The consequences of #capitalism when profits becomes more important than protecting only place we have as home from exploitation so that our future generations don’t inherit a global garbage can. It’s been said that “you can’t eat or drink oil”. The same can be said about capitalism that’s allowing the destruction of our home through exploitation.
Contaminated fish from oil pollution? That’s one example of the future where we’re heading with capitalism.
Anonymous said: Oh damn! More possessive!hero prompts plzzzz!
Anonymous said:Oooooooh! I like the role reversals where the villain is the hero’s prisoner! More prompts like that please!
Anonymous said:Some prompts about how a hero has gotten so out of control that they have to be stopped by the villain? Thank you very much!!
Anonymous said:You did a prompt a little while ago about the hero with unstable powers and how the villain found out about them; do you think you could maybe do a couple prompts about the villain either exploiting this weakness or helping them with it? Thank you for your time!
1) “Leave them,” the hero said. “I have to do this on my own.” Most would find that noble, self-sacrificing, but from their panting vantage point the villain could see the shine of fervour, of obsession, lasered in the hero’s eyes that so mirrored their own. It would have been insulting if anyone else got involved. Not part of the game. They’d been chasing each other for so long now, playing cat and cat. This wasn’t about heroism. The only difference between hero and villain was who got to tell the story.
2) It was a sort of agony, waiting for the two of them to be left alone. The villain wasn’t quite sure when exactly they started reading ‘alone’ with the hero as a dangerous situation - once upon a time they’d laughed at the thought of the hero even being considered a threat. But they were dangerous. Their forgiveness, their salvation, was dangerous. Suffocating. There was no way to fight against mercy, to snarl against kindness, when the weight of gratitude bowed the villain’s head as heavy a ball and chain around their neck. When they knew damn well that the hero was the only thing standing between them and the retribution of a lot of furious people. The worst part? The hero knew it too. And alone, just the two of them, there was no crowd to hide in bluffing and pretending otherwise. And staying alive meant playing nice.
3) Everyone watched the hero in horror as their powers spiralled, wrenched howling out of the chest. The villain lunged. They toppled, skidded, scrabbling. Nothing dignified to it. “Now, now. Stop trying to take my job - take a few deep breaths.”
4) “You have to stop me,” the hero begged. The power lurched violently out of their hands. Their shoulders shook. The magic ate at them, nibbled on them, slashed into the walls. The villain watched the destruction, the devastation, with a hungry and unconcealed delight. “Is this you admitting I’m the only person in the world who could get you on a leash?” They ducked the next swing of power, laughing. Really quite enamored with this savage, magnificent, thing. So sue them, they had always had a weakness for power, and the hero liked to play the role of sheep so very well normally. The villain wet their lips and moved closer, lashing out with their own equal and matching power. Much more controlled, though. Not being scared of one’s own darkness did tend to lend a certain control that frightened light didn’t. “This is me saying you’re going down with me if we don’t get this under control!” the hero snapped. But the villain heard the ‘please’ in their tone quite beautifully.
5) “Come at me.” The hero gaped. The villain raised their brows and made a beckoning gesture. “Come on, you need to let some of that tension out. A way of venting. It’s why your power keeps exploding, you spend too much time trying to control it. Let go. I can handle you, trust me.” “Trust you? I’m not that stupid.” “You’d rather lash out at your friends?” The hero faltered, and then pounced.
6) “You can’t just keep me!” “Why not?” the hero leaned in, and flashed a smile. “You’re the one that kept telling me to be more like you, baby.” The villain fumed, cheeks flushed.
7) “You’re up to something.” “Are you jealous that I’m spending time with someone other than you?” The villain flashed a smirk. Expected to watch their enemy fluster, squirm, unable to bear any such insinuation. They didn’t expect to watch their eyes darken as the hero took several steps closer, tossing a smirk right back. “And what if I was jealous?” the hero asked softly. “What then?” The villain froze. They didn’t have a plan of attack prepared for this.
