#she's just dead and she didn't have to be

[wileys-russo]

sending this to distract us from the transfer window (it has my stomach in the pits of hell omg)

alessia, “how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”, bedroom

part of the maternal instincts series

two second surprise II a.russo

"thank you!" you smiled politely as your pass was scanned and the usher moved aside to let you inside the family and friends box, doors closing after you as you scanned the room trying indeed to find your family.

"boo!" you jumped about a foot in the air as fingers zapped your sides and a familiar voice sounded as you turned around and smacked giorgio on the shoulder before he pulled you in with a grin.

"i didn't know you were back yet!" you laughed as your girlfriends brother lifted you up in a bear hug before placing you back down on your feet. "landed last night. haven't slept a wink but i wouldn't dare miss a game!" the boy beamed as you flicked his lanyard.

"or a free feed and some drinks?" you teased as he held his hands up unable to argue your point. "i didn't think you were coming though! less said something about a girls weekend?" gio questioned as he practically dragged you over to the bar with him.

"girls day trip more like it." you forced a pained smile as the middle russo winced. "that bad huh? you women." he tutted with a shake of his head, making a strange noise as you punched his arm and he almost spilled the beer he'd just picked up.

"you were raised by a wonderful woman, watch your mouth russo." you warned with a playful glare, the two of you chattering as you followed him to where everyone else was, greeted with a cheer and pulled from one hug to another.

"alessia didn't say you were coming darling? whats happened?" carol pulled you aside with a concerned frown as you sighed and shook your head.

"trip was cut short. lets just say one night out together unearthed some home truths and old wounds!" you summarised what had been a very draining twenty four hours playing peacekeeper on what was supposed to be a chance to catch up with some old school friends.

"drunk minds and sober thoughts as they say hm? well its a lovely surprise to see you. lessi will be thrilled!" the woman smiled pulling you in for another hug as you rejoined the group.

"where's bella?" you questioned once you had a chance to get a word in, unable to see her hovering about anywhere. "oh! alessia organised for bella to be her mascot today. she didn't tell you?" luca advised as you shook your head.

"to be fair she told me she'd only contact me in an emergency, forceful relaxtion she called it." you chuckled at your girlfriends stern warnings you weren't to worry about anything this weekend but having fun, and look how well that had seemed to work for you.

carol informing she was just about to go wait downstairs to bring bella back up after the walk out, she was more than happy to shoo you off in her space as you now found yourself in a back room with the parents of the other mascots, watching the walk out on a big screen projected on the wall.

your heart swelled about ten times its normal size watching alessia lead your daughter out hand in hand, bella unable to wipe the grin off her face and you knew this was something she'd remember for years to come.

after all its not everyday you walk out to a sold out emirates for a champions league match, and you were almost certain this would be making the rounds with all of bellas school friends and your neighbours, and coworkers, and your parents, practically anyone with ears that would listen to your daughter.

suddenly you were being lead out toward the pitch with the group, advised the mascots would take a quick photo with the starting 11 and then head back over.

"what?" alessia mumbled as she felt an elbow suddenly in her side, leahs chin pointing to the sidelines and as alessia caught your eye and you waved she felt her stomach drop, cautiously raising her hand to wave back.

"oh you are a dead woman." leah snickered to herself, bella too busy looking around in awe at the thousands of people cheering and yelling to even clock your prescence, alessia squeezing her hand gently and lifting her up onto her hip for the photo.

now normally, if this was any other game day, any other weekend, frankly any other situation at all, alessia would be over the moon that you'd shown up and were there watching her.

but today, today that was not the case and a profound sense of dread was fast seeping into her bones.

today alessia had a secret, something she'd kept from you with hopes of having the weekend to come up with a plan on how to tell you, and now with those hopes blown right out of the water, she was panicking, hard.

"is that mummy? mummys here!" bella gasped as she finally spotted you, alessia tightening her grip on the six year olds hand as she tried to race across the pitch where you stood waiting.

"mama you're being slow!" bella groaned as sure enough alessia was taking her time to cross the mere ten or so metres between the pair of you, but with the stubborn girl pulling her along she eventually had to land in front of you.

"hi trouble." you laughed as your daughter crashed into you, already word vomiting everything she'd been doing for the past day you were gone. "you can tell me all about it tonight!" you promised, barely able to keep up with what she was saying it was coming out of her so fast.

"-and mama took me to get my ears pierced!"

but those words, those registered with you and in a split second you were bending down, hands grabbing her face and eyes wide as you tilted it side to side, sure enough the glint of tiny diamonds in her ears that had not been there when you left yesterday.

"alessia." your head snapped up toward your girlfriend who'd gone pale, eyes wide and features dripping with guilt as you stood and narrowed your own eyes at her.

you paused as you felt a tug on your shirt, meeting bellas curious gaze. "should i cover my ears?" she questioned, doing just that as you smiled and gave a curt nod before your glare landed back on the blonde in front of you.

"alessia how could-" you started, taking one step toward her as she took one back. "thanks for coming so glad you made it see you after the game babe!" was all that came tumbling from her mouth before she took off sprinting away from you.

"russo!" you yelled after her as she glanced at you with a wince and what was supposed to be an apologetic wave, but really seemed more like a shoo of dismissal as you scoffed and shook your head.

"come on bell." you swallowed your anger for the time being, tugging your daughters hands off her ears and taking one of them in yours, lead back through the tunnel and toward the elevator to head upstairs to watch the game.

~

"mama you did it!" your daughter cheered, racing across the room to greet her as she appeared, freshly showered and smiling as bella hugged her leg before spotting a few of the other girls coming in and darting off to say hi.

having had the best part of the last two and a half hours to calm down you weren't quite as infuriated with her as before, but still you made no move to go and greet your girlfriend, rather following after bella and leaving alessia to speak with her family, all of whom had been clued into the mounting tension between the pair of you.

"-maybe i'll take you one day!" kyra grinned messing up your daughters hair who huffed. "pest!" bella pointed back up at her as you laughed and kyra feigned offence, bella tapping her leg and yelling tag and suddenly the pair of them were off zig zagging and chasing around the room.

"hi." you turned at the soft voice beside you, glancing briefly at your girlfriend who stood there with an awkward smile, humming and fixing your gaze back on isabella who'd now roped manu and laia into her game of tag with kyra.

"are you still upset with me?" alessia blurted out, wincing at the frosty silence that followed, your head not even turning to acknowledge her as she sighed. "thats a yes then."

"am i supposed to not be upset with you alessia? i told bella when she asked about her ears last week she was too young, i leave for a day and come back and you've of course given her whatever she wants." you quipped coldly, leaving her behind as you went to collect the girl in question, alessia rubbing the back of her neck and trying to think how she was gonna dig herself out of the hole she was currently in.

especially since it was her own hands on the shovel which had buried her in there in the first place.

several hours later and things were just as unresolved, the tension still taunt and air around the pair of you uncomfortable and stiff, so much so that alessias parents had offered to have bella for the night to give the pair of you a chance to talk it out.

but all alessia received was silence in the entire car ride home, any and all attempts at conversation ignored as you stared out the window, immediately shut out as you made a beeline for the bathroom.

she hadn't even gotten out of you just why you were back so early from your girls weekend, and knowing that since you were something must have gone wrong, stomach tied up with guilt that you'd already clearly had things go wrong and now you'd come home to find out she'd gone against what you said.

a very long shower and perhaps an overly extensive skin care routine to give yourself some space and time alone to think later, and alessia finally heard the lock click, sitting upright in the chair she'd been lounging in eagerly awaiting your return.

at first she knelt down on one knee, rapidly realizing that would signal something much different than what was going on as she scrambled to her feet, almost toppling back to the ground as the door opened.

"what is this?" you questioned bluntly as the striker gestured much more awkwardly than intended to the bed once you stepped out of the bathroom and flicked the fan off, eyes scanning the large love heart and 'i'm sorry' made up of uncooked pasta shells covering the duvet.

"an apology." alessia gestured again to the bed as you only hummed, barely acknowledging it as you tossed your clothes into the dirty hamper in the corner of the room.

"how many times do i have to say i'm sorry? i'm really really really sorry!" alessia groaned, dragging her hands down her face but sticking consistent to your stubborn nature you ignored her all together.

"can you clean that up please? i'm tired." you nodded to the bed as you scraped your hair up into a half bun, refusing to meet the footballers pleading gaze as it followed you around the room.

"i even tried to write i'm sorry i put holes in our daughters ear without asking you, but i ran out of pasta." alessia admitted with an annoyed scowl. "my daughter." you muttered, missing the way the blondes face shattered at your misplaced words.

only as you were trudging into the kitchen to make a cup of tea did those words register with you, flicking on the kettle to boil and pausing, exhaling heavily and quickly turning on foot to return to the bedroom.

you found alessia on her knees with her back facing you, ever so carefully picking up each shell of pasta one by one and placing it back into the packet, making sure not to miss a single one.

but right as you heard the kettle go and you went to leave her to it you heard it, the unmistakable tiny sniffle, alessia pausing as her hand moved to wipe at her eyes and your lips turned downward.

