#rules for gunfighting

[whxre-bxby]

Player 001 (Young-il) x Reader

"Poor Little Y/N..."

My attraction to older men fuels the creativity within me to write

Oneshot - angst, death, blood, silent attraction, romantic feelings Masterlist

When Gi-hun decides to rebel against the guards and marches out of the player's room with his small army, you join them. Innocent, caring little Y/N, who's never held a gun in her life nor seen one before she ended up in these games, bravely sucks up her fear of dying and breaks the rules by exiting with the armed players. Among those are Young-il and other people you trust now.

You go because your fear of losing them and watching not a single one of them return is far worse than your instinctive fear of death.

Lovely, selfless Y/N who holds in her tears and forces her trembling hands to calm down while aiming her weapon at guards and pulling the trigger.

After leaving the stairs on which your group has been ambushed, you make it to a corridor when Gi-hun and Jung-bae leave you behind to advance further into this hellhole of a place.

You don't like splitting up but you can't stop them, so you stay with the group, continuing to help them through the gunfight. But then Young-il shouts that he is going after them and needs two people. Young-il, who's been a trusted member since you all met him after the first game. The man who pulled you into a room with him when the voice announced the number 2 during Round-And-Round, saving you without hesitation.

The man who insisted you take his pillow to hug at night because you couldn't fall asleep without the comfort of clutching something against you. Even though you kindly rejected his offer, he didn't take no for an answer and didn't leave the side of your bed until he was sure you accepted his gift and were as comfortable as you could be in this place.

So of course, you volunteer to go with him, as do two other men. He glances at them before his gaze rests on you a little too long, and you can see the gears of thought turning in his head. His expression isn't so stern and tense anymore and you watch his eyes soften as his head slowly leans back against the wall.

"No...not you, Y/N..." he says, his voice no longer loud, before waving the two men over to him and leaving with them. His words stung you deeply. You didn't understand why he said that to you. Oh, only if you knew he was going to betray the two good players he brought with him...

Brave and dedicated Y/N, who feels it's been to long since she's heard from either Gi-hun's team or Young-il's, so she runs after them, towards the control room. The sound of distant gunshots has your kind little heart racing with adrenaline. The urge to help and protect being stronger than your will to live.

What life would it be if you knew you could have helped, but didn't? What if they all died while you would cowardly wait and hide. You would be tortured by those thoughts forever.

Fast but scared Y/N, who sprints through the cold-coloured hallways and up levels of stairs, past dead guards and over puddles of blood because as long as you haven't found your friends' dead bodies, you have a reason to live and fight on.

Close gunshots no longer scare you. It could be your team firing them. But then you reach the first proper obstacle. The two players who went with Young-il were dead and their bodies pierced by bullets. The sight startles you, but you've seen this before. As long as it's not one of the other three, you can live with it. You have to. So you continue up the stairs, desperately wanting to find someone you know for your comfort and safety.

Shocked yet relieved Y/N who finds Young-il on the other side of the stairs, gun in hand but body slumped on the ground and tracksuit splattered with blood.

Such a good heart you have... immediately running to his side and checking up on him. He seems to be fine, though you can't be sure until you know where he's been hurt.

Silly you, that blood isn't his.

You don't even pay attention to the confused and unexpected look in his eyes. Oh, he did not expect anyone to find him now. He wasn't sure what to say or how to act anymore. Young-il thought his time of pretending to be Player 001 had come to an end. But he had to keep up the act in front of you right? Right?

He couldn't. It all happened so fast, he could just sit back and watch you hug him before you search for a wound to explain the bloodstains. Your face painted in great worry and distress. Your commitment to improving his wellbeing astounded him.

But the dream-like moment didn't last long and was canonically interrupted when footsteps were heard rushing down the other flight of stairs, towards the two of you.

Young-il had no reason to fear them. But you, who at this point were frightened by the very sight of them, made the alarm in your head start ringing. You abruptly turned around, facing them instead of the face you found great comfort in.

Young-il, who suddenly felt his heart drop deep into his gut when he realised the danger you could be in now.

Brave but teary-eyed Y/N, who sits on her heels in front of her friend, attempting to shield him while shouting at them to stop.

Young-il, who panics, wanting to move you behind him while attempting to wave the guards away, or at least not to open fire. But then it happens. The sound of a gunshot echoes through the cold walls and before either of you can process anything, the impact the bullet caused, had your body falling back. You land next to him, head supported against the wall and lock eyes with Young-il. A look of wide-eyed shock takes over his expression and he can only watch the consequences of his actions unfold before him.

Your trembling arms reach out for him, but not for help. You're still trying to save him, but your attempts are weak. Another harsh bang rings in both your ears and that does it. As the second bullet buries itself deep in your flesh, having pierced through vital organs, the light in your eyes vanishes and your body goes limp next to him.

Young-il can't move. You, the only person who's shown this kind of care for him in years, are now dead because of him and his actions. He made you trust him and now he had to watch you pay the price for his mistake. He should have never shown you any attention.

Poor little Y/N... your pretty body has failed you. But it was your heart that killed you.

Yes, I know. Tragic. Sorry. I'm sure you'll survive in other fics.

It's past midnight but fuck it I'm posting it.

[meggannn]

Ranking the Driving of CP2077 NPCs

Based on my experiences getting in the passenger seat next to my friends and allies across all these hours playing Cyberpunk 2077, I feel equipped to judge them on their driving skills or lack thereof, scripted and unscripted. For context, every time someone offered to drive me somewhere, I always said "yes" first out of laziness, but then out of horror, because I had to document proof that some of Night City's finest should never have been allowed on the road.

Not listed: People who drove me while I was in the backseat because I usually didn't know their face or name, e.g. Dexter DeShawn's driver or the Peralezes' driver. Important characters only, basically.

Jackie: 10/10 Got me home safely, apologized for scratching my car up during a gunfight, borrowed my car for a date, and delivered it back unscathed in the morning and because he paid for the damages to be fixed overnight without me asking. He's a real one. In honor of Jackie and to repay our peaceful trips together, I always make sure his ARCH remains scratch- and accident-free.

Judy: 9/10 Even when she was worried out of her mind trying to find Evelyn, she gave me a pretty unremarkable trip experience, which honestly puts her in the highest tier. Probably the best you can hope for in an NC driver is someone who can drive safely while in the middle of a crisis, because that's all the time.

Reed: 8/10 Genuinely a pretty good driver, just fucking slow as hell, but I guess I can't blame him for that in the super narrow streets of Dogtown.

Takemura: 7/10 Did his best while a bunch of assassins were shooting at us. Crashed the car into a very obvious billboard support to kill the guy on the car's hood, however it did nearly flatline us both when we were already in critical condition, so I can't give him full marks. That said, he saved my life and kept me alive while we were being chased by said assassins, then delivered me to a ripperdoc and helped carry me while he was also bleeding out. He also somehow managed to mostly stay in the correct lane while driving backwards down a curving road (!) just so I could have easier aim at a motorcyclist behind us. (I have mixed emotions on this: I'd understand wanting to brag that you can do that, but I think when we're already both full of bullet holes, it may not be the best time to show off.) So overall, his judgment skills range from excellent to questionable in a crisis. But we did have a much more pleasant, relaxed drive on our second trip together going to see Wakako, so with those two extremes, he weirdly averages out to probably be one of the most normal drivers in the city.

Nancy/Bes: 6.5/10 A lovely ride that would've been better if she hadn't "tapped" me at the end after letting me out. I give her a small pass because it was the middle of the night and I had just rescued her from a two-day stint in a Maelstrom hideout, so who knows what kind of fumes she'd been exposed to.

Delamain: 6/10 I mean, as drives go it was fine, but I'm knocking points off for not letting me change the route to stop at a goddamn doctor when my friend was bleeding out. I should be able to trust my driver to change routes to make the right decision for passengers in unexpected or urgent scenarios, which Delamain's service will not or cannot provide. As it runs its own business, it has more autonomy over itself than most AI, so I feels like it should install an emergency stop/rerouting mechanic somewhere in its programming.

River: 5/10 Technically never hurt anyone and he does obey the rules of the road, but I'm not sure which I'm more fearful of, his bad luck or his baffling judgment. Every time I ride with this guy to chase down a new lead, he somehow finds a car crash, shootout, or some other sort of jam on the road, drives slowly up to it, and then stops to gawk at it for several minutes, both hands at ten and two, glaring at the problem through the windshield as if that will make it wrap up faster... when he could, I dunno, turn right and drive slightly around it instead? The bad luck isn't his fault, but trips with him don't make for a pleasant experience.

Panam: 4/10 Her overall success rate getting me to and from places safely is very high... at least in the Badlands when there's no traffic around. As a streetkid, I would certainly trusts her driving skills over mine in the desert. However I know I cannot trust her in the city around other cars, because when we first met she drove STRAIGHT into my parked, newly fixed car, shoving it backwards onto the sidewalk without pausing at all. Then she looked right at me as if to say "What are you gonna do about it, bitch?" Still haven't forgiven her for that. So it's probably for the best Panem went back to the Aldecaldos, because she can't be trusted in a dense, urban lane.

Claire: 3/10 Guilty of several hit-and-runs, and I don't just mean the illegal street racing. Ran me over while dropping me off twice. I can forgive one time, but twice is a pattern as far as I'm concerned; I don't believe in third chances. She also shamelessly knocked over some pedestrians, so I know it was her, not me. I can see why she wanted me behind the wheel for our races so at least she's self-aware.

Kerry: 2/10 Like Panem, he is also guilty of crashing into my parked car when picking me up to go somewhere, yet unlike Panem, he did so while "borrowing" someone else's car while on a mission to blow up a third one. @skys-metro has also shown me he's guilty of crashing HIS OWN fancy Aerondight as soon as he leaves Denny's mansion, every time. Y'know, that car he specifically asked Rayfield to manufacture for him, of which there are only four in the city? As I've established above, twice is a pattern in my book. Johnny is correct not to trust Kerry behind the wheel, but I'd add an addendum: Do not ever trust this guy with any vehicle in any context whatsoever.

Rogue: 1/10 Absolutely fucking abysmal. Now I see why Rogue plants her ass in the Afterlife and lets work come to her, because her license not only needs to be revoked immediately but she needs to be on a billboard about public safety hazards. Not only did she crash several time into various railings and support poles, but at one point she drove in circles at 70mph for about five minutes and then chased down other cars on the road just to slam into them (including a police car but tbf that was just funny). Could she have just been getting some pent-up anger out of her system on the way to track down Grayson? Sure, I get that, but leave me out of it, old woman! Her gaze was ice cold and her hands were completely steady, but I felt the heat from the fires of Rome burning just beyond our fragile windshield. Not even using the "Skip Ride" feature would let me escape this madness, because it just teleported our car somewhere else, with her still behind the wheel, still glaring at every other car on the road as she rammed them so hard their hoods came off. Poor V was trapped in a never-ending, unwilling game of bumper cars from hell that Rogue was playing with herself, so eventually I had to pull a divine intervention and reload an earlier save (Guess what: Rogue STILL drove like a maniac the second time, but at least this time "Skip Ride" actually worked). Some footage of this godforsaken drive has been saved and shown below, because my V wanted to record her possible last moments and warn people of this terror in the streets in case she didn't make it out alive.

So there you have it: I nominate Rogue as Worst Driver in Night City, which is not a decision I take lightly, as there are a lot of contenders.

[natequarter]

it's fairly obvious to anyone who has watched doctor who that the doctor is a chaotic kind of person, but beyond that he's also an agent for chaos. this isn't necessarily in your face - the second doctor often takes on the role of sneaking around the story, rather than walking right into the plot and beating it into submission - but dropping the doctor into a given story often serves to destabilise it. randomly landing in a genre is a pretty classic habit of doctor who - look no further than the gunfighters for an example of "doctor who does westerns" - but i think it's interesting to look at this as a narrative function of the doctor as protagonist of an ensemble show. if part of the format of doctor who is the doctor being dropped into genre stories, then part of the format of doctor who is the doctor being dropped into other people's stories - and more than that, other people's worlds. viewed from a side character's perspective, the doctor is a destructive force that tears down their world, breaks all the rules and logic of their story, and then leaves. this is something doctor who itself has commented on (consider, for example, the pandorica), but i still find it a really interesting way to interpret the doctor - not just as a rule-breaker by nature, or an anarchist by temperament, but narrative anarchy itself.

[siriuslysmutty]

(Found this in my drafts but don't remember writing this?)

Simon who secretly loves subbing. It's more natural for him. He's a brat you can't change my mind. Mouthing off but everyone's either matching his energy or too intimidated.

Cut to you, the cutest medic he's ever seen. You dote, speak clearly and announce exactly what your doing as your doing it. Even during a gunfight. It's *practical*. A quick warning he's learned to appreciate. A steady hand. A chuckle at his bad jokes.

He decides he'll do what's always expected for the little medic who only speaks when spoken too, only does exactly what is required.

Until you refuse to date an officer. Absolutely refuse. In the sweetest rejection...

He courts you for months. Openly. In front of his Captain. No one cares because no one *really* wants to get in The Ghost's way.

So when you *do* cave and he takes you back to his place you get wined and dined with a delicious fucking steak and buttery mashed potatoes and it's so good (and you're nervously a bottle in) that your moaning around the bites and it's all he can do not to cum.

By ten he's managed to go through the motions of what he's done with his past lays. It's mechanical. But he likes you and you're both tipsy and horny.

The door shuts and his world spins because the medic is apparent a pleasure dom...

It's over for him as you order him about from beneath him. Whining up at him to fuck you slow and deep. And when he does he's lost to it. Brain turned off. Brat turned on. He expects punishment, it's always what he's got. But you don't punish him, you promise him rewards.

"Fuck me slow and hard until I cum and I'll swallow your big cock as long as you want baby," cooing at him in condescending way and-

He does. Eagerly.

You let him brat out still. Even when he's breaking your rules. And when he's spent and panting you open you arms and coax him to lie down and kiss his head and tell him what a good job he did making you cum and-

he's a goner.

Where does he sign for more.

[heliads]

Lay Me Down - Cassian Andor

You're less than pleased when Luthen assigns you and Cassian on another mission together. All of your past work with Cassian has ended with the two of you at each other's throats, but maybe this time will be different.

masterlist

You’re bleeding again.

It’s an old wound on a new wound on an existing scar. It’s an injury that reopens every few days because you don’t have the time to sit around and heal when you’re in a new gunfight on a new planet with every passing moment. Luthen has assignments and you take them. That’s how it works. You knew the rules when you pledged your life to the promise of the Rebellion, to the dream of a life you’ll probably never see. Maybe you’ll die before this wound ever closes, or maybe you’ve got years more. You suppose you’ll never find out until the war ends, for you or the galaxy.

At least the injury isn’t infected. You can’t keep anything long enough to last through a whole course of antibiotics. You can keep slapping temporary bacta patches on the thing, but that doesn't help when it reopens the next time you get shot at, which happens with increasing frequency. This is one thing in your favor, if nothing else:  your flesh is not yet rotting away. It might not all be intact, but at least this one part of your life isn’t corrupted.