8) “I created you,” the hero murmured. They looked truly sorry about that, agonized, but there was a hint of steel. “I reckon I can uncreate you too.” “No one’s going to let you just - just -” “You’re a criminal. A monster. I could break you into a million pieces and put you back together again and they would call it rehabilitation. Reformation. A success.” The villain swallowed. Bit back the ‘will you?’ as if voicing the mere thought might give it power. “You won’t do that,” they tried for bravado. “That would make you too much like me.” They stared at each other, each trying to puzzle where the lines were in this new world.
welcome to the elder scrolls V skyrim where you can be a man cat werewolf nightingale dragon but you still can’t stack 2 cheese wheels properly in your own damn house without them flying through the walls leaving destruction in their wake
Originally from the Northern Virginia/D.C Area, hair stylist Allison Varmette made the move to the City of Angels about 4 years ago to pursue her dreams. This 25 year old stunner has an inspirational sense of style and works around the clock to make all your hair dreams come to life! There’s no doubt she’s ambitious, and has big plans for the future… so we just had to meet up with Allison to talk about her life, future plans, and style.
This idea sprung up when @toreishi and I were talking about the scars on Nyx’s glorious chest (I would plant my face and die on that chest)
Of course I couldn’t miss an opportunity to write about, so here it is! Also because I wanted an excuse to write this man shirtless XD
WORD COUNT: 4145
❝See me fall down. Let me die here slowly…❞
Steel-blue eyes slowly opened as the glaive roused awake from his slumber. He blinked and rubbed his lids, allowing his sight to familiarize to the morning light he hadn’t been accustomed to seeing for so long. Usually he’d be greeted by a dark room the moment he awoke. Being a soldier to the crown meant early hours, and it was part of a lifestyle to wake up way before the sun made its first break over the horizon. The dark cold mornings were the dull and a dreadful reminders of the agonising work hours Nyx would have to endure. But this time, with the morning light softly filtering through the sheer curtains, the glaive felt at ease.
His eyes flickered to the alarm clock placed on the bedside table. 9 o’clock it read. The sight brought a beam to Nyx’s lips. Though still an early hour, to the glaive waking up at this time was a rare occasion. A sigh of pure content sounded as he lowered himself back down on the soft plush mattress, surrounded by the warmth of the blankets. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping him warm. You lay asleep beside him, your head resting upon his shoulder while his arm wrapped around your form.
He brought his lips to place a kiss upon your hair. “I love you..” he said softly, a familiar sweet scent entered his nose, causing him to smile.
Stirring, you opened your eyes to see Nyx gazing down at you. “Good morning, sleepy head.” you murmured.
A low chuckled sounded past Nyx’s lips. “Me? I think the sleepy head here is you.”
You too let a laugh back. “Well to be truthful, I woke up before you. And plus,” you snuggled further into his hold. “it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to wake up with you.”
Those words were indeed true. Nyx had forgotten the last time he was given the chance to see you in the morning, In his line of work, a simple concept of waking up to a beloved was still hard to come by for this glaive.
“Is that my shirt you’re wearing?” Nyx asked, taking note of the familiar t-shirt you were currently dressed in. It was an obvious fact that it too big for you. The old shirt appeared more like a dress on your figure as the loose garment fell just at your thighs. But even so, such sight was still attractive to the glaive.
“Maybe.” you hummed. “You left it when you came over a while ago. Why? Do you want it back?” you asked, gazing up at your lover with a smile.
Nyx smirked. “No, I think it looks better on you.” he said, planting a kiss on your temple.
“Good. Cause I wasn’t planning on giving it back anyway.” you smirked in return. “It’s too comfortable.”
Nyx grinned. “For you, I’ll give you anything.” he replied, and captured your lips in his for a sweet morning kiss.
However, sweet soon took a passionate turn when the glaive rolled on top of you. His weight pinned you down, but you paid no mind, the kiss was already enough to leave you breathless. Fingers knotting in his hair, the intimacy deepened, gifting Nyx a blissful hum from you when you kissed back. A kiss, such a usual thing the two of you shared. Yet, the gesture spoke of all the emotions you felt for each other; the love, the longing, and the sorrow inflicted when torn away from each other’s company.
Nyx warned you of that. You knew the consequences and risks of loving a man of duty, but the endearment you felt for this soldier was far too deep for you to escape. And it was this affection you had that convinced Nyx to give this budding love a chance. But even so, it was all too painful. With every new mission came a surge of merciless dread to overcome you and Nyx. Even the shortest missions—usually consisting of a day—was enough to trigger the unbearable fear of not being able to see each other again. How you two still held on was a miracle. But the moments of anguish would diminished the second Nyx stepped through the door. No words were needed to express what had to be said. Just being able to embrace other again, and kiss those words of yearning upon each other’s lips was more than enough.
