#it's not like they bring a knife to a gun fight

[juanabaloo]

fight for the love of your life like the DNC (Dem leadership) fights to be the loser all the time.

[shortnotsweet]

mentally sketching a Lucemond sword fight only Luke has a reinforced harpoon n shield and he’s doing his lil stab stab motions while Aemond parries and it’s all like slice slice slice swoosh jab jab jab swoosh

[paleode-ology]

closer to you by Sammy Rae and the friends is SO Izzy hands-coded send tweet

[wantonlywindswept]

so if anyone needs some brain rot to watch out of sheer and utter boredom may i suggest

~ Knife or Death ~

which is a spinoff of forged in fire and is in theory a course where you bring your Super Special Blade and smash/cut shit and look cool and epic and fulfill your dreams of being a samurai/ninja/knight/viking/etc and get money at the end

but in reality it is a quick run simulator of popping giant holes in the egos of the type of assholes who think ‘yeah i can spin a knife and cut stationary melons, i’m so badass and now i get to show it on tv watch how fucking cool i am all these other people are LOSERS’

and then they get

absolutely crushed

and it is fucking great

[corruptedforce]

PSA

Stop being creepy. Stop telling people what to ship.  Stop telling people what they can’t ship.  Stop telling people how to write their character.  Stop telling people they don’t take their characters trauma seriously.  Stop telling people they take their characters too seriously. Stop telling people what to do, period.

Tumblr has a filtering system. If you don’t like what people do, filter. Tumblr Savior exists. X-Kit has a blocking system.  There are things like post block. Make your own safe space.

But do you know who is the problem when you attack people? YOU.

I have no problem defending every single person I care about, when it comes to this bullshit.

[letterboard-fantasy]

I'm sorry Cold stabed WHO??????

“Doubt told me that I could not win bringing a knife to a gun fight. She was wrong. But don’t worry, Impulsivity has a high pain tolerance, both physically and emotionally. I cannot say the same for the others, especially his brother.”

[jayladfanpage]

yes canonically Jason is publicly alive and says that his death was "greatly exaggerated" but I think it would be really fucking funny if he just started showing up to Wayne events one day and the whole family acted like that was normal and Jason doesn't even try to pretend he didn't spend years of his life murdering people in cold blood. Someone says something out of pocket to Damian and he very loudly says "I have Deathstroke's number, if you want that fixed" and tells drunk socialites that he and Bruce got in a fight because "No, Jason, you can't bring three guns and five different kinds of poison to a gala. No, a knife is not any better," and he thinks it's unfair. Someone asks him if he's ever killed someone and he says "Not on American soil" and everyone just has to live with prodigal son Jay Wayne being a hopefully retired mercenary/hitman

[mitsybubbles]

in some kind of hypothetical ghost fight to the double death who do you think would win william afton or mogami

Mogami hands down- he’s just way more powerful

[b4adb4tcher]

imagine watching hunter run around bringing a knife to a gun fight, tech rolling around and refusing to find cover, and wrecker bodyslamming droids through a scope and SOMEHOW trying to protect them??? crosshair earned the right to act like a bitch

[mostly-imagines]

I Missed My Funeral

jason todd x reader

aka you learn what happened to jason

warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort

You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.

Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.

It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.

Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.

You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities. 

Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.

“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual. 

You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”

His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”

“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.

He goes still. 

You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”

He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”

He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.

“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.

You nod.

“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”

You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.

His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”

You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that. 

It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.

His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”

Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.

You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part. 

“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”

Oh.

You can physically feel your chest sink.

That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people. 

You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to. 

“How old were you?” 

He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.

Oh.  

You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.

But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?

He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”

He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go. 

He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.” 

“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”

It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”

While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.

“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”

He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…

He does remember the other part.

You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up. 

“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”

“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.” 

The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.

His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”

You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”

You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.

You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose. 

There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family. 

You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.” 

You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.

He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.

You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”

He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.

You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”

He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.

It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.

You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”

He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”

He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.

Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.” 

You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.

“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”

You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”

“The robin suit.”

You pause.

“That robin suit?”

He nods.

