#also i need to make real names for them. these are just based on their site names

[shoujoboy-restart]

Oh thought I was rebbloging from them, eh potato potato.

Also why would I be "scared" of them lol, you yourself said THEIR comparison isn't good, I'm not the one saying abortion for women is equal or comparable to the draft for men, they did.

> I've seen no love for Tate from MRAs

Neither have i because the MRA movement is dead and rotting when it comes to relevance in politics and social discourse at all, you had to bring it up unrelated, no, literally I also had to check if I even said "MRA", I only used "men's right" generically and obviously about the concept not the movement, that's how irrelevant it is to discussions now days.

Which makes this weird strawmans and skeleton digging you are doing really embarrassing

Idk who this warren dude is, good for him, bad for for him whatever, seems like a guy who the topic of a generic buzzfeed feminist article in the 2010s that would make some good and bad point about his beliefs i guess.

Roosh v, don't know don't care, I can remember the name only and he seems to call himself a pick up artist from I've seen, so the anti-sjw slop tubers from 2014 would probably go to great lengths to make him seem more relevant than he is just like mainstream media and probably use him for click bait, but whatever he's doing is for money and grifting by default from what I can see in the surface and that's just common sense I don't make rules lol.

Marc Lepine...

So a random anti-feminist shooter from the 80s? There's like a handful of them, again idk how he's relevant to this discussion specifically, like if you are using this to relive a debunk post you made against We Hunt The Mammoth in the 2010s and you felt it deserved more notes I will need you to pay before and after you finish and i ain't no cheap hoe. But I can definetely see a 2010s video by a random slop tuber that would use the fact he killed men too as proof "he's not a Real™ anti-feminist", make a bunch of edgy commentary about how actually someone should have pitty fucked him for the benefit of society, women shouldn't have been so picky about his demonic depressed aura and they should have thought of him when fighting for women rights completely unrelated to whatever internal issue he was having, issues which the slop tuber and his audience would probably call "socialism welfare" if separated from the topics of men's rights (again, generically, no one is referring to a movement that failed upwards, please move on 2010s it is better for a everyone if we do that)

Honey Badger Brigade, oof that's a deep cut, remember when they tried to go on Metakour's stream to beg for money for that pointless lawsuit going back where they said "actually we are now going to represent ourselves because all lawyers are dumb and don't know anything" which looking back as a adult really just came off as begging and trying to extend their 15 minutes of fame and that any lawyer worth their salt was telling them the contract they signed probably said they could lose their spot whenever and for whatever reason, I also remember when the butch one started using every slur know to man trying to be one of the Cool YouTubers™ 😎 when responding back to Metakour's not giving a shit about men rights because he didn't care about politics of any kind and told them to stop begging his viewers for money, even at like 14 i cringed and noticed how desperate they were to be pandering to anybody that gave them relevance, like nothing shows you REALLY care about men's right than using slurs like the hard-r n-word that dehumanized men based on their skin color and ethnicity, honestly they were the definition of pick me if you ask me, just saying whatever men wanted to hear with no care of concistency or true higher beliefs because it gave them some sort of relevance they could get if involving themselves with real world activism.

Yeah I genuinely don't get why you just brought up some random Mc Nobody author, one of the handful of grifters before Andrew Tate perfected the formula and prepared the soil for him to land, a random anti-feminist shooter form the 80s that would probably get some Devil's Advocacy for YouTube clicks from grifting slop tubers which would be consumed uncritically and then would make y'all look bad obviously and two pick me that had no real beliefs, begged for money every other week for like the political equivalent of pizza parties and would had no real opinion besides whatever mediocre men would like to hear women say.

Again, I said "red pill movement" which is a incredibly generic catch all term for men and people claiming to seek male improvement, which Tate is, he uses that term, most people that also call themselves "red pilled" accept and love him and I have yet to even see a "association fallacy" even begin to being used to claim he doesn't represent "red pill values", mostly because there's none since it just a "floating symbol".

But hey you are the same dude who believes in that weird narrative of "the term incel was actually made derogatorily by a random zoophililic radfem" made by incel appropriators themselves in a beyond weird attempt to make it seem like they didn't steal the term from a disabled woman who made a support forum for disabled and socially unpalatable men and women and actually everyone everywhere wronged them and that's why they advocate for pedophilia now (this is just as irrelevant to topic like your weird creature of the nights checklist you did so lol and lmao even).

Genuine advice, move on, the MRA movement is the definition of reactionary, the only accomplishment it has to show is a Apollo curse PR documentary, a bunch of pizza parties about how great it is to have xy chromosomes in a average way and a bunch of rent seekers shadow boxing at already retires feminist internet figure heads or waiting for the next ai generated article about why eating avocados and doing yoga is the ultimate feminism activism to drop to dibonky it epic style, I'm afraid if this discussion goes any further you are doing to talk about Anita Sarkesian as if she relevant still, and that's scary, move on genuinely, almost a decade doing this and y'all having nothing but YouTube views to show. Genuinely the only people who bring up MRAs unironically these days are TERFs and radfems claiming they have evolved into trans rights activists, and like they are twice more chronically online than MRAs yet they have more real world accomplishmenta than y'all did at the top of y'all's relevance back then...that's sad babe, real sad.

Not feminist as in "women should be included in the draft" but feminist as in "being drafted is a violation of bodily autonomy for any gender".

The draft should not exist. Drafting people into the military is a violation of human rights. You should not be able to force someone to risk their life. If you can't find enough people who care about a conflict to keep it going then it simply shouldn't keep going. You can't even force someone to donate a kidney using government power, why the fuck can you force them to donate their whole body and life to a cause they don't agree with or don't care about?

[flesh-of-a-hare]

poppy playtime oc/self insert bc i have no self control and i draw to anti-cope (oc info n shit below the cut)

their name is Baseball and they r a silk moth version of a discontinued line of smiling critters that were going to be based off of bugs. they were a little older/more mature than the average kid who got taken and read the most stories out of all the other kids so they r safe haven's designated storyteller. on good days they reenact the stories they can remember or make new ones up, on bad days they use their claws to climb up the walls to hide out in a corner of the ceiling so they don't spread their bad mood to the others. the one person they have any amount of respect for/listen to is Doey and the two make an effort to cheer one another up when they notice the other is in a bad mood.

the face they have here is actually a mask, bc when they were being made they came out scarier than intended- too scary for a kids toy, so they were fitted with a mask/ balaclava so they wouldn't scare the others. their name comes from the stitching on the mask looking, y'know. like a baseball.

they r covered in fluff so the sweater it looks like they r wearing is just fur lmao. they are soft and fluffy and make for good hugs and are more emotionally mature than most of the other kids in safe haven, so they are also the designated hugger whenever one of them needs to cry/be held (especially if Doey isn't around)

on especially bad days, they will randomly decide to venture out of safe haven to wander/find supplies. Doey hates it when they do this bc they never tell anyone when they're leaving and even though they are one of the more nimble/sneaky members of haven, they have gotten themselves in bad spots more than once. they don't talk about why they do these random 'supply runs'. the truth is uncomfortable, and neither wants to acknowledge what the other knows they r thinking. Doey does get mad and will give them a lecture if they do something especially stupid but he knows they hate it when he gets loud so most times he just gives them a lot of angry looks until they apologize

they do not like Poppy and will actively make fun of her in childish ways whenever they hear her talking lmao. they don't trust the Player and will spend any time around them just. staring at them in silence. its mostly awkward but also slightly terrifying. they hate the doctor more than they are scared of him, and spend a lot of time thinking about all the things they would do to pay him back for all the harm he's done. when he is gone, they feel strangely sad about it. they almost miss him, maybe only because it was easier when they had someone to hate and blame for everything. they curl up in a corner of what's left of safe haven and try to daydream their way out of the real world.

[sorainhere]

Theory Time about Malleus and Malefica.

Has anyone ever heard of The Malleus Maleficarum?

It might sound familiar based on the name (which I'm going to get into) or from some TV show.

That is a real book released around the 15th century about the persecution and torture of what they believed to be "witches"

The name directly translates into Hammer of Witches with Malleus in Latin being hammer and Maleficarum being Witches.

Which is what I'm going to get into!

When I heard the name I immediately thought about Malleus and Malefica.

I was going to include Maleficent but while similar spelling it's not as close to the word as Malefica.

But anyways-

I was thinking about the fae wars and how within the human realm faes are not well liked.

The fae wars were wars of greed by humans invading their lands and plundering resources.

During this time Malefica was queen . Her son in law was just killed and her daughter was with child.

Her daughter soon died and had a son named Malleus .

Now straight to the point of this now.

I think the names come from the suffering of the fae due to their oddness and odd resourcefulness in times of need scaring people along with greed .

Witches were clean people who had cats to eat mice who were infected with disease which lead to many major superstitions because if many people died from a disease they didn't. Similar to the fae who are naturally talented at magic and tend to live for long periods of time.