I miss you. The arms would speak.
I love you. The lips would trace upon skin.
Never let me go. Breathless words would pray.
Such which happened the night before.
“Don’t leave me…” you mumbled again his lips. “Please…”
“[Name]….” The glaive pulled back from your lips. The look you wore was no longer with endearment, but instead dressed in dread. It was a look he was all too familiar with, a look that you’d give him whenever he left beyond the wall. “I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke the words he’d always say before his good-byes. But his voice sounded with evident hesitance as if he knew they were nothing but lies.
“But how can you be so sure?” you questioned back.
Nyx’s eyes widened in shock. “[Name]—” However his response was only stolen with another kiss.
It wasn’t gentle like before. No, your lips felt desperate, almost as if you were pleading, praying for him to stay as they captured hastily against his. Breaths melded in shallow gasps as you parted, only to have you and your lover stare deep into each other once again. The glaive’s heart ached upon witnessing the pain manifesting in your face. It was because of him were you forced to feel such suffering. Cupping your face in his hands, Nyx drew your lips back to his with yearning and desire.
I’ll never leave you his lips seemed to whisper in promise. Even if it was a promise hard to keep, he wanted nothing more than to help you ease your worries.
A soft moan sounded from your throat as you melted into the moment. Your hands began to wander, down from his hair to his jawline, fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo on his neck, until they reached past his shoulders. When you neared his chest, it was then did you feel Nyx suddenly freeze—as if he was in pain. Pulling away, your view wandered to the scars on his chest. You always noticed them, but you never dared to speak of them. With your fingertips you lightly traced the rough skin, following their path as they branched from his shoulder to his chest like crawling vines. You could still feel Nyx flinch even under your soft touch.
“Nyx.” you spoke, lifting your gaze from the scars which marred his skin to his very own. “Tell me about them.”
Nyx froze. It was clear what you were referring to. “There’s nothing to tell you.” He leaned over to kiss you once more, to advert your attention away from his scars. However with your hands upon his chest, you gently pushed him off you. You could feel a soft rhythm under your palm, the beating of a shallow melody—a song that only belonged to a broken man.
“Tell me.” you said again. Sitting up from where you lay you stared back up at him.
The look in your eyes spoke with such sincerity as they bored into his—and it hurt. You had shown so much to him, a world behind the walls of war and destruction and the feeling of being wanted. But here he was still hiding in the shadows of his demons, behind those walls where he lay his life like a meaningless sacrifice—such was the purpose of the king’s blade. He tried his best to imprison the glaive that hardened his soul, to keep it apart from the things that made him the happiest. But he could only keep them at bay for so long. The torment still gnawed at him as they sunk their teeth deep within his heart. God, he wished he could tell you how much it damaged him, he wished he had the strength to show you the reality that was slowly killing him inside. Though at the same time, he feared what would transpire if he did. You swore to stay by his side no matter the consequences, but how true were your words? Nyx knew better than to doubt, but trust was a rare thing in his new purpose.
“I….”His brows furrowed as he averted his gaze away, the sight of you only weighed upon his soul. “I can’t…” He didn’t deserve you, god he didn’t.
“Nyx.” his name parted from your lips, like another prayer he wished to hear once more. Leaning close, your hands you cupped his face and brought his forehead to press against yours. His shallow breaths ghosting against your lips. “For me, please.” He said he’d give you anything, and this was everything you wanted.
You could never gather the courage to ask about the stories of his battles, nor has he ever shared them. But the scars, they had their own stories to tell. The rigid and jagged lines carved upon his skin; fresh and old, told the tales of this courageous soldier, the red painted fields and the tragedies of his comrades—new friends and old—slaughtered before his very eyes. It hurt him to tell, and you knew that well. But even so, no longer could you bear another night when he would come home to you, only to have his terrified orbs—scarred with the horrors he was shackled to witness—to meet yours.
Like always, Nyx found comfort in your touch. Inhaling sharply, he placed his hands on top of yours and brought them down to his lap, lacing his fingers with yours. “It was just another missions, another battle beyond the walls.” he began.
