#i just don't find zombies all that interesting

[zolo-san]

I know I just rambled in the tag, but if you took the time to read all that, might I direct you to this post & my ramblings there as well~

Something about Zoro being one of the most misunderstood and mischaracterized characters in One Piece is funny (not haha funny, funny sad) to me because?? That’s literally how his introduction starts?? With people misunderstanding him and thinking he’s some big, monstrous demon who kills with cause and cannot be trusted or tamed.

Meanwhile the actual Zoro is a driven guy who is often both literally and figuratively directionless in life and found his goals in life through good people (first Kuina and then Luffy). He's tied up in the Marine base not due to those actual crimes he commuted (well not inherently anyway) but because he ‘disrespected’ a Captain's son and stood up for a little girl. He accepts the challenge they present to him and because Zoro himself is a guy that puts his money where his mouth is he assumes the Marines will uphold their end of the deal and let him go (note the actual shock when Koby tells him the truth)

He joins Luffy's crew but also outright says he’s not gonna let his goal take second place to Luffy or anyone else's for that matter, he bears the weight of two people's dreams, his heart isn’t going to be swayed by some pirate.

Speaking of Kuina, her impact and influence on Zoro's life isn’t talked about enough for my liking. She was Zoro's first friend, his first rival, his first goal. He looked up to her so much and his reaction to her passing cracks my heart in half every time because you can seem him just..go numb. Kuina, dead? Kuina, the strongest person he knows, gone? Kuina, who swore to him just yesterday they’d race to the top of the world together, doesn’t exist anymore. His blank face only cracking within the privacy of his sensei before he begs. He begs on his knees, tears streaming down his face please please please let me take Kuina's sword with me. Let me take our dream to a high neither of us could imagine. I won’t let her name die here.

On top of gaining the Wado Ichimonji that day Zoro also gained…fear. Not of death, well at the very least not his own, he gained his fear of not being enough. Kuina kicked his ass every way a person could and still died, what could someone like him do? So he trains…and trains…and trains some more. Overly, obsessively, constantly telling himself he’s not enough, he’s weak, he can’t protect anyone like this and everyone's death would be on him.

As for Zoro being cold and stoic that’s just…not completely true? He’s not stone, he can be excited or sad or angry just as much as most characters he just sucks at showing it canonically (Kuina thinks he hates her before their final fight after all). Sure he’s not as forthcoming about it as some of the other Strawhats but Zoro's more of an action guy anyway, he'll show his love with his protection and unwavering faith.

In conclusion, Zoro is a ridiculously stubborn, incredibly loyal, mildly emotionally constipated, do what you say/say what you mean kinda guy.

(Also that whole ‘Zoro would kill the whole crew if Luffy asked him to’ thing? Top ten stupidest things I’ve ever heard from the fandom and that’s saying a lot. He’s loyal not brainless and heartless guys if Luffy asked him to do that, he would never but I digress, Zoro would square the fuck up with him so fast. DPMO.)

[pinkrangersarah]

man, watching the maze runner as an adult is so damn funny, because i remember being so confident that the cranks were NOT zombies, and i got so annoyed when people referred to them as zombies.

the cranks are fucking zombies, the hell kind of delusional shit was i on lmfao

[hopefulqueer]

I'm starting to think the reason I'm not as good of a writer as I want to be is because I like writing more than I like reading.

[pocketramblr]

I like to think of 3rd as a former bodyguard of All for One, maybe he wasn't born with a quirk too. Maybe he received one from All for One and dedicated himself to serving him as a result only to come to his senses later on.

There was a bit of time when I thought that the ponytailed masked bodyguard of AfO was going to turn out to be the same as the pineapple silhouette one, (the indents on one's mask being similar to the shape the other's headband made from the side) and that like, he put his hair up when he changed sides and wore slightly new clothes and that he was the one to either get Yoichi out of that vault or pass information onto Second so he could get him out. But then we got more clear shots of Third with lighter hair and it seemed more likely Giga was the fate of the bodyguard... But I'll always have a fondness for former AfO guard Third. Perhaps his turning is why Yoichi is glad to see Izuku trying to save Tenko, perhaps that's why Third kept away from Izuku, shame or sure that he'd fail because at least Third was an adult at the time, and what hope do they really have, and why drag the kid in further... Love that plus I think we really should have more former villains in the OfA lineup

[talaok]

What's a fanfiction?

"You wrote it, I think it's only right you get to experience it, babydoll"

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: By mistake, you send Joel, your neighbor, your dad’s best friend, a fanfic you wrote, and when you go to his house to talk to him about it, your worst fear comes to life… and then your biggest dream.

Warnings: age-gap, he blackmails you (but youre very much into it) smut| oral sex (m receiving), facefucking, 1 lil threat of anal, p in v sex, creampie, sir kink, small little breeding kink moment, so much degradation, and a lil bit of praising.

a/n: i am aware this is not written very well, but i was thinking too much and then i remembered that at the end of the day i do this for fun and its not that serious, so please overlook all the shitty parts. love ya very much<3

Read.

Read-

He read it. He fucking read it and you're gonna jump off a cliff and die.

You swore- you fucking swore you sent it to Miley yesterday night. Right before you went to sleep, you finished writing it and sent to her- except obviously, that wasn't what had fucking happened.

You'd sent it to him

And now you needed to find a fucking solution.

__ __ __

God even knocking felt like torture,

"oh hi y/n" Sarah's smile was nothing like her dad's, it was all kindness and sweetness, while Joel's... well Joel's always had something strange lurking behind his.

"Hi Sarah" you forced your lips to mimic hers, although the nerves were making it difficult "Is your dad home? I kinda need to talk to him"

"mh-mh" she nodded, gesturing for you to come in "he's in his study upstairs"

You stepped into the house just as she crouched down to pick up a gym bag

"You know where that is right?" she asked "I'm late for practice, I gotta go"

You felt your heart drop as her words sank in.

She was going out- she would be leaving you alone with him, in his house, in his study-

But then again, considering what it was you were here to talk about, maybe it was for the best.

"Yeah, don't worry" you forced another smile

"great" she beamed "see you later then"

And just like that, she was out of the house, and you were sole in the middle of your neighbor's entrance.

__ __ __

Again, another knock that felt very much like a punch to the gut

"come in"

His voice was warm and strong like it always was, that same voice that made your panties dampen just at the thought of it.

"H-hey Mr. Miller" you swallowed thickly, pushing open the door as if an army of zombies waited on the other side

"Darlin'" he nodded at you from behind his wooden desk, a hint of a grin shadowing his lips

Darlin'

Darlin'

God this fucking man

"h-hey" you said again, cursing internally while you tried remembering why you were even there.

Oh, right. Just about the most awkward thing ever.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, making the hair at the nape of your neck stand.

"Whatcha doing here, doll?"

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, and then you felt your eyes fall to the floor as your hands fiddled with the edge of your skirt.

The skirt you purposely wore to come here- for him-

god what a stupid fucking-

"Thatta real pretty skirt you got on"

Your eyes snapped up to him, but he took his time glancing away from your legs.

"Oh- I- thank you" you murmured

"Jus' call 'em like I see 'em, darlin'" he shrugged, leaning back into his chair "Now's that all you came here for? To show me your new pretty skirt?"

"n-no" you rushed in to say, perhaps too quickly to be fully believable "I came here because I- uhm" You bit your bottom lip, the nervous fiddling starting back up again

"I ain't gonna bite babydoll"

Fuck- at this rate your panties would start melting.

"last night-" you gulped "I kinda- I... well I sent you something by mistake"

"ah" he hummed, raising his brows as he clicked on something on the laptop next to him "I gotta say, issa real... interesting story this one"

No-

NO

Fuck my life and everything ever in the existence of the universe fuckfuckfuck-

"who's..." he trailed off, reading off his screen "Javier?"

Your lungs had turned to stone and your mind to dust.

This couldn't be really happening, no, I mean, even if he'd read it for some reason he surely wouldn't be... taunting you for it.

"Mr. Miller-"

"real lucky guy" he said, his lips twitching into a soft smirk as he looked at you curiously "You brought him home to meet your daddy yet?"

"n-no" you stuttered, your mind a big ashamed mess and your whole body frozen like a statue "n-no he's not... real"

You watched his brows come together in confusion.

"what's that mean he ain't real?"

A shaky sigh fled your lips as you surrendered to your fate

"He's a character... f-from a tv show"

He remained silent, and as comfortable with silence as you were it was a different kind of story when Joel Miller was staring at you... so you talked again.

"T-that's a fanfiction, I- I write them sometimes, it's... fun"

His eyes searched yours for answers, faint amusement sparking in the back of his irises.

"what's a fanfiction, doll?"

Death wasn't such a scary thing after all- yeah it sure as hell was a better alternative to this.

"It's a... made-up story, that people- that I- sometimes write about fictional characters I like- a-and then I post it for p-people to read"

"And this Javier..."

"Narcos" you blurted out "H-he's from the show Narcos, he's not real"

His mouth twitched into a subtle smile, his eyes raking all over your body as if he was checking to see if it was really you in front of him

"I've seen that show" he said, his brow raising "Ain't he a bit old for you, babydoll?"

"Y-yes well- I-I-"

But you had no excuse for that, you could never tell him the truth, about how much you liked older men... about all the celebrity crushes double your age- so you just bit your lip, looking down at the floor.

The noise of his chair creaking as he got up made your heart skip a beat, but it stopped completely only when you heard him step closer to you... until he was right before you.

