#same alley different decade?

[silaslich]

If it hurts to breathe, open a window

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Summary - following the first mission with Soap in mw2. You meet Ghost for the first time, he’s different to the stories you’ve been told.

Wc - 10k

Cw - heavy on plot, injury/blood/death, directly follows mw2 canon, canon typical violence, plane crash

Dark clouds crowded the sky overhead, swirling in a mass of stoney graphite and charcoal grey. The butter-kissed horizon of daylight had faded into a mass of deep violet and midnight blue, melting against the sky to make way for the cover of night.

There was so much noise around for your ears to process; the trucks engine roaring as it’s tyres rolled smoothly and quickly over the damp tarmac, the loud excited voices of the men sitting next to and across from you as they chatted away- having to shout into one another’s ear over the sound of the Boeing CH-47’s rotor system booming to life as she prepared to depart onto the runway.

You kept your eyes down, staring idly at the dark steel floor, mind processing and dissecting the information you’d been given not even an hour ago.

General Ghorbrani was dead. Killed in a missile strike in Al Mazrah several months ago after being discovered working with the Russians- whom of which were supplying Iran with armour and hardware. Part of Tf-141 along with Shadow Company had been the ones to neutralise the threat and the entire arms deal.

Same shit different day, only, it wasn’t as simple as that this time. Ghorbrani had a second in command, Hassan Zyani, Quds Force Major. He’d taken up the mantle for Iran. Now it was him supplying terrorists; money, weapons, intel. You name it. The man was dangerous and he wanted retaliation for the Ghorbrani strike, he wanted revenge, that in itself was dangerous enough. Laswell was convinced he was planning something, and whatever it was, it was going to be big. She had managed to track him and found that he was on the ground in Al Mazrah, and that’s just where you were headed.

You were knocked out of your dissociative state when someone lightly punched your arm. “Y’alright?” The Scotsman was his usual optimistic self, a stupid grin slanting across his face as he looked at you.

You nodded, realising the vehicle had stopped and was beginning to empty around the two of you. Soap stood up from the bench and jumped down from the tailgate, nodding his head to the side, signalling for you to follow him. You did, adjusting your gun at your side as you landed squarely on two feet.

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish had been a thorn in your side for the majority of your military service. Despite being deployed hundreds of times in numerous countries all across the globe you still ended up bumping into that big Scottish bastard far too often. He looked out for you, although you never asked him to, he’d taken a shining to you. And you to him. Like the brother you never had, and never wanted. He always knew how to lighten even the darkest of situations; whether it was his shit jokes or stupid questions, he never failed to pull you out of your own head.

You had joined the British Army at your earliest opportunity when you left college at eighteen. With nothing keeping you tied to home anymore- you left. Without a single pence in your pocket or a dream in your head. Better to die fighting in a war than die fighting an overdose in a back alley like some do. Stuck in a town that never wakes. Dingy corner shops and abandoned parks that are rusted to death. Those same people that have been there for years and never leave. They’re too content there, you think, perfectly happy in their mediocrity. You had wanted more. You didn’t want to fade into that kind of life. Scraping together change from a shitty job to get by, meeting and settling with someone for the sake of it only to have a child entirely accidentally- stuck forever. You needed more.

After serving for a little over a decade you were drawn for the SRR, moving up rank and earning your title as Sergeant only a year later- then finally you were transferred to the SAS. Who you’d now served with for the last two years. It was worlds apart from your early army days, you hadn’t needed to go through the selection process because you were handpicked and transferred, but the stories you’d heard over dinner in the canteen and through whispers in the barracks spoke for themselves in volumes.

Soap held his rifle with two hands, keeping it close to his chest as he moved to step forward. The two of you were strapped to the gills in full gear; night vision goggles sitting atop your helmet, throwing knives strapped to your sides and your full equipment vest covering your chest. A patch of the British flag in grey, black and white strapped to your vest proudly.

You stood fast- following Soap’s back with your eyes as you watched him approach another soldier. The soldier was tall. Much taller than Soap was, and that was saying something considering the Scotsman was at least a head taller than you, the line of your shoulder just reaching the mid of his bicep. His height hadn’t been the first thing you noticed about this soldier- no, it was his mask. The crude face covering was fashioned from a black balaclava and skull mask; sewn together with thick stitches connecting them to one another and painted with thick-dull lines of off-white down through the eyes and over the teeth. You cocked your head and squinted your eyes, you were stood too far away to hear what they were saying, and with Soap’s back towards you and this soldier’s face covered nothing gave their topic of conversation away.

Simon Riley. Otherwise known as Ghost both in and out of the field, not many earned the right to call him by his real name.

You’d never met him, only now setting eyes on him for the first time; but Soap had told you all about him. Not just Soap, but near enough every soldier in any platoon you’d served with had a story to tell of the Ghost. Wether it was something they’d either seen or heard, he had a reputation. Not only was he an expert marksman; he was highly intelligent and was a master with his knife skills, but he was most notorious for his stealth and torture expertise. He was an anomaly. Not only was he greatly feared but he was simultaneously looked up to and admired, soldiers wanted to be like him. Be him.

Johnny gave the man a punch to the shoulder, identical to the one he’d just given you, from the stupid grin on his face when he turned back to face you, it was clear Soap was happy to see Ghost. The man in the mask stood for a second and you watched, he didn’t follow after Soap right away, you saw briefly that his mouth was moving beneath his mask, he was talking to someone over comms. Slowly turning to walk the other way as he did.

MacTavish approached you “let’s get ourselves a win, yeah?” he tapped your shoulder twice as he passed by you, making his way toward the helo just twenty feet behind you, now full of marines.

“Let’s” you answered him swiftly, still watching from the corner of your eye as Ghost continued to retreat further away from the transport, you turned you shoulder to follow after Soap when he was no longer in your view.

~

It wasn’t long before everyone was onboard and you were air born, flying inbound towards the border of Al Mazrah. The craft rocked and jerked with the turbulence, it was cramped and warm and far too loud. Flashing white lights assaulted your vision like beacons from time to time, breaking through the streams of deep crimson red that painted the entire inside of the holding compartment. The flight was relatively short in comparison to other missions you’d been on. Still, there was something stagnant lingering in the air, a hunger palpating the breath of these men.

Laswell’s brief had been short and sweet, a run down on enemy positions and the split teams objectives. Three words kept ringing through your skull. Capture or kill.

When it boiled down to it. Hassan was needed alive, but the reality was there was every chance that it might be forced out of someone’s hands. It was still a mission success if he was killed, but the priority was getting him alive.

By chance, Ghost had been seated directly across from you the entire duration of the transport over. With his gun held to his chest he stared forward, right through you, and you did the same. He didn’t scare you, he had no need to. However, his energy did throw you slightly. He had a calm eeriness about him, and his demeanour was even and smooth, but you had a feeling that would all change as soon as he set his boots down onto enemy ground in a few short minutes.

The helo stuttered in the air, dropping lower and cutting through the air as you neared closer to the ground. Silently, Ghost stood.

His gruff voice tore through the white noise of the whirring rotors of the craft, this was the first time you’d heard him speak.

“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays onboard with the Sergeant to land downrange” the heavy footfalls of his boots echoed across the floor as he proceeded down the craft, your rank and name ringing in your ears as he continued addressing his soldiers. “Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive” he stopped at the ramp, turning back to speak again “but this is capture or kill.”

As the craft came to thudding land and the ramp began to descend with a mechanical whir, the men selected for Bravo team began to stand, migrating towards Ghost as he stood and waited. Soap stood from his seat next to you with a grunt, adjusting his gun to free up his right hand; wordlessly he held out his fist. You didn’t need prompting, you reached up and bumped your fist against his, nodding at him as his mouth quirked up, just slightly. As you looked towards the ramp your eyes were met with cold dark irises staring right back at you, neither of you made a move to break the eye contact. Ghost was momentarily blocked from your view by Soap’s back, you heard the clack of Ghost flipping his night vision goggles down “keep up, Soap” he barked as he turned to descend the ramp.

You found yourself watching them both as they left, their stances shifting low as they drew their guns and headed towards the broken sandstone structures that had been destroyed long before your teams had gotten here. The ramp shut quickly and you were airborne again, the loud deafening sound of the rotars whirring over your head kicking back into gear again. You shook your head and took a deep inhale of breath, shifting to a stance that meant you wouldn’t stumble from the turbulence.

“You heard the lieutenant team Alpha” your voice was clear and loud, carrying through the torrent of noise. “Let’s get this done” you added as you turned, glancing out of one of the circular windows to peer out into the navy star-speckled night sky.

The sky was one of the only things that stayed consistent in your life. When things got rough or began to drown you, all you had to do was look up. No matter rain or shine; light or dark or sunset or night sky. It always gave you a calming sense of reality, something to escape away from the unfair world you lived in. Away from the blood and the bullets.

As you casted your eyes over toward a cluster of hills nestled against the horizon, a fast approaching stream of fire and smoke stole your eye. Before you could raise the alarm, the pilot’s voice sparked your comms device to life “All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed. We’re getting lit!” His panic was evident and your heart jumped in your throat, you needed to get these men out alive.

“Alpha team hold fast! Prepare for impact” your voice was hoarse as you shouted over the pilot’s voice as he continued shouting through the comms, you urged your men to copy your actions as you held onto the supports above your head, bracing for impact. You felt the entire craft lurch and you were thrown forward, hitting your head against the metal frame of the wall as you collided with it.

“Razor 1 going down! We’re going down!” The pilot bellowed and it rang through your already ringing ears, your vision blurred and the swirl of red lights had you dazed. You tried to stand again, the missile had hit and the whole contents of the craft were flung upwards, including you and your men. You urged them to hang on, to protect themselves from injury as best they could-this was bad and you knew it. You gave them hope as your brain ran into overdrive, wondering how to come out of this.

The impact was like nothing you’d ever experienced- there weren’t any training drills that could simulate a cargo helo crashing from a missile strike at full plummeting speed. Yourself and everyone else on board were flung like rag dolls, colliding with each other, colliding with the walls and ceiling. You caught yourself on a loose seatbelt as you were sent flying forward, palms stinging as the material tore through the skin of your palms. You managed to steady yourself and were forced to watch as one soldier attempted to break his fall with his hands, his arms snapping like twigs from the g-force of the crash and the weight of his own body. You let go of the belt and landed on your back, your ribs connecting with a weapons carrier on the way down as another jolt sent you hurling at Godspeed. You heard the crunch of your bones and winced at the sting running up your side like an electric shock.

The whole ordeal was quick; as the smoke rose and the broken-frayed wiring sparked to illuminate the chaos around you, you could see clearly the full extent of destruction and devastation from the crash.

You coughed as you felt blood begin to fill your mouth and you could feel something warm oozing down the right side of your face. Before you could fully process the scene around you, your comms crackled and a voice found your ears. “Alpha, what’s your status?!” Ghost’s voice was on the brink of showing a slight slither of emotion. You felt like you were choking, the blood and the smoke, it was all too much. You blinked through the darkness and tried to gather your bearings. Rising gingerly to your knees, you were quick to have to clutch at your side, trying to subdue the pain.

Blood stained the walls and floors, bodies were slumped around you and all you could hear was the sounds of coughing and shifting that were almost muted against the sound of the fire now ripping through the crash site. “Alpha, how copy?” Ghost was there again in your head, voice rattling through your ear piece.

You cleared your throat “Ghost” you choked on the blood in your mouth “Alpha is immobile multiple critical!” You slumped down, your body ceasing from the pain as it tore through your nerves. Your senses were lit ablaze when bullets began to rain through the fire and debris, catching the metal and rattling like hailstones. You pressed yourself low to the ground with a pained grunt, pressing your thumb down on your comms again. “Shit! We’re taking effective fire!” You shouted, crawling on your hands and knees toward the wounded, planning to find a gun and cover them from the bullets.

“Sergeant, we’re moving to building 1, hold tight!” As quick as his voice was there again, it was gone.

Your eyes searched the wreckage for anything to help combat the active fire you were taking, that’s when you noticed a gun beneath one of the wounded and you crawled closer towards him. Trying to be as gentle as you could, you rolled him onto his side but he still howled in pain- despite the guilt you knew you had to press on. You nudged the gun from beneath his legs and laid him flat again, not wanting to do him anymore damage if it were his neck or spine that was injured. You grabbed the gun and moved towards better cover, the wreck wasn’t secure and it wouldn’t be long before the enemy moved closer and you’d be compromised. You didn’t open fire yet, there was no point with just one gun, you kept your eyes about you but moved to tend to more wounded.

It was clear that amongst the casualties there were mortally wounded soldiers on your hands, some already dead or close to it. You tried to make them comfortable, trying hard not to think too hard into it. You would want the same if you were in their position. You tried to drown out the noise of the shells raining through the wreckage. Spouting nonsense about nothing, humming a tune as you tied a strip of ripped cloth around someones half amputated leg. You’d seen chaos before, even before you joined the army, but you hadn’t seen this caliber of bloodied carnage in a long time- not since you’d first been deployed.

Back when the fresh faces of young soldiers are first shipped out, not knowing what lays ahead, unknowing that the friends they made in their months of training could soon be lying face down in the mud. You didn’t like thinking back to that time, but right now, you’d give anything to be back there.

You didn’t keep track of time, you thought it best not to. The fire was burning its way around you, it felt like it was under your skin, sweating from the inside out. Bullet shells didn’t cease fire upon your position, they grew erratic and laboured, like the enemy were unsure if anyone was even still alive in the wreckage. You jumped when you heard a voice in your ear again.

“Soap- we’re moving to the crash site to help the wounded. Rest o’ you hold here and cover us” it was Ghost again. The boys were close, not long and you’d have help. It might have only been seconds before you heard footsteps closing in, you could never be safe, you pointed your gun towards the noise and held your finger on the trigger. Always ready. You focused your eyes, squeezing the trigger.

