#actually desperately want to know how every city with heroes feels about them

[fleetsparrow]

OK, wait.

So, you know how if you live in a Known Celebrity City/State people will ask if you know actual celebrities? You know, like:

"You live in California? Do you live next to a movie star?"

My man, I live in actual factual Yolo county, we are nowhere close to celebrities.

That's what I imagine it's like for Gothamites outside Gotham.

Metropolitan: Do you know a Bat? Have you ever met one?

Gothamite: Buddy, I work days, I've never even seen one.

BUT

What about places like Central City, where superheroes are not only known but even have museums?

Central Citizen: Yeah, I saw the Flash getting doughnuts at the 7-11. He's real nice! Doesn't that happen in Gotham?

Gothamite: ...I mean, I once had a week's worth of classes canceled during midterms because Scarecrow took over the science building. I didn't meet him, though.

CC: ...Isn't he a villain?

G: Yeah? We don't... hang out... with the heroes?? in Gotham???

CC: There's no Batman museum?

G: Why would we have a—

CC: We have a Flash museum!

G: ???

[blackleatherjacketz]

Mouthy

Miguel O'Hara x Female Reader

Summary: Miguel has been watching you, and is willing to do anything it takes to get you to join his team.

Warnings: 18+ Only!, NSFW, Explicit Smut, Teasing, Flirting, Kissing, Biting, Blood Drinking, Licking, Thigh Riding, Undressing, Voyeurism, Female Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex

Word Count: 2.6k+

Read more of my MIGUEL stories!

You had been toying with Miguel all night, sparring with him until your sweaty session had resulted in swinging from rooftop to rooftop, leading his tour of your world to an end at the top of your apartment building. Three separate visits to your universe in the span of two months had led you to believe that he was getting desperate for help, or for something else. The first time he showed up was to help you battle one of the more formidable foes of your crime-fighting career, the second to ask you to join his group of heroes to fight off even bigger threats, and the third, well… you’re still trying to pin down.

If Miguel is anything, it’s persistent.

“Give up already?” He chides, denting the metal of the AC unit with his landing as you finally stop swinging.

“Who’s giving up?” You pull the mask off your sweaty face as his head piece disappears without a trace, revealing his gorgeous features and flowing raven locks.

“It’s only midnight,” he points to his watch as he walks toward you, those hips of his sauntering in a way that nearly hypnotizes you on the spot. “Plenty of other threats around the city to be squashed.”

“Then go squash them.” You challenge, tilting your head to look at him from another angle. Why can’t men in my universe look like him?

“You’d like that, huh?” He keeps advancing until he stops just short of you, his broad shoulders towering over you as a light breeze blows the smoky scent of his cologne into your nostrils. As if you hadn’t already committed it to memory. “If I did all the work?”

“Well, you can’t blame a lady for wanting to know if something’s worth her while.” You tease as he closes the space between you, backing you up against the rusted metal door of the stairwell. “Because if we’re being honest, Miguel, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I’m perfectly fine here on my own.”

“I can see that.” His irises glow a fiery red against the white sclera of his eyes, searching your face for any hint of doubt or deceit. Your senses had been telling you that he wanted much more from you than just a teammate, the sound of his pulse quickening whenever he looked at you barely louder than the silence of his stilled breath. He wanted you… needed you almost as carnally as you needed him, and it was getting to be more difficult for either of you to ignore it.

“But don’t you want to be more than ‘just fine’?” He plants his palms against the brick structure behind you, his direct proximity tying a knot into your stomach as the night sky behind him somehow bleeds a passionate crimson hue. You can visibly see his intentions, actually feel the desire as it emanates out of his pores and into the hot summer air, drawing you in with its magnetic pull. “Don’t you want to be amazing?”

“I can tell that you do.” You smirk, prolonging your trance as you trace the bright red outline of the spider on his chest, watching it rise and fall faster with each word you speak. “Not everybody wants what you want, Miguel.”

“Is that so?” He leans in close, his full lips brushing against your ear as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. “Is that why you moan my name at night every time I leave your world?” He slides his knee swiftly between your legs, gently lifting it up the crevice of your thighs until it rubs that sensitive spot between them.

“You’ve been watching me?” You knew that he’d been keeping tabs on you from whatever little hideout he had beyond your known universe, but you didn’t realize that he was paying that close attention to you. How much of your behavior had he actually witnessed? Was he speculating, hopeful, or had he actually watched while you slid your fingers beneath your underwear to satisfy that sudden urge his presence always seemed to evoke?

“You’re surprised?” He jeers confidently, his breath hot on your neck as he draws out a groan from your chest with another brush of his thigh, tapping into your natural moisture.

“That doesn’t really seem fair,” you start, eyes fluttering to catch glimpses of that scarlet sky phasing in and out of black and magenta as he continues to stimulate you. “You get to see all of me, but I don’t get to see any of you.”

You wonder just how far he took his viewings of you late at night; how many times he tuned into his recurring guest appearances in your imagination before you pleasured yourself into a dull, blissful slumber. Had he joined you in your handiwork, stroking himself in tandem, worlds apart, just in time to mutter your name with his release before the connection was lost? Or had he stayed tuned way past your loss of consciousness, hoping to hear some verbal confirmation of his presence even in your dreams?

“We can change that, you know.” He closes his eyes as you run your fingers through his hair, his thick lashes feathering over the shell of your ear as he presses a kiss into your neck.

“You’re gonna let me spy on you when you jerk off, too?” Your breath halts as he tastes the skin behind your ear and underneath your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse to make you pay for your quippy retort.

“Aye, cariño, are you always this mouthy?” He grabs onto your chin in a failed attempt to reign you in, the tips of his protracted claws nearly breaking your skin as he thrusts himself against you.

“You have no idea.”

—————————————

Miguel manages to stumble into your apartment with your legs wrapped around his waist, his clawed hands grasping at your thighs as they desperately cling to his hips. He pulls you up into him as he rounds the corner past your couch, his erection stretching the navy blue fabric of his suit as it grows harder against the drenched mound between your legs.

“You fucking taste like heaven, you know that?” He whispers through a dozen hungry kisses, the sharp sting to your skin and the iron of your blood flooding your senses as he bites down onto your bottom lip, wantonly sucking it into his mouth. That twinge of pain that would have hurt before you got your powers is nothing more than a scratch, a mere tickle as the warmth of his tongue soon counters it. He tugs and pulls every bit of flavor he can out of it, savoring each hint of salt and remnant of coffee on your tastebuds as he nearly gnaws your lip right off in the process, running into every wall along the way until he eventually reaches your bedroom.

“I thought you said those things were venomous.” You worry aloud, just now noticing their size and severity as he tosses you onto your bed with a lick of his lips.

“Only when I need them to be.” He grins and helps you peel your suit off your arms and torso, tugging it down past your hips and thighs before stepping out of his own spider suit with unmatchable ease. Eyes ravenous with lust, he watches you pull the last bit of stretchy cloth off your calves and feet, licking the tips of his fangs again as you toss your costume onto the floor.

“Well that’s lucky for me, then.” You sit up and press your knees into the mattress in order to get closer to him.

“Lucky for both of us.” He slides his thumbs beneath his boxer briefs and exposes what he’s working with, stealing the very breath from your lungs. Before you can comment on how big he is, before you can make a joke about how you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, he steps toward you and places his hand in the middle of your chest, pushing you flat onto your back.

“Touch yourself,” he instructs sternly.

“What?” Your brow furrows. Hasn’t he gotten enough of that through his viewfinder? Wasn’t that the whole point of him coming here in person? To actually touch you with his own hands and taste you with his own mouth? So that he didn’t have to just watch?

“I want you to touch yourself like you do when you think I’m not watching,” he reiterates, standing his ground as he resists the temptation to stroke himself, a single droplet of precum leaking from the tip of his cock.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod, his demanding tone of flattery quickly fueling your actions as it overpowers that inherent sense of stage fright nagging in the back of your head. “I can do that.”

You watch him hold his breath as you slide two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them as gratuitously as you can before pulling them out with a long trail of spit leading down your chin. His eyes follow your digits with rapt attention as you bring them down your body, their deep ruby hues darkening to burgundy as his pupils begin to dilate. You hear his breath hitch as you graze over your hardened nipples, snake your way down your navel and finally smooth them in between your soaking wet folds, exciting the sensitive neurons that have been begging for attention since the moment he arrived.

Doing as you’re told, you spread your juices up and down the length of your lips, catching a glimpse of his cock twitching against his stomach in anticipation, throbbing as you slowly pull upward on your clit. You can’t help but wonder how amazing he’s going to feel once he’s inside of you, your fingers barely able to do his length and girth any justice as you slide them inside your walls.

“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he finally exhales with a hint of a moan. He retracts his claws with a bite of his lip, cautiously touching your bare feet with the palms of his hands before slowly spreading your legs apart as he continues to watch you work. “Who knew your pussy’d be just as pretty as your face, huh?”

You huff in exasperation, too stunned to speak as his grin mimics your smile from the edge of the bed.

“You look even better from this angle, you know that?” Another lick of his lips spurns a trail of kisses onto the balls of your feet as he crawls between your legs, sucking little bruises into your calves and behind your knees; mementos for you to remember him by once he inevitably returns to his own world. You keep rubbing your bud up and down as he advances along your body; his lips, teeth and tongue massaging the skin of your inner thigh as waves of pleasure start building up into your core from both of your tantalizing efforts.

It isn’t long before he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, biting into your thigh once more before looking up at you with completely blackened eyes, your blood now staining his lips as it smears across his cheek. You moan as he takes his time lapping up the scarlet fluid as it mixes with his saliva, dripping down between your crevices as his mouth gets that much closer to your needy center.

Without a word of warning, he grabs onto your wrist and carefully pulls your fingers out of your swollen heat before encircling them with his lips. Those charcoal eyes of his roll back into his head, a deep guttural groan vibrating around your fingers as his tongue surrounds them, the savory flavor of your blood now blending in with the sweet tanginess of your sex. You push them in even further past his blood-stained lips, shivering in arousal as he sucks all the way down to your knuckles, making a sloppy show of licking them clean before finally drawing them out.

“Not so mouthy anymore, huh?” He asks, kissing the palm of your hand before lifting it up and placing your wet fingers into his hair.

“Uh-uh,” you whisper, the heat from his breath sending phantom pulses of bliss up through your spine, leaving you practically speechless.

“Then let’s see if I can get you to make some noise.” He licks a stripe up the length of your folds, choosing not to use his fangs on your most sensitive area as he focuses solely on tasting your raw flesh. He groans into your skin as he licks you up and down, inhaling your pheromonal scent as if your very essence is the only thing capable of sustaining him any further.

Your eyelids fall shut as you allow a few breathy moans to escape your lips, his tongue saturating every receptor you have with such an intense euphoria that it forces your hips to buck up into his mouth. Your grip on his onyx locks tightens as he continues to suck on your clit, pulling it taut into his mouth just like he had with your bottom lip, persistently eating you out like a man starved for days.