"alessia." you spoke quietly, taking a step closer as she sniffled again, straightening up suddenly and clearing her throat, quickly moving to scrape the remaining pasta shells into a small pile.

"less." you spoke softer now, clearing the distance between the pair of you and arriving by her side, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your chest as you tapped her shoulder and she glanced up at you, eyes red where she'd clearly been trying to hide her emotions.

"our daughter." you corrected gently, the blonde only nodding and quickly averting her gaze, hands with an ever so slight shake as she continued to pick up the pasta shells.

"hey, less. stop." you ordered, one hand falling atop hers as she again glanced up at you, your remaining anger melting away at the cascade of guilt, frustration and hurt that swirled in the strikers bright blue eyes that met yours.

"come here." you opened your arms, your girlfriend up on her feet and all too happily accepting the hug, hunched over with the height difference as your face pressed into her shoulder and her chin hooked over yours.

"i am really really sorry for going behind your back." she whispered sincerely as you rubbed her back, exhaling at the feeling of her tight embrace. "i know you are, i'm sorry too." you felt her press a grateful kiss to your cheek as you just stood there holding one another for a moment before gradually breaking apart as you tugged her down to sit on the end of the bed with you.

"i should have called and asked, really i know i should have. its just-well bell came home from that party yesterday and she was quite, upset." alessia started as you frowned, nodding for her to continue.

"she said some of the other girls were picking on her because she didn't have her ears pierced, calling her a baby and saying she was too scared, said she was lying about not being allowed since all of their mums took them to get their ears done already." alessia revealed as your frown deepened.

"trust me i was ready to go in there and raise hell!" alessia huffed with a scowl and a shake of her head. "but well i could hardly go in there and yell at a bunch of six year olds that they're a pack of bitches, so instead i just took her to get them done so she didn't feel left out. but i should have called you and asked and-" you cut her off with a kiss, the blonde tensing up in surprise before you pulled away.

"did you just call children, a pack of bitches?" you cracked a smile, the tips of your girlfriends ears going pink as she gave a shrug. "not to their faces! their mums however-" alessia shook her head as you let out a small laugh.

"-pack of bitches." you finished for her, the girl meeting your amused smile with a nod of her head and a grin. "i wish you'd at least told me what happened and that you were going to take her, but i understand why you did it, and i'd have done the same thing if the roles were reversed." you assured, pulled into another hug and exhaling into alessias chest as your arms looped around her torso.

"if it helps all she could talk about was how she had to have silver studs, and not gold because you only wear silver." alessia mumbled as you chuckled. "thank you." you broke apart as the blonde gave you a curious frown.

"what for?" "for being a good mum." you leaned in to kiss her again, amused by the way her cheeks now flushed pink at the compliment.

"not the best because that title belongs to yours truly-" you started as alessia laughed but made no move to argue. "-but bella and i? we're both very lucky to have you less." you added on with a soft smile, laughing at the way she surged forward to hide her face in your shoulder, your back hitting the mattress.

"softie." you teased as she pinched your side, the two of you just laying there wrapped up in one another, limbs entangled and the only sound the rhythmic pumping of your heartbeats.

"wait! what happened on your girls trip?" alessia suddenly remembered, head popping up to frown down at you with concern as you groaned at the memory, alessia gently hitting your thigh and begging you to fill her in as you pulled yourself to sit up.

"do we still have that half drunk bottle of vodka?"

[viscardiac]

I got in serious, almost getting expelled from school, trouble over a death note and I'm dead serious. I was 11, and as 11yo kids go, i was a weeaboo lil shit. My mom was going through a Phase of her own, and she downloaded the fresh ass live action death note movies (the japanese ones). I was obsessed with it, as 11yos go, and I decided to make my own death note.

So I bought a cheap lil notebook, the cheapest bullshit around. I printed the cover, I printed the rules pages, and i glued them on the note. It was just kids being kids, and I was fully aware it was just for play. So there we went, classmates and I, to write names on our Brand New Death Note. We wrote plenty of names there, from teachers we hated to pop stars we hated. It was 2009 and Justin Bieber had his fair share of writes.

To this day I don't know why that teacher confiscated the notebook. It wasn't being played with in class or anything, it was just laying on my desk. I was pissed, but whatever, it was a cheap notebook with a bunch of printed anime crap.

Now, this was 2009 Brazil, where anime wasn't very well known or mainstream. And so the teacher, who happened to be a hated one, flipped through a notebook with a bunch of people, including her, written there with our desired causa mortis. She didn't get what the glued pages said, though, and went to translate them. Cue hell being raised in the school. Satanic panic all around.

I got the biggest write up of my life. My parents were called to the school by an assorted team of my very, very concerned and lowkey scared teachers, the school psychologist, and other people whose jobs idk how to translate. They told my parents they were going to talk about something very difficult. They thought that I was being pulled into a cult of satan worshippers (yes, for real. I couldn't make this up if i tried.) My parents were kinda freaked out, like, this is so far the kid that stirs the least trouble, but okay. Let's hear what they have going on.

They pulled out the death note. My parents, who were very much aware of what it was in a pretty good depth, looked at each other, and cracked the biggest laugh ever. They then had to explain that this is a prop from an anime, you know, the japanese cartoons? The pretty embarrassed school folks gave the thing back. They looked at me wrong for the rest of the year. They did Not retract the write up.

what's the most demented thing you guys got in trouble for in school mine was when an english boy in my class made fun of my name and called my mum a (derogatory word for irish travellers) so i told him my ira uncle was in town and was coming to blow him up after school

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[your-turn-to-role]

other things about campaign vox machina i have now decided it's vital for tlovm only fans to know about - so they were all in the slayer's take for a while, there was a whole mini arc about it

and the way slayer's take bounties work are often "so and so magic user needs this magical creature's body parts as spell components, so go find one and kill it, and then bring back everything on their list - money will be taken off the final reward for any parts you failed to recover or damaged in the process"

which is where vox machina learned just how expensive everything on a dragon from its eyes to its teeth to its skin is

and they've got a vex in the party

so yeah they killed the chroma conclave for the good of exandria, and in the case of thordak and raishan, personal revenge

but then with every dragon they killed they stole as much hide and scales and claws and teeth as they could physically fit in their bags of holding/colding (and i do mean that literally, there was a lot of math done over what in there is worth less than dragon skin so they could swap it with yet more dead vorugal)

but they didn't sell all of it

we may get this at the start of s4 we may not, because this time skip is when they had them made

but i feel like it's important to note after this point in the story vex's primary clothing colour was white, rather than blue, because she had a full set of leather and scale armor made from the cured remains of vorugal

and percy grabbed a dragon scale from each dragon for every one of his friends, and commisioned a jeweler they had helped earlier on their travels to make all of vox machina jewellery pieces of their choice (not all were mentioned but keyleth has a clasp holding her mantle/cloak together, vex has a hairpiece, it was suggested grog affixes his to his gauntlet), that were the five colours of dragon scale fanned out and inlaid with gemstones, in recognition of what they'd achieved

(and because percy is percy, as a way to recognise each other if it ever came to that, because each one was in some way unique to the person carrying it)

and while i don't know if the show will do a full costume change for vex (they did for keyleth, so we'll see, but the dragon scale pieces are probably too intricate for animation), i'd love to see more fanart that includes these bc they're really cool

[happilivedelicativecollective86]

0. I "repeat myself" because you repeat the same lies over and over again. My answers won't change unless your lies do.

1. Except January 6th doesn't just fit the blanket definition of an insurrection, it fits the definition that's implied and inferred under federal law. The term insurrection is never defined in US law. Since it was a violent uprising against the government. January 6th is OBJECTIVELY AN INSURRECTION. And now amount of denial from you people (trump supporters) will change this fact.

2. I understand the difference and have literally explained it. An insurrection is a violent uprising against an authority (most commonly a government), and a coup is the unlawful seizure of power from a government. January 6th is an insurrection because it was a violent uprising against the US government. January 6th was not a coup because they failed to illegally seize power from the government and prevent the peaceful transfer of power. January 6th is an insurrection but only an attempted/failed coup.

3. I didn't nullify any point. I pointed out how despite the general definition of the term insurrection being applicable to a wide number of things, both the general definition and the commonly agreed upon legal definition apply to January 6th. Even under the most reserved definition of an insurrection, January 6th is still an insurrection.

