#chainlink speaks

[chainlink32]

Went as Gambit for Halloween with my friends!

[no-less-than-a-god]

“May I ask a question?” The Lamb’s voice carries easily through the Afterlife, and if The One Who Waits hadn’t just watched them die (an attack that they were too weakened to dodge, an arrow piercing their chest), he would have startled at how it echoes around them; Aym and Baal didn’t have such foresight, and both of them jerked, ears flicking and tails fluffing up for only a moment before calming.

“I have told you, Vessel,” The One Who Waits answers, as the Lamb grows close. “You are free to ask anything of your god.”

“Who are these two?” the Lamb asks, and gestures to the disciples on either side of the god. Having been directly referenced, both of their ears prick up, and they stand as straight as they can, alert and curious.

“They’re my disciples,” The One Who Waits replies, “gifted upon me as kits.”

He does not mention his sibling’s name, or the fact he knows it was them. It hurts to think about it, even now.

“Do they have names?”

The god makes a motion with his chained wrist, and addresses his keepers. “Speak freely, and introduce yourself to the Lamb.”

“Baal.”

“Aym.”

“Are you two brothers?”

“Yes,” it was Baal who replies, his brother’s head tilting as he answers. “Twins.”

“Who’s older?”

There is a pause. Both disciples look upon each other silently, before turning back to the Lamb they towered over.

“I think,” it was Aym who speaks this time, as he points his staff towards Baal, “he’s older.”

“Huh…” the Lamb trails off then, before speaking up again. “Who’s better at fighting?”

“I am,” both of them reply simultaneously, and then shoot each other a look.

“I beat you last time we sparred,” Aym says.

“But I had beaten you thrice before that,” Baal counters.

“Twice,” Aym corrects.

“Thrice,” Baal insists.

In a sudden move, Aym pounces on his brother, staff brandished. “I’ll show you who’s a better fighter!” he yells, and the two throw themselves off to the side, bickering and fighting.

Both the Lamb and The One Who Waits watches the brothers for a few moments, before the Lamb looks up at their god.

“Apologies, I seem to have caused that,” they say.

“They fight, it happens,” the god replies. He does not stop his disciples, or reprimand them from fighting in front of his vessel. Instead, he watches with amusement.

“It’s entertaining, most of the time,” he adds. “I’ve been keeping track of who wins.”

“Who’s winning, then?”

Beneath the veil, The One Who Waits begins to smile, and he turns back to the Lamb.

“They’re tied.”

-------------------------------------

“May I ask what happens to the offerings I give you?”

“My disciples eat the fish.”

“You don’t?”

“I cannot.”

“Would you like me to send other things, then?”

“The fish is adequate, Vessel. You do not have to.”

“Do you know what fish they prefer, then?”

“Aym prefers swordfish; Baal prefers tuna.”

“And you?”

“...It’s been too long for me to remember the tastes, but I remember being partial to salmon the most.”

-------------------------------------

“Does it hurt?” they ask, sitting among the ethereal ground. The One Who Waits watches them, as they peer up at him.

They look so small.

“Does what hurt?” he asks in return, although he has a speculation.

“The shackles, the chains. Being bound.”

The One Who Waits remains silent, contemplating, before he speaks honestly. “They have pained me for so long, I take no further notice. I have been forced to grow used to the unbearable agony; it no longer affects me as greatly as it once did. Is there a reason you ask, Vessel?”

The Lamb, The One Who Waits surprisingly finds, is silent. They’ve looked away from him, and suddenly, they’re standing up.

“I’m ready to go back,” they claim, and there’s a tremble at the end of their voice.

Ignoring that they failed to answer his own question, Narinder raises his bony arm, chainlinks clinking together, as he resurrects them.

Later, watching through the crown, he sees the Lamb descend upon the stone statue of Heket with their oversized hammer, smashing it to pieces.

Even as it rebuilds itself, the hammer brings it all down in a fit of rage, until the Lamb is doubled over with fatigue, panting and sweating.

Eligos brings their demise two days later, and neither god nor vessel speak as the Lamb looks upon The One Who Waits.

Thank you, he wants to say, for your rage. For caring. You did not have to do that, but you did. 

But he says nothing.

-------------------------------------

“Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

“I’ve watched the rat play it, many times. And I’ve watched you play it, many times more.”

“But do you know how to play?”

“I do not.”

“Can I teach you?

“With what dice, Vessel?”

“I have some in the crown. I can teach Aym and Baal too, if they want.”

“I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”

-------------------------------------

“Have you always had a veil?” the Lamb asks, resting in their god’s hand. They had requested to lay down, after a painful and quite literal run-in with an explosive fiend. They sit up, a curious tilt to their head.

“I acquired one not long after my ascension to a Bishop,” The One Who Waits replies. Nearby, the sound of staff clacking together continues as the twins spar. “There were complaints of my gaze being uncomfortable. Unnerving.”

The Lamb pauses, before they softly ask, “May I see?”

“The veil?”

“Your face.”

A century ago, a request as such would have given him pause. He would have declined, and sent the Lamb away.

Instead, he slowly brings his arm up, and leans down. The Lamb ducks under the veil, and for the first time, the god and vessel make true eye contact.

Red meets white. The One Who Waits looks, unblinking, as the Lamb stares back into his eyes.

Something touches his nose, and it twitches involuntarily at the unfamiliar sensation. It takes the god a few seconds to realize it’s the Lamb’s hand.

The Lamb smiles, gently. “Your eyes. They’re a pretty red.”

The One Who Waits’ ear flicks.

“Like camellias. Or fresh blood. It’s nice.”

“Vessel,” the god whispers, because they’re so close. “I ask you to stop talking.”

The Lamb leans against The One Who Waits’ nose, and all he can smell is them. “And I ask,” they reply, their smile growing, “is that I can continue praising my god’s bea-”

“Lamb-” The One Who Waits interrupts, and it comes out soft. Something warm curls in his chest, around his unbeating heart.

“What shall become of me, if I don’t stop talking?” the Lamb asks in a whisper. 

A purr threatens to rip itself from the god’s chest.

“I’ll send you back to your followers,” The One Who Waits replies.

The threat is empty, and both of them know it.

-------------------------------------

“Was Kallamar your elder or younger brother?”

“Elder.”

“And Heket was younger. Does that mean you were the middle sibling?”

“Yes, I was in the middle. Two came before, and two after.”

“May I ask what it was like, having siblings?”

“I assure you, Vessel, my experience with siblinghood is most definitely different from the norm.”

“I rephrase: May I ask what it was like for you, having siblings? May I know more of my god’s past?”

“Draw close, Lamb, and I shall tell you.”

-------------------------------------

“Shamura spoke to me.” 

The One Who Waits flicks his ear, half because of hearing his sibling’s name on his lamb's tongue, half because they sound nervous.

The Lamb continues speaking. “They told me something. A name.”

The god freezes. He stills so suddenly, not even his chains clink. It's silent.

He knows what name Shamura had spoken. He wasn't watching the Lamb during their crusade, but he knows.

He remembers, faintly, his name uttered in vain, in fear and disgust. In hatred, or indifference.

“Were they telling the truth?” the Lamb asks. “Is your name Narinder?”

Reverence. How long ago did someone last say his name with such reverence?

“It is,” he replies, and he pretends his voice doesn’t tremble at the end.

“Can I call you that?”

The answer comes at once, without thought or hesitation, “Yes.”

“Much easier to say than your title,” the Lamb smiles a little, “right, Narinder?”

His own purr surprises him, and he watches as the Lamb’s smile grows into something soft, something fond.

Off to the side, Baal and Aym shoot their master a strange look.

-------------------------------------

“What do you plan to do, once you’re free?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve been trapped for almost a millennium, Narinder, surely you’ve thought of something?”

“I’ve had ideas in the past, but they’ve changed. Now, I’m unsure.”

“I can help you think of something, if you want.”

-------------------------------------

Narinder, The One Who Waits, has dreamed of freedom for centuries. All he’s wished for, as time passed in his eternal prison, is that he could be set free.

The Lamb’s arrival to him, covered in chains and looking ragged, had filled him with ecstatic bloodlust.

They were it, his key. With them as his final sacrifice, he’d be free.

That thought would keep him gleeful, a comfort. With their death, he’ll find his freedom.

But something changed.

Now, the thought fills him with dread.

With their death, he’ll be free.