You wrap a fresh bandage around it, wincing slightly. You don’t have the time to go slowly; you’re due for a new assignment already. This one must be important, because Luthen was even more tight-lipped than usual when assigning you to the task. You know your location: Vina II, one of the smaller planets in the Tau system, so far away from anything important that even nav systems have trouble recognizing it. Vina II is primarily used for manufacturing, stuffed to the core with factories churning out anything from guns to clothes to satellites. In a few decades, the air will become so toxic from constant pollution that the planet surface will be entirely uninhabitable, and then the factories will either become entirely droid-operated or the companies will pack up and move to the next available planet and repeat the process again.

This isn’t unusual. Manufacturing corps are frustrating people all across the galaxy. What is unsettling is the sudden uptick in Imperial presence on what should be a useless rock. Luthen is starting to connect dots between Imperial seizure of raw materials and the production of weaponry, and he thinks Vina II is a key player in the game of making ways to kill the Rebellion. So, you’ll be sent to investigate along with another spy. You’ll find the evidence you need, and then you’ll bomb a specific building containing the blueprints for making a certain kind of weapon. It’ll not only leave their armies lacking but distract them from Luthen’s next plans.

You still don’t know who you’re working with, though. Luthen loves secrecy more than anything, of course, so he won’t tell you the name of the person you’ll be risking your life with until you see them face to face in a matter of minutes. You’ve had the opportunity to fight alongside several of his network, and have mentally established who you’d like to see and who you’d rather avoid on this mission. In the end, the final call, as always, is up to Luthen, and regardless of which strings he chooses to pull, you know he’ll pick whoever he trusts to get the job done.

You finish bandaging your wound and pull your sleeve back down again, throwing the old dressings into the incinerator and returning your focus to the door. You wonder how much of your life will be spent like this, silently bleeding out in a dark room and waiting for something to descend upon you– Imperials, death, life, or an unexpected ally. It doesn’t really matter in the end. It all feels the same when you can feel the next mission drawing you close.

A bell sounds at the door, startling you out of your thoughts. This must be your accomplice for the mission, you’re in a safehouse and no one else could possibly know you were here. You’ve only been in the apartment for less than an hour yourself; Luthen doesn’t like it when you linger.

You walk soundlessly to the door, then attempt to peer through the keyhole. Whoever’s waiting for you is used to hiding; they’ve managed to turn themselves just so that you can’t see their face in the gloom of the hallway outside.

“Who is it?” You ask through the sealed door.

You don’t get a name, only a phrase: “I have friends everywhere.”

The coded words flash through you like a heartbeat, and you open the door on instinct. A figure wrapped in a dark coat strides briskly into the safehouse, doing a cursory sweep of the interior to make sure you haven’t set up a trap and only turning back to face you when you lock the door behind them. A deep hood covers all details of their face, but your mission partner reveals himself soon enough, reaching up to pull the fabric back down to reveal their countenance.

You know this face. You’ve seen it glaring at you in the din of a firefight, or starting arguments over decisions that you don’t have time to challenge.

In spite of yourself, you sigh. “Cassian Andor.”

Cassian looks even more annoyed than usual. “Y/N L/N. I thought I told Luthen never to assign you with me again.”

“I’m pretty sure I told him the same thing after the incident on Federian,” you hiss.

“The incident?” Cassian asks, eyebrows raised. “The only incident I remember is you nearly getting us both killed because you wouldn’t do what I told you.”

“You told me to take a stupid risk that would actually get us both killed. I remember saving both our lives from your awful plan and then you getting mad at me for it.” You snip back.

Cassian looks like he wants to argue further, but he takes a deep breath and turns away from you. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for a reassignment, so you’ll have to get used to working with me. I’m not risking this mission for your pride.”

You scoff. “My pride is not the issue here. I’d die for this cause. Luthen knows that, which is why he trusted me to do this. If you don’t believe in me, believe in him. Our ship is parked around the back and we should leave as soon as possible. Of course, if you’re still worried about me, feel free to stay behind, but I intend on completing this mission.”

You move towards the door and Cassian swiftly blocks you. “I need your word that you won’t let our personal differences get in the way of this job. There will be enough sentries and guards on that planet to get us shot to pieces if we keep trying to prove our point.”

You stare at him uncomprehendingly. “I’ve been in this fight for years, Andor. I can handle myself.”

He refuses to budge. “Swear it right now. I’m not getting on a ship with you unless I know you’ll stick to the plan.”

He meets your gaze unyieldingly, and at last you sigh again. “Fine. I won’t cause problems. Will you?”

“No,” Cassian bites out, and at last allows you to leave. 

You stride briskly down the hall, and he has to hurry to catch up to you. The mood between the two of you is tense as you exit the building, as you find the ship, as you punch in the coordinates and let the jump to hyperspace shoot you on the way to your mission.

Stars, this is not what you needed. It’s bad enough that you’re shipping out so soon after the last close brush with Imperial capture, but on top of the risks you’ll take on Vina II, you’ll be doing so with the only other Rebel who’s as headstrong as you are. 

Cassian Andor had to have been the one person you’d been hoping to see the least when you opened that door. Three times you’ve worked together now, each time fraught not only with Imperial peril but countless arguments between the two of you. You can’t agree on who should take first watch at night, who should gather intelligence on the movement of guard patrols, who should shoot first, who should watch the ship, and who should make the inevitable stupid sacrifice move to save the mission. The last time you’d complained to Luthen, he’d laughed outright and said that if the two of you couldn’t see how obviously similar you were to Cassian, you had no chance of mastering the intricacies of espionage.

Still, you hadn’t thought Luthen would go so far as to assign you with Cassian again, especially not when your last job together was so recent. Obviously, the two of you are both smarting from the latest round of arguments, and you silently grit yourself against the inevitable disagreements yet to come. Cassian may have made you swear to put the mission first, but that has yet to stop either of you from clashing.

As the lights of hyperspace stream past the windscreen, you silently excuse yourself. Your injury is starting to bleed through the bandage again, you can feel the hot press of blood against cloth, and you don’t much enjoy the idea of letting Cassian spot one of your weaknesses when you’ve barely begun the mission. There’s much more time ahead of you for that.

You touch down on Vina II some time later, when enough time has passed that you’re more than happy to step foot on dangerous ground if it means getting out of the tin can trapping you with Cassian. The two of you simmer with barely contained irritation, snipping at each other through a film of polite disdain, but manage to stow the ship somewhere it won’t be found by patrols and continue into the streets of the primary city.

Once night falls, the two of you slip into the shadows, using the cover of a rusting packaging plant to spy on the operations building you’ll be bombing. You stare at the metal monolith, so tall it seems to pierce the clouds of smog far above your head and continue on into the heavens. Most workers have retreated back to their homes for the evening, coughing their lungs out into respirators and shaking the perpetual grime of manufacturing from their boots, but a few lights remain on well into the night. Those would be the security details, plus the late workers who know their jobs and lives depend on not falling behind on Imperial quotas.

Cassian glances up from the schematic he’s been studying, pointing out a particular cluster of brightly lit windows. “There, the tenth floor. That’s where the schematics are stored, plus all the supercomputers in charge of making new ones. That’s our target.”

You peer closely at the rooms through your binoculars. “You’re sure blowing up those rooms will disable all blueprints? It seems too easy. Won’t more of the manufacturing plants have backup copies?”

Cassian chuckles darkly. “Blame Imperial paranoia. They’re so terrified about rivals stealing their precious designs that they’d rather shoot themselves in the foot and keep everything in one place.”

You shake your head. “Their loss. Besides, I bet anyone who complained about that particular idiocy would have been sent to labor in a mining colony for daring to insult the finest of Imperial design.”

Cassian snorts. “They’re about to learn why that’s a bad idea. We’ll keep a low profile tomorrow, then strike late in the night when everyone has gone home.”

He moves to draw back, but you pull him back down again. “You want to set the bombs tomorrow? That’s far too soon. We still don’t know enough about their troop movements, we need more time.”

Cassian stares at you uncomprehendingly. “Would you like to take a week to learn more? A month? Time is the last thing we have. With every day that passes, millions of guns and bombs and ships are sent out into the galaxy to kill us. The sooner we strike, the better.”

Your jaw clenches. “Save the lecture for someone who needs it. I’m aware of what it costs us to wait, but failing this mission because we assumed too much won’t save anyone, either. I’m not asking for an extra week, even one more day will be enough, but we cannot afford to be hasty.”

“Hasty?” Cassian bites out. “We are anything but hasty. Luthen has been sitting on this information for months. If we were hasty, we would have attacked tonight. Hell, we would have attacked in broad daylight. Bombing this place tomorrow night guarantees us safety and takes them out before they have the time to discover our ship or us. With every hour that passes, we risk Imperial discovery. The sooner we’re out, the better. Besides, Luthen gave us all the information on troops and patrols that we need.”

You arch a brow. “How certain are you that Luthen’s information is accurate? Or current? Like you said, he’s been plotting this move for months. All it takes is one troop reassignment and we’re walking into a squadron of stormtroopers. It won’t hurt anyone to make sure what he gave us is true.”

Cassian gives you a dark look. “If you don’t trust Luthen, what are you doing on this mission?”

You meet his gaze coolly. “Making sure no one else dies because they blindly trusted that puppeteer.”

Cassian tears his eyes away. “Fine. You wait as long as you like. I know where I’ll be tomorrow.”

He stands up abruptly, stalking away from your hiding place. You whisper a curse about obstinate spies under your breath and tear after him, hurrying not to lose him in the darkened city. Cassian’s walking fast, anger hastening his footsteps, and he doesn’t notice the two soldiers out on patrol until he’s halfway around the corner.

Immediately, he whips back around, but the damage is done. You can hear one of the officers asking who’s there, then drawing their guns and coming after you. You act on instinct, grabbing Cassian’s arm and pulling him down a narrow alleyway between shops. The space between the walls is littered with high piles of empty canisters and discarded metal signs, just enough to screen you from view. Your back slams against the wall as you force Cassian next to you, trying to take up as little space as possible, trying hardly even to breathe lest the sound of your exhalations alert the guards.

You hear them draw by, peering into the alley before carrying on down the street. Only when you’re certain they’re gone do you release your grip on Cassian’s arm and grimly meet his eyes.

“Like I said,” you mutter, straightening the lapel of your jacket, “Troop movements. They’re nice to know.”

Cassian just grits his teeth and stays silent. He moves more slowly on the walk back to the ship, checking each street twice before daring to turn a corner. By the time you’re up the exit ramp and within the safety of your ship once again, you’re more than ready to get some rest and let down your guard. You wince as you take off your coat, and realize that in your haste to hide from the patrols, you’ve torn open that damn wound again.

You’d meant to be discreet, but Cassian catches the change in your expression. “What happened?” He asks warily.

You shake your head a little too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Like hell,” he says under his breath, then catches sight of your arm and his brow furrows. “You’re bleeding!”

You check the injury and silently bite back curses. Scarlet has seeped through the bandage, staining the sleeve of your shirt enough for Cassian to see. So much for keeping the wound safe long enough to heal.

“It’s fine,” you say, attempting to wave him away, “Old wound.”

You move towards the storage compartments so you can grab a medkit, but for some reason, Cassian follows you. He plucks the medkit out of your hand, jerking his chin towards a nearby chair. “Sit. I want to see how bad this is.”

You regard him exasperatedly. “I can bandage myself.”

Cassian refuses to back down, gesturing again to the chair. “I know you can. Sit.”

When it becomes evident that he won’t leave you alone, you give in, sliding into the chair and regarding him warily. Cassian sets the medkit down, pulling out some medicine to treat the wound and a canister of bandages. You roll up your sleeve, wincing at the drag of cloth over the wound.

For someone who can’t seem to stop fighting with you, Cassian’s touch is quite gentle as he carefully unwraps the old bandage from your arm. He sucks in a concerned breath when he sees the wound. “What happened here?”

You lift your shoulders in a loose shrug. “Blaster wound. Then I got some shrapnel in it, then another blaster shot. Can’t stay out of trouble long enough for it to heal.”

“You’re not the only one,” Cassian mumbles, and you wonder how many injuries he’s hiding under recesses of fabric, how many cuts won’t stitch shut and bones can’t mend for lack of rest. Your whole Rebellion must be like this, you realize, a bunch of shattered pieces sorely wishing for the glue to put yourselves back together. Either you’ll die or you’ll win the war, but only one outcome will guarantee you a relief from the pain, and both seem much too far away to be of any use to you.

Cassian dabs some disinfecting water onto a piece of cloth and gently cleans your wound. You hiss at the touch, but force yourself to relax. You can’t help but watch how he does it, fingers moving smoothly with experience yet delicate enough to keep you from pain as best he can.

“Thank you,” you whisper, words oddly loud in the stillness of the ship.

Cassian nods, putting down the now bloodied cloth in exchange for a fresh bandage. “It was the least I could do. Maybe I want to prove to you that not all of our conversations have to end in a fight.”

You laugh quietly at that. “It’s a good surprise, then. Luthen would be happy.”

Cassian starts wrapping the bandage around your arm. “Luthen. He’s so convinced he knows us better than ourselves. I still don’t know why he keeps insisting on assigning us together.”

Something aches inside your chest, the weight of the truth pressing against your tired ribs. “Yes, you do.”

Cassian glances up at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Of course you know why we’re together again,” you say softly. When he still looks perplexed, you elaborate. “Luthen assigns us both on missions because he trusts us not to get along. He doesn’t want there to be– emotional complications, I guess you can say.”

“I don’t follow,” Cassian says. “He doesn’t want his spies to be friends?”

“More than that,” you say. “He wants to know that his mission is secure, that you won’t let your personal feelings for me get in the way of anything. He knows you hate me, so he’s safe. He knows that if anything were to happen, you could kill me without a second glance to protect our secrets, and I would do the same for you. It’s his way of cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassian draws back, startled. “That’s not true.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yes, it is, and you know it, too. Luthen can’t risk one of us getting captured, we know too much. Our mutual animosity won’t stop us from completing the mission, but it will be enough to know you’ll be fine with killing me cleanly before they can torture Rebel secrets out of me. It’s simple, and it’s the right thing to do. None of us can afford to get taken by the Imperials.”

Cassian shakes his head sharply. “No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t kill you, Y/N.”

Your smile is cold, he can’t seem to look at it. “Yes, you would. To protect the Rebellion, you would. That’s the whole point. That’s the whole reason any of us are here.”

Cassian jerks his gaze back towards your arm, where he studiously finished tying off your bandage. “You don’t know enough about me to say that.”

For some reason, you feel like sobbing, although you can’t decide why. “We’re spies, Cassian. That’s all I have to know.”

Lost without something to do, some way to keep taking care of you, Cassian stands up, practically leaning away in a hurry to get away from this conversation. “Take care of that arm,” he says, voice oddly foreign.

You nod and he leaves, medkit forgotten on the table. You pick up the leftover bandages, turning them idly in your hands before mechanically putting everything back in their compartments. Cassian’s reaction has left you stunned; you thought he would be delighted to have this leverage over you, given how little you’ve been getting along recently, or at least be neutral, but instead, he seems deeply haunted, like he’s grieving the death you haven’t yet had.

