shaping thoughts, inspiring actions, and building connections. Whether you're calming a storm with soothing words or igniting a fire with passionate speech.

#tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a photo #divination #spirituality #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick an image #tarot pick a card #tarot readings #tarot deck #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarot witch #tarot community #free readings

470 notes · View notes