#but i would never *actually* risk money on that

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 oiran

synopsis: while luffy and the others are off saving sanji, zoro is assigned the role of a ronin, and told to keep a low profile as he roams the land of wano... but he risks revealing himself and the entire crew when he discovers you're a nearby oiran, and in need of his rescue.

cw: lots and lots of fluff, comfort, zoro is down bad for reader, reader is super pretty, zoro does NOT play about you, took me hella long for some reason.

a/n: i took the song hell n back by summer walker as inspo for this

"Thanks," Zoro nodded with a smile, giving the boat owner a thankful nod as he took a box of sushi from him, quickly setting it down in his lap and cracking it open.

Though he had failed to notice the word WASABI written in bold on the side of the tray.

In his travels throughout the Flower Capital, Zoro had landed himself in a little bit of trouble, having been arrested for the crimes of a serial killer, and convicted as a murderer when he cut down a very important magistrate—who was the real culprit—at his own execution.

 Luckily, after defeating the magistrate's followers and walking out the execution yard, he had managed to stumble across a literal sushi boat leaving one of the docks, which gave him the perfect means to escape.

While also offering the perfect opportunity for him to stuff his face.

Eager to eat, he picked up the first piece, which was topped with fresh salmon nigiri and salmon roe, the rice a little more green than the swordsman expected.

But he was too hungry to care, not giving it a second thought as he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

An act he was quick to regret.

Cheeks puffed and nose scrunched, a bead of sweat trailed down his temple as his face contorted into an expression of discomfort.

'It burns!'

Frantic for something to cool his tongue, he snapped his head around, letting out small hums of muffled agony as he searched for his sake gourd.

Though the spiciness made him feel like his mouth was being seared by flames, most of the heat was moving upward toward the back of his nose, hitting his sinuses just enough to make his eyes water.

Typically, he enjoyed things that sat more on the bitter side, but he'd never imagined food could get this spicy.

Quickly grabbing his sake, he guzzled well over half of it, ignoring the two large streams running down the sides of his mouth as that was what finally stopped the burning.

But as he began to regain feeling in his mouth, he realized that the sushi piece itself actually tasted delicious, slightly smiling at the flavor.

'Looks like I'll just need a sake chaser.'

"My, my! Look at this!" the older man next to him gasped, marveling at a mysterious flyer in his hands. "To think that such a breath-taking beauty actually exists! It's unbelievable!"

Completely unbothered, Zoro went back to stuffing his face, following each bite with a huge gulp of sake.

Though his curiosity began to pique when the man continued to stare at the paper, almost as if he was hypnotized.

"What's unbelievable?" Zoro asked, muffled, as he gulped down another piece. "Hot!"

"An oiran nearby by the name of (f/n)! She's said to be one of the most beautiful women in the country!" the man answered, holding up the paper for the swordsman to see. "It's rumored that her beauty would give oiran Komurasaki a run for her money."

Zoro took another lazy swig of his gourd, brow raised as he flippantly glanced at the flyer, only for his eye to blow wide at the sight.

It was you, your features gracefully laid out and unmistakable in the detailed ink painting.

Surprised, Zoro spit out his mouthful of sake, shooting it directly into the face of a nearby patron.

"Hey! If you don't like wasabi, don't eat it! But I won't tolerate you spitting on other customers!" the owner of the boat shouted, brows furrowed as he glared at the swordsman. "Hold on! Have you even paid?!"

"Lemme see that!" Zoro growled, completely ignoring the owner as he snatched the flyer out of the old man's hands, looking at it closer.

It was indeed you, as radiant and stunning as he'd last seen, which was well over a month ago.

He wasn't told what identity you were assigned or where you were stationed—a precaution taken by Kin'emon as he'd seen throughout his travels how hell-bent the swordsman was on protecting you, and couldn't trust the man not to seek you out if he knew.

And, of course, his intuition would be right, as the paper suddenly began to crumple in Zoro's hand, his expression dropping into a deep scowl.

Zoro was dim, but he wasn't stupid.

During his time in the capital, he had managed to piece together what the whole oiran business was about.

He'd overheard the stories.

He'd seen the men.

It was nothing but an excuse for stuffy rich guys to gawk and leer at women, treating them like objects and products to be bought rather than actual people.

His fist clenched even tighter, veins bulging in his hand as it practically shook, nearly destroying the paper.

While eating out somewhere nice, he'd eavesdrop on some of the stories the men of higher status would tell, and to call their actions harassment would be a grave understatement.

He grit his teeth, attempting to fight off the swell of anger threatening to burst from his chest.

Just the thought of any man doing those things to you made his blood boil, and his hands itch for his swords.

Plan be damned, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to you on his watch.

Abruptly turning around, he yolked up the boat owner by the front of his yukata, the man letting out a fearful yelp as Zoro pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He held out the crumpled flyer for the man to see, tone deadly serious and leaving no room for argument.

"Tell me where I can find her..."

"Care for some sake, sir?" a blonde-haired geisha asked, a slight flush on her cheeks as she approached Zoro, who was sitting rigidly on his tatami mat.

The man was certainly a sight, and every other girl in the room was having a hard time focusing on their clients with him sitting so close.

He was significantly more handsome than their typical patrons.

Pronounced jawline.

Clearly muscular physique.

Dark, bedroom eyes.

A dream come true for a woman in this profession.

"No, thank you," he curtly denied, not even bothering to look the girl in the eye.

But he had turned down every one of their advancements.

Yet, in all actuality, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Once the boat owner told him where to find you, he immediately jumped ship, leaving behind some money to pay for his meal before landing on the riverbank.

He ran as fast as his legs could carry him with nightfall drawing ever closer, as he knew that was when red-light districts were at their most busy.

 And only after mugging a few rich guys—using their money to pay the exorbitant entrance fee—did he finally gain access to your room, entering himself under the guise of a wealthy samurai.

Then, he laid in wait, watching with a certain disdain as the other men practically jumped the other girls, getting particularly handsy particularly quick.

But he did his best to ignore it, instead focusing on the fact that you had yet to arrive, worry beginning to spike in his veins as he had been sitting there for thirty minutes, with little to no sign of you at all.

"Hey," he called, snappily, snatching the girl out of her lovesick stupor. "When the hell is the oiran comin' out?"

Visibly, her shoulders dropped, a pout settling on her painted lips as she finally caught the message, now understanding why he was so cold toward everyone else.

He was waiting for her.

'Much like the rest of the men that pass through nowadays...'

Sucking up her slight annoyance, she faced the man with a polite smile, fixing her grip on the tray of liquor.

"Oiran (f/n) will be—"

"Lords! And esteemed samurai of Wano!" an older woman suddenly exclaimed, seeming to appear out of nowhere, utterly elated. 

Zoro snapped his attention away from the girl, eye zeroing in on the door the madam was standing in front of.

He could sense you standing just behind it, and was fighting off the all-encompassing urge to bust it down and drag you away from the place.

"It is with great honor that the Ogimoto House presents to you our very own shining star... oiran (f/n)!"

As the door slammed open, a woman in the corner suddenly began to play the shamisen, the other girls joining together to gracefully dance as you made your entrance, carefully stepping into the light.

And once Zoro caught sight of you, nearly all the air was knocked out of his lungs.

You were a vision.

Your hair was tied in a both simple yet elaborate updo, adorned with several golden, gem-encrusted hairpins, two small strands of hair falling before your ears.

Your kimono was heavily layered, but richly decorated with bold greens and intricate embroidery that accented the fabric's dragon design—the most prominent one, ironically, missing its left eye, much like your swordsman.

Your makeup was surprisingly simple for an oiran, more focused on accentuating your natural features, while offering small pops of color to your cheeks.

Zoro's heart added another beat to its pattern, feeling as if the skin on his chest was tightening over itself, rendering him unable to breath.

Just being able to look at you brought him an embarrassing amount of happiness.

Lowering your fan, you flashed the men a coy smile, their eyes quite literally turning into hearts at the sight.

"Sorry for the delay," you simpered, gracefully walking into the room.