The topic of your mutual deaths is clearly not something that should be brought up again, so you don’t, and let the odd silence exist between you until the status of the mission is enough to interrupt it. Cassian and you strike a compromise where you both risk coming out from the safety of your ship during the day in order to verify that Luthen’s information on Imperial patrols in the target building are accurate. In exchange, you’ll agree to place the bombs that night, but only if you’re certain that there won’t be any surprises with the schedule of the guards.

Ultimately, you do notice a few slight deviations with the patrols, but not enough to postpone the mission. Thus, you spend the next couple of hours in tense silence, waiting for the hour to strike. Once dark slips over the city once more, you leave the relative safety of your ship to stalk through the inky streets again.

You and Cassian move in sync, hardly having to whisper a word for you to know what comes next. You feel as if you’re part of a matched pair, a set of spies working with one mind, one purpose. After so much time wasted fighting him, this breakthrough feels like a miracle. You only wish it could have come sooner.

The Imperial office is quiet, the workers mostly departed for the night. You and Cassian find the side entrance you’d marked the previous night, and, after correctly entering the door code, slip inside. You’re careful to keep your faces hidden, and avoid rounds of stormtroopers on patrol as best as possible.

When you get to the tenth floor, you split up to cover more ground. “Be safe,” Cassian whispers before you part. You nod, face grim, and try not to feel like you’re losing a limb when you turn the corner and leave him. This isn’t a trap. You’ll see him again. You just have to get the job done first.

You reach into the bag at your side and grab the first bomb, placing it on the side of a computer terminal and twisting a disc at the top to activate it before moving on. You repeat the process of placing and activating the small detonation devices, covering the entrances and key structural components of the floor before heading towards the central communications room where the blueprints are kept.

You’re the first one inside, and you make sure to carefully sweep the room for any late-night employees before you continue your work. Cassian is somewhere on the other side of the building, doing the same thing. You’ll meet here before you leave, then detonate the explosives once you’re both safely out of the building.

Still, as you place more bombs with no sight of Cassian, you can’t help but feel nerves start to swarm inside of you. He should have appeared by now. By the time you start to hear the sounds of shouting voices and running footsteps, you’re almost relieved. If the Imperials are giving chase, that at least means he’s still alive, and hasn’t been shot outright.

The door to the control room bursts open behind you a few moments later, but the face greeting you is not Cassian’s but that of an Imperial officer. He barks orders to a unit of stormtroopers, who flood into the room, all aiming their blasters at you. You raise your arms, breath ragged in your chest. So this is how it ends, then. This is how you die.

The Imperial officer crosses the room in a few brisk strides, jabbing his blaster in your face. “You were with a man. Where is he?”

You silently thank the stars. If they’re asking you where Cassian is, they still haven’t found him. Maybe there’s still a chance for him to get away, or even complete the mission. The bombs are still set. Both of you have a detonator switch, only one of you has to press the trigger. If you get shot before you can finish this, at least Cassian can get the job done.

The only thing you can do for him now is to buy him time. You stare into the eyes of the officer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here alone.”

The officer raises his arm, striking you across the face with the butt of his gun. Pain lances across you, and you stumble back in agony, one hand dropping to cradle your injured face.

“I know he’s here. Lying gets you nothing. Cooperate and maybe you won’t be executed immediately.” The officer hisses.

The threat of execution doesn’t faze you. The worse option is capture and torture. Everyone pretends that they’d be able to withstand torture, but the Imperials are swimming in time and patience that you hungry, desperate Rebels lack. It doesn’t matter if it takes hours, or days, or even months before you crack, the simple fact is that you will give in at some point, and with all that you know, the Rebellion could be crushed for good.

Your only hope now is to die quickly before you give up anything. You look through the glass windows of the control room, searching for any sign that Cassian had gotten out of the building. Instead, you see him rounding a corner, then quickly ducking back to the protective cover of a nearby hallway when he spots all of the stormtroopers clustered around you.

Immediately, you start screaming at the top of your lungs, all hope for your life forgotten. “Do it, do it now! Finish it!”

The officer cuffs you again, but you hardly feel it, shouting again to Cassian. This is the one job of all Rebels, whether they like it or not. He has to know this is the point when he lets you go. He has to know that the mission comes first, always.

He has to know, but not for the first time in his life, Cassian Andor refuses to play by the rules. He surges forward again, opening fire on the stormtroopers, who rear around in surprise, reaching for their guns even as they start to fall to the hail of blaster fire. You take advantage of their distraction to grab your fallen blaster, shooting the Imperial officer before he can turn back to face you and taking out the surrounding stormtroopers.

Under the cover of Cassian’s protective fire, you sprint for the door, joining your mission partner in the haze of smoke and laser bolts outside. The two of you find a way to the turbolift, blaster bolts still skidding inside until the very last moment before the doors shut. 

The next several minutes feel like a blur. You’re lost to the space between blaster shots, the moments in between sprints from turbolift to hallway to door to the streets surrounding you. Once you’re clear of the building, you grab the detonator from where it’s clipped onto your belt and press the trigger. For a few moments, there’s unearthly silence, and then the entire world erupts as the bombs explode throughout the tenth floor. The building crashes to the ground below, sending a wave of force rippling across the streets.

You and Cassian are flung to the ground, rolling a short distance before you recover from the impact and manage to start moving again. Cassian is already standing, pulling you up and along after him. Klaxons ring out across the night, and you swear you can hear the rhythmic crashing of Imperial squadrons already out to hunt you down.

You’re not planning on sticking around any longer, though, and you’ve hardly cleared the exit ramp of your ship before Cassian is sprinting to the cockpit. He starts up departure sequences before he’s even sitting down, every fibre of his being focused on the sole task of getting the two of you out of here. You follow him, watching through the transparisteel as the city you’ve ruined disappears to nothing but sparks and dust below you as your ship pierces through the sky.

Only once the deep indigo of night is replaced by the coursing lights of hyperspace do either of you finally start to let go of the fear compelling you forward. You watch Cassian’s shoulders drop, the inescapable tension of panic cutting his strings at last and leaving him slumped and exhausted in his chair. His fingers dig around the arm rest, clutching at it for support as he forces himself up again.

You’re at his side in an instant. “Sit,” you urge him. “You need to rest.”

Like always, Cassian doesn’t listen, and he stands on overburdened legs, pulling you into the glare of an overhead light. His hand rises to your face, gently turning your head to the side and then back so he can spot any injuries.

“Are you badly hurt?” He asks, voice a desperate whisper in the hum of your ship. “I saw them hit you– I thought you were dead–”

“You were supposed to leave me behind,” you chastise him. “We talked about this, remember? The mission comes first. You should have detonated the bombs, not thrown yourself headfirst at a dozen troopers.”

Cassian’s fingers stall on your cheek. “I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to leave you to die, and I meant it, Y/N. I’d rather die myself.”

“We would have died if there had been any more of them,” you respond. “Tell me that you’ll prioritize the mission next time. Tell me that you’ll focus on what matters.”

“You matter,” Cassian corrects. He lets out a quiet laugh. “For all the times you’ve gotten under my skin or gone against my plans, I can’t find a way to make you matter any less to me. I can’t stop saving you. I can’t stop making you my purpose.”

You inhale sharply in surprise. “I thought you hated me.”

“So did I,” Cassian murmurs. “And then I thought about having to be the one to kill you, and I realized I never could. I’ll die with you, Y/N. I’ll die for you. But I’ll never kill you.”

Your whole body feels electrified. You’ve thought about Cassian a hundred different ways, but not like this, never like this. Yet everything he says feels so right, so much like how you feel about him, that you can scarcely believe you’ve never given this side of him a chance.

Your own hands reach up, tangling themselves in the front of his jacket. “You terrified me, running after those troopers. I thought you were going to get yourself killed, and then it would be my fault.”

Cassian stumbles ever closer to you. “I was terrified to see you with them. I didn’t mind getting killed if it meant I got to save you.”

“Selfish,” you tease, but there’s an undercurrent of fear in it still, as you remember that awful moment, a dozen bolts shooting towards him in the corridor.

“Yes,” Cassian says, and kisses you. “Always,” he says, and kisses you again.

For once in your life, you’re more than flesh and bone. You feel limitless, everlasting, more than a soldier and more than a fighter. You are someone who could be loved, not for a gun in your hand but for the heart beating in your ribs. You have a life worth living, and one worth living with Cassian at your side. It’s a terrible world out there for all of you in the shadow of the Empire, but you have one light still burning bright between you. You have no intention to let it blow out.

star wars tag list: @blondsauduun, @caswinchester2000, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

[heretyc]

Heat in my Veins, I Call Her Vengeance [BARBI X DOMINANT! READER] [NSFW]

IT'S HERE [CONFETTI].

THIS IS PURELY FEMDOM. More info on the AO3 version of this fic but you are implied to be the arranged wife of Franco until Salvatore betrayed you and Franco began his little thing with Angelina.

It's dub-con for a bit, but he gets into it. I'm still new-ish with smut and this is out of my comfort zone. Enjoy!

Salvatore Barbi was on your shit list. 

Wronging your father the way that he did, severring an alliance that spanned across many years, back when you and his son were mere toddlers gumming on toys and babbling about the newest episode of your shared favourite baby show, the man clearly had no sentiment or loyalty within him. The mob life was a rough one, but what mattered most was keeping together when times were tough. Alliances were not only beneficial, but showed you had strength. 

And he fucked that up. But his fuck up was months ago, and your plan had come into action now; Salvatore may be MIA somewhere in WhoTheFuckIsWhere, but his son...his son wasn't hard to find. Not when he boasts about Louisiana and New York like a whore who fucked a footballer.

Franco Barbi was an idiotic man. Sure, he knew how to plan, how to escape every fatal consequence of his love for starting gunfights. Those were what you liked about him, of course; you enjoyed his presence and charm before shit went down, what didn't you like about your husband to be? But the man's patriarch fucked around with your pa, and Franco himself didn't know how to invest in proper locks. It took no effort to get into his New Orleans villa near the swamps; surely the humid air would swallow the moans he'd soon exude. His lifestyle taught him nothing, clearly. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he was eager for your visit. Your family was known for its secrecy, its methods of breaking into houses without stirring the occupants. Hell, your nickname in the family was "Silens Domine" due to your skill. Regardless, the man lacked a few brain cells in the "safety" department, and there he laid on his massive bed, nude and tied at his wrists, his eyes showing fear and yet slight lust. He was into this. He didn't seem to question the bag you brought with you. Massive, it was, as it laid menacingly on the ottoman at the end of the bed. 

"Y'know, Franco," you feigned a sigh, your body embraced tightly by black lace; your gloved fingers slowly trailed along the crop you carried, the flat end shiny and ready to be spanked against vulnerable flesh. "I really thought we had something...we had chemistry." His body was coated in goosebumps, his quivering growing worse as you began to trail his flesh with the crop, the end flat against his skin. "We could've been beautiful, you know. Even our fathers arranged our marriage, saw the greatness in our future...start a new business or two."

The man began to stutter, his arms pulling at the cuffs to no avail, "And we still could, baby! I, fuck," a cringe at the slight spank you laid onto his chest, "We can rule the fuckin' world if you just let me go...we can consummate that shit tonight and tie the knot tomorrow, yeah?? Crack open some fuckin' primo champagne, put-put on some fuckin', uhh, what's that fuckin' show you like-"

Smack. A deliciously thick spank against his thigh sounded through the room, his words cut off with a scream identical to that of a banshee. 

You let out a coo, the crop tapping lightly against his cheek. "How sentimental, but...no. Not tonight." A quick, rough spank against his nipple had him screeching like a bitch in heat, "Your pa fucked that up for the both of us." You bent down beside him, your gloved hand rushing to soothe the raised, red flesh with care. His nipple, offended at the rough action, raised with a hardness that could cut glass. You couldn't let him break. Not yet. 

"Tonight I've got an array of things I'd like to try on you." You purred, licking your lips as you brought the crop back down to his flesh with eagerness, trailing down to his crotch as your heels clicked against the wooden flooring. Marriage to Franco would have secured greatness, if his father hadn't been a piece of shit. Salvatore, however, is allergic to improvement, especially when it came to his love life. Angelina was an example.

Bitch. You still seethe at the thought of the woman's hideous, urine-coloured hair. You remember that one, disgusting night you visited the fishery, peeking through the window into Salvatore's office just to see that ugly tramp stomp all over Franco's face. A night of secrecy after Salvatore had enough and had a mobster drive him home.

The thought makes you sick. He seemed so eager...so...mislead. 

Franco looked down at you as you clicked your tongue, the crop prodding at his cock; soft, thick and somewhat small. It was the first time you saw it up close; sure, your nights that involved stalking him had you see his cock plenty, but it was about time you got to see it up close and personal. Short in size, maybe 4 inches if your measurements were exact without a ruler, but exaggerated veins that throbbed underneath the foreskin were enough to make you salivate if you weren't so fucking angry.

Size doesn't matter to you. Not when it's about him; It's about the performance, how he'd move his hips, how the delicious, uncut tip would harass the fuck out of your g-spot with delectable caresses. Right now, that didn't matter. Not until later.

You weren't the one getting fucked, anyway. 

"Is this where your so-called impotence comes from, Franco?" You questioned, the crop maneuvering under his soft organ with care; his balls were a decent size, and he had a nice valley of golden curls that gathered just above his base, but that wasn't what you wanted out of this encounter. "Your size? Do women laugh at you when you pull your trousers down?" You smirked, removing the crop to place it down on the ottoman at the end of the bed. Thank God, too; his face was growing red with anger. All bark, no bite at the current moment, but still threatening...if you were a coward, maybe. 

"That ain't...fuckin' funny," Franco sneered, his buckteeth nearly ripping into his bottom lip, "You know why-" 

"Yeah, yeah," you whistled, waving your hand in the air to signal that you couldn't give any less shits even if you tried. "Momma Angelina steppin' on your face was what got your little cock hard. I know. I plan to change that, real quick." You licked your lips, the bag you placed on the ottoman full of the things you'd need. His face was pink with blush, somewhat ashamed that you knew of the relationship between him and his father's wife. How much did you know, exactly? "Now raise your hips, I need that ass ready for me."

Franco looked at you with horror, his blue eyes wide, "No, bambina. Nononofuckno, we ain't doin' this shit." He chuckled nervously, wishing he was anywhere but here. "Come on, please? I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" You raised a brow, "It's a tad too late for that, I think." You clicked your tongue, looking over the items within the bag with a nonchalant demeanour about you. You were unbothered. You seemed that way, anyway. 

Franco finally got a good look at you, his body too fried to feel anything more than fear and [slight!] arousal. God, you grew up beautifully. The body, the hair, the face, the blade held against your thick thigh due to the garters...not to mention you had history. The shit you could've done together, had he put a ring on your finger and kissed you in front of Havana itself.

A shame his cock likes step-mothers more.

"Come on, bambina," he forced a purr, arching his back to show off the cock that began to rise with eagerness, "I could show ya a world of fuckin' pleasure, yeah? Just untie me, settle your thick fuckin' thighs around my hips and let me thrust." Oh, there it was; the coercion. The lies that he could make this all better even though he royally fucked up.