4. You people as in trump supporters. Not that hard to understand. Heavily implied even.

5. I do have a basis considering you perpetuated 3 easily refutable lies about them.

Plus the antifascist movement is not made of "real actual Nazis". Read up on the paradox of Intolerance. Society should not extend tolerance to the intolerant, because the intolerant would eventually dominate and wipe out tolerant. The most tolerant of people should and must be intolerant of people who identify as Nazis.

Even though the antifascist movement engages in political violence and censorship, it's mostly good since they almost exclusively target neo Nazis, people who already engage in political violence and censorship. They just treat them with their own medicine.

It's OKAY to oppress self identified Nazis, since Nazis want to oppress (and kill) YOU.

You cannot and should not peacefully accept the political existence of those who want you oppressed, silenced, and dead. And labeling the antifascist movement as evil for treating neo Nazis how they try to treat others is like shaming a child for grabbing his father's belt.

6. Some officers were severely beaten and it's well documented.

There may not be video proof of officers slipping in blood, but more than just Edwards has claimed it.

They opened more doors do avoid a stampede, which is a perfect valid reasons since one of the people who died that day was literally crushed in a stampede, and there easily could have been more if they didn't open more doors.

I think you're glossing over the fact that the first doors weren't opened by staff, they were opened by people who BROKE IN. Officers never "invited" anyone in. They opened more doors for safety reasons after people had already begun flooding the building.

7. It's not an error and I'm not lying.

It's well documented that there were still Congress members on the house floor when Babbit was shot because they weren't done evacuating yet, despite what you have claimed about the floor being empty except for the guards.

It's well documented that Byrd did warn Babbit that he would shoot her if she didn't stand down multiple times.

Video of the shooting shows that Byrd only fired a single shot at Babbit, who was the only person he could clearly shoot and did not fire "blindly into a group of people" as you have claimed.

The very nature of Babbit trying to break down a barricade separating the house floor and the members on it from a group of potentialy violent rioters was enough for Byrd's decision to be considered self defense.

Babbit endangered every guard and Congress member there with her actions, and her own inability to stand down and follow directions even when being justifiably held a gunpoint was the reason she lost her life.

It's an open notes test and some dense motherfuckers still can't figure out the answers.

[theyluvpeach]

black out.

chris takes care of you after you get a little too drunk at his frat ⋆ ★ dealer!reader x client!chris blurb!! pt 2 to your vibes are off :)

Since Chris was actually able to sleep last night, he's able to enjoy this party. He's not a huge fan of parties at his frat back to back, but when it's when of his favorite themes? Hell yeah.

Black Out is the simplest and funniest party theme ever, and since his entire wardrobe is already all black, he never has to go out and buy anything. The biggest thing he did to prepare for this party was trade his usual black shirt for a black tank top.

He was having a good time. Winning a few games of beer pong, losing a few of them, dancing with girls.

Then he saw you. He hates you immensely, really. Your mini black dress and star printed tights brought you so much attention that you might as well have dropped a metal water bottle in a dead silent classroom.

You make him wanna claw his heart out of his chest and blend it up. You, you're different from all the other girls. You give him a feeling that's unrecognizable while a heated kiss or even having sex with a girl does nothing for him. That's annoying as fuck.

He chugs down his beer as he watches you flirt with Aiden, one of his frat brothers. Whatever.

He's starting to think that he's the only one here who has common sense. You're actively stumbling and holding onto the wall to help you walk, and no one's helping you. He knows frat bro's are assholes, but what the hell?

He was going to send Matt to help you since you're friends, or Aiden even. All he is to you is a client, but again. Whatever. He can't find either of them. He hasn't been watching you or anything, but you are insanely hard to miss. He wonders how he failed to see you get this drunk.

He stares at you as you try to stumble to get to your destination. How is he supposed— "Matt?" You slur, turning your head towards him. "I've been looking for you all night." You throw yourself into his arms, he catches you. God, you're wasted. "Chris." He corrects you, staring down at your glittery covered eyelids. "You....you look a lot like Matt... right now." You tilt your head at him, "Triplets, remember?"

The gasp you do is adorable enough to make a smile end up on his face. "Ohhhhhhhhhh," You drag out. "I forgot." He changes the topic. "You're wasted."

"Yeah."

He rolls his eyes. "You come here with anyone?"

"Mh....." He watches as your eyes unfocus. "I.... don't think so." You're unbelievable. "You don't think so, Kid—?"

"Remember...walking here.....I think." You stutter out. He can't believe you're real. "From where?"

"My apartment." You say, giving him an intoxicated smile. "You don't look too happy with me."

"The closest apartments to campus are a ten minute walk. We started this thing at seven o'clock, are you fuckin' stupid? Why would you walk here—" He watches your eyebrows furrow before you drunkly attempt to push him away. He holds onto you harder. "M not stupid." You mumble, "My truck doesn't work."

"You still shouldn't have—"

"N my roommate doesn't like parties, and her boyfriend drives her around every where—" You interrupt, "It's not safe to walk around at night—"

"N, I don't think she really likes me anymore cause' I think she found out that I sell drugs—"

"Kid—"

"M not stupid." He huffs, "Yeah, but it's not—"

"I didn't have a—" He slams his hand over your mouth. "You're not stupid, okay? You're really smart, and you know what really smart girls do? They give me her phone so I can call their roommate and tell them you're staying here tonight." He watches you blink at him. Once, then twice. "Staying.....here?"

"I just got my car cleaned, I'm not giving you the chance to throw up in it."

"Oh...... My phone's dead."

"You remember her number, right?" He removes his left arm, that's wrapped around you to reach into his back pocket for his phone. "She changed her number cause' she was getting too many spam calls n I can't remember it."

What the fuck.

Chris leaves the whole calling your roommate problem for later. Right now, he's focused on you and carrying you to his room. After he's done, he's gonna pray that Matt isn't in the middle of a heated make-out session and can hopefully help him with you.

"You better not throw up." He says, finally opening the door to his room that ends your treacherous journey. "M not, I promise." You mumble, "Off—" You say, starting to slip off the straps of your dress.

He doesn't really understand what you're talking about until he turns around from closing his door, "Woahwoahwoah— Kid—" Luckily, he only sees you start to pull it down. He quickly covers his eyes. "You can't just strip!"

"But I'm uncomfortable!" He hears you whine, "I'll get you something to sleep in, alright?— Just pull your dress back up!" He quickly picks out a hoodie from his closet, when he turns around and finds you face planting on his bed is when he notices the zipper on your dress.

"Kid."

"Mhnfp..?" You let out a noise that gets muffled by his bed sheets. "There's a zipper."

"Oh." He watches you sit up and grab at the back of your dress, attempting to pull at the zipper. "Can't." You whine. "Chris..?"

He swallows and drops the hoodie he picked out for you on his bed. He shifts closer to your spot on the bed, moves your hair out of the way, then unzips your dress. Giving him the perfect view of the mini angel wings you have tattooed on your back.

His heart physically hurts. "Thanks." You mutter, not caring that your dress just fell off your body in front of him, thank God he's facing your back side.

"Hoodie." He reminds you, you slip it on, and turn around towards him. "Gonna go get Matt n were gonna get you water and—" His words die in his throat as you pull off your star tights. "Ah."

"Itchy." Is all you give as an explanation before you're crawling up to where his pillows are and hide yourself under the covers. He's so happy his hoodie covers your ass.

"You're not gonna throw up in my bed, right?" You shake your head into his pillows, "Kid, I swear—"

"I promise!— I'm not gonna throw up in your bed." He watches you curl yourself into a ball, "Night, Chris." You say sleepily, falling asleep immediately.

He observes you for a moment, taking in how cute you look in his hoodie. "Night, Kid."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns

[bonefall]

the ShadowClan talk made me look through Brokenstar's BB Tags, and. a) is Lizardstripe still related to Finchflight, if you are keeping Finch-Dawn as a couple (with Dawncloud's age redux)? b) i keep seeing stuff about Snowtuft and killing kits, but i cant find anything actually detailing on that on the blog, and one of the older posts also mentions that Blizzardwing is either his son/grandson AND that Lizardstripe's mother was the kit he couldn't kill. what is all that about, im dying to know.

This is info that's scattered across a bunch of different posts, plus more deets and changes I haven't had a chance to dive into. Snowtuft committed an atrocity which would torment his victims and descendants for generations, for both its legacy and its trauma.

SO I wanna put as much of it as possible into one place for now, so you don't have to go guessing based on older posts. Especially since some of those posts are long outdated, but I haven't contradicted them yet.

To start the story of the two families, it begins with Snowtuft and the bloody end of the Crusade Era.

CONTENT WARNING; this is one of BB's darkest tales. It involves depictions of xenophobic violence, child murder, war crime, PTSD, abuse, and kidnapping. BB!Snowtuft's a bad kitty!

SEE: Kitten Stealing

(Also: After writing it out, I kinda realized this would be great as a BB entry on its own. I should come back and clean this up someday.)