The glaive remembered it vividly. It was just like every other day in the cramped confinements of those dark rickety vans, being transported—like cattle to a slaughterhouse—to the barren wastelands where the glaives would lay their lives on a silver platter like an offering to the Gods, all for heart and home. With no time to second guess, the endless hours of relentless fighting would commence—staining their hands with the blood of not only their enemies, but comrades too.
“We won that battle, like we always did. We sent the Nifs running with their tails between their legs…” Such was a common victory, but a scornful chuckle sounded from the glaive despite the words of his triumph. It tasted sweet against his tongue, but it wasn’t long until that victory tasted of poison. He could feel a sudden hard tug within, like the unravelling of a stitch on a forgotten wound. The smells of the battlefield, the stench of rotting flesh, and the suffocation of smoke and dust entering his lungs, it was all coming back to him.
Nyx snapped back to see you staring back at him in wait for him to continue. However he swallowed thickly, unable to find that will to continue his tale. “I’m sorry, [Name]….I can't—”
“You can.” You cut him off. “You can tell me, and I’ll still be listening ” your voice sounded firm, though there was still a hint of gentleness within. With your hands in his, you gave them a tight squeeze, a gesture of reassurance to show him that you were indeed speaking the truth.
Nyx lowered his gaze, the manifests of hesitance were seeping from inside. But how long are you willing to listen? He wanted to say. They all left when they heard of the horrors, of the man he had become. And yet…. “I almost died that day…” he whispered.
Death. Like a shadowing phantom, it was always there, always following until the moment it would mercilessly snatch even the most innocent lives in it’s ghostly grasp—erasing them from existence. The thought of him ever dying was an agonising pill to swallow. But it was a fact that it was impossible to avoid in Nyx’s life as a glaive—it was for the greater good, as they would put it. But even so, it was a reality hard to accept.
Nyx bit down on his lip. The tugging of stitches on this forgotten wound were becoming more brutal at each passing second, as he reached into his subconscious to rip those repressed memories of long ago. “Those MTs…those killing machines, they got me.”
And the glaive told you. He told you the memory which devoured the man he was born to be.
The gunshots cracked like thunder, forged with the power of the storm as the bullets of the Magitek sliced mercilessly through the air. Nyx maneuverered over the terrain, trying to gain ground between himself and the weapons of the empire. His heavy boots skidded across the dirt and rubble as he raced just in time to take shelter behind a crumbling concrete wall, to hear a few bullets pelt against the ruin instead of his head. He inhaled a heavy and sharp breath, only to breathe in smoke and dust instead of the sweet air his lungs pleaded for. The sweat on his temple trickled down the side of his face, mixing with the dirt and blood, stinging the fresh cuts—such was the fruits of his labor. The echoes of the relentless firing of nuzzles haunted his hearing. Still Nyx willed himself to ignore the deafening sound. Gripping his kukris tightly in his gloved grip he carefully peeked from behind the concrete wall, eyes trying to map his route. He had to move to the next point quickly, but how? From all directions he could see the many firearms pointed at all directions. He could disarm them quickly, but it’ll be near impossible to do so without getting blasted—the triggers were always prepared to shoot.
Suddenly, a red beam of which only belonged to a laser began to point at the glaive’s head. Eyes widening, Nyx quickly ducked back behind the wall, just in time as the bullet hit the spot right where he had been seconds ago. Gritting his teeth, the glaive silently cursed.
Quickly, he turned directions. With his back pressed against the wall he followed its length and snuck his head out from behind to scope another route. Thankfully he was shielded from the sniper’s point of view. Nevertheless Nyx knew his time was running thin. The MTs were due to encroach on his position anytime soon. The very last thing he wanted was to be trapped…or so he thought.
“Did…did you make it out?” Your grip on his hands tightened as they had been doing so ever since he started.
Nyx didn’t reply. But the moment he turned his head away with the tightening of his lip, it was enough to give you the answer.