Charming.

You merely ignored him, your facial expression stoic. Shit. He leaned back into the bedding, his brows furrowed; he didn't know what else to do. You seemed set in stone to put his ass into his place. "She was a real fuckin' woman, bambina. You don't understand that."

You remained silent, but gave him a look. 'Keep going' was said without words as you brought things out of the bag. He simply swallowed, "She was there for me. Saw me for who I am."

The lube in your hands was gripped with harshness, your eyes shut. You couldn't blow up on him. Not now. Not...god, not now. So many things to do, to want to do, and yet you can't do them. Not now.

"And I didn't, Franco?" You finally growled out through grit teeth, your eyes in a glare. "I didn't hug you tight after your dad beat your ass? Or drive us to the beach to let you vent about how your dad didn't see the best in you? Why was she any different?"

But it clicked in your head. He just wanted a parental figure to see him. To acknowledge his efforts. Franco's facial expression was just an affirmation of your theory, his eyes sad. Fucking dick. Why did you feel guilt?

"Whatever," you finished, your eyes fighting off the tears that burned. You couldn't cry in front of him. "I'm done discussing that rat bitch." You huffed, grabbing what, could almost be, the star of the show for now.

A cock cage. Shining under the light and oh so prepared to treat him to an experience that denied the carnal pleasures that stirred within his loins, Franco looked to it with horror. "No. Bambina-!"

OOF! 

"Shaddup," you muttered, your thighs tightly squeezing his face. Within seconds, you had ripped your panties off - literally - and sat upon his face. You couldn't stand his voice right now. You didn't cease at the feeling of his thick tongue licking away at your swollen folds; instead you leaned down, your stomach and breasts leaned against him as you took your time to lock his cock within the cage. A little difficult - your stoic facade broke a little upon feeling his tongue on your clitoris - but you were successful in the imprisonment of his dick.

"This saddens me you know," You sighed, leaning against his groin as you ignored the way his tongue so desperately tried to make you mutter anything louder than a soft sigh, "I loved ya, I wanted ya. And now I gotta punish ya for being an inconsiderate cunt. A wife's gotta do what a wife's gotta do, ya feel?" 

You felt him cringe a little at the mentions of being his "wife", his tongue freezing during his relentless assault on your cunt, and you took that as your cue to get off; you removed your cunt from his face - a little ashamed at how skilled he was at cunnilingus - and went back to your bag of wonders, gripping his caged cock on the way.

The cold lube sat menacingly on the ottoman, something Barbi stared at with horror, even after you flipped the lid open and squeezed the cold, clear liquid onto your hand; the aroma of sickeningly sweet cherry wafted to his nose, making him cringe. 

You weren't subtle with your eagerness as you spanked his hip with your free hand, Franco yelping and arching his back; you never thought you'd see the mafioso this horrified, but it was somewhat comedic.

Especially under your control. But you suppose it was a glimpse into married life with him; if somebody put a gun to your head, would he be a hero, or would he suck on his thumb and rock his body to "twinkle twinkle little star"? You suppose you were the alpha in this situationship.

His ass was more than willing as it felt your lubed fingers, the opening beginning to wink in invitation; your fingers easily shoved inside, resulting a delicious and oh so divine groan roaring within Franco's chest. "Fuck-"

"Fuck indeed," you smirked, "You'll be my little bitch tonight. Maybe for the rest of your life. Seeing how much of a whore you are," you pressed a third finger inside, "for my fingers...yeah, this'll be a common occurrence." You wagered aloud, reaching down to squeeze at his sac. "I don't think you'd mind, huh?"

"Wha?" Breaking free from his pleasured stupor, Franco finally looked to you with lidded eyes and a sweaty forehead, "Fu-fuck, yeah, sure, whatever! Crazy bitch," he whined, "What drives a woman to do this shit to a man?!"

You didn't answer right away, not when you were so enamoured with the way he looked. Not weak, but...submissive. You liked your men submissive; whether their head was ready to be kissed by a bullet at the end of your gun, or if they were rutting into your hand as you fucked their willing ass with your fingers...

A man's submission was more divine than a deity.

"Mmm...that depends, Franco," you removed your fingers to grip onto his hips, "You betrayed the woman you were meant to be with...so consider your submission as payment." Ripping his hips upwards, his thighs laid upon your shoulders as Barbi yelped. God, you were strong! 

He couldn't hold back the whorish gasp and moan upon feeling your tongue cautiously lick at his entrance; the cherry lube was surely chosen to enhance your little ass eating venture, he noted quickly before throwing his head back into the pillows. If he wasn't careful he'd smash his head into the headboard and knock himself out.

Which he wouldn't have minded mere minutes ago. Would he rather die than admit he was liking what you were doing to him? ...Maybe. But that pleasure died out as you placed him back onto the bed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Your lipstick smeared, but that didn't diminish your beauty to him.

"Now then...onto the main event." You declared, unconsciously grabbing a harness, and what seemed to be a...thick phallic piece of rubber. What? You were quick to step into the harness even as he began to panic and stutter, "I dunno what the fuck it is you're planning bambina, but that shit ain't goin' in me. Fuck that."

"Yes, you are going to fuck that," you joked, grabbing the hefty dildo with ease and securing it into the strap. "That's the point of this." You motioned to the strap-on with a free hand, your other spreading his legs. "I'll be gentle. Somewhat."

He hissed at the feeling of the fake cockhead slotting against his ass; you didn't push in, not quite yet, but the anticipation was making his hair raise. "Now, baby...we can talk about this," he chuckled nervously, clenching his thighs, "No need to...fuck a man in the ass, I'm willin' to listen without you havin' to-"

Oh, hush now; you slowly pushed inside, watching him with eager eyes as you slowly but surely pushed the rubber into him. His facial expression was a mixture of pleasure and pain, the feeling foreign to him. 

"Talking isn't my strong suit, baby," you chuckled, hilting the toy within him. You slowly pulled back, just to slam into him once more, your thighs slamming against his ass as his legs rushed to wrap around your hips. "You know that. I like actions." You winked at him, beginning a pace that wasn't too slow, but wasn't disgustingly fast, either.

He looked like a whore right now. It was enjoyable to witness, to see Salvatore's "executor" of a son be reduced to nothing but an anal slut. You'd take a picture if you could.

The room smelled of sweat and lubricant, silent save for the slaps of skin and moans that exited through his lips. If not for the cage, you know the slut would've came right about now; his moans grew in pitch as the head of the dildo rubbed against his prostate. 

It was...hold on a moment. Was that...cum, leaking from the cage? Looking back at his face, you realize he looked like he was higher than a damn kite. Unblinking, you slowly pulled out and bent down to inspect.

Yup. That was cum. The fuckhead defied its intended purpose and literally came through it. Welp...your plan didn't work. Not well, really. With a sigh you untied his hands and let him place them onto his stomach in contentment. He was much too high to notice the footsteps outside the bedroom door.

But you weren't.

You cursed, getting up and leaning by the door, your blade in hand. You didn't know he had guards here. Or maybe it was his father checking on him. God, you'd be so lucky. 

"Bambino!" A guard yelled as he entered the room; Franco was quick to look up in horror, realizing he was still nude. "I got your call, what the fuck did you-?" The guard stumbled in, his eyes wide as he looked at the blonde with disgust. "The fuck is wrong with you, you freak? Why are you-" 

As fun as it would've been to hear the guard scold Franco for his current circumstance, you couldn't risk him seeing you. You slammed the blade into his chest, glaring at Franco with displeasure as the man gargled, falling to the floor in pain before his final moments. "You could've told me you were expecting a motherfucker."

Franco simply grinned at you with lust, his blonde lashes fluttering, "Was a little busy bein' fucked up the ass, sweetheart. Didn't wanna ruin ya moment." He simply chuckled, grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on his bedside table. "That was real sexy, killin' him off like that. You bettah be paying for the carpet cleanin', sweetie."

Dumbfuck. You simply bent down to grab the blade and shove it back into the garter belt, uncaring for the blood that stained your skin. It was silent as you took off the strap-on and packed your bag, Franco smoking and looking as pleased as a cat that drank a bowl of cream.

"So, uhh...we gonna do this again soon? Not gonna lie sweetness," he blew a ring of smoke into the air, "that was fuckin' amazing. Didn't know my ass would feel that good."

You simply shoot him a look, placing the bag under your arm. "...Maybe. If you anger me again."

"I'll be sure to," he smirked, "that was great." ...Sure.

You left to the door, stepping over the guard's corpse before you looked back at him. "Franco?" 

"Hm?" He raised a brow, watching your face scrunch. 

"Your clothes. I threw 'em out of the window." He just shrugged, "Fine by me, sweetness. I got more in the closet...ain't nobody else but that fuckhead, " he motioned to the corpse on the floor, "comin' back here, anyway. This place is mine for the day."

"Alright, well...the...cage." You motioned to his bare groin, still coated in sweat and semen. "What about it, baby?" He asked, the question rhetorical, flicking his cigar off into the ashtray. "I'll take it off, don't you worry." Franco chuckled, "I ain't gonna forget. A little hard to, if you ask me."

"Yeah, well," you rolled your eyes, "good luck with that. Gonna be a little hard without a friend." He furrowed his blonde brows, getting onto his hands and knees to crawl to the end of the bed, "What do ya mean, hun?"

Silence. Pure, unbothered silence as a car pulled up into the driveway; a familiar rumble of Salvatore's prized vehicle pulling in. A shame you couldn't kill him - not here, you weren't prepared - but you were sure he'd die out of horror from what he was going to walk into. Franco simply looked at the window with terror before looking back to you. "What, sweetness, what?! What do you mean by that?!"

You simply shrugged.

"I lost the key." 

[klysanderelias]

I've been a little preoccupied playtesting the module I wrote for @anim-ttrpgs' Eureka, so I haven't written much about those experiences yet, but I wanted to rectify that by gushing once again about how much fun I'm having.

I know I say it all the time, but it's been such a joy getting involved with the ANIM Book Club, and with the Patreon server. I've been able to get involved for the first time as a player in Eureka, and I'm SUPER excited for that game to have its first session, but the games I've been running for the playtest have been just incredible.

I can't stress enough how wonderful all these players are, and I think really it comes down to the fact that every single person I've talked to is so engaged with the system, and what it means. No one talks about optimal builds, or about party composition - instead, I get to see hours of conversation from people gushing over how much they like the Gorgon monstrous trait, and how excited they are to get to play one soon. People constantly chat about their favorite characters they've played, and about their favorite moments, and it's never like 'oh and then I rolled to hit and got a BAJILLION DAMAGE' - it's funny moments, tragic moments, characterful moments. No one talks about how good it was to kill x monster with a critical, they talk about gunfights that end up with investigators staggering away leaking blood. I was talking with one of my friends about her character getting into a 1v1 with a monster and winning - and winning wasn't killing the monster, it was living. The investigator got a huge triumph in that scene because he picked up a hammer and went 'you're not getting past me' and NO ONE DIED. Yeah, someone got mauled a little, but they drove the monster off - and that's a huge win.

And that rules. I was so fuckin' hyped for her when I heard about that, because I know how difficult that is. Eureka combat is fast and brutal, and this is why - because just like in real life, facing down a guy with a gun is scary as hell. I know, I've done it in real life.

And that attitude is why I've been having such a great time - because not only does the game system encourage and produce those moments, but because players take them fucking seriously. I've been over the moon about the playtest of my module I've been running, because my players are engaged and sincere.

Do you know how badly I have been missing fuckin' sincerity in my games.

And y'know, I genuinely don't think that every game needs to be deep, sometimes you roll up a character and you have a good time not being too serious - that's how the Greed game I've been in has been going, and that's been a blast!

But there's a difference between not being too serious, and not taking it seriously, and I've been stuck with people in the second camp for too long. And I'm getting the chance now to be in games with people who take this seriously - people who have, I don't know, learned the rules, and who don't spend half the session watching TV in the background or dicking around on their phone.

And like, I have to say, the ethos of Eureka really helps make that a reality - specifically I want to call out the Third Person Perspective idea that Eureka really sticks to. I think there's a valuable conversation to have about First vs. Third person perspective, and when to deploy it, but I've never felt for a second that players were even slightly less invested in their characters because they talked about them at a remove. And quite frankly, I'm getting to be more and more of a proponent for 3PP play because I keep seeing how useful it is.

For example - I played an Android character in a starfinder game for two and a half years. In that time, my character was basically never gendered correctly. They did not have a gender, and presented androgynously, so they used they/them pronouns. And because I, as a cis man, sound like a cis man, basically every time anyone talked about them they used he/him. And partially that's my fault, for not putting my foot down more, but also I DID do that on occasion to remind other players that my character was agender and used they/them, and by the next session they were getting misgendered again.

And y'know? Basically every game I've been involved with of Eureka has never had an issue with pronouns, even when characters are plural, trans, or genderqueer - because we're constantly using them. This character uses it/she? Well lemme tell you, I am thinking about that every time I address that character, because I'm not saying 'you'. And the player is constantly reinforcing that, because they're not saying 'I'. Like, it was so fucking annoying to play a genderqueer character in a game and have basically everyone ignore that, and I'm not going to say that 3PP can fix bad faith actors who are not interested in learning or using neopronouns or whatnot, but they won't have a fucking excuse to hide behind.

And I've talked before about how Eureka is a queer game, but I think this really adds to my feelings about it, if only because it creates a better framework for telling stories with queer characters. And because, y'know, it takes it seriously. It's not a joke, and it's not an afterthought, and it's not afraid of committing to it.

I'm looking forward to sharing more of my experiences once the playtests end, but it's been a real joy. Cannot stress enough how fond I am of the players, and the Narrators, that I've been able to spend time with. It is not an exaggeration to say that while I've been unemployed and bored out of my mind waiting to hear back from jobs, this community has kept me sane and given me the chance to direct my energies in a meaningful and constructive way.

I really do think anyone who loves ttrpgs should look at Eureka, and get involved with the Book Club, and y'know maybe spend a little money keeping that studio afloat.