PART 1: THE LAST CRUSADE

Cedarstar inherited the Crusades from Houndstar, continuing them more out of respect for her legacy than true zealotry.

He had actually been chosen as a deputy because he would run the Clan while she was off gallavanting.

He wasn't a pushover or anything, just prefered logistics. Him and Pinestar were tragically ahead of their time.

...but like other cats of his time, he was from a culture that didn't extend personhood beyond the Clans. So, he continued the Crusades.

Even though they weren't getting easier.

Crystal of Chelford had already used a new tool to carve a red future for the cats of the town...

and what were once defenseless little targets began to unite into organized, armed response teams.

Non-BloodClan "zones" got rarer and rarer.

The territory and underlings of an influential cat named Jay were among the last holdouts, so it's where most of ShadowClan's raids were launched.

And on one of these raids... it happened fast.

Snowtuft turned an alley and was ruthlessly attacked. He defended himself.

In the confusion, another assailant ran towards him. He acted swiftly.

It was reflex! Instinct! He couldn't tell what was coming at him. It was a split second decision.

He couldn't undo what had happened. The kitten was dead, next to its mother.

And the others were screaming, crying, terrified.

Snowtuft doesn't remember what he did next. He doesn't want to.

But Puffballburr does.

She used to see it every night.

She remembers her name, too-- Pixie. And her mom. And her littermates.

And the look that washed over his eyes when he realized the ragged flesh at his feet was a kitten.

Raw shock, electrifying shame, the dawning horror of knowing you've definitely done something that you're going to get punished for.

And when his white, blood-splattered face turned slowly towards her and her wailing siblings, she recognized that emotion too.

It's a very childlike response, really.

He needed to cover up his accident.

And he almost did, too. It was dumb luck that stopped him as he grabbed her tail and dragged her out from her hiding place. One of his clanmates heard the awful racket, and Pixie had survived just long enough.

PART 2: ONE OF US

They took her away, just like any other "honor kitten," but the Clan cats believed this was different somehow.

Something about the naked horror of what Snowtuft did, maybe. Impossible to ignore.

But it's not like he faced any real justice for it, not that Puffballkit could remember seeing. So clearly it wasn't very different at all.

His mate left him, and the older warriors regarded him with a distant sort of "shame." He was ostracized from many circles.

But Puff's siblings had not been "clan cats" so the Warrior Code did not apply to them. He faced social dishonor, not legal.

Ever-merciful Cedarstar did not want to "ruin" more lives.

"Not when the kit is far too young to even remember what happened," he said. But she did remember.

And her name. Her mom. Her littermates. That face.

She just knew, growing up, that she couldn't know about it.

Because Snowtuft was always right there, just around the curve of the den, just behind the cover of the rose bush thorns, listening.

They're ALL Snowtuft.

To admit she remembers it is to admit she isn't one of them. And if you're not one of them, the law does not apply to you.

As a kid, she couldn't articulate it. But she understood it.

Deep down to her brittle, kittypet bones. Her filthy, stillwater blood.

The ungrateful heart that beat in her chest.

Fear expressed as a constant, calm obedience of authority. A permanent dread, as if living in a pack as a sheep in wolf's clothing

So she was quiet, notoriously so.

Whoever her foster was, Puff was like a little white shadow. It's where the warrior name came from, eventually-- a puffball clinging to someone's fur. (after writing this though, half of me wants to start calling her Lambfur or Lambfrost.)

ShadowClan plunged into the Campaign Era with Heatherstar's invasion of the Mothermouth Moorland, and the massacre of some kittypet family became awkward history. Those old enough to remember still kept a distance from Snowtuft... but war took its toll.

War means death and those older members of the Clan are not replaceable.

Younger cats weren't there to see the horror of what Snowtuft had done... and time would make him bolder.

Finding growing sympathy in his apprentices, spurred on by the hardening of the culture in tandem with the official birth of Thistle Law, Snowtuft started to change history.

The official Educator of ShadowClan (still unsure who this was) had one story, and Snowtuft had one too.

"Details" were quietly changed in his. They weren't "kits" but "young cats." They charged out to aid their mother. Then maybe she wasn't their mother. Who knows.

Pullball's name was left out of these stories, on both sides. No need for the kittens to know that she wasn't one of us.

And if she was? That's a good thing for her. Living the life of a Clan cat.

He wouldn't share if "he wasn't asked," but all of his actions, his language, was a silent plea to be asked.

He wanted to forget the whole thing, because of his nightmares, his constant shame and punishment, how hard the whole ordeal made his life-- but he couldn't so it was constantly coming out of his mouth.

There was a deep resentment on his end, towards Puffballburr. How she was part of the Clan now, always reminding him. Like it was her fault.

In the end, Snowtuft didn't blame himself. He blamed everything else. The guilt was killing him a little bit every day...

But not as much as that WindClan cat's claws did. Those killed him a lot in one day!

But Snowtuft's death didn't bring Puffballburr any peace. She just felt... annoyed. Which was strange to her-- she should feel relief, but, she didn't. She was just thinking about how the next battle with WindClan would be harder without an extra set of claws.

PART 3: GOING HOME

Puffballfur is the queen of low empathy, and her emotions are... hard to predict.

Not in a chaotic sort of way, but in a "Huh, interesting, I didn't think that of all things would get me going" sort of way.

She both lives in constant "fear" but also a persistent banality. It's kind of like being in a cage with a chained tiger, but you've marked the exact spot on the floor where the tiger's chain ends.

Imagine getting nightmares that stop you from sleeping, but you know that they aren't going to come true. So you lay there with a throbbing heart, mostly feeling annoyed that you're going to be tired in the morning.

That's her life.

Sometimes when she couldn't sleep, she'd roll on her back in the nest and critique the assassination attempt in her mind.

Did he think his dumb plan through? Or did he just react without thinking? It was going to be obvious he killed a bunch of kids, whether she survived or not.

Or maybe he would have just said that the rogue killed her own kits to prevent them from becoming Clan cats. They'd probably believe that.

Either way it was sloppy. Could have had more kits if he didn't kill her sibs.

She had connections within the Clan. A foster, hunting buddies, apprentice. She was kind to them, especially when they were useful. But...

It feels like she's not like them. Like they have variables to their behavior that she doesn't. Drives and desires that are pointless, sometimes even frustrating.

Like the concept of "honor." Ridiculous. Every single person who talks about it is hypocritical about it in some way, and it causes unnecessary fights in the camp and on the border because of ridiculous ego.

She just performs it because the other cats value it-- and when people like you, you get what you want.

I'm not sure who her mate was, or if it was even just one. In any case, when she found herself pregnant, she declared Queen's Rights. I feel like she might have had a fling with someone, but got annoyed by their clingy behavior.

When her daughters were born, Bracketkit and Lizardkit, she felt pride.

Because... they didn't belong to someone else. They weren't even really ShadowClan's. They were hers.

For the first time since her mother and littermates had been taken away from her, she felt like she was looking at family. People who would always be with her.

But that didn't last...

...because a chance encounter only a few moons later reconnected her with someone who remembered her.

Not a littermate, but an older sister. Marmalade. She couldn't believe that Pixie was alive.

This is a WIP zone because I'm not sure, yet, if I'm keeping Hal's attack on ShadowClan. In any case, they continued to reconnect for moons.

The fact that she was remembered, that she could talk openly about what happened, and that Marmalade wanted her and her kittens to come home made Puffballburr's stomach flutter with excitement. She felt valuable.

And with the war getting worse and worse, this was absolutely the best choice for her kittens as well. They would be safer with BloodClan than they would with ShadowClan.

No longer would she be Puffballburr. Her name was Pixie.

ENTER: LIZARDSTRIPE

Puffballburr wasn't a bad mother, but it would feel a lot better to be Lizardstripe if she could have the simplicity to just say she was.

Her earliest memories of her mom and her sibling were outside of the camp on a cool, clear spring night, laying in soft marshgrass. Puff was laying on her back with her hind legs bowed out, a kit tucked under each paw, pressed to her fluffy, warm chest. Her face was turned upward, quietly, at the moon, as her daughters slept peacefully.

She's not sure how long after she'd opened her eyes that this memory took place, but Lizardkit looked up towards the bright, starry sky... and she remembered that the light hurt.

Her needs were always taken care of, but Puffballburr hated explaining things.

You learned quick to treat your questions like a valuable resource, and to listen carefully.

Lizardkit was sharp, much sharper than her sister. She caught onto the way that her mother viewed relationships in a very transactional sort of way-- and stayed aware of her balance.

And had to consider the cost of doing the things her mother was fond of, versus what the other kittens and queens in the nursery expected of her.

What Puffball didn't realize when her children were born was that they were family, but they were also ShadowClan. Even if this was not something she had ever felt a connection to.