The only thing you could see were the socks covering his feet, and part of his black jeans- you didn't have it in you to actually look at him, to see him laughing at you, but you had no other choice when two of his fingers pulled your chin up.

"so you sit in your room, imagining this old man doin' all this stuff to you, and then you write it down?" he spoke, his beautiful mouth so very close to you "And here I was thinkin' you were a good little girl"

Your breath caught in your throat at those words, and he... yeah he definitely noticed.

"Please don't tell my dad"

"well I don't know" he moved some hair from your face, "I think this is somethin' your daddy ought to know"

a well of fear dipped into your belly, your eyes widening

"n-no please" you begged "Please Mr. Miller don't, I'll do anything- anything at all"

"oh sweetie" he cooed, "that ain't somethin' you can tell a man, especially not after he's read all the dirty things you fantasize about in your pretty little head"

"Mr Miller-" you bit your lip

"Mr Miller?" he repeated, looking down at you like you were the smallest little creature in the world "That ain't what you were calling Javi now, was it?"

A small, almost imperceptible gasp left your mouth.

He couldn't be saying... no right?- except...

"Joel-"

"that ain't it either" he shook his head, his thumb tracing the shape of your lower lip "you know what it is babygirl"

Either you were gonna make a fool of yourself, or this really was what he wanted.

"S-sir"

The slightest, most feline smirk pulled at his lips in satisfaction "thatta girl" he murmured "you don't want your dad to know what a dirty lil' girl his daughter really is?"

His breath was fanning on your mouth, and his touch was making your legs turn to jelly.

"n-no" you shook your head almost imperceptibly

"no?" he asked again, just to see you squirm, just to savor this moment for a little bit more.

"no sir"

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat, his eyes looking into yours, memorizing every inch of your face, of the anxiety, the ardor, the plead in your expression.

"then get on your knees"

Your eyes widened in shock, the air going up your throat suddenly getting stuck

"w-wha-"

"what?" he asked, not even sounding like himself anymore. His tone was sweet, calm even, but something almost dire lurked underneath his words.

"you seemed eager to do it when Javi asked" he tilted his head, his fingers still holding your chin.

If you didn't know better you would have guessed it was jealousy that traced his tone whenever he spoke the name of your fantasies's protagonist... little did he know the main reason why you even liked Javier was his resemblance to him- to Joel.

"Mr- sir" you stuttered "I-"

"I don't like to repeat myself y/n" he spoke sternly, his eyes boring into yours "Do you want your daddy to know or not?"

You didn't need to answer, you only held his stare as he let your face go, and you slowly, unsurely, and awkwardly got to your knees.

"wasn't so hard now was it?" he asked, his eyes dark enough to fade into the night sky "what are you waiting for?"

"I-"

"You need instructions babydoll?" he chuckled "'cause I ain't gonna give 'em to ya" he said while your heart pounded in your chest "I know you know how to do it" he smirked "Described it so well in your little fanfiction"

"b-but I-" you tried to take a deep breath but doing anything while he towered over you, while his crotch was right in your line of sight was proving to be very very difficult "I've only ever done this once" you gulped, trying to keep eye contact

"yeah?" he smiled, his hand going to the top of your head, gently patting it...that really shouldn't have turned you on as much as it did. "then how come you knew exactly what to do with Javi? don't tell me you just guessed"

He either didn't believe you, or was really not expecting that. But it was the truth- you'd only ever done anything once... and it's not like it had even felt that great.

"Well, I- I do research... and I- I read a lot"

If you thought he looked predatorial before... you had no idea how bad it could really get.

"research huh?" he mocked, his voice as deep as it could get "Oh baby you're digging yourself a hole here" he tsked, shaking his head while looking almost disappointed "I really think your daddy ought to know about all the research his lil' girl's doing under his roof"

"No!" you begged, your bottom lip trembling.

"No?" he asked, tracing it with his thumb "Then I suggest you make it good, babygirl"

And that was that.

Your trembling hands undid his belt, then lowered his zipper, and finally pulled his pants down until they pooled at his feet.

Fuck

He was huge- even with the boxers still on it was very clear the man was just massive-

"I don't like to be teased y/n"

"s-sorry sir" you responded automatically, noticing his cock twitch within the confines of the fabric in appreciation of your obedience.

You had to do it slowly, you had to pull his boxers down slowly so you could have time to calm down, to not panic in front of the huge cock that was gonna be right in front of you at any moment-

And yet it didn't work- a soft gasp fled your mouth as you freed his manhood.

He only chuckled, watching the fear in your eyes, and quite frankly, very much enjoying it.

"I'll tell ya if you're doing it wrong" he simply spoke, his hand going to the back of your head to guide you closer to where he wanted you.

He was getting impatient. And you didn't want to disappoint him.

Yes, he was blackmailing you, but you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been dreaming of this for years.

You looked like a frightened kid as you wrapped your right hand around him, and you looked even more out of place as you opened your mouth and started fitting his length inside of it.

A weak grunt rumbled from his chest "Hollow your cheeks" he ordered, having you obey in a heartbeat.

"fuck that's good" he groaned now, watching you intently as you started bobbing your head, trying to fit more of him into your mouth "Good little slut"

You didn't know a moan was gonna flee your mouth until it had- until your whole face felt hot and you waited terrified for Joel's reaction.

Exect he was smiling- no- grinning like you'd just given him the best gift he'd ever received.

"Oh, you're really something else ain't ya, darlin'?"

"mhp" Your muffled noises were all the more entertaining to him, especially paired up with the sight of your thighs rubbing together.

You were so fucking wet you feared at any moment you would start dripping onto the floor.

"so needy" he murmured, his hand now gathering your hair in a makeshift bun "You wanna touch yourself, baby girl? wanna feel good while you make me feel good?"

"mh-mh" you tried to nod, to beg, to say yes please for the love of god let me.

"that's too bad" he tutted, sounding like he was holding back a laugh "Javi didn't let you do that now, did he?" he smirked "You wrote it, I think it's only right you get to experience it, babydoll"

But before you had time to ask yourself if he meant all of it, he'd spoken again.

"that all you can take?" he asked, watching the first half of his cock in your mouth with amusement "Here- how 'bout I help you out darlin'" he smirked, his hips retracting just to thrust into your mouth-

It wasn't a hard jab, but still you choked, and then you choked some more as he did it again, watching you fit more of him into your mouth as saliva drooled to your chin and your eyes watered.

You could feel the texture of every inch of his dick with your tongue, the feel of his veins, and the taste of his precum were all you were aware of.

"like that- see, jus' needed a lil' help" he groaned "Even a slut like you needs it sometimes"

His pace had quickened, and tears were now streaming down your face.

"shh" he shushed you once you choked yet another time "I know it's big baby" he cooed, his thrust much less gentle than his words, although that was all an act too "I know, I know... but you're gonna have to be a good whore for me and take it aaall into that slutty little throat, ok?" he murmured "just try to breathe through your nose"

What did he mean try?

What if you tried and failed?

But you weren't actually worried- you had never thought being horny could actually be painful, and yet, there you were, literally so wet and turned on it hurt.

You couldn't even see him anymore through all the tears covering your eyes, and you didn't even realize you were actively choking and making a complete mess of yourself, all you could feel was his big fat cock, and dream about how it would feel inside of you.

"God fuckin-" He groaned like an animal as he finally bottomed out, his dick making a permanent dent into your throat at this point "Jesus Christ"

He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, watching you struggle, and then, just like that, he was out- and you could breathe again.

He didn't even give you time to catch your breath, to finish coughing like a maniac that he'd already given you another order.

"get up," he said "take off your clothes"

He really did want to recreate the fic- you were- you were about to have sex with Joel Miller, THE Joel Miller, your neighbor and dad's best friend Joel Miller.

oh fuck

"What did I say about repeating myself?"

You scrambled to your feet, pulling your shirt off at the same time.

You heard him snort but didn't pay it any mind as you took your bra and skirt off as quickly as you could.

You really were desperate.

But when it came to your panties you slowed, everything suddenly feeling very real.

"what are you waiting for?"

"s-sorry sir" you mumbled, finally dropping them at your feet.

A soft groaned fuck climbed up his throat as he examined every inch of your body.

You would be covering yourself, feeling a little self-conscious, if it wasn't for the fact that his gaze had turned you to stone.

"pick your panties up" he said as if getting out of a trance.

You frowned, confused, but obeyed nonetheless.

Maybe he didn't like the mess...

"Put 'em in the first drawer," he said, nodding back to his desk.

Oh

He followed your every move as you walked past him, but it was only when you were at his desk, that he started stalking towards you.

He was right beside you now, and somewhere along the way he'd lost his shirt, because your back was now pressed against his chest, and your ass was right against something else.

"I'm keepin' those" he murmured, his deep voice right next to your ear, his hands going to grip your waist.

You dropped the panties where he asked and nodded, turning to him, finding his face, his mouth, but an inch from your own.

"Yes sir"

His cock twitched again right against your backside as his mouth ghosted yours.

"Bend over"

You swallowed thickly, doing as he said.

You shivered feeling the table's cold wood meet your skin, but you got hot all over again once you felt Joel's words.

"Spread your legs"

You did.

"What an obedient slut I've turned you into" he grinned, proud of himself

"Where do you want it?"

You felt his cock slide between your cheeks, making you whimper and arch your back.

"here?" he slid it in between your legs, connecting with your clit.

You moaned as you shook your head no

"here?" he asked again, this time his dick prodding at your asshole.