For the first time since he was shackled, his dreams aren’t filled with revenge, with tearing himself free and escaping.

For the first time, he becomes weary of his own domain.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die to free him.

He wants them alive. He wants them to stay, sleeping against his claw and chest, saying his name, peering under his veil.

He doesn’t want the Lamb to die.

Which is why, when they bow to him, his crown in their hands, he cannot find the words he’s dreamed of saying for centuries, the words he’s supposed to say.

It’s why, fists clenching, he says, “No.”

Good afternoon, I woke up and chose violence today! More specifically, I decided today I would write short fragments of interaction between narinder and the lamb during their vessel years

also. lore :)

anyways if anyone's curious I listened to "Home" by Pinkshift while writing this

[lowkeyrobin]

MONTY FINCH ; just kiss

summary ; basically the edwin & monty swing set scene

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; reader doesn't know shit about astrology, word vomit

track ; like real people do, hozier

word count ; 951

masterlist

Monty slowly swings himself on the swingset, the metal chain links creaking at every slight movement. He stays low to the ground, feet inches from the dirt below.

You swing beside him, a wired earbud hanging from your right ear, the left open so you could hear him if he spoke. The metal creaking enters your left ear, your music entering the right.

"How do you know so much about astrology?" You ask him, leaning your head against the metal chainlinks on the left. "Like, I obviously don't get it. How and why, like... how does it work?"

He smiles, looking up at you. He rests his hands on the right side's chain link, cozy fingerless gloves protecting him from the cold metal. "Basically, the way the stars align kind of predict fate in people, the way they act and think," He shrugs, trying to give you a basic definition.

"How do zodiac signs work then?" You ask

"Well, it's not like... science-confirmed, actually disproven, but believe what you will. But the constellations in the stars change per every month, aligning to its matching sign. Like, take Edwin for example" He speaks. "He's a Capricorn. They're usually described as ambitious, practical and focused"

"Sounds a lot like him" You shrug. "So it's just kind of a coincidence that you act a certain way with when you were born?"

"Yeah, basically."

You hum.

You're both silent for a moment, trying to find something to turn the conversation too.

"What's it like being a ghost?" He asks. "I know you've been with Charles and Edwin for God knows how long, but, like, what's it like?"

You shrug. "Solving mysteries and supernatural stuff. It's what it sounds like. But being dead is a lot like being alive. Most people just can't see you, you can't feel things, like your sensory skills are broken" You wiggle your fingers, aware that your fingerpads were basically broken. "You don't need to sleep or eat, but you have free will to change clothes"

He nods, following along.

"It doesn't feel the way you'd think it would. You don't know when you die, you just keep on going before you realize no one can see you or you see you're walking outside your body" You continue, "It's like everything always feels like TV static, but after a while you get used to it and it feels like it less and less. But when you're really down and lost, it comes back stronger than ever."

"Sounds like shit"

"It is" You chuckle. "Wish I got to say goodbyes to the people I love. Death is so unexpected but... it's the only thing everyone, everything, on Earth has in common. Death is after us all"

He nods, eyes softened. "You speak very wisely. Not in an Edwin way because you've been dead since the early 1900s. But you know a lot, you're very knowledgeable, you know how to speak your mind"

You softly smile. "Thanks, Monty"

Your faces stand inches apart between the swings, your eyes just examining each other's faces.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have nice hair?" You ask him.

He airily giggles. "No, actually. Thank you. You have nice hair too, for being dead"

"Well, it doesn't grow, so I never have to book an appointment at the ghost barber's," you joke with a giggle. "Another pro of being dead. Less people, more me"

He smiles. "You have a very attractive smile, y'know that?"

You glance away, a little flustered. "Oh, thanks"

He glances between your lips and your eyes, admiring your harmonious features, the way everything you owned made you special and unique. He couldn't imagine you looking any different, you were perfect to him.

That look in his eyes killed you, that smile, God, it was to die for. You'd do anything to just pause time and stare at his little smile, to stare at his infatuated gaze.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before? Or like, before you died?" He asks quietly.

You shake your head no. "Charles said kissing when you're dead is a lot different than when you're alive. I dunno what he meant by it though"

"Wanna figure it out?"

Your lips curl into a smile, which you'd failed to keep contained. You snicker, looking away for a moment.

"You seem very desperate, Monty"

"I am," He admits. "You're very attractive. We should just kiss, like normal people do."

You roll your eyes before quickly leaning toward him, pulling yourself closer. You place your hands on the sides of his face, your thumbs and index fingers against the sides of his ears. He rests his left hand against your neck, his right hand on top of your left hand.

His lips tasted like oranges. He smelled like cucumbers and eucalyptus leaves. He was soft and warm, like fresh baked cookies. You didn't know if kissing was like this when you were alive, but when you were dead, you noticed every small thing, you could feel him, like his aura was rolling off his skin and burying itself inside you. It did so like it was trying to make sure you couldn't pull away, so you'd just fall in love with him on the spot.

He pulls away to breathe, something you didn't need. He looks up at you, scanning your face like he was attempting to read your expression.

"You taste like oranges," you comment. "But, like... do you feel every single thing when you kiss me? Like I could feel your feelings, if that makes sense"

He shakes his head no. "That's cool" He smiles. "Being dead sounds really cool"

"Don't say that"

"Oh, sorry"

"I'm fucking with you. C'mere"

[randofics]

Rabid

October week #5

Words: Highfalutin, Bleed, Rainstorm, Secretary

🎶 The Midnight- Good In Red

🎶 The Midnight- Nocturnal

🎶 Everyone Loves an Outlaw - I See Red

🎶 Deftones - Change (slowed+reverb)

🎶 Sharon Van Etten - Jupiter 4

-------

You hadn't seen your boss Bruce Wayne in days his butler had been taking all your calls and was practically running the company in his stead.

You were starting to get worried.

One night, leaving the Wayne Industries tower, you decided to try calling again and demand to speak to Bruce. The older man's voice on the line sounded tired, which you didn't doubt.

"Hello, Mrs. Y/N how may I help you at this hour?"

"I need to talk to Mr. Wayne."

"Whatever you need, I'm sure I can help with Miss."

"No, I need to speak to him directly."

"I'm afraid he can't come to the phone right now, Mrs. Y/L/N. Perhaps you can speak to him tomorrow."

"Listen, Alfred, I'm gettin' real tired of yall blowing me off when I'm just trying to do my job. Now. Let. Me. Speak. With. Him."

"I'm sorry, but you just missed him. He isn't here right now. He'll probably be back in an hour or two if you want to call back." A young girls voice came through your phone speaker.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, I'm Dick's friend Barbara. Who're you?"

"I'm Bruce's secretary. Is he really not there?"

"Yeah, he left a few minutes ago. Sorry."

You let out a defeated sigh. "Ok, thanks for letting me know. I'll call back in an hour."

With that, you hear the phone cut. And you step out into the rain drenched parking lot. Only a handful of cars are ever here at this hour, so the large lot is mostly empty.

You notice a man stepping out of his car. His eyes are on you as you cross the empty spaces. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as you pick up your pace.

In just a few blinks of an eye, he's on you hissing and growling with a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Spit flings on your face as his jaws gnash at you. You use your arms to keep him at bay, but his strength is slowly winning. The red glow in his irises strikes fear in your heart.

You tilt your head and close your eyes as his fangs get closer, trying with all your might to keep him away.

Suddenly, the weight is lifted off you, and you hear a thud and a yelp as your attacker slams into a truck nearby. An inhuman roar catches your attention. There standing next to you is the legend himself Batman.

Your attacker flees. Leaping over the chainlink and razorwire fence like it was nothing.

-------

You try to catch your breath as you look between where your attacker just was and the Bat looming over you.

"Thank you."

He holds out his hand for you, helping you up. Suddenly, he looks away from you. Gloved hand covering his mouth and nose.

"You're injured. Take this." He pulls something from his utility belt. Between his two clawed fingers is an alcohol wipe and a large band-aid.

You take it examining yourself for wounds.

"Your elbow."

Blood dripped from your broken skin down your arm.

"Oh, I didn't even feel it. Thanks."

He nods, still looking away from you and covering his face. You hiss as you quickly wipe the wound clean. Tearing the band-aid open, you place it over the bleeding wound, effectively sealing it off from the outside air.

"What are you doing out here so late?"

