#she can afford to think about the realities

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

THE BEST FRIENDS RULE 10-JOBE BELLINGHAM

Part.1,Part.2,Part.3,Part.4,Part.5,Part.6,Part.7,Part.8,Part.9, Final Part.

Warning: +18, slight smut.

The camp was full of enthusiasm, with girls on the sidelines applauding and commenting on the boys in the field. Jobe moved nimbly, focused on the game, while Elena encouraged him from the stands. His laughter mixed with the compliments of other girls, some of whom commented unreservedly on how beautiful and charming he was.

You came with the cheerleaders, ready to do your job. Yet you could not ignore the sound of those enthusiastic voices, especially when Jobe, hot for the game, took off his shirt. Suddenly, a series of stares and sighs rose around you. Despite trying to keep an indifferent attitude, you found yourself looking at the girls who were watching him with some intensity.

Without noticing, your look became cold and piercing, almost threatening, and the girls who were commenting on Jobe’s beauty became silent, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. The only one who seemed to notice it was Lucy, your cheerleader mate, who looked at you with a funny grin.

"You were a little upset by those comments, huh?" she whispered, amused.

You looked at her, pretending not to understand. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lucy."

She chuckled, giving you a friendly little push. "Sure, sure. You don’t care, right? Too bad your look can kill... Poor little girls."

You tried to ignore her, but Lucy wouldn’t stop throwing amusing glances at you, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking. Your eyes were turned to the field, and against your will they rested upon Jobe. Every movement he made, every smile, every strong look he gave his comrades while commanding the team, captured you. It was frustrating, but you couldn’t take your eyes off.

Jobe caught the ball with a confidence that only a true leader in the field has. He ran forward with determination, beating the opponents one by one. The whole team was agitating, prompting him to score. With a swift movement, Jobe hit the ball and sent it straight into the net, scoring a goal that blew up the field in a scream of exultation.

But when he looked up, unintentionally, his eyes met yours. A moment that seemed to freeze all around you. No words were needed to understand. The look they exchanged had more meaning than any sentence could be uttered. It was as if he had spoken all the pain, frustration, remorse and even hope of something they could not say aloud.

However, as if reality had suddenly come to light, you quickly turned away from it, trying to hide the intensity of that connection. At the same moment, Jobe did the same, as if his body had reacted automatically to the tension he felt in the air.

Elena, who had seen the quick exchange of glances between you two, did not pay much attention to it. He couldn’t feel the depth of what was behind it, as his focus was on Jobe and his spectacular goal. He smiled proudly, cheering his best friend and applauding for the beautiful play, unaware of the silent whirl that was taking place between you and Jobe.

You, on the other hand, stood there, your heart beating faster than normal, but you tried to keep calm. You couldn’t afford to be too involved. The game had just been scored, and you were there for a reason. You couldn’t distract yourself, you couldn’t let the feelings that Jobe seemed to bring out in you every time he was around.

---

The cheerleaders approached the group of footballers, clapping and laughing, while the girls exchanged compliments and hugged the boys. The atmosphere was festive, and everyone congratulated on Jobe’s great goal, but the boy could not take his eyes off you.

When he saw you, his attention focused only on you, as if you were the only person in the world at that moment. Your cheerleading uniform, with the short skirt waving as you moved, your hair tied in a high tail, and the energy you exhaled from every gesture, was completely confusing. Every time you moved, Jobe seemed unable to take his eyes off you. Your presence was tormenting him, triggering emotions inside him that he had been trying to ignore for too long.

Just as he was trying to get closer, Elena took him by the waist and hugged him in a hug, complimenting him on the goal. Jobe, even though he returned the hug and smiled at her, could not fully concentrate on what he was saying. His mind was too much taken by the thought of you, how your smile lit up the field and the way you moved with a confidence that made him feel more vulnerable than he would have wanted to admit.

Even though he spoke to Elena, every word of her seemed empty. His eyes were all looking for you, watching each other in the crowd of cheerleaders, staring at you from afar, unable to think about anything else. He felt the need to approach, but every time he tried to step towards you, something held him back, a feeling of fear that made him stop.

It was as if every movement of his was dictated by the force of a forbidden desire, yet somehow Jobe could not help but be attracted to you. You were the only thing that occupied his thoughts, the girl who drove him crazy but he couldn’t have.

When Elena went away to talk with one of her friends, Jobe took the opportunity to get closer to you. He felt it was finally time to talk, to clarify everything that was accumulating between you two. He took courage, but just as he was about to take the first step towards you, a familiar voice made him stop.

It was Louise, the captain of the team, who approached you with a confident smile and a boyish attitude that knew how to take what she wanted. Jobe watched them from afar, hands shaking nervously as Louise began to talk to you, trying to draw your attention with jokes and smiles.

Jobe stood motionless, unable to take his eyes off the scene. Louise seemed confident, while you replied with your usual somewhat indifferent smile, but Jobe could sense that something in your eyes that told him it was not just a chance encounter. Your beauty, your charm, the way you moved, made every word of it shine. Sometimes Louise would look at you a little more intensely, but you seemed to keep the right distance, without falling into any obvious kind of play.

But for Jobe, seeing that scene made him grow angry inside he could not control. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else, like Louise, coming up to you that way. It was not just jealousy, but something deeper, a sense of possessiveness that he did not recognize, but that was consuming him.

In the silence that followed, Jobe could feel his heart’s fast beat. Every movement of Louise near you seemed to him a direct blow, as if it was escaping you, as if someone else had the right to look at you, to speak to you, when it was he who wanted to do so. Seeing Louise smiling at you with that confident air made him want to intervene, but something held him back. The fear of ruining everything, of complicating things even more, but also the impossibility to ignore the pain that felt in seeing you and Louise talking so freely.

He could not do anything but observe, but in his heart he knew that he would not endure the situation for long.

Jobe was about to take the first step towards you two, trying to get closer to you, but just at that moment, Elena called him with enthusiasm, beckoning him to come closer. " Hey, Jobe! A friend of mine wanted to compliment you on the game," said Elena, not even noticing what was going on between you and him.

Jobe, with a slightly forced smile, approached the girl, trying to focus on her, but every now and then his eyes moved imperceptibly towards you. He noticed how your eyes were of a security that seemed almost unattainable, and the way you moved seemed hypnotic to him. When you noticed that he was looking at him, your eyes rose from the group and met his for a brief moment. He tried to look away, but the desire that was being kindled inside him was impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, you tried to keep your facade of indifference. You pretended not to notice, not to feel that load of unexpressed emotions weighing in the air between you. However, as Jobe was trying to seem busy talking to the girl who was complimenting him, you approached them with a determined step, casting a casual glance at Jobe, but letting the tone of your voice betray a subtle sarcasm.

"You seem to be doing excellent work in the field, Jobe," you commented, your smile a little mocking. " Who knows if you’ve really trained, or if it’s just your natural talent that makes the difference." Your voice was light, but the message was clear: a mix of praise and irony, as always.

The smile you gave him, with that touch of malice, struck him right to the heart. Jobe felt his cheeks warm, and the beat of his heart accelerated. Although he tried to keep control, the truth was that every word that came out of your mouth seemed to break him more and more. That little taunt, that smile that showed all your beauty with a veil of disinterest, made him crazy.

After you exchanged that line, you turned to the girl who was talking to him, smiling again as if everything were normal. Jobe couldn’t help but think how hard it was for you to seem so distant, but at the same time, that smile made you incredibly charming, and put him in a difficult position like never before. The tension between you two seemed unstoppable, and it was clear that things were about to change.

Jobe, who had been biting his cheek until then to try not to laugh, could not hold back now. The smile that made its way on his face betrayed all his fun. If only he knew all the times you had touched him before, doing worse and more exciting.

Despite the obvious tension, Jobe felt as if something had broken, as if the dynamic between you two was changing irreversibly. The irony and distance you had always kept was slowly giving way to something more intense, and he knew it. But at that moment, as Elena tried to stop you, Jobe’s laugh and your indifference made it clear that things would not be the same.

The moment you withdrew your hand was like a sudden blow for Jobe. Although he tried not to make it known, he felt the lack of your touch on his skin. It was as if a heat he had not expected had vanished, leaving him abruptly in the cool air. His body reacted unintentionally, as if trying to maintain the contact he had just lost.

You, however, did not seem to be affected. Without even a hint of emotion, resume your usual indifferent attitude. You gave a quick, almost cold look and turned around, walking away with the confident pace that only a cheerleader can adopt. Your skirt, short and moving in sync with your steps, attracted all the eyes as you walked away. Jobe could not help following you with his eyes, especially by observing the movements of your figure. Each step seemed staged, a game that was slowly driving him crazy. The temptation to sigh was strong, but he bit his cheek to stop, trying to keep control.

Jobe stood there, motionless for a moment, staring at your figure as it moved away. His eyes, almost without wanting to, focused on your hips, the way the skirt moved with each step. And especially how much better your ass looked in that short skirt. Jobe felt his cock getting even harder and he had a crazy desire to bend you over a table and fuck you that attitude you had towards him.

The image was printed in his mind, and a breath escaped him before he could hold it. His cheek clenched gently, as if he was trying to stifle a groan that did not want to come out. But it was useless: the desire he felt for you would not be erased so easily.

Jobe was still without his shirt, and his toned body shone in the sun. His muscles moved with every breath, every little movement. Unable to resist the temptation, you approached him, letting your hand slide down his chest, sensually caressing his muscles. Your hand came into contact with her skin, and she felt how her body reacted to your touch.

Jobe almost groaned at contact, The shiver that crossed his skin did not go unnoticed, and it was as if that gesture brought him back to all the times when, when you were together, you approached him with the same charm that now seemed impossible to ignore. He shivered with excitement, his heart beating faster for the memory of the moments you had shared. His dick got hard only to think that when you fucked he scratched his chest. His hands barely squeezed, trying to keep control as he felt your hand slipping down her skin ever further. It was like going back in time, when his feelings for you were stronger than ever.

Jobe watched you as you watched him bite your lip and touch his abs while you caressed them.

Elena and her friend were still there, and Jobe for a moment completely forgot they were there. He was about to open his mouth, to say something that would reveal his mood, but Elena stepped in before him, giving you a cold look.

"Y/N," he said in a harder than usual voice, "you shouldn’t touch my best friend like that." His words were sharp, and the atmosphere suddenly became more tense.

You didn’t break down, rather, burst into a funny laugh, one of those sounds that made it clear that nothing really put you in trouble. " Oh, really?" you replied, with a sneer smile. "I didn’t know you had rules about who can touch who, Elena."

"Visto che ci sei…?" ripetesti in tono provocante, facendo finta di non capire. La tua voce era morbida, ma le parole erano punte acute. "Cosa vuoi davvero, Jobe? Sei venuto a fare che cosa? Guardarmi ancora?"

Elena, who was watching closely, immediately noticed Jobe’s gaze fixed on you. His expression changed in a moment. He had seen you many times, but today it seemed different. He couldn’t help but notice how Jobe was staring at your body, especially your butt that moved so easily. An acid smirk slipped on her lips as she watched Jobe, evidently taken by your beauty.

"Jobe," he said in a tone that betrayed some irritation, "What are you looking at?"

Jobe hurried to look away, feeling embarrassed for being caught in the act. " Nothing," he stuttered, trying to sound casual, but his reaction did not convince Elena, who looked at him with a look that felt like rebuke.

"Don’t play dumb," said Elena, crossing her arms. "You were looking at him, Jobe. Next time, try to be less perverted, okay?"

Jobe could not answer. His face was a mixture of frustration and confusion, but also of some secret gratification, which he could not even admit to himself. He knew that the situation was complicated, but he felt there was something undeniable between him and you, something he could no longer ignore. Elena didn’t understand. For her, it was just another moment when her best friend seemed to act strangely around her sister.

Jobe, in his silence, could not help but think of you.

---

Two hours passed like a flash of light, but to Jobe it seemed an eternity. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way you moved, the way you made him feel. So, despite being embarrassed and confused, he decided to look for you. He knew that the only place you could be was in the empty classroom, your refuge, the place where you would isolate yourself from prying eyes.

When he opened the door, he found you there. You were still dressed in your cheerleader outfit, the light hair that fell on your shoulders, the air that surrounded you like an aura of challenge and seduction. You were sitting on a table, legs slightly crossed, with the body emanating a certain tranquility, but at the same time, Jobe could not help feeling the intensity in your eyes when he looked at you. You didn’t go any further, and when your eyes met, everything else seemed to disappear. The air became electric.

Jobe paused for a moment, undecided whether to approach or not. But when you did, giving him a provocative wink while playing with the laces of his suit, his heart sped up. He knew what you were doing, but he couldn’t stop.

"Did you come to find me?" asked you, your voice soft but sharp, with that smile that made his heart beat. "Are you following me, Jobe? I didn’t think you were one of those."

Jobe puffed, an involuntary smile on his lips as he tried to keep calm. But it was useless, he was looking at you with desire, and it was impossible to hide it. Your defiance put him in even more difficulty. " I wasn’t looking for you," he replied, trying to seem unconcerned. "But since there are..."