“See how good you are at following my orders?” He stops licking you just as you’re on the brink of ecstasy, a thin ring of red now glowing around the rims of his irises. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” You barely have the capacity to ask, your muscles vibrating beneath him with the promise of release that he so quickly took away from you.

His full lips curl into a smirk as he licks your bud one last time, kissing his way up your belly and breasts before reaching your neck, his cock needily bobbing between your legs until it slides inside you without ceremony. You gasp as his girth fills you up with impeccable ease, your slick walls welcoming his thick throbbing member, clenching down around him as he gently thrusts up into you.

“Miguel!” You shout in a stifled whisper, stars shining in your eyes as the tip of his cock hits that bundle of nerves he’s been teasing all night.

“Come for me,” he growls against your throat, all traces of that controlled man fading away as he pins your wrists to the mattress before bottoming out completely, rutting into you repeatedly like a wild animal.

“Mmm hmm!” Your moans echo off the walls in your bedroom as he drives himself further inside your heat, ricocheting off your nightstand and ceiling fan until they dissipate into the air above you, falling down like raindrops as they cover you both. His hips only quicken their steady pace the deeper he gets, sending hit after hit of white hot bliss up into your core until your body can no longer take it.

That wave of pleasure you’re so used to delivering yourself nearly takes you out completely as it washes over every inch of you from the inside out. It paints every cell in your skin, muscles and bones all the colors of the rainbow under Miguel’s hypnotic thrusts, his sweat dripping down onto you in tiny translucent beads before melting into your skin. Both of you phase in and out a variety of shades and patterns as you wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him in to make sure he feels the heightened state of nirvana he’s finally brought you to.

“I can feel you falling apart around me, cariño,” he whispers into your shoulder, thrusting one last time as hard as he can as he twitches and spasms inside you. Lavender paisleys, red and white stripes, olive and orange checkers all slowly fade away to a calm light blue before he pulls out and eventually lets go of your wrists. “You sure you don’t want to join my team?”

[bhaalble]

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

[weirdfangirly]

Fatherless ─⊹⊱ ☆ ⊰⊹─

Dark-Fiction Central ©️

Dark!Joel x Reader

Summery: You offer yourself to a complete stranger in order to survive.

⚠️ : dark content. Dub-con. Age-gap (reader is not a minor). Dark Joel. Mean Joel. Loss of virginity. PiV. Slapping. Reader sees Joel as her dad. Painful sex. Joel enjoys seeing Reader hurt. Reader has daddy issues. Blood. Name calling. Degrading sex. Mention of suicide. Joel is NOT a hero in this one.

A/n: Well damn. If you want more, let me know.💓

─⊹⊱ ☆ ⊰⊹─

What a beautiful day to die, you thought when you opened your eyes this morning. You had spent the night in the woods—just like the night before, and the night before, and the night before...

You didn't dare set foot into the city. It was full with infected and raiders.

Sweat was dripping down from your forehead, even though you wore a light summer dress. Your legs were shaking from exhaustion, you were afraid they'd give in at any moment. You didn't know how long you had been wandering through the woods. Alone and lost. Your stomach was empty, as were your supplies. The only thing that kept you alive was the water from the river flowing through the woods.

Every day was a torment of uncertainty. You wandered between the many trees. You wandered with no destination in mind, with nothing in mind other than to put one foot in front of the other. Basic bodily functions like keeping your eyes open became harder with every passing day. The forest was rough and unpredictable, and you were not dressed appropriately. You were lucky that you hadn't broken an ankle with the footwear you were wearing. Yesterday you had stepped into a ditch and fell, you couldn’t find the strength to pull yourself out of it, so you just lay there and cried yourself to sleep.

Hoping to never wake up again.

Hunger made you grip your stomach in pain. You wished you could just cut it out, so that you didn’t have to put up with the cramps any longer. You had tried to catch squirrels and rabbits when your supplies became thin, but it was hopeless. You felt mocked by them. They led you deeper and deeper into the forest before seemingly vanishing into thin air, leaving you behind exhausted and still hungry. Your starving mind was trying desperately to come up with solutions. At one point you’d even eaten tree barks. Feeling full felt good, but it was short lived.

Suddenly your eyes caught something very promising. You stopped in your tracks, thinking that maybe this was yet another sick joke of your mind…

A berry bush.

Your eyes widened at the mere sight of the thick juicy berries. A miracle.

You ran to the berries. You couldn't remember the last time you had enough strength to actually run, but the mere thought of eating real food gave you the energy you needed to do that. You eagerly started to pick up as many berries as possible. Your hands were shaking in anticipation, your mouth watering, your mind running wild.

You were about to stuff the handful of berries inside your mouth when you suddenly heard the clicking sound of a gun.

*click click*

Your body froze.

„I wouldn't eat those if I were you.“, said a deep masculine voice.

The man was standing a few feet behind you, barrel of his gun aimed at you. The sight of you deeply confused him. When was the last time he’d seen a girl wearing a summer dress?

25 fucking years ago?

„Turn around.“, he said. „Slowly.“

You did what you were told, carefully turning around.

The first thing you saw was death lingering at the barrel of his gun. You slowly raised your shaking hands and looked up at your possible executor. A tall man, older than your father had been when he had passed. His old age didn’t match with his body. He had board shoulders and strong arms. His legs were long and steady. Fit. Invincible.

He looked like someone who would survive the apocalypse. Ruthless.

What a beautiful day to die, you remembered your thoughts from this morning—you weren’t so sure about that anymore…

He on the other hand, didn’t know what to think of you.

“Pokeweed berries..”, he pointed his gun at the berry bush behind you. “..are poisonous.”

“T-thank y-you.”, you stutter, unsure what else to say. You opened your palms and let the berries fall to the ground like little pearls.

It was comical that you were thanking the man who had a gun pointed at your face, but he appreciated your good manners.

“Now, tell me what are you doing on my land, girl.”, he demanded to know.

“I-I didn’t know...”, the last time you’d spoken to someone was your father. Your voice sounded brittle. You cleared your throat. “I-I didn’t know I was trespassing, s-sir.”

Joel had a way of dealing with trespassers; putting a bullet in their heads. No exceptions. He had never encountered a trespasser looking quite like you though. You were clearly malnourished—the gun in his hands weighted more than you. Your legs were covered in little scratches and nasty bruises. Your long hair were covering half of your face like a curtain—he could still make out enough to confidently say that you were too young and too pretty to be anywhere out here on your own. He saw no weapon on you neither. He raised his eyebrow when he spotted your painted toenails…You were wearing fucking sandals. You made no sense to him. Hadn’t you realised in what times you were living?

He could feel his pants getting tighter—which annoyed him greatly. It clearly had been a long time since he’d fucked a cunt when the mere sight of painted toenails and a pretty face excited him this much.

You were oblivious of what was happening inside the man’s pants. Your only worry was the gun pointed at your face. You wanted to run away, but your head was dizzy, your vision foggy, your stomach hurting and your mind running crazy.

It was a miracle that you were still standing at this point.

“Where are your people?”, he doubted you were traveling alone. You were probably just lost and people were already searching for you.

You shook your head.

“Bullshit.”, he spat. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”

He quickly scanned his surroundings, expecting someone hiding behind the trees and waiting to attack him. He took a step closer to you, which made you take a step back. “You gon’tell me that a girl like you is up here all by herself? I ain’t buyin it.”

“I-I swear, sir.”, you sobbed. “I’m…I have no one.”

Hearing the truth hurt. It took a lot of you not to break down crying. This was the first time someone had ever pointed a gun at you and it reminded you of the death of your mother. This is how she must’ve felt during her last seconds on earth? Scared and helpless.

Joel wasn’t sure if he believed you or not. By the looks of your physical state, it seemed to him that there was some truth behind your words.

“What’s in your backpack? Any weapon’s?”, he wanted to know. He thought about making you hand it over to him, but he doubted that you were carrying anything of use in it.

You shook your head. “Just my-my pocket knife.”

“Of course.”, he murmured, getting more and more frustrated with you. What a stupid girl. Walking around like this not even armed. He lowered his gun and turned around.

“Get lost.”, he said, before walking away. “Before I kill you.”

You were standing there perplexed, hands still up. You watched him walk away. He was the first human interaction you had in weeks. Your first human interaction besides your family. You shook your head in disbelief.

He was leaving you.

Leaving you alone.

Leaving you to Die.

Alone with your hunger and pain.

Your only chance of survival was literally walking away from you.

“Wait!”, you called out after him, but he kept walking.

No, no, no.

You started to run after him, almost tripping over your own feet. You couldn’t let him just walk away like that.

You had to do something.

“Please.”, you begged, not even sure for what.

But the man kept walking. His face was stone cold, looking right ahead.

“Please, sir.”, you tried again. “Please don’t leave me alone. I’m…I’m hungry.”

You sounded pathetic to him—something Joel barely tolerated.

“Not my problem, girl.”

You grabbed his arm, trying to stop him from walking any further—big mistake. He turned around in a heartbeat and grabbed your wrist. Your wrist felt like a toothpick in his iron-like grip. His first instinct was to break your fucking arm, but he stopped himself from doing just that, reminding himself that you were just a stupid kid.

Tears started to swell up from your eyes and your plump lip started to wobble. Fear was written all over your face and you immediately submitted to his strength. Knowing it was pointless to fight against it.

“Ouch.”, a sob escaped your throat and you begun to cry. Fat ugly tears started to run down your doll-like face.

He frowned, disgusted by your weakness and himself for finding it arousing…He let go of your wrist and you collapsed to the ground. Your shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. “I-I miss my d-daddy.”, you suddenly hiccuped.

A wave of feelings washed over him. He was annoyed of your showcase of weakness in front of him—a total stranger. He wanted to pull you up and slap you across the face, to get you back to reality. He was angry at himself for feeling sorry for you, just because you reminded him of his daughter in one way or another. Equally as innocent. Sarah never got to get used to the brutality of the world, she died an angel. Sweet and pure. He hadn’t felt this type of emotion for a long time. Sadness. Sarah—No. He shook the thoughts of his past life away. You weren’t Sarah. You were a nobody. Just a stupid girl that clearly didn’t know what was good for her—because Joel clearly wasn’t, especially since his pants got even tighter after hearing you cry out the word daddy.

Sick son of a bitch.

He decided that every feeling was easier to deal with than sadnesses. He wanted to forget, so he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up. He slapped you across the face. Hard. Pain shot through your body and made you shut up immediately. His slap had put you in some kind of shock like state. The only other person who had ever done this to you was you father.

His hit felt so familiar, you almost wanted to beg for more.

“Consider this a warning, girl.”, he whispered close to your ear. “Have you any idea, what a stranger with a gun could do to a girl like you during times like this?”

You didn’t say a word. Your brain was still trying to regulate the pain that was radiating from where his hand had collided with your face.