Deep down, it didn't truly click with her that her children were not extensions of herself.

And when Lizardkit was a child, learning history from the Educator and getting involved in more of the Clan's goings-on, Puffballburr spent less and less time with her. Because she was reconnecting with Marmalade.

When Bracket and Lizard had their apprentice ceremony, Puffballburr was not there.

Lizardpaw's mentor was the infamously powerful, chaotic fighter, Finchflight. Bracketpaw was assigned to Brackenfoot. (There is an earlier post suggesting that Lizi and Finf were going to be related. I decided to make them mentor/apprentice instead.)

Finchflight immediately began to stress the importance of loyalty. Being one of the younger cats who had sympathized with Snowtuft and knowing the secret behind Puffballburr's beginnings, he nurtured a pain within Lizardstripe. Encouraged her to let the distance between her and her family grow.

Eventually, Puffball told her children that they were going to leave ShadowClan. They had family in the town, would be safe there, could start a brand new life together.

And Lizardpaw was shocked.

It was like everything Finchflight had said was true.

And they were going to leave her.

She reacted violently to the suggestion, attacking her mother. Told them that she was going to expose them, lead a patrol right back to their new hiding place, bring them "back home."

In defense of Puffballburr, Bracketpaw brawled with her sister. They fought viciously, until their mother separated them with a desperate, devastating whack to Lizardpaw's head.

Laying dazed on the ground, she heard an apology before passing out.

When she woke up, she was safely protected within a blackthorn bush-- with a nick on the outside of her ear.

She stayed out there for hours, not knowing what to do, where her family had gone, or what she was going to say when she got home.

But, looking at her reflection in a puddle of water, she became so angry at the idea of this being her first scar that she ripped the other ear, on the opposite side.

When the search party found her, they asked what had happened to her. If she had seen her mother or her sister, or if something had gone wrong.

"Nah. Took a nap to get away from them. Ripped my ears on the thornbush."

Later, when she would be interrogated or questioned by people she didn't want to lie to, she would tell a half-truth;

"I did it to myself. Liked how it looked. Last I saw of Puffballburr and Bracketpaw, they were upset I'd done it and left, so I took a nap."

She didn't mind that her Clanmates thought this was weird. She didn't care about whispers that it was all done for attention, or that it was dishonorable to do such a thing and they probably met a predator after storming off, and she didn't even mind the gossip guessing at the "real" reason behind her ripped ears.

The only people who ever got the whole truth were the Forget-Me-Nots. After their disappearance, Lizardstripe didn't talk about her family for years, insisting upon having no further details. Even if it meant that mystery and suspicion would hang around her like a cloud.

BLIZZARDWING: KIN OF SNOWTUFT

Snowtuft's daughter was named Lilyfur. She was a kit when her father slaughtered Pixie's family.

When her mother left her father, she also distanced herself from him. This was something Snowtuft was outraged and saddened by.

But Lilyfur's mother couldn't stand the idea of a kitten-killer trying to stay close to her daughter. How could he look at little babies, the same age as his own child, and kill them?

Lilykit grew up very conflicted. She remembered how much she loved her dad, understood that he was a kitten murderer, but he continued to be so kind to her into adulthood.

It was hard to think of him as someone who could do something so horrible.

Earlier draft had Lilyfur die and her kittens were raised by their kin, Snowtuft, but I'm currently leaning towards Lilyfur being alive but just letting him be an active part of their lives-- in spite of her discomfort.

Because the more time he spent in her life, paradoxically, the more obsessed he became with all the "time he lost out on."

Which ended up including entertaining a lot of conversations about how he'd never done anything wrong, ever, and everyone was mean to him.

Lilyfur: "ok maybe he's not evil but my dad is really annoying <:/ but he's really lonely. He needs me. and i cant take him away from his grandkits"

From this, what Blizzardwing absorbed was the idea that love and forgiveness was always tolerating your family no matter what. This would express itself in his toxic relationship with Hollyflower.

But Blizzardwing now has a sibling. I haven't settled on a name yet-- but I'm playing with him either being Angelshade or Silkflower.

I really like the name "Angelshade" as a reference to the notoriously deadly white mushroom, the Destroying Angel. But also. someone in the audience asked if I could give the prefix "angel" to a cat because it's their name, and I feel a little bad about giving it to a character who is going to be one of the nastiest little background characters in all of BB lmaooooo

i'm so sorry angel (positive), is it okay if there's an angel (derogatory)

ANYWAY, Untitled Blizzardwing Sibling grew up adoring his grandpaw.

Radicalization can be a slow creep. He loved peepaw, so if he was asked when he was young, he would happily repeat the adjusted version of history he was taught.

And then when Snowtuft died, he wanted to remember him fondly. The story slowly changed, becoming more "accurate," just getting more comfortable with the idea of dehumanizing outsiders.

So what, if he killed some kittypet? And if some kits had already been indoctrinated into their kittypet life? It was still a gain for ShadowClan, in the end.

One summer day, without warning, he came home with two little kittens. One was white, one was brown, both had the pinkish tinge of poorly cleaned blood.

He grinned playfully at Brokenstar, and claimed Queen's Rights in a singsong tone.

Because of that rite, no one could ask where he'd gotten those kittens from. But everyone knew he'd done something grim.

Those kits, Whitewater and Brownstone, grew up under the crescendo of Brokenstar's reign, both taking part in the WindClan Massacre.

Whitewater's bloody story includes joining Mudclaw's Rebellion, giving birth to three kits, a souring relationship with her son, condemnation to the Dark Forest, ends in the Battle of the True Eclipse after killing her grandson.

Brownstone's tale includes a relationship with a WindClan cat during the bloodiest period in the history of their two Clans.

And their father's story ends in Chelford, after being exiled from ShadowClan by Nightstar. His canon counterpart is the Unnamed White Rogue from Rise of Scourge, who tries to order Scourge to be his personal servant.

(the other two cats are Braketail, the "Offbrand Brokenstar" pale tabby, and Pirateheart, the gray rogue with green eyes. Glitch Warriors for the pile!)

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 6

Masterlist

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence. Word Count: 2162

Danyal keeps to the shadows as he enters the town. He doesn't know where he is or if anyone that could recognize him is here. The last thing he needs right now is for Grandfather to know his location; or Damian. Which is not a thought he would ever think of. While the two of them certainly had their differences, Danyal never thought they would end like this. He should have though he realizes; their story was only ever going to end with a tragedy.

Grand- Ra's has made his displeasure of Danyal known for quite some time now so it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did when he and Damian were forced to fight. What was surprising though is just how easily his brother accepted it.  

Was he not worth fighting for?

He was prepared to stand against Ra's with Damian at his side knowing full well that it wouldn't have ended favorably for them. It seems his brother didn't feel the same way though. 

Damian and him weren't brothers anymore though were they? He wasn't an al Ghul after all. Danyal al Ghul is dead from this point forward; he's just Danyal right now.

As the sun begins to set lower and lower it makes Danyal feel more comfortable with exploring the town's streets more in depth. The first thing he needs to do is find a place he'll be able to safely lay low for the night. If he can do that then he'll be able to sit and think more clearly about what his plan for the future is. 

What Danyal doesn't expect though is that while making his way through an alley he would have a run in with a girl with bright orange hair who looked to be a couple years older than him. While his first instinct is to immediately eliminate this unknown threat he decides to instead push that feeling down when he realizes that this girl would stand no chance against him in a fight. 

He's not going to let Ra's training control his life anymore; not everything needs to end with spilt blood. So against everything he's ever been taught Danyal runs, or attempts to at the very least. 

The girl on the other hand decides to chase after him instead of simply letting him melt into the night. 

"Hey! Hey wait!" She calls out after him.

Best to get this situation over with now. Danyal abruptly stops and turns to the girl, "What do you want?" 

"Are you ok? Do you need help?"

Which is honestly a fair question honestly now that he thinks about it. He is, after all, still mildly damp, his shirt is torn with blood stains, and overall Danyal would say he looks similar to that of a stray cat. "I'm fine. Leave me alone, and go back to wherever it is that you need to be."

"You look hurt though. I can bring you some bandages, or water!" It's obvious that she's not going to simply let this go anytime soon, After a few moments of silence though she hesitantly offers her name. "I'm Jazz, what's your name?"

"Danyal." He finally answers after a few seconds. 

"Daniel?" 

"…Yes" Everything about his old life is gone from this point forward. Might as well start with a new name. They sound similar enough anyway it won't be a difficult transition to make for himself.

It doesn't take a lot after that for Jazz to convince him to accompany her back to her home. To this day he'll blame it on the exhaustion he was feeling. At the same time though he knows he made the best decision he could have going with his, now, sister. He doesn't know what his life would be like right now if Jazz hadn't followed after him and- 

"-ny! Danny!" Snapping back into reality he sees both Sam and Tucker looking at him questionably.