You gasped as you mumbled "N-no sir- please"

"You want in your throat again babydoll, 's that it?" he teased you, his tip still leaving smears of his precum on your hole

"mh-mh" you shook your head no again "Please"

"no?" he snickered, "Then where?"

"Here?" he asked, the tip of his dick finally getting exactly where you wanted him "in your slutty lil' pussy?"

"yes- p-please sir- I-"

"say it" he taunted you, almost slipping in.

"I- I need it"

"what do you need?"

"Y-Your cock sir" you begged

"Where do you need my cock?"

"I-I need it in my pussy" you cried- he was so close if he would just- "I need your cock in my pussy sir, please I- I'm begging you-"

"good little slut"

He pushed in with one singular, hard thrust, making you cry out so loud the whole neighborhood probably heard.

He was so big it kind of burned at first, but as he thrust in again and you heard him groan in pleasure, there was no going back- you were in complete bliss... and your brain had turned to mush.

You were moaning- loudly.

"fuck-" he grunted "you're such a whore darlin'"

The sound of how wet you were as he plunged into your heat was filthy.

"Y'know- I usually give women an orgasm before I fuck 'em," he said as his balls slapped rhythmically against your skin "but you're just a whore- and whores don't deserve to be treated with respect, do ya?" Your back arched, feeding him more of yourself as your walls squeezed around him "Nah, you deserve to be used. Used like the little sluts that you are" he kept grunting, not paying any mind to how loud you were being, or how the desk had started to slip because of how hard his thrusts were "And it ain't like you need it, is it darlin'?" he chuckled, suddenly pulling you up, his right arm around your torso keeping you pinned against him "you're makin' a mess" he murmured into your ear, shivers running up your spine "and besides, this' how you wanted it- wrote it jus' like this in your lil' story didn't ya, ya little slut?"

He bit your earlobe just as his dick hit your cervix, making your brain short-circuit.

It was all so hot- so fucking hot.

"I can't imagine what your daddy would say" his mouth was on your neck now, but his pace was the same as ever, as hard and unapologetic as it could get "knowing what nasty things his little girl likes to think- to write" he chuckled "bet the poor guy would have the fuckin' big one if he knew"

"if he knew how you like to be fucked by men 30 years older than you" he groaned, feeling you squeeze him as you whimpered his name incoherently "if he knew how tight you get when I tell you how much of a slut you are"

Your eyes were rolled back, and your head had dropped against his chest

"please"

"If he knew how good you fuckin' take my cock" he murmured right against your mouth, your legs trembling "How desperate you are for it"

He was going even faster, and he was now supporting your whole body because your legs weren't working anymore.

"If he knew what a fuckin' whore he raised" he grunted, plunging his cock as deep as it could go, molding your body to him "how she's my whore now"

And that was it- that was it.

You felt actual tears stream down your cheeks as bliss took over your body- as you cried and moaned and trembled until you were done, until you'd finally recovered.

"I'm gonna come inside babygirl" It wasn't a question, it was an order, just like every one he'd given you for the past hour "Jus' like Javi" he grunted, his thrusts more erratic now "except this is real life baby- and you better hope it doesn't stick" he smirked, feeling your walls squeeze involuntarily at his words "God you're such a slut"

"Now take it all like a good one"

You couldn't help but join his moaning as he came, as he filled you up to the very brim.

You were a mess- cum was already running down your thighs as he slipped out of you, but you still followed his lead and started dressing again- only your panties were in his drawer and the walk back home would be a real awkward one.

"You post these stories?"

There was no point in lying, you'd already confessed to it.

"I- yes" you swallowed, putting your bra on "o-on Tumblr"

You could very well see he'd never heard of the app

"How are you called on there?"

He'd stepped closer to you, watching you fiddle with your shirt in your hands.

His belt was unbuckled, his jeans still open, and you were starting to feel ready for round two already.

"S-sir you want t-to-”

"I gotta know what other things your daddy can't know about” he murmured, moving a piece of hair from your face “and all the things I’m gonna do to my lil’ slut”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Menor's Halloween

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: The second of my Halloween-centric fics

Alexia grins as she looks at herself in the mirror, straightening out her skirt and putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

The family Halloween party has been a staple ever since her childhood, bringing the family back together every year without question.

It was basically a rule at this point, something no one could get out of and chosen to take place on a day when no one has an excuse to be elsewhere.

"Are you ready yet?"

It's Olga's first time at the party, unable to make it the past few years. She's gone fairly conservative with her outfit, a generic Halloween costume of a zombie cheerleader.

Alexia can forgive her though because originally Olga hadn't been able to come until her meeting in Madrid was cancelled last minute so she had to buy the unpopular costume from the store.

Alexia, on the other hand, has had her costume planned out for months with everything ironed to perfection.

"Ready!" Alexia calls out," I just need to find-"

"The bag is on the table where you left it last night."

Alexia grabs the bag from the table, swinging it over her shoulder before slipping into the driver's seat of the car.

Family events like this one normally end up with a lot of drinking and, while she wouldn't usually partake, Alexia's already planned to allow herself a few more drinks than normal.

Olga's decided to take up the driving home duty to let Alexia drink however much she wants.

"I'm nervous," Olga says, straightening out her cheer skirt and rubbing at her face - though she grows a little annoyed when the face paint rubs off onto her fingers.

"Don't be nervous," Alexia says," You've met everyone before."

"I know but...Halloween party seems more official."

"They'll probably already be drunk," She replies," And try to ply your with pizza. Or paella. Depending on if my aunt cooked or my uncle convinced her to order in."

"Sounds delightful."

"That's the spirit!"

Alexia knocks on the door, greeted by the slightly tipsy face of her cousin when it opens.

He giggles a little, a sure-fire sign he's been drinking. "I-I thought you were already here." He bursts into more hysterical laughter after that and Alexia gets the feeling that she's not in on the joke.

"And you've brought the wonderful Olga! Come in! Come in! Can I interest you in some pizza?"

"So Tio convinced her?"

"No. Mama cooked. Papa just ordered in anyway! Off you go now, Ale. I want to talk to your girlfriend!"

He pulls Olga away without another word and Alexia rolls her eyes.

"Gee, I love you too. Typical."

Alexia rolls her eyes fondly, easily losing her cousin and girlfriend in the crowd of family members either halfway to drunk or already firmly there.

A giggling hiccup has Alexia turning to see another one of her cousins by the fridge.

"I could have sworn you were already here," She says, giggling and Alexia sighs.

"Alright, what am I missing here? You're the second person to tell me that."

Her cousin giggles again, downing another vodka shot and shooting Alexia a drunken smile. "Just that I could have sworn you came with Tia Eli today. Though...you did seem a little shorter."

She giggles off before stumbling away but she's already given Alexia all the information that she needs.

She picks her way through her family members, stopping briefly to say hello to the aunt and uncle who are hosting and then her mother before finally seeing who she's been looking for.

"Is that my shirt?!" She demands," And my armband?!"

You turn around, eyes wide. An answer is on the tip of your tongue before you take in what she's wearing.

"Is that my skirt?! Are those my rackets?!"

"Don't change the subject!" Alexia says," You've dressed as me for Halloween?!"

"You dressed as me!"

"That's different."

"How?"

"It-It just is!"

Alexia takes you in as she steps back. You've got your hair done up in her usual ponytail rather than your regular braids. You've got her full Barcelona kit on along with the armband and her boots. You've even brought a football with you just in case people didn't realise who you were meant to be.

Alexia, on the other hand, had gone out of her way to dress like you. She's wearing one of your tennis skirts and your Nike shirt. She's got her hair in your usual braid with your Barcelona cap and even the gold shoes Nike gave you for your Olympic run. She's got a racket bag over her shoulder, full of the old rackets you'd left at home before your move abroad.

You seem to be taking Alexia in just like she's taking you in before nodding.

"Those are the replica shoes, right?" You check.

"Yeah. They cost a lot though. You're quite the superstar. That isn't one of my hattrick balls is it?"

"No, just one of the ones you leave lying around at Mami's."

Alexia nods. "Good. You look good though."

"Thanks, I practiced your haughty look a lot."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "I don't have a haughty look."

"You so do all 'I'm Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, the best team in the world'."

"But I am Alexia Putellas and I am captain of Barcelona which is the best team in the world. I won the Ballon D'or twice, you know."

"Yeah, well I won all the Grand Slams. And the Olympics."

"Now, now," Alexia says," This isn't a bragging match. Because if it was, I'd win." She reaches for you, trapping you in a headlock and rubbing her knuckles against your head. "Which one of us has more awards?"

"Only because you're an old woman now. By the time I'm your age, I'm going to be the greatest tennis player in the world."

"Yeah," Alexia teases," Aim high."

You grin at her, shoving her away before trying to tackle her to the floor. She doesn't move an inch but you had been expecting that.

"I guarantee I can score more goals on you than sets you can win against me."

Alexia laughs.

"The garden's free. Want to test that theory?"

You grin. "Well, don't start crying when you lose."

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin. 