A hearty laugh escapes from your lips, surprising you as you cover your mouth. He raises a brow in question.

"Sorry, it's just that I had to stay in order to take my bosses meetings over the phone."

"I'm sure he had his reasons for not being available."

"Well, I wouldn't know because that highfalutin jerk hasn't spoken to me in days!" You yell up at the looming tower, frustration evident in your voice.

When you look back down, he's gone. You spin around trying to spot him in the parking lot, but he's nowhere to be seen. You hear your phone chirp with a notification and quickly get into your car, locking the doors.

You pull your phone and see a text notification from your boss.

"I apologize for my unavailability as of late. I've been dealing with personal matters that need my full attention. Tomorrow night I will be in my office if you have any questions."

You close your eyes, letting out a sigh. He was finally coming back! The engine of your car rumbled to life as you turned the key. You pealed out of the lot driving home.

-------

The next day, you were once again thrust into dealing with meetings and paperwork. The only thing keeping you somewhat sane was knowing that your boss would be back in the afternoon.

With him being back after so long away, you wouldn't just be dropping everything on his shoulders. That would just be cruel. No, you'd give him some warmup work and slowly reintroduce him to everything else.

As the office slowly emptied, the cubicles no longer occupied by your coworkers. You started to get antsy. Parts of the office were dark and shadowy, where the overhead lights had been switched off. It was mostly quiet aside from keyboard clicks and the barely audible hum of the air vents.

You were looking over more paperwork in your office when movement at the elevator caught your attention. A familiar face popped out, and you couldn't help but smile.

Quickly, you gathered the work you'd picked out for him, placing it into a folder. As you opened your door, he was standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Oh hi Mr.Wayne I was just coming to greet you. Are those for me?"

"Yeah, it's not much of an apology gift, but I couldn't think of anything else."

"I didn't realize that you could get wild honeysuckle in bouqets. And sunflowers are one of my favorites. How'd you know?" Taking the bouquet, you smelled the honeysuckle. The familiar sweet scent reminded you of home.

"I didn't think roses would be appropriate. And they reminded me of you."

"Aw, that's so sweet of you. Thank you." You hand him the folder and go back to your desk to remove the faux flowers from the vase. Gently, you place the bouquet into its new home. "Now, I just need to try rooting them. They'll be a great addition to the plants at my apartment."

"You keep plants?"

"Yeah, since my landlord doesn't allow pets, it's the closest I can get. I liked keeping them before I moved, too."

Plucking a nice-looking flower off the honeysuckle branch, you pinched off the base of the flower, pulling out the center stigma, a drop of clear nectar coming out with it. You placed it on your tongue, licking up the sugary sweet drop.

"Ha, it's as good as I remember!"

-------

He looked away, clearing his throat. Ever since he'd stepped out of the elevator, he could smell you. The vampire disease heightening his senses made it impossible not to.

The last few days, he'd been diligently working on the cure and had some final testing before he could use it. His hunger was getting harder to manage, and there was less time between feedings. The other night, when he'd smelled your blood, it took everything in him not to attack you.

He could almost hear your heartbeat now and could somewhat see where his eyes weren't looking.

He focused on the folder you'd handed him. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah, just something to warm you up after so long away."

"Thanks, I'll get right on it." He had to stear clear of you from now until he was cured. The urge to feed on you was just too strong.

Walking to his office, he shut the door behind himself, leaving the main light off. He pulled the dangle, turning on the desk lamp, and took out a bloodbag from his coat pocket.

Undoing the seal, he poured some into his mouth. Dick and Alfred had been kind enough to help keep him fed on their own blood. He absolutely would not allow Barbara to give any of hers. It just seemed wrong for him to ask that of her.

Sealing it back up, he placed it back in his pocket, cleaning his mouth with a tissue and popping in a mint from his candy bowl. Taking the papers from the folder, he got back to work.

-------

You sighed, looking out the large windows at the city below. There was a rainstorm outside, the thunder rolling overhead like a metal trashcan clattering violently to the pavement. Bright flashes of lightning lit the skyline.

"Just a bit more paperwork and some copies, then I'll be done." Reassuring yourself you got back to work.

Time passed, and you dropped your work in the filing cabinet next to your coworkers cubicle. "Now, to make those copies." The copier was across the main floor right past Bruce's office.

Making your way over, you couldn't help but glance at the gap in the blinds. The lower portion of his face is visible in the computer and lamp light. He looked like he was concentrating on his own work.

You focused back on the copier placing in your papers and pressing a few buttons on the touch-screen. The machine slurped them up like noodles, spitting them back out on the other side and printing out more right behind it. Once it dinged, you removed the stack, taking them to the table next to the elevator. Everyone would be taking a copy when they came in in the morning.

-------

Your scent wafted into his office as you passed the door. His nose caught it by the time you were at the copier. Swallowing hard, he pinched his nose, breathing through his mouth, which only helped dull the scent. It was like he could taste it in the air now.

Excess saliva was gathering in his mouth at your scent. His teeth itched like they wanted to sink into something, and his jaw muscles twitched in anticipation.

From his seat, he watched your silhouette through the thin gaps in the blinds. You disappeared only for a moment before coming right towards his door. He cursed, trying to gather his wits and straiten his suit.

-------

Your knuckles tapped lightly on his door, and he called you in. "Here's your copy for tomorrow." He stood turning to look out the window. "You alright, Bruce?"

"Yeah, yeah, just having a hard time concentrating."

You walk around his desk, leaning against it on your rear and crossing your ankles. "Concentrating on work?"

Turning around, he suddenly placed his hands on either side of you boxing you in. Leaning in, he whispered in your ear.

"Definitely not anything work related."

Blood rushed to your face and ears, making you nearly as red as a tomato. Feeling his breath on your neck, you shiver. His hand gently gripped your waist as his body presses against yours. You could feel his lips graze your skin as your breath hitched in your throat.

"B-Boss?"

In a blur, he backed away from you like you were made of fire. You saw it for a split second. His eyes glowed red like the man who attacked you. A pang of fear struck you.

"I-I am so sorry, Mrs. Y/L/N! I don't... I don't know what came over me."

"You're a vampire, aren't you?!"

He presses his forhead into the glass, trying to calm himself.

"I haven't completely turned yet. Batman is working on a cure."

"How-how long?"

"The whole time I've been gone. It's probably only a matter of days until I fully turn at this point."

"Have you..."

"Bitten, anyone? No. Alfred and Dick have been giving me their blood."

"How close is Batman to the cure?"

"Hopefully, he'll have it done by tomorrow evening."

"Do-do you need another blood donor? Give Alfred and Dick a break?"

"I couldn't ask that of you. Besides, I'll be back to normal soon."

"But if it's been this long with just Alfred and Dick giving their blood, I'm sure they're about at their capacity. Al-Also, I don't mind if it's just once. That's all you need, right?"

"I... they can't give anymore for a while. So I was just going to try rationing what little I have left."

"Bruce, if it'll help you at all, then I insist."

"I don't have anything to collect the blood even if I wanted to."

"Then just take it from the source."

"You're suggesting I bite you?"

You let out a sigh, unbutoning the top three buttons of your shirt and pulling back the left side, revealing your collar bone and bare neck. He can see the strap of your bra across your shoulder and, with his heightened senses, can practically see your veins sending blood throughout your body.

"Fine."

He grabs the decanter off his desk, taking a swig of whiskey and sloshing it around before swallowing it, sanitizing his mouth. As he walks over, he loosens his tie. You can see the determination in his eyes as he once again boxes you in against his desk.

"Final chance to change your mind."

You only turn your head, pulling the clothing aside and baring your neck at him. There's a bright blush on your face as he leans in. You feel his lips on your neck as he gently kisses your skin.

"I'm gonna bite you now, ok?"

Nodding your head, you shut your eyes. His teeth graze your skin before you feel them pierce into you. The sharp pain makes you hiss, and a second after, the alcohol seeps in searing the exposed nerves.

You feel blood being sucked from your body as his jaw keeps a tight latch on you. His hand holds your lower back as his body presses into you, knee slipping between your thighs, making your pencil skirt ride up.

Your hand lands on the side of his neck as you try to relax in his embrace. His jaw relaxes, and he gently pulls his teeth from your skin. You feel his tongue licking your new wound.

When he pulls away, his mouth still has a bit of blood on it, which he wipes away with his thumb licking it clean.