Because of traditional oiran etiquette, it was impossible for you to move faster than a mile an hour, but that only added to the appeal as that made it seem as if you were floating through the air. 

Calculated, your eyes scanned over the crowd, analyzing each face within the room.

You'd recognized a few of the usual suspects—rich, thirsty men who would fall over themselves trying to catch your attention—and noticed a few new faces—skeptical types who wanted to see if the rumors of your looks were true.

But one man among them all stuck out to you.

You'd recognize that head of hair anywhere...

 Internally, you let out a sigh, fighting off the wide smile threatening to break out on your face.

'He just can't follow directions, can he?'

Your swordsman.

Though you two had only been apart for about a month, give or take, you couldn't help but allow your heart to swell with joy at seeing him again.

Countless nights you'd found yourself pining over the man, missing his presence by your side.

His genuine, obnoxious laugh.

His funny, snarky remarks.

His drunken, horrible flirting.

His bad habit of resting his hand on your hip, keeping you tethered to his side.

All that was why you found your feet carrying you over to his mat, entire body burning at the intensity of his stare and the cockiness of his smirk.

"May I join you, sir?" you asked, slyly, biting back the grin threatening to crack on your lips. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

He let out a quiet chuckle, perfectly fine with playing along, so long as he was your only customer.

"Be my guest," he greeted, his hand instinctively coming up to pat his thigh.

You typically sat in his lap when you two were alone, but he was so excited to see you, he didn't really care.

Though, when your eyes flashed him a scolding look, his hand halted in mid-air, brow raising in confusion.

You glanced toward the other patrons discreetly, taking notice that they all were still watching intently, before turning your attention back to your swordsman.

'We can't do that here, dumbass,' your expression said. 'You're gonna blow my cover.'

It finally hit him, and he nodded with an adorably vacant look.

'My bad,' he backed off.

"Oiran (f/n)!" a man suddenly shouted from across the room, grabbing everyone's attention as he bustled to his feet and scrambled toward you. "Oiran (f/n)!"

Despite your confusion, you turned to him with a warm look, masking your apprehension.

"Yes, Sir Kyoguro?" you asked.

You'd recognized the man from a few of his previous visits, and you made a point to remember every name you met, in case they could be of use to you later.

"I must say, I am bewitched by your beauty, absolutely enthralled by your grace, and in awe of your poise!"

You pretended to be abashed by the comments, slightly hiding yourself behind your fan.

"Sir Kyoguro, you flatter me."

Zoro nearly gagged, rolling his eyes at the sight.

He knew you were faking it, seeing as you'd just given him a real reaction only moments ago, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"(f/n)!" the man eagerly lurched forward, taking your hand in his. "I am utterly taken with you. I see no other woman that can take your place in my heart!"

You fought off a grimace, smiling down uneasily at the stranger, who seemed to have found it in his right to touch you without your permission.

Zoro, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

Arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gripped his yukata, occupying his hands to prevent himself from shooting up and severely hurting the man.

It was painfully obvious that you were uncomfortable, yet you seemed to be taking it in stride.

How many other interactions had you had like this one?

How many men have touched you without your say so?

How many times have you had to hide your distress behind a kind smile?

'Bastard...'

He grit his teeth, fingers tightening painfully into a fist.

"This is why... I want you to marry me!"

Your entire world scratched to halt, Zoro's eye widening at the words.

"I-I beg your pardon?" you weakly stuttered, utterly shocked, praying you heard him wrong.

"I've already paid off your contract and then some. So tonight we leave for the Flower Capital! There we will be wed! And we'll finally be able to start our lives together!"

Your heart practically sank to your feet, the very thought making you shiver under your skin.

It was unheard of for an oiran to get a marriage proposal just within a month of working, much less one where the client pays well over the asking price.

Kin'emon telling you that fact was the only thing reassuring you throughout this whole endeavor.

As cheesy as it was, you had no intention of marrying anyone else in this world other than Zoro, whether the wedding was real or not.

But it wasn't like you could outright say no, or simply run away.

You'd blow your cover that way, and the others needed you to find out everything you could from the nobles of Wano.

'Of all people, why did this have to happen to me?'

It was safe to say... you were shitting your pants.

In a desperate attempt to debunk this, you turned to the madam, but she gave you a proud thumbs up, nodding in concurrence.

'Fuck!'

"And while we're on the topic... please forgive me if this comes off too vulgar for your delicate ears," the man leaned in closer, whispering so only you could catch it. 

You shivered, terrified of what nonsense he might say.

"Once we reach the Flower Capital, I must insist that we start the process of producing an heir at once. My family is in great need of one, you see? And we need to start his upbringing right away."

You nearly laughed at the statement, eyes wide, nearly disbelieving of the words that just left his mouth.

There's no way he just said that...

But he did.

And Zoro heard him loud and clear.

And right then and there was when the swordsman decided the time for sitting idly by was over, plan be damned—Traffy could make another one.

It'd be a cold day in hell before he ever let you get married to some pervert for some mission, much less have a kid with him.

Silently, Zoro stood up from his mat, rising to his full height ominously quiet.

The entire room suddenly turned their attention to him, you included, your lips letting out a faint gasp as you caught a glimpse of his eyes, which were darkened with malice.

You recognized the look instantly... and you knew it spelled trouble.

'Oh, no...'

Your swordsman clenched his fist, grabbing the air as if it were one of his swords, before winding up his arm for a swing.

"Zoro, please... he didn't mean anything by it... we'll figure something out, alright?" you tried to calm him down, completely ignoring the fact that you used his real name, and the fact that it was completely inappropriate to talk to a customer that way.

You were more preoccupied with making sure he didn't kill anybody.

But his mind was already made up.

Suddenly, a dark, shiny substance coated his arm from his fingertips to his elbow, emanating a menacing, purple glow.

'HA!'

If he was using his haki, there was no point in talking anymore.

You sighed, exasperatingly rolling your eyes, giving up on any hopes of calming him down and simply waiting for the inevitable.

"No Sword Style... Tatsumaki!"

Faster than everyone else could see, he swung his arm through the air, creating a giant, aggressive air funnel that knocked the sniveling man before you out cold—the winds so harsh that it blew the hairpins right out your hair and tore through the roof of the house, letting in the torrential downpour from outside.

While everyone was distracted, Zoro scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, your yelp of surprise snatching back their attention.

"Hey!" the madam shouted, furious. "You put her down this instant!"

"I'm stealing the woman!" Zoro announced, running right past her and out the exit, snatching up the large sack of money the man left. "And the cash!"

"Don't tell them that!" you lightly smacked him in the chest, laughing, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the pelting rain forcing your loose hair to stick to your face.

Breaking down the door to the exit, your swordsman sprinted out toward the dirt road, the owner of the house along with your other loyal followers chasing you both outside.

"Get back here!"

"Where are you going with the oiran?!"

"You can't take her!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Oiran (f/n)! We'll save you!"

As if you needed saving...

"Y'know, most guys say hi, how are ya before kidnapping a girl from her house," you teased, turning to your swordsman.

"Most girls typically say thank you after being saved from an arranged marriage," he countered, his trademark cocky grin plastered on his face.

"What other girls are you saving?" you playfully huffed, brows furrowing as you tugged at his cheek.

Amused, Zoro let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes.

He'd missed you... desperately.

Looking over your shoulder, you checked to see if the men were still chasing you, happy to see that they had given up, all of them stopping and turning back toward the house.

'So much for loyal...'

Pushing the thought to the side, you suddenly cupped your swordsman's face in your hands, thumb softly gliding over his cheekbone.

"I missed you," you smiled up at him, sincerely, taking a moment to re-familiarize yourself with his face.

You'd missed him... desperately.

And the man seemed even handsomer than you remembered.

Finally a decent distance away from the house, Zoro stopped in his tracks, pulling over right in the middle of the road.

"Stand on my feet," he stated, shifting his grip to put you down.

You were only wearing tabi socks, and he didn't want you to get muddy feet.