…what

for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well

🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮

[fenrhi]

I love women that can kick my ass *dies*

[artfortytwo]

The IU-3 Billhook is, above all, a really bizarre mech. This was actually one of the first chassis designs produced by the PDR, a few months after they had already been facing down Purview teams, but it ain't your typical line mech. See, the Republic obviously can't outdo the Armory on quality or quantity in a straight up fight, so they got clever with these little bastards when a head on engagement was unavoidable. The first thing you'll notice is the giant tumorous growth of a shell hanging off the back. It's got a few minor hardpoints in it, along with a ton of reactive armor, enough to draw attention and make you assume it's a weakpoint that would cripple the machine if you took it out- but it's actually just an empty, detachable storage unit, only occasionally carrying some non-volatile supplies. The entire damn chassis is built like that, everything put in a weird place and disguised as something it isn't- even the joints have an annoyingly weird placement that makes maintenance a pain, but if that means offsetting the amount of bullets you have to pull out, I guess it's a win. Overall, it's substandard to even some outdated SP1 models, but with how cheap it is to build and how effective the gimmick can be, it sees a lot of use. That's just the thing, though, it's a gimmick. If the enemy knows what horseshit you're trying to pull, all you've done is bring a knife to a gun fight- so, usually, these things are the first units to see combat in any given conflict, and are outfitted for an alpha strike without regard to operating time or endurance. Single-shot weapons with fuck-off payloads, the works. On the high-mobility types that are built for repeated engagements, though, you've got a more standard loadout, and the storage unit gets filled to the brim with gyroscopes and reaction wheels alongside some crazy FCS that lets you get some damn good mileage out of the PD lasers in the antennae when you're up close.

i was having artblock trying to think of an idea and my friend said to me "hey, why don't you make a mech based on, i dunno, a snail?" and i told her "primrose pandora screamermod you are a fucking genius" and then spent 3 days making this thing along with the above flavor text for it. does this count as an oc, who knows but i'm posting it now because jegus dick it took a long ass time

[kithtaehyung]

minted (m) (snippet) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, both versions of yoongi have their own red warning labels smut warnings: to be dropped on drop day but lmfaoooo est. drop date: july 2024! teaser word count: 486 total word count: projecting 15-20k✌️

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back home by now, freshly showered and curling up on your worn bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching diced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the group walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun on their clothes and in their eyes. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

As he gets closer, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do. 

But from the slight confusion pinching his forehead, he didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time rushing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending in with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.

-

-

tbc :)))

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: LETS GOOOO WHO IS HYPED BCCC..

[deadghosy]

HAZBIN HOTEL X ROBLOX NOOB! READER

prompt: your best friend John Doe hacked you into a universe where hell is much different in your mind

“OOF-” you said as you press the buttons on your ps5. A portal opens as blocky person with yellow skin exits out of the portal looking at you. “JD!” You said with a “:P” face. “noob…you get to get out the house more…” John Doe said with a static voice as he picked up your bloxy body and thrown you into a portal as you kept smiling

“:) yay I’m falling.” You said out loud as you felt yourself fall in the air. You fell but landed on your feet like always. You look around to see that it smell like must, ass, and most importantly fire. You walked around just smiling as demons and sinners looked as if you were some weirdo…..

You came across the hotel and applied for a job to be the schedule manager. You got a red outfit to match vaggie and Charlie as you grab a flat board and started to write who gets to do what.

Noob! Reader is the type to pull out a cannon out of fucking no where and fuck someone’s life up🦆(a/n: pinkie pie type shit)

I can see Alastor watching you do a r6 dance as he just looked at you weirdly with a strained smile. You literally said out loud “/E DANCE!” And started to dance 😭

Lucifer got scared because he accidentally let you dove off a roof…but you respawned with a blue force field around you making Lucifer think you were an angel.

You love the egg boiz as they love you too! You do color sheets with them as Pentious brings you guys some cookies like a mom💗

You had onetime pulled a chainsaw out because husk said he needed to get a haircut on his fur. You literally pullled it out of no while husk jolted looking at your crazed face as you reved it up.

“You said you needed a hair cut!!” “I SAID HAIR CUT! NOT END MY LIFE YOU FUCKER!” Husk yells back as you chase him smiling like “:D” with the chainsaw. It was giving scooby doo as you kept chasing him.

Lucifer would be weirded out with Noob as noob just sticks their tongue out like the :P face while Lucifer pokes you curious about your game like box body.

I imagine noob! Reader showing Charlie a picture of bacon hair boy who is doing orange justice in the back. “Oh is that your friend?” Charlie says with a nervous smile at how your friend’s hair literally looks like bacon or is. You nodded excitedly as you wave your phone happily at bacon hair boy.

You blasted “it’s raining tacos” outside of the Vee’s tower when learning your friends had opps in there. So you wanted to annoy them.