“Blue blue!” A voice shouted, you dropped the aim of your gun, relief rinsing through your bloodstream as you saw Ghost and Soap enter the wreckage.

“It’s good to see you two” you sighed “we’ve got five KIA and one wounded, it’s just me and my gun” you said, eyes daring to peer outside toward the tree line, checking for more movement. Ghost stiffened.

“They’re here, get your fuckin’ gun on that tree line” he ordered, moving himself into position as Soap followed.

You raised yourself up, holding onto some webbing draping across the craft for some leverage, you’d taken more damage than you’d initially realised. It would have to wait. Coming up to stand to your full height, you shuffled yourself into a better position. You took a low firing line, flipping the night vision goggles atop your helmet into position so you could better see. It wasn’t clear, smoke still rising, but it was clear enough.

“Got movement” Soap stated roughly.

“If you have a shot, take it” Ghost’s tone was menacing, his demeanour had done a complete 180 onto its head, like you’d predicted. You were the first to shoot.

“Engage!” you shouted, spotting more shooters spilling from behind a wall. Bullets sliced through the air, the sound ringing in your ears from all angles. You hit multiples, as did the boys, the enemy gave it their best go too. Your eyes caught sight of something, you shouted as you realised what it was. “RPG!” You ducked your head, watching the men in the wreckage around you do the same, very briefly. What was left of the helo rocked and jerked from the force of the blow, more metal flying away and shredding.

“Fuck” Soap growled, losing his bearings. Ghost let out a frustrated noise.

“Get your guns up” you all continued to fire, watching more enemy soldiers dropped to the ground.

This continued, more and more soldiers spilling from the tree line and opening fire. You were low on ammo, you threw a grenade out the window in front of you and it rolled towards a cluster of wooden supply boxes, at least three men were killed when the blast went off. Ghost was opening fire like hell, Soap too, the Scotsman quickly running out and setting mines between reloading stints to fend off the targets that managed to get close enough.

“Dig in, lads. We’re not done yet” the lieutenant was still firing as he spoke, not letting his guard down once. You kept your eyes forward, squinting them when you noticed an abnormal layering of smoke begin to rise from the tree line.

“We got smoke, boys, in the tree line” you grit your teeth, knowing what this meant.

“No visual” Soap said, flatly.

You retorted “I can’t see shit”.

There was a second of silence, “incoming!” Ghost shouted.

More fire hit you, a bullet whizzed so close past your face you wouldn’t have been surprised if it left a mark. Too close. You’d not realised, but Ghost was practically at your side, covering more men coming from the tree line closer to where you were shooting.

“Take cover!” he barked, cold eyes glaring forward as he shot more rounds into the smoke. More explosions rang out, coming closer each time, rumbling the very earth from the force of it.

“They’re launching grenades!” Soap shouted.

Your gun ran out of ammo and you’d lost your hand gun in the crash, your eyes darted around, then you saw the one strapped to the lieutenant’s thigh. You ripped it quickly from the holster, adjusting your position on your knees to get a better shot. You fired through the explosions and into the darkness, hearing more thuds as more targets hit the dirt. Ghost didn’t seem to react to you taking his gun, maybe he was too focussed on the incoming fire. You didn’t catch what he said, speaking through comms to whoever was there. Your brain felt like mush and your ears were still ringing, not to mention the bleeding from your head hadn’t stopped.

“Air support is on its way” he said.

Some of the smoke started to clear. Less and less soldiers were pushing through to the wreckage, this was nearly over.

“Let’s move up. We clear this position and push forward, if Hassan is still here he’s up ahead” Ghost gave the order, Soap clearly didn’t agree but there was no time for discussion. You whistled for their attention.

“Armoured vehicles closing in, there’s four of ‘em” you stated, watching them roll into the darkness through your goggles.

The men adjusted their stances, “let ‘em get close” Ghost ordered, clearly thinking about conserving energy and ammo. You nodded.

Just as they came close enough, the three of you let bullets free, the enemy returning it back with the same fever. To your relief the skys growled over head, barely noticeable through the shrouds of smoke, turrets of bullets rained down by the hundreds, air support cleared the way for you to move up the hill.

A soldier from bravo team radioed through from where he was covering your position, “all clear lieutenant, no movement ahead” he stated.

Ghost replied straight away with a simple “rog”.

Ghost turned, not specifically toward you but toward the entirety of the wreckage, darkened eyes scanning the carnage. His thumb pressed into the button of his comms device, “air support, task a bird for casualty evac” it crackled as he waited for a response.

“Roger that lieutenant” they quickly responded.

Soap and Ghost led the way out of the wreckage and you quickly followed after them. “Alpha you’re with us” Ghost shouted, a number of soldiers joined you as they answered back a “yes sir” in unison.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire and your ribcage felt weak, hollow-boned like that of a bird. The pain was piercing you, like needles pressing deep down into the fibres of your muscles. But you kept on, legs carrying you along with the others, pure adrenaline being your only saving grace at this point. You hissed in pain as your damaged knee almost gave way beneath you, the lieutenant noticed.

“They used us for fucking bait, didn’t they?” you growled, trying your best not to look like you were struggling. Ghost cocked his head toward you.

“They’re well supplied and fighting smart, thanks to Hassan” he put it simply. Soap chimed in.

“Aye. Looks like you were right, Lt.” he said.

Your eyes took in the scene in front of you, fire and explosions lighting the way. “You think Hassan’s still here?” You asked, eyes and borrowed hand gun still aiming forward.

“Heli crash gave ‘em an opening. Let’s see if they took it” Ghost was a realist. Good to know.

All of you continued to run. Breaths heaving and bodies aching. Adrenaline fuelled your blood, you moved up quickly, arriving at the last building. You went to take positions when fire rained toward you, a soldier only inches to your left dropped, caught in the line of a sniper.

“Man down!” you shouted, unable to look at the man as you took his rifle. You dropped low as everyone around you did the same, focusing fire on the roof top of the building.

“AQ has got night vision” Soap stated the obvious, taking out two snipers simultaneously. You grunted in response, focusing your eye through the scope and taking out another shooter up ahead.

“Clear” Ghost shouted. “Move up. Let’s find Hassan, dead or alive” his tone shifted, dangerous now.

You made it to the house. Clearing the first floor, dropping anyone that moved. “We need positive ID on Hassan, check the bodies” you barked out to the soldiers behind you, sticking with Soap and Ghost as they continued to move on.

It was all negative. No positive ID from any of the bodies, he wasn’t upstairs either. The three of you continued, a door flung open, before they could even move to fire their weapon, Ghost shot a round into their stomach and another into their skull. Dropping them effortlessly like it was nothing.

The house was wrecked. A twisted mess of broken brick and fractured stone, electrical wire looming low overhead firing sparks in all directions. You stuck close to Soap as he followed Ghost, noticing that there was a voice playing through something- you all moved toward it, heading up more stairs. Ghost broke the door with a kick, no positive on Hassan, just his propaganda playing on loop through a laptop.

“Hassan’s everywhere” Ghost growled and

“Everywhere but here” Johnny scoffed.

You split off, heading off alone through more of the upstairs, the boys didn’t noticed you’d gone. They’d clearly continued on thinking you were right there behind them. You pointed your gun around the door frame of an upstairs corridor, your body following as you perceived it to be clear. Last minute, bullets flew through a compromised section of the dry wall, heading straight towards you. By some luck, you’d managed to dodge them, leering forward behind a protruding structure in the wall and retaliating with your own fire. You cleared the corridor and entered the room that the target had been guarding. Hassan had been in there.

Ghost and Soap must have been alerted by the gun fire, they came in hot, practically sprinting to your location. They stopped short in the doorway, your back was towards them, their eyes searched the room. You turned towards them, a uniform jacket scrunched tightly in your fist.

“Hassan’s uniform” you seethed. Mactavish gave out a grunt.

“So he was here” he flailed an arm in frustration. Ghost remained in the doorway, his eyes low.

“Lost him when we secured the crash site” he said simply, lowly.

The weight of Ghost’s words hit you in the chest like a bullet, but you knew they shouldn’t have, deep down you knew he was right. Soap was standing between you and Ghost, his eyes darting between the two of you.

“Are you sayin’ we shouldn’t have helped?” Soap squared his shoulders. Ghost just shrugged.

“Choices have consequences”. It was just that simple.

“All bravo, we’ve got movement out here” the voice hit through your ear piece, breaking the tension in the room.

“On the way” Ghost confirmed.

The three of you continued on. Moving back the way you’d come and heading out towards the rest of the team, they’d seen movement in a warehouse up ahead. All of Bravo and what was left of Alpha moved in, lighting up fire when they reached the rolling doors. More soldiers dropped. Shot dead. You all kept pushing through, eyes through scopes and fingers on triggers. You broke off, tucking and rolling behind a metal container, opening more fire as you pushed the enemy back with forcible ammunition. Ghost was on your tail, following after you and overtaking, pushing on through. Soap was up next and came to cover you, locking his palms together to make it easier for you to hoist yourself up on top of the container. There was another container there to keep you shielded, it gave you a vantage point over the targets that had tried to retreat to higher ground. You dropped them easily.

For what felt like the first time in hours, everything stopped. All of the noise. Everything.

“Are we clear?” Soap shouted up to you, you let out a laboured breath. You stuck your thumb up.

“Clear” you said. Your knees burned as you jumped down from the container, you didn’t give yourself a chance to ease yourself down.

“Search it, let’s see what they’re hiding” Ghost’s voice echoed through the now dying silence, the warehouse carrying the gravely baritone of his voice. You closed in on Johnny, following him as he approached one of the container doors that was ajar. From first look, it was controls. Panels and buttons and screens.

“What the fuck is this?” Soap queried. You looked closer.

“It’s all in English” you said, eyes still scanning frantically. Living up to his name, Ghost was suddenly there, behind you, so close you could feel his warmth at your back. You watched as Soap flipped one of the switches, the entire warehouse shook, the container vibrating and whirring.

All three of you stepped back quickly, eyes trained up watching it all unfold.

“Fucking hell” you breathed.

“Steamin’ Jesus” Soap’s jaw was on the floor.

“Ballistic missiles”. Ghost’s gaze hardened.

You frowned “it’s a mobile launcher”.

Another soldier chimed in behind you. “These will go 1,000 miles”.

“At least” Ghost added.

You stepped forward and moved around to the left of the container to get a better look, Soap wasn’t far behind.

“How the hell did Iran get their hands on this?” Soap growled in the back of his throat.

The men watched as you ascended the weapon carriers that were piled up next to the container, making quick work of the climb, a new shot of rage fuelled adrenaline kicking through your veins.

Ghost spoke up “7-6, get us through to Laswell” his eyes were still scanning the discovery in front of him.

“Roger, stand by” the soldier spoke quickly “Bravo 7-6 Charlie to Watcher-1, how copy?” You all waited for a response.

Laswell’s voice quickly chimed in “this is Watcher-1, send traffic” she spoke clearly.

“Laswell, this is Ghost. We got something” the concern was laced in his voice.

“You found Hassan?” She asked quickly.

Your eyes landed on something truly jolting. “Ghost, Soap, take a look at this” you urged, turning your neck to meet their eyes, their expression no doubt mirrored yours. Laswell’s frantic voice broke the silence again.

“Ghost, do you have Hassan?” She asked again.

You watched as Ghost pressed down the button to his comm, leaning down to speak loud and clear. “Negative. We found a weapons cache. Hassan’s got missiles, they’re American” a silence enveloped the warehouse.

“0-7 this is Gold Eagle Actual, repeat your last” General Shepherd’s voice was frantic.

“I’ll say again, Hassan has American missiles” Ghost repeated.

It’s almost as if the air was sucked from the warehouse like a vacuum. You would have heard a pin drop it was that quiet. The way you slumped down into a seated position wasn’t graceful or quiet, but you weren’t about to stand for any longer then you needed to. Soap snapped his neck toward you, his eyes searching yours, you nodded toward him with a half-arsed thumbs up. You saw in the way that his expression fell that you weren’t in a good way, the bleached lights of the warehouse would have left no injury of yours unseen to the eye. You’d lost a lot of blood but you’d make more, right now there were more important things to worry about.

~

Rain pattered gently across your cheeks, it’s cold chill seeping right down to your bones- forcing you to shiver. You hummed, arms crossed over your chest as you sat on the damp brick stone wall with your chin tilted skyward, more droplets cascading down your face like gentle streams over your skin.

This was probably the only thing you missed about England. The shit weather. Soaking wet springtimes and late hazy summers, rugged cold autumns and early winters smothered with snow. You struggled to remember much about them; you didn’t have fond childhood memories of building snow men and drinking hot chocolate, nor were you able to think back to a summer where you’d stay at the park all day playing football, coming home to a freezer-burnt ice cream that your mum had dug out for you.

There was none of that. None of the warm fondness or swell of nostalgic familiarity in your chest. You pushed everything away. There was nothing that you saw worthy to keep in your head; no core memories of birthdays or holidays, no movie nights in or sleepovers with friends. Your entire childhood had been stolen from you, thrown away- just like you had been.

Your memories of British summertimes were filled with laughter; water fights on the barrack fields after quitting time. Bike rides at sunrise instead of hitting the gym, even wild swims at the coast on rarer occasions.

The wet springtimes; running drills through knee high mud, purposefully hitting the ground with heavy footfalls to splash one another. Wringing out your rain soaked shirts in the locker rooms and whipping each other till your skin welted- crying with laugher till you were on the floor.

Autumn, perhaps your favourite. Walking across base - watching as the leaves fell in a blanket of umber and tawny, crunched under your boots, the smell of damp earth in the air, so fresh and free as it stole the very breath from your lungs.

Harsh winters were common, on the contrary to summer, wild swims in below freezing temperatures as part of vital training, your teeth chattering so hard you were sure they’d break. Warm hot chocolate spiced with a drop of whiskey in the evening; settled around a table, talking about everything and nothing in the communal rooms while shuffling a deck of cards- thinking about the idea of found family, realising it’s not as far out of reach as you’d thought.