A warp was all he needed to escape the situation he was in. However as simple as it sounded, the task itself was not. Taking one last glance at the war-zone he was hiding from, he landed on his target—higher ground was what he needed. Twirling the kukri in his hand, Nyx threw his blade with a swift swing of his arm. It punctured into the wall as he intended and soon his body followed suit in a cloud of shattering crystal and smoke. Reappearing in a flash of light, he held onto the hilt of his kukri and dug the soles of his heavy boots into the structure in order to keep his balance. Steel-blue eyes analysed the battlefield before him. From up above he would see his fellow glaives fighting their own battles. The cries of war and the screams of death still managed to enter his ears even at a height closer to heaven. However his time of minimal ‘peace’ came to an end when a sound of cracking and crumbling added to the noises of his surroundings. Furrowing his brows, Nyx glanced up to see cracks forming upon the stone of where his kukri had punctured. His eyes widened, however upon realisation it was already too late.
Time had slowed for moment. Yet his body was continuously dropping at a speed which constricted his throat till he could hardly draw breath. His fingers reached out as if to grab anything to stop him from plummeting to the ground, but he clutched on nothing but thin air—even his kukri seemed to be out of reach. He knew the pain was coming, but the wait felt eternal while his body jerked and flailed as he fell. Then he landed. However he didn’t scream. Instead he groaned in agony, followed by a hiss as he withered from the impact. Wincing, Nyx pulled himself up, pain rippled up his legs and shot through his arm. Bones shifted followed by cracks. They were definitely broken. Limping, he leaned against the closest wall trying his best to support his bodyweight. His gasps of pain sounded like sweet music to the devil.
“Nyx!” a voice sounded through his earpiece. “Nyx we need backup!” It was Libertus, frantic as always.
“I’m a little busy here.” The said glaive hissed back through gritted teeth. The pain consuming his limbs was excruciating. But broken bones were not an excuse to stop fighting. Excuses were non-existent the moment he joined the Kingsglaive. “I’ll….” he swallowed the pain. “I’ll be there soon—Argh!”
His words were replaced with a strangled scream as a paralysing sensation began to spread from the centre of his chest to the rest of his body. Nyx didn’t need to look back to know what had happened. He had let his guard down for a short moment, but it was enough time for the arm of magitek soldier to lunge and spear their arm through his back. His breath had left him, neither could he move. The electricity from the hearts of the machine coursed through his body, freezing his every nerve as it took control of his being. Like a puppet on a string, he began to twitch and jerk violently. The tingling sensation wasn’t like that of a simple zap running through his skin. It felt hot, almost searing as it burned its way through his flesh. And soon, the fires of the battlefield weren’t the only smells that entered his nose.
This was it. He was done for…at last.
“But you made it out alive.” you remarked. “You’re still here. You didn’t die.”
A response of silence.
“Nyx?” You said his name again.
Again, Nyx didn’t say a word. Instead, you felt his hands grow limp against yours, no longer holding back with the warmth you adored. And it was at that moment did you see the life leave his steel-blue eyes, even if he wasn’t dead.
“If only I did…”
The tranquility Nyx felt despite the moment of torment was engraved so vividly into his memory. He remembered hearing the tolling bells from the afterlife in the distance, beckoning for his return. He could still feel the embrace of death holding him, caressing his skin like the gentle touch of a mother to a babe. It was the most peaceful he had felt, and Nyx wished nothing more than to feel it again.
“I thought…I thought I could see them again…” he murmured. “Mother…Selena…” Agony seeped in his words, and it hurt to hear them.
“Every time I enter that battlefield, I pray that this time would be it, that my suffering will finally come to an end.” But reality was cruel, and the gods never accepted him into their haven, even if he was clinging onto his last threads of mortality.
Your heart stopped from hearing those words escape his lips. “Nyx, don’t say that…” you said. “Your life is worth so much more than you thin—”
“It’s not [Name]!”
You flinched from the sudden yell of his voice. Rage simmered in his gaze, but you could see past it. Deep within you could see another man—lonely and scared.
“It’s not….” Nyx lowered his head. “I’m not who you think I am.” his voice was cold, distant and sounded like one of defeat.
“Why do you say that?” you asked.
“I’m tired [Name]” Nyx muttered. “I’m tired of running, I’m tired of being chased by these demons, I’m tired of having my life shredded like a dead animal.” The rage in his eyes depleted into one of despair—a look of one lost of hope. “I just want it to stop. I just want to lay my head down and rest for once in my life. But I can’t [Name]!”
“But you have to try!” you tried to reason. “You can’t give up this easily Nyx, you’re stronger than this!”