[legitspidey]

Spideypool thoughts

(a short, conceptual fic)

>> Deadpool who doesn't know that Spider-Man has healing abilities

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

When they first meet, Deadpool is on a job and, because of course, there are guns

Spidey hears gunfire and goes to check it out

Deadpool wanted it to be a quiet job but now it's a gunfight and now Spidey just swings in all prepared to fight the bad guys (maybe it's the tracksuit mafia idk) and a gun goes off

Deadpool is unaware that the guy in spandex who brought his fists to a gun fight will be mostly fine when the bullet hits, so he takes the shot for him and the bullet stays lodged in the meat of his shoulder for about a minute until the healing flesh pushes it out

Of course he is totally fine, but neither of them talk about it and Deadpool gets out fast after the fight is over

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

They meet again and, again, Deadpool takes a bullet. This time it kills him, but he comes back because he's Deadpool

Normally Deadpool would be annoyed at dying, but he saved Spider-Man, therefore it's worth it

Deadpool still doesn't know

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

This happens like four more times and neither think anything of it

Spidey doesn't think too hard about it, he thinks Deadpool is just being nice, or maybe he likes it, it's Deadpool - who knows what's going through his head

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

Then one day, Spider-Man is fighting Electro when Deadpool finds him

They're both used to minor team-ups by now and Spidey welcomes the help

They back Electro into a corner and he lashes out, shocking Spidey badly

He smells of burning flesh and there's smoke rising off him

Spider-Man collapses, but he's just knocked out, already healing, he'll be back up in a few minutes but Deadpool doesn't know that

Deadpool sees Spider-Man fall to the floor and he smells the burning and he assumes

Deadpool has no reason to believe that Spidey would have survived that

Naturally, Deadpool gets angry

A sort of delirious, panicked anger that is a reaction to seeing the man who accepted his presence without question, who didn't shout or scream or tell him to get the fuck away, die right next to him

Deadpool rounds on Electro and shoots him in the thigh, which doesn't do much to an entity made of electricity, but it distracts him enough to let Deadpool get close and try and beat him to a pulp

He ignores the pain as Electro tries to shock him off, he keeps punching him in the face and takes the steady stream of pure electricity coursing through his veins until Electro tires

Deadpool keeps going, he's fully prepared to break the 'no killing' rule he has when he's with Spider-Man because Spider-Man is dead so why does it matter

He might be screaming or crying or stoic silent in his attack, he doesn't notice. He focuses on the gross squelch of skin being hit by his bloodied, gloved fists over and over and over again

Spider-Man stirs on the floor behind him and Deadpool doesn't notice. He pushes himself up and sees Deadpool punching Electro into the wall silently, and tries to call out to get Deadpool to stop, but his voice doesn't work right and it comes out as a croak. Deadpool doesn't notice

Spider-Man gets up and fixes his mask, then calls out again and his voice works but Deadpool either doesn't notice or doesn't care

Spidey is concerned now, for both Deadpool and Electro, and he rushes up and pulls Deadpool away

Deadpool looks like he's been snapped out of a trance and stares at Spider-Man like he's just come back from the dead

Electro crumples to the ground

They're both confused and neither paying attention to Electro now

Deadpool can't believe what he's seeing. He's sure its some hallucination but it felt so real. No Hallucination has been able to touch him before. He takes a tentative step forward and reaches out to touch him, just to make sure he's real, and sees the bloodied glove

He doesn't want to get that on friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man's suit so takes it off and holds it. Spidey doesn't even bat an eye at the scarred skin underneath

Deadpool reaches out and pokes Spider-Man in the arm

He's real

"What?"

"I thought- didn't you just die?"

"No..."

"But- wait, what? How the hell did you survive that, you burned up and collapsed and looked very, very dead"

"Deadpool... I heal. Did you not know?"

"NO? HOW WAS I MEAN TO KNOW THAT!"

"I don't know?? I thought you just did? Why else would I throw myself into all these fights?"

"I thought you were an adrenaline junkie or something like that"

"No, I fight because I can, others will get hurt, I wont"

"I've been jumping into bullets for you and you're saying that you would have been fine???"

"Mostly, yeah"

"Don't die again, then, it does horrible things for my anxiety"

"I'll try my best"

"Yeah you better"

Spider-Man calls an ambulance for Electro and neither of them talk about why Deadpool went slightly crazy at the thought of Spider-Man dead on the floor

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

Deadpool can't stay mad for longer than five minutes, he's too glad that Spider-Man is no longer dead

And if Deadpool still takes bullets and jumps in front if hits meant for Spidey then he doesn't acknowledge it

[deepdisireslonging]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Jason is still considered dead by the public. That doesn’t mean he can’t lovingly irritate you while in disguise during a gala. You’re on a mission with Nightwing, but Jason keeps distracting you. When the mission takes a turn, he becomes your refuge.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings/Promises: cw alcohol, “Hamilton” reference, characters objectifying the Reader, angst, canon-level threats, SMUT, p-in-v, cliffhanger

Word Count: 4450

Notes: I don’t know where the plot came from. When do I ever know? It just kind of appears. There’s not a part two this; I like how it ends. Please let me know how you guys like the fic with comments and reblogs <3 Happy reading!

“Would you like me to refill our glass, Miss Wayne?”

You glanced at your champagne flute, full except for the sip you had taken a moment earlier. “No, thank you.” You took another sip without looking at the waiter. On the stage at the front of the room, the mayor of Blüdhaven was shaking hands with his newest “friend,” who publicly went by Kenneth Dormeer. Actually, according to your research, the man was a face for The Society. The secret collection of “the powers that be” had their fingers in every pie, and they wanted to rule the world, same as every other secret society. But this one had a case of the explosions if they couldn’t get their way. They were planning something big. You, Nightwing, and Oracle were doing your best to figure out what that was before it happened. And before it could hurt anyone.

But the waiter at your side was insistent.

“Perhaps I can sneak you a glass of the stronger stuff? Do you still have a preference for tequila shots after a public appearance?”

How would he know that?

“Jay!” You hissed at him as he grinned. Looking him up and down, you tried to hide a smile behind your glass. “You shouldn’t be here. Why are you dressed like a butler?”

He looked down. “Alfred picked it out. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

Mumbling under your breath, you asked, “I thought that’s what the weapons trading was for.”

The room thankfully broke into applause, covering up his humored snort. He kept close to you as the audience began to disperse. There would be another round of speeches later, but this gave Blüdhaven’s best time to discuss how much they wanted to “donate” to this pipe dream the mayor was laying out. These donations were why you were here. Every stake-out, every high-speed chase, and every gunfight couldn’t stand up in court was well as a paper trail. How did that musical put it? “Follow the money and see where it goes.”

“How’s it going down there?”

You jumped as Nightwing talked in your ear. Oracle’s new comms design was really put to the test tonight. There was nowhere to hide a communication link when your hair was swept back, exposing your neck. The deep V of your dress was to hopefully distract any of the men who tried to talk to you. And the borderline gaudy necklace borrowed from Bruce’s safe of his mother’s jewelry was to distract the women. You took another sip to cover up your speaking to “no one.”

“It’s the usual hot air down here. The Masons are speaking with the Jacksons. That’ll be at least five million there. And Mrs. Smith is… well, worse for wine. Mr. Dormeer is paying heavy attention to her. If she’s not careful, he’ll have eight to ten million out of her by the end of the night.”

“Not that she can’t spare it. Just wish she’d push it somewhere useful for once.”

Jay flashed a tray of drinks in your face. “How is the night bird doing? Is he out in the cold on some perch?”

You flashed your eyes at him, trying to get him to go away. He didn’t budge. Covering your ear, and hopefully keeping Nightwing and Oracle from hearing, you bumped your hip with his. “I’m working. Do you mind?”

“Not very well.”

“So I’ve noticed.” You rolled your eyes. “That’s never changed, resurrection and all.” Glancing around, the other waiters were moving quickly, but deftly through the crowd. “You’d better get moving if you don’t want to lose your ‘job.’ I’d hate for you have to go crawling to Bruce when you end up on the street.”

Jason slid a hand across your stomach. He pressed his body close enough to your back for you to feel the tactical gear under the suit. His lips pressed a light kiss to the spot behind your ear. (The one without extra listeners.) “We both know I’d never do that. The streets were my home once before. As they were yours. Besides, I wouldn’t go to Bruce. As his only ‘daughter’ who has accepted the Wayne funding he kept trying to push on us… I would come to you. And it wouldn’t just be for your company.”

His hand on your waist kept you from pulling away. To push him away would cause a scene. You both knew it. He knew you couldn’t afford to draw attention to yourself. And you knew he was there for more than catering to the rich attendees in the room.

“Take the comm out.”

You placed the tiny device into his palm. With a groan, you bemoaned the dressing-down Oracle would give you later when she found out you “dropped” it into your drink. Jason boldly kissed your cheek.

“Does dear father Bruce know you’ve been secreting a portion of your allowance into shell companies around the globe?” He leaned in close enough for you to feel his breath ruffling the hairs on the back of your neck. “Does the flightless Dick know you’re planning an escape route?”

His startled face was close to yours when you suddenly turned. “What would it matter to either of them? What does it matter to you?”

The silence cut between you. Jason’s chest heaved. So did yours. The movement fluttered the front of your dress, catching his attention. It was a lure, after all. But this former bird caught in the snare was the only one who had seen you without a stitch on. He inhaled to speak. 

“Is this man bothering you, Miss Wayne?”

You quickly stepped away from Jason as Kenneth Dormeer came to your side. “No. He was just leaving. He’s going to bring me a shot.” Staring down Jason, you silently promised to continue that conversation later. You turned on the charm. And you couldn’t help but smirk when Dormeer’s gaze drifted down the front of your dress like a fly to honey. Two catches in quick succession. “I hope you don’t mind me ordering around your catering staff. It’s a strange habit of mine. Tequila keeps the nervous edge off at events like this.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That is a concept. I’ll have to try it sometime.”

“Would you like me to flag the waiter down? I’m sure he can bring us a double.”

He quickly waved away your offer. “I think I should wait until after all my speeches are over. If I may inquire…” he moved close to you. Again his gaze drifted as you adjusted the front of your dress, actually pinching a secondary listing device into action. “What are your opinions of our goals here tonight?”

This was it. If you could capture audio of Dormeer asking for money to pay off the Mayor or other goals of The Society, it would jumpstart the file of evidence your team was building. You flashed him a smile.

“I am curious as to why you’re taking the private funding route. And why you’re doing it in a closed gala. If this is for the benefit of Blüdhaven, why can’t the public know we’re doing this? Millions of dollars are being raised tonight for hospitals, libraries, and the new central park.”

Dormeer didn’t flinch. “With so many high, that is, heavy rollers such as yourself, we kept this little shindig on the low to protect our investors. And this money is going to do so much more than help Blüdhaven.” His voice lowered. “Tonight, we are going to strengthen each other. What goes around comes around. Each one of use that shows our… loyalty tonight,” he nodded, “will be rewarded in the future.”

“That is good to know.”

“So we can count on your support?” Before you could reply in either direction, he took your hand. He kissed your knuckles. Oblivious to the way the people around you whispered behind their hands, he pressed in as close as Jason did earlier. You nearly recoiled from the overwhelming sense of feeling like a rabbit quivering in front of a wolf. “I know you have deeper pockets than you let on. You’ve done well for yourself with your father’s money. If you give me your backing, I can protect you from Blüdhaven. Our city is a dangerous place. When I hear things, I can give you the heads up you need to be out of town. Perhaps to that little flat in London you rarely visit. Funding me helps build the network of this city’s true leadership. The right people in the right places. Those who pull the strings. Everyone else will be left in the dust. And the rubble, should the need arise.” He flicked his thumb across an imaginary speck on your cheek. “Think about it. The donations will begin soon.”

When he left, you couldn’t move. Something in your spine had been turned to ice. No one knew about that flat in London. Not the public, Wayne board, your crew, or even Jason. You only went there in times of extreme emergency. And mostly as your vigilante’s alibi identity. It was one thing for Jason to know about your back-up plan. It was another for a member of a secret society to know about your alter ego and her habits. Mentally you tallied every move you had made in the past six months. You looked for any chink in your personal armor. Anything loose that might have given Dormeer and his overseers access to your life. Worse still, with your team listing in on the recorded conversation, they now knew about your secret plans too.

“Here’s that shot, Miss Wayne.” Jason appeared by your side with a smile. It faltered as he spotted your eye twitching.

You downed it in a gulp.

He frowned. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Across the room, the Mayor and Dormeer began another round of speeches to plea for aid towards Bludhaven’s future. You wondered how many attendees had been borderline blackmailed into giving money tonight. The Society’s man made eye contact with you. He noted the empty shot glass in your hand and saluted his champagne flute.

“He knows.”

“What?”

You swallowed hard. “He knows. How could he know?” Snagging his wrist, you dragged him out of the hall and into a back room, some office. On the way, you pinched the listening device off. With your necklace, also modified by Oracle, you scanned the space for listening devices. It was clear. “When you were following my money trail did you leave anything open?”

Jason squinted. “What are you talking about? Who knows what?”

“Dormeer. He knows what you know. And more.” You shivered. “This is bigger than we thought. If he did that much research into me…”

“Hey.” He caught your shoulders and shook you before you could begin to hyperventilate. “He doesn’t necessarily know anything. Maybe it was a lucky shot in the dark.”

“You don’t understand. I set up that London apartment with Oracle’s program. Barbara can’t even break into her own system. She’s told me. But if The Society can-“

“What flat? Wait. You’re here for The Society?”

You glared at him. “You wanted out of the Bat’s circle, and you left. Don’t start asking those kinds of questions now.”

“I’m not asking questions about the bat and my fellow bat-siblings. I’m asking about you. The Society is too big to move against like this. They thrive on paperwork. Digging into their files and way of thought works like a bridge; it’s a two way path. Tell me you haven’t done that. Tell me you haven’t looked into their pockets.”

Your wide terrified eyes told him everything. He closed his with a sigh.

“Did – did I let them in?” Your hands gripped at his shirt, wrinkling it. “I – I just wanted a way out. A life outside of all of this. Preferably without dying for it.”

Jason shrugged, trying to make light of the situation before it crushed you. “Dying’s not so bad.”

“And look where it got you. You’re still in the game. Still fighting, but from inside the dark. That’s not an escape, Jay.”

He didn’t have a reply. Instead, he held you close while you began to shake. “Shh. Shh, I’ve got you.”

“I’m scared.” You had built up your imaginary life in freedom too much. Now that it was crumbling around you, you felt like you were being buried alive by your own failures. Before you knew it, your tears were soaking the front of his shirt.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He tilted your head up to kiss you quick and hard on the lips. “We’ll get through this. We’ll – we’ll think of something.”

Outside the door, a loud cheer went up as the bidding began.

“I should go back.”

Jason nodded. But he didn’t let you go.

“I’ll be missed.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re Bruce Wayne’s daughter. According to the tabloids, you’ve picked up some of his… social habits. Bruce may not be happy with what the public gossip says tomorrow, but he’ll understand. I hope he’ll be able to see the irony.” He kept his arms around you as your tears lessened. He began to sway. Rocking you back and forth, he let his thoughts tumble out loud. “You could come hide with me.”

“What?”

“Like you said. I work in the shadows already. Take a break from the Nightwing’s proceedings. You could be my Oracle. It would get you away from Dick and Barb’s questions-“

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Publicly, you could still be around in Gotham and Blüdhaven, but I could watch out for you and keep you from The Society.”

“And just how would you do that?” You gently pushed away from him. “I can’t work like you do. You… take an easier path.”

He frowned. “You sound like Bruce. You mean I kill people.”

“Yes.”

“Only those who can’t be redeemed.”

“Everyone can be redeemed.” You flicked your nails across one another; it was a habit you picked up instead of biting your nails. “I have to believe that. Even if it’s hard and takes a lifetime. If I’m going to keep Bludhaven safe, I need to do it the right way.”