[beguilingcorpse]

weaponry in the locked tomb is so interesting because when you break it down it's like:

guns exist in-universe but are used by the freedom fighter terrorist organization almost exclusively

swords are (were?) commonplace enough that gideon was able to find and train with a decently well-balanced two-hander on the ninth, despite the fact that the ninth has no military force or even interplanetary traffic. gideon's sword is at least 20 years old, probably older

swords are definitely still in use within the empire, at least by cavaliers, but likely within the cohort as a whole. to my memory there are no mentions of cohort members carrying military-issue guns

even though they're trained in a variety of weapons and techniques, cavaliers (are supposed to) carry exclusively rapiers. gideon prefers her two-hander and cam carries twin shortswords, but these seem to be rare and shocking exceptions to the standard.

rapiers are used by cavaliers explicitly for the purpose of lyctorhood. they're light enough that a scrawny necromancer without swordfighting experience can pick it up and rely on their cav's training without needing to build the muscle to wield the sword effectively

because of the secretive nature of the megatheorem, and lyctorhood as a whole, most people just follow the rapier rule because it's tradition. it is what is done. harrow makes this pretty clear at the beginning of gtn

cavaliers can carry a variety of offhand weapons. it seems like the full spectrum of middle age weaponry is possible - but still, no guns. not even secretly, as with cam's dual blades. some cavs choose to carry material for their necromancers as their offhand - ortus carries a bowl of bones for harrow, and i can only assume "the powder" mentioned as harrow's choice for gideon's offhand towards the beginning of gtn is some kind of bone dust

from a doylist perspective, all of this creates a aesthetic that starts very analog and gothic and gradually grows into a more standard sci-fi space opera through the series. by ntn, we've hit most of the established genre weaponry tropes that we've come to expect from older futuristic space media like star wars and alien. blasters and guns are standard fare, and it makes sense to hold off on introducing them until the scope of the story gets broader and more interplanetary

from a watsonian perspective, it's a little more difficult to draw concrete conclusions without the context that atn will inevitably provide. but if i had to hedge a guess, i'd say that, as with most things, It's All John Gaius's Fault. when he resurrected the galaxy i'd assume that he wanted to keep the aesthetics of medieval imperialism, and given his 21st century liberalism probably didn't want guns to be part of the equation. but they were anyways - we know this because wake carries a big one - and instead of standardizing firearms within his military and for his lyctors, he clings to the aesthetics of swordplay. please correct me if i'm remembering it wrong, but to my knowledge every gun shown in the series is either directly linked to boe or implied to be sourced from them. jod dooms his own lyctors and military by refusing to update their weaponry.

all of this poses a lot of questions about atn: who will carry a gun, and why? where did the gun come from? why DON'T the lyctors just use firearms? and most importantly: will they be fighting zombies with swords???

[fuctacles]

<< 😺 | 😺😺😺 >>

Eddie doesn't think more about Steph until there's a knock on the door on Saturday morning. He sighs, knowing it's his duty to open since his uncle would take forever on his crutch. And because he's a good nephew and wouldn't make him do that, of course.

He doesn't bother with the peephole, his sleepy brain basically forgetting of its existence. It's only when he opens the door and finds Steph with a duffel bag on the other side, that he realizes he went to open the door in nothing but his old Iron Man pajama bottoms.

"Good morning!" Steph greets him with a bright smile that falters a bit when her gaze drops to his tattooed chest. Eddie couldn't imagine a sight of zombie and spider tattoos giving him any credit in her pretty, middle-aged eyes. She quickly looks back up to meet his gaze. "Did I wake you up?" she asks, looking apologetic. 

Eddie shakes his head, hoping it would send his hair over his shoulders, and cover him up a bit. 

"I did!" Wayne pipes up from the kitchen. He sounds way too happy about running into a cupboard on his way out of the bathroom.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne!" she calls out, making Eddie roll his eyes.

"You can just come in, no need to yell through the whole place."

"Right, sorry," she steps inside tentatively, her hand clutching the strap of her bag. She's wearing a colorful windbreaker and her hair is tied up, showing off the soft line of her jaw and the beauty marks on her neck. She heads to the kitchen, seemingly already knowing her way around, and Eddie closes the door behind her. He quickly runs off to his bedroom (/guest room, now that he's on campus most of the time) and grabs a t-shirt to cover his nipples, tattoos, and overall unattractiveness.

"Visiting Robin for the weekend?" He catches his uncle's question when he steps back in. 

It rubs him the wrong way, not knowing who Robin is. Is he Steph's boyfriend? Maybe they're doing long-distance? He returns to the ancient coffee maker he had abandoned to open the door.

"Yeah. I haven't seen Rob since last month. Our days off finally aligned."

"Can't you stay there longer? I'm sure Eddie wouldn't mind taking care of your cats for a day or two more."

"Hey!" Eddie whips around to glare at his uncle. The coffee maker splutters behind him. "Don't just offer my services like that," he scoffs. Then, he turns to Steph. "I wouldn't, though."

She chuckles and he grins, simply happy to make her smile.

"Try dealing with them alone first, and then we'll talk. But, you really wouldn't mind? If I stayed a day longer?"

He shakes his head.

"Not at all." He still has Wayne's words fresh in his mind. That people weren't kind to her, that she doesn't have many friends to rely on. "I'm assuming Robin is someone important to you?" he half-asks, leaning against the counter all casually. 

Just the thought of Robin makes Steph glow.

"She's my best friend. We met at our first job serving ice cream."

Eddie's a bit embarrassed at the relief of knowing Robin is a girl. Still, a best friend is higher in ranks than your friendly neighbour's nephew. 

"What's it been? Twenty years?" Wayne asks. Steph nods, making him whistle. "I couldn't stand any of my coworkers for longer than a shift."

"Maybe you're bad at making friends," Eddie butts in. "I've known Gareth since high school and we're still going strong."

"You guys are band buddies, that's different," Wayne scoffs. 

"You play in a band?" Steph picks up, her eyes shining with interest that Eddie squirms under.

"Yeah, we play metal though. Probably not your stuff."

She shakes her head.

"Any music can be good when you put your heart into it. My friends listen to all kinds of weird stuff, I've heard everything from classical to experimental techno." She rolls her eyes. "I'd love to hear your music if you have anything recorded. Or you could give me a heads up if you're playing somewhere."

All Eddie can do is stare at her, dumbfounded. 

"Uh-huh."

Wayne, bless his sometimes useful soul, saves his ass by changing the subject.

"Coffee?" he asks the stunning woman at their table. She's just sitting there, in the Munson abode at their kitchen table while they're still in pajamas like it's normal. Eddie wants it to be normal. Wants to sit in her lap and listen to her laugh. 

She looks at her watch. It's white, she must be cleaning it often.

"I only have fifteen more minutes before I really have to go."

"Half a coffee then," Eddie decides for her, grabbing the mugs. She chuckles.

"Fine." She rolls her eyes.

Each of them gets their coffee, and Eddie notes Steph takes her with just a splash of milk. Before he can ask anything, to push their small morning gathering further into a friendly small talk, she reaches into her pocket to fish out her house key.

"I came over to drop the keys," she says, pushing them towards Eddie. "And if you have something to write on, I'll give you Robin's house number in case of emergencies."

"Sure, yeah." He nods, standing up immediately to look for the notepad they plan the grocery list in. In his haste, he catches Wayne's amused stare. He sends him a frown, but the man is already looking away, which only further agitates him. 

[gothic-thoughts]

Pinky Promise

Ghostface x Black Fem Reader Drabble

Bimbo!Reader

CW: peeps named Emma caught a crazy stray im sorry 😭

TW: murder mention

Word Count: 952 (give or take)

After waking up at 2 am, you drag your groggy body out of bed, wrap a little blanket around yourself, and slip on your slippers, preparing for the cold air in the hallway. As soon as you open your room door, your phone rings, the sound of your favorite song muffled by the blankets. Confused, you walk back to the bed and rummage through your comforter until your phone falls onto your mattress with a soft thud. The screen was lit up, showing ‘Unknown Caller’ on the screen to which you tilt your empty head and pick it up.

“Uh, hello?”

“Well hello there, pretty girl~”

You chuckle, immediately flattered by the man’s tone and compliment: “Um, hi...? Who is this?”

“You have such a pretty voice over the phone, (Y/n). Sounds sexier than I expected.”

You pause, freezing your steps in the hallway, “Wha- I... wait, how’d you know my name?”

“Oh, I know a lot of things, baby.”

“Really?”

“You may not see me but I see everything.”

“Oh, like a god?”

The man chuckled, mocking your stupidity, “In a way, yes. And you know what, gorgeous?”

“What?”

“Since you asked me how I knew your name, that means you’re not as dumb a bitch as Emma said you were.”

You gasp softly, “She said that?”

“That and more. Your girl Emma gave me an earful; going on and on about how ‘all you do is be pretty’ and that ‘you've got nothing going on’.”

“She... wouldn’t say that—”

“You were nothing but a stupid bimbo to her. She may be right, but the least she could do was say it to your face, don'tcha think?”

“Well, I mean...”

“Emma isn't a very nice person, is she?”

“No, I mean, yes! She’s my best friend!”

He chuckled into the phone, loving how much he was frazzling your singular brain cell with rapid-fire information as you made your way into your kitchen, giving him a better view of you.

“Is she now? I think she was pretty fucking messy, in more ways than one.”

Your grip on the blanket around you tightens, “What do you mean?”

“Well I’m only calling you as per her recommendation, sweet cheeks. She thought she could trade her life for yours, but I quickly informed her that’s not how I roll. And believe me, she had a lot more to say before I split her open tits to thighs.”

You freeze in the middle of the kitchen, jaw-dropping as you lose your breath, your eyes stinging with tears. He chuckles at your faltering breaths while you rack your small brain for why else he could be calling. Your hand trembles against the phone as you frantically look around your kitchen, hoping to find an obvious camera before deciding to close the kitchen curtains.