Also the fact that the book describes witches to be odd looking worn warts and typical witchy stuff we know of now today. Similar to the fae as they look similar to humans they have certain features that make them unique.

And finally the witch hunts came from greed as well. Many properties of accused witches were taken by the accusers for economic gain. Similar to how the humans stole the fae resources.

I think Malleus and Malefica as the last survivors from the wars were given those names as a way to represent human greed by the creators.

Because if you truly think about it their is a lot of similarities between the witch hunts and the war between human and fae.

The Malleus Maleficarum is a text judging people and killing them which is what the humans did to the fae.

The name is a sweet irony. It probably makes no sense to you guys but let me ramble.

I think the similarities between the witch hunts and the fae human war are interesting especially since the only two fae royal survivors have names similar to the book which was used to condem witchcraft

[tastytoastz]

Ork names are so intressting but also leave me so confused.

In Ghazghkull's book and in the enemy of my enemy there are examples of orks naming themselves which would make sense, they do something or find a quality they have and name themselves after that like Finds-Bullets-He-Has-Not-Lost.

This also however raise a question, what are they named before they pick one? In Ghazghkull's book he's refer to 'stripling' a lot which could be used as a place holder name which would work as an ork so young might not bring themselves much attention and there for won't need to be pointed out in a crowed.

But ork names in themseleves are so confusing if you look ever slightly too long at them like:

Klawz: One word name, no last name given or hinted towards. But a clear comment on his apperance and a thing in itself

Taktikus: Probably based on the word 'tactics' but is in itself not a real word (however given some slack as he's a blood axe and like humie things). No last name given.

Gargaz teefgrabba: clear first and last name seemingly, the last name is a description of actions he does. (also his first name might be the combination of "garg-az")

Finds-Bullets-He-Has-Not-Lost: Might be a translation thing but in general a long name. Also like Gargaz has a clear explanation of something he does in their name.

Ufthak Blackhawk: Blackhawk??? Not really in itself a descripiton of what he does or has done, why did he chose this??? Unclear if his first name has meaning.

Grotsnik: Lone word, but is combination of the ork words grot-snik aka Grot-kill or grot-cut (a low gotich translation would most likely be 'grot killer' or 'grot-cutter, or they-who-cut-grots etc).

Grod Irongob: Okay what is even happening here??? Grod, like the same word for favorite enemy and best friend? Okay someone was named klawz so I guess it’s a bit the same. Iron-gob??? A combination of a human word and ork word? Okay, why not ,once again also a blood Axe so they get some slack as they’re part of the human fanboy clan. (also, they i'm pretty sure never is mentioned even wanting or having a grod so...)

It's also a bit confusing with translations given by orks, like, why does Biter feel the need to explain Bullets name but not Grotsnik's? Ufthak also once translates his own name, but only translate the Blackhawk part? Does it mean his first name has no meaning?

Is it that last names are "common" so they need to set a word before it to be able to tell the diffrence, like there are orks that share names like "da slayer" which is the name of two orks (Nogrub da slayer and Urgok da slayer), but with orks liking variety this should be rare. If their first name has no meaning do they just put togheter a bunch of syllables they like?! Does ork have like “common names” or do they make up all their names themselves like is Ufthak a common name like Bob is a name for a lot of people or did he make it up himself?! Do they all have last names but just don't use them/say them? Are there common names and those that have them need to get a last name??? Is it a clan thing??? WTF are the rules??? IS IT JUST VIBES??? (Most likely).

[its-aftg]

book narrative leads us to think that yes, she knew and accepted it was Riko. Hang with me here, there's a lot to unpack in not a lot of words. Speculation of the text is mine, take my interpretation or don't :) I maybe, defintely, ran away with this because in the end it has to do with two of my favs <3

Let's go in chronological order!

(side note: there is a lot of pharmacology talk in here lol i'm so sorry. i maybe work somewhere in this area lol)

TFC pg 262-

Andrew tapping his phone against his thigh feels just so telling to me. He knows this isn't what it seems like and that thought process coming out in this motion. I just like this :)

I really need mythology Tumblr on this one, I feel like the club/bar being named Bacchus is really important here but this is not my Roman Empire. Breifly - God of wine fertility estacy and banquet, (Dionysus in Greece), created madness, ...he symbolizes the cycle of life - can i argue that Seth is Bacchus and that his death is exactly what he represents? Him dying means the Foxes come together, the Foxes will be 'reborn' into something that they weren't before all because Seth is no longer there and they will continue the cycle. (he had a lot of followers which we can see when there's talk of other friends/notes/teachers when they get back to the court after his death, Seth may have been unlikable to half the Foxes but he was liked by others in his life).

Andrew warned Seth that he was going to off himself via OD - I find the phrasing here interesting because i get the impression that he wasn't doing it to throw in his face but more a srtraightforward observation. How many other things did Andrew try to tell Seth? ("not that he ever listened to me")

If most has been out of his system for years does that mean he hadn't OD'd in the time that the Monsters were on the team? This is only their second year there... if he's only on antidepressants now I really want to know what class lol Alcohol can mess with them (SSRI, SNRI, or MAOI - MAOI has the most risk associated) but other than MAOI would usually just make depression/anxiety worse. MAOI are super 'dangerous' in general and not first or second line treatment, usually only prescribed when other treatment fails and the benefit outweighs the risk, i would argue that no competant MD would prescribe a MAOI to him due to history of drug and alochol use - and potential suicidal thoughts pre-Allison. You don't want to drink on a MAOI, period. If you do you can skyrocket your BP (you also shouldn't eat aged cheese, soy sauce, smoked meats, smoked fish, pickled stuff, etc etc etc, the list is long lol) and not for just the same day you take a MAOI but for like 2 weeks you're not supposed to do these things! High bloodpressure = chest pain, headaches, vomiting, confusion, heart attack, stroke, etc. So this to me means he's on a MAOI (not likely imo) or he took something else. (willingly or not)

(side thought is i don't know how much nora knows about pharmacology and if any of this is actually based in real life or if this is just kinda made up for the story, see some points later to why this is confusing.)

TFC pg 264-

Andrew is like 1000% confident Seth wasn't suicidal. From what we know of Andrew this wouldn't be some half-thought. Did Seth never need to go to Eden's with them because he wasn't actually addicted and it wasn't actually a problem (like Matt or Aaron)? The only problem was the posibility of accidentally dying while using and drinking. Did Andrew equate his using similar to their usage of cracker dust? (the reason, not the potential outcome)

Seth is "Andrew's least favorite fox" (TRK pg 3) and yet he is SO sure of this.

His reg meds plus alochol are probably not giving him this no thinking or feeling, I think these days we all think opiates instead, but maybe some benzodiazapines (maybe at the time a barbituate but i think by this point xanax had become pretty commonly prescribed?) Benzos plus alcohol have an extremely high risk of fatality and honestly where i would put my HC behind... (optiates were around then but honestly not near as popular as they are now for abuse and i think it's less likely that he would have been prescribed an opiate if the main reason he's on meds is depression. see below why i say he was prescribed...)

TFC pg 264 -

They weren't on the outs, Seth ONLY takes 'his pills' when they are.

The phrasing is weird and why I keep coming back to these thoughts. 'His pills' to me means his prescribed meds. I would rule out MAOI since you're taking those as maintenance meds, which makes me think he's on something for breakthrough in addition to his regular non-MAOI anti-depression med. Which as I said above really makes me go to something like xanax. now obviously it could be anything, any CNS depressant with alcohol (another CNS depressant) can have not good outcomes....or a made up drug for this fictional book series lol

I've been around a lot of people who used rx meds (not their own) and party drugs (and the really hard stuff too) for several decades, i don't think a single person has referred to them as 'their pills'. which is maybe why this stands out to me so much.

bby Neil is so in denial after watching Allison check Seth with several witnesses, still just assuming he had taken his. (like did you think he was ooping them? is ooping still the term these days?)

Andrews points are of course super solid here. Riko had to be stragtegic in who he took out, 3 strikers, 2 goalies, 3 backliners, 2 dealers. He had to take out a striker or a backliner and only a striker and a dealer were out that night. Seth was also one with a known drug issue which would make him the easier target over Allison.

TRK pg 23 -

I've said it 1000 times on my blog, but seth dying is what it took for the foxes to win. Him being gone means the monsters and the upper classmen don't have to pick sides anymore, they get to try to merge together at least a little bit.

and with Neil being on both sides.... HE turns into the uniting force because of Seth. Because if Seth had stayed they may never unite, because even though he wanted them to do well so bad he was too unagreeble.

TRK pg 54 -

Just a scene that is refrenced in a later screenshot :)

I like to think he said something like "Don't let him have died for nothing." or "Fuck them up." :D

TKM pg 110 --

(he's got the perfect court number at this point, and just told Riko off in an interview post-game. this is where the cars are destroyed.)

