#chainlink speaks

[chainlink32]

Went as Gambit for Halloween with my friends!

[leejeann]

An unexpected joy I've gotten from walking to and from work is that the amount of cicada shells I've seen this year has dramatically increased

[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.

[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.

[undiscovered-horizon]

omg!! i loved your eddie headcannons so much <33 would you consider doing a pt 2 for little ole me *bats eyelashes*

Happy to make you happy! Sure I can do a part 2

[Missed part 1? Check it out >>HERE<<]

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

Dating the Riddler - Headcanons Part 2

Regularly buys you flowers and I don't mean single plants but like whole bouquets with raffia and decorative paper

The florists at the shop are lowkey invested in the love story they know nothing about

An absolute sucker for you standing up for him

Like when someone claims you're "dating down" or "settling" for him and you can't keep your tongue behind your teeth

Are you normally this nasty or are you trying extra hard today?

Always up for trying new things with you, no matter what they are

You picked up a habit of doing crosswords in newspapers

Eddie's always there to help you with more difficult words but he has a secret: he checked the answers to the ones even he didn't know

Watching Jeopardy or Who wants to be a millionaire gets competitive but still fun

The mutual "WHY WOULD YOU KNOW THAT??"

If you take any medication, you can be sure Eddie is going to remind you to take it

Tic-tac-toe with fridge magnets on days when you two are busy and rarely get to see each other even while living together

If you're gone for the night, visiting someone maybe, he cuddles your shirt while sleeping (it smells of you, so...)

Don't ask him an opinion about your outfit because it's always going to be the very same "You're perfect"

If you like scented candles, you might have just ruined a certain smell for Eddie. Oh, you buy vanilla-scented candles? Congrats, whenever and wherever Eddie smells vanilla, he thinks of you

Nothing you ever do, think, say or feel is in any way weird to him

Watching cartoons together (Scooby-Doo slaps at any age)

Polaroids of you two just hanging about and being two idiots in love

You bought him a mug with a question mark on it and now he won't drink out of anything else

If you have long hair, Eddie definitely would learn how to do braids

He makes random remarks about you to his followers

Maybe he remembered something thoughtful you said or something you like that was relevant to the topic he was rambling about

Matching necklaces!!!! Nothing over the top, thin chainlink and a small yet meaningful pendant

Because he (most probably) doesn't have a dish that he associates with childhood, you regularly make him something that someone used to make for you

Whatever you're currently obsessed with, Eddie listens with genuine interest

He probably keeps pictures of you in multiple places: his wallet, on his phone (obviously), inside the bedside table, on a corkboard among his planning and research

If you're away from each other, you get on a video call and just sit kind of together. Not necessarily talking to each other, just doing your own things but being in the other's presence as much as possible at the time

If you're upset with him about something, he's either going to deny his agency ("I had no choice/It wasn't my fault") or is seconds away from getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness

You're probably a lot of his firsts

Before moving in together, he keeps your favourite drink and/or snacks at his place, just in case you come by

Whenever he speaks negatively about himself, you shoot him with a nerf gun

Avantgarde cognitive-behavioural therapy

He tries his best to cook for you

Lowkey considers breaking up with you when the whole lark with Batman starts

Just to ensure that you're as far away from that ordeal as possible

But you told him that you're in this together and he can't do anything to make you change your mind

You nag at him to take a break once in a while, go for a walk, clear his head

If English isn't your first language, you can be sure Eddie will study your mother tongue

He'd definitely be into being called pet names in your first language

There's always some homemade dessert in your fridge

Your compliments always make him giddy

Despite you openly supporting his Riddler persona and everything that comes with it (maybe not the murder part), Eddie doesn't want you to actually know what his planning

For your own safety

He's the type of person who'd pick up a phone call at 3 AM and be at your front door in record time

If you're insecure about something, he's just straight-up confused because how?? why??

Always gives you a bite/sip of his food

Learns weird skills just in case you need help with something one day

The first time he's hanging out with you and your friends he's genuinely surprised that they're nice to him and are friendly and curious about their friend's boyfriend

Because he's never had lovely friends like that?? He thought people are in general shit??

But it makes so much sense that you have open-minded, easy-going, welcoming friends

Super awkward about periods but willing to buy pads/tampons, snacks and painkillers

You need his help so of course he's going to deliver

Carries your bag for you

You often catch him just staring at you with that deep-in-thought look

He's admiring, okay

At some point, the ex-lovers talk has to happen

Eddie gets visibly uncomfortable thinking about you possibly being more experienced than him and comparing him to other people you've been with

You have to remind him several times that it doesn't matter as much as he thinks. Now you're with him, it's him you want to be affectionate with. Besides, no one's born with knowledge in the dating/relationship/PDA department. You have to be inexperienced and awkward before you know what you're doing

The most important thing, you tell Eddie, is the willingness to communicate and learn. And the enthusiasm!