This lasted for 2 days until vaggie had found you and took you home as you screamed out the song LOUD AND PROUD

I can imagine Lucifer making you a duck hat that says “don’t duck with me!” It’s so cute 🦆

I headcannon noob!reader to be the most dangerous being in hell as they literally been to every other gun and fighting game of the roblox universe.

NOOB SOLOS‼️‼️🔥

You know those badass Roblox games with those cool combat moves? That’s what you use. 🤨

You grabbed a sinner’s face and run dragging their body in the ground with a smile. You lifted your arm and swing them around as they flew to who knows where as the crew behind you had an either shocked or entertained face.

One time Charlie and you were shopping in a mall and you peaked over the boarder to keep people from falling. “I wonder if I can die from this height.” “NOOB NO-” that’s when you had to get a kid leash on you anytime you go out with the staff.

It was a nice day as Angel was throwing knives to increase his skills. You walked by him curiously grabbing two knives and throwing them at the same time. Making it hit the bullseye as Angel looked at you shock.

“Whoa kid, how did you learn to do that?” Angel asked pulling out the knives you made in the bullseye. “I was murder once!” You said with a happy smile as you walked away. Angel dust has the most confused face ever(picture below)

I headcannon noob!reader to be like Kirby. So like noob pulls out a knife to be murder, and then they could pull out a gun as Sheriff✨🦆

“Pew pew pew” you said as you stood on the balcony of the hotel as you shot at random sinners. Alastor appeared behind you confused but laughs at the misery of the sinner running when a missed shot almost killed them.

One time Angel gave you a Tommy gun not suspecting you know how to use it….you literally started to blast sinners away-

You SHOT AN OLD LADY ALSO😨

yeah Angel never gave you his Tommy gun ever again.

As you stayed in hell, you didn’t know that you would be spied on by the angels as Adam laughs at how chaotic and naive you are.

You’re so use to bullshit in Roblox you just stand there like “🧍🏾” as shit goes on. Literally when Charlie was panicking when the extermination was due in 6 months

During a uno game you ate a card as husk was trying to win but forfeited in anger as you screamed out uno. Leaving the missing card out of your mouth….it got quiet so quick as husk chased after you.

Niffty finds you amazing as you both have crazed tendencies. You both literally cause made chaos around places 🤭

YOU USE YOUR ADOPT ME SCAMMING SKILLS TO SCAM PEOPLE 😭😭 I CAN SEE THIS

The overlords are confused when they see Lucifer bring you to a meeting for once. You just sat there eating a taco. “Ello.” You said waving your blocky arm at them.

When watching the horror movies with the crew, you don’t react at all with Alastor as you been in lots of horror games with that one guy named Guest…you miss home and him.

I headcannon that you once accidentally summoned John Doe because you sneezed and he literally stood there as you hugged him. The rest of the crew was confused thinking he was your brother.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

[littlereddream]

Under Heavy Rot

You didn’t realize the apartment you were crashing in was already occupied, but the dead have already gathered outside and you’re too injured to fight any off. It helps that the stranger living in there isn’t so keen on kicking you out there with them, even if he did just have a gun to your head.

Warnings: zombie apocalypse au, similar to the walking dead but no prior knowledge required, also no spoilers here for the show. No characters from the show are featured here either. mild zombie apocalypse typical gore, all your normal apocalyptic warnings, gn reader

Every step you take burns like hell, pain shooting from your foot up, up, up all the way into your knee. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking, how long since your last camp was completely overtaken by the living dead. You’d thought it was safe, that it was impossible for them to cross the river without being swept away.

It was foolishly easy to let your guard down there, things settling into a peaceful routine. Life became peaceful. In the mornings, you’d even collect eggs from the chickens and bring them to the cook. Friendships with other survivors led to lively dinners around the campfire, filling the air with story after story.

You should’ve realized something was off when you woke up to distant snarls outside your tent instead of the familiar rooster’s crow.

In everyone’s rush to scatter, you’d been so focused on getting out of there that you’d forgotten about one of the camp’s main defenses. It was a matter of luck that you hadn’t lost your foot entirely to the bear trap, thanks to a woman with a hatchet being kind enough to pry you free before escaping with her family.

You’d been lucky then. But now? The longer you go without treating the wound leaves you more and more susceptible to infection.