Following his instructions, you stepped carefully onto the tops of his feet, his hands sliding down to your hips to balance you.

Though, once he was sure you were steady, he didn't hesitate in pulling you flush against him and smashing his lips against yours.

Your eyes widened, slightly surprised by the sudden movement, before you instantly melted into his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms felt wrapped around you.

He kissed you like he was famished, like you were water in his desert, his blunt fingertips having a near bruising grip on your hips.

Moments like these made him wonder what life would be like if the two of you didn't have to split up every two fucking seconds.

Pulling you even closer, he only deepened the kiss, his eagerness electrifying you right down to your core.

Emotional displays of this magnitude... coming from him?

In public?

You never thought you'd see the day.

Pulling back with a soft pop, you took a moment to catch your breath, unable to fight off the stupid smile settling on your lips.

"I should get married off more often," you chuckled, breathlessly, resting your hands on his chest for purchase.

He scoffed, scooping you up again before going back to running, hoping to find somewhere to shelter you both from the rain.

Glancing down at your smug grin, he smirked, rolling his eyes before placing a quick peck on your forehead.

"Don't push it."

[mxtxfanatic]

Every time I see mxtx fandom discourse about how villains and antagonists “had no choice” in doing evil and how we should feel sympathy for this cowardice because “it’s not like they (actual factual ruling class) had the real power to break the mold,” I think of:

Si Xiyan, imprisoned disgraced cultivator, being told that she can be accepted back as the most beloved disciple of one of the most powerful cultivation sects in the world if only she would kill her baby, and her choosing to ingest the poison on her own so that her child could be born safely at the cost of her life.

Gongyi Xiao going against his entire sect to rescue Shen Qingqiu from the Water Prison despite already having an increasingly tenuous relationship with the sect leader and his daughter.

Shen Qingqiu, certified scum villain, risking his life over and over again to do right by Luo Binghe even though he is certain that Luo Binghe will repay his kindness with death.

I think of:

Lan Wangji, a clan heir, fighting his own beloved family to protect one of the few people in the cultivation world willing to stand up for what’s right, and accepting being whipped for it.

Jiang Yanli, a clan heir’s widow, running onto a battlefield and giving her life for her little brother.

the Wen siblings, labor camp escapees and remnants of a reviled clan, sacrificing themselves so that their protector wouldn’t be killed for the crime of self-defense.

Mianmian, a servant only just elevated to becoming a disciple, publicly defecting from her sect in protest of them slandering a hero.

I think of:

Yin Yu, a banished god, choosing death over regaining his godhood by harming Quan Zizhen—the shidi he’s always been told to had “stolen his rightful status” in life.

the street performer, a poor man who could only make money performing humiliating entertainment for the well-off, choosing death over saving his own life by harming the man who for all intents and purposes stole his business.

Mu Qing, a staple god for about 800 years who had betrayed friendship for the approval of other gods, finally choosing to make an enemy out of the ruler of the heavens over betraying his former friend again, even if it meant that said former friend would never believe that he didn’t betray him again.

Of all of these characters, some of them were people of privilege, but many of them were the very bottom of their social hierarchies. Some are staring down the edge of the knife with their only hope of survival and living well being to make the immoral choice. Nevertheless, they chose to be moral people by putting themselves on the line rather than sacrificing others for personal gain, a choice that no antagonist—all of whom are people of power and means even if they didn't start out that way—makes in an mxtx novel. “But everyone would have hated them!” is not an excuse for participating in evil. “But they would have died otherwise!” is not an excuse for participating in evil. If other characters of less means could do it, if their peers could do it, then why didn’t your fav?

[kingkat12]

omg I love your fics so so so much and I think you would absolutely nail a fanfic where roman is teaching reader how to smoke? or something like that 😭 like it being really intimate and stuff ughh idk but roman smoking just makes me go absolutely feral

Roman..... teaching reader.... how to smoke....?

do you.... want to give me..... a heart attack......?

THIS WAS SO DAMN HOT IT MADE MY BREATH HITCH WHEN I READ THIS, you BET i want to write this!!! you know me, i love writing reader having her first time doing anything at all lol, this was PERFEEEECT!! hope i've done your request justice, thank you so much for this one!!<3333

nymphomaniac (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, smoking, mentions of sex, angst, flirting deluxe, Roman's mouth is FOUL

summary: not all lessons are good for you-- especially the ones taught by the notorious Roman Godfrey, who you also happen to have a history with

word count: 2,425

a/n: and this is NO WAY an encouragement to smoke, i don't smoke myself so... heh. read at your own risk i suppose, and be critical of what you read on the internet PLEASE!! mwah

How to smoke – a thorough guide by Roman Godfrey. That was a book I wouldn’t buy in a million years; why give a millionaire more money?

Thankfully, I didn't have to pay anything to get a free trial from the author of said imaginary book.

Roman sat next to me on the porch leading up to the house of the party we were at, having asked me to follow him outside to escape all the noise. I wouldn’t have gone with him, had I not started to get a headache from what I could frankly only call ear-rape. “It’s too fucking loud in there,” I muttered, shifting on the uncomfortable step. “There’s a reason I don’t go to these things very often.”

Roman shrugged, patting down the pockets of his jacket. “It’s not usually this bad when someone else hosts. But I heard this guy is notorious for being legally deaf, so that might explain it,”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if he did that to himself,”

With a laugh, Roman pulled out an orange-hued box of cigarettes, shaking his head. “It’s too bad you don’t attend parties that often. I never see you anymore, y’know? Just bring some earplugs if you’re so bothered by the damn noise,” 

Oh. My heart jumped with a jolt of pain. I cleared my throat; “Of course you don’t see me anymore, Roman… We broke up two months ago,” 

Despite seeing it coming from miles away, it had been the hardest breakup of my life. I knew whom I had gotten into a relationship with, knew exactly what kind of a guy Roman was, so I had been emotionally prepared for it when it all fell apart. The relationship had been more of a whirlwind thing, a lust thing, which had left me with a very bad case of being-walked-in-on PTSD. That one time Roman decided he wanted to go down on me at school, only for my math teacher to walk in on us in the classroom, was a memory I was sure I would never forget. Sadly. 

However, the bliss of being sexually compatible couldn’t carry the relationship forever, and I was aware of that long before he was. Around the time we hit the one-month milestone, I could see in his gorgeous green eyes that he was tired. Roman needed to be free to function, free to fuck any girl that walked by, and free to disappear for hours and come back whenever it pleased him. 

And what did I need? I wasn’t so sure anymore. 

If I were to use my brain and ponder that question once more, I would conclude that I needed to stop sitting next to my hot ex-boyfriend who was now lighting one of his classic cigarettes. Roman knew I didn’t approve, knew how many times I had told him it was cancer on a stick—still, I settled for the fact that he wasn’t scared of death. Actually, he probably wasn’t scared of anything other than real commitment. 

With a sigh, Roman nodded to himself. “I’m aware, but I’m still allowed to miss the sight of you,” He turned to me, his strikingly green gaze piercing mine— I held my breath. This was getting intense. Nonetheless, the next thing that rolled out of his mouth caught me off guard; “Do you have a lighter?” 

… What? “Roman, you know I don’t smoke,”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smirk. “Worth a shot. I had hopes that you’d at least managed to become an arsonist in our time apart, maybe then you’d carry a lighter around with you,” Like this, faced with his heartbreakingly beautiful smile beneath the hues of the moonlight, I was reminded of the first thought I ever had when I met him; he was so… cool. Roman always looked so damn cool. I loved the way it made my heart flutter— the feeling of being with the coolest guy at school was still the most thrilling feeling of all. I felt cool, knowing he wanted to sit next to me instead of being inside the loudest party of the year hunting down his next lay. 

It was impossible not to smile back. “Don’t be so disappointed. At least I’m still a cannibal,”

Humored, Roman chuckled; “Glad to hear it,”

“And you’re still a nymphomaniac,”

That seemed to strike a nerve— Roman let out an offended huff, now patting down the pockets of his jeans. “Forget it. I never go anywhere without my lighter, anyway,” he mumbled.