He felt like he was being tested, but couldn’t help but look at you, your curves outlined under the cheerleader suit, the way you played with his tracksuit’s lace as if you were trying to seduce him without saying it.

"Don’t pretend to be indifferent, Jobe," you kept provoking him, as you slowly got up from the table, walking towards him with a seductive step. " I see you. I know what you think."

He could not hold back. "Stop," he muttered, trying to take a step away, but the desire betrayed him. "You are playing with me."

"You’re trying to hide it, but you can’t." Your smile widened as, without warning, you grabbed his hand by placing it on your butt and put your hand over it while with a movement you led him to tighten your ass. He closed his eyes at the impact and held a sigh while you moaned softly as you put your hands on his back looking at him provocatively.

At that moment, Jobe realized he was no longer able to keep the distance between you two. That chemistry between you was too strong, and even though he tried to stay cool, his body spoke for him.

You rubbed your cock and groaned while feeling it already hard and laughed as he tried to control himself. "Already hard for me?" you scoffed as he clenched his jaw and you started giving him sweet kisses on the jaw while he moaned.

"y/n" whispered as you kept kissing his jaw and started rubbing yourself on his cock again while he squeezed your butt more to guide your movements on his dick,

"You’re driving me crazy," he said, moaning, and you smiled. "Those words you said to my sister hurt me" you said as you kept rubbing your hands on her dick while he moaned.

"sorry y/n, I didn’t mean it really, I panicked" she said trying to take some self-control and seriously wanting to clear this situation with you but it was hard feeling how her pussy rubbed on his dick.

"hm hm hm" you said unconvinced while you kept rubbing on his cock while kissing his neck, nibbling him making him moan while you cum while your pussy held the void while you kept rubbing on his dick.

"y/n I mean it, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I feel like an idiot. Let me make it up to you", whispered Jobe, unable to speak because he was reaching orgasm.

The tension between you did not dissolve, but there was something different now. His sincere words had touched you. You knew that Jobe was not used to being vulnerable, yet he did. But you couldn’t help but keep playing, because this was your way of keeping control. Even though one part of you knew that you were pushing him beyond his limits, the other part enjoyed too much to see his reaction.

Jobe squeezed your butt as he groaned as he felt the orgasm coming and you chewed his neck hard making him grunting and leaving a noticeable mark.

"Ok, Jobe," you said finally, in a softer tone, but your eyes still filled with that provocative spark. " You know it won’t be so easy. You have to do more to show me that you really care."

He looked at you, as he was recovering from orgasm, but in his eyes he had a shadow of hope in his eyes. " I will," he replied promptly, as if he was ready to do anything to prove to you that he was serious.

You nodded and detached yourself from him. Jobe suddenly without your body pressed to his felt cold and took a step towards you, but you detached yourself again, leaving him staring at you as you walked away for a few steps.

With a mischievous smile, you adjusted your cheerleader skirt and threw him a provocative look, the one you always knew how to do to make him crazy. " It’s not enough to say the words, Jobe," you added, throwing a sarcastic joke at him. " You have to prove that you are up to it and not like a scared little boy"

His breath became more irregular. He was looking at you, his eyes full of desire but also a little bit of frustration, aware that you were still playing with him. His answer came with difficulty. "I’m not scared, Y/N... I’m just... a little out of shape with you."

You stopped, looking at him intensely for a moment, and a sweeter but still mischievous smile appeared on your face. " Then make it a habit," you replied, approaching him slowly but never touching him as if you were forcing him to decide what to do. " And see if you can convince me."

Jobe was in a fight with himself. On the one hand, he wanted to continue playing that game you had started, but on the other hand, he felt it was becoming something more serious, something he could no longer ignore. His mind was in turmoil, but his heart told him that this time he had to do something different.

"Y/N..." he started, but his voice barely trembled. "You... don’t understand how much I’m trying to... be different with you."

His body came closer, but you stopped him with a gesture, putting a hand on his shoulder. You couldn’t help but provoke him, but also appreciate the way he was trying to make himself noticed. "I understand that, Jobe. But it’s not enough to talk. You have to do more."

You looked at him intensely, feeling the electricity in the air, the desire that he could no longer hide. It was like he was on the edge of the precipice, ready to jump, but you knew you still had to decide what to do next.

"I like you, Jobe," whispers, but your voice was a little mischievous. "But you’ll have to work on it again." And with a last smile, you turned to leave, leaving him behind to reflect on how much you were complicating his life.

[diangelodork]

HERE IS LOUIS’ E3 COMMENTARY!! (i warned him thoroughly going into this episode i promise)

also, if yall have any questions as to what he’s referencing, feel free to ask me bc i always have to ask for clarification 😭😭

Dead Boy Detectives Episode 3, Initial Notes:

Suicide disclaimer, bouta get real

I still love these title cards

Picture of Dorian grey reference does not go unappreciated

What do you mean there were never meant to be this many people? As in not this many ghosts in the land of the living? Or… bad vibes Edwin

Holy shit Charles is wearing suspenders

K so ghosts can just do that

Is there meaning behind the snake in the title sequence? I can connect a lot of the other shit but not that

Jenny. Jenny episode. Jenny arc. Lesbian butcher backstory

Oh he big time jelly

Niko what are your other three favorite buildings??

Also how do you fuck ghosts asking for a friend

Jenny is so real

Well observed Niko, well observed (best character)

“Back in the 1990s when people could afford shit like that” lmao

Lilith Adams first wife in the apocryphal texts I believe

Spits alt reality Conan Gray

Would.

Monty honeypot goes crazy

SHE HAS YAOI LMAO

Why’s it always gotta be bureaucracy I just wanna have a good time man

The Scotch(?) cop vs vaguely American notary truly a match up for the ages

The music here is always on point

Dad smashed tape with hammer (early 1900s British Dad)

OH MY GOD THEYRE GONNA SHOW US THE MURDER OH MY GOD

OH MY LORD

HOLY SHIT

MEN WILL DO LITERALLY ANYTHING TO AVOID GOING TO YOU KNOW WHAT NEVER MIND HOLY SHIT GOD JESUS CHRIST

it’s the kids that get me 😖

Yes it’s a loop Edwin congrats

Giving me Slaughterhouse-Five vibes I.e. trauma makes you unstuck in time, here it’s a loop though. Which also tracks. I’m reminded of “whenever I close my eyes, I find myself back in Stalingrad” type shit

Niko living her best life

Also domestic abuse, trauma, themes et cetera et cetera (gas mask guy at the beginning)

God Charles you know this shit is my weakness

Ahh “you will never leave me” dissolution of suburbia or some shit, male need for love and intimacy expressed through the need for control, et cetera

The Bell Jar is my favorite book! I don’t think this is a reference though… although… voices in the head…

No Niko you could have had such a comfy evening damn it

OH GOD IS HE PART OF THE LOOP NOW

Yep.

His personal emotional pain sinks him into the cycle of trauma and suffering?

Themes effect of emotional pain and trauma on the mind

Control, always watching

Feeds off of negativity… something themes connection

Also “I’ve seen them sulking around hell is metal as fuck and deeply upsetting

GET OUT OF THERE GANG

And Brandon goes to hell

“It’s not what you did it’s what you do”

Hell yeah Niko scare those evil things

Also Niko’s fit is eating????

The honeypot twink gives you the astrology book instant smash

The old “I love those dudes tell me all about em” maneuver

GUYS I ANNOYED ONE OF MY FRIENDS WNOUGH TO WATCH DBDA!! im gonna be posting his live updates in the reblogs HEHEHEHEHE (the score is what got him to cave 👹)

[top-pleng]

Anin... the ring is such a great romantic gesture but what exactly is the plan for when someone asks Pin why she is wearing a bigass engagement ring 😭😭😭

like if she was someone else it could work as a way to ward off suitors but she can't exactly lie and come up with a convoluted story about a fiancée or husband who is away.

[bluinary]

Mixing and matching Ren Fest Fionna looks :) I think I'm going to go with # 1!

[be-good-to-bugs]

OH SHIT. my dad fuckin died today uh. rest in pieces dickhead 😘 time to CELEBRATE 🎉

[spacelazarwolf]

a year ago, i was celebrating simchat torah when my rabbi interrupted the services to let us know there had been an attack on israel. we didn’t know how bad yet, but we prayed everything would be alright. the rest of the service went on as planned, but there was a chill in the air, like we knew something had changed. something big. but we didn’t quite understand it yet.

a year ago, i watched people i’d followed for years celebrate a gruesome massacre of over a thousand human beings before we even really knew what had happened. i watched anons pour into my inbox, demanding i condemn israel even though israel hadn’t even retaliated yet.

a year ago, i talked to my nonna on facetime for her birthday. she was in her 90s and wasn’t as present anymore, and i could barely focus because my thoughts were thousands of miles away. i promised her i’d call her the next day but my next day became scrolling past horrific photos and videos i didn’t want to see, posts celebrating the attacks, posts telling people that if they didn’t celebrate the attacks that they were bad people. she died two weeks later and the same people sharing the posts celebrating the massacre sent me messages telling me it was good my nonna was dead, or extremely crude and disgusting messages about what they wanted to do to her dead body because she was “probably a zionist.”

a year ago, i worked at a synagogue that started getting dozens of calls and emails from people, across the spectrum from neo nazis to evangelical christians to radical leftists saying the most horrific things, telling us it was our fault, that we had to do something, that it was on us. we were responsible. an anon told me i was a zionist because i had a zionist language on my blog (hebrew) and worked at a zionist institution (synagogue).

a year ago, i started losing friends one by one after many of them started to share posts justifying or celebrating the massacre or memes created by neo nazis, some of which didn’t even bother to sub out “jews” for “zionists” but they shared them anyway. i was pushed out of an activist group after months of begging them to stop using antisemitic language because i had the audacity to tell a white gentile in the group not to say racist things about a black indigenous jew behind her back, and said gentile told me he didn’t have to listen to me and that he could “claim” the holocaust too because his ancestors were from eastern europe.

a year ago, i watched in real time as the world i thought i knew, the world in which jews had a future and safety in the united states, crumbled day after day. people that previously went out of their way to take care of me and support me decided that because i didn’t feel comfortable marching alongside pictures of hitler i must be a zionist and therefore no longer belonged. the person processing my government aid didn’t want to approve me because i worked for a synagogue part time and argued that the synagogue should just pay me more because “they can afford it.” my synagogue, which has been involved in social justice since its founding several decades ago, along with its rabbis who have been just as involved, were abandoned by the communities they had put their blood, sweat, and tears into advocating for when they had the audacity to grieve for the dead of october 7th.

a year ago, i learned the hard way that we are not special in this time. antisemitism is a river that has ebbed and flowed for thousands of years, and i felt like a fool for thinking a dam could be built overnight.

a lot of people say that every day of this year for them has been october 7th, but for me every day has been october 8th. the day after the initial shock, when reality started to sink in. the realization that all the people who had shared “happy rosh hashanah” posts or complimented my kippah or pretended to care about harry potter goblins were quickly dropping the facade. that my token minority card had expired and now having a jew in their group didn’t look diverse, it looked “sympathetic toward israel.” every day has been a painful reminder that no one else is grieving like we are, and a large number of those people are angry that we are grieving. they don’t understand that we’re not just grieving the lives lost and the hostages. we’re grieving for the world we thought we knew, a world where we might have a chance to thrive like we did in the golden age of spain. but those golden years are ending. and that is one of the things we are grieving.

a lot of people also say that they wish they could go back to who they were on october 6th, but i don’t. i’m glad the illusion was shattered, that i can see more clearly who will stand with jews even if they face backlash, who will challenge their antisemitic biases and do the hard work to unlearn them, and who did not have to be asked twice to share literal nazi rhetoric if it meant feeling like a hero. i’m glad the masks are coming off because it means you can’t gaslight us anymore and tell us it’s all in our heads. we can see you for exactly who you are now. and we will not let you break us.

i don’t want to be living forever in october. i don’t want the blissful ignorance of october 6th, but i also don’t want the bitter anger of october 8th. i want to stand up for what i believe in, to celebrate my culture and my people, and no amount of intimidation or harassment will keep me from loving my jewishness. you have shown me i can no longer live in october 6th, but i refuse to let you keep me in october 8th.

[p0orbaby]

Forty Winks Would Be Just Priceless

summary: your kid only sleeps when being driven, the diva that she is

warnings: none !

a/n: if someone could drive me around to get to sleep that would be great

word count: 1.7k

-

It’s 2:47 a.m., and you’re sitting in the passenger seat of a car that you didn’t even know Leah could operate at this level of exhaustion. You’re wondering if she’s siphoning energy directly from the Devil, because that’s the only explanation. The car smells like a combination of McDonald’s fries, stale coffee, and something unidentifiable that you’re hoping isn’t some sort of roadkill under the bonnet. Your wife is behind the wheel, white-knuckling it like she’s doing 90 on the M25. In reality, she’s going 15 miles per hour around your parish.