I love that Allison knows he's not sorry and she also doesn't want him to be. Allison needs him to fight against Riko/Ravens bullshittery, because that IS Neil. And he doesn't fight then Seth's death was worthless.

Neil not wanting the fight to come back on them is the funniest shit lol Like the fight hasn't been coming back to the team since day one.

Nothing else they can do will break Allison because she's already lost the most important things - the Reynolds Empire and now Seth. She knows they can't take another teammate cus then they can't play and Riko needs them to be able to play. She's already been the most hurt she can be.

TKM pg 112 -

It really is so right of Aaron to call Neil out here. Becasuse while he may have initially thought that no one would get caught up in his bullshit we've had two whole books to see that's not how this works. Was it a mean way to say it, yes lol

Neil wanting to defend himself but knowing he can't because it is true really makes me think about how we see the AFTG world. Neil says he's sorry, but he's not because he would do it again and again, he thinks what he did is right (i mean me too lol) but he also doesn't just know how to say like shit's gonna happen and it sucks yall will suffer for it but i think it's the right thing to do....

I'm just here for Allison slapping Aaron. Like yes, Neil's mouth caused Seth's death, but Allison is having none of this shit (next part has them actually talking about this). She already KNOWS how Seth's death came about but still needs Neil to be Neil - and Aaron isn't gonna go around putting her mans name in his mouth when it's convienent.

TKM pg 124 --

She in no way has thought that Seth did it to himself since like within 4 days after it happens (we don't know the day of the funeral because Neil never tells us lol thanks. They all split up Sunday when Matt and Andrew got in a fight and don't see each other again until that Wednesday) Maybe initially? But even then I think she knew in her heart that he was clean and he wasn't going to do anything. Better murdered than taken out by himself....

Andrew intentionally having stopped by to ask questions and then share his theory? A class shit. Love this for us. I know he's just trying to make sure the team can play so he can keep all these promises he's made and make sure Neil is still around because at the time he was just interesting but maybe not heart eyes yet...and he knows they need Allison. She also doesn't have a reason to NOT believe Andrew.

I don't know if i think Allison blames Neil, maybe a little bit. Maybe it was hard to look at him and know that he was the catalyst to Seth dying. From Neil's perspective it's hard for me to know.

He acknowledges that she forgave him at some point but neither of them ever talked about it. Even thought Neil here says that he should have said something sooner, Allison also didn't bring it up. It seems that internally she forgave him and then just kept on living life, expecting Neil to be the mouthy asshole he is, and that the foxes would continue to have his back.

The we noticed is so funny, like this bro snuck off to Evermore for weeks, got tortured, came back with a perfect court tat, ripped Riko another asshole in an interview, and yet literally cannot talk to the people he's closest with about important things. like yes, no big deal....

TLDR - Allison knew within a few days that Riko was the cause of Seth's death because of Andrew and accepted this as truth.

(can i tell you how much i don't like not knowing WHAT Seth OD'd on specifically. drives me crazy!!!)

I'm sure this has been said before but do y'all ever wonder if Allison knows? I mean, Seth was clean and had been for a while, and she checked that he didn't have drugs on him, but it wouldn't have been hard for him to slip something by her. do you think she wonders if it really was riko after all? Did she miss the signs? Were there signs to miss? Do you think she lies awake at night flipping that coin in her head.....

[starbiology]

I rarely ever draw my own kiddos so heres a lineup!

[gingergari]

i’ve been sitting on these for a while but i’m finally happy with their designs so here are my fan idols!

first up is ancient bay! they’re a hip hop duo (that occasionally dabbles in r&b) composed of cosmo and stella! they are known for their skating routines and their electric energy during performances. they present news in the daytime.

next is deep sea angels! campi and pae are a rock duo dedicated to lolita style. their fans (known as shrimps) praise their gentle but dedicated nature during meets, and their startling brashness in music. they present news in the nighttime.

the two groups are bitter rivals who believe that only the best group should be news hosts and the face of splatfests. the competitiveness varies between members but they’re all willing to do whatever it takes to be the best, even if it means sabotage

(what? two of the members are related? we will have to look further into this claim)

though they are not hosts of this frostyfest, cosmo is team money, campi and pae are team experiences, and stella is team presents

inspiration comes from this post!

[theoogtree]

Look at my D&D campaign map that is done and finished and I'm not adding anything else and I don't need to add anything else because it is completed and there's nothing else to add and I'm done with it (nails digging into my palms)

Here's also for free as a bonus the runaway princess and the annoying immortal catboy and the creepy scorpion girl that I drew. They are all in a weird sex thing together. Obviously

[insertdisc5]

📚 A List Of Useful Websites When Making An RPG 📚

My timeloop RPG In Stars and Time is done! Which means I can clear all my ISAT gamedev related bookmarks. But I figured I would show them here, in case they can be useful to someone. These range from "useful to write a story/characters/world" to "these are SUPER rpgmaker focused and will help with the terrible math that comes with making a game".

This is what I used to make my RPG game, but it could be useful for writers, game devs of all genres, DMs, artists, what have you. YIPPEE

Writing (Names)

Behind The Name - Why don't you have this bookmarked already. Search for names and their meanings from all over the world!

Medieval Names Archive - Medieval names. Useful. For ME

City and Town Name Generator - Create "fake" names for cities, generated from datasets from any country you desire! I used those for the couple city names in ISAT. I say "fake" in quotes because some of them do end up being actual city names, especially for french generated ones. Don't forget to double check you're not 1. just taking a real city name or 2. using a word that's like, Very Bad, especially if you don't know the country you're taking inspiration from! Don't want to end up with Poopaville, USA

Writing (Words)

Onym - A website full of websites that are full of words. And by that I mean dictionaries, thesauruses, translators, glossaries, ways to mix up words, and way more. HIGHLY recommend checking this website out!!!

Moby Thesaurus - My thesaurus of choice!

Rhyme Zone - Find words that rhyme with others. Perfect for poets, lyricists, punmasters.

In Different Languages - Search for a word, have it translated in MANY different languages in one page.

ASSETS

In general, I will say: just look up what you want on itch.io. There are SO MANY assets for you to buy on itch.io. You want a font? You want a background? You want a sound effect? You want a plugin? A pixel base? An attack animation? A cool UI?!?!?! JUST GO ON ITCH.IO!!!!!!

Visual Assets (General)

Creative Market - Shop for all kinds of assets, from fonts to mockups to templates to brushes to WHATEVER YOU WANT

Velvetyne - Cool and weird fonts

Chevy Ray's Pixel Fonts - They're good fonts.

Contrast Checker - Stop making your text white when your background is lime green no one can read that shit babe!!!!!!

Visual Assets (Game Focused)

Interface In Game - Screenshots of UI (User Interfaces) from SO MANY GAMES. Shows you everything and you can just look at what every single menu in a game looks like. You can also sort them by game genre! GREAT reference!

Game UI Database - Same as above!

Sound Assets

Zapsplat, Freesound - There are many sound effect websites out there but those are the ones I saved. Royalty free!

Shapeforms - Paid packs for music and sounds and stuff.

Other

CloudConvert - Convert files into other files. MAKE THAT .AVI A .MOV

EZGifs - Make those gifs bigger. Smaller. Optimize them. Take a video and make it a gif. The Sky Is The Limit

Marketing

Press Kitty - Did not end up needing this- this will help with creating a press kit! Useful for ANY indie dev. Yes, even if you're making a tiny game, you should have a press kit. You never know!!!

presskit() - Same as above, but a different one.

Itch.io Page Image Guide and Templates - Make your project pages on itch.io look nice.

MOOMANiBE's IGF post - If you're making indie games, you might wanna try and submit your game to the Independent Game Festival at some point. Here are some tips on how, and why you should.

Game Design (General)

An insightful thread where game developers discuss hidden mechanics designed to make games feel more interesting - Title says it all. Check those comments too.

Game Design (RPGs)

Yanfly "Let's Make a Game" Comics - INCREDIBLY useful tips on how to make RPGs, going from dungeons to towns to enemy stats!!!!

Attack Patterns - A nice post on enemy attack patterns, and what attacks you should give your enemies to make them challenging (but not TOO challenging!) A very good starting point.

How To Balance An RPG - Twitter thread on how to balance player stats VS enemy stats.

Nobody Cares About It But It’s The Only Thing That Matters: Pacing And Level Design In JRPGs - a Good Post.

Game Design (Visual Novels)

Feniks Renpy Tutorials - They're good tutorials.

I played over 100 visual novels in one month and here’s my advice to devs. - General VN advice. Also highly recommend this whole blog for help on marketing your games.