“What’s the point?” Nyx refuted. “What’s the point of trying anymore! All I ever do is come back with the same thoughts of these battles, and I wake up to only find out that nothing in my life has changed. Don’t you get it [Name]? I’m still living a god damn lie! I’m alive, but what am I alive for?”
“There’s people who still need you Nyx. You can’t just throw your life away.” you reached your hand out to take his, but the glaive immediately pulled away.
“No one needs me [Name]. Mother and Selena are dead. I have no home or anyone to return to.” Breathing out a trembling breath, Nyx brought his hands to his face, burying his anguish. “I…I want to die.”
You softened your gaze. This side to him wasn’t a side he’d shown you before; it was a side he hadn’t shown anyone. For as long as you’d known him, Nyx was the soldier you’d met that night at Malbo’s Smul Hut. The hero of the Kingsglaive who tried to impress you with his tales of bravery, and the man who took you home and made you his woman, and soon his lover. You remembered him looking so confident and courageous in his uniform; like the hero they dubbed him to be. But when that uniform came off, you would see the damage that lay in it’s wake. Behind the blades and magic, Nyx was just a man, weak and terrified. A man, forged into a weapon by the hands of its king to be thrown into the battlefield to find peace. And a man who would wake up every morning with nothing but the company of his scars—a reminder of the days his life would flash before his eyes. The wounds of his battles would heal, but the haunting memories burned upon his conscious were the ones of eternal.
“Why are you so eager to die?”
“Because it’s the only way I can go home…”
Without saying anymore, you reach out and wrapped your arms around Nyx, pressing your cheek against his neck as you pulled him close. You had embraced him many times before, however the body you held in your arms felt different—it felt frail. You could feel the suffering, his anguish seeping through his skin. Maybe a simple hug wasn’t enough to ease the demons feasting on his sanity, but you hoped it was enough for him to know that you were still here, that you were the someone he could return to.
“You are home, Nyx…”
Words of silence was all you could hear from this broken soldier. But soon his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you tightly towards him. Your touch was what he needed in these moments of darkness—and it was what made him come back to you. He thought you were just another fling, another woman to impress. But it was this feeling of serenity and solace you provided that night which made him come back for more. Your arms were his safe haven–a piece of heaven Nyx thought he’d never reach. And in this moment, it was in these very arms did the glaive within perish. His sobs were silent, but the violent shuddering of his shoulders were enough.
“And I’ll always be here for you to come back to…”
Your words were that of promise that day. Now you stood under the sunrise of a ruined city where smoke mixed amongst the hues of orange and pinks. Such a beautiful sight, yet still grievous in nature. The place of your birth, your home now lay in waste. Yet, here you remained waiting. He told you it was a simple escort and that’ll he’ll be back soon. You believed him like always, and even now you still did. No matter how long it took, you knew he would return to you soon.
[ i thought i knew. i thought i understood what kind of world i lived in. but as i stare at the pile of rubble around me, at this desolation, i’m not sure. i don’t even think i know who i am anymore… ]
[ not my photo. my writing prompt but free for use. ]
You clawed at the dirt, trying to escape from whatever was dragging you out of the manor’s garden. The vine’s grip continued to tighten as you tried to escape, squeezing you until dark spots were invading your vision. This was enough to weaken you to stop thrashing and clawing your way out, making it easier for the plants to drag you where ever they wished you to be. Faint screams could be heard fading away as you were being dragged farther from the party, distracting you from the cuts and scrapes that were littering your body. Your lungs were screaming, burning from the lack of oxygen and the pressure from the vines. You continued to be on the verge of passing out until you were finally released from their clutches, leaving you in an overgrown room. The room had multiple types of flora you could and could not recognize, seeping into the walls and damaging its plaster. You remained on the moss infested floor as your breathing returned to its normal pace, your vision finally losing its haziness.
“Hello?” you asked with a hoarse voice, still trying to steady your breathing.
You stood up, wobbling on your cut legs and looked around. The once beautiful dress you were given now was ripped, stained, and could never be worn again. You silently thanked your past self for deciding to wear comfortable shorts and tanktop underneath the dress. Stephanie would have killed you if she knew that. You ripped off the dress and stepped out of it, kicking it to the side before stumbling towards what you guessed what was the door. When you tried to open it, the plants connected to it jumped out at you, causing you to backup up and trip over something. You were able to regain your balance, but that didn’t stop the plants from pouncing. They wrapped around your wrists and ankles, dragging you back to the door until you were secured up against it.