Again.

“Is this the fifth lap or the sixth?” you ask. You’ve lost count. Somewhere around lap three, you started dissociating. The glow of the streetlights is the only indication you’re still on Earth.

“Does it matter?” Leah responds, glancing over at you with an arched eyebrow that you recognise as the look she gives opponents who try to muscle her off the ball. Leah has three moods: sweet, commanding, and “I could end you without lifting a finger.” You’re currently dealing with the third. The funny part is, she’s only this intimidating when she’s wearing a hoodie over her messy hair, dark circles framing her bloodshot eyes, which she insists is the result of “just a little” caffeine.

You eye her warily. “Maybe not,” you admit, slumping lower into the seat. You glance over your shoulder into the backseat, where Eden, your two-year-old sleep terrorist, has finally succumbed to the soothing vibrations of the Mercedes. Eden’s head is lolling to one side, mouth slightly open, and you’re just about convinced she’s auditioning to be the next exorcism case.

Leah’s been driving for about an hour now. You’re on your third consecutive night of the same routine: dinnertime is war, bath time is a ceasefire, and bedtime is a full-blown, special-ops mission with all the difficulty of invading a heavily guarded country. Eden has the upper hand. Eden is always ten steps ahead. And the only way to win is to retreat—to the car.

“I feel like we should get a second car,” you suggest, half-serious. “One specifically for these midnight missions. Maybe something with better fuel efficiency”

Leah gives you a side-eye that says, “You’re joking, right?” But you can tell she’s considering it. “Or we could teach her to fall asleep like a normal child. In her bed. At bedtime”

You snort. “Teach her? Are we raising a human or a feral cat?”

Leah doesn’t even have to respond to that. Eden is a force of nature. You’re just two unfortunate souls caught in her tiny hurricane.

“And what do we do when she grows out of this?” Leah asks, but it’s more like she’s thinking out loud. “Do we drive her to school every day just to get her to wake up?”

“Let’s just worry about surviving the next hour,” you say, looking at the clock. You remember reading somewhere that car exhaust fumes can lull a person to sleep. You briefly wonder if that’s what’s happening to you right now.

Leah clicks her tongue in thought, turning onto the next street, where a dog that clearly suffers from some kind of psychological trauma is barking at nothing. “When I was little,” she begins, “my mum would drive me around to get me to sleep, but we lived in the countryside. There were no barking dogs, just the occasional sheep”

“Well, that’s why you turned out so well-adjusted,” you remark dryly. “If Eden grows up thinking the only way to fall asleep is to go for a drive, she’s going to need therapy. Which we can’t afford, by the way, because we’ll be spending all our money on petrol”

Leah chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that’s a little too high-pitched to be real. “We’ll add it to the list of things she’ll blame us for when she’s older. Right next to ‘Mum used to make me eat vegetables’ and ‘Mama never let me play with knives’”

Eden lets out a little snore, and you both freeze, staring at the rearview mirror. Leah’s foot hovers over the brake pedal as if any sudden movement might wake the tiny monster in the back. You can practically hear both of you holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest that’s sure to come the second the car stops moving.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, Eden’s snore deepens, becoming the kind of sleep sounds that suggest she’s off in dreamland, probably riding unicorns or setting fire to imaginary villages.

You relax a fraction, and so does Leah, though she’s still gripping the wheel like it’s her last lifeline. You wonder if she’s ever used this level of concentration on the pitch. You’ve never seen her miss a tackle, but this is an entirely different ball game.

“So, when do we stop?” Leah whispers. You can hear the exhaustion in her voice now, thick and sludgy like she’s been awake for a week.

You consider this. “We could keep driving until sunrise. Then she’ll wake up with the sun and think it’s a new day. Maybe it’ll reset her sleep schedule”

“Or we’ll just be perpetually exhausted and still sleep-deprived, except now we’ve got morning traffic to deal with,” Leah counters. “You know, if we were living in a different era, this could be considered some form of witchcraft. Driving around in circles at night to get a child to sleep. Someone would’ve burned us at the stake by now”

“Wouldn’t that be a relief,” you mutter, then immediately regret it, because even though you’re joking, you’re too tired to be sure.

Leah sighs. “I love her. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if we’re the ones being trained here”

“There’s no wonder about it,” you reply, deadpan. “We’re definitely the ones being trained. She’s got us figured out. We’re puppets. Eden pulls the strings, and we drive”

Leah smiles at that, though it’s more of a grimace of acknowledgment. “You know, when I said I’d do anything for her, I didn’t realise it included nighttime rally racing in a residential neighborhood”

“Should’ve read the fine print,” you say, then yawn so hard it hurts. “But hey, at least we’re doing this together, right? Quality time”

Leah glances over at you, and this time, her smile is real. It’s small, but it’s there, and it makes you feel a little less like a zombie. “Yeah,” she agrees softly. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else”

You reach over and squeeze her hand, and for a moment, there’s peace. Not the kind of peace you’ll ever find in a parenting book or one of those sanctimonious mommy blogs, but the kind that exists in the trenches, where you and Leah are currently wading through knee-deep toddler warfare.

As you turn onto yet another street that looks identical to the last, you finally admit defeat. “Let’s call it,” you say. “She’s out. If we keep going, we’re going to end up in Scotland”

“Good idea,” Leah says, already beginning the slow process of easing off the gas and pulling into your driveway. She parks with the kind of precision that makes you think she missed her calling as a getaway driver.

You both sit there for a minute, basking in the silence that only comes when your child is finally, blessedly asleep. You’re in no rush to move, because you know the second you do, Eden will sense it and all this work will be undone in a matter of seconds.

But Leah is braver than you. She quietly turns off the engine, unbuckles her seatbelt, and with the precision of a bomb squad technician, she turns to the backseat. You watch as she gingerly unbuckles Eden, cradling her like she’s made of porcelain.

And somehow, miraculously, Eden stays asleep. Leah manages to get out of the car, Eden still snoozing in her arms, and you’re right behind her, ready to perform the hand-off should things go south.

The two of you tiptoe through the house like burglars, careful to avoid every creaky floorboard. You’re halfway to Eden’s room when she stirs, and you both freeze in place like deer caught in headlights. But then she just shifts in Leah’s arms, sighs deeply, and snuggles closer into her mother’s shoulder.

You finally reach the cot, and Leah lowers her in with the gentleness of a saint. The transfer is seamless. Eden doesn’t even flinch.

The second the cot rail is up, you and Leah back out of the room like you’ve just completed a high-stakes mission, which you basically have. The door closes with a soft click, and you both stand there, wide-eyed, disbelieving.

“She’s asleep,” Leah whispers, like she doesn’t dare believe it.

“She’s asleep,” you echo, equally stunned.

And then, without warning, Leah lets out a sound that you can only describe as a half-crazed giggle. It’s infectious, and you start laughing too, because it’s either that or you’re going to cry, and honestly, you’ve done enough of that in the last few days.

“We did it,” you say between breaths, leaning against the wall for support. “We actually did it”

Leah pulls you into a hug, and it’s warm and comforting, and it feels like a reward for all the hell you’ve been through tonight. “We make a good team,” she murmurs into your hair.

“The best,” you agree, letting yourself relax into her embrace.

But as you’re standing there, holding each other in the hallway like the survivours you are, you both hear it: the unmistakable sound of Eden stirring, a tiny whimper that promises to turn into a full-blown cry in about three seconds.

You look at each other in horror, and without a word, Leah grabs the car keys.

“You can drive,” she says, already heading back towards the front door.

You don’t even argue. Instead, you grab your the keys from her, knowing full well that this battle isn’t over yet.

And as you both head back to the car for yet another sleepless night, you can’t help but think that one day, years from now, you’ll look back on these nights with some kind of twisted fondness.

But for now, all you can do is keep driving.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[lynnuvo]

୨⎯ Long Gone Princess ⎯୧

Characters: Yan!Thief x (Y/N) reincarnated as Rapunzel A lot of you guys enjoyed the Cinderella version, so why not make a Rapunzel version? Very much considering making this a Yan!Fairytales Series.

Stowed Away

When you first awoke in your tower, you panicked for days. There was literally no way out, no matter how much you clawed at the bricks. It didn't take long to figure out where exactly you were. Who else would paint a mural of herself, seriously long-haired, gazing at floating lanterns?

Meeting Mother Gothel was the most anxiety-inducing thing you had to push through. You pitied the real Rapunzel for falling victim to her sugar-coated, poisonous words. As much as you internally cringed at them, it wouldn't serve you well to raise suspicion. After all, you have nowhere to go.

Whenever Mother Gothel was gone and you finished tidying up the tower, you emptied one of your chests full of female paraphernalia and stuffed some "safety equipment inside." Hopefully, Mother Gothel wouldn't notice a missing pair of scissors. Or a few darts.

Your now abnormally long hair was disturbing, to say the least. It was pretty, but now that you were living her life, you wandered how Rapunzel managed to put up with the hair strands scattered around the house, washing the heap of keratin proteins for hours in just ONE day, and sleep knowing there was at least some hair flowing to the floor. And let's be real: you were not going to spend most of your day braiding it just to remove your work whenever Mother Gothel came back.

Unfortunately, you couldn't afford to cut your hair--not just because it'd give Mother Gothel a heart attack but because it might help you. It did have magical healing powers. The only huge problem was that you were not skilled enough to maneuver your hair like Rapunzel. In addition, if you were to leave the tower, how would you return? Until you found the secret entrance amongst all the brick, you needed a backup plan.

One day, you gathered the courage to ask Mother Gothel for more fabric to sew a beautiful wedding dress, one that was colorful and very long. Of course, you left out the part where you wanted it to be long enough to reach the bottom of the tower (it'd be a lot of work, but what else were you going to do to escape?). She was skeptical about the idea behind the dress, but you reassured her that you just wanted something like those girls in the fairytale books you had in your room. After her lecture about the dangers of the world, she agreed to get you fabric.

My Savior

One morning, while you sowed your dress, you heard the sound of metal jabbing into something growing closer and closer. In a panic, you shut off your sewing machine and tied up as much as your hair as possible. There was no way you could capture Rapunzel's beloved thief the way she did. You vaguely prepared for what to do when he arrived, but you hadn't expected it to be that day!

At last, he fell into the tower and froze at the sight of you. He glanced behind him and turned back around, stepping away from the window with hands up. "Uh. I am so sorry for breaking into your home."

You pointed one of your scissors (used to cut fabric earlier) at him with a glare. "I'll forgive you if you hand me that bag you have."

"Listen, miss, I think we can sort this out without--"

"The bag or I'll throw you back down."

He gulped and reluctantly threw you the bag, begging you to please return it to him afterwards. The shock he had at your nonchalant expression while pulling out the most sparkly crown you've ever seen was laughable. In reality though, you were in awe. You quickly snapped out of it, though, and threw it behind you. You both cringed at the clanging it made as it hit the floor.

"I need you to listen to me," you started, gripping your scissors and your dress. "I need your help."

You didn't hesitate to cut to the chase. You explained that you were kidnapped by a woman claiming to be your mother and trapped in the tower by her. Although it may backfire on you later, you shared that you were reincarnated from another world. He was in disbelief until you told him his full name, his criminal history, the companions he had who would soon betray him, and the small cottage he visited along with many more criminals or outlaws. He challenged that you just did your research, but then you told him what crime he had just committed: stealing the missing princess's crown, which was--by the way--you.

After some back and forth, he agreed to help on the condition that you return the crown. You agreed to return it on the condition that he not only help you escape but also help you live in safety.

Together, you both clawed at the bricks on the wall until the secret backdoor was found. He helped you come up with a way to hide the new backdoor again whenever Mother Gothel returned.

You found a pattern in the earlier months leading up to then on Mother Gothel's pattern of visitation. She comes back every three or four days in early evening. If she didn't return by the time the sun disappeared, she wouldn't be back at all. That day was one of those days she wasn't going back. You suspected she wouldn't return for a while since she had just left the day before. Although hesitant at the idea of a new roommate, you demanded that Yan!Thief spend the night in the same room as you. He balked at what he thought was an implication, but he soon found himself sleeping on the floor (you dropped a blanket for him). How were you sure he wouldn't use the secret backdoor while you slept? You boobietrapped it before bed, making sure he stayed in the room so he wouldn't see under the threat of murder.

Steal His Heart

Your new routine was a scary turn but also surprisingly relieving. Yan!Thief would leave the tower in search of a new home for you (and him too) and would return in the afternoon only if a piece of purple fabric hung outside the window. Otherwise, it wasn't safe to come back.

Although your relationship started off rocky (who's to blame him with how violently you approached him?), you two soon warmed up to each other. He sometimes returned with small goods that you sometimes got a clear answer for how he retrieved. That chocolate he got for you both to try? He pickpocketed it. That ripe fruit that tasted like mildew spring? He dodged all of the questions.

Eventually, you gathered the courage to leave the tower with him. Your activities differed from there. Sometimes, you both ventured a little ways from the tower to discover the terrain and help find a new home. Sometimes, you both would spend the day walking around, learning more about each other and chatting away.