“Mm, so there are neurons firing in that skull.” He laughs, watching you panic on his monitors, “Do you know why I’m calling?”

“To.... to kill me too...?” The words leaving your mouth make a tear roll down your cheek.

“Now why would I do that, pretty girl?”

“I don't know!” The stress and confusion make you burst into tears. “I swear I don’t know, just please don't hurt me.”

“Aw, there's no need to cry, beautiful, I just want to ask you something.”

“What, that’s all?”

“Mhm; I just want you to tell me what your favorite scary movie is.”

“What? I-I-I—”

The man sighs. “Come on, you don’t need brains for this, baby, this is easy. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Um, Halloween... t-the Rob Zombie one.”

“That's a remake, you know.”

“Y-yeah, I rewatch it all the time.”

“Interesting. What do you like about it?”

“Um, Michael's backstory makes you feel bad for him and then I like his long hair when he's older.”

The man chuckles in your ear, “So you like big guys with long hair huh? You like masks too?”

“I guess, maybe, I don’t know...”

“So, let's say a handsome guy with long hair walks into your room wearing a mask: what would you think?”

“How would I know he's handsome if he's wearing a mask?”

“You'd ask him to remove it?”

“I guess I'd want to know what he looks like.”

“Mm, so you don’t like masks, that’s a shame."

"N-no, please, I do! I do, I do!"

"Save it. So if it was me, in your house, looking for you, all big and tall like Michael: how would you feel about that?”

You whimper, thinking he meant he was already in your home, lurking. “I'd be scared.”

He smirked. “Why’s that, sweetheart? I thought that was your type; I've been a nice enough guy, haven’t I?”

“But you... You killed my friend...”

“She who didn't like you, and since she got what was coming to her, why are you scared?"

“I-I don't know. Uh w-why else would you be calling me if you weren't gonna... gonna—”

“What you're feeling right now is nothing compared to what I do to people I hate."

"Y-you... You mean--"

"You're safe with me, baby. All you gotta do is not call the cops.”

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, choking up sobs. “You promise?”

“I promise, you wanna know why?”

You take a deep, shaky breath to try and compose yourself, “Why?”

“I like you, (Y/n). I love how fucking clueless you are— so interesting for someone without a single thought in their head. I never know what you're gonna say next. You keep me engaged— entertained: I like that.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. And that voice? That body? Ugh, you have no idea the things I'd do for you. You're helpless, and you're mine now. I’m gonna call you every night just to hear you speak, ya hear me?”

“Okay... Okay, if it means you won’t hurt me, I guess...”

“I already promised, didn’t I? You don’t have to worry that pretty little head about that. All you gotta do is keep me on the line.”

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

(a/n): wrote abt ghostface, still managed to make it abt Michael 😩😩 how I even 😭

[kari-sims]

All the sims from my girl's only occult orphanage i posted recently. I've been making them for a while now, and i'm currently going through the arduous building of the massive place where they'll live, which i was not prepared for (´｡• ◡ •｡`) thanks sm for the support on them, i'm happy you guys liked them! Also special thanks to all the cc creators, who idk what i would be without ♡

added some details about them bellow if anyone's interested (it's a wee bit long).

Characters:

Headmaster

Ruby: Despite her stern appearance, she's a lovely person who just wants to motivate the girls into following their goals, since she didn't have the same treatment growing up as an orphan herself. She'll be doing some paranormal investigation on the side, apart from working on her music to support the orphanage. I will allow small monthly donations to the orphanage as well to help her out. Traits: snob / music lover / family oriented

Teens

Anastasia (fairy): While we don't have fairies (yet!), she'll be learning a variety of skills to max level until she's allowed to learn the art of spellcasting. I'm playing the reaper event with her, so she has a few skills already. Traits: paranoid / practice makes perfect.

Ophelia (vampire): She'll be following the good vampire aspiration because she randomized with the vegetarian trait, so it was only fitting. She doesn't want to waste her immortal years being a meanie who's hated by everybody. Traits: vegetarian / cheerful

Luana (werewolf): Will be following the werewolf aspiration so i can explore that pack better, still unsure what her path will be, but i guess it's fun not knowing. Traits: loyal / lazy

Pre-teens

Bug (zombie): Didn't know what i was going to do with her, until my brother told me to do the strangerville mystery, and i thought it was sooo perfect! Traits: goofball / erratic

Hannah (spellcaster): Making her made me a little bit scared, so of course she'll be an untamed witch following the spellcaster aspiration to be a master of evil someday. Traits: hot-headed / evil

Sky (ghost): Died by lightening while saving a snake during a storm one night, and now they're bound forever. I'm still unsure what she'll do, but she'll work on finding a way to either enjoy her death or come back to life. If i get the new EP someday then i might explore it with her, but for now i'm okay having her roaming around. Traits: animal enthusiast / gloomy

Children:

Aloe (plant sim): I'll be checking out the new expanded plantsims mod with her, which is something i've been wanting to check for a while, it looks so fun! Trait: loves outdoors

Vera (elf): Don't know what i'll be doing with her, but, while i figure that out, she'll be doing all the base game aspirations since i haven't done that before, and being a companion in her plant sim friend's journey. Trait: genius

They'll each be doing their own thing while i explore the packs/mods, and i'll try to focus on only one of them for each sim day until they complete their goals and get adopted/moved out. Oh, and aging will be off, cause i don't want to stress myself. I really want to post some gameplay pics of them with no dialogue probably. I'm not a storyteller, so don't expect much 😅 it'll be just for memory keeping. Thanks if you read all this! This was more of a way for me to keep track of things too if i'm being honest.

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 1)

Masterlist No choice TW: Neglect, mentions of blood, mental illness

10 days later...

"So who is she?", Duke asks.

"She's a criminal now." Tim replies, he gets up just to drink a beer.

"No she isn't" Jason retorts.

"Then what is she?" Duke asks.

"She's a child, or should I say was a child", Jason interjects.

"She's just being temperamental and probably just throwing a tantrum." Damian jibes.

"She killed all yakuza leaders with a katana," Jason retorts.

"She's definitely not Bruce's child, because there's no way that Bruce could do that." Duke jokes.

"She is. I took a paternity test." Bruce replies.

"She's getting smarter and better. She was supposed to be in the fortress where we keep the people who are too mentally insane to go to Arkham." Cassandra adds.

"I checked the security cameras of all the places she's been in and she has the ability to manipulate a person in to doing her malicious acts. Must be why she's able to escape every time by using someone else for her bidding. " Tim reveals.

Asylum, 10/11/2017,

"Hello, my name is chief Lawson, FBI. I'm here to ask you where you hid the bodies."

"Rotting apples with wasps feasting. Brown bananas with flies retreating. A fox in the night is ripping black bin bags open. Cats are eating a chicken casket after Sunday dinner. A white owl is gobbling a slaughtered mouse, happy, sitting on the evening fence. The brown rat is running for the bushes after stealing bread. A giant cow jawbone is found in the dirty ground. The tired young man died on the motorway bridge and was found. Zombied humans are eating out of plastic bins. Death is everywhere! Take a look inside – don’t be ignorant about what you find." She sings but keeps her back faced to the FBI.

"You're not really helping here lady." Lawson said.

"It's in the song, but if you don't listen then I can't help you." Eurus said.

She starts to stand up and go towards the glass.

"Step forward and touch the glass officer." Eurus feints.

"No, you give me answers lady."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? This is bullet-proof glass sweetheart." Eurus replies, "I'll touch it if you want."

The officer steps forward and touches the glass on for her to grab his neck and choke him to death.

End of recording...

"Lawson was supposed to be one of the best FBI detectives." Bruce says.

"He was. She's evolving and the longer we let her evolve, the more people will die." Stephanie adds.

"Why would she do this?" Bruce wonders

10 years ago...

Love can come from many forms and languages. It follows the same rules with hate, negligence, toxicity, and jealousy. It may not be shown all in one go, so it will gradually grow until it could eat you alive whole. Let's list what each has demonstrated.

Unintentional negligence: Bruce proves as a simple embodiment of this action. He found you to be insignificant and mediocre. When really your true colours were just about to shine.

Negligence based on superiority: Dick has quite the experience in that area. He always thought that people would look up to him and he would be the role model of the family. He never meant for his negligence to go as far.

Love relying on sufferings: Jason truly knew how broken you were and wanted to fix it. It took him too long to realise that you may be able to fix and broken mirror, but it would never be as it was.

Hate relying on significance: Tim is the obvious answer since he never truly cared for you. Until now. He hated the fact on how you were so 'naive' and 'helpless', that you don't deserve to live like them.

Hate and jealousy based on blood: Since you were the child of a common whore, Damian thinks of you as a whore and never a Wayne. He has a perfect assassin of a mother and a rich vigilante for a father to add up. You on the other hand, have nothing, and are nothing to him.

Toxic and fake interest: All the girls, Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie has a bond with you. They pretend to be interested and all ears when they really plan to hurt you and shut you up. They'd do anything just for you to back off. It was never true with them.

Love of a sibling and of keen interest: Duke has always wanted a sister who was normal. So far he assumes that you're the closest thing to normal that wasn't as fake as Cassandra, talkative as Steph, or as busy as Barbara. He understands your pain and wants to be the sibling you never had.

Present...

Each had their own description of their 'bond' with you. But things have changed, they changed. Why wouldn't you wanna go home for them?

Don't you see how much they treasure you now?

Come home little robin.