“The right way,” Jason sneered. “You really are Bruce’s daughter. That golden dream of his won’t hold up when the end comes in sight. The Society isn’t going to let themselves be found out. This isn’t Falcone with a mile-long line of dirty laundry that the Batman and Company can air out. The Society always has a fall guy. Dormeer may end up in court and in jail. But he’ll go mysteriously missing or dead. The Society is too practiced to catch the legal way. They have lawyers and paper trails for that. But work with me. We’ll take them out at the root. It won’t be pretty, and it won’t end up on the news as some glorious moment for Blüdhaven’s salvation. But you’ll be free. And we’ll still save lives in the process. Come with me.”

Jason wouldn’t let you look at the floor for too long. He knew, as you did, that if he caught you in his bright eyes that you would waver. Within a few steps, he had you pressed against the back wall of the office. He tilted you chin up with the crook of his finger.

“Sweetheart, please. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring myself.”

His thumb traced over your bottom lip. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Come hide out with me for six months.” He continued quickly over your objections. “I know we won’t conquer this that quickly. But we can reevaluate when we get there. If we need to send you into deeper hiding, we can. Or we can keep working. Then you can go to London, Metropolis, or wherever you want to live without being attached to all this.”

You gave him a shady side-eye. “I would never move to Metropolis. If you thought Bruce’s reach was bad, can you imagine living within close earshot of Superman?”

Jason grinned. “Aright. We could probably pull some strings with Diana and get you into Themyscira?”

“But it’s all women!”

“So? You used to complain all the time that the men around you never had enough braincells. There would be a whole island of competent women to hang out with.”

He was trying to make you laugh. It was working. “That may be a dream for you, being surrounded by women, but I don’t think I could live without at least one guy around. They don’t allow male visitors to linger long on Themyscira.” Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was your fear warping into another bad decision, but you tugged him close by his lapels. “No. I don’t think I could join the Amazons.”

Jason’s mouth parted with a gasp. He tried to come up with a reply, but the way your eyelashes kept opening and closing over your eyes was distracting. He’d forgotten how effective your gaze was on his ability to think too. He wavered. “Alright. No to an island getaway.” His knees almost gave out as you slipped his suit jacket off his shoulders. “Living up to that legacy? I’m game, but…” he paused your hands from unbuttoning his shirt. “But you will have to make a decision. Tonight.”

“I thought we had. I’m going to hide out with you. For six months, at least, and then we’ll reevaluate.”

“Heaven forbid you agree with me outright.”

You silenced his further protests with a quick kiss. Then a deeper one. His body rocked into yours. It took several passes to at least open the tactical gear over his chest. He fumbled with the voluminous fabric of your dress until he found the flesh of your thighs. Along the way, he found the knife strapped to the holster.

“You certainly haven’t changed either.” He smiled against your cheek.

With your hands roaming the broad expanse of his chest, you couldn’t argue. No. You hadn’t changed. You had mourned him as a child. Then celebrated his return as a man. Nighttime missions sometimes needed an outlet. And then there were the times you helped patch each other up. But Jason was gone from the public eye. You weren’t. You played into Bruce’s player legacy while you remained alone. Until Jason needed your help again. Or you his. You kept up your barriers, only crumbling them down for one person: him.

His hands pulling you closer were comforting. How his hands squeezed his fingertips into your flesh felt like coming home. You would never tell him this. But the desire for him, to always be by his side, spilled into the way your lips pressed into the curve of his jaw. How you sighed into his chest, licking at the dip of his pectorals. You breathed him in. The closeness of him turned your trembling into an ache under your belly. Your kissing became more fervent. Jason returned in kind.

Your mouth fell open as his fingers parted your lower lips. With a curl of his finger, he made you keened out his name. Jason pressed close, muffling your sounds with his lips and pressing your face to his chest. He kept moving. Curling, then scissoring two fingers through your slick. Soon it didn’t matter how much he muffled your noises. The wet sound of your dripping arousal could probably be heard from outside the door. But the more and more he teased you towards the brink, the less and less you cared.

“So close, Jay.”

“I can feel that.” He circled his thumb over your clit. His heart stuttered in his chest to watch your gaze glaze over. “Gonna cum on my fingers?” If it was possible, he pressed in even closer. If he pushed against you any harder, you were going to break through the drywall. He began to suckle a mark onto your neck.

“Mhmm!” You pushed him away. “Don’t. Can’t leave evidence.”

Jason pouted. “I was hoping to leave a little evidence.”

“Nothing visible.”

“Fine.”

Pushing aside your dress strap, he suckled a mark into the top of your breast. He hiked you up onto his waist so he wouldn’t have to hunch down so much. Which meant he had to remove his fingers from where you wanted them. Your whine was placated with the ready bulge trapped in his pants. He ground it into the apex of your thighs, uncaring if you made a mess of his clothes.

By then, both of you were desperate for what came next. When he finally sheathed himself in you, he had to cover your mouth with his hand. You were too blissed out to comment that he was just as loud as you.

Jason waited for your breathing to even out before rotating his hips. He worked up to bouncing you on his length. Your hands dug into the hair at the nape of his neck. Once he was satisfied with the mark he had sucked onto your chest, he buried his face in the curve of your neck. You could feel his breath coming out in hot pants. Every other breath, he murmured your name.

“Will always look out for you,” he moaned. “Always.”

“I know, Jay. I know.” Your nails raked across his chest. You hummed as he hissed with the pleasure of the thin red welts that trailed in their wake.

His pace increased. Your keens and whimpers took on a fevered pitch. Jason’s desperate breaths rang with his own high-toned sounds. He grunted something that sounded like a warning. Then he spilled into you. Despite the overstimulation that had to ravage his ability to think, he kept moving until you squeezed around him. His mouth fell open against your forehead. His legs quaked, threatening to topple you both. Your thighs quaked on either side of his torso, tightening around him as your inner walls fluttered with release.

Jason leaned an arm against the wall, heaving with the effort as you wobbled one leg off his hip, then another. He held up your skirts out of the way until your stance was steady. The sight of his cum dribbling down your legs gave him no small pleasure. His length bobbed with the threat of another round.

“See? Evidence.”

You rolled your eyes at him. But you also squeezed your thighs together as you tugged your skirts out of his grasp. You didn’t mind that he’d made a mess of you. To be fair, you’d made a mess of him too. Your pulse quickened with the sight of his rumpled shirt, and his struggle to replace his length into his pants. But when you straightened up, the weight of the evening almost toppled you over again. The sounds of the gala filtered back into the room, audible now that you had separated. You swallowed against the sudden dryness of your mouth. “How am I going to do this?”

“Just leave. I’ll call Dick tomorrow and he can yell at me then.”

“No. I have to tell them.” Jason’s dour face continued to disagree, but he helped you turn on the back-up listening device in your other ear. He seemed a little dejected at its presence, but you assured him it could only be turned on by touch. It was too dangerous to turn on remotely. He nodded when it flashed red once. A second later, the light disengaged, and it was the same color as your skin.

“There you are. Is everything alright?”

You swallowed. “Yes. Hood is here.” A shallow breath rattled through your lungs. “Nightwing, about London-“

“Yes, we heard. I assure you, we’re not worried about that right now. We got what we needed, now get out of there. Keep the link open, just in case.”

“Will do. But when we meet up with Oracle… we need to talk.” Your fingers curled into the spaces between Jason’s shirt buttons as your partner’s silence lingered.

He finally answered. “Yes. We do. But be safe. Get out of there.”

Jason gently removed your hands from his shirt. He shrugged on his suit jacket. Silently, he helped untwist your dress strap. With one more look, he helped make sure you didn’t appear too ravaged. But just enough to explain your absence. You walked back into the hall side by side. Jason broke off towards coat-check to gather your things.

“There you are, Miss Wayne.” Dormeer’s smile was brighter than an oil slick. “I thought we lost you.” He glanced over your shoulder as Jason appeared with your shoulder wrap. “Leaving so soon?” His smile sank in deeper as Jason’s hands lingered. He nodded as if he understood.

You glanced back as if seeing Jason for the first time. “Ah, yes. I have a… headache sinking in.” You shared a nod back, confirming what he wasn’t saying. It implied that you were taking this man home with you. “It’s a side effect of the tequila,” you added with a giggle. Opening your purse, you held out your hand. “Do you have a card? When I’m to rights in the morning, I will think over your offer in greater detail. Then I can give you a call and confirm a donation worthy of the cause at hand.”

Mr. Dormeer was dazzled by the possibility of a large chunk of Wayne funding. You could see his mind turning over with the calculations of how much he thought you were thinking of; an amount too much and too bold for announcing at a gala. He fumbled for a card. “Of course. I hope your headache dispels quickly.”

Placing a hand over Jason’s on your shoulder, you smiled at him. “I’m sure it will. Good evening, Mr. Dormeer.”

“Please, call me Kenneth. I’m sure we will get to know each other better as our discussions progress. Until then, good evening, Miss Wayne.”

Jason led you calmly, but quickly out of the hall. Once you were out of eyesight, Dormeer’s smile withered. He summoned over one of the mayor’s security guards. “Find out who that waiter was. His face is familiar. There shouldn’t be any familiar faces in the kitchen staff. No repeating lower-class servants.”

“Right away, Sir.”

The gala continued to glitter and shine around him. As a gaggle of elite women dripping in pearls started to head his way, he threw on another bright, but thin, smile. The waiter’s familiar face would come back to him soon. And when he found out and handled the situation, then he could further plan how to exploit the Wayne family’s fortune through the billionaire’s heir.

***

Masterlink

DC Fanfiction Masterlist

Other Jason Todd Fics:

 Familiar (F, S, A)

Two Hoods, One Revenge (S)

Midnight Run (Implied S)

Your Favorite Game (S)

His and Hers Need (F, S)

Galas with the Batfam:

Midnight Vibrations (New Years, S) - Dick x Reader

A Party for Two (S, Holiday Party) - Bruce x Reader

[axl-gets-creative]

sum demolition lovers art!

The man looks weird asf bc for some reason I can never draw this bitch right??? 😭

so LITTLE AU LORE DUMP 👅👅👅 (this post is not going to my masterlist bc it's not an official introduction for my au this is jst context)

SOOO in my three cheers au (which ties up into tbp which ties up into dd and becomes one big mcr au but we're not on that yet.....) illi mcmillin and phillip Lero (what I named franks character) grow up to be the demolition lovers, which is what they call themselves to stay anonymous, and become these masked (?) killers BUTTTTTTT they only kill BAD ppl bc I said so 🗣️ guhh but yeah illis a vampire ofc :D and uhh the context for this drawing is that when illi and Phillip died (illi died before Phillip but that's not important, and no illi did not die in the gunfight she went into a coma and THEN died from suicide that totally wasn't actually inflicted by the devil) illi wanted to kill the devil and (bc they're in the paper kingdom (black parade) now bc it's kinda like an in between of heaven and hell for ppl who aren't good but aren't bad either) she went to the vocalist (Gerard, bc the band members named R unknown in tbp) and straight up said "hey vro can I kill the devil :3" and he was like "OMG YES OFC!!!! bout time that bitch is ANNOYING!!!!!" Bc he chill like that and then hands her a special dagger that can kill the devine and gave her access to hell and she absolutely SLAUGHTERED that ho to shreds and then kept his heart as a souvenir for her and Phillip <333 (but dw hell has a voting system bc the devil is so hated that the current one gets killed like every other billion or trillion years or so so they legit gotta keep back ups💀 illi even considered fucking them all over and ruling hell herself BUTTTT I myself have not decided if I wanted to do that so I'm keeping the first idea canon FOR NOW)

Sigh i love the demolition lovers

edit: EHEM SO I HAVE CONSUMED NEW INFORMATION AND DECIDED TO CHANGE THIS

so instead of illi being in a coma and all of that i decided to change it to were shes already fuckign DEAD🗣️ from the gunfight (sob, i only get to write one suicide now 💔)d and shes jst there in the paper kingdom like "tf i miss my husband r u gonna bring me back to him or is he coming to me wtf is happening help i miss my pookie" BUTTT this time she isnt aware of anything going on with the devil (0ther than the fact thhat his fuckass satanic cult are the ones who killed them both, oh yeah i never mentioned there was cult-) so when phillip dies from suicide (nothing much changes on his part) and goes to the paper kingdom he tells illi about everything and home girl is MADDDDDDDDDDDDD and THEN she kills the devil

(yes i changed this bc i realized gerard drew who me and others *cough cough slayicous dude in a video essay cough cough* believe is the demo woman on a FUCKING autopsy table with a FUCKING gunshot wound so yeah)

[forthegothicheroine]

The Red Dead Redemption games are obviously not very realistic, but it's interesting that they don't do the 'gunfight with strict dueling rules' western trope. Quite reasonably, people just shoot each other when they get the chance.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I have two questions/requests!

1) Who do you think the worst (X-Men) would be? Who has the worst yandere tendencies and hovers?

2) Thinking about the Batfamily and how they’re one of the few families in DC who can fight really REALLY well without the use of a power. How would X-Men react to a daughter who was raised in the Batfamily and somehow got tossed into their universe? She can fight REALLY well (like Cassandra Cain level) but has NO mutations whatsoever. I feel like Magneto might be a little iffy around her because of her lack of mutation. They would all worry so much lol. Fighting well without a mutation is the equivalent of bringing a knife to a gunfight in their world

I can answer the first one, just not the second, because i don't do DC!

The worst platonic yandere X-Men is hard to pick, but in terms of overprotectiveness, harsh methods, deranged vibes, ability to keep and hunt Reader, and how far they'd go... I can narrow it down to a top five, I think-

Number 5: Jean and Scott. They go together, hand in hand, and both are leaders of the teen X-Men, Jean has the Phoenix Force, telekinetic abilities, mind reading and manipulation, is popular and friendly, and one wouldn't suspect her until it really is too late to go back. Scott can shoot lasers from his eyes, he's a good leader, he's welcoming and a little stern, but can be persuaded to have fun, and is like an older, protective brother, one you can't escape from and who you feel guilty leaving. They have the X-Men to back them up, they have Xavier as a father figure, they have Logan who is like their second proud dad, amd Storm and Hank as well who adore them, not to mention the other X-Teens who back them up and will help them as friends and as teammates. So, yeah, you migh be able to escape, but just barely, and probably have to turn to the dark side to do so...

Number Four: Professor Xavier. He can read minds, control them, use Cerebro to track you whenever you use your powers, and has an entire team and family of mutants who are good fighters, tacticians, and aren't afraid to back down and won't quit until they've got you with them. If he's platonic yandere, well, good luck, so are all of the X-Men, and possibly even Magneto (because if Charles likes someone, Erik will want to as well)! He's inviting, he's soothing, he calming, and he can help you; but he will also keep secrets from you, manipulate you if he thinks you aren't going to stay, and push you to rely on him and the others and see them as family. You will grow emotionally attached, amd it will hurt if you figure out what's happening and what they've tried to hide. But if you run, your only bet is either Magneto and his group, or going where no one can reach you...

Number Three: Wolverine. This guy is nigh unkillable, he has long, metal-coated claws, has heightened hearing, smell, amd sight, can withstand extreme cold, and is super protective, obsessive, and willing to die for you and kill for you. He will make you join his team, he will not let you around people he deems bad influences or dangerous, and he will not stand for you acting or being insubordanate. He won't hurt you, and if he does, it is the last, last resort. He prefers having Xavier and the teens help him, and pushes you and his other wards to be friends, to he family. And if he's interested, well, so is Sabretooth. So if you ran, you won't get far, with either Logan or the teens catching you, or Sabretooth finding you instead. You're very, very scr*wed unless you have a power that helps you in this situation...