“Last chance, girl,”, he said, voice dangerously low. “Get lost, before I blow your pretty face away.”

After a pregnant pause, you opened your mouth to speak. “You find me pretty?”

He has called you pretty.

He frowned at your words. Bewildered at your question in a situation like this

“Do you?”, you urged to know.

“I slapped you a little too hard, sweetheart? Seems like you’ve lost you goddamn mind.”

“Keep me.”

“What?”

“Keep me.”, you repeated, now silent tears running down your face. “Take me with you, I’ll be good to you. I-I promise.”

Your words angered him deeply because they sounded so goddamn good to him.

“I don’t want to die.”, it came out as a whisper.

He grabbed you by your throat. If you were scared, you didn’t show it. Your eyes seemed dull, disconnected. You truly looked like a lifeless doll to him. He brought you closer to his face. Observing you intensely.

You were so easy, so submissive. He didn’t know what to feel.

“You don’t know what you are getting yourself into, kiddo.”, he whispered. You could feel his hot breath on you skin. “You will not like what you recive..”

And he was right. You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. You didn’t know anything. Your father had kept you sheltered away from reality. You never left the parameters of your fathers farm. You’d never spoken to anyone but him since the death of your mother. You didn’t know anything about the real world—but you’d read books. Many of them. Romances. You once read that “the female body is the most powerful weapon against a man.” At first you didn’t understand, but now you do. You knew what men wanted…it was the only thing you had to offer to him in order to survive.

He waited for you to say something. To apologise and beg him to let you go, that it was all an misunderstanding and that you were just a stupid girl who didn’t know any better— but you stayed quiet.

He saw desperation in your eyes, behind all the dullness.

Fuck.

He tossed you to the ground like a rag doll.

He was circling you like a lion, while throwing his weapon aside.

The man crouched down and spread your legs. He pulled your dress up, revealing your clothed cunt. He could see the outline of your plump lips through the thin fabric of your underwear. He nearly fucking came just by the sight of it. He tore your underwear apart with a grunt.

This wasn’t at all how you’d imagined your first time to be. You’d hoped it would be more like how it was in your books; with a guy you trusted and loved. Sweet and innocent. Exciting and nerve-wracking. Silly and dumb. Kind and loving.

Sadly, your really looked different; The forest floor was rough and uneven. Sticks and stones poked you in the back. It was uncomfortable. The man in front of you, who was currently slowly unbuckling his belt, was twice your age and far away from being your boyfriend. In fact, he was a total stranger. You were hungry and utterly exhausted. You felt disconnected from the situation—which was a good thing considering what would happen next.

„Fucking perfect.“, he whispered. You watched him stare at your most private parts. You felt ashamed and closed your legs again, blocking his view. His eyes snapped up at you, frowning.

„Open them.“, he said calmly. Chest falling up and down.

The sight of him in a state like this scared you. You nodded, scared of the sudden shift of his energy, and opened your legs for him again.

„Try this again and I’ll fucking cut your legs off.“, he warned.

He was slowly losing himself, losing control. The rational part of him knew that what he was doing was wrong for so many reasons. He was taking advantage of an starving girl. You were young, he didn’t even know how old. Definitely way younger than Sarah would’ve been now had he not failed her...

Stop.

A sudden wave of rage overcame him. This had nothing to do with Sarah. You had nothing to do with Sarah. It pissed him off that you made him think about her while being in a state like this.

You shook your head in dread. „I-I just…I…can I know your name?“

You hoped that maybe if you knew his name that this would feel less dirty, more intimate…

“Shut up.”, he just hissed. He grabbed inside his pants and freed his member. Your eyes widened and you let out a little whine of protest.

It was your first time seeing a man’s cock. It looked unnatural to you. It looked wrong. Thick and veiny. Too big. It was painfully red, throbbing.

He rubbed his hand over your little cunt, sending a shockwave through your body. He then put his thick finger inside you to feel you up.

„Are you scared?“, he asked.

You nodded. Scared and hungry. So hungry.

„I can tell, you’re fucking dry.“, he murmured, annoyed. He spit inside his palm and stroked his throbbing cock—this was all the preparation you would get from him.

Without wasting any more time, he slammed his thick cock inside you—or at least he tried. The size of his cock was too much to handle for your body, your cunt was rejecting him, working against him—but Joel kept pushing, forcing his length inside you. All of it.

Meanwhile, you were chocking on your own screams.

“Good job, cunt.”, Joel praised after making you take all of his cock.

He watched you cry for a second. Your face was painfully distorted and you were holding tightly onto his forearms for support.

“Fuck!”, he hissed. You were so tight, it was almost painful for him too. Almost.

He started to fuck you hard but slow. He was on top of you, holding himself up on his hands. After a few of his thrusts your body’s natural instincts kicked in and your cunt started to become wet for him, making this feel even better for him.

“Do you like it, baby?”, he chuckled darkly.

You didn’t. You had started to remove yourself from the situation by focusing on the branches of the leaves above you. So pretty.

Joel didn’t like that. He wanted you here. He wanted you to learn—too see what happens to dumb girls like you if not careful enough. He slapped you across the face again. This time hard enough to cause your nose to bleed—he didn’t mean to do that, he was pumped full of testosterone and adrenaline.

“I said, do. You. Like. It?”, with every word his hips snapped into yours, hard. Seeing you bleed for him like that only made him want to hurt you even more. Your were so goddamn sweet.

You looked up. Your vision was blurry, but he still looked so handsome to you. “Yes, dad.”, you whispered, confusing him with your father.

You had missed being close with someone. You had missed being loved. You had missed the warmth of human interaction. You were alone and scared for so long now. You never wanted to go back to that—even if it meant to suffer.

Hearing you call him dad, angered him. He stilled abruptly and grabbed you by your throat, making you chocke. “M’not your goddamn father, you fucking whore.”

He spit in your face. How dare you call him dad?

„Say it.“, he demanded.

You tried to but he was choking you too hard. He removed his hand from your throat.

„Your-your not my dad!“, you choked out.

He continued to fuck you, but this time his thrusts were even more unforgiving. His hips snapped into yours, bruising you up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”, you cried out. “Please, ah!”

Joel didn’t care about your cries. It only turned him on more. Your father had clearly never explained to you how dangerous this world was for girls like you. You were lucky that it was him fucking you. It could’ve been much worse for you. You should thank him really.

Joel was fucking you like a beast, grunting and hissing in your ear. His sweat was dripping down your neck. He was hot, yet you felt cold. He kept his unforgiving rhythm; hard but slow.

You didn’t know how long it took him to find his high and finish, but he eventually came all over your stomach and dress. Growling like a wolf. You didn't even realize it was over. You could still feel him all over you.

“Fuck!”, he needed a few seconds to calm down. Kneeling over you and trying to catch his breath. His half-hard cock was hanging out of his pants. He wiped the sweat from his forehead while watching you lay beneath him covered in his hot cum.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw that blood was dripping down from your abused entrance. He looked down at his cock just to see it painted with your blood…

“Virgin?”, he whispered. You were a fucking virgin?

“What kinda fucking virgin whores herself out like this?”, he hissed at you. He was still panting heavily.

You didn’t respond, too stunned with the mixture of emotions you were feeling.

He got up and put his cock away, mumbling words to himself. He picked his firearm up from the ground.

He looked down at you. You still hadn’t made any efforts to get up. Your dress was still rolled up, cunt on display, cum all over you. He felt disgust by his handiwork.

“Get up, girl.”, he said. “C’mon.”

“It hurts.”, you just whispered, looking up at the dancing leaves.

He crouched down and rolled you dress down, covering you up before helping you in your feet. You looked down at yourself, your virginity was dripping down your slander legs. Your cheeks turned red out of shame as if it was your fault.

He cleared his throat. “M’name is Joel.”

You looked up at him and cracked a small broken smile. “I’m very hungry, Joel.”

He nodded a few times. “I know. Can you walk?”

He felt bad for even asking.

You tried to make a baby-step forward and pain shot through your body. “Ouch.”, you hissed and cupped your private part.

“C’mon. Hold onto me. S’not far.”, he offered you his arm and you looked up at him for any indication that he was just messing with you and that he would push you away the second you would touch him.

“Thank you, Joel.”, you said and grabbed his arm for support, looking forward to your meal.

[lexxiie]

can we have lov trio + overhaul discovering that their s/o had been cheating on them? 🥺

When They Think You Cheated

Omg, anon, no! I'm so bad at writing break ups, so I'll change the concept a bit to them believing their s/o is cheating, but she's not.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Featuring: Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI

Tomura is an insecure man. That is no secret to either of you, however, he understands how his insecurities may harm your relationship, so most of the time he voices them out so that you can both talk about them, and you always end up reassuring him.

Today, though, he cannot, for the life of him, think of a way to talk out the fact that you have a hickey on your neck. What is there to talk about? The truth that he ignored was that you accidentally burnt your neck earlier this morning while doing your hair, it would've never occured to him, especially when he was as angry as he is right now, observing your neck, a thin layer of make up attempting to cover the mark, but failing. Why would you even hide it if there was a reasonable explanation? He knew for a fact that he didn't left that on your neck.

As much as he wanted to yell at you and dispose of all his rage, truth was that he was really hurt, and so everything he managed to do was confront the reality with resignation. "Who did that?" He asked calmly, but you could hear bitterness in his voice. "What?" You asked, not very sure what he meant. He looked at you angrily now, it was very clear. "Who's the guy that you are seeing? Or do you just happen to have a different one every now and then? You know, I always thought of you as a smart girl, but it is very stupid of you to let them leave your neck like that, you could've tried harder to hide it." You finally understood what was going on... Oh god. He tried to sound as if he didn't care, cold and indifferent, but you knew how incredibly hurt he was.

You immediately got up and approached him, reaching for his face, but he moved to avoid your touch. "Tomura, look, it's a burn mark, I did it with my straightener, I swear." He looked at you through narrowed eyes, still not believing you. You rushed to your room and came back with your straightener in hand, turning it on and attempting to place it on your arm, but Tomura immediately stopped you. "Are you crazy?" The man scolded you, and you looked at him desperately. "It is a burn, I swear." You repeated. Now starting to doubt himself, Tomura then reached for your neck, caressing it softly with his thumb, rubbing a bit of the make up off. You were right. Oh no. He truly felt like a fucking asshole. The man sighed before pressing his forhead against yours. "I'm truly sorry, (Y/n). I'm so, so sorry." You were just relieved it all ended. He spent the rest of the evening tending to your wound, scolding you for putting make up on when it was still so fresh and kissing your cheeks in hopes you would forgive him. Never again will he act like that, that's for sure.