With no other companion, it came as no surprise to Yan!Thief that he developed romantic feelings for you. You didn't want to admit that you did too. At least, not until you both were in a safe place.

At last, Yan!Thief found an abandoned shelter. It was rusty, but it was closer to the kingdom than the tower but sheltered away like the tower. With a pounding heart, you gathered as much as you could from your tower into a backpack that Yan!Thief had brought over and left forever. In the shelter, you cut your hair, rendering it free from its power. Yan!Thief initially didn't want it to happen due to your great abilities, but one look at your determined face told him that you knew better.

The next couple weeks was spent in paranoia, you in fear of Mother Gothel and him in fear of guards. Luckily, you two went as far as making it into the kingdom without getting caught.

One day, you brought up the idea of revealing your identity to the king and queen while fidgeting with your crown. You reassured Yan!Thief that you'd vouch for his safety and freedom for as much as possible. It took a while for him to warm up to that, but you two finally made your way towards the castle.

Everything went surprisingly as planned. The kingdom rejoiced at the return of their princess, Yan!Thief was spared of a prison sentence and was even given a home and job as a prize for bringing you back, and the dead, rotten body of Mother Gothel was found not far from the shelter you and Yan!Thief had found.

Life was a fairytale.

MY Princess

Until it wasn't.

See, although you and Yan!Thief seemed to start opening a romantic chapter, that soon closed. With your newfound title came new responsibilities, friends, and much to his worries, a possible new love interest.

He tried his best to remain just a friend to you, but it was unbelievably hard. He couldn't believe that you were slowly forgetting him, your savior! Why must you abandon your knight in shining armor?!

He did feel guilty for not appreciating his new life more. Any other criminal would probably fight tooth and nail to be in his position, but he just wasn't happy if you weren't there with him.

Once his selfishness began to boil over, he devised a plan he wasn't sure if he was going to regret. He paid a visit to your room in the castle (you had given your dear best friend special permission) and chatted with you a bit. You apologized for being so distant as of late; royal duties had been keeping you at bay. He accepted your apology more readily than he had expected. It was hard not to with your bright smile and the cute way you pushed your hair behind your ears. He asked if you had time to visit the old tower for memories sake, and you happily agreed. The kingdom had yet to find the tower (you insisted to him that you wanted it kept secret in case you needed to run away again), so you simply told your guards you were heading out for a stroll.

Once at the tower, you two ventured inside and reveled at how dramatic your lives had changed. You even reminisced your life before being reincarnated. As the sun fell, you got up and suggested that you both should head back before it gets dark.

"Yan!Thief?" You peered at his gloomy expression. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded. got up, and hugged you. You let out a gasp before embracing him back. When he left go, you caught a tear slipped down his cheek. Your hands shot up to cup his face. "Yan!Thief?! What's wrong? I'm here. Did something happen?"

He sniffled and brushed a hand over your cheek. "I'm so sorry."

You were about to demand an explanation until you caught a glimmer shine from a blade in his other hand.

When you woke, you found your ankle chained to your bed--not your bed in the beautiful castle you were meant to be in but in the tower you had escaped from a year ago.

Yan!Thief came in the room and apologized with tears streaming down his face, exclaiming that you were just too irresistible to give to any other man or even the kingdom. He promised to take care of everything.

No matter how much you screamed, threw items in a fit of rage, or revealed that you only had romantic feelings for him all this time, he wouldn't budge. It was only until he bought a longer chain that he freed you from the bed. Your heart broke when you discovered he had discarded the wedding dress you had worked hard on and abandoned in the tower long ago, and even more so when you saw that he had built a new door in front of the original secret entrance.

You were back to square one, only this time with no way out and betrayed by the one person you truly trusted in this universe.

[kroosluvr]

january 9

ok i have a lot of thoughts. erm. buckle in

im sure everyone agrees that the joker vs sumire fight on jan 9 was so nothing..... so i wanted to raise the stakes. UP THE ANTE.

so to make it more intense life-and-death situation, in my head sumire basically tosses her own life away at joker in a "one of us is gonna die here and honestly? i dont care which way the cards fall"

"either i die here -> sumire doesn't have to live anymore. or, i kill you and i get my true reality (and sumire doesn't have to live anymore.)"

joker notices this immediately, by the wild way she fights all of a sudden. however crow doesn't notice bc i think he sees sumire as inexperienced and just assumes joker will win by default (like he does in canon. nothingburger fight.....)

but joker is too damn cautious, knowing one wrong move might result in her demise or his downfall...

i think here he only deflects with his melee, doesn't even try to summon his personas. crow notices smth is off and then sumire manages to get a deep hit on him w cendrillon+her sword

which activates crow bc. at this point he dgaf abt sumire BUT he doesnt want joker to die.

(ironically, crow's selfish goal to Help Joker helps sumire bc she then realizes that she's being irrational/hurting one of her dear friends (akira).. she didnt really think abt how this choice of the ideal reality would affect him (or goro)

also i always thought crow just walking away frm that fight was kinda lame so. just the idea of akira Faltering... about to let himself get killed.. in a way Giving In to the Wrong Choice of the ideal reality.... yeah that'd piss him off BIG time

(though, if i framed it in the way this comic does, crow walking away at first to let joker handle it is so real. bc hes like i cant be wasting time on this, just let akira handle her and then we can go back to figuring out how to conquer this palace and maruki etc. Sumire is small potatoes rn)

also akira being too compassionate/sensitive abt her emotions to fight her directly bc he can see how shes barely hanging on by a thread.. ough ough ough.....

but also sumire being so angry and desperate that she dgaf if she hurts akira rn. OHHHH OUCHHH OWIE

also this is the scene i showed in the bg of this comic! (sorry twitter link im lazy

"she'd rather die at our hands than her own" implying if she lost here and didnt die, she'd kill herself upon returning to the True reality bc she cant live with "sumire" anymore. okkk.. yeah

"This is the only way. I know you know that too, Joker" -> the only way back to our reality as we know it. we can't afford to be soft if it'll kill us. if this is truly sumire's choice, then we HAVE to fight. we can't back down here.

(and, also, this is the only way to show sumire that we're serious: we won't let her live as kasumi, she has to face herself, she can't run off to some dystopian ideal reality - this is the only way!!!!!)

Dying's easy. we already know sumire would die to become kasumi, to become a better gymnast, to not be sumire anymore. But would she kill for it. Who would she kill for it

[hxzbinwrites]

Hiiii! Could I request a oneshot where Husk reunites with a gn! S/o he had back when he was alive? The reader decides to stay at the Hazbin Hotel as a way of staying protected from the rest of the sinners and overlords in hell. After Charlie introduces them to everyone, they stop at the bar for a shot and they recognize eachothers voices.

(It can be fluff or angst)

Tysm!^^✨️

Husk x Gn! Reader | Quitting |

Warnings ⚠️: Drinking, Alcohol Abuse, Cussing

(Y/n) is a mess. Just a plain mess. That’s what everyone though at least. Just a drunk weaving in and out of the next bar, blurring the lines between today and tomorrow, reality and fiction.

Groggily they drag their feet along the pavement, tired eyes desperately searching for a cheap enough bar that will still take them in. So far, no luck has been found. Most of the bars are either too expensive for someone who already blew everything they had on alcohol, or already know who they are and refuse to let them into their establishment.

And don’t even think about a place to stay. (Y/n) hasn’t been able to afford rent in years, not even a cheap motel to stay at. It’d be a blessing if somewhere that was a free stay just popped out right infront of them and just offered a place-

“HELLO!!”

“AH! WHAT THE HELL?” (Y/n) said, scowling at the cheerful face infront of them. It was Lucifer’s daughter, Charlie Morningstar. “Listen kid, don’t you know not to sneak up on folks!”

“Ah! I am so sorry!!” Charlie said, tucking her papers with drawings of rainbows made with crayon under her arm as she grabbed (Y/n)‘s hands.

“I’m here to make you an offer!” She said, smiling once more. Her cheerful demeanor was very different from (Y/n)’s deadpan expression.

“Listen kid, I don’t got much money. I find some here and there and then I blow it on booze, if you need investments, why don’t ya go to an Overlord or something, I ain’t got time for all of this.”

“Oh I don’t need any money!” Charlie said,”I need you! I’m working on a project to help rehabilitate sinners!! Help them go to Heaven!! And I’d like you to participate!”

“Why would I do that?” (Y/n) said, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you start off on an easier case or something, I just don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can stay there for free!-”

“Alright lets go.” (Y/n) said, taking their hands out of Charlie’s grasp before she started to crush them in a hug.

“YAY!!! ANOTHER GUEST AT THE HOTEL!!!” She squealed, making the drunk’s head throb at the loud noise.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough Princess. Lets go to this ‘hotel’ of yours.”

——————

Charlie kicked open the doors to the Hazbin Hotel, skipping in alongside (practically dragging along) the newest guest, (Y/n).

“EVERYONE!!!!” Charlie shouted,”EMERGENCY MEETING!! WE HAVE A NEW GUEST!!”

(Y/n) covered their ears, their eyes squinting in annoyance at the Princess’s very loud entrance.

Mostly everyone slowly made their way to the lobby, Vaggie being the first to enter.

“Hey. I’m Vaggie. I’m Charlie’s girlfriend. If anyone here gives you trouble, let me know, I’ll handle them.”. For someone so laid back and monotone, you really wouldn’t expect her partner to be the hyper princess who was literally jumping up and down.

(Y/n) and Vaggie conversed for a bit before Sir Pentious, Angel Dust, Alastor, and Nifty entered as well.

They all talked and got to know each other before in the corner of their eye, (Y/n) caught sight of a bar. A BAR!! They quickly excused themselves and hopped behind the counter, quickly mixing a drink.

“Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing behind my counter?” A deep voice said, instantly making (Y/n) freeze in their tracks.

“Husk?” They asked, turning around expecting a familiar face only to be met with a casio themed cat.

“(Y/n)? Is that really you?”

“Husk!!” They said, reaching over the counter to give him a hug, much like the one they were internally complaining about with Charlie earlier.

“It’s good to see you old friend. How’s Hell been treatin’ ya?”

“Shitty” They replied,”since I died, I’ve been a drunk and living off the streets for a few years. Well decades now. Oh well, I’m here now!”

Husk narrowed his eyes at her,”so you’re telling me that my old drinking buddy has been living off of these dangerous streets! Hell (Y/n), I’m glad that Charlie found you. Now, move away from the counter, let me make you a drink to commemorate you quitting drinking.”

“No fair!” (Y/n) said, plopping down on the bar stool,”quitting? We all know that’s impossible. I was a drunk when I was alive, I’m a drunk now that I’m dead-“

“And you’ll become sober when you go to Heaven. I….I really care for you (Y/n), you shouldn’t stay in this shithole. Go up to those pearly gates. For me please?” He said, sliding them their favorite drink.

“Sure Husk, I’ll do it for you. But if I do it, you gotta promise to come with me right after okay? No more gambling.”

Husk sighed, closing his tired eyes,”Fine. I’ll do it for you. You better be glad though (Y/n), I wouldn’t do this for nobody except you.”

They smiled, looking into Husk’s eyes as he smiled back. They both knew that they were gonna keep their promises.

—————

Word Count: 823

(sorry it’s so short 😭)

[steddieas-shegoes]

A little thing based on this post because it wouldn’t leave my brain:

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try to read it.”

Steve had heard Dustin say this exact sentence hundreds of times at this point.

“I mean, do you know how to read?”

Mike was an asshole. Steve loved him because he was part of the group and he’d been through the same things, but he was such a dick.

“Yes, I know how to read. I just don’t.”

Dustin rolled his eyes.

“If you don’t wanna read nerd shit just say so.”

Steve threw his arms up in frustration.

Steve was a nerd at heart. As a child, he would beg the nanny to take him to the library and the science museum that had real dinosaur fossils. There was something about the peace of exiting his reality and finding a new one among fantasy and history that was indescribable, even to this day.

But as he grew into his looks, he grew out of that phase. At least around others.

And with no nanny around to take him places, he settled for just being the popular guy who hung out with his friends after practice and threw parties at his forever empty house on Saturdays.

But secretly, he still found himself enjoying books late into the night. Never school books, or his grades would’ve been good enough for college, but always incredible novels that took him to other worlds with the most impressively brave people.

And then he lived a nightmare. A few times over. With concussions at every turn.

Now, anytime he tried to read, his head started pounding, his vision got blurry, and ears would start ringing. He stopped trying altogether after Starcourt, but he’d never really let go his love of books.

He occasionally let Robin read to him, but she would get distracted by a plot or character and go on a tangent, leaving Steve confused about what the actual story was. He hated being confused.

“Stevie, you got a minute?”

Eddie had been watching from his spot at the end of the table, where he’d been cleaning up the mess of D&D. He usually made the kids do it, but he’d let them off the hook tonight when they beat the monster and escaped his trap.