Those were your memories of home, of England, your memories of the place you were born.

The military had been the making of you- there was nothing before that, you were made for this. You told yourself that on repeat, the army had saved you, put a roof over your head. There was no shadow of doubt that your life would have been very different if you hadn’t taken this route, and you were convinced that you would have been six feet under by now.

The rain was only passing. The frigid breeze carrying it ever so gently, kissing your skin. You wished a storm would come your way, wash you out and provide a much needed clarity- a reset. You did always love thunderstorms, watching the lightning split the sky, cracking and illuminating as it broke apart.

You were sitting outside. The backend of the barracks were more sheltered, further hidden from higher ups that would scald you for being outdoors so late.

After the last twenty-four hours you’d had, you should have completely crashed. Been dead to the world as soon as your head hit your pillow. But you didn’t - couldn’t. Unable to sleep, unable to settle, thoughts racing and mind following. There was so much going through your head, and that wasn’t common for you, this should have been just like any other day; any other job.

Something was different, and you knew it was far from over yet.

Soap had been by your side the entirety of the transport back to the barracks, his eyes wide and searching as he asked you question after question, barely letting you close your eyes for even a second for fear you’d slip into a coma from the blood-loss.

You wanted to bang your head against the metal of the craft as you sat there listening to him drone on. Either that or you would rip Johnny’s voice box out of his throat with your bare hands. Ghost’s fists clenched where they sat resting on his thighs.

“Leave it, Mactavish” he’d barked, clicking his tongue as he did, clearly it wasn’t just your nerves Soap was grating on.

You wanted to laugh as you watched the Scotsman shrink back in his seat, like a dog with its tail between its legs, not liking getting told off. Yet, your smile washed away, swallowed by the tension in the craft. The entire mission hadn’t gone to plan, coming up short, following dead lead after dead lead. With fatalities and injuries on top of that, it didn’t serve to keep the morale of the team up.

The three of you didn’t speak much. You could see the tiredness eating it’s way at Soap, feeling as his body grew heavier and heavier beside you in his seat. Ghost was sitting across from you, like he had done on the transport over seas chasing the dead lead, you couldn’t see him all that clearly, the night flight back to base didn’t provide much light to go by, only giving you a rough shadowed outline of where and how he was sitting.

Yet, you were sure you could feel Ghost’s mind ticking over. Almost as if you could hear the man thinking, could hear the gears turning over and over in his head as he sat there- stewing away behind that mask of his. He kept his arms folded across his chest, another barrier thrown up in defence, dead eyes glaring towards the ceiling as he rested the crown of his head against the back of his seat. He had his legs kicked out and splayed apart, resting either side of your boots, right foot tapping away in absent thought.

You hadn’t managed to sleep, didn’t even feel groggy at all, and you were always the first to sleep on transport. Usually loved getting rocked to sleep from the turbulence or terrain. There had been a running joke for years that you could sleep anywhere at anytime, your body had improved over the years at getting used to time zones and differences, it barely reached you anymore.

It was unusual. Your body wouldn’t allow you to rest, perhaps the adrenaline hadn’t subsided just yet, maybe after you’d been to medical upon landing and gotten cleaned up you’d feel better.

Negative.

Soap had marched you to the medial building as soon as you’d gotten to base, tugging you by the arm like you were a naughty child. The other soldiers had gone straight to the barracks, heading straight to their bunks to sleep off the last twenty-four hours, they’d earned it. Even Ghost went.

You shooed Johnny away as soon as you were being seen to, urging him that he didn’t have to babysit you and that he should rest up. You reminded him that this wouldn’t be a long respite. He had nodded, a smile quirking at his lips as he held out his fist, you rolled your eyes- but you bumped your fist to his nether the less.

The sweet nurse had tried to express her concerns for the state you were in, but as lovely as she was, you brushed her off. She was short and blonde, the tiredness in her pretty hazel eyes showing you she’d been in the med room since early doors. She’d urged for you to have x-rays taken of your chest, that even if your ribs were just fractured that it could potentially cause other issues if you hadn’t already punctured a lung or lacerated any other organs. You pulled a bullshit excuse out of your arse and handed it to her with the nicest of smiles, hopping down from the examination bed as you buttoned your shirt back up. She’d already cleaned and taped the wound on your head, cleaning some of your other cuts and grazes and smothering them in balm to keep anything nasty out. She sent you on your way after shoving some heavy painkillers down your throat, knowing you weren’t going to take her advice and that you’d deploy again tomorrow, and she was right- you couldn’t sit this one out now.

After leaving the medical building you’d made your way outside, and you hadn’t moved since. It must have been hours now. You stopped counting after two, letting the cold chill of the rain and wind sting your face as you perched there on that wall, content and calm. Perhaps it was the painkillers making your head foggy, calming the thrum of your blood as you stared out into the star studded darkness.

Upon hearing heavy footfalls scuffing across the concrete, you turned your attention to the source of the sound, watching a shadowy figure approaching as they descended the stairs that led back towards the main buildings. You couldn’t see all too clearly, there were no lights to illuminate the area in which you were sitting, to purposely discourage loitering. Whoever it was didn’t speak right away, you tilted your head back towards the sky, closing your eyes with a sigh. They came to a stop next to where you were sitting on the wall, not invading your space directly but barely keeping their distance.

A faint click of a lighter striking caught your attention and your eyes opened to flicker over to your left- it was Ghost.

The cigarette was already between his lips, his left hand cupping it to protect it from the wind and rain as the other hand held the lighter, dying away with a loud click.

You watched as he inhaled deeply, the swell of his chest rising as the end of the cigarette illuminated a deep amber, causing shadows to dance across his face from the glow. The mask caught you. This wasn’t the one he’d been wearing before, this one was a simple black balaclava with his characteristic skull printed onto the lower part of the face- it was already pulled up to the bridge of his nose when you had turned to look at him. There were thick smudges of black-grease paint plastered over his eye sockets, making the colour contrast with the hickory brown of his eyes.

There was something about your lieutenant that you couldn’t quite grasp fully; you’d met plenty of reserved soldiers before, closed off and more secretive about themselves and their lives outside of these walls- but Ghost was different. It’s as if there was nothing outside of these walls for him. The military and the 141 were his entire life, the reason he breathed air and woke up in a morning.

When the others made plans for leave or talked about their families, he didn’t, he’d stay and he’d listen. Never has he ever uttered so much as a word about his private life, maybe he did have one, maybe a wife and a family- but you couldn’t see it.

He was just so- unmoved. He barely showed outward concern for himself or his team, the latter more so but only if it was fatal. He knew that collateral damage was a given, he knew that every mission he deployed on he would come back with less soldiers then he left with. Ghost swallowed that pill everyday, the lives he holds in his hands, the weight of the grief on his shoulders. It was any surprise he was still standing, but you guess he was numb to it now, that’s why he didn’t feel it anymore. He was so used to death and destruction, it was starting to be ineffective at jarring him, at making him feel any kind of way about it.

Ghost pockets the lighter, reaching up and holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger as he retracts it from his mouth, a deep-dark cloud of smoke falling from his lips as he breathes it out.

Your eyes lingered. Assessing the dressed down version of the infamous soldier as he leaned back against the wall. His boots and trousers were what was left of his uniform, from the waist up he was wearing a charcoal coloured jacket with a high collar that he’d pulled up, covering what you could see of a simple black undershirt peeking out from between the zipper of his jacket.

The darkness didn’t provide your eyes well, only when he took a drag of his cigarette could you see the outlines of the lower half of his face. Even then, you didn’t risk staring, despite your- curiosity he was still your lieutenant.

It’s normal to be curious- you keep telling yourself. He’s your lieutenant; your point of call, your lifeline when you’re out there risking life and limb. Yet, you’ve never seen his face, would never be able to pick him out in a sea of hundreds. He doesn’t owe you anything, you’re new to his charge, under his wing so to speak, but you’re leading this mission with him and Johnny- the least you should be able to ask for is some truths. Everything about him is redacted, save for his name, even then that had been hard enough to get, apparently everything about him was on a need to know basis.

The man took a long-heavy drag of his cigarette. “How’s your head?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained forward as he spoke.

His voice might not have been loud, but you’d been in silence for hours, the gravely tone of his voice hammered straight through to your bones. You watched him out the corner of your eye.

“It’s fine” you said, not really wanting to elaborate in case he tried to catch you out.

Ghost hummed “you sure about that?” He queried, tone a little harder.

When you craned your neck to look at him fully this time you found he was already looking at you, his eyes pointedly focused on the tape holding the left side of your forehead together. You didn’t take your eyes away.

“I’m very sure” you reiterated, hoping he’d drop the subject, you had a feeling he wouldn’t.

“And the punctured lung?” You stiffened. How did he know? He pushed himself up from leaning back against the wall and turned his body so he was parallel to you now, his right hip leaning into the brick as his right elbow kept him propped there. He had let go of his cigarette, his lips keeping it secure as he continued to smoke it, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth.

You gathered your thoughts in your head, thinking of the best response you could give. The man spoke before you could.

“Your silence tells me a lot, sergeant” he huffed, taking ahold of his cigarette once more as he returned to his prior position, mirroring the way you faced forward. You kissed your lips against your teeth.

“I’m fine” you said again, you saw no point in trying to persuade him, he’d clearly already made up his mind.

Ghost made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and you heard him rooting for something in his pocket. You were surprised when a cigarette was held out towards you. You frowned, casting your eyes over to him to find he was still staring forward, mouth devoid of a cigarette and his free hand stuffed into his pocket, he’d clearly smoked it right down to the filter and ditched it.

How could you think you could lie to him? He’d seen first hand the pain you were in, so much pain you couldn’t see straight, blood staining your face as you fought for a singular breath to enter your lungs.

He was testing you now. If you refused the cigarette then he’d assume it was because you were still in pain with your lungs and chest, if you took it then perhaps he would lay off.

You made up your mind, brushing your fingers over his as you took the smoke from his hold. You placed it between your dry lips, you were still in your full gear and you knew you had a lighter somewhere, before you could start your search- Ghost already had you covered. His hand extended out toward your face with the flame dancing and licking at the breeze, you leaned in close and cupped both of your hands around his as it held the lighter, inhaling deeply as the earthy taste of the tobacco hit the back of your throat.

You’d smoked causally and socially throughout your entire army career, surely smoking through one cigarette without as much as a splutter would be easy enough.

Ghost retracted his hand and pocketed his lighter again, watching you smoke from the corner of his eye. You could feel his eyes on you, so you purposefully didn’t look his way, you gazed off into the pitch black, eyes struggling to focus on anything at all.

He stuffed both of his hand into his pockets, enjoying the quiet, listening only to the steady pattering of soft rain against the brick and concrete and the gentle sound of your steady breaths exhaling the smoke.

You weren’t about to admit that he was right, but he was right. The nicotine dried your lungs and the tickle of tobacco at the roof of your mouth and back of your throat had you gagging to cough, mixed with the subtle metallic taste of your own blood that still lingered on your palate. It wasn’t a delightful mix. You decided to distract yourself.

“Anyway, how come you aren’t asleep, Lt?” You asked, genuinely intrigued. The man quirked a brow, or at least, it looked like he did.

���Could ask the same to you” He was right but you asked first. You tutted.

“I’ve been with medical” you countered, thinking you’d caught him out.

“Three hours ago” he gifted flatly. Fuck. You shrugged him off.

“I lost track of time” you took his silence as his answer.

It was obvious that he hadn’t come out here just to smoke, there was something he needed to say, and you wished he would just spit it out. He shifted his stance, like he was in pain, you almost asked if he was okay, but thought better of it. He was more then capable of looking out for himself, when you were out in the field you’d worry and watch his six, back here- you’d leave him to it.

Ghost sighed “it’s been advised that you don’t ship out tomorrow” his words cut through you, his softened tone did nothing to soften the blow. You stiffened, shoulders squaring off as you took a deep inhale of the cigarette.

“On what grounds?” You asked quickly, tone shifting. He noticed.

“Medical” he spoke while looking at you pointedly, you laughed.

“Wow” you shook your head with a disbelieving smile “you take a little bump to the head these days and that gets you grounded?” Your question was entirely rhetorical, your head was the least severe of your injuries.

Ghost shifted his weight, still looking at you, watching as the emotions played out on your face. “listen to me-“ you cut him off.

“No, it’s bullshit” you stated with a scrunched frown creasing your face, still heaving plumes of smoke as you spoke.

“Oi” the lieutenant barked, making you freeze and look at him. “I’ve dismissed it” he said, his calm front falling back into place. Just another mask to add.

Your eyes blew wide. “You- what?” You asked, confused. He sighed, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from between your fingers, bringing it up to his own lips to take a drag.

“I think it’s best we finish what we started- all of us” he said, puffs of smoke escaping his lips between his words. He handed the cigarette back to you as he continued, watching as you brought it to your own lips to continue smoking it. “You handled the crash well” he said “would have had more fatalities if you hadn’t have helped when you did” it was clear that he believed what he was saying, you didn’t take Ghost as someone who minced his words, he said it how it was.

“Thank you” you said, simply, returning your gaze to the dark sky, rain still falling gently.

It took a few seconds for Ghost’s words to settle. You furrowed your brow in thought, offering the cigarette back to him, which he gladly took. A comfortable blanket of silence fell over you, the next few minutes were simply nothing. A void in conversation that wasn’t forced or awkward, it was just- natural. The two of you passed the cigarette between one another wordlessly, Ghost taking the longest and final drag till it was down to the end of the filter before he flicked it away, stomping it out with the heel of his boot. This signalled that it was time to call it a night, or a morning, you didn’t know what time it was. You pushed yourself down from the wall, groaning and cracking your joints as you stretched out, sitting in the cold for this long wouldn’t have done you any good.