TOUYA TODOROKI | DABI

Touya sits silently on the edge of the bed as he observes the hotel recipt he found under the bed. It dates a week back, when you were supposed to go on a work trip at a completely different city than the one this hotel was at. Now, he can be very confident some days, and very insecure some other days. This is one of the latter days, evidently. In moments like this, thousands of thoughts run through his mind. Why? Is it because of the scars? But you said you didn't care. Did you lie? Of course you did, who would actually choose him over anyone else? He feels stupid, and so heartbroken. He loves you. He really does, and now all of this hurt has turned into uncontrolable anger.

He stands up and walks to the kitchen, where you turn around to smile at him as soon as you hear him coming, only to be greeted by his beautiful blue eyes contorted in pure rage. He must be a very scary adversary to his enemies. "What the fuck is this, (Y/n)?!" He asks while holding the recipt in his hand, speaking those words through gritted teeth, as if his jaw was frozen because of how angry he is.

"Wait, Touya, is not what it looks lik-" The villain slammed his fist on the kitchen island, flames emanating from it. "It's not?! Really, (Y/n)? Do you really think i'm this fucking stupid?” He is now yelling, very loudly. He starts getting closer to you, and you start walking backwards, trembling. He then takes one more step forward and you raise your arms as if you wanted to protect yourself. Now Touya is the one walking backwards. He would never hurt you, but as he took a step back, he realized that it really looked like it. Did you think that he was gonna incinerate you? Did you think he was about to hit you? The look on your eyes was too familiar, he had seen it in his mother's eyes way too many times. He sighed deeply as he burried his face in his hands. It seemed like he wanted to wake up from a nightmare, and then, as seconds went by and he wasn't lifting his head, you realized he might have started to cry, though he would never let you see him.

"That day-" you started speaking after several minutes, "I decided to stay at a different city because I heard about it being quiet and pretty. I thought maybe I could rent an apartment there, so you wouldn't be at risk. There isn't many people, it is indeed quiet, no one would recognize you, so I looked at a few places. There isn't anyone else I'm seeing, just apartments." Touya finally lifted his head from his hands, and you could see the relief in his eyes, but also a lot of guilt. A lot of it. He got closer, kneeling before you, pressing his forehead to your body, his hands clenching the coat that covered the sides of your frame. This was him apologizing. You caressed his hair softly, everything would be okay.

KAI CHISAKI | OVERHAUL

He trusts you, he really does, but what is he supposed to believe when you tell him that you are going to the grocery store and you lie. He went there to help you in case you had bought too many stuff since it was taking you a while, but you were nowhere to be found. Minutes later, you come home, smelling like men's cologne that clearly wasn't his own.

God, this can't be happening, he thinks to himself. You walk to him, hoping to get a kiss from the yakuza, but instead you are greeted with a cold stare, his lips don't move when you place yours over them. "Where were you?" He asks visibly angry. "At the grocery store." You answered showing him the two bags on your hands. "All of these hours just for that? You really don't want to piss me off, (Y/n). Not more than you already did." Now his tone sounds like a threat, and you get defensive. "What is that supposed to mean?" You ask him. You have always hated whenever he would talk to you like you were one of his men, and he knew that. "Where did you actually go?" Unbelievable. You still didn't quite understand where he was trying to get, but you did know that you didn't like the way he was interrogating you. "Did you go out to meet with someone?" He asked, this time, impatience ruled over his voice. Okay, so he thinks you are cheating. great.

Leting out a heavy sigh, you dropped your bags on the floor and approached the hurting man before you. Much to your surprise, he allowed you to take his face in your hands. "I went out to get you a new cologne, I noticed you ran out of the last one I gave you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but it is in the car, in case you wish to have it now."

God, did he feel like an idiot right now... You could tell that he was beating himself up mentally. The worst part of it was that he felt truly relieved that you hadn't fallen out of love with him yet. Despise him attempting to seem indifferent earlier, he felt like his whole world was crumbling down before him. Kai then took your hands in his, kissing them softly. "I'm truly very sorry, darling." He said sincerly. "It's okay, I should've made up a better excuse anyway." You replied smiling gently. He couldn't help but smile back, still embarrassed with himself. He compensated you treating you to dinner that night. Kai saw himself realizing how strong he felt about you. The sole idea of you leaving made him feel vulnerable and terrified for the very first time in a while. He was going to need to learn how to trust you more if he didn't want to lose you.

KEIGO TAKAMI | HAWKS

The pro hero had a lot of work all of the time. He would get home late very often, many times closer to sunrise than midnight. Of course, it was only logical for you to be asleep at those hours, which was always the case. Except for last week.

He had gotten home very late, but still earlier than usual, expecting to find his lover on his bed, hoping he could hold on to you for a couple of hours before he had to get to work once again, but you weren't there. Naturally, he freaked out, but just as he was about to go looking for you everywhere, the main door flew open. He hid on the bathroom, in case it was someone else, but all he saw was you getting on the bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

He let that incident go. He gave you the benefit of the doubt, he gave you his trust. This despite the uneasy feeling in his chest, however, today, you weren't on the bed either. Now the doubt felt very real. What on earth could you be doing at 4 am? He waited a couple of minutes, until you finally got home. The hero was trying his very best not to break down when he saw you. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this hurt. "That other bed must be really comfortable." He accused, startling you as you obviously weren't expecting to see him yet. "What?" you asked, a bit disoriented. "You heard me." Keigo then stood up from the couch, walking towards you. "How long have you been sneaking out for, huh? Cause this is the second time I witness this already" You realized how this looked immediately. Oops.

"Listen, Keigo, I'm not sleeping with anyone else. In fact, I'm not sleeping at all." The man looked at you confused now, all of the anger he previously showed you slowly disappearing. "I have been having trouble sleeping, so i go out and take walks in hopes i'll get tired, I'm sorry I worried you, yes?" You assured your lover as you took his hands in yours, offering him a tired smile. "But why? You used to sleep well before..." All of his previous worries seemed to be forgotten as soon as he realized how tired you looked, his hands roaming your face, as if they would figure out what had changed. "Yes, that was before you would leave all night, I guess I'm a bit more anxious now." You confessed. He felt very bad for adding to your already bad night with his insecurities. Soon after, though, Keigo managed to change his schedule, making sure to spend every night holding you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't miss you too. As for that particular night, he prepared you a tea and talked about his day until he made sure you had fallen asleep.

MASTERLIST

[ledgerserious8]

Your Blind Home | Bruce Wayne (Bale) & Reader

Warning : Don't copy my writing Don't steal my writing. All rights are reserved for my writing

Genre : Drama Love Confession

Summary : When You're in love with someone who actually around you..

Word count : 1.5k

You was his sidekick you was his partner to protect Gotham from six months and your hero nickname was Shade because you love dark things and black color

But he never let you know his true identity even when he said softly "i trust you" but he doesn't seem trust you enough..

You was in love with someone who actually a billionaire handsome guy and he known by "the play boy of Gotham Bruce Wayne"

Tonight..the both of you was sitting on the building you was eating your red apple He could sense you staring at the picture of his alternate self It was almost like you didn't realize that he was wanting to tell you something

You was looking at the picture of the building it's was showing a photoshoot for Bruce Wayne wearing his black suit and look so handsome into your shiny eyes

So you was just staring at Bruce Wayne, his rich public identity but you don't know he's actually around you How long could he not tell you? How much longer did he have?

he wanted to finally reveal who he truly was to you because he trusted you with everything being into him

"Hey bat" - you whispered to him as He flinched after he heard your whisper

He had been lost in his own thoughts, and his heart was pounding and you was so close, so tempting The idea of you knowing the truth about him was both exciting and terrifying

"Yes?" - He whispered back trying to keep his serious tone calm and gentle with you

"I think i loved that guy from a long time" - you whispered honestly as Pointing at Bruce Wayne's picture

He could feel his heart racing faster with every word you uttered you wasn't talking about your love for the rich public figure of Bruce Wayne

You was expressing your intense desire to protect this man who you believed was some innocent stranger your feelings for Bruce Wayne were real, genuine, and authentic

He had to control himself. He couldn't reveal his secret identity without revealing that HE WAS THAT MAN

"Bruce Wayne?" - he whispered under the mask as looking at you waiting for your response

"Yeah but i don't think that billionaire guy want hero like me" - you explained calmly and he still listen to you carefully

"He want normal person maybe rich woman and more prettier than me you know" - you added softly but your tone get sadder

His heart broke into a thousand pieces. You think you're in love with a man you doesn't realize is actually him

You think you're in love with a man who you believes doesn't give you a second thought He desperately wanted to tell you the truth

He desperately wanted to reveal that he was that same man in whom you so passionately loved

"I believe this guy now is snoring on his bed" - you explained angrily as taking another bite from your apple

But that guy was actually beside you..

He tried not to laugh, but your imitation of his snoring was too funny you was so playful, so innocent

He wanted to hold you in his arms and protect you from all the evil that Gotham City had to offer even when you're a heroine

You was so pure, so genuine for him

You hadn't even realized that both of them were looking at the same view of Gotham City you was so focused on the picture of Bruce Wayne, he knew you wasn't even aware that he was actually that same man

You looked at him under your shade mask and handed him one of your apples your kindness and thoughtfulness touched his heart

He had never experienced an act of generosity so genuine as He took a bite of the apple, the sweet taste reminding him of his own affection for you

He was so overwhelmed with feelings of admiration, of affection, of sheer longing for you so much

You had no idea how much he loved you. How much he wanted to confess his feelings for you. But the fear into his heart was stopped him

The fear of trust someone then get hurt..

"But i know he will reject me and even if i said okay it would be not true" - you whispered honestly as He hated the fact that you believed that he would reject you

The rich public image of Bruce Wayne might not want you, but he was not the public image he wanted you in his two images the billionaire guy and the batman

He wanted you more than anything He wanted to kiss you and take away all insecurities you had He wanted to confess his feelings to you, to express how special and unique you was.

"Can i ask you something?" - he whispered huskily making you nodded to him silently

He took a deep breath This was the moment, his only chance to confess his feelings before the mission was going to start

He had to resist the urge, though. He couldn't afford to risk blowing his secret identity just yet He had to keep his voice calm and clear when he finally spoke

"Have you ever wondered if the guy you're in love with really is that cold and unfeeling billionaire he portrays?" - he explained calmly as keep looking at you

"Or if he's capable of loving with a pure and intense passion?" - he added softly

"No i don't think because he doesn't know me or see my true identity like you" - you explained calmly your point of your view

"Do you mind if I tell you a secret, something nobody else in this world know?" - he asked as looking at you making you nodded again

He wanted to confess his feelings for you, to let you know that he loved you, that he would never reject you

But this secret, this secret revelation would blow his secret identity This was a dilemma beyond any Batman had faced in his years as a hero

Suddenly he cupped your face by his gloves hands and put his lips against yours, he kissed you with all his passion and love and he didn't even wait for your permission

Because he can feel you kissed him back

He pulled away from the kiss slowly but he still close to your face making his warm breath hitting your skin A faint smile crossed his lips He was about to give you the last piece of the puzzle.