Oh no. “I didn’t mean it as an insult! We were joking, Roman. You’ve never been the type to hide that you like… sex—” 

“Don’t fucking talk to me about sex right now, I’m too tipsy,” Roman’s words were harsh, snappy. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, now fishing out his usual red lighter; I hadn’t seen that one in a while. “No sex-talk. None.”

“Fine, Jesus!—”

“Thanks to you, I now have to smoke away the taste of you. Thank you,” he grumbled, a slight twitch appearing beneath his left eye as he brought the cigarette to his plush lips— oh, how I missed those. “Your perfume isn’t helping, either. So don’t talk about sex, because then I’ll start thinking about sex with you, along with how you taste after I’ve been going down on you for about ten minutes, squirming, whining, and then I start thinking of how much I miss it. So could you just—just shut up for a minute, okay?”

I stared at Roman in disbelief, my lips parting as my jaw threatened to hit the floor. He must’ve had a few beers too many to be talking so openly about… anything. I would go off on him about his use of words, telling me to shut up, but I was too stunned to think properly. With my mind still buzzing, I scooted closer to Roman on the cold steps of the porch, daring to lean my head down on his shoulder like I used to do when we were together. “You’ve only proved my point,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “Nympho.”

I knew him too well— I knew Roman would appreciate casual physical contact. He didn’t have enough of that in his life, anyway. Chuckling, amused, he lit his cigarette, inhaling with a quiet moan— something told me he had been waiting for a hit for some time. And just as I opened my mouth, ready to start my usual smoking-is-bad lecture, Roman cut me to it; “Don’t start talking about cancer now, either,”

“It is a cancer stick,”

“I don’t care,”

“You should!”

“But I don’t,” With a sigh, Roman exhaled, watching the smoke evaporate into the warm summer air. He leaned his head on top of mine, and I couldn’t help but think how the smell of the cigarette clashed with the comforting smell of his shampoo. It ruined everything. 

This conversation was one we’d had tens of times, and I wasn’t too keen on repeating it. “Roman…” I reached for the cigarette he lazily held between his fingers, feeling the softness of his hand against mine. “Maybe you don’t care, but I do. You need to take care of yourself.” I didn’t need to look at Roman to know his brows were drawn together as I took the cigarette out of his hand, holding it away from him. 

He sighed again, slower this time; “If you’d ever smoked, you’d see the appeal,”

“Yeah?” It was hard not to roll my eyes— “The appeal of cancer?”

With a low laugh, Roman turned his head, kissing the top of my head out of habit. Weirdly enough, it felt platonic for the first time ever, yet it didn’t fail to evoke a hard thump in my chest. It felt like I was being electrocuted from the inside, and my eyes sprung open—I was happy he couldn’t see that. “Not cancer, don’t be stupid,” he huffed. “Just use that pretty little brain of yours, I know it’s in there somewhere,”

If only he knew my brain was currently working overtime. “I’ll never see the appeal of inhaling crap that ruins your lungs. If anything, you’re the stupid one,”

Roman rolled his eyes, gently giving my head a nudge with the shoulder I was leaning on, motioning for me to sit up. “Let me show you, just once. If you don’t like it, you’re allowed to call me a nicotine-addicted nymphomaniac until the last day of high school,”

“And the day after. An extension for your favorite ex,”

“Nope. The day of graduation, and that’s it,”

I turned to look at the blindingly pretty smile on Roman’s face— how was it possible not to fall for this guy? He was gorgeous. “Fine,” I mumbled, knowing I would call him that no matter what behind his back until the day he died. “So how the fuck do I do this?”

Something in Roman’s green, green, eyes shifted. Maybe he was wondering why he had ever let me go in the first place— maybe he was thinking about the word to describe the color of my hair as it mixed with the grays of the moonlight? He cleared his throat, turning his body towards me as I mirrored him; “The first step is easy,” he said, reaching forward to place his hand behind mine, bringing the cigarette to my lips. 

My skin burned. Fucking burned, with every touch. 

Roman’s eyes were already big, which is why I was surprised to see they could get even bigger when he gazed down at my lips. “Open up,” he breathed, absentminded. 

Now, I could be sure he wasn’t thinking about the color of my hair. Maybe he was back to reminiscing about the taste of me? Or other nasty nympho things, as per usual.

I placed the cigarette between my lips, but Roman let out a short, alarmed sound that nearly made me yelp. “Now comes the trick,” he urged, leaning closer— I was unsure whether he was aware he was inching towards my face or not. The closer he got, the easier it was to focus on the single strand of his dark hair that lay over his forehead, straying from his stylings. It was so damn attractive— I had to hold myself back from smiling, now that I remembered the one time I caught him pulling it out of his gelled updo to lay it there on purpose. Cutie.

“The trick?” I echoed, realizing he had frozen to his spot just staring at my lips. I pulled the cigarette away from my mouth; Roman hadn’t said anything for about five seconds. This was bad. This was dangerous. It made me want to jump him and let him fuck me right here on the porch. 

“Uh—” Roman cleared his throat, letting out a breathy chuckle as he shook his head. “Sorry. The trick, right…”

God, I was two seconds away from bursting into flames like a phoenix. Was I still breathing?

“For your first time, you should— because this is your first time, right?”

“Yes!”

“You sure?”

“Roman!”

“Alright, alright!” Roman laughed, biting his lip as he tilted his head just a little. Had the cigarette not forced a space between us, I would’ve started wondering when he would kiss me. “The trick is to not inhale too much smoke for your first time. I don’t want you to cough up your left lung on my new shirt. And hold the smoke in your mouth for a moment, let it cool down, and only inhale it when you’ve taken the cig out of your mouth.”

If Roman one day actually did decide to write a smoking-guide, I could at least be sure the content would be explained simply and concisely. “Seems easy enough,” I mumbled, watching Roman’s pupils widen as I placed the cigarette back between my lips and sucked in a small amount of smoke into my mouth.

It felt like I was getting a mild burn on my tongue— it wasn’t pleasant. For a second, I got scared my eyes would pop from the shock, and I closed them to ensure the blood at least wouldn’t splatter anywhere if I happened to be so unlucky. But when the burning subsided, I finally dared to inhale.

My eyes sprung open, meeting the fascination in Roman’s green gaze as my previous headache caused by the loud music disappeared. My brain suddenly felt like it was buzzing with pleasure and energy. Before I knew it, I was half giggling against Roman’s mouth, letting my cigarette-clad hand fall by my side. “Wow,” I breathed, in awe of the satisfying whirring in my head. 

Roman looked like he was two seconds away from cooing at me, right in my face; “There you go, good girl,” he purred. “Do you get it now?”

God, I hated myself. Still, what I hated more, was that my hot ex-boyfriend was blatantly right. “I think I do,” 

Roman hummed, smirking as he reached for the cigarette in my hand, smoothly brushing his fingers across my skin on his way down. With a content sigh, he looked into my dazed eyes as he pressed his free fingers over the pulse of my wrist— “I still make your heart jump,” he breathed, leaning in so close I could feel the hotness of his breath against my cheek.

I swallowed. “You always will. It doesn’t mean anything,” My eyes flickered back and forth between Roman’s green eyes and his plush, pink lips despite knowing I shouldn’t. 

“It doesn’t?” he echoed, visibly amused as he raised his brows. 

“… Nope,”

Roman hummed, nudging the tip of my nose with his just as he always did—was this maybe just a habit, or was he going to…? The atmosphere was so thick, I could reach out and touch it. My breath had long caught in my chest, but Roman’s next words only made it worse; “Let’s talk about sex again,” he whispered against my lips, his lashes hanging heavy over his eyes.

“No. This is over. We’re just sharing a cigarette,”

“We could share a bed too,”

“Stop it,” I breathed, hoping he’d spot the desperation in my eyes. “It’s been two months. Aren’t you over this?” Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.

Roman stilled. With the next beat of my pulse against his fingers, his eyes softened with a new realization beneath the moonlight; 

“Over you? Never,”

[thebigbadbatswife]

Your Eyes Whispered, "Have We Met?