"Yeah, um yeah! I'm sorry, what were you saying Sam?" 

"I was asking what your thoughts on the new planetarium Wayne Enterprises just opened are. It was apparently something Damian Wayne himself advocated for. Maybe we'll have to plan a group trip to Gotham to check the place out." Sam repeats herself with a dramatic eye roll before her face softens out with a more gentle tone in her voice. "It might be good for you to get away for a bit, away from your parents." 

When it's clear Danny doesn't show any sign of answering right away Tucker takes the moment to try and lighten the mood, "It seems even your celebrity look-a-like is interested in space!" 

Damian was never interested in space that Danny knew for a fact based on how many times he would have to beg his brother to go and watch the stars with him. His twin always did it though, no matter how much of a fuss he put up Damian would join, and listen to him explain the stars. 

"Maybe you're right Sam," He can't help, but let out an exhausted sigh, "Maybe getting away will help them come to terms with everything. I think we should avoid Gotham though; that's basically me asking for trouble. I hear Central City is pretty this time of year though." 

Danny knows that his friends will assume that avoiding Gotham will be about not wanting to get involved with any hero/villain problems, but really it's so that he doesn't have to worry about running into any of the Wayne's, specifically Damian. He'd sworn off the city entirely when he first learned about his brother's dramatic arrival. Danny has long accepted that this would mean never meeting his father. 

“How- how are they doing now? Do you need to stay here again tonight?” Tucker hesitantly asks. It seems like all their conversations eventually lead them to the topic of his parents nowadays. 

“Thanks man, but no. I’m going to be going back tonight. Everyone in the house has been avoiding the topic, and staying away isn’t going to help fix anything either.” It wasn’t easy being in that house though. It’s tense everytime he interacts with his parents. The looks they always give him, as if he’s just some stranger living in their home now. 

At the same time though he can tell that they want to understand, to learn. They haven’t gone hunting since they found out, and removed any kind of weapon from the house; securing them up tightly down in the lab. 

Danny doesn’t quite fault his parents for how they're acting right now. Years and years of research only to learn that everything they have built their lives on is a lie. At the same time though he hoped that all of this could have been a much easier situation for everyone. 

“Before we can plan any summer trip away though we need to figure out a way to deal with the GIW. They’ve been much more active lately, and I’ve seen more and more trucks leaving Amity this past week.” Danny needed to talk about anything other than his parents right now. 

“You think they’re setting up shop somewhere else now?” Tucker questions, already pulling out his laptop. 

“Where would they even move to? They’re already in the most haunted city in America.” Sam gives Tucker a slight nudge, “Mind looking up the second most haunted city?” 

"New Orleans." 

"Yeah, that tracks." Sam peers over Tucker's shoulder to look at his screen, "Think you can finally hack your way into their systems?" 

"You're only talking to the second greatest hacker," He cracks his knuckles before beginning to type, "I'll have us inside in a matter of minutes, and with what Technus and I have been doing lately they won't have any clue we were even there to begin with." 

Despite already knowing what his friend is going to say he still asks, "Second? Who's the first then?”

"If you don't know Danny then I haven't been talking about them enough. Don't worry though I already have a presentation I can show you about why Oracle is the greatest hacker." 

"Nope, I'm good." 

"That's what I thought next time don't-" Tucker cuts himself off as he shouts, "I'm in!" 

Immediately, both Sam and him are moving to see the screen. "Search for anything that talks about moving or new locations."

"Really think it's gonna be that easy?" Sam asks, "That obviously marked down for anyone to find?" 

"If their filing system is anything like my parents, then yes." 

She seems to be thinking about it for a moment before nodding to herself, "That's fair." 

"Got a match with 'new location'. Anyone want to place a bet on where they're going before I open it up?" Tucker grins as his finger hovers over the search hit. 

"Hopefully somewhere cool since Danny is definitely going to drag us there to check the place out." 

"Well you're free to stay behind and miss out on all the fun then, Sam." He laughs at the playful glare she shoots at him, "Open it up Tucker! Let's find out where these guys are going." 

With one click a file was opened and right there at the very top it read: Protocols for new location — Gotham. 

The world really does hate him, Danny thinks to himself. Of all the places the GIW could have picked they just had to pick the one place he desperately wanted to avoid. It was already going to be hard enough staying off the GIW's radar, and now he'll have to plan to stay off the bats' as well. Which Danny was already admitting to himself was a plan doomed to fail from the start. 

He needs to stop the GIW though, "Does it mention anything about what they’re wanting to do there?"

Tucker nods and points to a specific area to screen, "It seems like they’re looking for something called a revenant that’s been detected in the area. They mention it several times throughout all this. Priority number one it’s been listed as."

"Revenant?" Sam asks. 

"A person who has returned from the dead." Danny answers her, "Good to know that all those books Clockwork had me read are actually helpful." 

"And this is different from what you are, how?" 

"I'm both alive and dead right now, this revenant died and is now alive again. They don't quite have a full core though — more of a baby core — which I guess is enough for the GIW to want to capture them." It seems not even being completely alive again is enough to keep the GIW away.Danny can't help but think about how many people they must have taken.

As if sensing his thoughts Tucker turns from the screen, and places a hand on Danny's shoulder, "Are you sure you want to get involved with whatever they’re doing in Gotham?" 

"I- I need to at least warn whoever this revenant that they're being hunted. To give them information about who is after them. I would have given anything to have a friendly stranger answer all my questions." He admits. 

"Seems like we'll be going to that planetarium after all then, huh?" 

Danny is honestly a little shocked at the laugh that creeps out of him, "I guess we will won't we? Might as well see the sites while we're there." 

"Oh! Maybe you'll run into your doppelganger too!" Tucker exclaims, "I'd love to see just how similar you two are in person." 

"I hope not, it's bad luck after all to meet your own doppelganger. Combine that with my Fenton luck, and you can bet on it that if I see Damian Wayne I'm running in the opposite direction. I don't need that in my life right now." Danny assumes that his friends think that he's joking, but if he does run into his twin he's booking it.   

It doesn't take them long after that to get a semi figured out plan sorted. They have a vague idea of where to find the revenant due to the file, mostly likely to be found in a place called Crime Alley. How they're going to find their mystery person he doesn't know, but Danny is hoping that dead recognizes dead will handle that part. 

The hardest part of all this is getting their parents' permission. It's a bit of a back and forth with getting Tucker and Sam's parents to agree to their impromptu travel plans, but they agree in the end. 

Danny on the other hand hesitates over contacting his own parents, and so he doesn't. He sends a text to Jazz to let her know the full situation around why he's going to be spending some time in Gotham. With how little his parents and him are interacting they might not even know he was even gone in the first place. 

With the soonest flight booked the trio this time tomorrow afternoon are boarding the plane to Gotham. 

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Catching fireflies

Trilogy masterlist

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x Fem! Reader

Chapter warnings: Dead dove do not eat, dubcon borders noncon, coercion, manipulation, age gap (reader is 19-20 and Joel is 56), unprotected p in v, alcohol consumption, pussy slapping, mention of blood, virginity loss, creampie, inexperienced reader

You slouched over the bar, giggled resonating with the loud, thumping music.

"Aw come on Jerry, you know me since I was a kid!" You pushed, fingers brushing against the worn wood, sticky with years of spilled whiskey; the old bartender chuckle hoarsely. The banter was playful, a brief respite the people of Jackson allowed themselves in the ruckus of the Apocalypse, some glee.

"The world may be fucked up, but you are still underage." He answered, cheeks tinted both from the laughing and the unforgiving summer heat.

Another drunken citizen chirped in, telling the man to give you a drink. Although you knew his intentions were far from kind, you allowed him to fuel the laughter. You hid your uneasiness deep down as you tugged your flowy skirt down your thighs.

The door bell clinked open, but before you could turn around and see, a cup of lemonade was placed in front of you. You inspected the drink with feigned offense.

"Come on Jerry, just one beer." You pleaded, doing your best puppy dog eyes.

"You want Maria to kill me?" He excused, and you rolled your eyes at the excuse you have heard a thousand times.

Like when you asked a boy to be your boyfriend, or when you ask for Tommy to bring you a pretty dress. It all resorted to your mother, well adopted mother; she had taken care of you after your mother died in the outbreak, but it also meant the community held you as some kind of baby Jesus. Always no, always strict.

"Well, Maria can't kill me." You heard a deep seated, growly chuckle behind you, and you peeked over your shoulder.

A man with dark pepper and salt hair, broad shoulder and big, brown eyes. He held a smirk, adorned by a thick, well trimmed, beard that matched his hair. It clicked a tad too late, the resemblance.

"Joel Miller, what are you doing here?" Jerry greeted with a laugh, making the man's gaze lift from you.