"Thank you, y/n." He opens a drawer, pulling out a first aid kit. He takes a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton ball lightly cleaning the wound in the crook of your neck. He places a large patch over the wound. It'll still stand out over the top of your shirt collar, but at least it's stopping the bleeding.

You clear your throat awkwardly as you button back up.

"You should probably get home while the storm has quieted down. Besides, I'll be busy with this paperwork for another hour or so."

Nodding, you move over to him, pulling him down by his tie. You give him a peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow night?"

He gives you a small smile. "If all goes well with the cure, yes."

You wave to him before closing his door as you walk to the elevator. His eyes meet yours one last time as the doors close.

-------

In the cave, Bruce is hard at work on the cure. Alfred turns on a machine, placing a few vials of Bruce's blood in it and setting it to spin.

"After these next few tests, I'm hopeful we'll have the cure."

"Have you had any blood tonight Master Bruce?"

"I ran out but found a donor."

"You took someone's blood!?"

"She offered Alfred."

"Who!?"

He sighs, not wanting to talk about it but knowing his old friend won't have it. "Y/n found out I was infected. She offered some of her blood so you and Dick could have a break."

"Does she..."

"No, she thinks Batman's making the cure. Bruce Wayne was just an unfortunate victim."

-------

In the early morning, Bruce checks that everything is correct with the synthesized cure. Under the microscope, a drop of his blood sits on the slide. He adds a drop of the cure and watches as the infection dies, returning his blood to normal.

He takes the filled syringe and lifts his shirt sleeve, keeping it out of the way with his teeth. Sucking in a calming breath, he injects himself in the shoulder, pushing the cure into his system.

Pain shoots through his body, and he's having a severe hot flash. He sits in his chair as sweat beads on his brow. The glass of room temperature water he'd left catches his eye, and he grabs it, drinking the whole glass in one go.

As the cure works its magic, he passes out, the glass shattering on the floor.

-------

The next night, you say goodbye to your coworkers as they get into the elevator. Bruce still hadn't returned, and you were beginning to worry.

You're sitting at your desk when you hear the elevator open and a groggy looking Bruce steps out. His shoulders sagged as he yawned.

You jog up to him, and he gives you a feint smile. He looks terrible, to say the least.

"That cure whooped ya, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it was actually worse this morning."

"You could've called me, and I'd taken over while you recovered."

"No, I need to get some work in. I was restless at home."

"Ok, just let me know if you want me to take over so you can sleep. I've still got some work to do."

"Sorry to ask this so suddenly, but would you like to come over for dinner sometime?"

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"Not unless you want it to be?"

You walk up to him, holding his face in your hands. His eyes close at your touch. "Darlin' I'd love to." He grins weakly, and you stand on your tip toes, pulling him closer so you can kiss him.

"It's a date then."

[outlastrabbit]

can I get a hc for a shy reader confessing to Coyle 👉👈

Shy!Reader Confesses to Leland Coyle

You timidly snuck through the courthouse alone, fiddling with your hands as you looked around the gory environment. The horrific things you saw sure had an impact on you, but they weren’t the reason your heart was racing. No, what made your palms sweat and cheeks blush was something far worse.

It was Coyle.

You knew he was around. You hadn’t seen him since you had a trial at the police station, and actually made ‘friends’ with him. Your shyness and hesitance made you look innocent to him. He wasn’t gonna fry some timid little thing like you. Didn’t feel right.

Ever since then, Coyle was on your mind. You would lay in your bed or pace your cell, face burning up as you tried to rid your thoughts of him. So as petrified as you were, you were going to confess your feelings today.

You crept over to a chainlink roller door, watching Coyle go on about the judge and trial to some animatronics. What a nut. You almost chickened out and was going to sneak away, but he spotted you through the roller door.

“Hey there, honey.”

Coyle walked over, his hand on his belt while his other held that scary electric baton of his. He never used it on you though. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was quiet stammering. The smirk that formed on his lips made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“You came crawling back.”

You fiddled with your sweaty hands, a shy smile creeping across your own face. You glanced away from Coyle for a moment, before meeting his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“Yeah, you said I would…”

He flashed a bright smile you had never seen before, and it made your knees go weak. It wasn’t sadistic or cruel like his expression usually was. Instead, it seemed like he was genuinely smiling at you. As if he was fond of you.

“Nobody ever really loses a taste for the glove.”

The way Coyle was looking at you and the way he spoke was melting your heart. His uncharacteristically friendliness and the fact he was behind a chainlink roller door gave you a small boost of confidence.

“No, I surely haven’t… I’ve been thinking about you.”

You stared at your feet and played with your fingers. You could feel Coyle’s piercing gaze behind his sunglasses boring into you, his grin widening.

“Ain’t you a sweet little thing?”

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, Coyle’s raspy chuckle not helping. You tried to steady your breathing and stop shaking, looking back at him through the chainlink.

“Yeah… I kinda like you, Coyle.”

The tiny little smile on your face broke Coyle’s into a wide grin. He stepped closer to the roller door, and you did the same. He couldn’t help but think you were so cute.

“Oh, sweetness. Been thinking ‘bout you too. Pretty little darling, ain’t you?”

You felt as if you could die then and there as Coyle leaned in a bit, taking in your features. Your smile grew to match his more, and your eyes turned into little hearts.

[hotrale]

I like being old news. I like being forgotten. I like being put away.

I like being. I like to not be touched with a ten foot pole. I like to be touched by ten people in one room. I like feeling like it was something I said. I like calling the line. I like not calling the line. I like telemarketing. I like no money. I like to crash a car. I like dashboard dinner. I like lockeroom shower. I like stray cats. I like to wake surrounded by men. I like to forget the day. I like more powdery pills. I like a flashlight in my face through the window. I like a you can’t stay here. I like a mattress fire. I like the itch all over. I like how they want what I have. I like being grabbed by the middle going out for a smoke. I like a threat. I like the smell of piss. I like homeless people olympics. I like pit bulls straining against chainlink. I like a soft bluish bruise. I like to wade where it is shallow.

Yellow red white lines alike. quick as ever to blame. but I ought never blame anyone because those are people who are u to question people with their complex people problems ur hurting them.

U need to not think about anything at all Nevermind urself. U need to stop looking what u had in the face. U need to stop the anger and the sadness. U need to take it if it ever comes back. U need to count pace pray count pace pray. U need to sacrifice your mind no soul to seek. U need fear it is not enough. U need to lend more minutes than u have. U need to love everything all the time. U need to not be negative. U need to be as u used to be. U need to be beautiful. U need to have hope. U need to speak up. U need to eat. U need to tell the truth. U need to clean up after yourself. U need to take less. U need to pay more. U need to say it when they want it. U need to put on pants. U need to not do that in front of children. U need to leave that with the TSA. U need to look through the shot. U need to find another vein. U need to stop meeting people leaving people. U need to stop giving away all your things. U need to smoke less. U need to wake up. U need to stop now

[docochocart]

DOCORONPA R

CHAPTER ZERO

(3/3)

Shock paralyzed the group. They stared at Ghost Hunter's limp body, all too appalled to make a sound.

Finally, Daredevil sprung into action. He rushed to Ghost Hunter's side, desperately checking his limp arm for a pulse.

After a few moments of silence, Daredevil's eyes lit up. Ghost Hunter was alive.

The group quickly surrounded his unconscious body, frantically checking for signs of injury. After only found some light burns, their attention turned back to the massive fence.

A peer through the chainlink only showed more woods, seemingly infinite. The horror of their situation was fully setting in, even for the likes of Daredevil and Sailor.

Despair filled the air, only being cut by a stranger's voice calling from further along the fence.

The group's attention all swung to the intimidating duo marching towards them on their left. As they got closer, their formal attire stuck out to the group. Some students even believing for a moment that these two could be their rescuers.

These hopes were crushed quickly when the two quickly revealed themselves to be ultimates as well. Respectively, the Ultimate Cowboy and the Ultimate Cadet.

Cowboy spoke for the two of them, with a cautious but stern tone. He explained that the two had been following the perimeter of the fence, finding no exits along their path.

As he spoke Cadet stared the group down coldly, her icy stare looking each of them up and down. She didn't need to speak, they could feel her judgement.

After Cowboy finished his calm and collected speech, the two were immediately met with Sailor's chaotic ramblings.

Furious with this situation, Sailor furiously berated and interrogated the strangers about this whole "no exits" thing.