What you needed to grasp the enormity of the situation He needed you to see it

"The person behind this mask," - he whispered softly - "is the guy you're in love with."

He paused, trying to read your reaction but he can see your shiny eyes start to widen

"Wait so i was joking about you snoring not knowing it's you" - you whispered with widen eyes making him nodded silently as smirking

Your shock and surprise was both endearing and amusing He couldn't contain the small snicker that escaped him at your reaction

So you really hadn't noticed Batman is that Bruce Wayne who was the one you loved all along

your innocence was both charming and endearing He tried to hold back his laughter as he waited for you to recover from the shock and surprise and let it sink in

You take your shade mask off making him take his bat mask off it's not the first time he see your face but it's your first time to see Bruce Wayne in his batsuit and without mask

"I love you" - you whispered honestly and it's made him smiled warmly at you

"Me too with every fiber in my being" he whispered back honestly to you his voice filled with emotions And passionate

And suddenly you hugged him tightly with all the power you have This was better than he could have imagined you accepted him for who he was, for the true identity that he had spent so much time hiding beneath the public figure of Bruce Wayne

you wasn't afraid of the danger, or of the challenges in this relationship you embraced him and his identity, both Batman and Bruce Wayne

He started to hold you tightly in his arms and never let go, to take you under his protection and keep you safe like he's your home..

Your Blind Home

[celaenaeiln]

opinion on songs from Moana being used for dick? (Eg. How far I’ll go, Where you are and I am Moana)

Let's do this!

How Far I'll Go

How Far I'll Go is my guilty pleasure!

Listen, I'm so happy that Dick adores the stuffings out of family and friends and loves them with all his heart but please, I just need one self-indulgent piece of writing where he just abandons everything, takes a break, and goes on a long self-discovery journey via a roadtrip or something. Sometimes I feel like he's too busy being a part of everyone else's self-discovery journey that he doesn't get to enjoy what he wants to do. How Far I'll Go is a cumulation of Dick being the leader and taking on the leadership role while sacrificing his own needs. The lyrics express a longing for exploration and pushing boundaries, which also aligns with Dick's journey from Robin to Nightwing.

Furthermore, Dick Grayson's robin is characterized by a sense of adventure and exploration-

Detective Comics (2016) Issue #1000

literally.

And this need for adventure is what Moana and this song is all about. It's a craving, a desperate urge to go beyond the known and explore. Dick's known for his willingness to explore new territories, both physically and emotionally, often venturing into the unknown to protect his city and his loved ones.

The song is also about his desire for independence because like Moana, Dick Grayson grapples with his desire for independence while also feeling a sense of duty to his family and community.

It's actually a cycle. In the song it goes-

Every turn I take, every trail I track Every path I make, every road leads back

-and this is just a reflection of Dick's internal conflict between his personal aspirations of happiness and living his life vs his responsibilities as a hero and his duties as a leader of his community and the pillar of his family.

Where You Are

Where You Are is literally what I think Bruce wishes he could do to Dick lol. Except he's acting as the village and the father, not the grandma.

Don't walk away Moana, stay on the ground now Our people will need a chief, and there you are

These lyrics in particular -

🤌

*takes a deep breath in*

Now why does this sound familiar? :/

oh right, Bruce tells Dick that he needs a Batman whenever he's gone and he also tells Dick that his place as Robin is by Batman's side. This is also practically word-for-word what Cass says to Dick about his responsibilities of Batman.

Mainly this song is about sacrificing personal ambitions and desires to fulfill your duties.

That's right, we stay We're safe, and we're well provided And when we look to the future, there you are You'll be okay In time you'll learn just as I did You must find happiness right where you are

I don't think this song really needs any more explanation about how it's related to Dick because Dick's life practically embodies this song. It's sacrifice upon sacrifice he's done in order do his duties as Dick Grayson and Nightwing. This is his Eldest Daughter Syndrome song.

(Also just realized that without the background music this song is creepy af. Imagine the batfam singing the lines to him in a dark room where he hallucinates them. It's like a gothic horror story.)

I am Moana

Ooof. "I am Moana" is Dick Grayson's contant identity crisis song. In like every comic he's like "I was robin, I was nightwing, I was amnesic, I was Agent 37, I was Batman. But now I know that I am Dick Grayson."

Look at the lyrics-

I know a girl from an island She stands apart from the crowd She loves the sea and her people She makes her whole family proud Sometimes the world seems against you The journey may leave a scar But scars can heal and reveal just Where you are

The people you love will change you The things you have learned will guide you And nothing on earth can silence The quiet voice still inside you And when that voice starts to whisper "Moana, you've come so far" Moana listen, do you know who you are?

Who am I? I am a girl who loves my island And the girl who loves the sea, it calls me I am the daughter of the village chief We are descended from voyagers Who found their way across the world They call me

I've delivered us to where we are I have journeyed farther I am everything I've learned and more Still it calls me

And the call isn't out there at all It's inside me It's like the tide Always falling and rising I will carry you here in my heart You'll remind me That come what may I know the way

I am Moana!

Just replace girl with boy, add correct context, change Moana to Dick Grayson and boom! There you have him. "I am Moana" is Dick's Agent 37 arc.

Grayson Issue #1

"Dick, you've come so far" Dick listen, do you know who you are?

Grayson Issue #20

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Cusick Weisflog [Magic and Cannons @thedailyvio]

Cusick is a disease mage, and the first of his kind in his world. Through sheer determination and years of work, he developed a staff capable of creating diseases from nothing. Rather than patent and sell the technology for a profit, he decided to sell his services to his country and employ it for the purposes of war. Despite his desire to be the envy of the world, he tends towards isolation. He lives in a hut in a swamp to ensure nobody can contact him or disturb his work. Despite his staff being his most impressive piece of work, his real pride lies in the rats he’s been breeding and modifying since he was in his early teens. He has a horde of them, each the size of cat, carefully training them and seeing to their health. Cusick is easily described as narcissistic, motivated mostly by the hope of recognition and enduring spite. He believes people mostly ignore him out of jealousy or stubborn refusal to admit they were wrong. He considers humanity to be of little value, but he is clearly the best of them, so it would only be right for him to be acknowledged! He doggedly spends years of his life in the pursuit of this alone. He is well into adulthood by the time he makes his first real friend who challenges much of his worldview by being the exception to every rule he’s constructed in his own mind.

Connell [Strahliana @egglygreg]

Conell is twenty three and has trained in combat since he was very young. From 15 he was a member of the city guard. His father Casimir had great hopes for him being appointed to the official position of Hero of Strahna, and put enormous pressure on him to achieve that goal. Unfortunately for Conell, Ahleri finds the legendary Hero's Bracers that were lost for 150 years and she is automatically appointed to the position instead. His father is absolutely furious about it, and sets Conell up as Ahleri's rival, convincing his son to pretend to be nice to her but undercut her at every turn. Poor Conell tries to be competitive and adversarial towards her to please his dad, but his nature is too friendly and he ends up one of Ahleri's closest friends. Conell is pretty dorky and goofy, and he gets along well with basically every person he meets, and is deeply empathetic and compassionate. Despite his easygoing nature he's a formidable fighter and tends to be good at anything he tries. In contrast to his fighting prowess, Conell is terrible at dealing with conflict and cannot cope with people being mad at him, and has a lot of trouble maintaining boundaries. He is intelligent and has strong innate morals but is easily manipulated and a bit gullable. His actual passion is music and he loves his guitar, but since his father wanted him to be a fighter, that's what he spends most of his time on. When he becomes Ahleri's guard and gets to leave town he fully embraces his new freedom, and loves learning new practical skills from Ahleri. He kinda becomes a bit of a gremlin with his new freedom for a while, which annoys Zhahara and greatly amuses Ahleri. Zhahara is his cousin and the two get along well (although Zhahara does often find him exasperating, and feels she is the more mature one of the two). Zhahara desperately wants to chop off his mullet, but he loves it, and loves how much his cousin hates it. She's the only person he doesn't worry about pleasing, because he feels secure with her and knows she'll love and forgive him no matter what he does. If someone manages to make him genuinely angry, he is downright terrifying.

[privatebooth]

All these talks about the new Dragon Age game are making me nostalgic.

I remember how when DA2 was being made there was so much hype, and I was not thrilled at all. Origins left such a strong impression on me, I hated the idea of moving on to something different. Change was always difficult for me to accept, any change. I know a lot of people didn't want to part with their wardens, there's nothing original in that, but...

I hated Hawke before he even came into existence. I only wanted to see more of my Warden and Zevran who turned my world upside down.

Instead, they made this new character who spoke and had a semblance of an actual personality which I couldn't even control!

Then Bioware started feeding us little snippets of the game, and I saw the grumpy little brother, obviously displeased with his life, which pretty much instantly endeared him to me, and I thought I could try playing this game just to make him smile. Also, I really liked Nicholas Boulton's voice, and didn't mind hearing more of him (my Warden was a city fem elf, so I thought working with him would be fun).

The demo came out when I more or less started to come to terms with the fact that I'll never see my warden again, but may still hear something about her, and I was desperate for something. I played with all combinations of classes and genders, absolutely hated the gameplay - still do, loved being a rogue in DAO, but here it makes me want to smash my keyboard - but was very happy to find that mages are much more fun to play now, since I wanted to have Carver in my team.

Okay, but I still hated Hawke. I didn't know anything about his story, didn't care to know, and I told him right away "You will fail". I really didn't want him to succed, there was no way he could ever compare to HOF, who solved every single problem, saved every single soul she could save, and befriended everyone she ever met. The icon of diplomacy and efficiency, with just enough arrogance to be lovable (cocky elf voice FTW!) I still miss her so much.

The good thing about not caring too much about this guy was that I actually allowed Hawke to be human. I didn't feel pressured to play the hero who must always make the right choice. He was allowed to make questionable decisions, to fail, it was expected of him. I didn't want a lousy wannabe superhero. Can't persuade that angry Dalish elf on Wounded coast? That's okay, Hawke, you're not the Warden - she definitely could have talked her down. A crowd of weary Fereldans protecting Anders? Carver, you go talk to them.

On and on, it became more apparent that Hawke's story would not be as glorious as the Warden's, and he won't be as much of a hero. He truly was just a guy who was trying to get by and take care of his family and friends. No ambition to fix the world and save everyone.

The Warden remains an unachievable ideal I can only dream of emulating.

Hawke... he is so much more relatable, and a lot closer to me than any Bioware char will ever be. I love him so much.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hmmmmm how about villain trying to calm down hero (who's so fed up w/ their job, snapped and tried to kill v nearly 5 minutes ago)?

“You’re a bit of a psycho, don’t you think?” It only added fuel to the fire which the hero was right now, forming two very, extremely, small pupils and a death stare that was in the last stage of actually working on the villain. They held up their hands in defense. “Just saying.”

“Psychopath doesn’t even mean crazy, you dumb fuck,” the hero spat before they punched the villain again, this time harder, hard enough for them to take a few steps back and hold their bloody nose. It wasn’t enough to wipe that smirk off their face, though.