Ghost pushed himself up from where he’d been leaning against the brick, now you were standing here, parallel to one another, you could see just how tall he was in comparison to you. Even the width of his shoulders were almost twice that of yours. You were forced to look up to meet his eyes, those cold-dead eyes of his. He tilted his chin down to see you clearer, that usual frown of his under the mask gone, no where to be seen. His expression was soft, almost content. You broke the silence.

“Thank you Lt” you said, watching the fabric over his brow furrow. “For not grounding me” you added. His eyes softened slightly.

“Don’t let me regret it” his voice was gruff, maybe even tired.

Your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, but he was so close you could faintly see the outline of his jaw and lips as he spoke. There was only a scant amount of space between you and him. You didn’t fight the urge to reach up your hand and pinch the mask where it was pushed up against his nose- yanking it down in one swift movement. He let you do it. Didn’t even move to stop you. “Better to keep your anonymity Lt” you said, smiling softly as you moved to walk past him and head toward the steps. He turned his shoulders slowly toward you.

“You know my name” he said flatly, barely amused by your attempt to joke with him.

He was right, you did know his name, but that took the fun out of it.

You sighed “Come on, Riley. Time to get some shut eye, before we get in trouble for being out here” you adopted a horrific Manchester accent as you spoke, whatever drugs that nurse had given you, they were pretty fuckin’ wicked. Ghost clearly didn’t agree, but he also didn’t correct you when you used his surname. That was a feat in itself.

“I’m a lieutenant, what the fuck are they gonna say to me?” he grumbled, mostly to himself, but you had heard him.

You laughed softly, something warm swelling in your chest. Your initial perception of him had been cold and disconnected, he presented himself as a man who existed solely for his role within the military. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, you were sure you’d find out. Your exchange with him this evening had showed you that he was observant and truly did value each and every soldier in his platoon. He wasn’t allowing you to be medically grounded because he believed you would be an asset to the continuation of this mission, if that man had any doubt about the severity of your injuries and the chance that you could slow them down- he would have you grounded in a heart beat. He was giving you a chance, and you were determined to show him he was right to trust you and your judgement.

You held onto this feeling as the two of you climbed the stairs, entering the halls of the barracks and parting ways to your respected quarters.

[luciforming]

Starlight on his tongue, like he’s sipping from heaven itself. Salvation straight from the tap. An angel with her wings and legs spread open, offering communion from the source of life itself.

And Simon doesn’t even believe in God.

He doesn’t eat like a man starved. No. In fact, he’d be the first to tell you he’s tasted enough of the world. Had his share of pretty cunts and cocks, in beds and on tables and in alleys. Anywhere food is meant to be eaten. That, at the end of the day, everyone’s cum tastes different, but their tears taste the same—salty.

(He likes to lick their faces clean when he’s done with them. A palate cleanser before he moves on to the next one.)

Fucked bit of business he’s in, killing people, but he doesn’t mind the travel. Anything to keep him from settling too long in one place.

So, no, he doesn’t eat like a man starved, he eats like a man who has sampled the delicacies of the world, and found how to savor them best.

Deliberate. Slow.

Long, broad strokes of the tongue. Suckling. Teeth grazing. More teeth if that’s the dish of the night’s thing.

With a delicacy like you, though?

He could spend eternity between your legs, tongue fucking your cunt, and still not lap up enough of the ambrosia dripping from your hole like a font. You make him greedy. Ravenous and wanting. If he wasn’t riddled with it already, he’d say you drive him to sin.

He’s never eaten like a man starved, not since he was wet behind the ears.

But you make him feel like he hasn’t had a decent meal in decades.

[k4marina]

— Prologue: Who is She? || The Night We Met

synopsis: While investigating some suspicious movement by Flacone and the Penguin, Batman encounters a mysterious female vigilante.

warnings: drugs & implied drug overdoses, brief mention of death, brief mention of rapists, cannon typical violence and themes, gotham (cuz why not ig?)

bruce wayne x fem!vigilante!reader

2.6k word count

Gotham city at night is always a sight to behold. The tall skyscrapers reached up into the cool night sky. The blend of different types of architecture in the city was oddly appealing, an aesthetic that only Gotham could pull off. Despite it being so late, the city was still awake, but not for any good reason. 

Criminals freely roamed the streets, terrorizing any poor individual that may be out. Over the decades Gotham had been slowly being eaten away by criminal scum on all levels. The streets where children should be playing and growing up were now littered with drug dealers, murderers, and rapists. 

The GCPD, sworn protectors of the city and the law, reeked of dirty cops openly taking bribes from criminals and other corrupt individuals. They swept things under the rug, turned a blind eye, and threatened the other officers to do the same if they knew what was good for them.

Elected officials who were chosen by the people to better their city were no better. Bribes were exchanged, cases were either dismissed or the guilty were given slaps on the wrist for their crimes. The city's politicians were in the pockets of either mobsters or other crimelords and the ones who suffered were the people. 

But things were slowly changing. 

The Batman: a crime fighting vigilante that had appeared one night two years ago. He dawned a black cowl, obscuring the top half of his face, tactical armor and an assortment of gadgets, and a long black cape. 

Despite his sudden appearance he was a force to be reckoned with. He had a clear mission that everyone was able to pick up very quickly; protect Gotham and its people from criminal scum. His first year was the hardest, butting heads with both criminals and the police, especially one James Gordon, but the Bat learned quickly and grew stronger day  by day, or rather night by night. 

For the past few weeks Batman had been investigating the Falcone crime family and Oswald Cobblepot and their suspicious movements. The two criminal organizations were quite the opposites of each other. While the Falcone were both wealthy and feared in all of Gotham, the Cobblepots were looked down upon for falling from grace as one of Gotham's founding families.

Originally, Gordon was the first to get the tip on their movements. At first it was just a rumor that Falone’s men and Cobblepot’s men were seen meeting together until an undercover officer who’d been stationed at the city docks spotted a group of Falcone and Cobblepot  muscle together unloading a mysterious shipment. 

After that Gordon informed Batman of his suspicions and the weeks-long investigation began on the two. They did their best at hiding any connection with each other and truth be told if it weren’t for the undercover cop spotting the groups working together no one in the GCPD or even the Bats would know what was going on. 

But now he's done it. Batman had finally found someone linked to the two who knew about their operations. All he had to do was interrogate him. 

The man, George Kosavo, lived not too far from the infamous Crime Alley. He worked closely with Falcone and Cobblepot acting as some sort of middle man. He worked mostly at the docks and kept records of where the goods came from and where they went. If anyone knew what the two mobsters were up to, it would be him. 

Batman watched below, peering down at the entrance of the old apartment building. He silently surveyed the area, planning his line of attack. So far only George was in the apartment, that he knew, which lowered the level or risk of an ambush. 

Batman grappled down, landing onto the sixth floor balcony. He reached into one of the many pockets of his utility belt and pulled out a jackknife folding locksmith set. He crouched and unfolds it, revealing the different kinds of picks. Carefully he selects the right pick and slots it into the keyhole of the sliding door and shimmy-ins the tension wand. He works diligently and with the right movements the door unlocks with a soft click. 

He shoves everything back into his belt and opens the door, stepping into the grubby apartment. The place was as you’d expect; rundown and poorly maintained. The living room was bland, a small couch on the back left wall, a small table in front of it with an unloaded gun and two magazines on top of it, and a TV perched up on a small rectangular stand. The kitchen was behind the right wall, the top half left open and replaced with a counterspace. It gave the apartment a somewhat open planned space, allowing him to see through the two different areas. 

He makes his way left and down the hallway, opening a door to the right that led to the bathroom. There was another door to the right that opened into a small closet space that held the washer and dryer and a small shelf that held the laundry detergent. He turned his attention to the last door, at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. Light poured into the dim hallway from the room and an eerie feeling started to creep up Batman's spine. He readied himself for an attack as he silently crept up to the door. 

He swings it open, anticipating an attack, but is only met with a body laying face up on the half made bed. The top of the night stand on the left side of the bed had three lines of cocaine, a rolled up fifty dollar bill, and a half empty dime bag. Batman carefully assessed the area, quickly deducing that the man, George Kosavo, died of an overdose. 

He sighed inwards, this was going to be harder.

The room looked as clean as it could get for a mobster lackey who was almost always stung out on drugs. The small table and shelf to the left were mostly bare safe for some porn magazines that were most definitely used. Batman didn’t bother touching them and turned to the closed doors near the right side of the room. He pulls the doors open and finds the clothes rummaged through, exposing a hidden safe that was left open.

Gone, he thought. 

“Looking for this?” 

Batman’s head snapped back to the doorway, setting his eyes on you. You leaned on the door frame, a manila file in hand. Batman frowned, assessing you fully. You wore a domino mask and a full armored bodysuit with subtle metallic accents and paneling and black gloves with reinforced armor around the knuckles. Everything seemed to be meticulously handmade and thought out. 

“Don’t worry, he was like this before I got here.” You motioned towards George's lifeless body.

“Who are you?” 

“Anapófefktos¹” You replied. Batman's frown deepened, was that Greek?

“Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” You joked. 

“You work for Falcone.” He accused. 

You scoffed. “Ew, no. Do you really think I’d work for him? No no, I’m more like you than him.” 

“Why do you need that,” he glanced over to the file in your hand. 

“Because I’m working a case, which I’m guessing you are too. But don’t worry, I’ll return it to you once I’m done with it.”

“And you really think I’ll let you walk out with the file?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Even in his tactical armor his muscles were still bulging out. You couldn’t help but run your eyes down his form, admiring his physique

"Well, it's not up to you really." You give a mischievous smile. "You see, our friend there was supposed to make a phone call to his criminal friends, some sort of business talk. But now, because of his untimely death, they're on their way here. And I am going to leave."

Just as you finished you said, the sound of a car engine could be heard outside. The sound of doors opening and closing could be heard as well as a few hushed voices. Batman looks out the window facing the alleyway. There were two cars, black four door sedans. A group of men could be seen walking up to the apartment building. 

Batman looks back at you only to find you gone along within the folder.

––

When Bruce finally pulls into the Batcave it was just reaching four in the morning, the sun barely ascending the horizon. Like always, Alfred was there waiting with a cup of tea and his med kit ready for any possible injuries.

The doors to the sleek batmobile open and Bruce steps out, removing his cowl with ease. He sets it down somewhere as he steps deeper into the cave. 

“Long night, Master Wayne?” Alfred asks. He hands the cup of tea to Bruce and removes his cape from his shoulders. 

“Something like that,” Bruce replied, rolling his shoulders. He took a sip of his tea, a specific blend made for his sore muscles. He lets out a groan and slumps down into his high back chair in front of the huge batcomputer. 

After you left Bruce to deal with the armed thugs he’d called Gordon over to deal with the rest. He’d asked about you, hoping to find some answers only to be left with more questions. He pulls up the search feature on the computer and types in "Anapófefktos" and looks for any vigilante activities in the country. 

“Inescapable?” Alfred translate, standing behind Bruce. “Is this some sort of clue?” 

“Seems that way, but it’s not related to the case.” Bruce takes another sip of his tea, setting the cup aside onto the matching china plate. “There was a vigilante, a woman, there. Said she was investigating Falcone and Cobblepot, but left before I could question her further.” 

“If she is another vigilante, as yourself, then surely we’d have known.” 

Bruce shakes his head, “I’m not sure, Alfred. It’s like she appeared in Gotham out of nowhere.” 

Right on time, the computer chimes, having finished its search. Multiple articles and images popped up. Bruce clicks on one of the articles, his eyes quickly reading over the words. 

< Adrasteia takes down the Infamous Odessa Mafia >

→ As of late last night the infamous Odessa Mob has been dismantled all thanks to the vigilante, Adrasteia. After a month-long operation between the New York Police Department and Adrasteia the Odessa Mafia have finally been apprehended. The powerful Ukrainian mafia dealt in human trafficking, weapons dealing, drug smuggling, and a dozen other crimes. 

“She sounds impressive.” Alfred comments. Bruce clicks off to another article, this time explaining the origins of your name. 

< Adrastiea >

→ In Greek Mythology is a minor goddess whose name means “Inescapable” or “Unavoidable.” Her attributes and roles vary depending on the source, but she is often associated with justice, retribution, and fate. 

“Seems this goddess not only nursed the young Zeus as a child, butshe’s also attributed with divine retribution.” Said Alfred. “She seems like an interesting Goddess.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why she’s here.” Bruce muttered. 

The pair read through a few more articles, creating a small file about you. You were a vigilante from New York, appearing not that long ago and seemed to have gotten to work fast. It started off small, handling petty crime before moving up to taking down rapists and murders until you took down one of New York's biggest mafia. After that, it seems that you vanished and reappeared in Gotham.

Another thing about you, that rubbed him the wrong way, was that you weren't afraid to kill if necessary. You went after everyone, and like your namesake, you were inescapable. You delivered divine punishment on those who you saw fit, which left a bitter taste in Bruce's mouth.

Alfred glances down at his wrist watch, “it looks like it’s time for you to sleep, Master Wayne. I hope you remember we’re hosting a charity gala tonight.” 

Knowing that he had no room to argue, Bruce gives in and gets up from the computer and makes his way to his room. He strips himself of the Batman suit and takes a quick hot shower and collapses onto his bed. Exhaustion takes over Bruce’s body and he soon falls asleep.

––

The Grand Hall of the manor was the embodiment of elegance and refinement. The curved vaulted ceiling adorned with cascading strings of warm fairy lights that shimmered like the starry sky. Crystal chandeliers refracting the light into soft rainbows. They hung proudly above a gleaming dark wood floor polished to mirror perfection. Rich velvet drapes framed tall arched windows that looked into the open courtyard of Wayne Manor.

Rectangular tables, draped in white linen table cloth, were adorned with tall floral arrangements of lilies and roses. An assortment of appetizing finger foods were laid out in front of them. Round tables draped in the same white linen were scattered around for a way for people to gather around in small groups and enjoy themselves. 