Steve and Eddie were friends, definitely. Maybe not close ones, but friends.

Steve had a little crush, definitely. Or a big one. Maybe.

So when Eddie shows him attention, he somewhat shamefully receives it like he’s dying of thirst in a desert.

Robin is the only one who’s noticed so far, but if he keeps acting like a dog being called by his master anytime Eddie talks to him, someone else will comment on it.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asked as he made his way to Eddie.

The kids took this time to talk amongst themselves about the game and what they think will happen next week, and Steve couldn’t have been more grateful.

“You don’t have to tell me, but.” Eddie was tapping his fingers nervously against his leg. “Do you not know how to read?”

“Uh. No I do. I mean I graduated high school. I know it’s hard to believe.”

“Not judging if you can’t, man. I mean, I took three senior years. I’m the last person who can judge.”

“Yeah, but you’re smart. You just didn’t like school,” Steve replied with a pat to his shoulder.

Eddie glanced down at the contact, eyebrow raising and then falling back to normal quickly.

“Just seems like you’d have read something by now to get them off your ass.”

And that’s a really good point. Maybe he should’ve just suffered through a migraine so they’d leave him alone about it.

But migraines left him out for days sometimes, and he couldn’t exactly afford that right now.

“I guess it’s just not worth the migraine.”

He hadn’t meant to actually say it. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad or for him to try to make him feel better about it or ask questions or talk about the concussion thing.

Actually, did he even know about the concussion thing? Things?

“You get migraines when you try to read?” Then realization hit Eddie hard. “Steve. Do you like reading?”

Something about the way Eddie was looking at him, like he was sad for him but not pitying him, made Steve want to cry.

“I used to, yeah.”

“Everyone out! Your parents are gonna have to come get you! No questions, no explanations, go!” Eddie yelled to the room.

Everyone stared blankly at him before they started protesting, Dustin loudest of all.

“Steve’s my ride!”

“Not anymore. Hitch a ride with Lucas.”

“But Lucas’ mom always squeezes my cheeks and tells me she hopes I never lose my baby fat.”

“She speaks for all of us. Get the hell out of here!”

Steve was actually impressed. Maybe a little turned on? God, he was a disaster.

As everyone cleared out of the room, Eddie patted the seat next to him. When Steve sat down, Eddie scooted his chair so close to him, his knees were touching Steve’s.

“Alright, so you’re gonna tell me about what books you like and what books you want to read and we’re gonna get started.”

Steve blinked at him. “Huh?”

“You have a list I’m sure.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Okay, then we better get started.”

“I mean, I’ve tried. I appreciate it, but even focusing on one page makes my eyes burn and my head hurt.”

“Got that. I’m not asking you to read.”

Sometimes Steve was worried the concussions had actually knocked some screws loose. He wasn’t getting it.

“I’m gonna read to you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure a lot of them will be movies and I can just watch them.”

“It’s not the same. You know it’s not.”

He was right. Steve didn’t have much patience for movies. And sometimes even those gave him migraines if there were a lot of bright lights and explosions.

“Yeah. But still. You don’t have to do that. You might not even like the books.”

“Ah, this isn’t a completely free service, my liege.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t have extra money to pay you, dude.”

“Not money. I get to pick a book to read to you when we finish the first book you pick.”

“Is it The Hobbit?”

“It is,” Eddie looked so smug.

“Well, that was my first choice,” Steve stared back, equally as smug.

“So, your house is empty.”

“Yep.”

“And I’m assuming you own this book.”

“I do.”

“And it’s getting late.”

Steve looked out the window at the pitch black skies.

“It’s late.”

“So I could stay and read you to sleep.”

“Won’t I miss some of the book?”

“I’ll stop when you’re asleep.”

Steve’s heart was practically begging him to say yes. Eddie reading to him in his bed? Possibly falling asleep together? Maybe even waking up together? It couldn’t be a better proposition. Well. It could.

“Will you stay even if I fall asleep?”

Eddie smirked. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d called Steve that, but it was the first time it felt like he meant it in a non-teasing way.

“Okay.”

So they both changed into some of Steve’s comfy clothes, got into his bed, and Eddie started reading The Hobbit.

Just as he was during D&D and real life, Eddie was animated, providing different voices for different characters and often giving long pauses to let Steve soak in what the words meant.

Steve didn’t even have to ask him to do that. He just did.

Steve fell asleep somewhere between halfway and the end of chapter two, but Eddie stayed.

And they woke up the next day with Steve’s head resting on Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him to keep him as close as possible.

They finished the The Hobbit in a week, and because Eddie was now committed to making sure Steve was well-read, they started moving through his list rapidly, falling for each other in new ways every time Eddie turned a page.

Part 2 (Angst)  / Part 2 (Fluffy) /  Part 2 (Explicit)

[evilminji]

You know what's my JAM?

Extremes being treated as the Serious Dangers they ARE, even when they aren't "oooh its a spooky Grey morality and BADness!" Extreme.

Like? No, people. ALL of them are bad. They are ALL face melting dangerous. The void may crush your soul, but look upon the Face Of GOD? Not gonna be having a fun time! Doesn't MATTER if he's a cool dude! Face melting!

We are creatures of BALANCE. Tiny, fragile, little motes of dust. That can only exsist in the careful, blended, dances of territories and powers that be. We squishy.

Ghosts? Less squishy.

Poor impulse control, too. Especially ones with Fenton genetics. ABSOLUTELY ones with Fenton genetics and a trauma based aversion to therapy. That one? Pretty hardy. Made pretty tough, what with being Fates third favorite chew toy. But? Still gets the Sads, you know? The slightly longer then just seasonal depression.

Would medicine and some therapy help? Oh like a dream!

If medicine WORKED on his Ectoplasmicly contaminated ass. And he TRUSTED therapists.

But... surely, Danny thinks, as he sits grossly in his Depression sweatpants and eats suspect pizza on the floor of his moldering shoebox of an apartment, there must be SOME way to address his Depression? He should... he should DO something about it. Take a break maybe. Look up some ghost doctors or something.

.....

Oooooooooor..... >.>

He could break out that OMENIOUS af, bound in suspect leather, Big Book Of Forbidden Knowledge(TM) that he got from Pariah's.... what, fourth? Fifth? Library? Fuck that Lair is huge. He's STILL cleaning it out and it's been over half a decade. He swears it spawns more floors just to mock him. Bastard. Don't know HOW a building can be a Bastard, but it sure found A WAY.

Anyway!

Book it is! *horrifying Eldritch light as he opens it* huh. Neat. Comes with its own visual effects. *another bite of suspect pizza* Funky.

And so! Danny, the depressed King Of The Zone... fucks of to go cheer himself up in the Fields Of Bliss(TM), an area of Absolute Bliss. Which! Sounds GREAT in theory, now don't it? Lovely even.

Remember that little comment about extremes?

You can ENTER those fields. But no one leaves. No one CAN. The deeper you go? The more doomed you become. Less will to do anything at all. Eat, talk, move. So much as think. Like ALL extreme "Goods", it sounds lovely, but the reality is no gentle little thing.

It's a glue trap.

But how could Danny have known? Honestly, who would have TAUGHT him? Textbooks can only go so far, after all. And placing blame will not rescue the young monarch.

I imagine it's one of his helpers that pieces together what's happened. Come for further clarification on WHERE exactly he wants certain statues moved. Only? Your Majesty? Your Majesty...? Where ever could he BE? Oh? He's left out some of his books. Well, I'll just assist by putting them away for-.....

Oh.

OH ANCIENTS, NO.

But! What can the poor man DO? Ghosts are Beings of Will, Emotion, and Obsession. Were it some sort of Holy Blade or Sentient Tree, you know, something INDIVIDUAL with a will they could FIGHT? Oh no problem. But an area of effect? Especially an EMOTIONAL area of effect!? Ooooooh, this is bad. The Zone can't AFFORD to lose ANOTHER King!

We JUST GOT THIS ONE!!!

Wait. He's heard that there's an organization for this! That loudly cursing fellow who got violently thrown back into the Zone. "Ruined his fun" and all that! Perfect! He'll just hire THEM!

Smashcut? To a nice, peaceful, everybody's screaming Justice League Meeting. John's cursing life, extremely hungover. Zatana still has three cracked ribs. Wonder Woman is enjoying the new sword she... liberated... mid battle. Truely stunning craftsmanship. When?

Knock Knock!

Heads swivel. There... is a glowing green... accountant? Dandy? Dandy accountant. With an equally radioactive day glow green Actual Pirate's Chest Of Treasures, floating next to him. In the void of space; Just beyond the glass. What, the, fuuuuuu-

He seems to be under the impression they are some sort of Heroic mercenaries. And has come to request the retrieve-

"NNNNNOPE! Pariah can SHOVE it!" Snarls a suddenly very awake John Constantine, sitting up straight for the first time in hours. The rest of Dark grimly nod in agreement. Let the fucker rot. It's a kinder fate then he deserves.

No, no, NO! King PHANTOM! Pariah's SUCCESSOR by right of combat! They are not, and were never, allied in any way!

Well, all right then. Road trip to save a young idiot then.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : matchmaker, he’s actually in love with you!

slam!

the towering doors of the sanctuary shut with force, echoes that reaches every corner of its four walls. nahida, sitting on her makeshift swing, was quick to react. she descends from the swaying contraption, her curiosity piqued by the abrupt return of wanderer.

huh? he’s back early, she mused to herself, her nimble walk quickens, each step punctuated by a skip, as she makes her way towards him. she cannot help but be keen to learn how his evening went.

a fleeting glimpse into his mind had been all it took to ignite her interest. the flowing stream of commentary he provided were nothing short of fascinating.

from the minute she caught wind of your attempt to set him up with a good friend of yours, the young archon had a lucid premonition of how it might unfold — a disaster in the making.

as she approaches him, she wears a smile that conceals her amusement for his situation, covering her knowledge of his plight. she begins with a simple, “how was it?”

his response was immediate and fervent.

he jumps from tangent to tangent, a barrage of complaints and disappointments. he paints a detailed picture of his date, describing her as a ‘bore’ and lamenting the lackluster conversation he made the mistake of engaging. he afforded no adjective in critiquing her.

yet, it was his thoughts about you that intrigued her.

he proceeds to vent; he spoke of the audacity you displayed by assuming he would devote his night to such trivial endeavors, the gall to think he should allocate his time for a nuisance you believed to be a ‘perfect match’ bothered him beyond comprehension.

what were you thinking?

at this instant, she manifests a swing to sit on.

the conversation between them soon develops into a back-and-forth as they delve deeper into the truth of his feelings — or rather, his reluctance to confront them.

“i don’t have feelings for her!” he argues, crossing his arms.

nahida bites her tongue to stop herself from asking why did he sound upset. she was wise enough to know it would only irritate him further. still, she forges ahead, calmly swinging, her voice maintaining a balanced cadence.

“if there’s nothing romantic, then, perhaps there would be no issue if another man were to court her? or if she—”

his reaction was palpable.

wanderer takes a step forward, his indigo eyes narrowing in on her. in that moment, she envisions the formidable figure he must’ve been in his past life as a harbinger; a scene that could undoubtedly be intimidating to mortals.

“what have you heard? is there another man courting her?” he persists in his ramblings, pinpointing a man whom he suspects and going on about your incompatibility, counting every plausible reason it wouldn’t work. his speech appears more like an effort to reassure himself than convince her.

wouldn’t it be easier to accept the truth?

“what is there to accept? there’s nothing to accept. why do you speak as if i’ve fantasized about her! like she haunts my mind?” his rushed words hung heavily in the air, a pregnant pause ensues. he slipped up, and he knows she knew it too.

“don’t even try it, buer.”

he can almost hear her answer: “i didn’t imply it, you did!” and it pushes him further down the rabbit hole.

the young archon watches him struggle to cope with what he felt, wrestling with the reality he had tried to bury underneath a facade of indifference since he first met you. it was a tangle of emotions, especially after long centuries marked by constant betrayal and tragedy. flustered by the whole ordeal, he starts to walk away from her.

“i’m glad to see you’ve come to terms with your feelings. as they say, the truth shall set you free,” she chirps, however, it comes across mocking to his ears.

he scoffs at her.

slam!

then, the doors fall shut once more, sealing the discussion with resounding finality.

nahida shakes her head with a sigh, her smile widening. ah, young love. it was a powerful and unpredictable force, capable of unraveling even the most composed individuals. with a nod, she decides to give destiny a nudge in the right direction, all for the sake of her friend.

inside the dimly lit atmosphere of hotel debard, lyney found himself in a strange predicament…

perched at the table, he speaks with a minor drawl — a clue to the quantity of alcohol he consumed within the last hour, his elbow rests on the mahogany surface and his head prop wearily in the palm of his hand.

the muted radiance of candlelight cast shadows on his face as he rambles along with a hint of longing and frustration.

across from him sat his date for the evening, a co-worker of yours too, swirling her white wine. her gaze directed at him, as she absorbed his every word and nodded here and there.

the tone of his voice brings a weight of distraught emotions as he went on a melodramatic retelling of his woes, most of it concerns you. he recounts everything; the subtle nuances in your actions, the glances exchanged, and all the personal endearments said.