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Previous Part - Sticking Noses Where They Don't Belong

Summary - During a party, you meet Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. The more that you’re around him, the more familiar he is to you.

Warnings - Explicit language, POV alternates between Reader and Bruce. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

Taglist - Taglist is at the end of the fic. As always, if you would like to be added/removed, feel free to message me!

A/N - No current ETA for the next part, but I am hoping for it to be ready toward the end of the month (no promises though, December can keep me very busy). Hope you all enjoy this part! 💜

Word Count - 4.2k

Your hands smoothed over the front of your dress as you looked yourself over in your floor length mirror. Once again, your injuries had healed well. All bruising and swelling along your ribs and arm was completely gone, each breath no longer hurting. And all you had to remind yourself of the bullet that almost took your life was a nasty looking scar. At least it was in an easily hidden place.

Tonight you were headed for a party. It was one of those extravagant festive parties that happened close to the end of the year, which you honestly didn’t even like to begin with, but you had to attend to keep up appearances within your circles. Otherwise you were risking questions that didn’t have answers to them.

You just had to suck it up for a few hours and before you knew it, you would be back home, huddled beneath a blanket with a cheesy movie on the tv that you could fall asleep to.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped away from the mirror to grab your clutch purse and coat. The sooner you arrived, the sooner it could be over with.

The venue was dressed to the nines, as expected. Large, gaudy decorations cover the place with a ridiculous large tree to match, set off into one corner of the ballroom. It was a complete and utter eyesore. You no longer bothered with this sort of stuff anymore. Since your father had passed you hadn’t really seen the point.

Your eyes were drawn to him from the moment that he walked into the room. Outside of occasionally catching a morning talk show or the articles you scroll past on social media, you never thought that you would actually see him. 

Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s most eligible bachelor for the longest time. 

What was he doing here? 

He didn’t exactly run within the same circles that you did. Though you were rich, you were not that sort of rich. He was old money. The sort of rich that preferred to stay in their tight stuffy circles while looking down at everyone else. Their philanthropy only happening when it benefited them.

Yet, here he was.

As soon as he had stepped into the ballroom, that dazzling white smile of his on his face, gasps had rippled through the room. Those gasps were quickly replaced by whispers. People leaning in close to each other, not even being subtle about it as they all asked the exact same question. “Did you know he was coming here?”. Meanwhile men and women alike swooned each time he looked in their general direction. Honestly, they might as well had been drooling all over the floor the way that they were looking at him.

There was no woman on his arm. No entourage following close behind and kissing his ass. He was completely by himself and, from what you could gage from the people around you, that made him all the more intimidating.

Sure, he was attractive in that irritating type of way where it was clear that he not only knew he was hot, but also used it to his advantage. Of course, if he did somehow end up in your bed you certainly wouldn’t throw him out of it. At the same time your brain was quick to remind you how much of a womanizer he was. An endless stream of articles from over the years detailing every breakup to new relationship to one night stands and back again. 

And not to mention that, despite your money and the news coverage that had happened following your father’s death, you continued to remain relatively unknown to the outside world. Getting involved with a man like Bruce Wayne could potentially ruin that and leave your superhero identity compromised. 

That, obviously, couldn’t be allowed to happen. Which made him the sort of person that you definitely didn’t want to get involved with.

Still, your gaze lingered on him. There was something about him. Something familiar. And not because you had seen him through a screen before now. No. It was something else that was holding your attention and you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was.

You averted your gaze away from him and snatched up a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a passing waiter. 

You mingled with the other guests, chatting to new and familiar faces alike. All the while you did your best to make sure that you avoid Bruce. Physically, so far, it was working well. Verbally though? That was a different story. It felt like you couldn’t escape him. No matter who you spoke to. He was everywhere.

It definitely didn’t help that he kept on catching your eye. Something was really… off about him. It was the only word you could think of that really fit. And it continued to bug you.

At that moment, from across the ballroom, his eyes met yours. You felt frozen, like a deer in headlights as he looked you over. There was no lust or desire in his eyes. Only curiosity. A question was clear in his eyes. The same one that had been on your mind from the moment he walked in.

“Have we met?”

You didn’t wait for him to find an excuse to break away from the group that had surrounded him. You broke your gaze first and swapped your empty glass for a full one.

As you moved through the room, your eyes landed on someone that you were definitely happy to see.

Erica had been your best friend ever since you had been little. While you had drifted apart from each other during your teenage years, after you had returned you had reconnected with each other. In the years you were gone for, she had taken over her father’s tech company and, when you were sure you could trust her with your plan, she had started to draw up designs for your suit and gear. 

She was also the person who had thrown tonight’s party. 

Her dark brown eyes lit up when she saw you. She broke away from the group she was with and walked across the room to you. You hug each other tightly as it had been a while since you had actually seen each other, following the injuries you had received at the amusement park.

“So, how’s that outfit I gifted you?” she asked as you pulled away.

You looked around, making sure that no one was close enough to overhear before turning back to her. “It didn’t stop a bullet,” you said in a hushed voice.

“Fuck,” Erica replies, barely hiding her surprise. “That explains why you vanished.”

You nodded as you took a sip from your glass.

“I’ll swing by and pick it up at the end of the week,” she told you. “I’ll find my mistake and fix it.”

“It’s not your fault,” you started, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I made you something that was supposed to protect you and you almost… well, you know. That’s unacceptable.” 

You sighed softly. As you were about to reply, the sound of obnoxious laughter caught your attention. Bruce Wayne was surrounded by a gaggle of people. Men and women shamelessly throwing themselves at him and he was drinking it all in. The disgust must of been evident on your face because Erica laughed.

“Damn, you don’t like him, do you?”

You scoffed softly. “Eh I just don’t like the whole womanising bullshit.” 

The voice in the back of your head kept telling you that you knew him. No matter how much you pushed against it. Insisting that it wasn’t possible. You had never crossed paths with him. If you had you were certain that you would remember it.

“Fair. Though, if the internet is anything to go by, he’s not a bad lay,” Erica said.

You rolled your eyes. “I doubt it’s worth the attention that comes with it.” 

There was the sudden sound of glass shattering and Erica’s head snapped in the direction as her brow furrowed. She sighed. “If you’ll excuse me.” As she walked away to deal with whatever mess had befallen the staff, she stopped for a moment and turned back to you. “Listen, if you get a chance to, I say jump him. Have some fun for once, you know? It’s not like you’ll ever have to see him again afterwards.” She winked at you, leaving before you could tell her she was crazy to think that you would ever “jump” Bruce Wayne.

You couldn’t believe that she had actually suggested to you to sleep with Bruce Wayne, of all people. Nor that, the gripes you had about him aside, it wasn’t entirely unappealing. It had been a while since you had last slept with someone. The last person being Batman. Whether it was Bruce or not, maybe it was time that you took someone else to your bed.

You went to bring your glass back up to your lips, but instead you gave the half full glass a hard stare. You frowned. You needed something stronger than the champagne they were serving. You discarded the glass on a passing waiter’s tray and made your way for the bar.

As you sipped on your preferred drink, the feeling that someone was watching you washed over you. You ignored it or, at least, you did your best to ignore it. You already knew who was watching you. He had taken notice of you earlier and his interest must had only grown considering you had tried to run.

Following the sounds of disgruntled and disappointed people, you heard footsteps coming up behind you. You kept your eyes focused on your drink. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him come to lean against the bartop. Bruce ordered himself an old fashioned, which you thought to be rather fitting.

There was a silence between you. The only real noise coming from ice clinking against the side of the glasses. After taking a sip of his drink, he broke that silence first.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, yet I feel like I’ve already met you,” he said. His voice was smooth like honey and you could feel his eyes watching you. 

You scoffed, not bothering to look at him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Were you really doing this? Engaging in banter with a man whom you had already decided wasn’t worth the risk? You must of had more to drink than you originally thought. 

Bruce chuckled. “Only to the most beautiful women.” 