Number Two: Sabretooth. He's like Wolverine, but worse. Doubly protective, doubly obsessive, has sharp claws, has fangs, can withstand what Wolverine can, is also near unkillable, and has a temper, too. Don't p*ss him off. There are rules, you better follow them, and you won't be drugged or possibly wounded so you remember why you're still there, and who is the one in charge. If you're hurt or almost killed, he becomes so much gentler, and is treating you almost like glass. If he likes you, Logan is definitely getting involved, and where Logan gets involved, so will Storm and the X-Teens. You will not escape unless it's with the X-Men, and if you go with them, good chance is Victor's watching you all...

Number One: Magneto. He's lost everything, multiple times. His family, his home, his friend, more than once. He's grown to be paranoid, obsessive, cunning, dangerous, and a powerful enemy of the X-Men... He can control metal and the magnetic field. Anything can be a weapon for him. He has a loyal son, a team of Acolytes, Mystique, and the Brotherhood teens, all of whom won't fight back against him and who who what he says. The moment he says you're joining, you're not getting out of it unless by some miracle Xavier hides you with him. But if that isn't the case, you're now stuck where Magneto puts you. If he likes you, that means Pietro and Wanda are trying to see what he finds so fascinating, and that leads them to liking you, albeit begrudingly at first. Then Mystique wonders why he's adding you to their group, spies on you, and is now getting the rest of the Brotherhood to keep an eye on you as well. Someone is always watching you. You feel stressed, unable to sleep, unable to eat. But if you run, if you can't make it to the X-Men, you won't be seen again until you're deemed loyal or unable to leave them... Unless you have Xavier's help, you are not escaping...

[natequarter]

you seem to be the most knowledgable classic who person around so, question, if you feel like answering: if i wanted a passing knowledge of all the companions (and their doctors), do you have a list of one serial each that best displays their personalities? i'm realizing as i type this that it's kind of a big question so no worries if not lol

absolutely not the most knowledgeable classic who person around but i have (for better or worse) finished watching its twenty-six year run, so here is a poor attempt to sum it up. as a rule i've given most companions more than one serial, but hopefully they'll give you a broad idea of each companion.

first doctor era

susan:

an unearthly child (especially part 1): her introduction

marco polo: susan isn't handled brilliantly in her original run, but this one gives her a rather sweet friendship with a girl her own age for once

the dalek invasion of earth: her exit

ian and barbara:

an unearthly child: their introduction

the edge of destruction: short but sweet, everyone goes insane and barbara chews the doctor out for being a murderous git

the aztecs: strongly focused on barbara and her, uh, white saviour complex, which is a hell of a character flaw to give your science fiction protagonist!

the romans: everyone loves this one, and certainly it'll give you a good idea of the domestic side of their relationship… and also The Horrors. be warned, barbara is threatened with rape

the chase: a delightfully messy romp across the universe. here be bad american accents. also has a fantastic exit for ian and barbara

vicki:

the rescue: her introduction, and a damn good one at that

the romans: unlike ian and barbara, vicki has a lovely time! the doctor and vicki are at peak shenanigans here

the space museum: you know what the kids wants? that's right, anarchism and revolution

the myth makers: almost entirely lost to the sands of time, but remarkably good considering. vicki's exit is not what you might call compelling, but it's still a delightfully fun serial for her

steven:

the chase: he only appears in the last episode, but it is his introduction and it is remarkably effective

the time meddler: in which steven is extremely hotheaded and acts about as sanely as you would expect from a man who spent two years in total isolation from any other sentient being. also it's delightfully fun

the massacre: Steven's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. no, worse than that. has a beautiful confrontation at the end between the doctor and steven; steven is the first companion to truly break

for dodo i'll just recommend the one: the gunfighters. and for the first doctor (who you can easily get a taste of through any of the above), i'll also suggest the savages (steven's last story) and of course the tenth planet.

second doctor era

ben and polly:

the war machines: their intro, and the first base under siege. enjoy them whilst you can. great companion intro, though!

the highlanders: more for polly than for ben, though he does get some fun bits. polly, meanwhile, goes around mugging english officers for the fuck of it. probably her best serial

the moonbase: let's all dissolve cybermen with acid!

the macra terror: Ben Gets Indoctrinated. the macra do not exist! a real classic

jamie:

the faceless ones: he's barely in his first few serials, and this is the first one where he gets some proper characterisation and moments in his own right

the evil of the daleks: in which a companion once again chews out the doctor, and also, there are daleks

the war games: goes without saying. maybe don't watch this one for an introduction to jamie, though!

victoria:

tomb of the cybermen: victoria's first outing as a companion

the enemy of the world: look it's just a really good serial okay

fury from the deep: i struggle to think of any one serial that can easily summarise victoria, but this is the conclusion to the character arc she goes through, and as a consequence probably most focused on her personally

zoe:

the wheel in space: her introduction, and will give you a fairly clear idea of how she starts out

the mind robber: a fantastic serial in its own right, and jamie and zoe are both great here

the krotons: an okay serial, but it has some lovely moments for zoe and zoe with the doctor

for the second doctor specifically, check out power of the daleks and, of course, the war games

third doctor era

liz only appears in four stories, all in season 7, and all of season 7 is pretty good, so i'd suggest just putting on spearhead from space and going from there. the brigadier likewise appears in all of season 7, if you fancy serials for him specifically.

jo:

terror of the autons: her introduction, and also the master's, and also also yates'. there's a lot going on here. it's fun.

the dæmons: who would win? satan, or jo grant? the answer is jo obviously

the time monster: you just had to be there. jo continues to defeat epic forces of nature

the green death: jo's exit, and really well done considering they married her off

sarah:

the time warrior: her introduction, and a fun mockery of historicals

invasion of the dinosaurs: um, don't watch this one without first watching at least some of seasons 8-10. that aside: this is one of my favourites for sarah specifically, she's in top deranged form here

robot: this one is about sarah and a robot and her friendship with it and everyone else is irrelevant okay

the seeds of doom: all of season 13 is fantastic but listen we've all got trapped in a composter from time to time

the hand of fear: her exit, and i mean the last five minutes are magnificent

for the third doctor specifically, i actually quite like day of the daleks, and of course the three doctors is good.

fourth doctor era

harry:

the ark in space: i'm honestly not sure harry gets any real defining serials, but if he did, it would probably be this one. he spends most of robot being tied up or knocked unconscious or standing in the background looking pretty.

genesis of the daleks: a classic for a reason. he gets his foot stuck in a clam.

leela:

the face of evil: this is The leela serial. her introduction. fantastic on every level. she's an atheist thanks

horror of fang rock: sometimes you have to slap annoying screaming women. great horror

the sun makers: see vicki, the space museum; women love nothing more than revolution

romana:

the pirate planet: it takes romana .5 seconds to start imitating the doctor. she gets some really good lines in this one

city of death: ah, the eternal classic

the horns of nimon: ah, the other eternal classic, though maybe not for the right reasons

shada: like city of death, this is romana at the height of her adamsian whimsy

warriors' gate: one of my absolute favourite serials. romana's exit.

adric:

full circle: his introduction. for a brief and beautiful moment he almost worked as a character.

the keeper of traken: probably the closest adric comes to being a decent companion. he works better with four than five in my opinion

earthshock: yes, this is his exit. no, it's not that good

for the fourth doctor, he has that rare companion-lite serial: the deadly assassin. i'm also a fan of the androids of tara and state of decay.

fifth doctor era

nyssa:

the keeper of traken: she's not a companion in this one, only a side character, but she's pretty good as a side character

castrovalva: everything happens so much

tegan:

logopolis: her introduction, and a damn good serial to boot

kinda/snakedance: in which tegan is haunted by an eldritch snake

enlightenment: a fantastic and surreal serial

resurrection of the daleks: a wonderfully heartbreaking exit, shame about the daleks

turlough:

mawdryn undead: his introduction, the brigadier is there? don't make deals with gods, kids. unironically pretty fun

enlightenment: in which turlough tries to kill himself and gets tied up by pirates. also, more godlike beings.

frontios: weirdly focused on turlough in a very weird way. you'll see what i mean if you watch it

planet of fire: his exit, spent naked

for the fifth doctor, i'd recommend the visitation, the five doctors, and the awakening.

sixth doctor era

peri:

planet of fire: planet of shorts, more like. her introduction.

the caves of androzani: she is straight up not having a good time but at least it's a good serial

*crickets*

peri baby i'm so sorry

the mark of the rani. i guess.

mel:

paradise towers: it's camp okay. also the lesbian cannibals are a highlight

delta and the bannermen: i genuinely love this one

dragonfire: her exit, and weird but delightful

for the sixth doctor, i'd recommend vengeance on varos.

seventh doctor era

ace:

dragonfire: tells you all you need to know about her, but wait! every other serial she's in is a fucking banger!

remembrance of the daleks: this teenager kills fascists. ICONIC

ghost light: it's not "confusing", it's "warriors' gate". and warriors' gate is confusing but that's a good thing

the curse of fenric: a really great serial with parallels to the god complex and also communism repels vampires

survival: lesbian furry ace + the master is there

for the seventh doctor, i'd recommend the happiness patrol, silver nemesis (fuck you it's good), and battlefield (which, again, happens to have the brigadier in it).

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Public Notice:

It has often been said that Donald Trump was running for president to keep himself out of prison. Mission accomplished.

But the fact that Trump wasn’t behind bars long ago, that he didn’t suffer any consequences for his criming and now likely never will, can be laid squarely at the feet of one man: Attorney General Merrick Garland. Garland dragged his feet on prosecuting Trump for election interference and pilfering classified documents, making it easy for him to run out the clock.  Coming in on the heels of a literal insurrection, Garland was a bad fit for his job from the jump. He made clear early on that he didn’t see addressing issues from the Trump era as a priority, declaring that he would not look backward. Garland is an institutionalist, leading him to see his real job as protecting the Department of Justice rather than imposing any consequences on Bill Barr and others who turned the DOJ into a corrupt playground. Someone who saw the abstract notion of an institution as more important than actual people and actual wrongdoing was never going to be the person who aggressively pursued an ex-president whose crimes were always in full view, which was what the country desperately needed back in 2021.

Bringing a knife to a gunfight

Rather than moving quickly to prosecute people — including Trump — for January 6, Garland’s first moves were to take actions that actually favored Trump, all in the name of protecting the institution. In May 2021, the DOJ went to court to block the release of most of a Bill Barr memo that might have revealed how hard Barr worked to avoid charging Trump with obstruction of justice after the Mueller report. There, Garland was continuing work that had begun under Trump. But while it made sense that Barr would want to block the release of information revealing his role in helping Trump, it made no sense for Garland to want the same. The country had both a right and a need to learn everything possible about what happened during the first Trump presidency and led to a spasm of treasonous violence. That’s far more important than getting a generally favorable ruling on the DOJ’s right to sit on memos. 

Garland also moved quickly to defend Trump against defamation claims by E. Jean Carroll, brought after Trump claimed she made up her accusation of sexual assault to sell books. The DOJ filed a brief substituting the government as the defendant for Trump so it could argue that Trump’s defamation of Carroll was done in the scope of his employment as president, which would likely have resulted in the case getting dismissed. As with the Barr memo, Garland decided it was more important to preserve the DOJ’s general ability to protect federal officials from defamation claims than to acknowledge the unprecedented nature of Trump’s behavior and let him suffer the consequences he clearly deserved.  Taken in a vacuum, neither of these actions would be quite so galling. In both instances, Garland was generally trying to maximize the DOJ’s power, which isn’t necessarily awful. But what is galling is that he took these two steps with such swiftness, only a few months after being confirmed, while not showing nearly the same concern to address Trump’s crimes. 

Fairness to the point of absurdity

Garland’s desire to always appear evenhanded is also what led to the ridiculously aggressive pursuit of Hunter Biden, naming a special counsel and ultimately successfully prosecuting the president’s son for tax evasion and lying on a federal form to obtain a gun. And don’t forget how swiftly Garland appointed a special counsel to investigate President Biden’s retention of classified material. In early November 2022, the White House voluntarily disclosed that some classified documents had been found at Biden’s think tank. The FBI opened an investigation five days later, and Garland raced to name a special counsel, appointing Robert Hur in January 2023. Hur was a Trump appointee, serving as United States Attorney for the District of Maryland from 2018 to 2021, and he demonstrated his hackishness by releasing a report in February of this year that did grave political damage to Biden by gratuitously describing him as an “elderly man with a poor memory.”

While Garland couldn’t move fast enough to protect the DOJ and to aggressively pursue the Biden family to show his evenhandedness, he didn’t get around to naming Jack Smith as a special prosecutor until November 2022, nearly two years after the insurrection. By that time, it was likely already too late. This is true even if Smith had not run into unexpected obstacles, such as Trump winning over the Supreme Court with an absurd argument that he was basically wholly immune from criminal charges.

[...]

All those motions and appeals take time, which is why it was a bad idea to wait until November 2022 to appoint Smith, who then had to convene a grand jury to consider criminal charges over Trump’s willful retention of classified documents and his lies to the FBI about it. Smith didn’t issue an indictment in that case until June 2023. Smith had to convene a separate grand jury for charges related to the insurrection, so the DOJ didn’t indict Trump on those charges until August 2023.

This left Smith overseeing two incredibly complex cases against a defendant with nearly limitless resources, given that Trump could keep tapping political action committees for his legal bills, shifting the cost to his campaign donors and the RNC. By March 2024, Trump had racked up $100 million in legal fees, and while he kept draining the coffers of various PACs, donors were always eager to replenish those funds. Therefore, Trump could file as many frivolous motions as he wanted and run out the clock without taking any money out of his pocket. Smith never honestly had a chance that these cases would wrap up before Election Day. Garland’s foot-dragging on naming Smith is precisely what allowed Trump to run out the clock on his federal criminal charges, setting the stage for a presidential run that culminated Tuesday with his shockingly thorough defeat of Vice President Kamala Harris.

Appointing Merrick Garland to AG was a terrible choice in retrospect, as his timidness allowed a criminal to get off scot-free and run for President (and win).

[wedreamedlove]

Special Exhibition Guide | L. O. V. E. Coranso Special Exhibition

Welcome to the “City of Heaven” and step into a thought-provoking exhibition: wrath, gluttony, pride, greed, envy… The concealed “original sins” are made public here, and the deeply hidden love of life can also be seen at a glance.

Now, let us follow the introductions of the specially invited tour guide—Professor Wang Jiehong of the School of Arts at Wuhan University, and step into these intriguing original realms and begin a unique visual feast.

WRATH

Wrath, an intense and almost uncontrollable emotional state.

Blood splatter turns into streamers and out-of-control bullets are suspended in the air. A bloody, cruel, and violent scene created by wrath, through artistic processing, has been transformed into a beautiful and impactful visual presentation, providing the audience with a unique aesthetic experience and room for thought about the “aesthetics of violence”. Guns and bullets, elements that carry violence, blend with formal attire and streamers, elements that carry decorative meanings.