“i can’t understand why she would do this to me…” he huffs, drawing an involuntary pout to his lips.

“me neither,” she murmurs under her breath, then indulges in a lengthy sip of her wine.

“my sentiments exactly, i’m glad we agree.”

he was not listening in the slightest degree.

the seconds tick away — one by one, it added to the tension in the restaurant.

he didn’t hide the offense seething beneath the surface. the idea of you, the object of his affection, organizing a date with another woman, whom you believe to be his match, for him was infuriating. how dare you! he ponders, he sincerely thought there was a connection with you…

a wave of bitterness streamed inside of him, reflected in the frown creased on his face, yet he remained composed as he can be.

were you oblivious to his advances? or was this an excuse to avoid confrontation, a indirect rejection of his feelings?

after all, lyney had not been sly in his pursuits, he was more than daring.

he left a stem or two of rainbow roses on your doorstep, the existence of morning dew upon its petals suggests its early harvest; he had gone out of his way to help you, his shoulders endure the memory of carrying heavy baskets of fruit picked from your garden; and he walked you to and fro your home and workplace daily.

his devotion had known no bounds…

and this merely scratched the surface!

he stayed up with you on long nights when you had to work additional hours; he slipped your go-to pastries, that he purchased with his own mora, into your tote — a gesture of care, a reminder to take breaks; he had even introduced you to his siblings and invited you to dinners with them.

your company had become so frequent, it was expected, an acceptance of your spot in his life.

he likes you.

he likes you.

he likes you!

he yearns to bellow it from the rooftops, just so you’d grasp the depth and intensity of his feelings. he considers stating it at the outset of every performance, leaving no doubt that what he felt for you was far from a joke.

as he continues to passionately recount, his date’s patience wears thin and thinner by each syllable. sighing, she carries his monologue to a halt.

“are you sure you only ‘like’ her?” her voice had a faint touch of annoyance. he raises a brow, prompting her to clarify her remark. she leans forward, exclaiming:

“just admit it! you’re in LOVE with her!”

her words hover in the enveloping silence, the mutterings of conversation from the neighboring tables eclipsed them. he mulls over her previous question once more, the realization gradually dawning on him. she, visibly exasperated, rolls her eyes. how can he be so clueless?

“be honest, lyney… be honest WITH her,” she urges, “you’re in love with her, and it’s glaringly obvious. i’m shock it took you this long to realize it.”

a pause.

“what if she doesn’t feel the same way? i don’t think a man can recover from such heartache.”

“but she DOES!” she affirms, “you need to tell her how you feel — vocalize it! she’ll reciprocate, i know she will because of the way she tried to charm me into agreeing to this date.”

he thinks about it, he thinks about you, about the moments you shared, and about the true nature of his feelings. should he take the chance? the urge to stand from his seat and find out what awaits if he does overcome him… and yet he quelled it.

he realizes how discourteous it would be of him if he left her alone, subjected to the gossip of the other patrons.

“go after her. i’ll be fine.” she waves him off. “trust me.”

with newfound determination, he left without another word, the echo of his hurried footsteps waning into the cool night. the path ahead was filled with hope as he ran to your home, ran to you, the woman who captured his heart.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥’𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ➠ series masterlist | ⏪prologue | 🔃boy’s route | ⏩part 4

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 JILL VALENTINE X AFAB GN! READER ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER synopsis: You split ways with Leon and Carlos, choosing to accompany Jill and Ada to Glenn Arias' office. One of you is already infected... content: 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, dubcon, threesome, zombie fucking, oral (reader & f! receiving), toys (vibrator + strap-on in one hole), squirting, fisting, knifeplay, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, latex kink, face sitting, cervix penetration, tonguefuck, hand & finger kink, nipple play, mating press (kinda), choking, body marking, body horror, slight objectification, body fluids, and pet names (kitty, darling). a/n: am gay thanks for cumming to my ted talk « 6 k words | general masterlist | ao3 | reblogs appreciated! »

The five of you parted ways—for better or worse. Is there a choice for you anyway? This is unanimous from everyone. So, you decide to follow the most logical choice: complete the mission as you are instructed, instead of seeking distractions with time you can’t afford to lose.

Leon and Carlos bid the three of you farewell, venturing underground to locate the source of a gas that may or may not be a distraction or an ambush. You, Jill, and Ada will continue upstairs to infiltrate Glenn Arias’ personal office, retrieving the concentrated sample with utmost priority, and regroup with the rest before Arias has a chance to discover his merchandise has gone missing.

The plan is perfect, what’s there to be worried about?

“Our intel says Arias’ office should be on the top floor. The coordinates are on your watch. Proceed with caution, everyone.” Rebecca calls out into your earpiece. Twisting your elbow, you glimpse at your watch. It blinks with your location in green, and destination in red, two floors above you.

“Copy.” You and Jill acknowledge Rebecca, but Ada ignores, simply hiking forward with her pistol leading the way.

“She must be fun at parties.” Jill snorts, following behind her.

This is the first time Jill talks after splitting up with the boys. And even then, she only ever converses with you, and never to Ada. They have almost nothing in common between them, besides their stubborn attitude that only butts at each other’s heads. If you aren’t around, there will only be an air of dead silence between the duo.

But these two are your friends, and you like them both for different reasons.

You recall a past memory between you. “She’s not usually like this outside of missions. We went to a bar one time, and Ada got me free drinks all night. Poor suckers, she swindled them all.”

“Just the two of you?”

“No, it was an afterparty. Rebecca was there. I think you had to stay back for work that day. Why?”

Your eyes meet Jill in confusion, and they quickly dart away. Jill clears her throat to speak again. “So you and Ada are close, huh?”

“I think so,” Jill’s face hints a bit of disappointment, but she tries to force her lips to upturn into a nonchalant smile. You don’t notice this and continue talking: “But not exactly. She saved me a few times, so I’m grateful for her. But I wouldn’t call us friends.”

“And that’s all?”

You wonder where all of this is coming from. Didn’t take her for the kind who enjoys bars and loud spaces anyway. Spending time with Jill is usually just the two of you watching TV, laughing at the over-the-top reality drama from the comfort of the couch, cuddling up right next to each other like a couple of platonic best friends. Before you can speak, you feel a presence in front of you, standing in your way. You pause quickly at the last minute, almost colliding into the figure. Ada. She only looks at Jill when she’s talking.

“You two lovebirds done? Stay alert.” Ada deadpans with no intention of being friendly and warming. “Don’t hold me down.”

“Take care of your shit and I’ll take care of mine.” There’s bitterness in Jill’s voice, and Ada ignores her because your watch is beeping. The green and red dots overlap each other. You’re here.

You put your game face on. You land yourself on the other side of the wooden door to Arias’ office, while Jill and Ada have their backs against the wall closest to the door knob. Ada signals, counting down from three, and then finally kicks down the door. The three of you rush in, guns aimed forward in order to take down any security patrolling the perimeters.

“Huh?” You raise an eyebrow. You lower your gun when realisation sets in that you are indeed in an empty room.

You recognise this dark wood flooring. It adorns proudly, and even more repetitively, throughout the mansion. This room is no different. The desk, cabinetry and shelves are crafted with the same sinister timber that weighs down Arias’ office. Rows of portraits from Arias’ ancestors stare down at you with hollow beady eyes. A tall window, slightly ajar, to let in the cold nocturne wind. No mould.

This room had been cared for—dusted, cleaned, and prepared. Papers spread across the table, fresh ink, even the nameplate is polished into a shimmer. Arias frequents here, either for work—or for other sorts of shady businesses.

Ada immediately gets to work, and she finds a painting with a secret hinge to the side. It opens into a safe with two rotary dials. The sample is so close now, so close to your reach.

“I’ll check for any other clues that may help us.” Jill declares, and she’s flipping through papers on the desk for any information she can send to Rebecca.

But your eyes are still fixed upon Ada with her back facing you. Not leaving her even for just a second. Ada might have saved you a few times, but the amount of times she betrayed you is far greater. A memory sticks out from a conversation in the saferoom when Leon pulls you aside:

“Be careful. Something is very wrong about this place. I don’t know what it is yet…” His words hold weight and sincerity as he speaks. “And about Ada… I don’t trust her. You shouldn’t too. Don’t make the same mistake as I did.” Then Leon loosens the grasp on your arm, and reluctantly lets go…

You refocus, keeping your eyes peeled on Ada, before noticing how beautiful her hands are. How they pinch the dial with ease and precision, almost gliding as she hears the very faint click inside the clockwork of the safe. Her nails are short, painted dearly with scarlet red polish, palms so silky that they almost glisten lightly under the moonlight. You didn’t know the hands of a mercenary can be so pretty, unlike yours, calloused and scabs healed over.

“Are you done watching me?” Ada is still listening to the safe, but she knows you’re looking.

“Huh? I wasn’t—” Your cheeks redden from being caught.

“You think I’m as dense as that rookie? I see you guys talking. Did Leon tell you to watch over me?” Oh. She must be talking about Leon’s warnings in the safe room.

“It… wasn’t about you.” You hesitate and fiddle with your thumb. You are not a great liar, not by far.

“Just tell me.”

Ada turns around to look at you now, telling of how much she knows you. And it’s definitely well enough to see through your lies like translucent paper. Your words tumble under pressure: “He’s just concerned. Told me to keep an eye out.”

Ada scoffs; she’s turning the dial a bit more aggressively this time. “Of course he did. Predictable. The rookie thinks I’m out to get him every single time.” There’s another sigh of exhaustion.

“Well, isn’t that what you did?”

“That’s besides the point. It’s his fault for getting in my way.” Ada clears her throat. “Rest assured, I’ve been compensated well for this job, so you’re safe.”

“For now. I’m not taking my eyes off you.”

“Didn’t take you for the kind to let others tell you what to do.”

You clamp your lips shut. She’s right, and you know it. Your brain racks within itself for a comeback to defend your integrity, and realising instead: Why are you trying so hard to prove yourself to Ada?

Ada is challenging you for sure. Or entertained by you. You can’t tell the difference with her teasing grin that could be either, or both. Are your eyes fooling you, or does Ada seem more... relaxed? Her demeanour is drastically different from when you were in the saferoom, or when you were speaking to Jill. If you didn't know better, you swear Ada actually enjoys your company, maybe even a little bit more than friends.

The safe beeps, signal flashes green, and the hinge loosens to an open. The two of you peek inside. There’s a gold bar. A stack of paper (letters?) bound by a delicate string. But beyond that, nothing.

You hear rustling in the background. Papers falling to the floor. You turn around to see Jill frozen.

“We got the safe open. Did you find anything?”

Jill’s eyes are far off, fixed upon a particular spot. You look towards the direction of her glance, and beyond the window, it overlooks the mansion’s luxurious home garden, overgrown with weeds and wilt. Behind that, a bench and what appears to be either a figure or the trick of a light. It’s too dark to tell.

“Jill.” Ada repeats, slightly raised eyebrows indicating suspicion. Jill returns from her far off location, and sees the two of you in front of her.

“You okay?” You ask, wanting to put your hand on her shoulder. She shrugs you off.

“I’m fine.” Jill’s fist is holding some paper, and she scrunches it to hide it in her back pocket. “Nothing useful. Just old accounts… and stuff. You know.” Ada is watching. Jill changes the topic fast.

“But look what I've found in the drawers.” Jill removes a box from inside the drawer and opens it. It contains a bunch of oddly shaped devices, attached by a belt or some sort.

“Are those what I think they are...?” You question, not quite sure what to make of it just yet.

“In every colour too.” Ada says. “Seems like a 'hobby' of Arias'.”

“Maybe Arias had been using this toy in this room.” Jill snickers, pulling one of them out by the belt, and the girth of the black shaft is thick and erected.

“Jill, stop playing with it.” Your face looks visually disturbed. “Oh my god, my pure and innocent mind...”

“Don't tell me you've never used one of these before?” Ada is grinning, as if you just asked a silly question.

“And you have?”

“Who hasn't?” Jill laughs too. Meanwhile, you are still standing, a look of confusion in your eyes. They look at you, and look between themselves, a synchronous 'oh' left their mouths at the same time. You are still confused.

“Don't worry about it. So what do you guys got there?”

You pick up the stack, and read aloud the first sheet that is addressed to someone.

Dear Sarah, The world had been too cruel to us, separating us from each other far too suddenly, far too soon. Our lives were only just beginning, and fate had to take you away from me. We should’ve had so much more time. And we will. Don’t worry, Sarah, all of this is only temporary. I took your wedding dress to the dry cleaners and safekept it for your return. I still remember how beautiful you looked in that dress walking down the aisle. Yours forever, Glenn

You bring the sheet back to read the next letter.