You felt your heart skip a beat and you almost wanted to laugh. Such a damn cheesy line shouldn’t of had your heart fluttering like that. He was too damn good at this. Still, you kept up the mask that he wasn’t having any effects on you. Which included sipping your drink and keeping your eyes focused either on the back of the bar or on your own drink.

“Does that line really work?” you asked.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shrug. “More often than not.”

“Right. Of course.”

Your unconvinced tone didn’t deter him. Bruce chuckled again. He was clearly finding this whole back and forth very entertaining. Honestly, you were enjoying it as well.

“I can count all of the people who are openly unimpressed with me on one hand. You’ve not only made it two, but my interest in you has only grown.”

His voice dropped an octave, sending a tingling up your spine. Batman came to the forefront of your mind. The deepness and rough edge of his voice as he growled and how it always left you feeling weak in the knees…

You shoved that thought away. Locking Batman back into his cage, deep within your mind. He had a habit for popping up in your thoughts when you didn’t want him to. 

What Erica had said replayed in your mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe you should try and have some fun. You still had no idea why he seemed so familiar, but maybe that didn’t even matter anymore. After tonight you would never see him again, so why not? 

Fuck it, you decided.

For the second time that night, your eyes met his own. His gaze was intense. Those steely blue eyes taking you in. The intensity of it, once again, reminded you of Batman and the way it felt when he looked you over, even if you couldn’t see his eyes thanks to the white lenses of his cowl. 

You forced those thoughts away again. Doing the best to make sure your irritation was hidden. He wasn’t even hear and he was still trying ot ruin your evening. 

“As has mine,” you purred.

His eyes visibly darkened and he swallowed thickly. You held his gaze a little longer. Even leaning in for a moment. Which had him leaning in as well. But before your lips could even get close enough to meet, you abruptly pulled away from him to down the rest of your drink. 

After you had set the empty glass down, you pushed away from the bar and left the ballroom behind. Your heels clicked against the well polished flooring. As you rounded a corner, heading further away from the ballroom, you could hear footsteps behind you.

You didn’t get very far. Before you knew it a large hand wrapped around your upper arm, making you turn to face him.

Bruce towered over you, not too unlike a certain someone. There was a silent question in his eyes as they briefly looked at your lips before returning to your eyes. 

“May I?”

You nodded. Your heart was hammering hard and fast against your chest, excitement flowing through your veins as he leaned in.

His lips were incredibly soft as they moved against your own. As he kissed you, soft and slowly, one of his hands came up to cup your face while the other came to rest on your waist. Bruce pushed you up against the wall. His knee parted your legs, pressing up against your core. The action made you gasp, which allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth.

The kiss quickly grew heated. As his tongue explored your mouth, your hands explored his body. You ran your hands down his chest and you untucked his shirt from his pants. Beneath your fingers, as you traced and appreciated his abs, you came across something that made you temporarily freeze. 

The skin between two of his ribs was raised, rough and jagged. Like he had been cut into by a knife or something. Not only was it not the only one, but you recognised each and every scar your fingers came into contact with. After all, you had felt them enough each time he had been on top of you.

Suddenly you weren’t in a dimly lit hallway with one of the richest men on the planet. Instead, you were back on the Watchtower with Batman towering over you as he pushed you up against a wall, impatient fingers pulling at your suit.

The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to believe it.

Bruce Wayne was Batman? It was a ridiculous thought, but it wasn’t like you were able to ignore the evidence in front of you. All night you had been plagued with the idea that something was familiar about the man currently kissing you and now you knew why. 

That was just your luck, wasn’t it? 

It did beg the question of whether or not he was aware of your own identity. Was that why he’d had such an interest in you tonight, despite the fact he had spent a lot of the time letting others drool all over him? Surely not. The conversation you’d had with Batman previously played out in your head. He wished to be on better terms with you. Not besties, but better teammates was good enough. Doing something like this, while knowing who you are, but leaving you in the dark? No, doing something like that would be severely damaging. 

Batman was many things, but he wasn’t stupid. Not when it came to things like this. Which could only mean that he had absolutely no idea. But you did and continuing this wasn’t a good idea.

You broke the kiss and pushed against his chest. He got the signal immediately as he let go of you and stepped away, giving you much needed space.

Bruce was panting hard and your lipstick was smeared on his lips. He was looking you over, concern evident in his eyes. Without the mask he was far more emotive than you had ever seen before.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

His concern was actually kind of sweet, but what did you do now? Did you tell him who you were? Or did you bolt, like you really wanted to?

Would he ever tell you if the roles were reversed? Probably not. Knowing the way that Batman was, he would keep it hidden. So, with that thought in your head, you decided on the latter.

Sure, it was the cowardly move, but you could feel your pulse getting faster, your heart thumping harder, and it definitely wasn’t because of the heavy kissing that had just taken place. 

“No, you didn’t,” you replied with a shake of your head. “I just… remembered I have somewhere else to be tonight.” 

It was the stupidest excuse you could come up with, on the spot, and he definitely didn’t look overly convinced, but it wasn’t like you gave him any time to respond. Without another thought, you shot past him and headed for the exit.

You half expected him to come after you. That maybe your behaviour had tipped him off, sending that detective mind of his into overdrive as he put the pieces together. You were thankful that he didn’t. 

Your heart was still hammering against your chest and you honestly felt like you might be on the brink of an anxiety attack. You made your way to the check-in desk to grab your coat and purse and then you were stepping outside. 

The freezing, winter night air that met your skin as you got outside did very little to help soothe you. You only really started to calm down once your driver pulled up and you were in the safety of your car, leaving the venue behind.

“You alright, miss?” he asked, glancing up at you in the mirror. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just take me home, please?” 

“Of course, miss.” 

You were thankful that he didn’t ask any more questions, letting the rest of the drive continue in silence. You spent the time focusing on the buildings that passed by the window.

It felt like you had violated his privacy somehow. Like you had walked in on Batman (Bruce?) and seen something you definitely shouldn't have. This whole thing would have felt so much better if you knew that he already knew your identity. Of course, if that had been the case, you doubted that you never would have got close enough to find out, in the first place.

You knew that you likely needed to tell him. You should have told him back there, but panic had driven you first. 

How was he going to feel once you told him that you knew? Hurt? That you didn’t tell him then and there? Betrayed, maybe? You might have felt that if the situation was reversed. Especially after the conversation you had shared with him.

There was also a chance that you were overthinking this whole thing and that he might actually appreciate the honesty. You really wouldn’t know until you found a way to bring it up with him.

“Fuck,” you muttered quietly to yourself. “Why the hell did you have to be the same person?” 

The rest of the drive to your place was silent. Though your mind kept racing at the speed of light. 

You thanked your driver, and made a mental note to give him a rather large bonus this year, before you got out of the car and headed inside. 

Instead of curling up on your couch and watching a cheesy movie, like you had planned, you headed for the bookcase. Your fingers traced over the spines of each one before finally landing on the correct one, which you gently pulled back. The bookcase slid backwards before sliding off to the side, revealing the elevator hidden behind.

You weren’t going to be able to get any sleep tonight, and finding out Batman’s true identity had done wonders in sobering you up, so you might as well go out and see if there was anything around your city that required your attention. While your newest suit remained damaged and unusable, you still had your previous one, which would do well enough for now. After all, you weren’t planning on fighting any supervillains tonight. And you hoped that none decided to cross your path. 

All you needed was one quick patrol to help clear your head and figure out how you were supposed to approach this subject.

Bruce frowned as the woman scurried away from him and disappeared around the corner, the sounds of her heels quickly fading. He had clearly done something wrong that had made her run from him, but he was clueless as to what that actually was. He was an expert at reading body language, not to mention the World’s Greatest Detective, and yet, here he was. Completely stumped.

He shrugged it off and busied himself with making himself look presentable again. The reasoning really didn’t matter. She had become uncomfortable and no longer had any interest in him. Which was fine by him. In truth he had originally been looking for a way out of that ballroom he had felt like he was suffocating in and she had provided the perfect escape. He really didn’t care that he didn’t get to have sex tonight.