While Cowboy was willing to try and reason with the overgrown brat, cadet was not nearly as patient.

Sailor's rage was cut short with two strategic blows from cadet, leaving him a puddle on the floor next to Ghost Hunter.

With that taken care of, the pecking order was clearly set for the rest of the group.

Upon the orders of Cadet and Cowboy, they continued their journey along the fence, dragging Sailor and Ghost hunter behind them.

...

The group soon arrived at a clearing in the trees. Examining the scenery, they quickly realized they were right where they had all began.

Four cabins formed a crooked row in the clearing facing the large food hall building across from them, now with even more strangers standing at it's entrance.

Two slim, tall girls stood in front of the food hall's double doors, staring down at something standing between them.

Both girls had a striking appearance, with rigid features and statuesque posture.

One wore her fiery auburn hair in explosive twin tails that nearly reached her ankles. The other kept her Icy green hair in a conjoined loop, with every hair neatly kept in it's intended place.

The group cautiously approached the girls. Stepping through the trees, the large crew made their way over. As they began to call out to the two a cartoonishly cute voice cut their introduction short.

This voice belonged to neither of the girls.

Their heads spun in all directions looking to meet this mysterious call, only to be greeted by a stuffed animal standing upright and waving, seemingly completely independently, from between the two girls.

Welcoming the cast, the two toned sheep plushie introduced itself as MonoMaton, their new camp counselor!

Ignoring their clear bewilderment and confusion, MonoMaton turned the groups attention to the girls around him, introducing them each as the Ultimate Bartender and Ultimate Ice Skater.

The girls both glared in the groups direction, not moving from their spot at the door. The first to approach them was Marine Biologist, shyly sauntering toward the girls.

Ice Skater spared no time in chastising her, sternly questioning why she left the cabin. Marine Biologist quietly apologized as the rest of the group followed her up to the craft hall entrance.

Bartender explained to the group that MonoMaton told them the final cast member had locked themselves inside the craft hall.

Trucker hastily volunteered to get it open, cockily approaching the door and tugging. After 30 seconds of struggle, PT pushed her way up to the door demanding a shot. Trucker ignored her, continuing to try the door.

PT, growing furious, yanked Trucker backward off the door, quickly evolving into a scrap between the two. As Cowboy and Cadet moved to pull the two apart, Sailor stomped toward the craft hall entrance, breaking apart the brawl and kicking the door in with a single blow.

An angry, gravely voice came barreling toward them from inside the craft hall.

Inside was a tall blonde boy sitting atop one of four massive tables, furiously screaming at the group to back off. Ignoring his demands, MonoMaton led the group inside, promising answers to this mysterious "situation".

After every student had taken a seat in the craft hall, MonoMaton stood atop a table in the center of the room with an announcement.

MonoMaton cheerily announced that the cast was brought here for one reason: a killing game!

Meaning that: in order for anybody to leave this camp, they must murder a fellow student and successfully survive a class trial, only being able to take one student with them to freedom if they succeed.

The cast erupted into chaos immediately, MonoMaton silently sliding out of the room in the fray.

As the group frantically questioned if this could be true, a commanding shout cut through the anarchy.

Cadet stood tall, coldly stating that if they were to survive the cast would need a leader to guide them. She asked the room for volunteers, robotically stating it could and would not be her.

The first to step forward was Ice Skater, firmly asserting that she would take up the mantle as leader. Trucker shot up right after, contesting that this matter should be put to a vote, and volunteering himself as opposition.

Ice Skater viciously scanned the room, asking if anybody else dared to throw their hat in the ring, triggering a nasty response from Rebel.

Rebel leaned back, shouting that he wouldn't be following the orders any leader and that anybody here who would was too weak to live.

Salesman concurred, asking what was to stop the leader from using their influence to get away with murder. He was followed up by Sailor, who agreed that this crew was better off with no captain.

Ice Skater insisted on a vote, but the group had already seemingly soured on the idea.

Salesman put the final word in on the subject, stating that the cast could function just fine as a democracy. With no leader elected, students began trickling back out into the camp.

Drummer followed Personal Trainer and Social Star back to their cabin, leaving Marine Biologist with a fuming Ice Skater.

Arriving back at their cabin, they soon were joined by Bartender, their fourth cabin mate. Social Media and her quickly hit it off, chatting about pop culture from across the room from the top bunks.

PT laid silently in her bunk, just below Bartender, seething with jealousy.

Drummer spent the first evening in silence, staring up at the decaying wooden planks suspended just above her face.

What now?

[hyylia]

A DRINK WITH DESTINY ──

botw/totk modern au | rated T major characters: zelda, link summary: for galentine's, zelda and her friends decide to check out hyrule's newest bar, the lost woods. word count: 1695 warnings: alcohol mentions/use

a/n: happy (late) loftwing letters @angelicgarnet! you said you like botw/totk zelink and modern au's so have this modern meet-cute story :) i hope you like it!

read it below the cut or on ao3 → here

It’s five o’clock. The Lost Woods has just opened, and it’s only a matter of time before a crowd makes its appearance. Link’s spent the last hour preparing for it: stocking the bar with an array of cheap liquor and top-shelf alike, cutting garnishes, filling the bin with ice. The Galentine’s event tonight had been his clever idea—a way of bringing in and establishing patrons for Hyrule’s newest bar. 

“Go ahead,” he calls out to the band in the corner, tucked away on a small wooden stage. The head of the band, a tall woman with a dark brown bob, nods her head and readies her violin. Light, traditional Hyrulean folk music fills the silence hanging in the bar, just as the crowd begins to slowly trickle inside. 

“I’ll have a Champion.” A Gerudo woman with long, red hair sits at the bar mere moments later, handing him her card between two fingers. “And a Zora’s Scale for my friend.” Her head tilts in the direction of the shorter redhead who takes up the barstool beside her. Link nods, mindlessly pulling the Champion into a tall glass, slowly falling into the motion of making drinks. “And another friend will be joining us soon. Put her on my tab when she comes in.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “What does this friend look like?”

“You can’t miss her,” the Gerudo says with a knowing smile and a wink. She takes a sip of her Champion, then nudges the Zora beside her to do the same. Link shrugs, turning away to take the order of another woman. 

Eventually, a steady stream of patrons occupy the bar, groups of young women eager to celebrate their friendships and drink on a good deal. The music becomes a background to the loud chatter taking place, and at some point, the Gerudo and Zora leave their barstools with their drinks in hand, mingling with a few others they must know. He turns his attention to his work, focusing solely on getting his drinks just right.

Some time later a voice cuts through the bar. It’s soft and sweet, clear as day to him despite the noise. His attention is shattered at the sound of it. He looks up, distracted.

“Sorry I’m late!” The voice says hurriedly to the Gerudo from earlier, holding a soft blue purse close to her body. She pulls the gold chainlink strap up onto her shoulder with one hand, then runs the same hand through her blonde hair in an attempt to smooth it down into place. From far away, Link can’t hear the rest of the exchange, but he sees the Gerudo wave the apology away. She says something to the woman, then points her towards the bar. Towards him. 

The Gerudo was right; he couldn’t miss this woman.

Link has bartended for years—mostly on the side, only recently full-time. He’s flirted, exchanged phone numbers, the whole nine yards. But she… She is like something out of a fairytale. Her golden hair lays in silky straight strands, bangs clipped out of her face with blue butterfly clips. Her eyes are big and beautiful, green like emeralds and accentuated by dark brown cat-eye liner. The pink gloss on her lips seems to glow, reflecting the dim light around them. She is the first woman to make him feel truly nervous.

“Hi,” her soft voice says. She stands on her tiptoes, leaning over the dark mahogany bar to speak to him. It’s unnecessary. Even with all the noise, his attention is focused solely on her. Listening.

“What can I get for you?” He says, trying to look casual as he pours another cocktail through a strainer. He sits the glass on the bar in one quick, fluid motion towards its recipient.

“Oh. Um.” Her green eyes trail from the drink and over to settle on the framed specials sheet sitting atop the bar. They scan the sheet slowly, taking in every detail. Finally, she frowns. “I’m sorry. I don’t really drink…”

“That’s okay,” he says quickly, sounding maybe a bit overenthusiastic. “Do you want something sweet or dry?”

She chews her lip. “Maybe somewhere in the middle? Probably more sweet I think. But not too sweet.”