“It is so good to see you again, (Y/N),” a calm female voice said. “After all of these years, you certainly have changed.”
“What do you want from me?” you asked shakily as the woman walked out of the shadows.
“I want nothing from you my little flower,” she informed you and walked towards you. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” you questioned her. “Why would a supervillain want to help me?”
She smiled, “You don’t remember anything, do you?”
You shook your head and tried to remain as close to the door as possible, but that went through the window when she was only a few inches away from you.
She dragged her hand across your cheek, “You are my best creation.”
“They took you away from me and locked me in Arkham,” she growled and retracted her hand. “They took you, brainwashed you, and made you like them. Don’t worry, I will fix what they have tainted.”
She walked away and waved her hand, making the plants that ensnared you follow her into a enormous crack in the ground that had been covered with plants before. The vines lowered you down the, what you guessed, five story drop until your feet touched the ground. You were surprised when they released you, leaving you with Poison Ivy in a ditch. Isn’t this day going so well for you?
“It has been a day, Bruce, a day!!” Dick shouted while ripping his domino ask away, throwing it across the Batcave, “(Y/N) could be dead or severely injured, and you’re not doing shit!!”
“Dick, we have been scouring Gotham nonstop for (Y/N), but you haven’t realized what is going on,” Bruce explained and pulled up your file. “She’s Poison Ivy’s daughter, Dick.”
Dick stared at the screen of the Bat Computer, looking over the photos that were displayed, “You knew all of this time, and you decided not to tell me?!”
“I knew that she would have found out eventually, but it seems Poison Ivy decided that she waited long enough,” Bruce stated, typing some commands on his keyboard. “If she kidnapped (Y/N), then we’re obviously looking for areas that are heavily populated in flora.”
“What is she going to do to (Y/N)?” Dick asked.
Bruce stood up and pulled his cowl over his face, “We’re going to find out.”
Dick sighed and picked his domino mask off of the floor, following Bruce to the Batmobile. He quietly entered the car and put on his mask. Bruce started its engine and sighed.
“I never meant for this to happen when I separated (Y/N) and Pamela, or for you to become attached to her. She was meant to be sent as far away from Gotham as possible,” he explained as he drove the Batmobile through the exit tunnel.
“Why did you let her stay?” Dick asked.
“(Y/N) cannot physically leave Gotham,” he replied. “I could never find out what Pamela did to her, but her system would start to shut down as soon as she left Gotham’s border. Instead of sending her away, she went through adoption and somehow met you.”
“Gotham is a small place,” Dick muttered and looked out the passenger window, wondering if you were okay.
“Dick, we will find her,” Bruce reassured him and took a sharp turn to the right on the street. “There are only a few locations that (Y/N) could be.”
You gasped as you looked at the beautifully illuminated cavern that your ‘mother’ had led you to. Enormous plants were everywhere, even crystalline structures were spread throughout the cavern. Somehow the crystals provided enough lighting to be able to see, but not enough to completely see. You felt her gently grasp your hand and direct you to another section of the cave, where more plants were moving and revealing something you couldn’t see yet. She stopped leading you and let go of your hand.
She dragged her hand across your cheek once again, “I’m doing this for you.”
She opened her palm and blew a powder directly in your face, making your cough and collapse in a few seconds. Plants quickly surrounded you and lifted you off the ground, taking you to the area where you couldn’t see. They placed you on a soft surface, facing the crystal ceiling, and released your fatigued body. You reached for something to grab onto, but she grasped your hand and gripped it firmly.
“Do not worry my little flower, you will be better when you wake up,” she whispered as the world grew darker. “You will be one of us once again.”