“Wrath” is often seen as a negative emotion, generally accompanied by extreme conflicts and destruction. When we try to go beyond this intuitive understanding, we abstractify “wrath” and transform it into a visual and emotional resonance. This is not a romanticization of “wrath” but rather a reinterpretation of this complicated emotion. Just like how Osborn’s love and commitment to you is engraved in the depths of his wrathful and burning soul.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can enjoy a fiery and complex sensory feast that transcends life and death in “Scorching Fantasies”.

AESTHETICS OF VIOLENCE

“Violence” is rooted in human nature, especially the natural state that is opposite to human sociality. Under the discipline of civilized society, violence is often stigmatized as “barbarism” or “demonism”, but in art it may be presented as a kind of affectation, exaggeration, or visual form and aesthetic style of “turning ugliness into beauty”. The term “aesthetics of violence” mainly refers to the formalized artistic treatment of violent scenes, aiming to pursue a unique visual charm and aesthetic pleasure. Its core lies in transforming elements such as violence and blood into a pure visual experience and to highlight formal beauty through carefully designed scenes of gunfights, fighting, killing, etc., so as to achieve a dazzling and extreme visual effect.

GLUTTONY

Gluttony, a deviation from reason and piety and a short-term indulgence under the domination of desire.

A grotesque and variegated indulgence arouses a deeper and insatiable hunger—for food, and for a deeper desire. The “human body” crystals made of flesh and blood gleam with temptation in the dark and the plates are no longer filled with food. The limitations of traditional narrative and expression techniques are broken, creating a unique visual experience with postmodern aesthetic characteristics for the audience.

“Gluttony” is often understood as an excessive desire for food but, in essence, it’s an unrestrained indulgence of desire. Food is to the hungry as blood is to the Blood Clan and as your love is to Evan. Try to extend the literal meaning of “gluttony” to the realest and most basic desire. His craving for your love will never tire.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can enjoy a gluttonous banquet in “The Rules of Yesterday” where reason is banished and desire is served as food on a plate.

POSTMODERNISM

“Postmodernism” is a mainstream thought and culture that emerged in the United States after World War II and then spread to the world, and which is still popular today. Postmodernism originates from post-modernism and anti-modernism, with its prominent feature being “anti-traditionalism”. It emphasizes the deconstruction of traditional aesthetic concepts (such as unity, depth, and grand narrative) and focuses on pluralism, fragmentation, and superficiality. Postmodernism rejects absolute truth and grand narratives and advocates the use of collages, parody, and hybrid forms to display multiple aspects of culture, society, and personal experience. Combining the elites with the masses, high art with popular culture, and history with contemporary elements, postmodernism attempts to break the boundary between art and everyday life.

PRIDE

Pride, an arrogant sight like a sharp blade slices open the curtain of ordinary daily life.

Unconventional “intruders” swagger into this originally peaceful life, like the opening of an absurd farce. Furry monsters that would never appear in reality have broken into the most ordinary fashion office. Through the use of surrealist elements, the boundary between reality and fantasy is broken at this moment and the transformation of space is now complete.

This depiction of “pride” is not straightforward. The protagonist of the scene takes the center in an unquestionable manner, displaying “pride” with his posture, eyes, and presence itself. “Pride” is often interpreted as “arrogance and contempt for others” but it can also be self-affirmation and self-confidence. It is not a derogatory term, but rather a manifestation of inner strength. Don’t run away. Run towards him warmly, furrily, and with unbelievable yet incredible power. Just like the little monsters invading the office.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can appreciate an extraordinary feast dominated by pride and full of impact and shock in “Overturning the Noise”.

SURREALISM

“Surrealism” originated in France in the early 20th century and gradually spread to the world, affecting literature, painting, drama, movies, and other fields. Surrealism is guided by Freud’s psychoanalytic theory, and its creations have classic characteristics such as “exceeding reality”, “dreamlike narratives”, and “stream of consciousness”. These works often feature illogical combinations of objects and unreal effects that are beyond reality. Not only do they break the logic and conventions of reality, but they also create a dreamlike and unreasonable visual effect, triggering imagination and thought.

GREED

Greed, gather the longing gazes and project it into a vortex of desire.

A “good show” performed by the planner himself raises its curtains here. The pomegranate heart, which has been pecked to the point of dripping with blood, and the eagle statue, gilded like bloodstains, together form the footnote of the myth in the form of a symbolic metaphor. The bound “Prometheus” returns to the mortal world in flesh and blood and interprets a new story about “greed”.

The protagonist of the story not only expresses greed, but he also carries your greed. It even becomes the concrete manifestation of a pure and primitive desire—namely the essence of greed. Look at Charlie, face him, and face your “greed” caused by him. No need to criticize, let us face it, and face this part of human nature.

Thank you for the visit, and we hope you can enjoy a tireless and endless feast created by greed in “Insatiable Tide”.

SYMBOLS AND METAPHORS

Symbols and metaphors are important methods and means of artistic creation. They express abstract concepts through concrete images, which not only deepen themes but also enhance emotional resonances, and they also enrich the interpretation space of a work through ambiguity and openness. They give an artwork greater cultural influence and universality, while also transcending the limitations of language and regions in cultural exchange, and allow a work to present deeper ideological connotations and emotional appeal.

ENVY

Envy, a hidden and corrosive undercurrent of emotion, quietly surging in the depths of the soul.

Resplendent lights, a magnificent stage set, and gorgeous curtains, a grand play is about to begin. The reference and tribute to the classic Broadway stage design has set the dramatic tone for this “performance”. Illusory reflections sway in front of the eyes and puppets stretch out their hands to the stage, like a bizarre dream full of absurdity.

Thousands of incarnations of his inner “him” are envious of “him” only because “you” choose to stand beside “him”. The interpretation of “envy” in this scene, turning it into a resonance of visual and emotional intertwinement, is a deep analysis of this complex emotion. Is it a weakness of human nature, a “sin” committed, or another expression of love?

Thank you for your visit, we hope you enjoy this confusing and profound drama feast ignited by envy in “Echo of Souls’ Desires”.

VISUAL INTERTEXTUALITY

“Intertextuality”, also known as “relationship between texts”, means that a text is not self-sufficient and must have other texts existing in various recognizable forms at different degrees. Its meaning can only be generated through mutual reference or cross-referencing other texts. The “reference” and “tribute” of a visual text are all manifestations of intertextuality. It enriches its own connotation and meaning by drawing upon and referencing other visual forms (such as the classic Broadway stage). This practice not only refers to drawing upon and imitating elements, composition, or overall styles of classic works, but also reinterpreting and innovatively using classic elements in creation to pay tribute to the original work or creator, including ridicule or even criticism.

[wordstome]

Endless Nights - Price x Reader

I started thinking about Sandman again because of Barry Sloane as Destruction of the Endless and went back to reread everything Destruction is in, including his Endless Nights story. Now I can't stop thinking about Price x archaeologist reader...

1.7k, please forgive any archaeological or military errors I only took like 1 anthropology class two years ago

You've been on all sorts of digs, but this has got to be one of the most chaotic. Your team's been sent to this peninsula to unearth some recently discovered artifacts. They think it's remnants of a little-known indigenous population, and it's your job to dig everything up safely.

Only problem is, there's a military base on top of it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. Military personnel are good at following orders," your coworker says while you're unpacking your tools.

You snort. "Yeah, but they're equally good at putting holes in things and blowing things up. I don't think they have a lot of respect for fragile ancient artifacts."

"Ouch," your coworker says, wincing and putting a hand to his chest in a mock expression of pain. "No love for our nation's bravest?" You roll your eyes at him.

"It's not like that. I'm just saying we need to be vigilant about keeping them away from work sites. Take no shit, as it were."

"With the military? Good luck, I guess."

It's not that you dislike or even distrust every single person who's ever been in the military, it's just that you don't have much faith in their ability to hold respect for your work. Archaeology is quiet, meticulous work, a far cry from gunfights and kicking doors in. You're going to be here for quite a while, and if you don't establish boundaries right out of the gate, you'll be fighting an uphill battle for the rest of the dig.

That's what you're telling yourself as you sit in a gray, featureless meeting room. You and your supervisor are supposed to be meeting with a John Price, a British SAS captain. Kate Laswell, an American CIA agent, told you he's the proxy you'll be cooperating with during the dig.

You're prepared for all sorts of men to walk through that door: a balding middle-aged man with a power trip, or perhaps some blustering meathead whose voice no longer goes lower than a shout. Instead, the man that walks through the door and shakes your supervisor's hand leaves you staring, just barely keeping it together enough so you're not drooling with your jaw on the floor.

He's hot.

Your head fills with static as he turns to you and hits you with possibly the most endearing smile you've ever seen on a man. It's not just that he's somehow pulling off the beard and mutton chops look, or that his rough British accent is making you feel some type of way down there. It's the way he walks, like it's heavy—

"Pleased to meet you," Price says, shaking your hand. His hand engulfs yours as he gives it a brief squeeze. It takes your every last brain cell to answer with something other than Please tell me you're not wearing a wedding ring because you're actually single.

The meeting consists of him and your supervisor laying ground rules while you nod mutely and try not to audibly moan when Price adjusts himself in his seat, his hips moving in a way that is definitely going to undo you if you think about it too hard.

You walk out of the meeting having barely survived, but confident that the whole ordeal was a one-time thing. He's just who you complain to if one of the soldiers stumbles into a work site and smashes one of the artifacts, after all. You'll never have to see him.

Except you do. Every day, multiple times a day, he's there. He's obviously got his own shit to do of course, but it's like you can't get away from him: walk into a tent, and he's there chatting to one of your coworkers. Eat a meal, and he's there talking to a squad of soldiers and clapping someone on the back with a hearty laugh. Turn a corner, and he's there to full-body slam into you—

"Pardon me, sweetheart. Didn't see ya there." You're ashamed to say you don't do much more than stare at him with what must be the most pathetic petrified doe eyes as he gives you a pat on the shoulder and goes on his merry way. That was like running into a solid brick wall...

It would be fine if it were just you having a silly little unreciprocated crush. You've had those before and survived. But what starts to get to you is the little things: the way his eyes flick to you when you enter his vicinity, accompanied by a nod. The way his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before looking away. The brief touches against your shoulders or hips when he's maneuvering past you in a small space.

Frankly, it's driving you crazy, and it's starting to show.

"If you dust that piece any harder, you're going to damage it," your coworker scolds you. You all but jump backwards from the piece you're working on. You'd been so absorbed in mentally dissecting his body language the last time you were in the same room as him that you'd brushed the piece far beyond the point of being clean.

This won't do. You have to do something about this.

Mercifully, you've been given your own individual room to sleep in, which is quite the luxury after a career full of sleeping in dusty tents or sharing bunks with coworkers. It also gives you enough privacy to...take care of business, as it were.

Obviously, you didn't bring any "tools of the trade" that weren't useful for your work, so it's just you and your hand past 11 pm. You feel beyond perverted, slipping a hand between your thighs as you think of Captain Price.

You can still feel the weight of his hands on your body, brief though they were, and picture what else those touches could be doing. Your own voice slips out in a moan as you imagine his, low and grumbling yet soothing while he pushes you into the sheets, that endearing smile turned devious and devastatingly sexy as he spreads you open for him with those hands of his and collects your wetness on his fingers...

Your heart jumps out of your chest as you hear a knock at the door. You all but fall out of bed, scrambling to pull on enough clothing to be decent. "J-just a minute!" you call, inwardly cursing yourself for how breathless you must sound.

You answer the door, flustered and a mess, to see the subject of all your fantasies staring there. For a split second, you're petrified by the possibility of Price having heard your desperate whines and whimpers and knocking on your door to politely ask you to quit cranking it in his barracks.

"Apologies, sweetheart. Hope I didn't wake you up?" His eyes are so striking, so sincere, that you know he could have woken you up from the best sleep of your life and you'd still be unable to be mad at him.

"No no, I was...no need to worry. What can I do for you?" you say, relief flooding through you. Of course he didn't hear you. He's not a total pervert like you.

"Well love, I...it's probably best if you come take a look for yourself," Price says, looking almost sheepish. Your heart sinks a little—this cannot be good.

He leads you out of the barracks towards one of the job sites, directing you towards a table with several excavated artifacts laid out. "One of my men thought it'd be wise to steal his mate's torch, had him stumbling around in the dark out here. He says he bumped one of these tables and heard something fall on the ground, and I figured you should know right away instead of waiting 'til the morning and having all sorts of people tramping through here."

You give him a brief grateful look before crouching down with a flashlight. After a bit of looking, you find the missing object: a thick shard of pottery, lying forlornly on its side by a table leg.

You reach forward to pick it up, but the captain has spotted it as well, resulting in his hand landing on top of yours over the pottery. For a brief, dizzying second, his hand lays heavy and warm over yours, and you could have sworn that his fingers had shifted as if to take your hand in his.

In a blink, the moment's over, and the captain's hand shoots back to his side. Trying not to make an utter fool of yourself, you push yourself back up to a standing position, examining the pottery shard with a discerning eye.

"Looks like no harm was done," you say to him with a smile. "Mayday averted."

"Good to hear. I'll make sure the knuckleheads who did this receive a thorough dressin' down for this incident." You're grateful that the warmth rushing to your face at his stern tone can't be seen in the dark as you carefully set the pottery back in its place on the table.

"I'll walk you back to the barracks. Can't have my favorite archaeologist stumblin' their way around themselves, now can I?" You nod mutely, unable to look at him for much longer than a few stolen glances.

The two of you are quiet all the way back to your door, where you stand in the hallway, fidgeting with your hands and feeling the urge to say something, anything. "Thank you," you blurt out. "For not waiting until tomorrow morning. There's no telling what foot traffic would have done before we noticed the missing piece."

"Your work's important, love. And while you're here, you're our guests. It'd be rude to not be taking care of your work, wouldn't it?" You nod shyly, basking in the warmth of his attention.

You're frozen to the spot as he leans in to whisper directly in your ear, his lips brushing against it. "Next time you're relievin' a bit of tension, feel free to stop by my quarters, yeah? I think you'll find there's a lot more I can take care of than just your work."

Your eyes go as wide as saucers as he winks at you. Before you can even process what just happened, he's already walking away from you down the hall.

Feeling like you've just been handed some delicious and forbidden secret, you whirl around to shut yourself into your room, sliding down with your back against the door to sit on the floor. Did that truly just happen? Are you hallucinating? Or had you fallen asleep by accident and you're really just having some beautiful, delusional dream?

It doesn't feel like a dream when you realize you're soaking wet.

God, I cannot wait until Barry Sloane's Destruction promo images drop. For reference, these are the posters we got for season 1:

To be very honest, I wrote this like a possessed woman in the span of like an hour. I don't think there's going to be a part 2 unless you guys really get me going with some new ideas 😅

Also, I don't have a tag list (because I write almost exclusively for one particular Austrian), but I will tag my beloved @danibee33, and @ceilidho, as thanks for giving me Barry Sloane brainworms.