“Gosh, someone didn’t have a good night,” the villain said, laughing as the blood ran down their fingers. They probably looked a little unhinged like this but they had also shot some politicians on live TV earlier this year…it couldn’t really get worse than that, could it?

“I’m gonna skin you alive,” the hero promised.

“I doubt you have the expertise to do that, but it would be cute to see you try.” The bleeding had only just begun but the villain lowered their hands and grabbed one of the many hidden knives their suit offered. “This is fun.”

Though the hero delivered another hard blow, the villain managed to block and twist their arm, putting enough force into it to make the hero hiss in pain. The villain smiled to themselves when they managed to disarmed their enemy and hold them close, arms pinning their bodies against each other. The hero was strong but they were also a very simple person. Predictable fighting patterns usually occurred after a while in battle.

Adorable, really. But not beneficial for winning.

Blood from their nose dropped onto the hero’s shoulder.

With a hum, the villain pressed a blade against the hero’s throat but despite the struggle, nothing happened, the hero’s back was touching the villain’s chest. Cursing, the hero tried to wiggle themselves free.

“You’re a feisty kitten today. Love it.”

“Fuck off,” the hero replied. However, the villain only chuckled and pulled them closer.

“So tense today, darling. What’s gotten you all worked up?” The hero continued to struggle but the villain could tell their fight lost its spark as exhaustion overwhelmed them. Weakly they clawed at the villain’s arm and let the back of their head rest on the villain’s shoulder. It was more like their fingers dug into them to stay on their feet but the villain thought that to be quite impossible right now.

“I hate you,” they whispered.

“Congrats, get in line,” the villain joked but only silence echoed. The hero stopped the theatrics and stilled, somehow holding onto the villain in a desperate manner.

“They killed my sidekick,” the hero said and the shaking of their voice turned into a broken melody. “Suicide mission. They killed them.”

Oh.

“Christ—” The villain let go of them and when the hero turned around, the villain saw the tears rolling down their face. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want this,” the hero said. “I don’t know if I want to kill every single person in this city or if I want to forget and move on. Eating is difficult. Stop eating is difficult. I don’t know what’s going on. I feel this anger all the time and it makes me sick and it exhausts me.”

The villain knew that feeling all too well. After losing their first sidekick, they had decided to never work with anyone ever again. They knew the hero had successfully trained two sidekicks already.

One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a funeral.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said. “I’m really sorry.”

“I want to quit.”

“I don’t want you to.” The hero shot them an evil gaze.

“It’s not about what you want. It’s about what I want.”

“But if you’re quitting, I’m quitting and then I won’t have a job anymore,” the villain said. The hero seemed agitated again which was definitely better than being sad. Grief was messed up and the villain preferred being angry. “I need this job.”

“Then don’t quit?!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Not everything is about you.”

“Alright. Revenge. We kill those who killed your sidekick,” the villain suggested and the hero…froze. Eyes wide, mouth open, very much quiet. “We work together and make them pay.”

They had never thought they’d say these words ever again.

[simplesoup]

Friends don’t know the way you taste

Eijirou kirishima/blood riot x GN y/n

kidnapping it’s sad I think idk? Wrote if to read on my podcast enjoy simps lol

Red Riot a name that brings back sweet memories butterflies the fill your stomach and threaten to leave if you blink to fast

the red spiked hair and sharp toothed grin those red velvet eyes that look nothing but innocent

he’s sweet gentle just with a rough exterior and a good personality

who could ask for a better friend?….

wake up….

WAKE UP!

you sit up looking around in a panic tears almost filling your eyes…. Why… why had the world been so cruel you could only dream about your best friend god you missed him the two of you did everything together well until…

that day…

A day that made you wish you had been stronger more ‘manly’ you should have been there for him! Caught that damn building sure you would have been crushed just like him but at least you wouldn’t be here crying and masking your pain

everyday was like a reminder of what you had lost seeing the people hugging holding hands and laughing genuinely made your blood boil

Ejijrou’s death had broken you and the hero commission had done nothing to heal your wounds

they probably wouldn’t have even given you the time off if you hadn’t made such a huge fuss about it

how could you not? You watched your best friend die! Get crushed by that building you spent hours kicking rocks throwing rubble trying desperately to find his body

you held out hope… hope he was still alive…hope not even the others had…

A sob broke you from your trance reaching to your face you wiped tears from your eyes and sighed getting changed into you hero costume

you wanted to get away from this life… flee from this sick society we’re your only famous if your dead or number one…. What a joke…

who were you? A nobody… a hero who lost a friend and can’t get over them self

you brushed out your H/L hair and looked in the mirror wiping the newly formed tears away and getting yourself ready trying to appear as if you hadn’t been crying as if you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep every night since the incident….

How long had it been? How long has it been since you’ve had a good nights rest without tears? You couldn’t remember… everything felt like a blur. It felt like just yesterday that whole incident had happened.

You wish it would stop playing on loop the world would just go silent and you could finally rest easy.

you walked out of your apartment and into the night of the city heading towards the place you called heavens corner of hell… aka the alleys

Ever since that day you stopped doing day shifts, you didn’t want to be in the public eye no more avoiding people seemed like a great idea.

you walked down the dimly lit alleys it was boring but when wasn’t it boring? It’s not like you actually did anything…. You didn’t care.. you weren’t gonna step in stop a villain… no why should you? The heroes didn’t do their job and safe kiri so why should you do yours?

The dirt and cement was the only sound you heard every time you took a step it was a rythum one that you had grown more then accustomed too.

the chilly night air caused you to shiver as you turned into a new alley not quite prepared for what you had stumbled into

the newest and most dangerous villain on the list Blood Riot

you stopped in your tracks looking at him but before you could back away tucking yourself back into the safety of the dark alleys he noticed you showing off a sharp toothy grin you knew all to well

“E-Ejijrou?…” the world felt like it was spinning were you finally going crazy? Is this what death feels like?…. It all suddenly went black

‘If this is really the end…. Then show me to the door take me and let me fly…. I don’t wanna be here anymore…’

when had the world stopped making sense?….

I woke up gasping for air looking around in a panic this wasn’t my bed… that’s when my eyes landed on him “Kiri…” I started crying immediately

He walked closer to me! He was real! He’s alive!

“Y/N…. Your a mess baby… but it’s gonna be alright your safe..”

safe?.. what’s he talking about what’s happening am I dreaming… no if this is another dream it’s truly sick and twisted

“B-Baby..? Ejijrou your alive!- I god I’m so glad you’re ok!- I’ve bee-..” he cut me off

“No no there’s no need to speak darling daddy’s here and I promise no one will ever EVER even breathe on you~”

what the hell is happening!? This isn’t kiri!? Why is he talking like that saying that!? We… we were just friends right…. Best friends nothing more

“W-what are you saying…” you muttered you voice just barely above a whisper

“I love you and your mine Y/n never gonna let you go again…”

“What?… no Red!- we’re just friends!-…”

without missing a beat he walked closer chucking like a maniac “Oh pebble~ friends don’t know the way you taste~” with that he roughly brought you into a kiss one that soon turned sloppy

“You taste so sweet baby~”

[trulycertain]

Tedium

A study of early game Lora and Astarion, and the absolute mess that was. Developing mostly-good bard Tav/Astarion, with so much arguing. 1.6k.

Lora has always found small, petty bastards boring - the kinds who tried to make her and so many others' lives a misery in the city. They've just got so little imagination. Their excuses are all the same, it's just a matter of scale. Even if they pretend to be misguidedly noble, the self-interest slips through eventually. Evil in stories is grand, elegant, tragic. It has really good tailoring. Evil in real life? It's banal, grey or mud-soaked, and seems to take place in offices half the time, for some reason. Good, that cheap, trite thing in too many stories? In reality, it's a sudden sparkling surprise every time it happens; Baldur's Gate is not a place known for being gentle. People are more beautiful when they do a good thing. The sky is brighter, the grass just a little bit greener.

Astarion is small, in the sense of both generosity of spirit and actual stature - it's not her fault that she's six foot two and that he gets so irritated when she sees something over the top of his head. She's not doing it on purpose. Mostly.

He's incredibly petty. (“Oh, I'm sure she's just a delight at parties,” he says of the druid guard who's stopped them at least twice, thinking they might be refugees. “Refugee? Me? Have they seen this thread? Have I a pair of horns and an air of pathetic desperation? Just because I didn't know that dirt-encrusted branches were apparently ‘in’ this week...” Finger-quotes and everything. Lora might have snorted at that. He catches her; he raises an eyebrow in response, but with the tiniest pleased tilt to his mouth.)

And he's definitely a bastard. He's happy to leave the tieflings to die - happy to leave anyone to, it seems. She has to take a deep breath at that, but there are the pressing time constraints of soon turning into a mindflayer; no wonder he wants to get straight to healers and the creche. Good intentions won't mean much if you turn into a squid mid-fight and end up killing or kidnapping all the refugees anyway. She tries hard to bear that in mind while he sighs melodramatically, as if helping people is an inconvenience that might lead to his breaking a nail, and she glares at him. He delights in a holy relic being stolen - but with something like genuine approval of the tiefling child's bravery, somewhere under all that. And he's not wrong that all this self-righteousness about not interfering in nature is a bit rich when you're very intentionally turning people out to the mercy of raiders. But that's all he's right about.

A small, petty bastard. All that's true, and real. So why does she keep talking to him? Why isn't she bored? Angry, most of the time, and amused, sometimes, but not bored.

If Lora knows one thing, it's a narrative. Retellings wear grooves in the dirt for a reason; it feels like there's a way some stories have to wrap up. She knows exactly how it would have ended if she'd met Astarion before the tadpole. A cruel vampire too well-oiled by half, who seemed to delight in death and blood? One of them would have ended up dead, the other with a twist of satisfaction - his at having survived another day and, as a bonus, shut up a pompous hero type; hers at having taken someone that dangerous out of the world, even if she'd have completely missed the master pulling the strings.

Later, when she realises she's been imagining completely the wrong backstory for him, she thinks of the Grove again. Of being free for the first time in two hundred years, finally able to walk in the sun, and losing it in minutes because your leader ran headfirst into a battle.

Hells, she hates when he almost makes sense. It makes her dust off her moral compass for a quick check.

Still, he meanders up to her - to poke her, to tease and taunt, but sometimes just… to ask questions. Feeling for her weak spots, probably, but there's a cheerful curiosity in his eyes that seems genuine when he asks her how she learned to play the lyre, what her other instruments are. It's a rare moment of peace in between their mutual arguments. He plays it off soon enough with some comment about her being good with her hands and an eyebrow-waggle, but the questions were real. He prods her to see what falls out and she… lets him. If anything, she does the same. And she still isn't bored.