He nods. Normally when women don’t know what to order, he makes them a classic. A Castletonian, or a simple Zoran’s with cranberry. It’s hard to go wrong with either of those, and if they don’t like it, well… then he has a better idea of what to make for them next time. Yet, for her—for this goddess standing before him—something else comes to mind entirely. 

He takes a step away from the bar, conjuring the supplies up quickly from the shelf behind him. Her eyes follow intently all the while, taking in each and every motion he makes. For good measure (and maybe because he likes the feel of her eyes on him), he shoves the sleeves to his blue shirt up over his elbows before he continues. The Master Sword tattoo on his right forearm is fully visible now. She seems to smile at the sight of it.

“How long have you guys been open?” she asks. He’s grateful for her attempt to fill the heavy silence hanging between them.

“Just a couple of weeks.”

“Cool…” Her eyes fall away from him now, taking in the scenery around them. They focus on the plants filling every corner, fake vines crawling up the few faux stone ruins around the room. Finally, they land on the band playing in the corner. “I like it. The theme is really cool.”

“Thanks,” he says, sincerely. Then he shrugs. “I’ve been interested in Ancient Hyrulean stuff for a while. I thought it’d make a cool bar concept.”

Her eyes light up, snapping back to him. “Me too! Well, not the bar thing.” She rushes to explain. “That sounded negative. I don’t mean it like that—it’s a cool concept. I just… I’m actually an archeaology major at the university.”

“Really? I thought about going to school for history.”

She leans forward. “Why didn’t you?” 

“I’ve always been bad in school. Trouble focusing, sleeping during class, that kind of thing. I’ve never been super disciplined, I guess.”

“I get it,” she says, but he can tell from the tone of her voice that she doesn’t. No–this woman strikes him as intelligent. She’s probably never made below an A-plus in any of her courses.

He nods without thinking and, with one final motion, garnishes her drink with a simple Silent Princess. It floats lightly on top of the light blue liquid, edible gold glitter shining with every swirl of the martini glass.

“What’s it called?” She wonders aloud as she takes the glass from his hands, peering inside.

“The Princess.” 

Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens, then closes. A dark red flush crawls up her skin.

“Oh,” she says quietly. Then, as if realizing what he’s done, her eyes narrow. She eyes the glass suspiciously. “And do you make The Princess for every fair lady who enters your establishment, sir?” Her faux-royalty accent makes him smile.

“Only for you. It seems fitting.”

Despite the dim lighting, her cheeks burn fiercer. She smiles. 

“Oh. Then thank you.” 

“What’s your name?” he asks finally. It’s his turn to lean against the bar, resting his chin lazily on a hand.

“Zelda,” she says with a soft smile. He widens his eyes. 

Zelda, like the ancient princesses from thousands and thousands of years ago. Either it’s a coincidence or—

“Are you teasing me?”

“No,” she laughs, “that’s really my name. What’s yours?”

“Link.” Her mouth falls open. She laughs harder. It’s a lovely sound and makes his heartbeat quicken. 

“Like the hero?” 

“The very same, actually. My dad was really into military history. Wars and stuff.”

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Hero,” she teases, holding a hand out for him to take.

“Same for you, Princess.” Feeling bold, he pulls her hand closer. His mouth lightly brushes the back of her hand. It hovers. At the very last second, before he pulls away, his blue eyes flick up to meet hers. She dares to hold his gaze. 

They break away only for her to take a sip. 

“Mmm! It’s perfect!” 

“Good.” He gives a lopsided grin, releasing her hand. “I’ll make as many as you wish, Princess. On one condition.”

“And what might that be?”

He points his finger up in the air, towards the rickety wooden sign hanging above the bar. Drink Responsibly. Don’t Get Lost, it says, scrawled in someone’s poor attempt at mimicking Ancient Hyrulean script.

She laughs. “Clever.”

“Thanks.”

“Zelda!” The Gerudo’s voice cuts through the bar. “Come here!” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, wincing. She hesitates to move away from him. “Thanks again.”

And like that, she’s gone.

—

He’s closing up the bar when something catches his attention. A specials sheet, removed from its frame and torn in half, sits between half-full glasses on the bar. When he peers closer, there’s text.

Thanks for everything. You were really nice tonight. I’d love to get to know you more.  -Zelda

Below the text, a set of numbers is scrawled in pretty handwriting. Her phone number. Link grabs the paper quickly and wastes no time in sending her a text.

—

Her phone buzzes, just as she enters the shared apartment with Urbosa and Mipha. Warm and fuzzy, stumbling slightly from the alcohol, Zelda struggles only momentarily to pull her Slate from the pocket of her jacket. It lights up when she finally does, the notification quickly expanding on her screen.

Hey, it’s Link, the bartender. Thanks for giving me your number, I’d love to hang out some time. :)

Zelda blinks once. Twice. 

“How’d he get my number?” She asks no one in particular. Had she given it to him? Did she forget? It’s possible, she muses. The Princess had been stronger than it’d tasted.

“Sorry, Zel.” Mipha is the first to crack, her voice soft and nervous. “But you should have seen the way you two looked at each other.”

“And, Princess,” Urbosa gently mocks, a wide, mischievous smile spreading across her face. “He’s handsome.”

Zelda can’t say she’s angry.

[veirsewrites]

Deleted Scene - Dealing with Demons

Dilapidated buildings surround you. Broken glass scatters the sidewalk, cigarette butts and rolled up pieces of trash stain the cracked concrete. Every other building is empty, windows shattered and doorways boarded up with molded wood. Some of the buildings that have lights on are decorated with chainlink fences, metal bars and flimsy security gates. The others wear bright neon signs, the same three letters repeating themself in an audacious flashing pink.

"Tasteful," Eddie mumbles while avoiding a man stumbling out of one of the alleyways. The man keeps his eyes low while passing your group. A woman emerges from behind, a salacious smile on her face, scanning you. She licks a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth, though her chin stays stained.

"Want a taste of immortality?" She purrs as she walks closer to you all.

Eddie and $ArloAida scoff simultaneously, immediately glaring at the other.

The woman turns her attention to you, slinking over, "come now, sweet thing, I can promise you the world." Her voice is melodious and inviting, she seemingly assumes you are human.

It's not uncommon to hear of demons like this woman sell the promise of immortality, a vampiric secret- while unsavory is not technically illegal, so long as the human is willing. It's what comes after the metaphorical, but somewhat literal, kiss of death that most governments have an issue with. The subsequent killing and necessary feeding of the new vampire. That is, if it's not a scam. Most humans don't realize the host needs to die to complete the process- not just get bitten.

Choice one: [[You indulge her.]]

Choice two [[You shut her down.]]

"Let me guess, I just have to sell you my soul?"

A deep, velvety laugh emits from her throat and echos into the air and she grins. The edges of her mouth raise higher and higher than naturally possible exposing offset rows of teeth. She twirls her finger around the strands of her deep blue hair and steps even closer. "I can give //you// more than power," she whispers, "I can give you //control.//"

<<if $stat>>Images of dead bodies flash through your mind, echoes of screams reverberate through your head. $ArloAida's face torn in horror, in fear. The memories stain your conscious-

Then $ArloAida, real $ArloAida, stands before you, hand on your shoulder, "she can't give you what you already have. Don't listen to her."<<else>>"I already have control," you retort, the implication bothers you more than you let show. The woman narrows her eyes, "so you claim."<</if>>

She looks at Eddie then back at you. "If control is not what you seek, maybe you'd like to be //more.// I can promise you survival, just bite the wolf," she sings to you, "bite them, let your body metamorpihize and emerge even stronger than before."

Eddie crosses ?eher arms as you glance at ?eher.

"That's enough, demon," $ArloAida steps forward, "we're leaving."

"Are you now?" Her golden eyes flash brightly, a forked tongue licking the rows of teeth that begin to shift between one another. "I don't think so," she rounds on you, smiling wider than before, the tips of her mouth almost reaching her now pointed ears. "What do you say, dearest, do you accept?"

You hiss back, standing straighter, standing your ground, "I refuse your deal." Your words are spoken clearly, loudly and she cocks her head at you as her form morphs back to a human facade. She straightens out her lacey shirt and turns to $ArloAida and Eddie. Again, they speak at the same time, mumbling the same words you had just spoken.