I hope that was useful! If it was. Maybe. You'd like to buy me a coffee. Or maybe you could check out my comics and games. Or just my new critically acclaimed game In Stars and Time. If you want. Ok bye

[inkskinned]

don't worry, they're joking! they're always joking when it would be something, like bigoted. because i'm not a bigot, obviously, i just vote for bigots - well, they're not bigots either, you can't really call someone a bigot just because they have religious views. this is the land of the free, and it's a christian nation, after all. you can pretend otherwise but let's just be real here; all our values are really based on the bible. anyway, i know you liberals get your panties in a twist - can i say that, or are you gonna cancel me, haha, #metoo - about every little joke he said and every little dramatic political view. oh, fascist this and fascist that. you are online too much, you love the word fascist because it's big and you're just paranoid about things.

well, no, i don't, like, read the policies. i have a life. and so what if they wrote - stop it, it's not a manifesto, okay? he eventually backed off from that - oh the vice president? who cares about that guy, that isn't real power. you're being dramatic, they're just spitballing. everyone makes big claims when they're out there campaigning. he just means he personally wouldn't get gay married. you want him to divorce his wife and get gay married? anyway, even if they cancelled gay marriage - it wouldn't happen, okay? nobody i know really cares about that - it'd be states-rights like those abortions you love so much. and you live in a blue state. you live in like the gay capital of the world. i don't know why it'd be so bad for you, you're borrowing trouble there.

and besides, you're missing the point of his campaign! you people want to be victims so bad you completely ignore what we're really voting for. there are tons of good things that happened because of his name and his policies - the economy, for one. oh stop, just because i can't tell you what a tariff is off the top of my head doesn't mean i don't have eyes. and stuff was better under him! well, yeah, anything good is his work, obviously. what? no, all the bad stuff was biden. and probably also obama. what do you even care about this, anyway? it's not going to effect you. it's four years.

oh my god, not the climate change argument again, i'm not getting into that. i don't care about it. if my house is beachfront that's great news for me. and we don't really know what's causing it. no, i saw you forwarded me those articles and i just laughed. what, do you think i have time to sit on my ass and read shit? huh? well, no, i like reading the babylon bee. they actually had a great article about all you climate freaks. and in the meantime, what do you want me to do? i'm not paying 4 dollars for gas. liberals love to talk about solutions but never pay for the solutions. what do you mean blocked because of congress. you gotta stop with the conspiracy shit.

no, my side doesn't have real conspiracy theories. the vaccine thing is a real thing. besides, you yourself don't like big pharma. just because i have an opinion, suddenly now you think big pharma is great? and this is serious, okay? your mom's friend's coworker has a kid that died from a heart event. i don't want you getting any more vaccines. i regret that you got them as a kid, i'd redo them. what do you mean you'd vaccinate your own kids? are you finally thinking of having some? you know i want grandkids - oh stop, i've never pressured you, i'm just saying that if you're going to get gay married, you might as well give me some normal grandkids to love.

stop, you know what i meant. what? no, he's not going to take away your right to adopt. besides, you could always use a sperm donor, haha, i know your high school ex would love to - jesus! okay! no need to snap. i'm just saying that you don't need to be married to have a kid. the only real benefit to marriage is taxes, haha. it won't change anything. oh my god, no, there won't be a rise in hate crimes. well, it's not his fault what people do in his name! he eventually spoke out against that, anyway.

what do you mean he supported them? i didn't hear him say that. oh. well, yeah, he said it, but like, he's clearly joking.

[shadowfoxsilver]

Some quick tips to spotting accounts that are pretending to be a Palestinian needing mutual aid. Please keep in mind that not all of them are scam accounts, and that some may legitimate blogs who just aren’t too knowledgeable on how tumblr works. This guide is based around what I go by when checking certain blogs and usually it’s a quick giveaway the blog is a scam.

Please read this post too from my other blog before you tell people don’t donate to gfms:

1. You was sent the ask as someone who regularly shares Palestine related content such as regular news updates of posts by other Palestinians who are regularly giving updates. You may also get these asks from sharing a popular post that is from the Palestine tag. If you post often about Palestine, you will always start getting these asks. These askers don’t care if you state don’t send the asks. They will anyway. Unfortunately minors also get sent asks.

2. The ask has odd formatting such as having odd quotation marks in it or unusual formatting that may indicate it’s been edited and copied from somewhere else. Often the ask is the same thing as the post itself minus a link to a donation site. These asks rarely change so searching it should pull up if it’s been sent to other bloggers and sometimes the asks are edited only to add new phrases to them in time.

3. The account is almost always a few days old or a week old or long depending on how often they have sent asks. Usually some may even be an hour old and reusing a familiar pfp/ask.

4. The blog has a few Palestine related posts or posts from random tags reblogged to pad out length and then no more. They will have no original posts besides the pinned post while occasionally answering asks that they may have received but otherwise nothing else and no further updates given either.

5. They may have a Linktree link that is called “GoFundMe” as if indicating they have a GoFundMe there. However, they don’t. When clicked on, the Linktree actually goes to a PayPal account whose name may not even match the one their supposed name is. They’ll say it’s a friend, but it’s just the same person not someone else. You’ll see this same name across multiple accounts after a while usually giving away it’s not legitimate even under a different theme.

6. The text used by the blogs are often real stories stolen from legitimate fundraisers and searching parts of it in your preferred search engine should pull up the sources. These sources make no mention of a tumblr account either or don’t have the PayPal account associated with them in the info. Scammers often impersonate a real person in need and will ignore you if you show them the source they copied from.

7. Legitimate Palestinians often link to their own GoFundMe posts that their friends have set up or post links to other social platforms they are found on. They will regularly post updates when possible, post sources to support them when necessary, and also generally have some method of verifying their legitimacy. They may often share links to support others as well or give links to charities that have been shown as reliable. They will have more original posts than just a single pinned one and regularly speak to other tumblr accounts beyond just an ask. Please don’t bother them with asks about possible scam accounts. There are many guides out there that can do that for you if you search. You may find verified fundraisers too.

8. Scammers don’t know anything about Palestine and will often have trouble once you ask them anything beyond the mutual aid post. They don’t know the languages decently and you can tell it pretty easily if you’re one who uses it regularly. Whatever the scammers use is often just copied off the site they got the post from. Sometimes the text is just reused from past scams such as asking for insulin that doesn’t last long.

9. These scammers can and will use names stolen off real Palestinians to look more legitimate and trustworthy. They change names constantly once one of their PayPal accounts is shut down.

10. If you do see a GoFundMe link on a blog, don’t immediately assume it’s a scam just because it’s a relatively new account. Check the post notes to see if anyone’s verified the account yet or wait a bit as it takes time. You likely can search around to see if anyone’s posted anything where the blog has been vetted by others. You may also see if the GoFundMe is referred to on other socials or on lists that compile verified and vetted fundraisers.

Please don’t let these scams deter you from sending support where it needs to go. Even if you can’t donate personally, there are other ways to help. If you are sending money, please make sure that it’s going to where it’s needed and the place it’s sent has been verified accordingly. If you find a blog is a scammer, and have been able to prove it, please make sure to alert anyone sharing the post and report the account.

[notquitecanon]

Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong." 

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

 Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’. 

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous. 

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night. 

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year.  Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes.  Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical. 

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.  

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess. 

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old. 

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there.  Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey.  Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist. 

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-" 

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?" 

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you. 

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon. 

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?" 

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military.  You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here. 

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late." 

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia. 

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important." 

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?" 

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?" 

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.” 

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside. 

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in. 

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed. 

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?” 

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically. 

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.” 

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.” 

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.” 

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind. 

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter… 

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.” 

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm. 

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.” 

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.” 

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet. 

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine,  "A lot nervous, actually.” 

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him. 

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?” 

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again… 

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.”  His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth. 

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart.  God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to? 

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night. 

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?” 

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“ 

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process. 

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all. 

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

[demonic0angel]

DcxDp

Danny, after some encouragement (read nagging) from Jazz, decides to find a way to vent his trauma without it leading back to him. He's a bit hesitant about therapy due to Spectra, and there's only so much Jazz can do, especially since she's often busy with her classes over at Gotham University. So Danny decides to write a book under the pen name Danny Nightingale. The book quickly becomes a series of three so far called The Lab Accident Chronicles. He makes them about a boy named Neil who gets super powers in a generic lab accident and goes around fighting other super humans. The second book is about coping the trauma the ultimate enemy caused with changes, like Dan being Neil's superpowered older brother named Felix, Dani being a younger sister named Katey in the icu as a stand in for her destabilizing. There's also the older sister character based on Jazz named Amy. The third book is about coping with the trauma of the GIW vivisecting Danny with the stand in being an agency called The Anti Meta Foundation. The books become best sellers in a bunch of different cities, and the Justice League immediately can tell these books are trauma vents and are concerned.

Superman frowned at the books. “Is there a reason you believe that this is… real?”

Batman growled, “The level of detail within the novels are too… they’re too realistic. Something like this can only be written as a first hand account with personal experience.”