Along one wall, an ornate bar made of dark mahogany held a selection of fine wines and cocktails. A line had already formed with men and women waiting for their drinks. A small string quartet was placed by the staircase, their beautiful sound filling up the room and perfectly setting up the tone for the rest of the night. 

They played Felix Mendelssohn's String Quartet in A Minor, Op. 3. The music began softly, the first violin’s bow gliding softly across the strings. The others joined, their sounds harmonizing together into a sweet melodic sound.

There was a back and forth in the music, like a conversation between them. It passed from the Viola then the Violins and then the Cello before the four joined in together as the music quickened in tempo. 

The music soon faded into the background as Bruce Wayne entered the hall, dressed in one of his many finely tailored suits. Conversations hushed into whispers as he descended the stairs and was handed a glass of champagne by a server. He takes a sip, readying himself for what tonight had to offer and begins making rounds. 

The facade of Bruce Wayne, billionaire, play-boy, philanthropist, who was an occasional airhead, easily slips on with ease. He shakes the hands of investors, businessmen, and local politicians and kisses the back of the hand of a dozen different women, giving them his signature charming smile that would make any woman on earth swoon. 

He’s finally pulled away by one of his close confidants, Doctor Leslie Thompkins, one of the very few people who knew about his nighttime activities and Godmother. 

“Slow down Leslie, I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce chuckles. The older woman barely pays him any mind as she pulls him to the other side of the room.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She explains. “I’m sure you two would get along real nicely.” 

Bruce pushes down the urge to say "That's what you said the last time,” but decides against it and lets the older women, who’d been a mother figure to him, ramble on about the person she wanted him to meet. 

His eyes land onto a woman wearing a sleek floor-length satin gown in a soft metallic blue color. He could only see the back of her, as she was busy talking to another person. Leslie called out her name, exited, and the women turned back to her and Bruce. She gave the older woman a warm smile and shifted her eyes to Bruce. Bruce, for the first time in a long time, felt as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His blue eyes locked on with the woman’s eyes and he could only think of one thing. 

Have I met her before?

(1) Anapófefktos - Greek for Inescapable.

real ones know that this is a rewrite

TAGLIST:

@nyxthedeity @wackyaussiegiraffes @llynx7 @multifandomgirl2018 @radiantdanvers

[qilingxiong]

九龍城寨之圍城 | Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (2024)

I've rewatched this movie more than once, since seeing it in theatres back in August, and each time was just as good as the first if not better. Given that, I now have many thoughts so I'm subjecting y'all to listening to why you should watch it:

Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In (九龍城寨之圍城 or gau2 lung4 sing4 zaai6 zi1 wai4 sing4) is a martial arts action/crime film directed by Soi Cheang. It is an adaptation of the manhua City of Darkness by Andy Seto, and its source novel of the same name by Yuyi. The film's cast has established Hong Kong names folded in with newer-generation actors, starring Raymond Lam, Louis Koo, Sammo Hung, Richie Jen, Terrance Lau, Philip Ng, German Cheung, and Tony Wu (Aaron Kwok gets a cameo role, too).

At a broad glance, the movie follows several major triads in 1980s Hong Kong and their power struggle to control the Kowloon Walled City (a densely populated urban enclave, which for decades evaded direct governance by either the British colonial or Chinese powers in the area). We're introduced to the KWC and the triads' major players through the eyes of Chan Lok-Kwan (Raymond Lam), a man fleeing Vietnam and attempting to make a life for himself in HK. He winds up seeking refuge in the KWC, and comes to call both the city and the people he meets in it a home worth defending.

The narrative itself is not the most complex, but if you enjoy '80s Hong Kong films in these genres, it's solid fare and a harkening back to that decade. All the major themes like brotherhood (and brotherhood vs blood), vengeance, and struggle with conflicting loyalties are there, alongside an internal search for identity and belonging within Hong Kong. But the highlight in it is that the plot connects feast after feast of utterly stunning fight choreography, made all the more impressive by the fact that, according to Louis Koo, quite a few major cast members had never filmed this kind of action before. All their training was done just for TotW, and oh, does it pay off. I can't make good gifs, so you'll have to watch and see for yourself. It's not action for action's sake, either; listening to the head stunt choreographer discuss how different characters' fighting styles were crafted shows off how fight scenes aren't breaks in the story, they tell the story, and deepen our understanding of the characters.

The setting of the Kowloon Walled City truly makes the action in TotW stand out. It's a unique space to stage all these major fights, as the KWC's buildings at the time were packed together close enough to resemble a singular block from the outside. Once inside, it's a stacked, dark maze of uneven paths, stairs, and rickety roofs, with electrical and television cabling snaking over/around/through everything. Fight scenes in these streets feel thrillingly claustrophobic, with lots of acrobatics and near-dodges as characters navigate these tight alleys of the KWC. Each impact as a character goes flying into a wall, or is launched down a flight of stairs or onto a roof, is wonderfully visceral to watch.

All credit and hopefully awards are due to the production and set design teams for their work, in crafting this environment for the story and its fights. The visual/spatial representation of the KWC is the film's other glorious highlight, alongside the choreography. Whole streets of the KWC were recreated for this, filled with every mundane, period-accurate detail from the lives of ordinary people who would have lived there. It's impossible to catch all the intricacies put into making the KWC come to life again onscreen, just from watching the film. Shots like the credits sequence offer close-ups of harder-to-see details, and videos like a tour of the KWC set by Terrance Lau, acting as his character Shin, show off things from the drinks in the fridge at the corner store to the scribbled writing on the walls by the public taps. This film was designed with a drive to faithfully represent what the Kowloon Walled City had been like, how it looked when it was lived in, and they achieved it to an incredible degree.

That dedication extends to more than just the sets, though. The emotional core of TotW revolves around the KWC's inhabitants, and how they were the ones who made the city what it was, a home for about 35,000 people at a time. The film doesn't treat the KWC as just an eye-catching location to stage some fights; its characters might be fictional and overloaded with jianghu powers, but it goes out of its way to show how ordinary people might have lived, worked, and socialized within the historic city. It shows off why, despite its (not unwarranted) dark reputation, so many chose to live in a place that was once the densest urban center on the planet.

And this brings us to the acting, because the cast all do a very good job bringing their characters to life as the heart of the KWC. Louis Koo is fucking fantastic and arguably the scene stealer of the film as Cyclone, the triad leader in current charge of the KWC. He's grumpy, magnetic, and dangerous when he must be, but he also cares so very, very deeply about the inhabitants within his jurisdiction. Terrance Lau's Shin acts as his charismatic and capable right hand man, as well as protégé to Cyclone, befriending Chan Lok-Kwan and helping him become accustomed to life in the KWC. These two, along with the snarky Twelfth Master (Tony Wu) and the masked + imposing AV (German Cheung) become a quartet with great chemistry and friendship, the next generation to watch over and protect the Kowloon Walled City. Outside the KWC cast, antagonist figures like Sammo Hung, Philip Ng, and Richie Jen's characters are intimidating and compelling as threats to the city, and the lives people have etched out within its walls.

All of these things put together, and Twilight of the Warriors is a deeply fun, enjoyable, and rewatchable film (so good, in fact, that Hong Kong has submitted it as its nomination for the 2025 Oscars). The movie doesn't lose its emotional throughline in the promise of an action-packed ride it fully delivers on, and it uses its narrative, setting, and choreography to pay tribute to an earlier era of Hong Kong, as well as highlight + humanize a piece of the region's history that might not be quite as well known to some.

(The Kowloon Walled City was demolished and its inhabitants relocated in 1993. The area where it once stood is now a park, with some historic buildings preserved. If you're curious about people in the KWC before demolition, City Of Darkness: Life In Kowloon Walled City (1993) by Greg Girard and Ian Lambot is a collection of photographs and first-hand recountings from residents, recording their lives and stories. I'm in the midst of reading it right now.)

If anything I've said has piqued your interest whatsoever, I say to give Twilight of the Warriors a try, if you have a free two hours to spare. Something in it will be worth it for you. And if I've failed to convince you with any of this, or you need one more push, here's the trailer for the film:

And if I did manage to actually get anyone to seek out this movie, please tell me! I'd love to know your thoughts.

[rizzanon]

stop I just though of this as I was drawing fanart but since the readers old batgirl outfit was just Barbara’s batgirl suit that she stole borrowed, i feel like the media’s first reaction to seeing batgirl comeback randomly and just suddenly have a whole new hair color would be just them questioning if either

A.) batgirl took a break and just decided to change her hair color

or

B.) it’s a new person under the mask

Idk I just found this funny while I was drawing 🤷 because imagine just being a random bystander and suddenly seeing batgirl make an appearance and they’re left shocked (which is reasonable since girly hasn’t made an appearance in a good MINUTE possibly almost a decade after the joker incident) because she has a whole new hair color and different eye color (unless you’re a redhead and have the same eye color as Barbara as well) and going “what the hell”

sorry if this doesn’t make sense I lowk can’t process what I’m yapping about rn

- 🌘

HELP WAIT. gothamites definitely thought batgirl just took a break and changed her hair colour for like the first few months when reader took up the mantle. that is, before cassandra showed up and also became batgirl. that’s when some gothamites realise that there’s more than one batgirl, though (many) others firmly believe that batgirl is just going through a lot of costume changes 💀💀

when cass shows up, many people still firmly believed that there’s only one batgirl because you never ever see batgirl!cass out at ALL. so for the people who do see her, they just think that’s the same batgirl, but in a different costume. IMAGINE:

Cass: (saves a random civilian from a mugging)

Civilian: (panting, after being saved) Yo, Batgirl! Decided to go for a new look?

Cass: (tilts head, clearly confused, then shrugs)

Civilian: (nodding, completely convinced) Yeah, makes sense. Gotta keep it fresh for the fans, huh? Bold choice with the ninja vibe!

Cass: (blinks a few times) …Okay.

Civilian: You’re still kicking butt though. Love the fit!

Cass: (looking even more confused, but gives a thumbs-up and grapples away)

batgirl!reader: (helped a group of crime alley kids out)

Kid 1: Aw, man! I was hoping you’d show up in the new suit!

batgirl!reader: (pauses) Huh? What new suit?

Kid 2: (excitedly) The all black one! Like Batman’s! It’s way cooler. Why’d you go old school again?

batgirl!reader: (deadpans, slowly lowering the batarang) …Oh, give me a break.

Kid 3: (shrugs) I dunno, the cape’s nice and all, but you could try something new, you know?

Kid 4: Yeah! Mix it up! Batgirl’s gotta stay trendy!

batgirl!reader: (muttering to herself) wow.

[damianbugs]

(comic references under cut)

a personal and fav hc of mine is that following jason's death, yes, batman shuts down, yes, he becomes colder and destructive — going out every night and staying out for as long as he can because hurting is better than trying and failing to sleep. i don't think he would have done the same as bruce wayne, though.

bruce wayne pulls away from the public. galas and events are either cancelled by the wayne foundations or go ahead without the man in attendance. no one can really blame him, after the death of his sheltered and beloved second son. there are no comments issued by anyone in the family besides what is strictly necessary and after one unavoidable yet invasive investigation¹ to sedate public obsession, bruce wayne does not speak on the matter at all.

he does however say a lot through action.

within a couple months, a long standing project finally gets unveiled with no big event or publicity. the Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter, right in the centre of Crime Alley. the Jason Todd-Wayne Children's Fund, offering free lunch meals to school children from struggling families. The Jason Project, focusing on reading programmes in prisons and rehabilitation support. donations under the name Jason Todd are publicly given to a multitude of charities.

the public opinion on these actions are split. some find it wonderful if heartbreaking, how a child can be so loved that their parent will do anything to make their legacy leave a mark in time. gotham hasn't seen such abrupt change in — well, ever. bruce wayne is known for charity, of course, but this is different. this is for one person. this is the most expensive form of mourning.

others are a bit unsettled. if all of this could have been done, why not do it before? why use a dead boy's name to do good that will only benefit the living waynes reputations? is this some sort of ego thing? to make himself feel better? to make everyone else feel bad?

bruce doesn't quite know himself.

part of it feels useless, pouring money and time not spent breaking bones (his own and others) into fulfilling dreams jason had once had. the boy had always wanted to help in a way that was more than batman, more than bruce. is it invasive, to assume jason would have been grateful for this, that jason would have agreed? does he have any right to be so presumptuous?

part of it feels necessary. to implicitly tell the world that even before jason todd had publicly died, the city had lost a hero². that losing him is more than just an article for the front page of the daily newsletter. that gotham has lost someone intrinsically important. to make it clear that bruce wayne is only as good as what his children let him be. that they are the ones who can make change, at the end of the day.

most of it is selfish. the Wayne Botanical Gardens opens a new exhibit for the first time in decades named My Son. the Gotham Library dedicates an entire self to Jason Todd-Wayne. the third door in the living quarters of the Wayne Manor is always locked, except for monthly dustings. there is a lesson, locked in a glass case down in a Cave, labeled A Good Soldier.