He delights in bloodshed and mayhem; he drinks deeply of death just the way he does of life. She’s caught him laughing under his breath when someone falls to the floor, caught him licking the blood off his daggers when he thought she wasn’t looking - that just got her a red-stained grin and an obscene widening of his arms like he was inviting her to look. He makes jokes about killing gnomes. He makes jokes about killing her, though those are actually funny, and he's right about having to face what will happen if they change; it's best to do it with a laugh. It's also oddly forthright, oddly brave, for a man who's never been forthright in his life. He beams at her when she plays along, like she’s just given him a gift, morbidly pleased at speaking of his own beheading. Death and bloodshed and mayhem, yes.

Except.

Except when she’s watching a young tiefling girl about to be bitten by a snake, or pretending to offer the goblins’ general the tiefling camp on a platter. His eyes harden, in that moment, even while his mouth twitches and he makes amused, contemptuous quips: like he’s waiting for her to make the obvious choice. And even as he makes approving noises at the thought of the goblins’ victory, even as he castigates her for her soppy kindness…

Cruelty would be the obvious, the easy choice. It would be exactly what he expects. It would also be, she’s certain more and more when she feels those red eyes on her, the boring choice. To him, too. Even if he doesn't want to admit it.

She's always had a good instinct for people, so her mentor used to say. It got taught to her early, taught her when a glassing was coming or she was about to get stiffed on payment at a tavern or just how to work a crowd.

Stories in well-worn grooves. Two hundred years of death and desperate self-service and making sure everyone's expendable but you, over and over again. The same narrative shoved down your throat for two hundred years.

The shape of it is there in her mind, sketched out but not detailed yet: he knows cruelty like the back of his hand, partaking and receiving. He can sleepwalk his way through it. There’s a delight when he speaks of it, an amusement in his eyes, but it’s the same as when he spoke of being a magistrate back in the city, it’s all very tedious, lording his power over her, pointed and urbane and far, far too well-rehearsed. The same way she looks over her shoulder and catches him flirting with their companions, incorrigible, a lazy, leering lean closer in his tone even as he keeps walking beside them. There’s real amusement there at getting to play with words, at making them uncomfortable, and yet... I saw you mouthing that one to yourself in the mirror earlier, Shadowheart points out, when he tries a particularly trite line on her. And Lora thinks, Exactly.

He bristles and shouts at her and makes drawled comments about how much of a drip she is. She agrees to find an elderly woman’s missing daughter; behind her, she hears him sigh and not even bother to hide it, the rolling of his eyes entirely audible. They get back to camp and he asks her, “This will take us closer to understanding the tadpole how, exactly?” He hates every minute of it, hates her - but there’s a wildfire in him, searing bright and unrehearsed and fascinatingly real, when he snarls at her and melodramatically turns his back to her and calls her tedious.

She bought it at first, the way he called her that. She was boring, certainly, and he was a self-serving shallow ass - that part was true, even if he was lying through his teeth about so many things. He got to stay because they dearly needed a lockpicker and archer as good as him, and because she was too reluctantly herself to let him turn into a mindflayer alone, even if she should have. As he said that second night: you need someone to put you out of your misery.

And then she realised precisely what it was, behind all the bared teeth and callous suggestions: he’s waiting.

He waits for her to slip and kill someone because it’s easier, or say that he deserved his master’s treatment. She laughs sometimes at his sense of humour - less dark, more Underdark - and takes precisely none of his suggestions. He waits for her to be a humourless paladin type who crushes him underfoot or turns out to be a stiff fraud wearing mail, and she cackles at his muttered observations, happily humiliates the little tyrants they see on the road along with him. The moments their eyes meet and she sees the silent vicious glee in his, too, the both of them knowing pride comes before a very long fall, they almost understand each other. She lies and cheats the false servants of Tyr before killing them anyway, because they were going to drag an innocent tiefling back to the Hells, and sees his reluctantly impressed eyebrows out of the corner of her eye - and then she gives the money to refugees while he sighs. He snarls, I was a slave and waits for her to order him about or step over him; the best she can tell, she treats him just the same. As they keep to the road and he realises that the mask he’s been trying to pry away is just her face, the easy, dulled cynicism in his eyes is starting to be replaced by something else: a confused, furious surprise. Maybe the first surprise he’s had in two centuries.

She’s learned to read him a little better, over these weeks on the road. She’s driving him mad. He’s incandescently angry with and baffled by her in turns. But she doesn’t believe him when he says he finds her tedious.

[shadowsandshapes]

FFTB | Interlude V: Banned From Game Night (Dabi/F!Reader)

Summary: With your victory now behind you, you and Dabi spend some time together on the roof. Contains: Explicit Language, Fluff, Sexual Themes & Discussion

[800 words]

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Your victory over the Shie Hassakai was hot news in the criminal underworld. Everyone who was anyone was talking about it. The League had singlehandedly destroyed one of the biggest players in the game and had used the Heroes like fodder to pull it off. Word was AllMight’s former side-kick didn’t survive the raid. That alone was an accomplishment. Shigaraki became known as one of the most cunning motherfuckers on the block. Someone who shouldn’t be messed with or underestimated. As for your part in the raid, you didn’t mind just being a footnote in the grand scheme of things. You were content simply watching that bastard Chisaki suffer and rot in Tartarus for what he’d done to that little girl. 

And for what he had very nearly done to you as well.

You cradled a half-empty drink in your hands as you gazed upon the city lights. A chilly breeze beating against your face. The night was beautiful like this. The only thing that would make this better was–

“What are you doing up here all alone?” Dabi’s voice came from behind as he pushed open the door to the rooftop. Right on cue. It’s like the fucker knew you were waiting for him.

Offering up a little wave, you glanced back at Dabi with a smile. “Got kicked from the celebration.” Not at all surprised that you had managed to piss someone off already, he chuckled at that. You rolled your eyes and pursed your lips, recalling Tomura’s reasoning for excommunicating you. “Shigaraki banned me from the table. Damn shame too. I love poker. Apparently, Compress is allowed to swipe cards but my Quirk is somehow considered cheating.”

Dabi pulled you against him and wrapped his arms around your waist. You were cute when you were pouting. “It is cheating,” he deadpanned which immediately earned him a punch in the shoulder. Your fist connected with his arm and Dabi groaned out. More caught by surprise than in pain – yet still somewhat taken aback by your strength. “Sometimes I forget you know how to throw a punch,” he hissed out, rubbing the spot where you’d hit him to soothe the tiny flare of pain beneath his skin. 

“Don’t worry.” You cupped his face with both hands and smiled. “I’ll be sure to remind you every time you talk shit to me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dabi really did love you, didn’t he? 

He didn’t use any fancy words to say it. But you knew. That was all that mattered. Your smile widened as you leaned closer to kiss his lips. Dabi eagerly welcomed your touch. Couldn’t get enough of it, in fact. The way you pressed against him – pushing your whole body into his. It was almost too much for him to handle. Those soft, warm curves grazing against his chest. Every part of you was just so goddamn beautiful. His hands didn’t know where to go first. The man was starving. Desperate to feel every inch of you. He planted them firmly on your sides and pulled you in. The motion made you shift your weight, hips grazing against his crotch as you leaned forward. As you connected, a groan slipped from his lips. The noise was muffled only by your own eager mouth moving against him. Kissing you was addictive. Your lips burned more intensely than Dabi’s flames ever could. He could barely believe you were real. But you were. And you were his. You pressed the tip of your tongue against his parted lips – moaning when his own came to greet yours without hesitation. 

The sound of your sweet, darling voice snapped Dabi from his stupor. He broke from your hungry lips. A breath saturated with a deep, unparalleled need escaped him. You watched him cover his mouth with one hand and stare into your eyes. Shock played behind Dabi’s cerulean gaze. It was disbelief at how desperately he wanted you. Scratch that, actually. ‘Want’ didn’t even begin to cover it. Dabi fucking needed you. In every possible way. You had thoroughly bewitched him. Made him yours. There was no denying it any longer. You gently pried his hand from his face and brought it to your lips. His breath caught in his throat as your lips traced the edge of his scars. Each of his staples received a loving, tender kiss. Fuck – he loved it when you took charge like this. It was hypnotizing. Dabi admired every peck, every graze of your teeth and every stroke of your fingers. His skin tingled beneath your touch.

“Fuck – babe, you gotta stop that,” he groaned. “I’m two kisses away from bending you over this banister.”

“That right?” Placing the flat of your palm against his chest, you smiled and pushed until Dabi was backed up against the railing behind him. 

“(Y/n)...” The way he said your name had your heart pounding like crazy. Desire dripped from his tongue with every syllable, speaking your name more like a warning than anything else. His intent was clear. Don’t push me. You did always like to play with fire. 

You kissed him once. The sweetness of your lips lingered even after you pulled away. Dabi grinned – scoffing out a laugh. Subtlety wasn’t on the table tonight. He knew exactly what you were doing when you kissed him again. 

“That’s two. What’s stopping you, hotshot?”

A/N: Boi they gon fuck so hard (: I just wanted to add a little sweet moment before uh diving right in

Taglist: @/kelin-is-writing @/dynamars @/dabislittlemouse @/simpysheep @/ohnoitsthatonekid @/tonysttank @/dabislittlesluttyprincess @/when-you-are-just-done @/dabislittlebeaniebaby @/themythicaldisaster PAUSED

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[oc-tournaments]

ROUND ONE - MATCH 10

DALO vs ANDREW MCCARTHY/HERO

DALO: @genericswordsmaiden

ANDREW MCCARTHY/HERO: @the-real-uranus

VOTE BASED ON THE INFORMATION BELOW CUT!!

Propaganda Content Warnings: Suicide, assault, internalised homophobia, animal death, dismemberment, alcoholism for DALO. Parental death for ANDREW. Please read with care.

DALO:

PROPAGANDA: Dalo is a ghost, she died by suicide at the age of 27, and in the world of the dead where she now resides, which is actually a purgatory of sorts, she has to endure loneliness because suicides can get corrupted - change form and become aggressive spirits - and are therefore ostracized by other ghosts. Born in an abusive family, starved during her childhood and bullied at school, Dalo develops trust issues growing up, her only friend being a pen pal, Luka, and her mentor, a man whom she only remembers as Professor. Dalo is not her real name, but a nickname that eventually erased her original name. At age 16, she gets physically assaulted by a group of guys and survives, but gets big ugly scars on her back that she tries to hide in every way she can. When she gets the chance, she travels to the city of Providence, renting an apartment with Luka.

They form a band with two other characters, Mary and Sam, but soon tensions arise, mainly because they all love Sam in some way, and this puts Dalo in an uncomfortable situation because she doesn't really know how to deal with feelings. She ultimately decides to put them aside and think about how to help Luka deal with his homosexuality instead. In this period of time, which lasts about three months, another tragedy occurs: Dalo and Luka's cat, whom they treated as a son, is found killed one evening. This brings the two even closer, grief shutting them out of the world for a while. As if that wasn't enough, Sam, thinking that Luka and Dalo became a couple, marries Mary instead, breaking two hearts at once. Just when it seems like everything is slowly flowing normally again, Luka has a breakdown and asks Dalo if God can accept him as he is. The choice of words in her answer to such a cryptic question is crucial and will forever change her life, as well as ultimately end his, since he goes missing from that evening, until his body is found in a bag a week later, chopped up into pieces.