A/N: I kinda like this chapter because I'm basing it off from the BBC Sherlock Holmes Series and I hope you'd like it!

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER EIGHT: CONNECTIONS

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ So.. dinner with the family. Yikes. Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping. You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?" pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: subtle "accusations" of cheating wc: 4.4k NOTICE: im gonna start adding my notes/end notes on ao3 from now on if i have any. they just include my yapping (the beginning notes are usually just warnings anyway) i might go back and add them to previous chaps, might not.

You actually spend the next morning skipping your first classes in exchange for visiting the Den. You’ve had perfect attendance so far, so you’re only grievance is that you won’t be able to brag about it anymore. You’ll send in an excuse note later.

The reason for your absence is to take note of what you need for the badassium. Karen lists things off for you as you write them on a little note. A lot of it is high-grade expensive stuff. If Victoria can’t get it for you, you’ll just ask her for the money to get it yourself. Or just ask her where you can steal it.

You arrive only a tad bit late to ballet class. That’s a lie, there’s five minutes left till the bell. The teacher barely notices, too occupied with scolding some of the other kids. Victoria sees you enter and scurries over.

“Where were you?” she asks.

You pull out the list, holding it up to her. “Making this.” You hold it out to her. “It’s a list of all the stuff I need. You wanna help me? Get me these.”

She takes the paper, looking it over. “What is it?”

“Materials I need. I’m building something really important.” Victoria’s eyes roam the sheet, before nodding and tucking it into her bra.

“How fast do you need them?”

“As fast as you can get them without raising suspicion. If you can’t get them, either give me the money or tell me where I can pick it up myself.”

Victoria raises a brow. “You’d steal it?”

You shrug. “What, like it’s hard?”

She huffs is disbelief. She’ll get used to you soon enough. The bell rings, and you and Victoria walk out together. “My staff are very discreet,” she reassures. “I will get it to you.”

“Drop it off at this location,” you text her the address. It’s an old apartment close to your Den. No one lives there, you made sure.

Determined to be of use, she nods. You wave her goodbye as you drop her off. Since you missed first period, you’ll only get to see Damian at the end of the day. You also missed lunch, so there goes your most fulfilling meal of the day.

You’re beginning to feel like a zombie. You’ve always been isolated from your peers, not on purpose, most of the time. Your mind is simply far beyond theirs in every universe, it seems. It’s why you started online classes, you simply just couldn’t stand being in school with others. It was just so boring . Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck in class. Life’s rough. Maybe you should start skipping more often. You can definitely catch up, you just have to not miss too many classes.

Ms. M greets you with a bright and cheery disposition, quite the opposite to your current demeanor. You give Ms. M a stiff but polite smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She’s one of the few teachers you actually like, her passion for the subject always evident.

You place your head down on your desk, feeling the lull of boredom pull you under. As Ms. M begins her lecture, you try to focus, but your mind keeps drifting back to the list of materials and your plans for the badassium. The thought of finally making significant progress makes you giddy.

Luckily for your peace of mind, Ms. M has a short lecture for the day with no assignment. She leaves the class alone for the remainder of the day. You shut your eyes, breathing calm. Feeling the call of sleep, you answer, escaping from the boringness of the day.

Except a finger flicks your ear, rudely disturbing your would-be sleep.

“Damian,” you murmur, rising. “May I help you?”

“Where were you this morning?” He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He never does.

“Not here,” you grumble. “I had to take care of some stuff. And I was kind of thinking about not even coming at all.” It’s true. Most people in their right mind just stay home if they’re even ten minutes late.

Damian picks a piece of lint from your collar. “I thought that perhaps you were affected by Ivy’s abilities. After all, I doubt you are capable of taking care of yourself.”

You cup Damian’s face, making his lips pucker. “Aw, is this your roundabout way of saying you want to take care of me? You’re so sweet.”

He takes your hands into his own, pulling them away. “I didn’t think you the unfaithful type, [Name].”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Considering the compromising position I found you and Victoria in, certainly the two of you are… together?” His face twists as he says the last word. Oh, yeah. You forgot that he walked in on the two of you. The whole carnival thing occupied your thoughts.

“Well, first of all–” you start, placing your hands in your lap, tugging his hands there as well. “–you make it sound like we’re in the regency era and I’ve just compromised the young lady Victoria,” you huff in a British accent, rolling your eyes. “Second of all, what you walked in on was a… confusing situation. We kissed, agreed we were better of as friends, and that’s that. I am not the unfaithful type, fuck you,” you grin. Leaning back, you raise your legs so perch them on his thighs. Surprisingly, he lets you.

“So don’t worry, I’m still available and I would never cheat on you, baby.”

He pinches your thigh in retaliation, before moving to massage your calves. You let your head hang over the edge of your chair, relaxing. Damian’s got skilled hands, he has too. From his background as an assassin and his current occupation as Robin. His fingers work the stress out of your muscles. His hands feel really nice.

“We’ll go to my home to work more on the project,” he mutters, focused on his current task. You hum in contentment, the tension in your muscles melting away under Damian's skilled hands. “Sounds good to me,” you murmur. “Alfred makes really good sandwiches.”

Damian continues to knead your calves for a few more moments before finally stopping. “You’ve become spoiled.”

You laugh softly, sitting up and stretching. “Says the rich one.” You and Damian gather your things as the last bell rings. Stepping outside, you breathe in the cool air. It’s getting colder in Gotham, soon it’ll start snowing. Damian’s hand finds its place on your back, guiding you to the car. You make sure to greet Alfred as you step inside. 

“How’s Jon doing?” you ask. “I hope he isn’t too embarrassed about what happened.”

“Jon is fine. The antidote did it’s part. As for his unnecessary embarrassment…” he trails off, “...you should ask him yourself.”

You tsk. “Useless,” you joke. You have a feeling Jon will do anything to ignore and forget about what happened, so you’re not sure how easy it’ll be to ask him.

Wayne Manor stands before you once again as you arrive. The sprawling estate is both imposing and welcoming, a testament to the Wayne family’s legacy. You step out of the car, feeling a mix of anticipation and exhaustion.

When you enter, you’re greeted by a loud bark. A large dog, a Great Dane, rounds the corner. He trots happily towards Damian, panting. Damian gives him generous pets.

“This is Titus,” he introduces. Titus barks at you in greeting.

You grin reaching out a hand to pet him. “Hi, Titus.” Titus leans into your scritches, making you coo and increase your petting tenfold. 

“Sorry about that! I guess he knew you were here and got excited,” says a voice, rounding the corner. A figure clad is comfy loungewear makes his way over to the two of you. You clock him immediately as none other than Dick Grayson. He bears a charming smile as he approaches.

“You must be Damian’s friend I’ve heard so much about,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it, looking at Damian smugly. “You talk about me, Dami?” You grin as he glares at you.

“I’m his older brother, Dick.”

The urge to make a joke is very strong, but you persevere. Wrong audience. “Nice to meet you. Damian hasn't mentioned you at all," you tease lightly, shooting Damian a playful glance.

Dick chuckles, looking between you and Damian with a knowing expression. "I can see that. Well, if you're Damian's friend, you're welcome here anytime. And it's always nice to meet someone who can keep him on his toes."

You chuckle softly, liking his easygoing demeanor. "Thanks, Dick. I'll do my best to keep him in line."

Damian doesn’t like how you and his brother are plotting against him in front of him, so he grabs you arm and drags you away. “We have work to do, Grayson. Do not bother us.”

Dick grins and winks as you two disappear from view. As Damian drags you away, you shoot Dick a playful wave before disappearing from view. You can hear Dick's laughter echoing behind you, amused.

Damian doesn't release his hold until you're both in a quieter part of the manor, away from potential eavesdroppers. "You enjoy teasing me, don't you?" he murmurs, voice dropping.

You grin saliciously. "Of course I do," you reply, your voice teasing as you lean in closer to Damian. "It keeps things interesting, doesn't it?"

“It seems to be your only talent,” he says, turning to look at you. Your faces are close together, breaths intermingling.

Your playful grin widens at his comment, enjoying the closeness as Damian's gaze meets yours. "Oh, I have plenty of talents," you retort smoothly, teasingly brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Damian's pupils dilate, a glint flickering in his eyes before he regains his composure.

"Is that so?" he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips. His hand, which had been resting on your arm, moves to lightly trace the line of your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean into his touch, meeting his gaze with a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. "Mhm," you murmur, your voice low. "But you'll have to stick around to find out all my secrets."

The intensity in Damian's eyes deepens, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. "Maybe I intend to," he replies, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Before the moment can escalate further, a loud bark interrupts the thick atmosphere. Titus, ever the loyal companion, trots over to Damian’s side, breaking the spell between you and Damian. You chuckle softly, pulling back slightly as Damian withdraws his hand.

Damian straightens beside you, brushing his hands down his front. Clearing his throat, grumbles. “We are distracted, we should be working.”

You shrug, easy. “You’re the guide.”

Damian leads you into the same room you worked in the last time you visited. Titus takes perch under the table, settling in and curling up. Today will probably be the last time you’re invited over for a while, if not indefinitely. You’re sure you’ll finish the powerpoint in an hour or so, so you wonder if Damian will kick you out as soon as that happens.

You hand Damian your laptop, since it’s been mostly you doing the actual work, it’s his turn. His fingers fly across the keys as he types. You sit on the table next to him and point out things he should add. You both work in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by your comments and Damian's terse responses. The atmosphere is focused, the earlier playful tension replaced by a shared sense of purpose. 