¹ : Batman: Gotham Knights #45

² : Batman #125

[yandere-daydreams]

Thinking about sex doll Scaramouche the scrapped concept and Wanderer the repurposed Sumeru line, and I bring you Kabukimono the unfinished doll. A ScaraWan model that didn't get all the code written up in him properly or completely. He has the IQ of a roomba. He has no idea what his functions or roles should be, them not being programmed in. He has no concept of how strong he is, oftentimes accidentally grabbing objects and shattering them by accident. His owner/maintenance technician is unsure if the robot even understands that it's a robot, or if it's trying to become a human. Kabukimono showing up with a freshly bleeding heart in his hand beaming like "Am I human now? :D"

tw - implied violence, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, disturbing themes.

ahhhhhfdlsjdkjslsjfdlsk the current wanderer lore is that he was formerly a failed cross-over model between the harbingers and the shogunate line who was then mellowed out and released with sumeru's more academic characters, so i can absolutely believe that in the mess of his development and production, there were a few models made that just,,, weren't finished, for lack of a kinder way to put it. he's got an incomplete backstory with plot holes you could drive a plane through, clothes that don't quite fit with the harbinger's cold-war-chic aesthetic or the shogunate's refined elegance, and most of his functions were made, well, functional. you're told all that up-front when you find a badly mangled model at a warehouse sale, but you don't care. he's got that beat-up alley-cat charm, and as a veteran companion-droid technician, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't bring him home.

he works better than you expect him to, despite everything you've heard. his base programming (things like 'humans need air to breathe and breathing is good' and 'don't burn down the kitchen when asked to pour a glass of water') is in-tact, and he still has his verbal faculties, even if he does still get tripped-up on names every now and then. he spends the first few weeks following you around like a lost puppy, watching you fix up other androids and go about your daily routines with parted lips and wide eyes, but once he settles in, he's more of a housepet than a companion droid, constantly either lingering at your side or sitting at your feet, never farther than across the room. sometimes, he tries to help around your workshop, but he doesn't exactly have the gentle touch you need to deal with something as delicate as androids. you've found him elbow-deep in the wiringof other teyvat droids before, and well he has yet to do any damage you can't repair, you'd rather not catch him staring blankly at a nearly disassembled ayato with oil soaking into the clothes him again.

the only things you're genuinely worried about are his self-awareness protocols. he doesn't seem to understand the difference between androids and humans (despite having watched you take apart and put together more than a few of the former), and some of the phrases he uses just don't align with the lines his more official counterpart would spout when given the same prompt, occasionally referring to a 'mother' or a blacksmith he can't remember the name of. you've tried to correct him, to pull out your decade-old anatomy charts and drill a few haphazard biology lessons into his metal skill, but there's only so much you can do to change the ones and zeroes that make up his consciousness. there's not much you can do, but still, you'll wish you'd done more when he comes back from a routine errand with something red and pulpy cupped in his hands, his eyes bright and a wide smile plastered across his lips - when he asks, in the sweet, oblivious tone you've never been able to hold anything against, if this is all he needs to be human, to be with you permanently.

when it becomes clear that his programming was just a little more faulty than anyone thought to tell you.

[hford0311]

She never looked at me that way before

Summary: From the first time you met Bucky as a 7-year-old, things got ugly quick, which established a decade-long hatred for your male neighbor who unfortunately was also your brother's best friend. Then, one night began to change your opinions of Bucky.

Tags: 1930/40s timeline. Fem!reader x Bucky Barnes. Childhood enemies to lovers.

Being Steve's younger sister wasn't the easiest thing imaginable. "But Mama!" You cried as you watched the other children in the neighborhood play. "Y/n, I said no." You huffed and plopped yourself on the floor in front of the window. "Can't do nothin' 'round here." You angrily mumbled. "Missy, you keep that attitude up, I'll find you something to complain about." Your mother called. You rolled your eyes out the window. At the ripe age of seven, you knew the unfairness whenever you looked at your brother. You were aware of the problems, but they only bothered you at times like this. However, they happened more often than not now that you were in a new neighborhood with new kids. 

A knock at the door minutes led you to race to it and open it. Your mother sighed and whispered, "I don't know what I'm going to do with you," before she walked over to the open door. "You must be Mrs. Rodgers," the woman at the door smiled with two children at her sides, "I'm Mrs. Barnes and these are my children, James and Rebecca." "Bucky, Mama," the boy groaned. The mother lightly chuckled, "Sorry, Bucky, my troublesome son." Sarah smiled back the mother. "Well, you met my troublesome, Y/n. Let me go fetch her brother," she went and grabbed Steve from the bedroom. 

"Would you be opposed to them playing outside while we get to know each other?" Mrs. Barnes questioned. Sarah hesitated, fearing Steve would have an asthma attack or worse. "I promise my children know the rules of playing outdoors. Plus, they can introduce them to the others. Be good for them to have friends before school starts." Mrs. Barnes  persuaded her. "Oh, Mama, please!" You and your brother begged. Sarah sighed, "Alright, but you and your brother have to look after each other." You and Steve cheered before following the other children outside.

Sarah anxiously watch her children play with the others in the alley from the window. It felt a little too fitting that her children were the same age of the Barnes children. "I'm sure they'll be fine, Sarah." Mrs. Barnes mentioned. The two women bonded, soon learning about each others' past and present. Meanwhile, you decided you wanted to play stickball with some of the boys. However, it wasn't that easy. Somehow, it ended with you and Bucky screaming in each others' faces. Despite the two year difference, you still stood nose to nose with the boy when you were on your toes. "If you weren't a girl, I'd hit ya!" Bucky yelled. 

Wham! Children swarmed the scene. "I wonder-oh my goodness!" Mrs. Barnes glanced out the window to witness what was happening. She quickly ran down to the alley with Sarah not far behind. "Out of my way!" Mrs. Barnes screamed and broke apart the group of children to reveal her eldest with a bloody nose. Sarah separated you from the group. You were panting and hid your bloody hand behind your back. "What happened!" "She's crazy!" Bucky yelled as an answer. "He wouldn't let me play because I'm a girl!" You yelled back. "Y/n! You do not hit!" Sarah scolded. "But-" "No buts." She huffed and grabbed your wrist, trying to avoid getting blood on her before dragging you up to the apartment. That moment defined your hatred towards Bucky Barnes. 

Soon after the initial fight and greeting, the boy could never stop coming by to hang out with Steve, leaving you to steam in irritation. However, Rebecca was able to help with the situation a lot of the time. You two loved to gossip and make fun of Bucky. Funny how the two siblings were totally different. Sarah and Winnifred were deeply grateful for the separation  of the two pairs that allowed there to be peace in the two apartments. 

***

Six years it has been and the hatred did not cease. Perhaps, it grew-- or at least the maturity level of it increased-- which isn't much to say. 

"Bucky Barnes, won't you just leave me alone!" You yelled at him when he followed you back from school. At thirteen, you didn't need a babysitter to walk you back to the apartment after the bus ride from school. His fifteen year old self mocked you from behind your back. "Such a jerk!" The words left your mouth like venom. The one time Rebecca and Steve were both sick, he decided to pester you the most, and both of your mothers wanted him to make sure you got home safe from school. "It's not like I want to," Bucky grumbled. "God, won't you go do something with Steve and get the hell away from me?" You growled. Bucky pressed you up against one of the brick buildings. His blue eyes starring into your soul, wanting to send it deep into the pits of hell. "Y/n, if I had that option, I would. Now, just stop complaining and get home." His height was beginning to tower yours. "Fine," you huffed and ducked under his arm to continue on your route. Somehow, your brother was best friends with the most annoying boy in the neighborhood, and no one else hated it as much as you did. Your mother grew to adore him as her own son. It basically led to him never leaving your apartment or dining table, which led to Barnes's home to become an escape for you. The hallway is a no man's land that neither of you were caught in besides entering and exiting the two apartments. 

At age 17, you sighed as you got off the bus from coming home from grabbing medicine and a few other grocery items for your sickly brother. The sporadic lit street light led your way home. You looked down at your clacking shoes, counting the steps you made to distract yourself from the cold and the thoughts that could enter a young woman's mind while walking alone on the street at night. You counted louder in your head when you heard voices that you didn't want to understand or hear. Be as that might be, hearing more footsteps  that were not yours could not make focusing and counting steps easy. Fingertips grazed your bicep, causing you to trip off the sidewalk and land on your hands and knees. The materials in your bag now flung elsewhere You tried scattering up, but when you turned around, you froze in fear at the stranger in front of you. He was starting to walk close to you and saying something before rapid steps and punches were exchanged in a blur of movement. 

Then, one of the blurs left and the other came into focus in front of you. The unwelcomed face became a pleasant one. "Bucky!" You breathed an exhale. His strong yet soft hands lifted you up from your stunned state. "Are you okay?" His voice was caring and gentle. "Y-yes," you confirmed, trying to steady yourself on your feet. "C'mon, let's get you home." He started to guide you in the direction. "Steve's medicine, I dropped it." You were a muttering mess in front of him, pointing in the direction of where you fell. "Stay here," His hands on your shoulders, like setting you in place before quickly snatching the med bottle in his coat pocket. "Alright, let's go, I gotcha." Bucky led you home. 

"Thank you, Bucky. I-I-" Bucky interrupted you as the pair of you made it to the landing. "You don't need to thank me, Y/n." You simply nodded and then motioned to his coat pocket, "Steve still needs those." Your old nemesis delicately placed them in your palm. "Take care of yourself," he spoke and walked to his apartment. 

The energy between the two of you would change after this night. It took about six months for a complete one-eighty change. 

Now, the hallway that separated the two apartments would be a no man's land anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. You felt your feet start to tremble when Bucky kissed you at the apartment door. "We can't let anyone know," you whispered as you broke the kiss. "Oh, not a soul," he whispered back and kissed you again. "I mean it, Bucky. Not even my brother." You scolded him. "Never, doll." He confirmed before planting his lips onto yours. "Alright, I should go before someone catches us," Bucky whispered and started to take the twelve feet to his apartment. You quickly followed him and stopped him to exchange another act of affection. "Yes, you should go...it's getting late." He took a step down to be on the same as you. "Go to bed, my Y/n doll," he planted a kiss on your forehead, "dream of me." You blushed, "As long as you dream of me, James." He stroked your cheek and took his final departure. You leaned up against the hallway wall for a moment to calm down before going back into your apartment.  

"You're late," Steve mentioned from his chair in the corner by the lamp. Your body jolted as you softly closed the door. "Jesus, Steve," you hissed and pressed your hand to your heart, "do you want to give me a heart attack?" He closed his book and stood from his spot. "Just come home on time. Mom was worried." Guilt rose in you as your brother began to trudge to bed. "Hey Steve," he stopped and turned to you, "don't worry Bucky walked me home."  It wasn't a complete lie and the statement lessened the guilt. "Good to hear you're finally getting along." He stated with a smile and goes to bed. 

***

You walked out of the apartment door, only for Bucky to swiftly pulled you over his shoulder and in five seconds, his apartment door magically sprung open and shut before Bucky put you down, his lips pressed deeply onto yours, making you pressed up against the door. "Bucky Barnes, what have gotten into you?" You giggled. He pressed his index finger to your lips. "Do you hear that?" You noticed the absence of the other Barnes family members. "What are you talking about?" You whispered in the silence. "We're here all by ourselves, Y/n doll." He grinned and pressed on another kiss. The pair of you stopped, starring into each other eyes without the desire to punch each other. 

[hyacintheros]

Child of the Stars

|| (Regulus Black x Fem!Reader)

Main Masterlist

Word Count: 0.7k

P.S: A little blurb I was thinkin of c:

She brushes her nails on his scalp, massaging and scrubbing the soap in. Rinsing out the bubbles, she gives the nape of his neck a nice pull, loosening any tense muscles. His wife wrings out the water from his hair, applies conditioner, and leaves it in for a few minutes.

“Ow! What was that for!?” Regulus holds his cheek, trying to soothe the pinch. She looks at him, ready to beat him with the conditioner still in his hair. “D'you know what Sirius said? He told me he saw you getting ice cream with Draco! You guys went without me..” his wife pouts.

“Really? That's what you're upset over? You were at Lily's place! What was I supposed to do, not get him ice cream??” Regulus pouts back, thankful his wife isn't actually angry. Merlin knows what she'll do to his hair when angry, shuddering at the thought, praying for his precious hair currently in her hands.

She rinses out the conditioner, giving his scalp one final scrub before wrapping it up in a cute pink towel, one she bought to tease him about. “Would it make you feel better if we went out for ice cream?” He kisses her forehead in a means to make amends. She smiles at him, happy and bubbly for ice cream.

“D'you want help drying your hair?” The girl mumbles as she cleans up the huge bowl of water and products, doing this once a week for Regulus. They find that washing his hair is a nice bonding activity to wind down from the week, just basking in each other's presence.

“Could you help, please? My curls look nicer when you do them..” They move to the bedroom, she sits on the edge of the bed while he sits on the ground below her, head facing the other way. “Pass me the creme, darling,” he grabs the dark purple container, opening it for her and holding it up so she can dip her fingers into the product.

Regulus’ head falls gently onto her lap, breathing having evened out, too blissed out to stop himself from falling asleep. His wife chuckles softly, scrunching his hair gently and palming at his nape to help him feel better. She lets him sleep, putting a towel on her thighs to protect his hair.

—♡—

“I'm going to kick your shin if you don't get up from my lap.” Regulus chooses to ignore this threat, instead turning his head around to nuzzle it into her stomach, mumbling incoherent words. “Reggie! My feet are asleep, please!” He relents, just a little bit, standing up by and stretching his back.

“Old man,” his wife mumbles, also getting up to stretch. “You promised me ice cream, you know.” He pulls her in for a sleepy, discombobulated hug, shushing her. “Same place..?” He whispers into her hair, still physically in a different realm. She nods, giving a little kiss to his cheek where she pinched an hour before.

They both grab a coat, not in the mood to change as their coats cover them all the way to their ankles. “It's cold out and you still want ice cream? Truly a well oiled machine, you are” he snickers at her, apperating them to the ice cream shop in Diagon Alley.

Walking in, the smell of handmade waffle cones and sweet cream fill the air, temperature even colder inside. “Oh look, they've got a new flavour!” She points out to the glass divider, a swirly black ice cream with gold shimmers in it. The couple have been coming to the same ice cream shop for a decade, having tasted every flavour, new and old. 

Regulus knows that look on his wife's face, having seen it a million times. Turning to the scooper, he says, “Could we get one Black Cherry Cheesecake scoop on a waffle.. and the new flavour- Child of the Stars? in a cup please.” He didn't see the name of the ice cream before, a bit ironic, he thinks.

Serving their ice creams, the boy behind the glass screen rings them up, “11 sickles please,” and Regulus pulls out his membership card, scanning it then paying for his tab. Grabbing the ice creams, they approach their signature table, one the couple have sat at almost every time they come.