Half a day’s walking has you wandering into one of the city’s nicer neighborhoods. It’s unusually nice for Gotham, but it makes sense for being on the city’s outskirts. You can’t help but imagine it’s history before the outbreak. While walking, you can see a rusted basketball hoop on one of the driveways. It’s easy enough to imagine neighborhood kids playing, laughing while their parents watch them from the porch over fresh barbecue.

You head up the front steps of a place two houses down from there, wedging your knife into door’s crack until it’s creaking open with a quiet click.

Maybe it’s the pain, or maybe you’re just exhausted from the day. Whichever it is causes you to step inside without checking every corner. Three steps in, and the door is slamming shut behind you.

“Don’t move.”

The familiar click of a weapon’s safety coming off.

There’s near silent shuffling behind you, measured footsteps too practiced to tell where the voice is coming from.

“Drop the knife.”

So screwed. So stupid. You were gonna die. This man is gonna kill you and it’s all gonna be because you couldn’t clear a room.

Your knife drops from your fingers, landing on the ground with a clatter.

“Now kick it away.”

You do, and with it goes your last chance of defense.

You take the chance to turn around, slow as you can. Whatever you were expecting to see, it’s far from what’s stood in front of you. The guy might have a gun pointed at your head, but you’re injured, not blind. This would make it the first time you’ve met somebody who pulls off the post apocalyptic look so well.

“Is that a bite?” He asks, gaze flickering to your foot.

Right. Words.

You’re quick to shake your head. “No. No, just got caught in a trap.”

He relaxes a little, but it’s almost immediately after that both of you are flinching. His weapon flies to point at the door, and your hands clench reflexively around your now empty knife sheath. A car alarm.

The stranger swears, clipping his pistol back into his belt before slipping into the closest room. There’s some rustling coming from inside, but you take the momentary distraction to lean against a wall, shifting weight off your injured leg.

“So,” you begin, uncertain,” I really didn’t know anyone was staying in here. I can go find another house to crash, seriously.”

He’s back, carrying a chair to shove in front of the double door, wedged underneath the doorknobs.

“No leaving,” he states, absolute with no room for negotiation.

You raise a brow at him when he glances back at you, but he just gestures towards the peephole. Cautious, hand as close as you can get it to the hilt of your knife without actually drawing it, you stumble forward. It’s hard to ignore the way the stranger’s eyes linger on your ankle, but you lean in to look outside anyway.

You’d thought it was bad at the camp. At least a dozen walkers tore away at your closest friends.

More than two dozen herded together outside. Half of them were climbing over each other, clawing at the empty car for any bit of medal their fingers would catch on. The other half walk aimlessly, twitching at every little sound that could mean another bite to eat.

You lean away from the door, thankful to find the stranger hasn’t moved a single inch out of place. His arms are crossed over his chest, almost smug in a way like he’s daring you to take your chances outside.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting on his kitchen table while he’s got a chair pulled up in front of you, your ankle cradled in his hands.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

His thumb brushes over the corners of the wound, and your fingers grip the table’s edge a little tighter.

“Sorry.” The fingers pull back, reaching for the wet towel to your left. “It’s Jason.”

Jason cleans the wound as gently as he can, whispering quiet apologies for every sound of pain that leaves your lips. You tell him your own name through gritted teeth, and he seems to accept it as forgiveness for the necessary pain.

Once your ankle is fully wrapped, he carefully pulls down the hem of your pant leg to cover it. For a second, neither of you move. His hands stay there, and you don’t bother pulling your foot away.

Then he’s pushing his seat back to stand, clearing his throat.

“There’s an empty bedroom upstairs. You can stay here till your ankle heals. If you really want to leave, then at least wait till the herd clears up,” he suggests, rushing to clean up all the leftover medical supplies.

You stay till the herd leaves. Then you stay a little longer. Eventually, you can walk without any pain at all. You stay anyway.

Then you’re completely healed up and Jason suggests you stay a little longer. “Just in case,” he says.

Then it’s been a month and the only time you’ve ever brought up leaving, he looked at you like the option never even crossed his mind. You stay a little longer.

During a supply run, Jason kisses you. You got attacked by three walkers, backed up into a shelf of a nearby corner store.

Later, Jason blames it on the adrenaline from saving you. Later, he apologizes and promises that it won’t happen again.

But in that moment, with his calloused hands cupping your jaw, his breath shared with yours, leaving stops crossing your mind too.

Two weeks after, you learn that Jason can’t ever make good on a promise that involves staying away from you. Two weeks later, you kiss him first and he returns it with all the fervor of a starved dog.