The weight of the event is too much for her to bear, the guilt and pain make her turn to alcoholism. Her last choice was cold and calculated, she saw no value in a life like hers, so after months of suffering she took her own life. As a ghost, this choice hunts her, also because it made her directly linked to the main antagonist of the book, but this is a lore-heavy detail and I don't really want to delve into it. Her other big character trait is the fact that, with a life like that, she has tons of repressed anger, which all comes crashing out of her (literally) at some point in the story. Her power as a ghost is summoning chains, which symbolise both her guilt and the desperate need to be "chained to someone", to have some kind of bond with another person.

THEME SONG:

ANDREW MCCARTHY/HERO:

PROPAGANDA: When he was just eight years old, he witnessed his parents being brutally beaten to death by a vigilante. His parents were thieves, and he knew this, but he was shocked that it caused a vigilante to kill them. He began to cry, but people would only apologise because 'they must've been horrible to you!' From then on, Drew decided to become the one to wipe out all vigilantes and self-proclaimed heroes, he was going to rid this world of the murder of those who don't deserve it, he was going to the the one true HERO. When he turned eighteen, he snuck into a laboratory and injected himself with chemicals that gave him superhuman abilities.

He was bribed into joining a criminal organisation with the promise that it'd attract vigilantes for him to kill and is made to kidnap, torture and sometimes kill innocent citizens.

Nobody seems to understand his hatred for vigilantes. Nobody understands him, anyway.

Also, not a "god's favourite punching bag" thing, but I wanna share this because it makes me happy, he's autistic like me and his special interest is street magic!

THEME SONG:

[woltourney]

ROUND 1 / SIDE B / POLL 8

Rigel Orionis / Ragdoll (@thegreatyin) v. Syla (@mistdrinkersblade)

Rigel Orionis / Ragdoll:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. 'Rigel Orionis', but it's really just a name he came up with on the spot- outside of the game universe, he's just referred to as Ragdoll. For the purposes of poll naming, feel free to use either/or. He/they pronouns. He does have an in-universe lore-accurate name, but Rigel is just what he goes by.

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Fluffy humanoid beast? Catperson? He thinks?? Everyone calls him a "milk quote" something and at this point he's too far in to just turn around and ask. (Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te)

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Canonically switches them up depending on expansion. Started as a Black Mage, went Red Mage in Heavensward, swapped between Machinist and Dancer in Stormblood, and currently (because I'm not at Endwalker yer) mains both Reaper and Dark Knight in Shadowbringers. I'd imagine his "true" main is probably just Red Mage, with maybe a hint of DRK in there for spice.

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Crystal, Goblin! I'd love to hang with people sometime. There's so many scales left to grind for that damn Rathalos mount.

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. (No major spoilers aside from vague Stormblood references!) Rigel is! A jerk! He's always been a little jerk at heart, and regardless of setting, he always falls back to being a little jerk… on the outside. He's smug, cocky, insults you for fun- the physical embodiment of every terrible gay twink at every gay bar ever. And then sometimes he's alone and starts randomly sobbing. And sometimes he's cuddly and desperate for affection. And sometimes he's intensely devoted to the people he's decided are his family, even to the point of death. And sometimes he's just deeply lonely. There's a lot of suitcases upon suitcases to unpack, here. Once upon a time, in the midst of some guy's ambiguous tragic backstory, he suddenly woke up in the wastelands of Carteneau with no idea where he was or how he got there. After coming to the terms with the fact of being a catboy, they decided to take up odd jobs and favors around the first place they ended up traveling to- some weird obscure city called "Ul'dah". Eventually they ran into some equally-obscure guy called Thancred, and the rest is the plot of the universally acclaimed MMO with an unlimited free trial going up to level 60 including the award winning expansion Heavensward. They are. Mixed. On the whole "being a hero" thing. He really just wanted to go home, but suddenly he's saddled with two teenagers, a job, and a weird blond stalker with a rampant masochism streak. Also the crippling identity and existential crisis, but shhhh, those haven't hit him yet. A universal trait of Rigel is that he likes to sing. I didn't list Bard as one of his canonical jobs, but I can see him unironically picking it up as a genuine stress reducer. He has a thing for music, and art, and history, and reading, and all combinations of the four. That aside, he probably delights in the little mundane things the most, like building a rock collection or taking a relaxing nature walk.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. "Win? I'm winning? Who??"

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. He's an unrelated OC (named Rigel Alphoris-Orionis, go figure) that I decided to import into FFXIV as a semi-joke when I wasn't sure if I was going to stick with the game. By the end of ARR, I ended up going all-in on the concept of him being the unfortunate protagonist of life, and now in my personal canon he is quite literally just that OC isekaied against his will into Eorzea. Terrible personality and all. And his soul is puppeteering a corpse Ascian-style, but nobody (including him) actually knows that yet.

Syla:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Syla (He/Him)

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Rava Viera

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Gunbreaker

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Crystal - Balmung

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. A member of Lente's Tears who was kicked out for a premature / failed assassination attempt on Legatus Noah van Gabranth. Fled to Eorzea to seek help in freeing his homeland of Dalmasca, only to get picked up by the Scions like a stray cat. He enjoys being a hero, although it does get a bit tiring after so often to him. But Syla enjoys being a beacon of hope and relief for others.. His free time is spent either working and tinkering on his gunblade and cartridges or training with allies.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. "Why shouldn't I win? You don't face the things I've seen and walk away a from mere contest of affections empty handed."

[asteracaea]

link

A few months ago I started joking that half of the treatments in my psychiatric practice had become “Taylor-based.” Many of my patients are adolescent girls and young women, and they have leaned on Taylor Swift as a kind of big sister through the daily agonies of being a teenage girl: unsteady friendships, the 24-hour firing squad of the internet, and of course, the endless longing to feel seen and valued. At the end of a session exploring these struggles, I’ve appreciated having her to keep my patients company the rest of the week.

But as the Eras tour steadily lurched toward our favorite city, the Taylor-based therapy issues reached a boiling point. “How am I going to stay calm before she goes onstage?” “I need to do remote today because I can’t get Covid before the concert.” “How am I going to go back to regular life once it’s all over?” They were saying they needed to calm down, and to help them do that we dug through the full bag of tricks — behavioral, cognitive, psychodynamic, existential — and explored these patients’ relationships to anticipation, to enjoyment, to self-regulation, to suffering.

I was already a casual fan. My husband has been quasi-ironically blaring “Hey Stephen” from our speakers for years, and my daughter, 9, has strong views about whether Taylor should still be with Harry Styles. But I couldn’t really understand why this artist and this tour were so powerful — and so disruptive.

And so I started listening. And listening more. And I started staying up all night refreshing apps for last minute access to the “Taypocalypse.” And then I went to the show with my daughter. And now I, too, cannot calm down.

Swiftmania is a very different kind of high from what I experienced listening to music as a teenager — a high that is worth the pain. It’s not just the plethora of songs to discover, but the nonstop Swiftie culture itself — the constant access to the music, the news, the scrolling for swag, the shout-outs on the street, the sharing of songs and lines of poetic code via text or passed bracelet — a party that is raging all day and all night.

When I was growing up, I had the Indigo Girls, Tori Amos and Ani DiFranco, singers for whom a troubled inside matched a raw, edgy outside. But there was nobody who held forth on righteous anger from the inside of a sparkly bodysuit — who suffered as I did, but whose confident prowl could make me walk a bit taller. My singers would sit outside the party and complain with you, but when you got your courage up, they weren’t going to go inside, ready for it. Taylor doesn’t force you to choose, because she is both The Lucky One you want to be, and every bit the Anti-Hero you are inside.

Who is the Swiftie? In my practice, these patients share certain characteristics. Raised on a healthy diet of kindness and fairness, she is sensitive, ambitious and a bit of a perfectionist. Like Taylor, she dresses to be pretty and cool (and sometimes, for revenge), but inside, she is in all kinds of pain. Her self-doubt perpetuates a vicious cycle in a world where she is timid and young, and others may assume she knows nothing. She’s hard-working and frustrated, and wonders if she’d get there quicker if she was a man. Desperate to experience love, she has had her moments of begging for Romeo to just say yes, or tolerating being treated badly in some situationship (you said you needed space — what??). And yet, the Swiftie strives to be the modern day Cinderella, who doesn’t remember if she has a man. She finds in Taylor Swift an actual hero who meets her where she is but also shows her the badass place she could get to — so intoxicating precisely because it is within reach.

“What would Taylor Swift do?” is a refrain among certain patients in my practice. Teenagers suffer for many reasons. One is being fragile and in formation — a human construction site. Another is being surrounded by others who are fragile and in formation. Taylor Swift articulates not only the treachery of bullying but also the cruelty just shy of it that is even more pervasive: meanness, exclusion, intermittent ghosting. She says: Borrow my strength; embrace your pain; make something beautiful with it — and then, you can shake it off.

But what is singular about this artist, in this time, is the access she has created to a cohesive community, particularly for the pandemic generation, whose social connections grew tragically elusive and for whom the internet’s offerings assumed a central role. Whatever you are upset about, the poet laureate of this generation has got a song somewhere in her mega-oeuvre describing that precise feeling. She is not going to solve whatever problem you are having, but she is going to sit with you in it until the passage of time does its work: Look at her now.

Teenagerhood taunts you to explore and perform who you might be, on repeat, and the “Eras” theme of her current tour electrifies this process. MetLife Stadium was a bacchanal of mass identification, a celebration of that ubiquitous girl who felt somewhat invisible until there were 83,000 of her, sparkling from miniskirt to concert bracelet, lighting up the night sky, and wondering: Which era am I right now? Who was I last year? And what’s the part of me that is emerging, gaining complexity? The eras offer a reassuring developmental trajectory that includes them all. You may dress up as 1989 party girl, but it’s understood by everyone here that you are also heartbroken and rageful and forgiving and brave.

We will all eventually calm down, but for now I am leaning in to this fever dream, this restlessness, and sleeplessness, and decline in focus on anything else — a champagne problem perhaps, but also a gift. Sometimes it’s good to let yourself be disrupted, to be a little less productive, to stay stay stay in an enchanted place as long as you can. Especially when there is someone new in your life who shows you colors you can’t see with anyone else.

My patients have their own dedicated professional to listen to them for 45 minutes a week and work with them to identify complex feelings and unhelpful patterns. But few teenagers have access to this kind of support. It’s confusing to be human and to be female, and I’m glad, both for my patients in their midnights, and for their populous, shimmering community, that they have someone so articulate, so generous, and so endlessly present to talk to.