"Very well," she clears her throat and smiles sweetly. "You guys look lost, Underworld is that way." She points down the alley with her crimson painted nails.

"How did you know?" You shake your head, "never mind, I don't care." The three of you head towards the mouth between the buildings.

She calls back and waves, "have a nice night!"

Choice one: [[You indulge her.]]

Choice two [[You shut her down.]]

You wave her off, "already tried it," but she hops in front of you.

"Come now, sweetness, I can give you more than that, I can give you-

You up stand straighter, "stop. I said no, demon."

She grins wide, wider and wider until the tips of her mouth almost touch her ears. A deep, velvety laugh emits from her throat and echos into the air, you can count the rows of pointed teeth interlocking and moving between each other. A shiver travels up your spine as the woman continues to laugh, but her eyes flash gold and her face looks normal again. "You're no fun," she pouts.

"Come on, let's go," Eddie says.

The woman twirls her deep blue hair and rounds on Eddie, "what about you, gorgeous?"

$ArloAida steps in the way, hissing, "//no//."

Eddie crosses ?eher arms and frowns.

"Why are you guys even down here?" The woman rolls her eyes. Then she lights up, "oh! Let me guess and if I win-"

Now you step forward, eyes turning black. "No more games," you threaten, causing her to shut her mouth. She stomps off to the adjacent building and pouts against the wall.

Eddie steps out from behind $ArloAida, nose twitching. "It's down this alley way."

-Common Path-

The three of you walk down the dark alley way, a faint orange glow emanates from the end. The puddles on the ground flicker with refractions of the night until it fully dances with orange. You reach the end and step out from between the building to see large neon lettering: Underworld.

"Tacky," Eddie says, looking up at the scale of the letters.

In front stands Amelie, leaning against the cold stone with one leg up and her arms crossed. She pushes off the wall when she spots you, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black leather jacket.

$ArloAida looks her up and down, "speaking of tacky, you actually look well dressed."

Amelie has discarded of her usual long sleeved henley and replaced it with a black corset top, her blue jeans now replaced with a grey high waisted pants. <<if $amrom>>"You do look great," you add. Amelie smiles at you but then frowns at $ArloAida.<</if>> "Thanks," she says flatly.

[femmefatalevibe]

What would you suggest for someone who likes the femme fatale vibe in every way, but prefers to be seen as androgyne or masc-leaning? Fashion advice, lifestyle advice, anything of the sort is appreciated. I'm FtM trans and while I love the femme fatale lifestyle and vibe, I don't know how "accessible" it is for me. Thank you <3

Hi love! I would say the "femme fatale" lifestyle is first and foremost an attitude/mindset that captures your confident, seductive, clever, intellectually driven, and alluring energy.

In terms of fashion advice, I would stick to less "girly" fabrics (lace, chiffon, pearls) with a focus on leather/vegan leather, black silks, mesh, knits, etc. textiles, and more structured silhouettes (I think something like a straight-leg/skinny bootcut leather pant with a silky oversized button-down gives off this vibe). Plain silver/gold chainlink jewelry and platform black footwear (chunky sole/square-toe boots, loafers, oxfords) or pointed-toe heeled boots (think YSL men's) also embody this elevated and classy yet unisex and edgy aesthetic.

For beauty-related advice, I would say to stick to subtle black eye makeup (mascara/eyeliner) and dark purple/black/deep cherry red nails. A unisex like Tom Ford's Noir de Noir fragrance would be perfect to suit this vibe too!

In terms of lifestyle advice, I can only speak as someone who felt very in touch with her femaleness since birth. So, I would say finding ways to express your carnal desires, intellectual curiosities (the merger of the two is a divine witty and creative energy), and unique personal traits/quirks/goals to suit every aspect of your life/different situations is the best way I can describe what I consider a distinctive"femme fatale" energy to be. This persona can be gender-neutral, for certain, and manifests differently for every individual. We're all unique, after all.

Hope this helps

[chainlink32]

AHHH I GOT SO MUCH SPIDERVERSE FOR CHRISTMAS 🎉🎉🎉🎉

[spinning-feeling]

▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

Spinel wandered through the dark halls of the mansion, guided by one of her beloved's countless eldritch servants.

She was always mesmerised by the endless gilded halls of this place, her new home. Each of them made with such intricate, careful detail, down to the smallest chip in the marble or scratch on the metals. Not to mention that in this mansion, she always felt at arms' reach of her beloved - even if he was somewhere completely else, she felt she was always just a gate away from seeing him again.

The servant turned to her, stopping at a paricular door, speaking in a tongue reminiscant of fragmented transmissions, voices and melodies, but a tongue she understands perfectly.

"The Master awaits you beyond this door."

It spoke, static mixing in its indecipherable tone. Ever since their little... Fusion Incident, she found that she could understand a lot more than she did before, and the tongue of her love's Servants was only a minor part of those countless understandings. She smiled gently at the metallic, faceless humanoid.

"Thanks, bub." "Enjoy your evening."

The Servant moved away, seemingly dissappearing in a blink of an eye, as she stood in front of the door, inscribed with symbols and runes, as well as two hearts within eachother, one upright, the other inverted; a symbol of their mutual love.

She noticed a faint, shimmering melody, as if emitting from the other side of the door - a soft piano, akin to a music box tune, reverberating from the chamber.

She stepped closer to the door, pressing on the triangular plate on it, before the door slides away, revealing a dark, metallic room, akin to those from her beloved's Labyrinth, Illuminated by a beautiful tapestry of Magenta Crystals inbetween chainlinks, all shimmering with a beautiful, loving light, forming brilliant sparkles, and emitting a gentle warmth - before this crystalline tapestry, Her Beloved stood, humming along to the beautiful melody that echoed through the chamber, his feet begining to lightly move along to it, as if dancing to a waltz, turning around, revealing a heart-shaped box in his arms, as he spots her, his eyes lighting up with love, before his expressions softens.

"Welcome, Beloved."

Maxim spoke, gently outstretching an arm, as if to show the tapestry of crystals to her.

"Happy Valentine's...~"

Spinel smiled. This was going to be a nice night.

~ ~ ~💜~ ~ ~💗~ ~ ~

[themolldollincident]

Transcript of the five slides:

Slide one:

HELL ON EARTH

Palestinian survivors of the "Sde Teiman" death camp speak about weeks to months they spent blind-folded, caged, beaten, and tortured in the Naqab desert. Hundreds of Palestinian men and boys are still being held captive at the camp today.

Slide two:

In photos leaked to CNN from "Sde Teiman," dozens of prisoners are seen blind-folded, bound, and forced to sit upright on paper-thin mattresses with no back support. Survivors testified that they were forced to remain mute and in an upright position at all times of the day. At night, guards would often release dogs on the detainees. Those caught speaking to their neighbors at any time were beaten severely or tied with their arms above their head to a chainlink fence and left to battle excruciating pain for an hour or longer.

Slide three:

The IOF abducted all detainees at "Sde Teiman" from Gaza during the course of the war, bringing them into the Naqab desert and holding them indefinitely at the camp until they either died of their injuries, were released back to Gaza, or were transferred to a Zionist prison.

The Israeli occupation has barred media entry to the camp, including Israeli media. The two leaked photos were taken by Israeli medical workers who then leaked them to CNN.

Slide four:

"It was very painful. When I was released, people expected me to miss them, to embrace them. But there was a gap," said al-Ran. "The people who were with me at the detention facility became my family. Those friendships were the only things that belonged to us."

- Dr. Mohammed al-Ran, detainee and head of the surgical unit at the Indonesian hospital, north Gaza

Slide five:

Just before his release, a fellow prisoner had called out to him, his voice barely rising above a whisper, al-Ran said. He asked the doctor to find his wife and kids in Gaza. "He asked me to tell them that it is better for them to be martyrs. It is better for them to die than to be captured and held here."

Article from CNN

[medics-secret-shipfic-folder]

Concept Art for Tyrant, The Second Disciple

Tyrant, The Second Disciple - Tyrant is the result of an eldritch god possessing the BLU Soldier shortly following the release of the Shadow Blight onto the world. Unlike the loud and reckless Soldier whose body he inhabits, Tyrant is almost completely silent, rarely speaking unless spoken to by his superiors.

Tyrant acts as a bounty hunter for the Disciples, tracking down targets and either taking them out or delivering them to his superiors, no questions asked. He is highly effective at his job and can easily hunt down his targets over long distances, but he is seldom ever deployed. Because of this, few have ever seen him and it is currently unknown where he goes when not on the job.