Oh, that he definitely has when it comes to you

Whenever you feature him on your social media, there's a cringy amount of heart emojis but who cares

He's got a bit of chub, so you love to lay on top of him

Tabletop game nights. Not Monopoly tho

Playing Mario Kart on stormy weekends

He hates losing and is really fast at coming up with successful tactics

Back hugs when you're doing something around the kitchen

You, on the other hand, give him back hugs to calm him down when something's not going the way he wanted to

You pack his lunch and no matter how many times he tells you that you don't have to, you're reminding him that you want to

Sharing desserts

Making him healthy food and he discovers a whole new palate

He can be a little pushy when you're clearly upset about something, wanting you to finally tell him what's up

Eddie's messy let's be honest

You nag at him about keeping the place a little clean and he's trying his best

He never cared for plants, cushions or fairy lights but since you moved it, he realized that they make the flat a lot more homely

Now your existence is just written all over the furniture and you're there even if you're physically gone

You visit him regularly at Arkham and he's on the verge of crying when the visiting hours are over and you have to go

[chainlink32]

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

[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

[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

[i-eat-deodorant]

time spent: 3 hours

length: 1678 words

pairing: narinder/lamb

warnings: mild depersonalization, mild mentions of suicidal ideation

summary: reincarnation is not a perfect; the mind is left intact, but the body is entirely new. 

note: flash fictions are simple one-shot ideas where i prioritize quantity over quality. they’re less than 2k words and completed within a day, with no preparation/outline whatsoever. because of the low quality, i’ll only be posting these on my tumblr and not on ao3. 

Narinder planned for contingencies. In the event something went awry, vessels betrayed him, or unaccounted variables popped into the forefront, he liked to be flexible and prepared at what the world threw at him. Trust was something that existed to be broken, he’d learned, and he couldn’t afford to fall further than he already did. When Ratau lost his usefulness, he already had a successor chosen. If they failed, he’d simply deal with them and move on. If Aym and Baal fell in battle, he kept his skills sharp to kill whoever dared surpass them. In the end, Narinder know he could only depend on himself. 

Never in a million years did he plan a contingency for his defeat. He didn’t think he’d live to need one. 

The first few eternities of his fall from grace were spent in a dark room, windows drawn and away from the murmur of the crowd he knew was gathering outside. Doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours. Days. Years, it felt like, if only disproven by the fact he hadn’t starved to death. Time was a slippery thing in the haze of delirium, measured only in the too-loud beating of his new heart. 

He couldn’t quite remember how he got there–only that when his lungs drew in the surface air and his knees hit the dirt everything was too bright, too much, as if the entire ocean was trying to cram its way into the confines of his skull. The jostle of arms felt through every sensitive hair on his body, murmurs rumbling like thunder in his ears. When he came to again, he was clothed and resting on an empty bed. 

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, every whisker, every nerve, every synapse seemed to be clamoring over each other for his attention. His mouth felt dry and bloated. The cloth of his new robes grated against his skin with every movement, but the maddening draft that tickled his exposed head and feet were even worse. He tossed and turned–tried to sleep, to fall into the grasp of oblivion and pretend he’d died instead, but every shift and shuffle of the sheets were picked up by his large ears and jolted him into high alert again. 

Nothing had exhausted him so much. 

He could hear the newcomer long before they even got close to the door. The click of a key into a lock hammered like a cold metal rod into his brain

Narinder let out a garbled hiss, grabbing his ears with his hands and pressing them hard into his throbbing temples. Even then, he couldn’t help but catch the sharp creak of the door hinges, feel the uneven patter of hoofsteps through the vibration of growing floorboards, growing louder and harder to ignore. 

“Here.” A voice, barely above a whisper, set off a chain reaction of goosebumps up his arms. Something cold and hard like winter’s frost was pressed against his lips. He flinched involuntarily. “Sorry! I’m…you need to drink something, Narinder. It’s been a day, and I don’t want to give you food until I know you can hold down water.” 

He risked a glance, willing open heavy eyelids like trying to pry a sword from stone. Lamb’s face took up his whole vision; he could see each individual woolen strand, ochre irises with horizontal pupils, the thinning worry of their expression, and hated how they were now eye to eye. Tried to speak. His tongue flopped, a puppet with its strings cut, ill-fitted teeth clacking together like iron chainlinks. “Lamb.” 

They visibly sagged in relief. “Yeah, that’s me. This is good. You’re lucid, at least.” Cupped between their hands was a wooden bowl, filled halfway with a clear liquid he hoped was poison but assumed was water. It had been so long since he’d had any in his domain, and the idea that drinking was necessary for him now felt surreal. “Please, Nari. Please drink something, you can’t get better if you don’t.” 

Oh, so they want me to get better, they say. As if drinking can reverse this indignity. As if drinking could get my crown back. As if death is not a mercy, and prolonging life, in this state, is not complete and utter torture. 