Staring at his wife, he can't help but laugh at her expression, clearly confused by the flavour of her ice cream, not being able to place the actual taste. It's days like today that Regulus feels it was worth it, pushing through the hardest of what life had to offer, just to end up back in her arms.

[ravenlilyrose]

I just had a thought.

Damian is the murder Robin, the sword Robin, right? And you’d think that would make him the scariest, but I don’t think it would.

Because Gotham knows how to deal with swords. Gotham knows how to deal with people who put murder way too early on the list of possible solutions. That’s basically mundane to them.

But what terrified the criminals of Gotham was what Robin used to be.

Childish laughter that bounces off walls, seems to come out of nowhere. Quips and scathing remarks delivered like they’re on the elementary school playground in Metropolis, not a dark alley in Gotham. A blur of yellow and red dropping down into the middle of your drug deal or flipping overhead like gravity doesn’t apply to them.

Most of it started with young Dick. And his laugh changed as he grew up and so did his humor. But what Robin had going on worked so well. So he kept throwing that childish laugh out to bounce off walls so it seemed like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. So he made sure to be just as ridiculous and scathing as ever in his quipping.

And then Jason and Tim came along. And at that point they were still mostly trying to pretend like it had always been the same kid. So they learned the cackle and how to throw it. They practiced quips at home before patrol until they finally learned how to relax and let them come. They might never be as effortlessly airborne as Dick, but they learned how to fly.

And then Steph came along, and while she occasionally tried to gaslight people into believing either that she was a dark-haired boy or that Robin had always been a blonde girl, there was no way they were going to fool everybody.

And by the time Damian came along things were different. Which was good, because he insisted on carrying a sword and was too serious to laugh like Robin and he spoke more like a wealthy Victorian than a child sometimes. He could never have passed for Dick or Jason or Tim’s Robin.

The children of Gotham never feared any Robin. Those who had heard Robin laugh tried to copy it. If they overheard a quip they told all their friends about it and spent days trying out their own on each other. Robin was theirs and Robin was them and they were all Robin.

But the criminals (and even some of the non-criminal adults) were terrified of Robin. Sure, Batman was scary, but Robin was unexpected, like something out of a horror movie, almost uncanny valley territory.

Now, the children still don’t fear Robin, not with over a decade of trust and love built up. They might hesitate more to approach the newest Robin, but they still love him because he’s Robin.

And the criminals do fear him. He can disrupt their operations and send them to jail and he does carry a sword. You’d have to be stupid not to be at least a little afraid of someone who carries a sword and knows how to use it.

But he doesn’t haunt their nightmares, waking or sleeping. The younger criminals, who never had to encounter a cackling, brightly colored Robin don’t understand the way the elders talk about Robin. Sure he’s scary, but not more than the bat or the other birds. Not more than a rival gang or a minor rogue.

Basically, I think the early Robins were the scariest. Dick and Jason and Tim.

[ferrouswheel11]

The moment that made Bruce the man he is today was the moment his parents were murdered in the alley. He thinks that that moment for Tim had or will have to do with the deaths of his parents as well, like it was for him, for Dick, for Jason, all children whose lives were changed forever by tragedy. He doesn't realize that that moment for Tim was a decade ago at Haly's Circus.

Bruce thinks that he and his mission are the poison, that prolonged exposure will eventually drag Tim down into the darkness he resides in (or worse, like it did to Jason). He thinks of the child he once was, remembers that he became the Bat so that no other child might be suffer that same loss, that same transformation that he has. He doesn't realize that Tim's path was set from the very first day he can remember.

Tim doesn't know how to be any different. How to be anything other than a boy who deduced Batman's secret identity by accident. A boy whose heroes inspired him to become a detective, to pick up computer skills, to learn to fight. A boy who cared enough about two strangers at the circus to risk his life for them a decade later.

Becoming Robin was just the culmination. Becoming Robin is when everything that made Tim Tim started to make sense. The night in the alley was the night Bruce’s life changed, but that night at the circus was the night Tim’s life began.

[genji-centric]

Hii! I really like your work:) Hope you’re doing well! I’ve never requested anything from anyone on tumblr lol

Could you write reader(f) and Genji(Blackwatch or Post-blackwatch!) hanging with friends somewhere like at a party/gathering/bar and someone is clearly flirting with the reader but they’re clueless and Genji gets jealous and possessive? You can add if he interjects slightly or not, just want the ending to be nsfw 👀💦!

Ahh, I feel embarrassed 💀

Omg tsym!! And don't be!! You're asking this blog, yk.. the one created by pure lust for a fictional character so shhh. Never be ashamed of requests, I have the anon option for a reason ^^ I've chosen Blackwatch Genji because he is so much fun to write and absolutely strikes me as the type to be jealous. And sorry this took so long!! Enjoy ^^

Genji was always doing his job, whatever Reyes told him to do it was done. Overwatch was the reason he was alive, so it was his only motive in his new robotic life. His days were cold, devoid of the relaxed afternoons out in the sun. Instead of laying down in the gardens of the Shimada estate Genji would now be in medical office, or a back alley taking out a target. He never had that warmth again, even most of his body could never truly feel warm.

And yet somehow, Genji found someone. It felt like decades since he last felt the embrace of a woman, being looked at with such love regardless of how monstrous he saw himself. Which is why once he got a taste, he would never, never in a million years, let someone look at you the same way he got to.

You were everything. He finally felt alive, not just a being who was supposed to return the favor for living. You understood him. You were like a drug, a feeling of pure euphoria he never felt. Everything before Overwatch felt distant, blurry, and plagued by hatred of the one person he saw to be a friend let alone brother. Nobody could take that feeling or normalcy away from him, no man was deserving of you. You chose him, he was the only person to see you in such a way.

Genji grew to be both needy and lovesick for you, not that he didn't know it was wrong.. but after so long without love a man can change.

He was far different from the man he once was, Genji Shimada was popular with women. His spare time having a group of girls wanting a piece of the rich bad boy persona he had. Genji never really understood that feeling of jealousy the women around him had towards eachother. He'd always laugh at them, lighthearted of course but he didn't understand why. Not like he was fighting for attention, girls were easy. At least back then.

Which is why he glared daggers at the man who was sitting in his seat at the bar. Reyes had given him the night off, a rare luxury and you two decided to go on a little out of hour work function at some higher end bar. Overwatch didn't make them official but many people and their close loved ones were.

And Genji was well aware of the bastard cowboy in his spot. Cole Cassidy was the face he had to see countless times, never taking missions seriously and a real lack of care that just ticked him off in every conceivable way. Maybe that's how people thought of him before, but Cole just ticked him off more then he usually did.

Your smile was the only thing to keep that blood in the countless tubes of his body flowing. And that wasn't directed at him, no. The way you looked at Cole.. Genji hated it. He felt his arm shift, but he didn't retrieve the built in shurikens like he oh so wanted, as much as he wanted to pounce at the cowboy he knew better.

Genji knew one dumb action was enough to get him in hot waters, either with Reyes or the doctor responsible for his very life at the other table. Instead he just stepped over to you both, he was seething with anger. Cole had his back to the cyborg but you could see the slight bit of Genji's face he made visible. And you knew when he was angry.

"Cole. Move."

Was all the man said, cold and robotic. When he was pissed, the vocal box he had installed never failed to put people around him tense when he wanted them to be. Yet Cole just turned his head slightly, giving a casual shake of his head.

"What? Can't a man just have a little chat with a fine young lady?"

"Not with, Y/N. Now move."

In all honesty, you didn't see him in that way. Genji was all you needed, yet here you were not even aware of Cassidy trying to replace that. You were angry too, hell, Genji definitely made you two official and yet here was some rugged gunslinger not even making his flirting obvious. You definitely didn't mean to encourage it, just being polite and here Genji was seeing the worst.

Cole seemed peeved, but suprisningly got up with out a fight. Perhaps working with Genji gave him more insight to know when he should pick his battles, this moment definitely not being one of them. As you expected Genji to sit down he didn't, still standing behind the now empty chair. Odd, as you opened your mouth to speak he cut you off.

"We're going back home."

You thought about arguing, but that was clearly not the right thing to do. The ride home was quiet, and Genji still seemed ready to pounce at anyone who looked at you. If it wasn't Cole flirting you know anyone else would have to go to a hospital, not a single doubt there.

Stepping back into your shared apartment Genji still was quiet, a silent rage that spoke his feelings loud. The air felt tense, like everything around you both was waiting for what Genji was about to do. Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you saw him look back to you. His eyes narrowed.

"Why did you let him?"

You felt cold, he still had an edge to his voice.

"I.. I just thought he was being nice.. I know he was your coworker and just wanted to be friendly.."

"Friendly? Cassidy doesn't do shit unless he gains something."

Genji leaned over you, your breath hitched when you looked up to him. His brows were furrowed, and his nose scrunched from a presumed frown. He gave you a look over, focusing more downwards past your face.

He let out an angered sigh, hands shifting behind his head to remove the metal visor he had. Genji tossed the peice of metal onto a nearby chair, he turned back. You could see the displeased expression, a mix of annoyance and something else.

"Damned Cole.."

Was all he said before practically pouncing on you, pulling you close and kissing you. He nipped at your lips slightly, the kiss was clumsy. He was desperate for you, he wanted to claim you. He pulled away, letting you catch your breath.

"You're mine.. nobody else's."

You nodded.

"I'm yours."

"Good girl."

He kissed you once more, but ended it faster. He started to walk over to the bedroom, you followed him.

He opened the door for you, as you stepped in you heard the door shut and a click of the lock. You knew Genji always kept his door locked. He always was like that so the sound didn't startle you, but you always knew he locked the door when you two would fool around.

Your thoughts stopped when you felt him grab your arm harshly, not enough to hurt you but just enough to pull you to the bed. Genji pushed you down, your back hit the soft blankets of your comforter.

The man above you wasted no time in joining you on the bed, both your guy's legs dangled off the edge. That didn't matter, Genji was quick to tackle you to the mattress. He captured your lips into another heated make out, his hands roamed around your body. Grabbing at your flesh through your clothes, you could feel the hardening shaft in his pants against your leg. He wasn't getting any friction, he groaned into the kiss, clearly wanting more. He pulled away, panting like a dog in heat.

"Hah.. you're mine.. Y/N. Nobody else's."

His lids were half lidded, but held a passion that he always would have during his time with you. Genji was always head over heels for you, and being so close made him almost drunk at the feeling. And to think someone like Cole would try to steal it from him.

In the mix of lust and love for you, his hazy mind still had leftover resentment from the bar. He knew it wasn't you, and yet.. you still talked to him.

Genji always rode the fine line of right and wrong. Before he still tried to be a good person, the things he would do in the bedroom remained pretty vanilla. But now, he saw it as something he could never have again, yet he does. That passion always makes him indulge roughly, grabbing and skin and biting until blood spills.

Just like now, how he ruts at a hard and fast pace. As he kissed you he nipped at your lips, groaning at the slight taste of iron on his tongue. Genji's grip was firm, too firm. The hand he had left of his broken body dug it's nails into the side of your torso. The other harshly gripping into the meat of your arm, like he still couldn't quite grasp his grip strength.

And yet, it still wasn't enough.

Genji pulled away, pulling his hands away too. The lack of contact made you wine, he smirked.

"Hah.. still want more? You want me?"

You nodded, he was all you ever wanted.

"Me? And not.. not some drunk cowboy?"

No. Cole could never compare, he wouldn't treat you with such high regard as Genji does. Each act of love cementing in place how truly honored he is to have you. Nobody is special like Genji, those deep red eyes, that soft black hair.

"No.. only you, Genji.."

You shyly smiled, blush creeping onto your cheeks. Genji smiled, a warm and soft smile spreading across his face. Everytime you said something like that he could never get enough, no drug in the world could compare.

Genji began to continue running his hands along your sides, letting out content grunts and groans as he did. He was always vocal about how you made him feel, this time no different from the rest. Aside from how much more he enveloped your senses, like everything you had was his and his alone. No man could love you like he could, no man could fuck you like he could.

He shifted so he could start to tug and the hem of your pants, the fabric blocking him from his goal. You were quick to let him remove the garmets, leaving you in your underwear. With a content sigh he reached down, running his fingers along the front of your panties right agasint your clit.

"Tsk.. already so wet for me.. and only me."

His fingers slipped past the thin fabric, he ran circles into your bud of nerves. Slow. Deliberate. Teasing.

"Genji.. please.."

"Shhh.. I'm with you.. let me have my fun, Y/N.."

He placed soft, delicate kisses along ypur neck, chuckling at the noises you made from his touch.

"So needy.. so perfect.."

Genji continued to swirl his finger along your clit, always so precise in where to touch you. He had expierence, and now everything he learned he used on you, his actions always had a goal. And that goal was always the same, make you feel good.

He wanted to be the only source of pleasure you got, his body was broken, but he wanted him to be the only way you could cum. The pride he felt when feeling you throb to his touch, the whimpers of pleasure from what he did.. Genji wanted more.

His breaths were hot and heavy against your ear, air would be sucked in through his teeth. Even giving you pleasure was enough to make him grunt in your ear, it felt amazing and overwhelming all at once. With his free hand he reached down and tugged at the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"I need you.. now."

He placed a needy kiss to your neck, his lips were warm. The constant friction to your clit made your head feel dizzy, Genji always knew how to touch you. Your senses heightened, the feeling of pleasure started to build up.

"Genji.. mm close.."

He let out a little chuckle.

"Yes.. I know Y/N.. cum for me."

The feeling in your stomach tightened, he kept his fingers moving at the same pace. It all felt so good.. it was Genji.. he was there and all for you. It all became too much, the tension snapping as you went over the edge. His fingers kept the pace, riding you through your orgasm.

"That's it.. fuck.. Y/N you do so much to me.. you don't even know.."