There were other things that required his attention tonight and now he was able to slip away without any questions being raised.

As he tucked his shirt back into his pants, he couldn’t help, but wonder if it was his scars that had deterred her. She had been feeling him up quite a bit until her fingers had come in contact with one. Then she had stiffened for a moment before promptly shoving him away. 

It wasn’t the first time his scars had upset a potential lover. Though, both those times, he’d had time to explain them away as having happened during one of his many public “accidents”. No one ever saw his chest fully anymore. At least, not outside of his mask and pointed ears…

Before any certain memories were able to come forth properly, he shifted his focus on getting outside before someone wandered out of the ballroom and spotted him; therefore making it impossible for him to leave.

The valet was quick to get him his car and, as always, Bruce was more than happy to give him a sizeable tip. 

During the drive back to his hotel, against his will, Bruce’s mind kept going over what had occurred tonight. An incessant need to analyse everything like he always did. At this point it wasn’t exactly something that he was capable of switching off.

His approaching her hadn’t been an impulse. Nor had it been entirely down to his need to escape. There was something about her that had screamed familiarity to him. It had plagued him throughout the night. His eyes constantly being drawn back to her. And not just because she kept looking in his direction. 

Bruce hadn’t lied to her. He really felt like he knew her.

He knew that it wasn’t possible. He had never seen or even heard her name before tonight. Yet his gut was telling him that it didn’t matter what his brain thought. He had already met her. That feeling had only grown once he held her in his hands with his lips pressed against hers.

Perhaps it was because she reminded him a little bit of you. He knew that it couldn’t possible be you. Though this was your city, he knew you had a dislike for parties. From the Justice League’s Induction party to their New Year’s party, you had a skill for avoiding them, like the plague. On the off chance that you did show up, you stayed for a max of two hours before leaving, always complaining of a headache afterwards.

So, there was no way it could be you.

If there was one thing he hated the most, it was not knowing something. Especially when his instincts were telling him one thing while his brain said another. It was infuriating, but growing frustrated over it wasn’t going to assist in the real reason he had come all this way from Gotham.

While Bruce Wayne’s night was now coming to a close, Batman’s was about to begin.

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19

@jdream55 @x-ratedhimbo @sketchiethebear @wandalfnation @mari-malgamore @batmanwife1

[physalian]

Went browsing for paid beta readers on my old stomping grounds, Fiverr, and ugh, man I hate that website. And Upwork. All of them.

There’s something about a monetary incentive on a platform that pushes the lowest bidder hard, called “Fiverr” for a reason, that can churn out the laziest work? Not that I think beta reading should be done for free, but “beta reading” is, in my experience, not very widely understood, so a lot of lazy people or full-blown scammers think they can take this soft, unregulated skill, and make bank doing the absolute bare minimum. Whereas if you do it for free, you gotta be doing it for the passion.

And I have been scammed plenty, especially during the beta process for Eternal Night where I was reporting gigs left and right for false advertising, even the most popular ones that rampantly abused AI to do their work, but an inexperienced author would never notice.

I’d absolutely love to throw money at the people who do quality beta reading, and I have, and it absolutely lessens the anxiety of “you said you’d do this for me where’s my work” if we have an actual contract of “I have now paid you money, you have to follow through on your commitment.”

Beta reading is just one of those incredibly nebulous areas where the expectations of both author and beta reader can have such vast interpretations that there needs to be a dedicated platform, like Reedsy, that only hosts freelancers for writing, that is invite only like AO3 to lessen the chance of scammers, and demands more from freelancers to vet their skills than a basic English comprehension test, because understanding English is not an understanding of fictional prose.

It would take a ton of work having actual people involved and not chat bots and ~algorithms~ but a site where I can say “I have a WIP with X genre, N wordcount, and Y rating and I’d like a beta reader to provide B style and C level of feedback with a focus on D narrative structure” and have betas who are happy to take on a project written in a style they both understand and would enjoy reading.

A system where you can leave reviews but there’s no stressful “ranking” system, and where you can delete bad faith reviews with some disclaimer of “there was something here but it has been removed by vendor” so at least you have the chance to ask “hey, what’s behind that redacted box?” because as a beta myself on Fiverr, I have also been harassed by pissed off authors who thought they shit gold.

A magical platform made by authors, for authors, where you can cancel an order without blowing up your entire gig. Heck, where you can have cover artists and illustrators also there for your one-stop-shop for the whole book, cover-to-cover. A platform where you can silence your 'gig' for a while if you're not using it so you're not clogging up the real estate for more active sellers without risking your standing. A platform where you must be able to approve an order as something you want to work before an order is just dumped hot and steaming on your doorstep that you must work or else risk your rating.

I had a friend who ghostwrote for some weirdo who insisted on including all these foot fetish details in a completely unrelated and “YA” work and wouldn’t admit it, but to cancel on them would be to lower their very precarious standing on Fiverr. Cancellations are a death knell. The pressure to leave better reviews than people deserve lest you get harassed by the seller/buyer is also very real.

Reedsy is great and all, but Reedsy takes a hefty cut and it’s for bigger projects that cost hundreds to thousands of dollars for full-blown edits. 10% inflated cost for Reedsy's cut (don't remember the actual number, hypothetical) gets really expensive when it's 10% of $3800.

Beta reading is not “easy”. It demands more than a “it was good” (and sometimes I have to ask after the fact “did you even like it” which should be very clear up front) and authors have different expectations of the level of work involved, even among the same WIP as it goes through different stages, but so much of it involves telling yourself ���this might not be the book for me, but it could be the book for someone so I am going to read it with an open mind” that I also did not get from a few sellers.

Idk maybe even a Discord server (I've tried communities on here, not a fan of the UI) for now that at least gets authors who need betas and betas who need authors in the same location. Fuck it, I'll even run it. I've got free time. You want something done, you do it yourself.

Anyway thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[tomorrowusa]

« [W]hat has long been evident is that Putin’s presidency has been little different from the Soviet era, in that he has made Russia a military giant but an economic dwarf. His gangster state has never been able to diversify; while the world buys Chinese cars and American software, the only thing we buy from Russia is oil, and the gradual turning away from hydrocarbons will eventually expose this as an appalling waste of a country’s potential. »

— Will Dunn at The New Statesman.

What is now tanking Russia is essentially what tanked the Soviet Union – a lopsidedly bad economy. And what barely keeps the sputtering Russian economy from totally collapsing is oil.

So Russia is now a badly run petrostate under the control of a nostalgic dictator who is trying to restore the Soviet Union in all but name – as miserable as that sounds.

One irony of Donald Trump's "drill! drill! drill!" policy (if it actually works) is that it would help undermine Russia's only major source of income.

For the Russian economy, however, Trump represents a looming risk, because however exceptional Putin believes his country to be, Russian prosperity ultimately depends on Western consumers. The reason for this is that Russia runs on oil. With most of its gas exports to Europe stopped by pipeline closures and sanctions, it has become an economy dependent on a single commodity, and while oil prices are high, money flows into the Russian current account. What scares the Russian central bank is the risk of a global financial slowdown that reduces consumer demand around the world, and therefore the price of the oil that is intrinsic to manufacturing and trade. That is exactly the world Trump is promising: a world of de-globalisation and trade barriers.

As I mentioned a few days ago, people in the West need to stop overestimating the strength of Russia. It has a couple of million people involved in its military or military industries, but they are poorly trained and not particularly motivated. Russia may have a lot of weapons, but those are almost always inferior to Western equivalents; many date back to the USSR and are even physically rusty.

At the beginning of this century Russia had the potential to become another Germany in economic terms. It had the talent and adequate infrastructure. But under Putin, Russia has become a parody of the Brezhnev-era USSR – but perhaps even worse. Putin's disaster in Ukraine makes Brezhnev's debacle in Afghanistan seem like a day at the beach. Putin has unintentionally let the world see how pitiful his military is and put on full international display the decrepit nature of Russia's economy.