By sheer fury alone he somehow found the strength to get up, lips curled, trying to scoot his way towards the furthest edge of the bed. None of his limbs worked together–he stumbled over himself, joints bending at awkward angles, weight buckling under too-weak tendons. On the final push, his elbows caught against his knees and he almost tumbled onto his back if he hadn’t snagged a claw into the blanket for support. The thud of his shoulder against the wall rattled his bones. 

(To think he’d gone from being the god of death to barely in control of his own body. Pathetic.) 

“Here to watch me degrade myself, traitor?” Speaking was an out of body experience, mouthed in a stranger’s lips and stranger’s voice. Strip the title, swap the flesh but keep the memories–was he really even himself? “Killing would be a mercy, compared to spending eternity trapped in this flesh. You prove to be more cruel than even I.” 

For a deity with every conceivable upper hand in the situation, Lamb looked remarkably sad. “It won’t be that way forever. Things’ll get better. Until then, I’ll be by your side, however long it takes.” 

“I didn’t take you for an optimist.” 

“I’m not. Not really. But…you’ve waited long enough for me.” And they smile, a tentative little thing from a god. “Now it’s my turn to do the same for you.” 

.

.

.

While having huge, sensitive ears came with its fair share of pains, it meant that Narinder could hear commotion in the cult from a mile away. 

Today, it seemed that most of the village had gathered at the entrance of the cult leading outside, huddled in a tight cluster and murmuring amongst themselves. He couldn’t make out what they were looking at above the sea of heads, but he was familiar enough with this situation to make a good guess. 

“Everyone, make way! This does not involve you; return to your duties.” He was never popular with the villagers, not even after decades of tending to the flock, but the title of Leader’s Consort carried enough weight for them to part with a grumble. He straightened himself, striding past the crowd with a confidence he didn’t feel. 

Lamb was at the center, limbs splayed in awkward angles and blinking rapidly to take the scene in. Their wool was spotless white, their skin free of scars or wrinkles, the horns that curved up from their head smooth to the point of gleaming. When they saw him, they tried to stand, but their legs buckled beneath them and they collapsed heaving onto the ground. 

They’d been out on a crusade. It was clear what had happened. 

“Shhh, don’t hurt yourself.” Narinder crouched in front of them and gingerly gathered them into his arms, moving slowly so as not to jostle them. Lamb huffed as he stood, but dutifully leaned against him, wrapping their arms around his neck to keep balance. The grip was weak and barely there. “Let me guess. Eviscerated? Blown up? Drowned? Burned to ashes? Stabbed in the heart?” 

Lamb’s wobbly, sheepish grin was all the confirmation he needed. He made his way towards their lodging. “Perhaps this will serve as a wake-up call for you to stop being so reckless. Preparation and patience are vital, especially for a god.” 

They were at the doorstep. Narinder had to set Lamb down to fumble with the keys, letting them lean against his shoulder. “Sorry,” Lamb whispered. 

Click. He felt Lamb’s ears flutter irritably as the door creaked open. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“It’s just.” Lamb ran their tongue over their teeth, stringing syllables together like beads. “Even newborn lambs–lowercase ‘lambs’–can stand up within thirty minutes.” 

“Impressive. Are you a newborn, Lamb?” 

“Well, technically if you think about the regeneration and rebirth process–” 

“Newborns do not get stabbed in the heart and grow a new one.” He set them down on the bed, taking off their cloak (it seemed to grow as an extension of the crown, much like their bell collar) and drawing the blankets up to their neck. Lamb seemed to appreciate it, sinking into the covers with a sigh. “Rest. I shall get some water.” 

As he stood up, Lamb’s hand shot out and tried to grab him by the wrist. Their fingers quivered. 

“Don’t go,” they said. 

Dammit, he couldn’t say no, not when Lamb was in this state. Narinder sighed, climbing into bed with them and letting them rest their head against his chest, grounding themselves on his heartbeat and the low rumble of his voice. “I’d advise not engaging in any crusades for a month, at least not until we build back your muscle memory through sparring.” 

“Ugh, I know.”

“I am well aware you know. But every time I neglect to mention it, you assume it magically stops applying.” 

“I know you know I know. This is gonna be a pain in the ass either way. I managed to do a number on the heretics, but these lot have been playing chicken with me for ages. Having one of them escape will drive me mad, I can already see it. If I don't kill them all they'll hide and then crawl out of the woodwork like ants or something.” 

He tucked his nose into Lamb’s neck, reveling in the softness of their wool, the warmth of their body. “Let them take their time. We have an eternity.” 

“‘We’? Why Nari, you’re going soft. I’d thought you’d leave me in the dust a long time ago.” Despite their teasing, Lamb’s soft voice was unpracticed enough to let the sincerity seep through. Trust was a tenuous affair for a god; there were no guarantees to forever. He would know. 

Narinder’s hand found theirs, and he gripped it like a lifetime. “You’re wrong. I have never stopped waiting for you, Lamb.” 

[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!