Green Lantern lifted the book with his ring, flipping through it rapidly. “I’m not too sure about this, Spooks. How are we sure that it’s just not someone with a good imagination? I mean, some of the things that happen in this novel are pretty… out of there. Like some sort of inter dimensional being capturing an entire town and being defeated by a teenager? His genocidal future self from another timeline coming to this world to kill him? Said teen also having a romance with almost all of the girls in his high school? Not that he described a lot but still…”

Batman pinched his nose. The first time Green Lantern actually read all of his needed materials and it was this…

Wonder Woman coughed and said, “Well, I believe you, Batman. If you think that there is a connection we can look into, it is no problem for us to give a quick check.”

Batman bowed his head to her. “Thank you.”

Superman nodded and said, “I agree. I trust you, Batman. So… where do we start?”

Batman flipped one of the books over and pointed to the name written under the drawing of a green, swirling portal. “Here. I say we start with the author. Daniel J. Nightingale.”

[thecranberriesslut]

Fawn and the wolf

Summary: You're the smallest one on the team, and you have the compulsive need to prove yourself to Ghost... but have you chewed off more than you can swallow?

Pairing: Simon!Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader 'Bambi'

Warnings: Unspecified age gap, but implied that it's large, Power imbalance (military superior and soldier), DubCon, Degradation, Forcefulness, Smut, Dirty themes, Dirty talk, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Unsafe use of a gun... Read at your own risk

Wc: 4k

Notes: I have never written cod smut before and I know nothing about military stuff so bare with me, also this is way darker than my previous pieces, just a heads up. I love your notes in the comments so tell me what you think! also note that Bambi is a nickname.

You stretch your arms, extending them in front of your chest, rolling your wrists around. The smell of coffee invades your every sense—on early mornings like these on base, the cheap coffee your superiors buy for the worn down common room is like your own personal brand of cocaine, the only thing that wakes you up after sleeping too little.

The physical aspects of military training are tough. They were almost a deal-breaker for you when you first came here... but over time, they had gotten easier. You had grown to enjoy the burn of a long run or the sting of a cold shower after extensive muscle training. After a while, feeling and seeing the results became almost addictive—but that didn't take away from the fact that most days, you were almost too tired to function. Most of the required workouts you were forced to endure were designed for men twice your size, and frankly, you found it a bit sexist. Why couldn't your superior adjust them to fit you better? It would take him a maximum of 20 minutes. You had come to the conclusion that he was a sadistic asshole who enjoyed torturing you every single day with insane workouts.

You hear the coffee drip slowly into the pot. You're too tired to fully open your eyes—even putting on gear this morning had felt like an impossible task. But here you were, awake (barely), in gear, and ready to start training in a couple of minutes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you have the huge coffee mug in your hands—burning hot, probably making the skin beneath it fiery red, but you are too exhausted to care.

You barely have time to swallow your first sip of the steaming, bitter, brown liquid when the door to the common room opens forcefully. Like instinct, you are up and alert—you can't show weakness here. You're already considered the runt of your entire team, being the youngest and also a woman. You turn around, ready to greet whoever it is with the alertness and determination of a starving fox during winter, hunting for the last rabbit left in the forest.

"Mornin', Bambi." Ghost said, his voice hoarse—but his manner alert and assertive, like always.

Bambi is your nickname on base, given to you by squadmates the first week you arrived. You liked to think it was because you were pretty like a fawn, but obviously, it was given to you for more degrading purposes. Everyone on your team thought of you as inexperienced, naive, and wide-eyed. But everyone had their own slightly degrading nickname, even your commander, Ghost. His real name was Simon Riley, but he was given the name Ghost because he stood out and had a tendency to move around quietly, like a ghost, not to mention his patent skull hood, a tactic to scare or to hide? No one knew.

"Good morning, sir," You said, trying to sound as awake as possible, waiting for the tension in the room to cool off before taking another careful sip of your coffee.

Ghost walks over to the coffee maker nonchalantly and pours himself a tall cup of coffee. You are surprised that he would even need caffeine—he's like a machine, inhuman—you've never seen him show any signs of weakness, and the manner in which he leads the team is brutal. He doesn't care if you're too tired to do push-ups; he will make you do them. Sometimes you consider the possibility that he just has no human emotions, or that he's a robot or something. Regardless of all this, you often find yourself with a compulsive need to make him happy. It's like you have to prove yourself to him constantly. You rarely complain to him about the difficult exercises he puts your team through, although you want to.

You've never been the kind of girl that just sits there quietly and lets everyone walk all over her. No—you’re the kind of girl who used to stand up for her friends in elementary school when the boys would pull their hair. You're the kind of girl that couldn't be mistaken for a doormat because you make your opinions known. If you weren't so fiery, you would never make it in the squad. Your squadmates are like brothers to you. You play rough—but when it comes to Ghost, you find that all your outward confidence just crumbles in his vicinity, and you become this pathetic rookie he can treat however he wants to. Although, you find that the same happens to most of the men on your team. Ghost is eerily calm; he radiates this quiet, overpowering energy, like a psychological horror film. And it makes everyone below him obey his commands like dogs. But it also makes you crave his approval. He never yells at you, but he never praises you either—it makes you almost obsessively try to get a reaction out of him with your good work on the exercises.

“We're doing the shooting range and combat alone today. Don't be late.”                                                                    And with that, he's out of the door, leaving behind nothing but an empty coffee mug and a slight lingering smell of smoky cologne.

As you stand anxiously at the metal door of the gun range, it's like your body is stopping you from going in. You can feel the harsh cargo pants rubbing against your legs in an annoying manner, and your shirt feels too tight around your armpits—also, the coffee you drank did nothing but replace your tiredness with urgent nervousness. You've never trained with Ghost alone, but last week you were sick, so this morning you had to wake up before the sun to play catch-up with him. You are a great shooter, it's in your blood… but you have a gnawing feeling that being so close to Ghost will mess with your aim, and you will disappoint him.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force your hand to go up to the door handle. As you push open the heavy door, the lighting inside the gun range is dim—you can barely make out Ghost's silhouette, standing near the guns. You step inside carefully, as if you need to be quiet. But the gun range was far from housing; it stood alone on the other side of the base, with only woods surrounding it—you're also pretty sure it's soundproof, but not entirely sure. The range smells like mold and gunpowder, it's oddly comforting.

“Are you just going to stand there or come in?”                                        Ghost says in a low voice, sounding indifferent—but nonetheless intimidating. You make your way inside and close the door behind you.

“Lock it.”                                                                                                            He commands, not even trying to phrase it as a question, just a blunt order. You feel a little confused as to why he would want you to lock the door, but alas, you twist the lock until it clicks, and walk over to Ghost wearily.

“No lights?”                                                                                                        You ask, trying to calm your nerves by talking, your hands finding the hem of your shirt and fidgeting with it.

“Burnt fuse. I expect you have no trouble shooting in the dark, rookie?”                  He says—it sounds like a snarky remark. You're annoyed at his tone. Obviously, you find it hard to shoot in the dark—but you can't tell him that. He'd paint you as weak and incapable.

“No problem.” You gear up, putting on hearing protectors and safety goggles. You take a gun, a simple, sleek Beretta 91, and you point it at the cardboard target ahead, waiting for Ghost to give you the okay to shoot. You are faced with silence. As you turn to look at Ghost, you see him standing next to you with a wide stance, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his black t-shirt tightening and showing off his muscles. He stares you down intensely.

“What are you doing wrong?” He asks, sounding annoyed, like you should know all this by now—although you haven't even trained shooting much.

“I—I don't know.” You hesitate, checking that the gun safety is off, your gear is on, and that you're facing the right way—you look at Ghost, confused.

“Your stance is all wrong, Bambi.” Without giving you a second to react, he moves behind you and guides your hands to the correct position. He kicks your legs farther apart and taps your thigh to signal you to move your foot slightly to the left. The gesture has nothing inherently sexual to it, but it makes a knot start to form in your lower stomach.

Ghost isn't a bad-looking man, or at least his body isn't—no one on your team has ever seen his face. He hides behind his signature skull balaclava daily, only revealing his dark brown eyes, and you presume he only takes it off to sleep and shower… if then. He has the type of body that any respectable captain would be expected to have—he's all muscle and mass. Not only that, but he's tall and broad, and if he was anyone else, you'd be trying to flirt with him every time you saw him… but even attempting to flirt with a higher-up is highly frowned upon here—you would both get fired. Also, it's not so difficult to push aside your feelings for someone who makes you train until failure every single day and rules your unit with an iron fist.

“Shoot.” Ghost orders, keeping his hold on your upper arms, directing the gun to hit the target right in the chest. He's standing so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off him—he towers over you, and being caged in his hold like this sort of makes you feel safe. The feeling doesn't last long when he removes his hands from yours and steps back, resuming his position as the judgy officer watching you train intently.

“Now try it by yourself. Less than seven points, and you get punished.” He says, his voice dark and determined. He looks at you through narrow eyes, and his stance remains official and intimidating. It's not even his worst request—last night, he punished your fellow teammate with 100 push-ups for laughing during training. If he made you do that many push-ups right now, you would probably collapse—you needed to get this.