[comradecowplant]

LMAO after all the backlash, the Pretty Little Liars reboot retconned Imogen giving her baby to Aria & Groomer 🤣 #bullyingworks

[sacred-andthe-propane]

only partially through the 4th chapter but man is rothstein by david pietrusza amazing

[izzy-b-hands]

First notif i see after getting out of the shower i forced myself to take:

Button's (the poetry group, not the pirate lol. tho i would happily be a part of his poetry group too) chapbook contest opens up in November

do i dare dream and try to put together another chapbook again

[feralattentionwhore]

My biggest red flag is that I'm completely and utterly obsessed with pretty clothes n jewelry. Specifically limited edition or themed stuff. Like valentine's Day heart themed converse ??? Lunar new year stuff??? Pride stuff???? My glasses are doraemon themed. My sunglasses are miffy and don't even get me started on Christmas stuff

Anyway does anyone want to send me £1000 so I can buy everything I want?? it's for my birthday 😤😤

[omgthatdress]

Sooooo ummmmmmm this is something that's probably going to piss a lot of people off, but I feel like I really need to say it.

If you get a message from an account claiming to be a Palestinian fundraiser, it is a bot. It is a scam. You need to report & delete the message and encourage others to do the same.

I know because I get messages on this account DAILY. I have a very high follower count and I'm pretty active and I interact with my followers a lot, and apparently that all adds up to one big bot magnet.

Bots following and messaging this account was a MASSIVE problem before Tumblr fixed its new account policies. I used to spend literally hours blocking and reporting the hundreds of bots that I would get following me each day.

I learned a lot about bots and how to identify them. The easiest way is with no avatar, "untitled" in the blog description (BTW if your avatar is still set to default PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD change it because you run a substantial risk of being accidentally blocked & reported as a bot).

One of the dead give aways of a bot was what I call "word salad" names. Three seemingly random words strung together making no sense, always adjective, adjective or noun, noun. If you reported a lot of these bots, you'd notice the same words kept showing up.

Nowadays, I am bombarded with fundraiser requests and sometimes, they don't even bother to hide the fact that they're a bot. The avatar is default, the blog title is "untitled," and the blog name is a classic randomly-generated word salad.

However MOST of the requests I get come from at least semi-legit looking accounts. There are pictures, a name, a story. Never mind that I've gotten that message three times from different accounts.

Sometimes, they claim to be vetted, but the whole vetting system essentially adds up to "trust me bro." There is no way of guaranteeing that this account isn't just lying about being vetted, claiming to be vetted by a false person, or are using the identity of a real Palestinian to scam people.

Previously, I've seen a lot of people getting attacked for raising questions about these fundraisers and getting attacked for being racist or for harming Palestinian families in danger, like Tumblr isn't a website famous for its scams and the words "The Arkh Project" "All or Nothing" or "Miss Officer and Mr. Truffles" mean nothing to you.

I personally have been scammed by people claiming to be charities on Tumblr before, specifically, The Leelah Project which used the name of a trans teenager who died by suicide to swindle people out of their money.

Luckily, there are actual, respected charities out there you can give money to if you want to help the cause:

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestine Red Crescent Society

United Nations Relief Works Agency

Islamic Relief

World Central Kitchen

Médecins Sans Frontièrs

One of the hardest things to accept about the situation in Palestine is that realistically, there is very little that your average outsider can do to change it. However, these large, well-respected and trustworthy charities are out there doing the hard work to keep people alive, and should be where the donation money is going

These scam bots feed on people's naïvety and need to believe that they are making a difference, and even worse, feed on the fear that by ignoring them, it somehow makes you a racist doing direct harm to a refugee family, when in fact they are using the suffering of Palestinians to take away money from those in need.

As far as fundraisers that don't send out random asks for donations, I honestly don't know. You'll have to do the work yourself and approach with much caution.

Be careful out there.

[rmorde]

So... YOI movie got cancelled.

gdi

[giantkillerjack]

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

If you are disabled and you need to lie to get the accommodations you need or to escape ableist social harassment, then it is not just morally acceptable to lie in that scenario, it is morally GOOD.

I say this with no irony or satire whatsoever (unlike the original post, which is very much meant to be sarcastic).

Abled people are always trying to be the "hero" who finds the "fakers," as though "fakers" are actually a concern for disabled people. - When instead I don't know a single disabled person who hasn't been denied the care they need by being called a faker on multiple occasions. That's what we ACTUALLY live in fear of.

(Also, notably, finding the "faker" is not actually about protecting disabled people for these self-appointed "heroes". It's actually about finding an ego-boosting outlet for personal aggression and frustration. They don't care that the government has the funding to care for all of us and yet refuses. They just want to pretend this isn't about them, and are using other disabled people as a moral shield.)

Besides, every person I've met who is actually LYING about their disability has done so not because they are faking being disabled (for all the AWESOME benefits that DEFINITELY exist - ????), but because their ACTUAL disability is not taken seriously by the gatekeepers who can deny them the help they need.

Lying in this scenario protects a disabled person from stigma, injury, pain, death, and/or social neglect. This is a moral good. Lying to protect people from abuse is good, yourself included.

You shouldn't get a wheelchair, walker, cane, shower chair, or any kind of assistive technology mobility aid because then you might become dependent on them. Just like how you also shouldn't get glasses if you have bad eyesight because then you might become dependent on those.

For instance, if you end up stuck using corrective eyewear, you could actually lose your ability to tell what things are even when they are extremely blurry! You need to get used to having migraines from seeing unclearly because if you wear glasses all the time, you are basically giving up!! You don't need to see things coming at you from far away! You just need to get good at dodging, and if you can't, then you have no one to blame but yourself!!

For example, I read a really heart-worming article recently about a girl who was stuck using glasses - just absolutely, tragically trapped in her eyewear from dawn to dusk, even though she was good and never ever complained; and I heard she trained herself to discern the blurry faces of her loved ones with 60% accuracy! - she was even able to walk down the aisle at her wedding WITHOUT forcing the discomfort of seeing a woman in glasses on all her guests!!

Sure, she had to give her vows with a splitting headache, and she couldn't see her husband's expression when he said "I do," but overall, SO inspi-ration-al!!! So up-lifting!!

(She didn't even have to use a seeing eye cane, which would have been the worst-case scenario, obviously, because she worked hard to make sure she looked LESS disabled, not MORE disabled!!! Everyone knows blind people exist solely to be a cautionary tale to sighted people!!)

Also, did you know some people get glasses when they only need them a little bit?? How selfish of them! Sure, there's not a shortage, and an increase in demand would result in overall increased accessibility to glasses--but emotionally it's like taking glasses away from someone who needs them more! After all, if everyone who needed glasses got them, then...... um...... more people would have glasses! Which is probably bad!!!!

I also had a friend who was trapped in glasses who saved up all her money for laser eye surgery, and I don't know why everyone doesn't just do that! Sure, some doctors say some people don't "qualify" and it "won't help" those people, but that's why you can't give up!! You don't want to be one of those people!

After all, what's the worse thing that could happen with an unnecessary laser surgery to the face that comes with crippling debt??? It's worth the risk to gain your FREEDOM back, and I'm so proud of my friend!!

Tragically, she did die later that year while driving Uber and squinting at street signs, but at least now I know my friend is finally free from the shackles of her terrible eyesight. #ripAshley #rippedAshley #justripit 😌😌😌❤😇😇😇

And that's why you shouldn't get used to using a mobility aid!! Because, like glasses, they are inherently embarrassing to be seen with; and - like glasses - it is more noble to silently suffer than to depend on unnatural technologies that force you to rely on them!!! (Besides, everyone else will be SO much more comfortable if you look normal!)

I hope you learned something today. 💖

[omohole]

currently at a very Low low in my mental health and it is really not helped by being Back in the hotseat of constantly trying to talk someone elese down from suicide 24/7 like im back in middleschool yippee

[medicasino]

forever crying and screaming because i couldn't make it to the Jhariah, Pinkshift and Pollyanna concert happening IN MY STATE 😭

[chucklechampion]

evening dedicated to The Horrors