"Decided to stick to one place at a time." He explained, nearing the counter. He nudged towards you with his head. "Give her something, on my tab, come on."

Jerry's smile turn into a scowl as he added cheap vodka to your lemonade, and you squealed in excitement, muttering a chant of thank you's to him. You almost forgot about Joel beside you as you sipped the straw.

"So you are, Maria's girl?" He asked, and your eyes shot to him, as a child caught stealing candy.

"Well yes," you sputtered. "Adopted." You added, but it felt weird to clarify.

"Well I'm lucky you are not my niece."

You giggled slightly, was that a compliment?

"Or else you wouldn't be buying me drinks?" you said, and it came out flirtier than you thought. He hummed in response, and the way his shoulders rose sent a tingle through your body.

He's like twice my age. You thought, and that was enough to slip you right out of your giddy trance. You started thinking of excuses to ditch him and head back to your friends, fumbling with the fear of coming off as rude. But the way his eyes lingered on your white lacey dress beneath the thick denim jacket made you unease.

He asked Jerry for a beer, turning to you with a sip. "Wanna go outside?"

Your lips fell apart but words didn't spill, and you head just nodded. Okay, I'll go outside and then tell him I need to go back to my friends. But as you felt lingering stares into the summer night, Joel maimed you with conversation.

He was intriguing to say the least, speaking in short, concise sentences that kept stringing questions into your mind. He spread against a bench as you sat on the edge of the seat, interrogating him in his many adventures.

"There are some things a young thing like you can't hear." He excused, lighting a cigarette between his thick chapped lips. You whined, catching his attention.

Soon enough you were laying your head on your hand against the bench, eyes fluttering as you mustered to keep asking him, keep him talking. His accent was thick, similar to Tommy's.

"Someone's getting tired?" You heard once your eyes were shut, you hummed in response. "Let me take you home."

You questioned if Maria or Tommy would get mad as you walked up the cobblestone, then you laughed at yourself. It was Tommy's brother, the one you have heard stories almost all your life, although having met him randomly, you doubted they'll get mad if they saw him walking you up to your door.

Still, you peeked to the house beside you, checking that the lights were off before turning to face him.

"Well thank you, Joel?" You smiled curtly, waiting for him to leave before opening the door.

"Nice thing you got here, gonna let me in?"

The question felt weird, suggestive.

"You need something?" You asked, a bit more abruptly than you wanted it to come off, but tiredness seeped into you.

Joel blinked, his brows drawing together. "I must be doin’ somethin’ wrong. Pretty girls usually don’t leave me out in the cold." He explained, perhaps way to bitterly. You feel your cheeks warm up as you look around, seeing no one. "but I guess you are too young for that, right?"

You felt yourself cringe at how dumb you felt, young felt almost like an insult. Your gaze fell to your feet, seeing his rugged leather boots.

"it's okay baby," He sighed, and the word slipped out of his tongue effortlessly. "everyone got a first time."

The slight relief that had washed over you dissipated, as if burnt by the heat of his gaze, and everything that had been told of men poured into your mind.

"I-I am not that type of girl." You spluttered, and instantly cursed to yourself.

Joel sniggered, and you felt small in front of his thick, broad body. damn, you had to crane your neck to look at his face.

"Oh I know baby," He drawled, and his hand slowly came up to your face, tucking a strand behind your ear. The word rolled out, sending shivers down your spine. "Just wanted to know you got onto bed safely, and you don't, you know, sleep in the couch- you look so tired."

You nodded, biting your lip. Hastily, you opened the door and turn on the lights. It was pretty small, but it worked; Tommy and Maria wanted you to have your own house, being perhaps to crowded in theirs, but they still wanted to keep you close.

"There's juice on the fridge," You offered timidly, looking how his big figure looked almost comical in your house. "I'm going to change, um, I think I'm good now."

He didn't answer, boots thumping against the floor boards as he observed the pictures over the fireplace. You shrugged to yourself, slipping into your bedroom.

You wondered if he was still there as you changed into your pijama set, something that was sewn for you by Maria, and layered a hoodie on top to check is he was still there.

To no one's surprise, he was, leaning over the wall as is waiting for you.

"I'm going to sleep now," You laugh dryly, pointing to your bedroom as if clarifying you weren't sleeping on the couch.

He looked pretty, and you felt weird for thinking that of a man so much older. He stalled, looking at your for a bit longer.

"Come here," He commanded, and you felt yourself freeze. he saw you, your doe eyed look as you stared at him, pleadingly. "come here baby, I don't bite."

He's Tommy's brother, I know Tommy since I was ten, come on.

You walked over to him, bare feet almost tripping over each other. You stopped a feet away from him, looking expectantly. He rose from the wall, closing the distance between the two of you.

"You are a pretty girl, you know that right?" He told you, and you felt yourself blush as you nodded, weakly. "words, baby."

"Yes, Joel." You answered; a smile tugged once again at his lips, pleased.

"And I'm telling you this for you to take care of yourself, okay?"

You repeated the answer, seeing his chest slightly swell at your obedience.

"You can't let men enter your house like this." He explained, and your brows knitted together in confusion. "They can get... wrong ideas, alright baby?"

"I'm sorry." You said, although you weren't; you were confused.

"Sweet innocent thing," He drawled, and his hand rose to cradle your cheek, forcing you to look into his deep, dark eyes. They looked almost black in the dim lighting. "Have you ever had your first kiss?"

The question struck you, and you felt shame; his touch felt deceiving. As if he was mocking. You shook your head, and he tutted.

"No, Joel." You mumbled, questioning why you kept repeating his name after each answer.

His smile turn into a grin, hand now cupping your jaw.

"Gonna help you with that, just so you-wake up, a bit-darling, alright?"

Before you could even wonder what he meant, his grip became tighter as he pulled you closer, lips clashing into yours. You gasped, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, as if searching for yours. His free hand coiled around your waist, pushing you closer and your hands felt onto his chest. His finger trailed closer to your neck, keeping you in place as he ravaged your mouth.

He let go, leaving your breathless, chest heaving as you gazed up to him in shock. His mouth was twisted into a hungry snarl as he came down to whisper in your ear. "Don't tell them about this, baby."

You woke up the next day believing it was a dream, a twisted and weird dream or perhaps that one glass you had drunk, but when Maria told you to come over for dinner, to celebrate Joel's welcome into the community, and you felt his piercing stare on yours, you knew you hadn't dreamed it. You were quiet at dinner, letting them speak and catch up; Joel was more talkative than you remembered.

You wanted to isolate the incident at your house, to think it was just him genuinely teaching you something, but a fire rose through you each time you were captive to those big, puppy dog eyes. You hadn't kiss anyone since him, and the feeling lingered in your lips. You found yourself thinking about him, about his thick body.

He wasn't teasing as usual around the others, perhaps grumpier with them. He flashed you small smiles and pats in the back, and he supplied all your drinks from the bar, telling you to "go get lost kid" each time he saw you begging by the counter. His change of demeanor made you wonder, if you weren't good enough or mature enough; you had never thought that, not until Joel Miller appeared in your life.

The doubt had crept over you for too long before you gathered your bravery and decided to sneak out to see him; his house stayed on the farther side of town, the one were less people were around. You slipped through back yards and trees the way day, questioning what exactly you were planning until you came face to face with him, sitting in his porch with a guitar on his hand.

"Hi." You greeted, breathless.

"Baby, what are you doing here?" He asked, and hearing the nickname once again made you gush. He looked around, perhaps worried, as he beckoned you to come closer.

"I-I wanted to see you." You confessed, shamefully, and before you sat down he stood up, nudging to the house.

"Come in, can't have you out here."

You followed him inside, jumping when he neared you as soon as the door slam shut. His hands made their way to your hips, impatiently; you got whiff of his cologne, leather and eucalyptus. You wide-eyedly looked up at him, hands pressing into his flannel. You liked his hair that way, slicked back, fresh from the shower.

"Why did you kiss me the other night?" You muttered.

You saw him hesitate with words, struggle, bite his lip as if he was trying to keep his words in. You suddenly felt overly conscious of the way your jacket draped over your body, of the way your jean shorts clung around your thighs and the low cut of your tank top; perhaps you didn't look as good as you expected.

"Baby, don't do this to me." He pleaded, although it sounder more like a demand.

"Please." You begged, fingers latching on tighter.

"It's wrong baby, so wrong." he growled, eyes dipping to your lips. You almost whined at the tone.

Your head cocked to the side, tears brimming in your eyes; what was wrong with you? He just kissed you.

"But why?" You whined; his grip tightened around you.

"Tommy would kill me." He grunted, head turning to look around, evading your eyes, evading you; still his grip persisted, as if holding you in place. "If he found out that- that I like you this much-"

"You like me?" You implore, lips tugging into a small, goofy smile.