With nervous, shaky hands, you point the barrel of the pistol the same way as last time, you gather all your courage, only able to think of one thing— one hundred push-ups, before sunrise. Or maybe he'll make you do something worse, 200 burpees… 150 pull-ups. You shake off the distracting thoughts and by some miracle, you pull the trigger-- the bullet hits the very corner of the cardboard target, and you visibly cringe at the sight. You got zero points… you curse yourself in your mind, how could you be this bad, now he's going to make you do so many push-ups. Slowly, you turn to look at Ghost— he doesn't look disappointed, his position remains calm and collected, and that's what scares you the most.

“Get on your knees.” He says, darkly, you think it's a joke at first, but his eyes remain serious. Your eyes widen as you try to process the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Now.” He adds, when you don't move. Maybe it's just your dirty mind… maybe he meant nothing crude with it, maybe it's a new form of punishment in your squad. So you put the gun down on the cold metal desk, and slowly, anxiously, you start to lower yourself onto your knees. Ghost remains cool, his gaze following yours, as you fall lower and lower, until your knees hit the ground. He takes a couple of steps closer to you, forcing you to be face to face with his crotch. He picks up the gun from the desk, and your mouth goes dry when you try to focus, to hear the safety click on, but it never does. He crouches down slightly, and brings the barrel to your chin, lifting your chin up, and straining your neck as you're forced to look up at him.

“Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me when I teach combat?” He asks, his voice remaining low and calm. You're shaking, with nervousness or anticipation— you're not entirely sure.

“I— ” You begin your sentence, but are quick to notice that no other words are coming out— you wonder what he'll do to you… he might send you home, or hurt you.

“I know all the others think you're this naive little Bambi, but I see through that— you're a fucking slut.” He puts emphasis on the word slut, and the contrast between his collected voice, and the crude words, makes the knot in your lower stomach tighten, and worsens the heat between your thighs.

“And you think I don't hear you in the common room, complaining to the others about my training methods—it's like you're begging to be put in your place.”

“I haven't sai-” You begin frantically explaining, but quickly stop as he hits the gun against your chin, a clear sign to remind you who's in control.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up.” He stares into your eyes with the intensity of a hungry wolf. You expect that sort of raw intensity from him, but you are never prepared for it. You can see the conflict in his mind, in his eyes—you can almost feel what he's thinking. Furthermore, you can sense the war going on in his head; you are fighting the exact same one in yours.

“You know—in war, the good people get eaten.” He starts, enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what happens to the smart people?” He asks, almost expecting you to give the wrong answer, his demeanor remaining slightly degrading.

“They survive?” You ask, unsure of what he's trying to say.

“They go bad.”

You look at him, confused. His words sound almost apocalyptic. You're trying to figure out what he means by them… does he mean that he's gone bad? Maybe that you should go bad? What does going bad even mean?

“Which one are you, little Bambi?”

“Smart.”

“Wrong answer.” He throws the gun on the floor, the safety remaining off, but you have no time to think about gun safety right now— as he begins to forcefully unbuckle his black, leather belt, you can't help but feel all your senses heightened, intensely pumping through your body. You can feel the heat rising up your chest, over your throat, into your cheeks and ears, turning them undoubtably red. You can hear the broken clock on the wall tick sporadically, in a completely unorganized manner. The sound of his belt buckle flying open almost hurts your ears. You imagine this is what rabbits feel, in that small window of time, right before they get eaten, when they feel the fox's eyes on them, lurking somewhere in the dangerous night. You look up into his eyes, pleading with your gaze, but you are met with a look that could almost be mixed up with sympathy. He looks like a disappointed teacher, handing you a test with a failed grade, knowing that he's the one who failed you, but displays a fake, degrading sympathy in his eyes.

He takes his cock out of his black cargo pants, it looks almost intimidating. You can't see his mouth, but you swear he's smiling a sadistic smile under his mask. He wraps his big, warm hand, into your hair, where your occiput meets the back of your neck, and he pulls your head back— the motion stings, but it brings your attention to him, away from your thoughts. When he sees you've returned from inside your head, to the current moment, he pushes your head forward. Instinctively, you open your mouth, almost inviting him in— he stuffs his rock-hard cock into your mouth, with little regard for your feelings.

“See, you're too good for war, Bambi.” He remarks, his voice soft, you can feel the patronizing tone pierce through you and hit the warm spot between your legs like lighting. You try to answer him, but your mouth lets out a small, pathetic moan, as he pushes himself further into your throat, making your eyes tear up.

“A smart girl would've never come into a dark shooting range with a dangerous man. You're too good, and you're too dumb— that's why you get eaten alive.” His words remain condescending, degrading, but his voice keeps a calm, soft tone, which contrary to what you'd hope it would do, turns you on like nothing you've ever experienced before.

Finally, he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, confused as to why he would stop before he finished— but it gives you an eerie sensation that there's more to come. And while you wish you could hate this, while you wish you could call him an absolute creep and report him to someone… you were smart. You had come into this dark room with this dangerous man, with full awareness and a calculated plan. You saw how he looked at your pleading eyes when he made you train until failure. Furthermore, you saw the bulge in his pants when in late night combat sessions he got you under him, and you looked like a scared rabbit. When you started in his unit, a while ago— you gathered that the best way to survive, was to play into the naive role, in reality, you were exceptionally smart, top of your class. But they didn't need to know that. Every single time Ghost talked down on you, you felt like you had the control, you'd made the decision to act dumb, to get him to lose control ever so slightly, because he gave into his anger.

Much to your avail, he turns around, going to fetch something out of the gun range closet. Dumb move, because when he was turned away from you, you grabbed the gun off the floor, making a quick, uncalculated move. As he turns around, he sees you nowhere, despite being a tough military officer, he feels a slight eeriness about not seeing you… like in horror movies, when the innocent kid starts acting odd and eventually kills everyone. He stands still, looking around the pitch black room as best as he can, until he feels the cold nozzle of a pistol on his mid back. He turns to face you, with a blank expression, and you see the rope in his hands.

“The smart people go bad, no?” You smile a wicked grin, you have the control now… and you want him to know it.

“Drop the rope and get on the floor.”

You thought he'd resist, that he'd fight the gun off your hands— but he just lays down on the cold concrete, and supports his head on his hands, and smiles at you, a smile proposing a challenge. You keep the gun in your hand, as you make your way on top of him, straddling him.

“What's your big, smart plan now, Bambi?” He says, with an annoying amount of confidence painting his words.

You bend down on top of him, and push your lips against his, like you want to devour him. His lips feel surprisingly soft, and you can still taste the faint residue of coffee and cigarettes on his tongue. He doesn't fight for dominance, instead, he sort of submits to the kiss, letting you take the lead. You feel like you've won the game, until his hips come crashing into yours, his bulge pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your mouth opens and leaves his ever so slightly, and you don't notice the gun falling out of your hand. With the newly gained advantage, Ghost pushes his tongue into your mouth, starting the long overdue war for dominance. You try to fight it, trying to gain back the small amount of control you crave— but he turns you around with ease, until he has you on your back. He's straddling you with knees on both sides of you, and his hands holding your arms tightly on both sides of your head. You're trapped again.

He doesn't waste time taunting you, he's done playing the game. Hastily, his hands leave their bruising grip on your wrists and find the button of your pants. He moves quickly and removes your pants with a sense of urgency— you don't try to stop him, you leave your hands laying where he's been holding them, and you let him remove your pants, and then your underwear. His finger finds a spot very close to your most sensitive one, but it doesn't hit the spot you need it to. He continues this torture for a while, until he stops completely and looks at you.

“No attempts to stop this? No fighting?” He questions. You never took him for this clueless. You move your hand to his, and grab it, bringing his entire hand to your throbbing center, and forcing him to please you. With a breathy voice, you say.

“Just shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

He doesn't need another word from you, as he spreads your thighs open with force, and pushes himself into you— giving you no time to get used to his size. With no warning, he starts pumping into you relentlessly, keeping up a torturous pace you thought was only possible in porn. When you open your mouth slightly, to complain or to moan, you're not sure. He stops you, wrapping his veiny hand around your throat, in an attempt to show you who's actually in control. It only makes you wetter, you like having him so desperate for control, that he would choke his own soldier— you think it only makes him seem weaker. When he loses himself like this, it's you that gains the upper hand.

“You're never telling anyone about this.” He says, through desperate pants. His hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly.

“Wouldn't want you to get fired, perv.” You shoot him a snarky remark, trying to sound confident— but the whimpers in between every word make you sound more like a pathetic adolescent. His lips latch onto your neck, biting it so intensely, his sharp canine teeth pull a little blood. You love the contrast between pain and pleasure, and feel your orgasm building up. He can feel it too.