He wouldn't see extended deployment until Cmedic was later identified as The Marker, the primary target of the Disciples. Following this revelation, Chainlink would immediately give Tyrant orders to track down the mercenaries wherever they go. As a result, Tyrant would continually harass and stalk the mercenaries after Chapter 9, becoming a constant threat and often showing up at the worst times.

Although his primary job is to hunt down targets, Tyrant can also corrupt people with the claws on his left hand, which is heavily steeped in Nyctoplasm. One cut is enough to corrupt his victims and turn them into yet more minions for the Blight's armies.

There is little to say about Tyrant's personality. He is brutal, effective, and lacks empathy, but nothing else is known about him. The only thing that connects Tyrant to the Soldier he possesses is his use of a heavily modified Cowmangler 3000 that has been corrupted by the Blight.

My Deviantart!

[fatehbaz]

When Dr Harold Young [...] takes visitors on a journey around Belize City, the first stop is an unremarkable building, whose basement entrance is partly shrouded by creeping pink bougainvillea. Its padlocked gates and broken windows back on to a parking lot in the city’s historic centre. Most passersby ignore the innocuous plaque outside. Belize, a country of 400,000 citizens, is [...] a part of the English-speaking Caribbean. A former British settlement and then colony, it is one of the region’s eight remaining Commonwealth realms – independent countries where the monarch remains the head of state.

Belize is the only Commonwealth realm King Charles has never visited.

The building is blocked from public entry but is known locally as the former headquarters of a TV station [...] once owned by the Conservative peer Lord Michael Ashcroft, who has sprawling business investments around Belize. But for those who are aware, the building serves as a horrifying reminder of the brutality of British rule here. “It’s the last remnants of a holding dungeon for slaves,” Young says. “Before they were put out for sale.” 

Unlike the island states in the Caribbean, where plantation slavery underpinned the colonial economy, enslaved labour in Belize revolved around the logging of mahogany at camps in the country’s interior. [...] [T]he remnants of violent enslavement are now mostly absent from public view. The building’s story has been passed down for generations, and is noted in certain tourist literature. But the historic plaque outside, while acknowledging its use in the mahogany trade, presents its connections to slavery merely as “local folklore”. “When you live in a colonial environment, the colonialists don’t want you to prove what they were doing was a horrendous trade, right?” says Young, who is Belizean Creole, meaning of mixed African heritage. [...]

---

History is still not fully told. Crimes remain unacknowledged. [...]

But as the United Kingdom prepares to crown its new king, the citizens of Belize are laying the groundwork for a similarly historic event: they could be the first nation to remove Charles as head of state. [...] The process, the prime minister [...] acknowledged in an interview [...] means it is “quite likely” that Belize will be the next country to leave the Commonwealth realm, following Barbados’s seismic decision to become a republic in 2021. [...] Belize is not alone [...].

[D]iscussions over the future of the British monarchy have accelerated throughout the region.

Now, officials in seven of the remaining realm countries in the Caribbean have indicated they will seek to follow the same path [...]. In Jamaica, [...] the government has committed to a vote before the next general election in 2025. In Antigua and Barbuda, the prime minister [...] said shortly after the death of Queen Elizabeth that he would hold a referendum within three years. [...]

Such debate is far from new to the English-speaking Caribbean and did not begin with Barbados’s decision in 2021, nor the death of Queen Elizabeth last year. Carried by a wave of Black nationalism and socialism, three former British colonies, Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago and the newly independent Dominica, removed the monarch as head of state throughout the 1970s. Alternatives to the crown had been debated in popular circles long before even then. [...]

---

Still, symbolism and imagery of the current moment [...] matter, particularly as relations between the English-speaking Caribbean and the UK fall to new lows in the aftermath of the Windrush scandal and both the government and the monarchy’s recent refusals to go beyond passive expressions of regret and offer a formal apology for the atrocities of slavery.

In March last year, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s visit to the Caribbean marking the Queen’s jubilee was punctuated by a series of protests that cast a long shadow over the exercise in soft power. In Jamaica, photographs of the pair shaking hands with children through a chainlink fence and later parading in white clothing in an open-top Land Rover were decried as a throwback to colonialism.

In Belize, the couple were forced to abandon plans to visit a Mayan village in the country’s south, following protest. [...] “There’s only so much the fig leaf of public relations and exercises in ‘soft power’ can cover,” [...]. “These images and videos were widely shared on social media [...].” Outside St John’s Cathedral in Belize City, the remains of a semicircular brick wall mark the boundary from where, it is said, enslaved people were permitted to listen to services inside. The building itself was built by enslaved labour, but colonial authorities banned enslaved people from entering.

---

Text by: Oliver Laughland. “‘Colonialism lingers’: Belize shrugs off coronation amid calls for repatriations.” The Guardian. 4 May 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

the average nutritional value of road salt and the inside of a 9 millimeter casing

i have a secret

i have a secret and i’ve never managed to look my father in the eye while admitting it

and i’d rather spit in your face than tell it to you in confidence

the kind of secret you drag bodily into your grave and hope your stomach buries before the dirt gets that far

i have a secret i’d rather die than tell you and you’re about to figure it out

two and two make four, you can do this slugger

and there is glass in my fingers and slush warming itself on my ankles

and you're staring me down with shaking fingers

and between the two of us i’m pretty sure you’d vomit first if i smiled with my whole mouth

and you’re still just fucking standing there with my life in your hands like it was hard to grab

(i’m wondering idly if there’s enough money in my wallet to palm to you)

(enough to ask you to pull the trigger wavering between my right eye and collarbone)

(the odds of it hitting somewhere solid enough to kill me fast)

(the potential energy of a prayer so i can die, godless but quickly)

(god let me die quickly. god please turn the knife from somewhere i won’t see it coming)

there are spots in my memory like cheap film reel and there’s blood on the ground between us

and i can’t remember whose it is

there’s a copper smell in my mouth and ringing in my ears and i think that might be real

but there’s this look on your face like i bit your mother, or maybe just you

and there’s blood all over the fucking place 

and despite who’s holding the gun i don’t think it’s mine

streetlights are creeping down the alleyway like overbearing parents and they’re glinting roughly off every surface they can reach

yellow-white fuzz growing off windows and chainlink fences and a tire well

i can see the back half of a car around your wobbling knees

some old tanker halfway up the sidewalk and throughly in the mouth of the alleyway

i think i'm blacking out and i am so fucking scared i am about to miss my own death and

(i can’t stop staring at the grey-green car)

(paint glittering like soft chalk, somewhere between colors and my legs twinge underneath me)

(cramped and clawing and aching softly, the body willing the spirit to stir, to rise)

(to cross pavement like a dead man, to stumble, upwards and over)

(to rap a line of knuckles against the window, to see if it would break, if anyone is still sitting inside)

(if anyone is about to hear a murder from all the distance of two-hundred feet and a corner office)

(i can’t pull my gaze away, even as the muzzle flashes with the streetlamp mold)

(black then grey than white-gold and gone, sunk into the sea of dark static that surges when i turn my head that far)

(i haven’t been able to see out of my right eye for a couple of minutes now)

it’s not snowing

it’s not snowing anymore

i don’t know why it matters

why relief lives in a clear, starless sky waving down at a blood-smeared alleyway

where my knees hurt and my teeth hurt and i am not in any pain that is going to mean anything

i don’t know how much of me is mixed in with the grime and the slush and the gravel and i’m starting to suspect it doesn’t matter

because i’m pretty sure i’m gonna die here regardless

because it’s skin to cold to nothing, because i cannot feel my mouth 

enough of my throat left to know i am not speaking aloud

enough of me left to shiver and ache and watch you from somewhere on the ground

even as the wind tugs hair loose from the smear of blood spilling into your eyes

as mine sting and blister under the care of spilt ends and a breeze made of glass

and i’m starting to think the glass isn’t real

(It’s shredding my mouth and melting in my throat)

(cool and thin and lukewarm while it pools in my stomach)

(a faint whistle from the mouth of the alleyway, deadened in this brick maw of service doors)

(i am half dead and slack jawed and overwhelmingly grateful)

(because from this angle i can slide my gaze far enough over to meet yours)

and i much prefer the version of this encounter

where you are gifted the view of my death

and not just the view of you killing me