After an hour or so, you lean back, stretching your arms above your head. "I think that covers everything," you say, looking over the final slide.

Damian gives a final, scrutinizing look at the presentation before nodding in agreement. "It’s comprehensive," he admits, shutting the laptop. "We should be prepared for any questions they throw at us."

"Good," you reply, hopping off the table. "Now that the hard part's done, let's hope the presentation goes smoothly."

Damian closes your laptop and sets it aside. "It will. We've covered every angle. Even if they ask something unexpected, we can handle it."

You smile, appreciating his confidence. You stretch once more, your muscles appreciating the movement after sitting for so long. Titus wakes up from his nap, prancing over to you. You kneel and pet his face generously. He whines when you pull away to gather your stuff.

As you gather your things, you notice Damian watching you with an inscrutable expression. You can't quite read what's going on in his mind, but there's a sense of something unsaid lingering in the air.

“What is it?” you ask.

Damian hesitates, which he seems to do a lot around you. It’s strange to you how someone who appears so sure of himself, so absolute can do such a thing. “What are your plans for your future?”

You blink, taken aback. “Like… after high school?”

He nods, his gaze intense. "Yes. What do you see yourself doing?"

It's a question you haven't given much thought to, caught up as you are in the present challenges. You don’t really want to give it much thought. Being here long enough to go to college makes your stomach turn. You can’t pretend like you have been miserable all this time. You’ve made friends, made a life here. But it’s not your life.

“I haven’t really thought about a college or anything. I know I want to help people,” you say, eyes trailing off. “What do you wanna do?”

Damian’s expression softens. “I want to continue my fathers legacy. Do everything to make the city safer, I suppose. However, I would also like to explore my own interests.”

“I look forward to seeing your art in a museum, Damian,” you declare, facing him.

There's a moment of shared understanding between you, a recognition of the complexities that lie beneath the surface. It's a comforting feeling, knowing that despite your differences, you share a common drive to carve out your own paths.

A polite knock echoes against the door before it opens. Dick pokes his head out with a smile on his face. “Hey, you two. Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

You shake your head. “Nah, we just finished.” You shoulder your bag over your shoulder. “I was actually about to head out.”

Dick perks up. “Actually, Alfred wanted to know if you would like to stay for dinner.”

Behind you, Damian freezes and narrows his eyes. “As [Name] was just saying, they were leaving–”

“–Actually I think I will stay for dinner,” you grin at Damian. Only a fool would skip out on a chance to taste Alfred Pennyworth’s cooking. Any pokes and prods about your identity you’ll meet head on, and any chance to embarrass Damian is a good chance.

Dick matches your grin, nodding. “I’ll let him know.” He disappears, closing the door and leaving you two alone

Damian scowls. “Whatever you are planning–”

“I have no wrong intentions whatsoever Damian,” you furrow your brows and place a hand on your chest in mock offense. “I’m offended you think so low of me.”

Damian's scowl deepens, clearly not amused by your teasing. "You always have some ulterior motive," he accuses, crossing his arms.

You step closer, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Maybe I just want to enjoy a nice dinner with your family. Is that such a crime?"

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Fine. But don't think I won't be watching you."

You smirk playfully. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

With that settled, you follow Damian out of the room and into the sprawling manor once more. The atmosphere shifts slightly as you join Damian and Titus, walking through the grand halls towards the dining room. You can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and curiosity about what dinner with the Wayne family will entail.

When you step into the room your senses immediately buzz with anticipation, jittering around your skull. Just about every single member of the Batfamily is present. Even goddamn Jason Todd is here, helping Alfred set the table. It boosts your ego a little bit. Bruce Wayne greets you as you enter.

“I’m glad we can have you over,” he smiles. “Damian doesn’t have many friends to bring over.”

You snort at Damian’s grunt. You decide not to push Damian's buttons further in front of his family. For now. "Thank you for having me, Mr. Wayne," you reply politely.

Bruce nods back, his smile warm and welcoming. "Please, call me Bruce. Make yourself at home."

You take your seat at the large table, Damian at one side and Dick at the other. Everyone else settles in as well. Alfred serves the meal, a fancy foreign meal you don’t understand the name of. Damian, of course, gets a vegetarian portion of it.

Jason speaks up first. “You gonna introduce us or what?” He asks Damian. He looks about a second way from pulling out a hidden knife from somewhere, so Dick jumps in to save the day.

“This is [Name], they’re Damian’s classmate and…” he pauses for dramatic effect, “...friend!”

The table erupts in chuckles at Dick's teasing, though Damian remains stoic and unamused. You take the opportunity to greet everyone with a friendly smile and a wave.

"It's nice to meet all of you," you say, trying to match their warm reception despite Damian's icy demeanor.

Tim, who's been quietly observing the interaction, finally speaks up. "So, [Name], Damian's told us a bit about you. How's school been treating you?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts. "It's been... interesting," you reply diplomatically, trying not to reveal too much. "I’m used to online so it’s definitely an experience."

“[Name] takes a ballet class. They are also the lead in the upcoming winter performance,” Damian pipes up, no doubt trying to put you on the spot. Asshole.

Stephanie grins. “No way! Cass does ballet too,” she claps a hand on Cass’s shoulder. Cass nods. She signs ‘what is your favorite move?’ . Barbara opens her mouth, prepared to translate what Cass said, but you beat her to the punch. You respond, fingers moving in practiced efficiency to gesture out your favorite move. Cass grins in approval.

“You know sign?” asks Duke.

“I know a lot of languages,” you smile. It’s true. Many of the Avengers know multiple languages, and they took to teaching you as much as they could. You even learned some Asgardian to impress Thor (he cried). Nat said it was a crucial skill to have.

“Like what?” asks Bruce, leaning in.

You look up as you think. “Russian, Italian, Spanish, some German, some Latin…” you trail off, “...etcetera. My dad has a lot of cool friends.”

A shared look of impressed spreads throughout the room.  Bruce hums, “and what about your father? What does he do?”

“He invents things. Right now he’s on vacation. Don’t remember where exactly he said, but he sends me money every now and again.”

Bruce gets a kind of sour look on his face before nodding. “Ah, sounds like quite the character,” Bruce responds with a nod, trying to maintain his composure. You sense there might be more to Bruce's reaction, perhaps his adoption senses are tingling (God forbid). The dinner conversation continues on lighter notes as everyone shares anecdotes and stories, keeping the atmosphere lively.

“Damian says you also like to invent and program things,” pipes up Dick.

“Yeah, I’m actually working on something right now. It’s pretty big, but hopefully it’s works,” you reply vaguely.

“Your father must be very proud of your accomplishments,” Bruce remarks, his tone measured. He gets a couple of side-eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, he always encourages me to pursue my interests. He’s pretty cool like that.”

Barbara chuckles, "It's always good to have interests outside of school. Keeps things exciting."

Tim nods in agreement, sipping his drink. “Yeah, I dabble in programming too. It’s a useful skill to have.”

After a while, Alfred brings out dessert - a decadent chocolate mousse that looks almost too good to eat. Everyone digs in eagerly, sharing their thoughts on the meal and enjoying the dessert in comfortable chatter.

Throughout the evening, you notice Bruce observing you with a mix of curiosity and concern, as if trying to gauge something beyond your words. His occasional glances toward Damian and Dick imply a silent conversation that you're not privy to, though you catch a few knowing looks exchanged between the brothers.

As the dinner winds down, Alfred discreetly clears away the dishes, signaling the end of the meal. You offer to help with the dishes, but Alfred kindly declines, insisting that you're a guest tonight.

Dick stretches contentedly, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled over the table. "Well, it's been great having you over, [Name]. Hope you enjoyed the meal."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me crash dinner," you reply warmly, smiling around the table. "It's been really nice."

Damian stands abruptly. “I believe [Name] should be heading home now,” he states, pointedly ignoring the snickers.

You nod, rising from your seat. "Right. Thanks again for having me, everyone."

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night, [Name],” smirks Tim. “We have plenty of room, though I’m sure Damian would be happy to–” Cass pinches Tim’s ear, interrupting his sentence.

You smile at their antics. “My cat is waiting for me, so I have to pass. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Bruce nods, his expression serious yet not unkind. "Anytime, [Name]. You're welcome here."

With a final round of goodbyes and well-wishes, you follow Damian out of the dining room. The atmosphere between you two is quieter now, the playful tension from earlier replaced by a sense of calm. "You enjoyed yourself tonight," Damian states, more a statement than a question.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, your family's pretty entertaining. I like their dynamic.”

There's a moment of silence as you both stand there, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. You take a step closer, closing the distance between you and Damian. His gaze meets yours, a mixture of intensity and vulnerability that surprises you.

"You know," you begin, your voice low, "I do really like teasing you, Damian. But I also... appreciate our time together." Your heart beats a little faster as you admit this, feeling vulnerable yet strangely liberated.

Damian's expression softens further, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he looks at you. "I... feel the same," he confesses quietly, almost hesitantly.

Before either of you can say more, the door creaks open, and Dick pokes his head in with a cheeky grin. "Hey, you two. Hate to interrupt, but Alfred’s outside ready to take [Name] home."

Damian straightens abruptly, a hint of irritation flickering across his features. "We'll be there shortly," he replies tersely, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Dick raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Sure thing. Don't keep Alfred waiting too long," he teases before closing the door.

You roll your eyes playfully at Dick's teasing as he disappears, leaving you and Damian alone once more. There's a brief moment where neither of you speaks, the tension palpable in the air. Finally, Damian breaks the silence.