He pulled his hand away, he held his hand in front of your face. A content smirk across his features. He splayed them apart, making a show of your fluids connecting in a string along his fingers. While maintaining eye contact he ran his tongue along them. Seemingly savoring the taste.

"Taste so good too.. and all mine to enjoy.."

Nothing could compare to the love he had for you.. how much he enjoyed having you all to himself. Genji needed more, he pulled away, ripping down his sweatpants and boxers to free his throbbing cock. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, no longer having to deal with the constraints of his clothing.

He kicked the clothes no longer needed to the ground, he would pick up later. Genji gave you a playful smile before he pushed your legs up, giving him easy access.

"I've wanted this since the bar.. you looked so good in the lighting.."

He pressed the tip against you, him grunting at the feeling. Even the smallest things got him vocal, Genji lived and breathed for you. The clutches you had on him could never compare, he was all yours. Genji wanted you all to himself. With the slick from your previous orgasm he was able to slide in with ease, the warmth had him gasping.

"Y/N.. hah.. I love you.."

You couldn't help but whimper, for each moment like this every word he said couldn't help but add more blush to your cheeks. He continued to ease into you, the stretch was just to much but not enough. He was big, but not the the point it hurt.

Genji was halfway inside now, he ran his lone still flesh hand along your hip. His hand was warm, compared to the usual cold he was.

He pushed in more, his cock stretching you out perfectly. As he was fully in, he let out a shaky sigh. Holding your hips with both hands, his thumbs rubbing circles into your flesh.

"You.. Y/N.. Only you.."

Everything he did was for you now, nothing and nobody could compare. He slid out before pressing himself back in, the motion earning more noises from you. He smirked, repeating it again, and again. The pace was slow, but as he continued the desperation to fully burry himself in you grew. Soon he was thrusting in fast, the drip on your hips was rough as he slammed his cock deeper into you.

Genji whined at the feeling, you just felt so good. He couldn't care the idea of someone having you beneath them like he had.

The feeling of his cock repeatedly pressing against the sweet spot inside, it made your toes curl. Genji shuddered, groaning and gasping at how tight you felt. You both felt close to your approaching orgasms. His hand reached down between you, rubbing circles into your clit.

The added stimulation soon became too much, the tightening in your stomach snapped as you came. The feeling of you pulsing made Genji grunt out some curses before he fucked into you faster. Harder. His mind clouded with his own orgasm soon approaching.

His rubbing on your clit stopped before he was holding onto your hips to the point that it hurt, Genji moaned as he came deep inside you. His hips faltered and ropes of cum spurted inside. Genji closed his eyes in bliss, times like this made him feel whole again. Being buried deep inside the lone person he valued, he felt like him. Regardless of the metal his body was mostly made of, he felt you around him. He heard you moan his name. You were his, and he was yours.

Genji nuzzled into your neck, placing a kiss to your collarbone. You both could worry about cleaning up afterwards, all that mattered to him was laying in the bliss of your highs and eachother. Genji had a content smile on his face, before he spent his nights alone. He was cold, alone.. angry. In your arms he felt seen, comforted. It was like those peaceful days on the Shimada estate, but now he had someone he could see a future with, his future with. Nobody else could ever dream of it, nobody.

[broadwaydivastournament]

Broadway Divas Tournament: FINAL

So. It's all come down to this. Were any of us truly surprised? Are any of us really prepared?

Six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald (1970) holds the record for most Tony acting awards a person has ever won. She is one of five actors to be nominated across all four respective acting categories and the only person to win every one (and the only actress out of the three who is still living...). Her stage work includes: Ragtime (1998), Porgy and Bess (2012), and Lady Day at Emmerson's Bar and Grill (2014). Internationally acclaimed concert tours, Tony host, crown jewel of the American Stage. Grammy winner, Tony winner, Emmy winner. Get this woman an Oscar, stat. This is a BROADWAY Diva tournament, and Audra Ann McDonald is BROADWAY.

Seven-time Tony nominee, two-time winner Bernadette Peters (1948) has a sixty-plus year stage career of monumental proportions. Considered the foremost Sondheim interpreter, their collaborative works include Sunday in the Park with George (1984), Into the Woods (1987), Gypsy (2003), and Follies (2011). She has a thriving concert career, and was a co-founder of the beloved Broadway Barks event each year in Shubert Alley. She has an honorary third Tony (Isabelle Stevenson Award) for her outstanding advocacy and philanthropy. This is a Broadway DIVA tournament, and I mean come on, look at her. That is the quintessential DIVA right there.

NEW PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT

"I don't know what to tell you if you're somehow on the fence here. Audra Ann McDonald is Broadway's most beloved darling, and that's a quantifiable fact. Look at her award shelf. Her voice could resurrect the dead. She is an Oscar away from EGOT status. She has overcome almost insurmountable racism on the Great White Way. She is everything to me. A triple threat of acting, singing, and dancing where not one takes a backseat and she looks and sounds amazing at all times. "

"I have been besotted by Bernadette Peters (and her bosom) for more than two decades. Her name is synonymous with Broadway. She is THE Broadway Baby. She started in showbusiness as a child and has not left in seven decades. Her voice is emblematic of a time when we let people with unique, fascinating, wildly different voices star in shows rather than have everyone bow to the BA-ification of Broadway where everyone sounds the same and no one is distinctive."

[sweetmariihs2]

So no one in the fandom is going to point this out?

(except for the fact that Malthus is a good person and has a somewhat healthy relationship with Hilda, differently from Frollo...)

Despite being religious figures (AND involved in politics), I have a list of comparisions of them at the end of the post. For now, let me mention the most important points

They tried to "cleanse the sins" of the girls they have romantic interests in (and the reason for this purification of sins would be because they considered these girls are "sinful and promiscuous")

These girls hate them and publicly defy their behavior (Esmeralda spits in Frollo's face while Hilda gets closer to Malthus' face)

They're both feeling this desire for the girls they deem as sinful, and this feeling (and the religious guilt) is eating them from inside

These girls can easily make them vulnerable, which is a unnusual feeling for both

They are jealous of the girls being exposed to other man (Esmeralda dancing, Hilda in the zone), and try to convince them to stop it

(This scene is not included in the disney movie, but it is in the 1939 movie and in the book - The people were waiting for Esmeralda to get on the stage and start dancing, and Frollo appears, hiding in the shadows, telling her he's madly in love with her and can't stand the sight of her dancing in front of other man. She ends up not obeying him, though! Went to dance anyway)

In the book and also in the musical of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, there is a scene where Frollo is just wandering through the streets of Paris, trying to deal with his conflicting feelings towards Esmeralda, and he hears the sound of music and dancing from the inside of a tavern.

"Frollo began to walk the streets night after night, unable to bring himself to return alone to his cold, dark chambers. He thought he saw her everywhere. Until one night, walking down an unknown alley... he heard the sound of distant music and laughter... coming from within a tavern called... La Pomme d'Eve!" (lyrics from the musical)

When he looks into the window he sees Esmeralda dancing, drinking and having fun, then he says "Brazen, lewd, and odious, this vile, depraved display... I cannot bear to watch and yet I cannot turn away..." (lyrics from the musical), which reminds me of Malthus always ending up in the bohemian zone and "accidentally" watching Hilda from afar, while he's against everything that is in that place. An angel on earth actually made an edit with this musical song making it seem like it was included in the movie, and it looks great! I just wanted to add this here because this edit deserves more recognition.

In the book, Frollo is a priest. He grew up in the church and never felt tempted by any woman... except for Esmeralda, what brings him to madness and eventually death. Got what he deserved tbh

Frollo sees himself as better than the others, just like the first lyrics of his song "Hellfire" say, "Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man, of my virtue I am justly proud... Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd...", which reminds me of the talk that Hilda has with Malthus, claiming that loving humanity is not the same as loving people, with real scent, color and sins. Of course, Malthus' pride is not as bad as Frollo's, but it is still a similarity

Both Hilda and Esmeralda are 100% publicly against Malthus and Frollo. They despise them, Hilda because Malthus wants to exorcise her and he is part of that political organization "of good manners" (or something like that), which goes against the bohemian area and disturbs the residents there using their faith. Esmeralda, however, hates Frollo because of the genocide he had been commiting against her people for decades, and she sees him as depraved and disgusting, especially after knowing that he is lusting after her. Both of the girls aren't afraid of speaking up about what they believe, making a fool out of both of Frollo's and Malthus' faces, which is something that the other people don't do. Both of them have a sense of speaking up for minorities and mistreated people.

And also while Esmeralda is kind to Quasimodo, the mistreated hunchback character, Hilda says that "ugly people have hearts too", willingly letting ugly guys have a chance with her.

Frollo keeps Esmeralda's shiny scarf while Malthus keeps Hilda's shoe. Both of the objects remind them of the girls they're "in love", make them feel religious guilt for feeling lust, and both of the objects are considered sinful (Hilda's shoe is considered too vulgar and Esmeralda's scarf was used during her sexy dance at the festival, and she teases Frollo with it in front of everyone)

Frollo burns Esmeralda's scarf (out of anger of her) and Malthus tries to burn Hilda's shoe, but ended up returning it to her.

They both refuse to call the girls by their names, calling them by pejorative nicknames instead, in Malthus case he calls Hilda "camellia, Magdalene (prostitute of the Bible), sinner" while Frollo calls Esmeralda "witch, the girl, gypsy girl"

This is not really about Malthus and Frollo, but when Hilda goes to the church, the priest tells her she shouldn't be there because she commited too many sins and she's in debt with God. In the Hunchback Of Notre Dame 1939 movie, Frollo finds Esmeralda praying and tells her that that church is not a place for her, aggressively shouts that she should leave and grabs her arm.

And what can I say about this song?

Notice how he ends up passing out because of his inner turmoil, which also happens to Malthus, when he's punishing himself and was found by the priest

As you guys probably know, Frollo and Esmeralda's character relationship and interactions are extremely unhealthy and toxic, while Malthus and Hilda are cute together and they're a recognized couple in the show. Frollo's feelings towards Esmeralda are just pure lust and hypocrisy, and he tries to burn her at the stake at the end, believing that her death will bring him some peace. They're not the same.

[anonymous-dentist]

My ORIGINAL plan for today was an au that was like

So Roier is an internet-famous cosplayer who went viral for his Spider-Man cosplays. He’s at a convention in cosplay, this time as Spider-Man

In the Artist Alley, he runs into someone cosplaying Cell, a villain from an old Brazilian internet show that’s just gotten picked up for a full Netflix tv adaptation years later with different actors than the original

Roier is lowkey a fan of the og YouTube show, but he’s a bigger fan of this dude’s cosplay, because it looks really good, like it’s right off the set of the new tv show

That’s because it is right off the set of the new tv show, and this is the og Cell actor from almost a decade ago. He and the other og actors are all doing promo for the new series by doing a panel with the new actors all dressed up as their respective characters, but Cellbit snuck away after the panel to get away from the cameras

“I’m a writer now,” he explains. “And I don’t exactly have a, uh. Camera face.”

“Same,” Roier says, pointing at his Spider-Man mask. “I have this for a reason.”

“Shut up, you literally just showed me your Instagram!”

“And you haven’t followed me back, mother-fucker!”

Eventually, Cellbit gets dragged off by his security detail to go and do a signing session with the new Cell actor, but he and Roier promise to meet up again outside of the con

And then they get married and write comics together because I said so

[piosplayhouse]

Shi Qingxuan had a pair of blinged out designer cat ears and a slinky dress because they're a really supportive friend but didn't totally follow Xie Lian's explanation that a furry convention was slightly different from a themed costume party.

You're 1000000% correct and please forgive me for springboarding off of this to peddle some hyperspecific bad furry au headcanons:

Sqx: as you said, doesn't really understand what a furry is or what they do. Despite that, has a toyhouse account with thousands of followers on it that her brother made for her. He only has one oc on it, which is an extremely expensive Dainty that his brother bought for him. Otherwise uses the site forums like a social media platform, but doesn't know how to navigate any other part of it (this is understandable if you're familiar with toyhouse). Somehow gained tons of friends and followers anyway, including

hx: her sona is an eel. He lurks the forums exclusively to report drama to hua cheng, who faithfully mass reports and harasses any user who talks badly about disgraced furry xie lian. She's a partial fursuiter (only has the head and paws (fins?)) because even though she made her own suit, hua cheng gave her the stipend to get the materials and he only allotted enough for a bare minimum partial. Yes, he has fucked sqx while wearing his fursuit, and she was really into it.

hua cheng: full fursuiter with 2 suits (San Lang and Hua Cheng) as stated before. He also has custom tailored robes to fit over his suits because he's dapper like that. Obsessively monitors every furry site across the internet to take down anyone spreading rumors about xie lian by using his thousands of sock puppet accounts. Spends more time in his suits than out of them, doesn't even show xie lian his real face until they meet again at Ghost City Furcon together. Full time simp, part time artist/fursuit maker/con owner. Xie Lian talked him down from a suicide attempt after seeing him make a concerning post on a forum, and hua cheng has been gone ever since. Had a bad phase in high school where he exclusively drew xie lian's sona, including one particularly embarrassing self insert NSFW piece of him.

xie lian: full fursuiter BUT regularly takes off his suit head in public for any reason (note: for furries this is considered really weird and somewhat taboo). I've already talked about him quite a bit so I'll keep it brief, but he was blacklisted from the All Furries Go to Heaven Furcon twice despite being a very involved volunteer in the early days of the con. Despite this, somehow in the year 20XX an unknowing green volunteer finds his old artist alley application shoved in a drawer somewhere and calls him up to attend the con again for the first time in decades.

Feng xin and mu qing: THEY DONT HAVE THE SAME FURSUIT OK! Just because they accidentally commissioned the same maker and their suits are like color swapped versions of each other doesn't mean they wanted to match at all in fact mq's sona is a cat and fx's is a dog but the maker they hired makes their dog and cat suits look pretty much the same so that's how it turned out that way and