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REBLOG IF

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I want you to remember:

The fascists hate you too and they just will pretend otherwise until after they've killed the rest of us, before they turn on you.

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

I'M DOING AN EXPERIMENT

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

LIKE IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS DON’T BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

Repost to spread. (Not really humor)

First fursuit is coming along pretty well

So in other news my father is threatening homelessness in the middle of a pandemic. I am currently very sick, they don't know what's wrong with me, I need to pay off medical bills, and I honestly do not know what's going on. He is not threatening homelessness over the quarantine. My younger brother just went to another city to stay with his uncle for several days, and they are constantly breaking quarantine for social hour here because we "live in a small town and don't need to worry." I have been concerned for my safety because I do not know if my immune system is compromised. I need help to get back to Tucson and eventually Oregon, as I have been offered a place there. If anyone can help, that would be really appreciated.

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Story Update: The Pizza Delivery Girl’s Survival Guide to Gotham City

Note: As always, thank you all to everyone  who commented and supported this story. I’m always so grateful for your feedback! I’ll be answering asks and comments in a few days, when I’ve got a little more energy. But I always read them and I’m always so grateful for them! I hope you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying safe during these times! Updated Chapter: Chapter 17: What He Had Not Said

Chapter 1

Story Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let’s face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

For the first time, the Ghost seemed to hesitate, and he took another step forward. Terror rose in the back of your throat, filling your mouth with a faint metallic taste. There was something so frightening about holding a gun to another person and realizing that they were not afraid.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” he said.

You could feel the tips of your fingers pulsing against the cold steel. You reminded yourself that if you looked, there would be no scars.

“Try me.”

“I’m not here to fight you,” the Ghost said.

But his voice was hard, unrelenting. He wasn’t here to fight you, but he wasn’t going to let you get in the way, either. You grimaced, baring teeth.

“Then, leave.”

He raised his head to look past you, towards Red Hood. He looked more human, then. Something more than smoke and shadow. Beside you, you felt Red Hood shiver, as if he was afraid.

“I can’t.”

You saw it a split second before he lunged. You leveled Red Hood’s gun and fired. It felt like a small explosion had gone off in your hands, the recoil nearly ripping it out of your grip. Your ears were ringing loudly, and you watched as the bullet tore the shadows apart. But it was only smoke, the man himself had melted away from the spot. You could see him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop.” His voice was a low hiss, anger barely contained between gritted teeth.

You wanted to shoot him again, but your hands were shaking. How were you supposed to hit a man who could melt into the shadows? How can you aim at him?

He was moving forward now, one hand extended like a claw. A chill ran through you; he was going to take the gun away and then you and Red Hood would be defenseless.

You took aim again.

“Bruce!”

The word was like the crack of a whip and the Ghost jolted as if he’d been struck. In the shadow of the doorway, you saw him: Nightwing. You stared at him, a mixture of relief and apprehension. Nightwing had said that he was friends with Red Hood.

And yet, he seemed to know who the Ghost was. Bruce, Nightwing had called him. The name repeated in your head like a broken record. There was only one Bruce in Gotham that you knew of. The man who played the clueless, playboy billionaire, the man who fooled the citizens of Gotham for years before he was unmasked.

It didn’t seem like such a leap, really, to consider that he might have fooled them again.

But the pieces didn’t seem to fit. You kept the gun trained on him. Batman was supposed to be a hero, Gotham’s hero. The one unshakeable symbol of justice and safety. Even dead, people still whispered his name like a prayer.

Batman wouldn’t use methods that nearly drove criminals to madness. Batman wouldn’t leave something like bat-thing unconscious and bleeding on your apartment floor. Batman wouldn’t terrorize Red Hood. You didn’t want to believe that this thing of smoke and shadows was the hero you looked up to for so long.

Your finger tensed on the trigger.

“I thought you were dead.” His voice cracked at the last word.

Nightwing raised a hand, almost as if reaching out, then let it drop back down. The look on his face was like agony.

“What are you doing here?” the Ghost said.

For the first time, he sounded unsure.

“Followed a distress signal.” Nightwing’s eyes tracked Red Hood, still lying prone on the floor.

He was shaking, you realized. Even with Nightwing here, Red Hood was still afraid. It made you wonder what other terrible things the Ghost did. It made you wonder if Batman was capable of such things.

“How did you get here?” Nightwing asked. “Did you follow Red Hood here? Did you hack into our comms?”

The Ghost was still. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Nightwing’s voice cracked. “Why here? Why now? What about when we confronted Killer Croc and I cracked a rib? Or when Tim busted his head? Why now?”

He did not answer. You felt your arm beginning to ache as the adrenaline faded away. Your fingers rattled against the handle of the gun. Cold sweat ran down your neck. Nightwing looked different now than from all the other times you’ve seen him. The cords in his neck stood out, his hands were fisted at his sides. In the dim light, the blue of his eyes shone eerily.

Nightwing always had an air of effortless strength to him, an easy confidence. But tonight, he looked downright lethal.

You and Red Hood needed to get out of here. You lowered the gun, feeling your arms trembling at its weight. Red Hood’s breathing had gone shallow and erratic. When you laid a hand on his shoulder, you could feel the tension in his muscles.

“We need to get out of here,” you whispered.

But the Ghost appeared to have heard you. His eyes shone from the swirl of shadows that surrounded him.

“He needs to come with me.”

“I’m not coming with you.” Even weak as he was, you could hear the conviction in the Red Hood’s voice. “Not again.”

Not again?

Nightwing glanced at Red Hood, and you could see his expression twist with concern.

“He doesn’t want to come with you,” Nightwing said.

“It doesn’t matter. He needs my help.”

Nightwing’s face went slack, and you saw in his expression something like grief, a quiet kind of suffering.

“You’re not going to let us go, are you?” he asked.

“No. Red Hood needs my help.”

“He’s needed your help for more than a year, now,” Nightwing said quietly. “We all did.”

The shadows seemed to lengthen, move across the walls in a way that was not natural. Tendrils crawling higher and higher as they reached the ceiling. And the Ghost seemed to grow, the shine of his eyes glowing brighter. His figure lengthened, the angles of his figure growing sharper, crueler. His hands were like claws. The protrusions from his head looked like devil’s horns. You could feelyour chest flare in pain, and you struggled to breathe.

Nightwing glanced at you, and even then, you could see him struggling to smile.

“The Clocktower,” he said. “Do you know it?”

You nodded silently.

“Someone will help you there.”

“Nightwing,” the Ghost said, his voice was deep with menace. “What are you doing? She’s a civilian.”

“Right now, I trust her more than I trust you.”

You heard the crackle of electricity as he unsheathed his escrima sticks.

“Go.”

“No.”

The Ghost lunged forward, and everywhere his shadow touched seemed to grow darker. But Nightwing met him head on, blocking his path to the of you. In the darkness, the glow of his weapons looked like lightning.

“Come on,” you said, slinging Red Hood’s arm over your shoulder. You staggered underneath his weight. “We need to go.”

You heard a low hiss behind you, like gas escaping. The crackle of electricity. You did not look back, you didn’t dare to.

The air seemed sweet somehow as the two of you burst outside, the chill of it seeping into your lungs. You took several grateful gulps. Red Hood sagged against you, and you struggled to stay upright as you guided him to your motorcycle.

“The Clocktower,” you gasped. “Do you know it? Is it safe?”

You could hear him wheezing, as he struggled to stay upright in his seat. There was a long moment of silence.

“Red Hood?” you asked. “Is it safe there?”

“Yes. It’s safe there. And…”

He struggled to speak.

“And thank you.” Read more on AO3

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