“Try to make a smart comment now, I dare you.” He bullies, and you try to say something smart, or just something, anything— but what comes out of your mouth is a deep guttural, animalistic moan, as your orgasm washes over you.

He begins to laugh in a low tone, in between groans, as he pulls out of you, and releases his cum onto your lower stomach. It would feel degrading and dehumanizing, if you weren't just fucked out of your mind. With a weak, breathy voice, you manage to say.

“I hate you.”

He laughs.

“Sure seems like it, Bambi.”

[eupheme]

Your best friend Wade who always jokingly flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone - and you hate it because you have a real genuine crush on him and the flirting doesn’t mean anything… does it? It has to take a mutual friend to be like “oh my god he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to tell you, so that’s why he’s always joking about boners” (please and thank u ilu 😌)

omg avo this kicked my ass, the amount of pining for Wade as he (jokingly, you think) flirts with you would be off the charts 🥲💖 I wrote a little drabble with how that might go, I love you and your ideas - thanks so much for sending this to me!!!

— cause every time we touch (i get this feeling)

best friend!wade wilson x mutant!reader

<1k | flirting, dirty jokes, heaps of pining

Blow job. Leg Spreader. Slippery Nipple. Liquid Viagra. Sex on the Pool Table. Pink Silk Panties.

Each time Wade comes into Sister Margaret’s - which is four or five times a week - he asks for dirtier and more obscure drinks.

"Wishful thinking", he tells you, each time.

Even with the roll of your eyes, you have to admit that it keeps you on your toes. That you look forward to seeing your best friend so often - tamping down the jolt in your belly, night after night.

Reminding yourself that yes, he got you this job, but he's not here to see you.

That this always was his spot.

It had been an easy sell. Used to working overnight shifts - security, back then. After the disaster with Weasel, they had been desperate for a replacement. Wade had come to you immediately, dropping to his knees as you opened the door.

Winning you over with a "you could literally get paid to hang out with me. How is this not a win-win-win? How is this not your dream job?"

And here, you didn't have to hide what or who you were. Reading feelings and intent were a bonus, when a handshake could tell you everything you needed to know. Their feelings spilled as easily as they were written, when you were negotiating contracts.

It also helped in-house. A human lie detector. Able to break up fights, settle arguments. A party trick, when things got slow. The regulars trying to get things past you - tales based in truth spun tall, seeing when you'd catch them.

Wade never plays, but you think that's because you know him so well.

And what seems like a sell, quickly evolves into more. Warping, as days pass. Spending more time with a crush sounds tempting, on paper.

The reality is something else.

Yes, there is a seat saved for him at the bar. Literally saved - his name scrawled across the vinyl, and you still haven't been able to scrub it out. Stopping by at all hours to chit chat.

Teasing you - how he's "so glad he doesn't have to stalk you at your old job anymore". An over-the-top sigh about being relieved that you're safe now - in your new job, surrounded by mercs.

Begging for the best job. Puppy-dog eyes. Fake coupons for favors that would make a sinner blush. Crossing his heart that you could have anything, and he means anything you wanted, if he could only get "that thing involving the murder clowns".

It's enough to make you hope.

Later, at home - in the early hours as you're pulled under. Replaying his comments. The filthy jokes and the shameless flirting - wondering if that's all they were.

Wondering if he'd be waiting for you tomorrow, perched on his stool.

But there's the downfall.

You see him - but you also see him with everyone else.

The charming smiles. Head thrown back in a laugh as he works the room. A friend to all, and as you watch him - perched on the knee of a goddess of mercenary as he yaps away, you can't help the swift current of jealousy.

Of foolishness.

It's enough that you're almost regretting agreeing.

Your mood is sullen, as you wipe down glasses. Trying to ignore the ache when you see him flirt. That realization that the something special you thought he had with you, might just be a part of his personality.

And when Dopinder shuffles from the back with more ice for the chiller behind the bar, it only takes one look at you before he's sighing.

"Not again. Please, I am begging you. I cannot take more of your yearning.”

Your lips quirk. Hadn't realized you'd become that obvious. He'd become your go-to, in the long hours you spend together behind the bar. Pinkie-promising not to say a word - but you always thought you'd had a decent handle on your expressions.

"We don't have to talk about it." Your hands raise, placating, "Just let me yearn in peace. I'll get over it."

"You know that almost half of what DP makes a month is funneled back in here, right?" He gives you a long look, "Before you, I saw him once a week. I had to beg him to come get his paycheck."

Doubt still lingers.

"Doesn't mean anything," You shrug - eyes dropping, as you help him restock.

"You do not think Mr. Pool worships the ground you walk on?"

The intensity of his question has you side-eying him, "I mean... I don't think he sees me that way. He acts the same with me as he does with everyone."

“Sure.” He huffs, leaning against the bartop, just as Wade plunks down in the seat in front of you.

“God, I haven’t been over here in like-,” Wade checks a fake watch, “Fifteen minutes? Feels like longer. Felt like a fucking hour.”

Pivoting back and forth on the stool as he adds, “Is it possible for people to get separation anxiety? Or is that just dogs? Is this how Dogpool feels when I’m gone?”

You just manage to catch the last bit, as Dopinder slips away.

“Exactly the same.”

Tonight, Wade is the first person that sits down in front of you for the game.

A frown, as you peel off your gloves - your barrier, to the outside world.

His own already bare - sliding back-and-forth over his suit-clad thighs. You'd mistake it for nerves, if you weren't so sure Wade had never been nervous in his life.

"What's your story, Wilson?" You ask, "Hope you brought something good."

"Oh, it's a whopper. A real fucking doozy. Apparently, you're not gonna believe it. " His laugh is a little too loud, and your eyes narrow, "But let's give it a whirl, okay?"

There's a flicker, behind the bar. A sideways look towards the bar, where Dopinder's hands cover his face. You don't need to touch him to read the guilt written across his features - the way he almost flinches, under your glare.

You're going to fucking kill him.

The sound of your name brings you back.

“Ready to play?”

Wade's hands rest face-up on the table - an offering. For once in his life he almost looks serious, and it’s enough to bring you back.

A breath - before you align your own. Letting them drop down, skin mapping against skin for the first time.

It floods through you.

The lick of heat that almost feels like a caress. A deep yearn that causes your own heart to twinge, layering with the feeling of need. Desire. Want.

It's familiar. It mirrors something deep inside, something that’s become as much a part of you as flesh and bone.

Oh.

A laugh slips from you, breaking the beat of silence. Relief tinged with disbelief - your smile stretching wide.

“Yeah?” You breathe, softening.

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Thought I was being obvious. But you are pound-cake dense, apparently.”

Hands flipping over, to entwine between yours. Letting that feeling inside him linger, settling warm and comforting over your bare skin.

“But I like that about you.” Another huff of a laugh, “Like all of you, really. Always have.”

It makes your heart ache. In a way that finally feels full, feels right - instead of the near-agony you’ve been bearing for weeks.

Only you could be such an idiot.

thanks for reading! 💖

[limarkova]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yandere Al Ghuls

Pt 2.

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*Author's note: OMG. Thank you guys so much for all the engagement on the first part. I didn’t think my first post would get that much reaction. Also yes I am spree writing this is! If you notice a mistake let me know. PS, the school named in this chapter is fictional and does not exist in the real world.

Alfred listened to the ringing phone line waiting for Bruce to answer. Seeing Miss (Name) in the hallway had been a surprise. He was fairly certain she was supposed to be away at Miss Rose's Boarding School for Young Woman in STEM. After two years of studying in the UK it was strange to have her appear without any notice. Especially since she hadn't visited or sent word in the past.

"Hello Alfred." The line stopped ringing and Alfred was greeted by Bruce.

"Master Bruce. Have you gotten any word from (Name)'s School about a sudden break in the school year?"

"No, why?" Alfred narrowed his eyes at the phone. Well that didn't make sense. Surely her school would notify them if she left.

Alfred began going through his memories. When was the last time Miss Rose's had called the manor? He couldn't seem to recall, they did have the manor's house number on file. "Well she just arrived at the manor and get into a bit of a scuffle with Master Damian. He thought she was an intruder and because I didn't know about her return I couldn't inform him about her in advance. Thankfully she seems unharmed but that was not a good foot to start their sibling relationship on."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "That’s odd, we should have received some kind of notice. Alfred can you call Miss Rose's to see what's going on. I'll wrap up business here quickly and be on the next flight home."

"I will see to it sir." The phone call ended. As Alfred began looking for the correct number to call next, Dick came into the room.

"Hey Alfred, why didn't you tell me baby bird was coming back?" Dick gestured behind him towards the kitchen.

Alfred shook his head slightly, typing in the school's name on Google. "I was not aware she was returning today."

Dick blinked twice, "Wait, what? Her school is in Australia, how did she get on an international flight with no one being aware of it?"