Dear Sarah, My research was successful. I did it, Sarah, I DID IT!! I can finally bring you home, my love. Didn’t we always said we wanted a child? You told me underneath the moonlight you want to name our daughter Renee. And now, we can finally have them. We can finally be together. Things are in order to make this happen. Me, you, and Renee, for eternity. I’m so excited I’ve painted Renee’s nursery in your favourite colour, green. So much work to do, I’ll write to you again soon, Sarah. You won’t have to wait any longer. Yours forever, Glenn

“Is this Arias’ wife? What do you mean ‘bringing her back’?” Your whole body shudders at the thought.

“She’s dead. One of the many innocents that died in the wedding.” Jill almost punches the wall. “It should’ve been him.”

“He’s trying to revive her? …And have children with the dead?”

“What kind of fucked up shit is he planning?” Jill is shocked, grossed, disgusted all at once on her face.

Meanwhile, Ada, calm and unreactive as ever, is rummaging through the safe again. “No sign of the sample—” Ada confirms, and she withdraws her hand holding a gold bar to transfer it into her gear’s pocket. “—another dead end.”

“Did you just steal something?” Jill is in disbelief.

“Mind your business.” Ada shoots back a glare at her.

“There’s something really fucked up going on in this mansion, and this is how you act? Have some sympathy for the dead, would ya?”

“It’s been dead for a while. Doesn’t matter what we do or what we say, they can’t hear it. All we can do is focus on the present.”

“Why you—” Jill stops midway, like she accidentally swallowed back her words down the wrong hole. Her head is throbbing, heart racing, body attacking her from all sides within. Her throat is closing up, and for a second, Jill can’t breathe. She falls; collapsing onto the table with a loud thump, barely supporting herself with her elbow. Jill coughs; there’s blood.

“Jill! Are you okay?” You cry out, running to her aid, your arm rounding across Jill’s shoulders. It feels cold. Dry. Like you’re touching the furless coat of a dead animal with no warmth left in them.

“I… nnh, I’m fine.” Her voice is straining, but there’s some breathing at least.

“Don’t be stubborn. The colour on your face is gone.” You dip your hand onto Jill’s forehead. The cold sensation fades, and now it’s warm to the touch again, burning like a fever. You question yourself whether the coldness before was an illusion. Bringing your arms around her, you reach to your earpiece. “I’m calling Rebecca.”

“No. Don’t.” She coughs even harder with her weight leaning against you; she’s turning frailer and frailer by the minute. “I’ll be fine. We need to s-stop Arias.”

That is when you hear a click, cold metallic surface pressing against the fabric of Jill’s back. The safety’s off.

“Ada?” Your voice escapes like a pleading squeal, a forced laugh through hopeful desperation that it’s all a prank, that Ada isn’t going to hurt and betray you, just like all the other times. “…What’s up with you?”

“Jill. Get off. Now.” Ada raises her volume to a stern demand, and this time, you know she’s definitely not joking. Jill ought to do as she says soon, or else both of you may catch the bullet with a press of Ada’s finger.

“Ada—” Your voice shrivels into a pitiful whisper. Betrayal again? After everything?

“Jill’s infected. Face it. Thought it was weird why you’re acting funny. The virus is in your body as we speak.” Ada points her gun at Jill.

“Wha—What’re you talking about?” Jill’s face turns white. She coughs once more, hard. There’s blood all over her hand and on the corner of her lips.

“Ada. We need to take her to the hospital now.”

“Does she look okay to you? I’m not going to save your ass again. So get out when I tell you to.” Ada’s finger is firm on the trigger. Determined.

Jill scoffs. “This again? So you’re working for Wesker? You’re trying to take us out one by one. It’s not gonna work.” With a weak grip, Jill grabs her pistol with her remaining energy to aim right back at Ada. Ada doesn’t shoot. She should’ve, but she can’t.

Ada’s guard is up again. “Believe what you want. If you’d like to die today, be my guest. I won’t hesitate to shoot.” She flicks her wrist, demanding you to move aside. “This is your last chance.”

“Ada, please listen! She wasn’t bit. We were together the entire time. You were there too, Ada! She can’t be infected. She can’t be—” You yell in distress, but your sentence trails off into a mumble.

“The gas. The gas has something to do with it.” Ada says.

“Won’t the two of us be sick too?” You say.

Ada’s eyes glare harshly against the two of you, but you can see her thinking, the cogwheels in her brain processing the facts, and her speculation wavers. There’s pity behind the cold blooded glint. Sympathy. Ada’s pistol lowers—

And that was the mistake that costs their lives. Jill turns, roundhouse kicking the pistol off Ada’s hand in her moment of vulnerability. The gun falls, crashing against the rug far from reach. Ada is already reacting, drawing her TMP out but Jill moves faster. Too steadfast. Too superhuman. She tackles Ada to the ground, hands steady against her neck.

Jill’s gaze is obscured by flames, something blinding and controlling from something within her veins and arteries. Despite looking directly at Ada, she can’t see, nor can she distinguish friend or foe. Her hand tightens around Ada’s windpipe, leaving her grasping for air.

You pull up your rifle in a panic frenzy, unloading your round onto Jill. But she does not flinch, does not even look your way. There’s a dent in her skin where your shots land, but there’s no blood. “Goddamit, what the fuck, Jill! What is wrong with you?”

But Jill can’t hear you. Only the crackle of flame and roar of wildfire burning and reverberating through her head. Echoing twice and thrice over. Ada is grunting soundless moans, still attempting at escape with how she continues to fumble for the TMP on her waist belt. Then, Jill steps on Ada’s hand with sheer force and unnatural strength, crushing the smooth palm with the sole of her feet, twisting it until all the delicate bones become unrecoverable. And all hope was lost again.

Jill sinks her teeth into Ada’s neck, not with much mercy either. There is a sound of flesh torn, a blood crying scream to taint the air. The blood velvet rug paints a deeper red and Jill releases. Ada flops to the floor, paralysed, but not deadly enough for a fatality. Her beautiful skin, once full of vigour and charm, stained red with her own blood, the veins around turning deeper purple thriving like tree roots across the earth.

You look at Jill—and she’s smiling. It’s not the slight curve of her lips you’re used to when you tell her that her haircut is nice. Or the reluctant embarrassed grin she has when you thank her for standing up for you. This was something else.

This was something from hell.

She’s no longer the Jill you know. ‘Jill’ turns around to meet you in the eye. You back away, rifle aiming forwards despite knowing it’s all fruitless. Your hands shudder from within, none of your shots will hit even if you try. But you had no choice. You have to try even if it’s fruitless. Then you aim at Jill directly on the head. It’s harder than it looks, killing your best friend, even if they are a zombie.

It misses and lands on her shoulder instead. There’s a notable grimace on Jill’s face as she flies to catch the bullet from within her shoulder. She flicks the bullet away and her grin spreads widely, and she chuckles a sinister giggle. “That hurts, you know…”

“Jill?” These BOWs aren’t supposed to speak. They should be monsters. This is your first time meeting one of these too, and you did not expect them to be one of your closest friends. You should be careful. If they can speak, do they have the intelligence to manipulate you too?

“What’s wrong, kitty?”

“Fuck you.” You grit your teeth. “I’m not turning into one of you.”

She merely laughs. “Admit it. You think this is hot.”

“Fuck off.” You have Jill’s eyes locked, other hand inching closer and closer to your back pocket, reaching for the radio. But it was no use. A hand—bloodied and broken—grabs you by your wrist, twisting it behind you forcefully. You wince. Ada is right behind you, her eyes looking into yours with the same blank stare Jill has. She’s turned. And so quick too?

“Our darling, can’t seem to stay put? I think it needs punishment.” Ada’s breath is blowing against your neck. You shiver.

“Oh… like what kind?” Jill’s eyebrows are raised and intrigued.

Jill answers the question herself by unsheathing her pocket knife. You swallow hard as she takes each purposeful step towards you, savouring in your fear. Your wrists struggle against Ada’s grip, which she responds by tightening it further that your bones are almost breaking from her touch.

“It’ll hurt more if you resist.” Jill drawls out her words, licking the surface of the knife. She brings her knife forward, laying the flat edge of the knife against your cheek, drawing a little blood at first, then a bit more droplets gather onto the knife. She slurps on it, licking the crimson nectar clean off her knife. “Just relax, kitty. It’s us. Jill and Ada. Your teammates.”

“We won’t hurt you, darling. You can trust us.”

For a moment, through the hazy blink of a spell, you see your friends. Ada, mysterious yet always saving you during trouble. Jill, indifferent yet is always the first to defend you. They’re absolutely right. These are your friends. They mean so much to you, and you’ve just realised that now. You’ll do anything for them.

You let your body relax, your eyes stare into Jill, then Ada, then back at Jill again. She caresses your cheeks in her palm, bringing your face closer to hers with lips that only want to close the distance, and you close your-

Wait! No. Stop this! This isn’t right!

-eyes, before your lips crash together in a series of tingles. Jill deepens the kiss, her tongue prying between the seams of your lips, meeting your own tongue in the middle. You still taste a bit of blood, but that doesn’t deter you from returning the kiss. Jill licks your lips once more before finally parting with a heaved gasp. You slowly open your eyes, before another pair of familiar lips comes colliding back on yours and you’re nudged to close them again. This is Ada’s lips, rounder, thicker, with an unexpected forwardness. She nibbles on your lips, demanding, making room between the gaps of your lips, and kiss you just as passionately as Jill did.

Between kisses, a button pops off. Then another. You help each other out of your fabrics. Earpieces removed, abandoned by the floor. Jill strips off Ada’s dress and bra, and you help Jill out of her skinny jeans. A paper scrunches up from her back pocket. It’s been torn by hand, scribbled a note on lined paper where the words are either smudged or peeled off. Only one word is still faintly visible.

[ WATER ]

What could it mean?

You spend no time to ponder with Jill pulling you back into the present. Your naked torsos flush against each other as the duo fight for another taste of your lips. They catch your breath, one after another, with no intention of letting you out of their sight. Jill brings her hand around you, her fingers are already sending-

I need to get out of here! I need to warn-

-a violent fizz through your body, and Ada helps you fall to your legs onto the velvet rug underneath you. All the whilst your lips are trapped in Jill’s, and so is your body.

“That’s it… Be our good little darling.” Ada slips right behind you, letting your relaxed body lean against her, then running a hand up your torso with the friction of her latex gloves, before settling against your neck in a firm grip.

“We’ll take care of you, kitty.” Jill whispers into your ear, and you can’t hear any malicious intent. Jill and Ada aren’t hurting you, some part of you is very sure about this.

Then you hear something. A faint sound in your mind, a warning, a scream from far away. It’s telling you to run, run so far and fast before it’s too late. “Nnh… I…” It rings in your ear like a constant drum, forcing you for a response. But why? You feel so good right now…

“Stay with us, darling.” Ada coos, moving downwards to kiss along the strip of your neck. She’s gentle, enchanting you in her lovingness. The voice grows fainter, like a distant chatter that fades into the background.

And their hands are all over you, exploring every curve your skin has to offer. The crook of your neck, the gentle folds between your belly, thighs filling out into their palms, plushness against plushness. With how both of their breasts lay against you, it reminds you of a marshmallow cloud, and you’re drifting away into it. Away from the mortal world where only the three of you remain.

Ada runs her hands down your body, her latex glove palming your cunt now, circling it fully and firmly. You feel everything move, your hips rutting to find more friction against your clit. And she retracts her hand, pressing down against your clit as if you hears your demands, holding you and your emotions hostage, before repeating all the motions again.

“Shh… We’ll take care of you, kitty.” Someone says this, you don’t know who. You are much too focused on the pleasure throbbing in your body to notice. Ada moves her head downwards to watch your cunt more closely, pleasant to see you already drenching, soon to succumb to the inflictions of her loving touches.

“Goodness, so wet for me, darling.” Ada rewards herself with a finger down the stripe of your cunt, scooping your juices with the latex and licking her finger clean. Ada is taking her time with you, pecking gentle kisses along the seam. A few times you feel the firm pad of her tongue on you, but she retracts it before you can truly react to it.

Jill is still kissing you; her hands are groping her own breasts to satisfy herself, while you lay limp under the command of the two. You moan back into the kiss, clearly aroused by Ada toying with your body underneath, and she grows increasingly jealous: “Having all the fun without me?” She abruptly parts your lips, and gently lowers your back onto the floor.

“Come on, kitty. Help me come too.” Jill pecks one final kiss on you, which you, too engrossed in the knot in your chest to struggle to even pucker your lips. She rounds her legs over your face, and your face is shaded with the shape of Jill’s cunt. Her arousal glistens in the darkness, seemingly twitch, maybe a bit vulnerable with how your eyes are fixed upon her aching parts.

“Put that tongue to good use, kitty.” Jill drops herself onto your face, fucking herself onto your nose. A moan escapes her lips, and yours too, your grunt muffled underneath the pressure, but she can still feel the vibrations through her cunt. She ruts against you, a signal for ‘more’, and you obey. You stick your tongue in, swirling and springing your tongue to feel Jill’s walls against the flat surface of your tongue.