"We should go," he says, his voice low but firm.

You nod in agreement, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has settled between you. "Right. Let's go."

Together, you and Damian make your way out towards the front door of Wayne Manor. The grandeur of the mansion surrounds you, yet it feels less intimidating now, having spent an evening with Damian's family. As you step outside into the cool night air, Alfred waits patiently by the car, ready to drive you home. Damian walks beside you, carrying your stuff, his demeanor slightly tense yet thoughtful.

As you approach the car, Damian walks up to Alfred and mutters to him. Alfred raises a prim brow, handing Damian the keys with a nod. He walks back towards the Manor, where you see the rest of the family either peeking out the door or straight up standing outside looking. You snort. Damian sets your stuff in the backseat, opening the passenger side door for you to enter. You hum in appreciation, sitting inside.

Bruce watches the car drive away, a pinch in his brow.

“I thought Damian liked Jon?” questions Duke.

“He does.” Barbara squints. Tim gestures to the leaving car. “Then what was that?” he asks. Cassandra hums. “He also likes them, he doesn’t know it yet. Or he is just in denial.”

“Well if Cass says it’s so, then it’s so,” nods Stephanie sagely. Alfred leans closer to Bruce. “They may become part of your brood yet.”

"Perhaps," Bruce murmurs quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. Duke leans in, intrigued. "You think they're good for Damian?"

Bruce considers his words carefully before responding. "I think [Name] challenges Damian in ways that are both positive and... complicated."

Inside the car, Damian focuses on the road ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. The drive is quiet. You watch as people go on with their lives. Very few people roam the streets at this hour. You steal glances at Damian occasionally, noting the tense set of his jaw and the focused look in his eyes.

As you approach your apartment building, Damian breaks the silence. "I apologize for my family's... curiosity," he says, his voice soft yet tinged with annoyance.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. "It's alright, Damian. They just want to get to know me better."

Damian parks the car and turns to face you, his expression unreadable. "They can be... overwhelming at times," he admits reluctantly.

"You're lucky to have them," you remark sincerely.

Damian steps out of the car, grabbing your bag and walking you to the front door. The air feels like a stark contrast to the warmth of Wayne Manor. Damian's gaze meets yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. You lean in slightly, hesitating for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just like last night. Damian freezes for an instant, different to his lack of reaction before.

"Goodnight, Damian," you murmur, pulling back slightly.

"Goodnight, [Name]," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a final smile, you close the door behind you. Damian stands there for a moment longer before driving away into the night. As you enter your apartment, you're greeted by the familiar sight of Nari lounging on the couch. Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

‘All of your materials have been delivered to the address.’ is what greets you when you open up Victoria’s chat. You grin, sending a thank you. Your bed feels like heaven as you sink into it. Tomorrow real progress will be made, and you can’t wait.

notes: reader and damian are practically dating already lets be honest they just dont know it yet

[meanbossart]

Hiya! Thank you for that fantastic art of the two of them in the Bhaalist AU.

I've kind of been assuming that in the Bhaalist AU, everyone except Astarion got their bad end. Is Shadowheart a Dark Justiciar in this timeline? Also... did Drow rejoin the efforts to take over the Sword coast with the absolute, even if temporarily? Since we only see the one stone in the piece, but that doesn't mean he isn't hiding the other two elsewhere, like in his side? Did he help destroy the brain anyway, and just keep the stone for the sake of showing off?

Soooo basically I don't find the evil endings to the game particularly interesting. They are very, well, final, and with some exceptions imply that everyone around you is now a mindless zombie with no free will of their own. That's not very rich grounds for creative writing (or I'm just not that creative LOL).

So you can assume that in this timeline that I have going on with Bhaalist DU Drow, the goals all remain the same but they just aren't as simple as the game makes them for you. The control of the brain is still a work in progress/unstable, and the stones, while all in DU drow's possession, remain split, and their main use now is really as a bargaining chip as he attempts to grow his own influence and the cult's.

I think Shadowheart would have followed the same path as she did in the "canon" run (since Du Drow didn't have to persuade her to spare the Nightsong either way) but then given to Viconia in act 3 after they grew apart as DU Drow dug his heels deeper and deeper. Gale would have been killed because the last thing DU Drow wants is another god to compete with, as well as the Emperor, Orpheus, and Karlach. I don't know if there's any universe where this is possible, but I could see him also pushing Wyll to take over his father's role as duke and swaying him to operate in a way that is favorable to Bhaal's plans. Maybe we can have evil Wyll, as a treat 🤔

Sarevok is dead. Halsin is dead. Jaheira is dead but Bhaalist DU did try to get her to come to his side. Astarion spends his days lounging dramatically in bed, wearing beautiful flowy clothes and reminding DU Drow about how great and powerful he is while trying not to roll his eyes. He wears the stone all the time and really resents it.

[thepunkranger]

So I was thinking about Claire Redfield (as you do) and how much of an insane badass she is for not only holding her own in Raccoon City, but also protecting a child throughout the entire nightmare, and specifically how, for all intents and purposes, Claire in Resident Evil 2 during Raccoon City and Ashley in Resident Evil 4 are the closest thing to peers that they have.

Both of them are college-aged girls with zero combat/survival experience who've been dropped into a zombie-infested hellhole and have to find their way out, but Ashley is so starkly different of a character to Claire.

From a writing standpoint, Ashley is a very literal damsel in distress character. She's young, she's inexperienced, and she does, in fact, need a man to save her (no shade, I'd probably need Leon and his rippling abs to save me too). Now, she does grow significantly as a character throughout the events of the fourth game, and even gets to save Leon a couple of times, but she's still very much a young girl in need of help

Now, in comparison, Claire Redfield is a damsel in distress in the same way Meg from Hercules is

Claire is actually canonically younger in Resident Evil 2 than Ashley is in 4, being only 19, but goddamn is this girl not going to let that stop her. And while Claire does have a bit more skill with self-defense, all that really adds up to is forcing Chris to teach her knife fighting and probably going to the shooting range with him a couple of times. Claire is very confident in herself, but she doesn't have much real world experience to back that up. Girl rode her motorcycle into a zombie-infested city with nothing but a gun (where did she get this gun? We don't know) to do a welfare check on her brother and came out less scathed than the literal cop she made friends with.

And then, there's Sherry. Claire finds a random child hiding in the police station, saying that she's looking for her mom, and makes it her personal mission to protect her at all costs. And when said girl gets taken by the literal chief of police? Claire grabs her grenade launcher and decides that's gonna be his problem because by god is she taking care of that little girl.

By the time they make it out of the city Sherry might as well be Claire's biological daughter, and she is not about to let anything happen to her (forthcoming events out of her control notwithstanding)

Which, in a way, honestly I think makes 19-year-old Claire Redfield actually a closer peer to Ethan Winters.

Ethan is a nearly 30-year-old man who works an office job (I think he's IT?) and whose wife went missing a few years ago. When he finds out she's actually alive he grabs a flashlight and hops in his car to drive to Louisiana to bring her home.

This man finds out that his wife has been possessed, and he doesn't give a shit. He loves her. He made a vow to care for and protect her, and by god is he going to test the limits of 'til death do us part. He takes on an entire family of fucked up hillbillies and literal mold demons to bring her home. And when he does? They have a daughter, and Ethan is ready to sacrifice the world for her too.

All of Resident Evil 8 is just him fighting a pantheon of demons to save his baby girl armed with nothing but a gun he grabbed off a dead guy (he's from Texas, so I'm not gonna question it) and his innate knowledge of how to make life-saving elixirs. And yes, he does save both his wife and his daughter

Idk, I just think it's interesting that Claire and Ashley are so similar in age and life experience, but Claire winds up having the most in common with the Awkward Suburban Dad in the end

[elbiotipo]

Project Zomboid is very effective at curbing the "Badass Lone Hero with a Cool Gun" kind of fantasy. Guns are a hinderance. They're loud and completely kill the stealth that is the base of the game, dozens of zombies swarm to you the moment you fire one. If you're an untrained person, reloading them is a hassle, even aiming is terrible (yes, I've played the 42 beta). They're heavy to carry (maybe too heavy) so they prevent you from carrying more vital stuff. Finding ammo is a pain, and this is set in the gun crazy US, I can't imagine how it must be in other countries. Even without all that, they're just very poor weapons, not every hit lands, they jam easily, you can't really use them with other weapons, you're ten times better using your bare hands.

The only way guns work in Project Zomboid is if you have an organized team behind you, covering while you reload, using tactics, etc. Otherwise, they're just a hassle. When I'm searching for loot and I find a cabinet full of guns, in any other game it would be cause for celebration, but in Zomboid I just groan, I'd much rather have found a screwdriver or a hammer, not even as weapons, as tools. (and if you really think about it, finding cabinets full of guns outside a police station or a military base is such an Usamerican thing)

The design choices that led to this are very interesting to me because it's a subversion of something that is prevalent not only in zombie media but in videogames in general: one Guy with a Gun can just mow down entire armies no problem. This is because most games featuring guns, despite all the customization options that border on fetishism (but that's something to be said about Usamerican gun culture that sees guns as fashion items), don't really show how guns are used, besides a token "press R to reload" button, all the difficulties are stripped away so the player can get to mow down as many enemies as possible. Understandable, for the sake of gameplay, perhaps, but I think that a game that shows just how difficult using guns in a stressful or post-apocalyptic situation, and in general, is an interesting subversion.