You woke up feeling refreshed, as if you took a long nap after a hard day on a very soft bed. You rubbed your hand on your face, but soon retracted it when you felt your skin shift. Letting your curiosity get the best of you, you placed your hand back to the spot you rubbed and peeled off a piece of your flesh. It didn’t hurt when you peeled it off, it felt like peeling off a piece of dried glue on your skin. You continued to scratch, peel or pull the loose skin off until you had none left to remove. Once you were done, you lifted your hands and found that they were peridot green. Why this didn’t freak you out was a mystery to you, but what you really wanted to focus on was to get out of the space you were confined in. You pressed your palms on the roof of the plant that was holding you, and it quickly opened at your command. Sounds of grunts and clashing weapons were the first thing you heard, instantly gaining your attention. Where was your mother? Was she hurt?
“Mother?” you asked, looking around the cave.
A huge thud came from one of the plant covered walls, a groan following the destructive sound. You silently approached the wall, the plants instantly moving out of your way, revealing your mother cornered by Batman and Nightwing.
“Where is she, Pamela?” Batman growled, tightening his grip on his Batarang.
“Where is (Y/N)?” Nightwing shouted, practically suffocating your mother with his escrima sticks.
“LEAVE HER ALONE!!” you screamed and forced the plants around you to whack them away from her, making them crash against the stone walls around you.
You quickly ran into your mother’s arms and looked over to the vigilantes, “Are you okay?”
“I am now that you are here and yourself again,” she smiled and looked over to the recovering heroes. “We must leave at once.”
“NO!!” Nightwing shouted and threw one of his escrima sticks at your mother, which she deflected with a vine.
She whipped her head over to Nightwing and forced him to the wall, “This is the last time you will interfere with me and my daughter!!”
You watched as your mother suffocated the young hero, but soon realized that Batman was not accounted for. A force quickly pushed you away from your mother and forced you onto the ground, making her lose her focus on Nightwing. She instantly started to attack Batman, allowing Nightwing to recover and pull you into his arms. You thrashed in his arms, but stopped when you saw your mother fall to the ground, unconscious and beaten.
“You monsters!” you shouted before you felt something pierce your skin, making you unconscious for the final time that night.
Scientific Name: Aerodactylus kantoensis Diet: Omnivorous Projected Natural Lifespan: Unknown Length: 5 meters (16 feet) Weight: 59 kg (130 lbs) Locality: Kanto (Pewter Formation), ~155 ma Exhibit: The Hub
About: This rare animal comes from a far off land, the DNA of which we found (somewhat strangely) from a piece of Amber obtained by a scientist working in a local museum. Restored and cared for at our lab, our Aerodactyl is quite… odd. Grey with purple skin flaps, odd crests, and a tendency to fight other pterosaurs, we had to move it to its own personal exhibit.
At Huxley Our Aerodactyl, Flappy, is rambunctious. As previously mentioned he was moved to his own exhibit due to his… destructive habits. Some other interesting notes about him: His tackles can break walls, his breath is destructive, and he loves to chew on everything.
Notable Behavior Loves destruction and expending energy. Very friendly with its trainers and keepers. Absolutely loves fruit. Likes to crawl in and sleep in enclosed spaces, specifically a ball shaped container our keepers gave it.
Geneticist Notes The small tail we found inside the amber contained DNA complete and ready to make, no modifications needed… It was very strange indeed. We don’t normally take DNA from things older than the Pleistocene, but the scientists insisted we do.
Keeper Notes Oh Good Lord Randal… Look, I’m just an intern. It’s April Fools day. My buddy (Randal) thought it would be funny to try to slip this past me as I type up drafts… Apparently this Isn’t a real species, an all elaborate joke that frankly I didn’t get. Thought y’all would enjoy.
“Does everyone know the plan?” Nancy asked, a determined expression on her face as she looked between them, eyes hovering longer on Steve.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Nance, I know what I’m doing. We get whatever the first creature is out of the way first and then focus on the real monster. Lure it into the house, trap in in the back room, and light it up. Just like always.” He relayed the information casually, as if talking about directions to the store.
Nancy frowned at him, looking concerned. “We’ve only done this twice before, you know. We’re hardly experts.”
“Considering the amount of people who have experience in this field, we actually might qualify as experts,” Jonathan muttered quietly, and Steve grinned approvingly at him. Nancy huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes.
Taako fires a burst of spiders at Angus' macaroons, the spiders then spell out BRY on the wall
spiders are less wildly destructive than say, a blast of scorching ray. but by god do they get all over the place. try to redirect your aim as much as you want, kravitz still gets covered by an unholy number of spiders at the end of your date