Jill lifts herself temporarily, just enough for you to breathe and release the groaning mess that is trapped in the back of your throat. She slams herself back down onto you again. Your breath quickens, back arches in; you’re close. So fucking close. Ada isn’t stopping now, her lips are flushed against your cunt, extending her entire tongue inside of you to tonguefuck you until your heavy breathing is inside of Jill’s cunt.

“I.. nnh…fuck…” You cry, a tear gathering in your eye.

“Don’t be shy, kitty. Just let it all out.” Jill looks down at you, grinning, taunting. She drives her cunt deeper onto your face. And with her encouragement, you do. The sensation wells inside of you, stimulated on both end bringing your orgasm to escalate in speeds unimaginable. Your juices start to flow, without warning—you couldn’t control it even if you tried—and all your fluids spills directly onto Ada’s face, catching into her eyes.

“That’s it. Well done, kitty.” Jill praises, smoothing a hand over your hair.

Ada doesn’t wince from your juices in her eye, she doesn’t even feel the pain. Her irises are shifting red from her kind hazel brown. Her skin, paling, wherever she was applying pressure at you, those parts of her turns distinctly blue. And that’s when reality hits you: you don’t know them. But there’s no stopping now. It’s too late. At least you can make your death memorable—enjoyable—by getting fucked inside out.

Jill is feeling it too, her hips shaking, your tongue going into overtime eating her out, until she finally releases. She tries to lift herself off, but it was too late when Jill begins to squirt, her one finger guiding herself on her clit, drenching your face and some of your hair with her fluids. You wipe your face off with your hands, huffing and puffing. Whatever you two had, it was intense. Far more intense than any relationship you had with any other sex.

Ada lands right next to you on the rug. She’s reaching down to circle on her own clit and thrusting her fingers inside of her dripping mess at the same time. God, Ada looks so hot touching herself.

“Please. Ada. I want to taste you too.” You nudge Ada’s fingers out of herself, giving them a lick to clean those pretty, battered fingers off. Even damaged, her manicure is still perfect, and the skin still feels soft to the touch. You roll on top of Ada, exchanging places with Ada’s fingers to bottom her out.

Ada’s cunt is so smooth, cleaned and trimmed, just as put together as the rest of herself. Her hole is wide open, as if taunting you with how much she can take at one time. You hook her legs over your shoulder now, pressing them down closer to her body and reaching over to her swollen nipple to pull against it. When your fingers enter her, it’s like dipping your finger into melted butter. With one finger, it was loose. So you add one more finger, then another, until all four of your fingers are deep in her cunt.

“God, Ada.” You swallow back a heavy drool. “You’re all stretched out.”

“I have higher pain tolerance like this. That’s the best part about being a zombie.”

“Does that mean I can…” You thought four fingers was Ada’s limit, but after wiggling your hand around, you manage to slip the fifth finger inside. Ada lets out a delighted whine, swallowing your entire fist with a quick rut of her hips.

My god, Ada looks so beautiful like this. With how big she’s taking in, you swear that she’s more used to this than she’s letting on. But you don’t get to ponder long, because Jill is right behind you. She’s watching over you, grabbing your cheeks from behind and something is nudging between your thighs.

“I want to try something on you.” There is a belt around her, and a strap bouncing high and proud into the air. “Stick up your butt for me, kitty.”

The idea of getting fucked by Jill excites you very much. You perk them up, despite your eagerness, you don’t want to lose momentum with Ada in front of you, still squirming under your control. You expect your cunt to meet with Jill’s silicone tip, but instead she puts some kind of device inside of you. It vibrates in the lowest setting, only a tingle of sensation in your already aching and throbbing pussy.

“J-Jill?” You let out a low grunt, unsatisfied. The device is so small, you still feel empty even as it vibrates within you.

“Don’t worry, kitty. I’m just gonna write some thing on your body. It won’t hurt, I promise.” She picks up a knife, previously abandoned in the corner. She runs the sharp end of the knife along your ass cheeks, and you wince as Jill drags the knife down until it carves off a letter. ‘J’ on your left cheek, ‘A’ on your right cheek.

“Kitty looks amazing with our initials on it.” Blood is trailing along your butt. Jill lied. It hurts a lot. But the combination of pain on your skin and pleasure of the vibrator takes you to your wits end. Jill makes up for it by consoling the cuts, planting kisses and licking the blood off your cheeks. Then she grasps harshly onto the plush meat, and the pain is back again.

“Kitty…” She coos, fingering out some of your stickiness to lubricate the silicone. It lines up against you, ready for entry. You take in a deep breath, and Jill shoves all of her length in one go. Your body flinches, tongue stopping for a moment to recollect your composure as your internal walls fight to wrap both the vibrator and Jill’s strap at the same time, filling you up so fully.

“That’s it, kitty. Take in both me and the vibrator. Feel so good right now… So good for us.”

But she’s not stopping. Not intending to stop until you come over and over again, until you stain the rug with every bit of your juices. Moans ripple through the room. Each thrust heavy and welcoming to your pussy as you stretch wide to accommodate to this newfound size. You chase your euphoria, as it crash at you wave after wave of limitless pleasure. Jill tips you further into overstimulation, fucking the fluids of your orgasm back inside of you.

But you can’t speak, despite the desire to release your choked out breath, you are determined to make Ada come too. She’s close. You press her legs further down to flex her into a pretzel, her thighs touch her head, and your fist finds its easier to reach her cervix, abusing at her favourite spot over and over again until she’s bound to release her fluids onto your hand.

“You’re mine now…” Jill and Ada speaks almost simultaneously.

And the rest of the night was a blur. You aren’t sure how many times you came tonight, you only feel the aftermath of it. The inside of your walls are sore, penetrated repeatedly by tongue and silicone, and you find your consciousness fading… and fading… until you are gone completely.

A buzz. It rings in your ear like a fly in your sleep. Is this your alarm? No… Did you not leave for Arias’ mansion? How long ago was that? Why are you asleep? And where’s Jill and Ada?

You are alone. The portraits watching your naked body as you lie—criticising you? You hear the windows clacking against the hinges, night air whining inside and all over your bareness. But you don’t feel cold. Your body hasn’t felt anything in a while. Joints weakened everywhere and your lips feel like something dried over.

You hear the buzz again. This time much closer. There’s static. It’s saying something.

“Ji- Ad-”

You move your limbs, cumbersome from the soreness of your muscles, to reach to the sound underneath your clothes. An earpiece. You fumble it on.

“Jill! Ada! Are you guys there? Come on, why won’t this damn thing work?”

It’s Rebecca. You know this girl. From somewhere. It’s getting harder to think.

“Reb—” You try to talk, but it escapes like the low grumble of a zombie. You don’t have much time left.

“Finally! Thank god it’s you! Are you guys safe?”

“Water... It’s the water… The water’s infected…” You muster whatever bit of strength left to talk.

“Hello?? Shit. I can’t hear you… What did you say about the water?”

Your eyes feel heavy. It sinks without intention. All that remains is a fragile pulse at the hearth of your body. Not enough for you to move or think. Darkness envelops you, and there is silence once again in Arias’ office.

Then, a man steps into the room.

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. —yours truly, rose. kissing @scar-crossedlvrs and @obsolescent for beta reading this!!!! tags: @j3llyd0nut @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted @obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs @slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors @whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson © roseglazedlens — please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[gothcsz]

what if someday, Javis constant girls do get a bit much for neighbour readers feelings and heart and she actually thinks about moving and looks in the newspaper for new places (even though she knows she never actually could because being away from Javi feels impossible) and Javi randomly sees the circled ads on her kitchen table and he just absolutely panics and freaks out. And in typical Javi way, does it in a way that’s probably rude lmao

we are back on our neighbor!javi flow, y’all! i mixed these two amazing prompts together so thank you to my anons for sending them in 🖤 i hate these two (i don't) hehe

“What’s this?”

You freeze mid-step, a stack of extra blankets and a pillow nearly slipping from your grip as Javier holds up a newspaper, the pages marked with listings of different apartment complexes and houses.

His eyes are narrowed, mouth pressed into a firm line, and your heart stutters as you see the storm of emotions there.

You’d tried to keep it together, to swallow the ache every time you heard him bring someone home, convincing yourself that it shouldn’t bother you.

But then you started seeing and hearing the same woman’s laughter drift through the walls, night after night, and that finally broke something inside you.

He’d found someone—someone who wasn’t just a casual fling, someone he wanted to talk with, someone to hold at night. And while you’d long accepted that you’d never have that kind of intimacy with him, the reality of him finding it with someone else made your heart burn in ways you weren’t prepared for.

So, determined to protect yourself, you began looking for a way out.

“I’ve just been looking around—” you start, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Why?” he cuts you off. You watch as he sets down the paper he’d been holding, but he doesn’t step back, his body tensed as if he’s bracing himself.

“Because this place is crappy.” You straighten your shoulders, gesturing with a faint, forced smile to keep this from spiraling.

It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the full truth.

“They can’t even get someone out to fix the plumbing on time, and you’re about to be crashing on my couch because of it. My lease is up in two months, so… it just makes sense.” The words tumble out easily enough, but you can’t ignore how his gaze searches yours, like he’s looking for deeper meaning—and it’s there, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is.

“So… what, you were just going to leave without telling me?” His voice dips, the tension almost palpable as he stands there, arms crossed, jaw set in that way that makes his frustration obvious.

You cross your own arms, matching his stance. “I haven’t even toured any places yet. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” It’s not like you’re moving back to the States, even though that thought has crossed your mind.

His eyes bore into yours, and the weight of all the unspoken things between you lingers, tightening your chest. Javier is wrestling with his words, unsure of what to say since he’s doing that thing where he lets his anger take the reins before thinking shit through.

"Besides, I can barely afford anything around here." You let out a short laugh, but it's strained, revealing just how much this uncertainty has been weighing on you. "I’ve been… I’ve been looking for other jobs too." You clear your throat, wondering how he’s going to take it. "No luck, though.”

Javier’s face shifts, his eyes darkening with a flash of something almost akin to guilt.

First, you're talking about moving away from him, and now, even your job isn’t enough to keep you around him.

Panic prickles under his calm exterior as he watches you, piecing together the unspoken reasons behind your restlessness.

Is this because of him? Is he selfish for thinking this way?

He can’t help but think back to every little misstep he’s taken with you.

Had he finally pushed you too far? Sure, he knew he got a little too possessive when you were bringing Mateo around… or maybe he was too obvious with his flirting over those shared dinners.

Every moment he spent lingering in your presence—sitting a little too close at the courtyard on embassy grounds during his smoke breaks, or holding your gaze longer than necessary—flashes through his mind.

It’s one thing to flirt and tease, to keep his feelings in check for your sake, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was make you feel cornered, like he was crowding you.

"He’s not making you do any of this, is he?" Javier’s voice has an edge, wary and somehow accusatory.

You blink in surprise, a flicker of irritation igniting inside. Really? Does he actually think your short-lived thing with the guy from the bank has you wanting to carelessly pack up your life?

The assumption pisses you off, but you hold back—after all, he’ll be crashing on your couch for the next few days, and arguing right now could make things awkward.

But then again, maybe he'd find solace with that woman you hear coming around nearly every night.

“You’re joking, right?” You shake your head, feeling the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. “No, Javier, no one’s making me do this but me. If anything, I’m just a little tired of having to plug my ears at night to avoid hearing you screw your girlfriend into oblivion.”

The words spill out, laced with a bitter edge you didn’t mean to reveal, but after how he barged in on your date with Mateo, maybe he deserves a to feel some heat about it, too.

His eyes narrow sharply. “Girlfriend?”

You wave him off, “Just forget I said anything.”

But of course, he’s not going to let it go that easily. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, Javi," you sigh, feeling exposed and frustrated. "I just know the walls are paper thin, and I can hear everything—just like you can. It’s grating sometimes, but I do my best to ignore it and not storm over there to embarrass the both of you by blowing up."

Suddenly, every late-night hookup he’s had since you moved in projects like a kaleidoscope in his memory.

None of it meant anything to him—they were just distractions, shallow ways to escape the brutality of his job and maybe even the tender, unspoken feelings he harbors for you.

Yet, in his careless distraction, he hadn’t considered how it could affect you, make you uncomfortable in your own home. For someone who claims to care deeply about you, he realizes he’s done a lousy job of showing it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, cariño.” He deflates, and your heart skips because you just melt when he calls you that, “I didn’t think… well, fuck, I never think.” He bites back the urge ramble, to tell you how much he despises the idea of you leaving, how much he wishes he could be the reason you stay and that he hates himself for making you listen to him lose himself in different women. “I’ll be better about that.”

You nod, feeling whiplash from this weird ass conversation slash argument you just indulged in.

“Just be courteous. Isn’t that what you told Mateo?”

He steadies himself, masking the ache in his chest with a small, tight smile. “Yeah, guess I did say that.”

And it’s not like you’re actually going to follow through with leaving. You’ll just resign your lease and hope that Javier sticks to his word about keeping his love affairs quiet.