"Her school isn't in Australia." Alfred's eyebrows scrunched together. Dick's mouth made an 'o' shape before clamping into a thin line. Alfred narrowed his eyes at the look before correcting Dick, "Her school is in Birmingham, UK."

"Right, right. Umm, still though how did she get back here without anyone being notified. Even than it's the middle of October, shouldn't classes still be in session." Dick placed his hand to his chin. His eyes took on the focus look he got when he was working on a case or solving a puzzle. Alfred finally got the number written down. Dick looked up at Alfred. There was this dawning look on his face, "Hey Alfred."

"Yes Master Dick."

"Something is really wrong here, we need to keep an eye on her."

Alfred nodded listening to another phone line ringing in his ear, "I agree."

You had to come up with a plan. Escaping the facilities hadn't happened because of rash promises of passion. No it took a year of observation, planning, and waiting. It took you learning every detail that had been place in front of you. Yes you had emotions and gave yourself little dramatic moments but you can't live there.

You grabbed an abandoned notebook on your desk. It was covered in stickers with the first three pages being scribbled on. You ripped them out before beginning to write out everything you knew about the facilities. One they had access to all kinds of medical equipment but it was older equipment that struggled to work sometimes. Two the gaurds were heavily arm with scratched up weapons. The scratching was probably where the serial numbers would've been. Third they had issues getting supplies from a Sionis. Fourth it was based in Gotham evidenced by you being able to find the manor days after escape.

On the next page you wrote out your family member's names. You also add in the new people, Duke Thomas and Damian Wayne. You had written down Talia but stopped to think for a minute.

Yes, your father had likely cheated on your mom with her. But did that make her guilty of destroying your mom's romance? Did she even know about your mother? Maybe your mom was the reason she left causing that line in your mother's diary. Even than you need to focus on the experiments. You could worry about your mother's betrayal later. You scratched Talia off the list.

When you flipped to the next page, there was a soft knock on your door. It creaked open revealing Duke. He offered you a soft smile as he poked his head into your room. "Hey, are you doing okay?"

You looked him up and down. Duke was new to manor and you still couldn't tell if he was visiting or lived here now. A small part of you questioned if he knew about your kidnapping. Did any of your siblings actually know what happeneded or had Bruce just told them the boarding school lie? Did he plan to do it to them too once you proved a success?

You turned back to your notebook scribbling the questions. You'd need to look into during your investigation, "I'm fine."

"I heard about Damian attacking you in the hallway." Duke inched into your room. You turned back a page and underlined Damian's name. Even if he had nothing to do with your suspicions about your father, you were not going let him act like him towards you. Duke chuckled nervously behind you, prompt you to close the book. Can't have them finding out... yet. "Is there someway I can maybe cheer you up? I mean you're clearly upset about something and I want to help if I possibly can?"

He continued to ramble on. You looked around your room as he talked. Eyes landing on your closet you had a slight realization. In your time at the experiments, you had grown. They may have torture you but they hadn't starved you. After all they need you healthy to ensure 'proper' results. The only clothes you had that fit you were probably the ones you were wearing. "Actually there is something."

"Oh! Yeah, what do you need?" Duke smiled brightly. It was as if his teeth were glowing with inner light. If your siblings and by proxy Duke had been told a lie, playing along with it would be smart. After all planning and observing meant staying unnoticed. You offer an unsure smile hoping it would play into what you were saying, "It's a long story but I left the boarding school in a hurry so I completely forgot to pack clothes."

"Okay." Duke made a weird face. Crap, that's not good.

"Yeah and I had a grow spurt so, most of my clothes here don't fit me anymore." You rubbed the back of your neck. Duke's face shifted into realization at your words. Crisis averted for now. You plowed ahead to keep him from asking about the school, making up a lie was not a good idea right now when you knew nothing about theirs. "I need to go clothes shopping. Can you take me to the mall?"

"Of course. What time did you want to go?" Duke made an awkward finger gun gesture towards. He looked tense. Not the tense you saw from the gaurds when you started pressing the line. It was more like the intern in the experiments who never looked at you directly.

You grabbed your notebook and stood. There's was a small backpack by your desk. You slid the book in before sling the bag over your shoulder, "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, let me just stop by my room to grab my keys and wallet." Duke held the door open for you. The walk to his room was quiet and slightly tense.

When he stopped at a door on the second floor you couldn't stop yourself from blurting, "So, you live here?"

"Oh yeah." He walked into the- his room. There were a few posters and some knick knacks on the few bookcases. More importantly there were moving boxes in the corner. Some of them were disassembled but a few were still intact with clothes scattered around them. In fact most of the room was covered in stary papers, clothes, etc. Duke grimaced, "Haha, I just moved in two months ago. Let's agree to not tell Alfred about the mess."

"He probably already knows and is silently judging you." A nervous laugh bubbled out of your stomach. The information swirled inside of you uneasily. Two months was awhile but not long in the grand scheme of things. Plus if Alfred didn't mention you than Duke probably didn't know anything. That would make him innocent in your kidnapping.

"Ahh here they are!" Duke's voice broke you out of the mixed up thoughts in your head. He was holding a silver chain with a dark brown wallet and several keys hanging from it. In his search he had basically ripped apart his laundry basket. He kicked the mess back towards the now mostly empty basket, "You ready?"

"Yeah. Can we get something to eat well we're out?" You felt ridiculous asking. It was another stark reminder of how normal everything but you felt.

Yet Duke didn't hesitate to smile at you and offer his hand, "Heck yeah. There's this awesome pizza place in the mall the serves the biggest slices I've ever seen."

"I don't remember the last time I had pizza."

"No way! Let's go, we need to get you a slice ASAP. This is a pizza emergency." Maybe you could make a new normal with him. Once you destroyed the experiments. Duke Thomas was officially off your list for now.

Something had shifted in Duke. He remembered asking his parents for a little sibling when he was four maybe five. They had kissed him on the forehead and told him that they didn't need another kid when they had a perfect one in front them. It had made him feel happy for a little bit but he always held that small hope.

He thought he would get that with Damian. To a degree he did but it didn’t feel right. Damian was too competitive and strong willed. Duke didn't feel like a big brother, he felt like a contestant at worst, a good friend at best.

Taking (Name) to the mall today had made him feel like a big brother. Seeing her slowly relax around him and get excited over tiny things. Like the cute dress at Justice, the pizza slice that was as big as her head, and the look on her face when she saw Barnes & Noble. He probably spent his whole allowance for the week but he didn't care. He had made his little sister happy.

They had one last stop to make before going home, Claire's. Duke insisted that she look around well he grabbed something. He went straight to friendship necklaces. There were quite a few to choose from. Crystals, Cats, The Wicked Musical. Than he saw it. Two pastel tie-dye koalas hugging each, it was perfect. Duke immediately grabbed it before going to find her.

That's when he noticed something was wrong. She was staring at something and shaking violently. The look in her eyes told him that she had gone off somewhere else mentally. He looked towards what she was looking at to see the piercing station.

There was an attendant cleaning off a newly open needle. The smell of alcohol wipes and disinfectant clear in air. He placed himself in between her and sight. "What’s wrong, kiddo?"

"I wanna go home." (Name) didn't speak above a tight whisper. Something in Duke began howling. This was wrong, she shouldn't be scared. He was there to protect her.

"Okay, but first I need you to tell me something. Where are you?" Duke tried to remember what they do for Jason when he gets like this. Fuck why was it so hard to remember grounding right now.

"I don't like needles." Her eyes flicked to his. They were wide and blaring with barely contained rage.

"That’s okay, but I need you to tell me where we are." Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tighten. He continued on, "I need to know you're here with me. Mentally."

"The Mall."

"We can go." Duke grabbed her hand gently. They paid and left. Once they were in the car, she relaxed again. Duke palmed the necklace in his hand. He had taken it out of the package. His own necklace was already around his neck.

She was staring out the window. The look in her eyes made Duke pause. She was watching the setting sun like it was first time she was seeing it. Mute awe painted her face like a classical painting. Duke pulled the little koala out of his pocket, "Hey, I got you something."

"Is it half the back seat?" She looked behind her to the bags. Barnes & Noble, The Childern's Place, Justice, and Build-a-Bear. Four places that equated to Five separate bags. Duke snorted before bursting out laughing.

"No. Jeez no, it's this." He held out the little koala necklace to her. Her eyes looked towards his own chest, where the other koala already hung. A friendship necklace. She took it into her hands gently. That classical painting look returning, mixes of sentimental joy and some unnamed human emotion that was baffling.

"Thank you, Duke."

"It's no problem." Duke wrapped his arm around her in an weird side hug over the center console. He had always wanted a little sibling and now that he had one he was never to going let her go.

"We might want to get back to manor before curfew." (Name) pointed to the digital display announcing 6:15pm. Duke cursed, shoving his keys into the ignition. She began to laugh hysterical. The manor was two hours away and 'curfew' aka patrol debrief was at 7pm. Duke flew out of the parking lot with manically laughing ten-year-old.

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