He looked at you like a man starved, a man punished. "Oh baby," He panted, pressing your body to his. "I really like you, but Tommy would-"

Each time he repeated his name it irked you, like a scratched record. You cut him short. "Tommy won't know."

His tortured eyes soften, a glint of... hope? ignited. You battled the guilt setting in the back of your brain, the promise you had made despite everything Tommy and Maria had given you.

"You wouldn't tell him?" He questioned, voice as soft as silk.

"No," You spoke quickly, scared he might slip from your grasp. "I-I like you too, Joel."

He let out a small chuckle, and you felt lighter. You allowed yourself to chuckle too, and he called your name softly, you hummed in response.

"No one can know baby, alright?" He told you, hand cupping your cheek. You wanted to savor the tenderness of the moment, but his lips were on yours quickly.

It wasn't your first kiss now, and it was frankly more expected than the other; you attempted to keep up with his demanding pace, lips barely parting to allow his tongue to slip in and taste you. His mouth "o"ed against yours, hungrily as your felt his grip on the nape of your neck.

Suddenly his body was pushing you, your feet stumbling as he guided you. Against a wall? the table? your mind buzzed, attempting to find an answer to what he was doing before your knees buckled into the couch, the stripey green fabric cushioning your fall.

His body fell onto you, settling his thick torso between your legs as he pulled away briefly; his hair had messed up a bit, his lips pink from his assault, and his eyes furrowed like some animal; everything about his gaze felt predatory.

He fixed himself in his forearms, rubbing the zipper of his dark jeans into your clothed core, sending a gaspy whine out of you.

"J-Joel?" You muttered as his face hid in the crook of your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses against your blazing skin. He grunted in response, a paw sliding up your thighs; panic brewed in you. "Joel I don't-um-"

He unslotted himself from you, face mere inches away as he looked at you. Joel looked angry, but he couldn't possibly be, right?

"I'm not ready for that." You admitted, like a sinner repenting.

His gaze left you, looking at the empty table, huffing. You felt tears kiss the brim of your eyes, scared to have offended him once again.

"It's fine baby," He grunted, but it felt like it wasn't. He slightly shifted, inches away from you.

"I'm sorry," You choked, doubting to confess further. "I have never done t-that."

You caught his gaze, a small grin on his lips. "It's fine baby," He repeated, and his eyes lighted a bit. "just promise me somethin', alright?"

"Yes, yes." You nodded, fearing he was going to ask you something you won't like. Like forgetting him.

"Promise me I'll be your first."

A month had passed since you sealed your fate, like some sacrificial lamb. You felt as if you were being prepared for it too, Joel slipping into your home late at night, after a long day of practically ignoring you, and kissing your breathless against your walls, your couch and your bed. His hand had wondered over your clothed core a handful of times, hushing your worry by telling you he "Just wanted to see something".

An event that burn into your mind was one night where he was particularly agitated, grasping you roughly as usual. As his hips rutted into the mattress, he whispered something into your ear that sent shivers down your spine.

"Let me see her." He panted, seeing how your eyes narrowed as if you were wincing in doubt. "Please, baby."

His pleads were answered with a small nod that could be mistaken as anything else; you allowed him to bend you over the bed, as you allowed him to touch in places Maria had told you not to allow anyone to touch you. His calloused finger tips pulled down your pijama pants along with your white, sodden panties.

"For a girl that tells me she isn't ready, you are soaking wet baby." He commented, hand splaying in your ass. You felt your core clench at his words.

The light buzz of the zipper woke you up from your trance, and his name bubbled in your throat. "Relax baby, ain't gonna put it in."

You felt the wooden frame of the bed dig at your hips as the dim moonlight casted shadows around the room. You waited, silently, until you heard low, familiar groans behind you. You didn't want to look behind your back, his tightening grip on your ass sending cold sweet along your skin.

His grunts were vivid in your ear against the silence of the night, and you closed your eyes until it was over, despite not knowing for how long he could go. You were on the edge of falling asleep, the only thing keeping you away was the burning pinch on your skin. He became louder, you begged he would just shut up. Something ran across your mind, if it was even appropriate to ask him when was it over.

As a horrible wish you felt hot ropes lather against your backside, slipping through crevices, leaving a sticky trail. He let go of you, panting as his knees cracked, floorboards accompanying the sound.

You didn't want to move, in fear that his waste would dirty things up. You failed to hear him leave and come back, the cooling sensation of a wet rag cleaning the flaky stickiness on your skin being a strange delight.

"You are so good for me, baby." He praised, and your heart swelled. You flashed him a small smile as the waistband snapped back in place. "Gonna take you to a date tomorrow, you'd like that baby?"

You spent every waking hour thinking about that; he told Tommy he needed help running some errands, a bit of hunting here and there, something like that. You were almost sure Tommy only said yes because of how your face lit up at the mention of leaving the fortress of Jackson for a few hours.

A gentle breeze stroked your cheek, warmed by the setting sand as Joel took your delicate hands in his tanned, calloused ones. His figure was darkened by the rays that blinded you. Your cow girl boots padded on the uneasy ground, long grass stroking your legs as the cherry print sundress flowed.

"Where are you taking me, Mr Miller?" You asked with a sly chuckle, slightly unsettled by the normalcy of it all; it felt almost like before the outbreak. The nickname rolled down your tongue teasingly.

"Just a date," He answered shortly, leading you into a emptier valley. You gasped at the sight. "over here."

Sure, the blanket was the usual he kept at the back of his truck, and there wasn't a champagne bottle, or flowers or food, just a half empty bottle of whiskey. But the effort overwhelmed you.

You had expected more when he told you to wait in the car, but it was enough to make you jump into his thick arms.

"Oh thank you," You almost sobbed, chest heaving. You separated yourself to look into his eyes, but the dark browns skimmed down your neckline as he stepped back into the blanket. "You are so sweet, I-"

He landed with a slight thud into the ruddy blanket, and pulled you on top of him.

"Anything for my baby." he mumbled, propping you on top of him. A hand tangling into your hair as he pushed your lips into his, tongue slipping into your mouth as he grabbed a fistful of your ass. You yelped, pulling away.

His expression soured, eyebrows knitting together as you let out a slight giggle, attempting to dissipate the tension.

"Are we going to watch the sunset?" You asked eagerly as you slipped out of his lap, and he fisted the whiskey bottle. Haphazardly, he opened it and took a swig before nudging it into your arm. "Oh, I have never drank whiskey-"

"Come on baby, it won't kill you." He cut you short. You allowed it to burn it's way into you, perhaps scared of displeasing him.

Soon you were even more giggly as you draped yourself over the blanket. Joel's scowl had dissipated, and he was once again singing sweet things into your ear.

"You are so pretty," He mumbled against your neck, placing tender, testing kisses. "Such a pity you are so young."

You grunted at his words, playfully glaring at him. "What do you mean?"

Because what could he mean? You were basically dating, if you knew anything about that; he took you on dates away from Jackson, preaching about privacy, and he visited you late at night, through the backdoor.

He let out a dry laugh as he took one glance into the sky, now painted a light blue as the sun cast it's last goodbyes. You propped yourself in your elbows, getting a better look on his pepper and salt hair and thick beard.

"You are too young for me," he repeated, and you felt nervous by the way he evaded your eyes. "too innocent-"

"I'm not innocent." You almost barked, hand slapping against your lips as you realized how quickly you had said it. "I mean-I don't see how that is a problem."

He finally looked at you with a down turned smile, as if assessing you.

"Come on baby," He nagged, stroking your cheek. "a man like me has, I don't know how to say this, but needs."

You knew what he meant, and it scared you. He had tried a month ago, when you have started dating, and you panicked. He had taken you home for the bar, and perhaps you understood it; that was what people usually do, at least he had told you that. And he was respectful about it too, any time his hand would slip up your thigh, you just had to give him a tight lipped smile for him to stop.

But he was right. Men had needs. Everyone told you about it, most of the time it was a warning, to not be so naive, because men could do and would do bad things to you, just because of these needs.

But Joel wasn't like those men, he was good, he was nice, he even brought you gifts every time he went out for munitions, like what looked like really expensive underwear.

"I know," You spoke slowly, slurred by the amount of whiskey you had taken. "I-I can do it."

A smile appeared on his lips, and once again he looked so sweet when happy.

"You sure baby?" He asked, but his body was already falling on top of yours. The rough fabric of his jeans slide through your thighs, and you felt his zipper line up against your core. "You'll make me the happiest man alive."

It felt sudden, but you had literally told him you were willing to do it, you thought.

He had jumped over you like a coyote over his pray, placing open mouthed kisses over you as his hand palmed over you. He pulled your panties to the side, fingers playing with the slickness you had deprived him off for so long.

His finger prints traced over your fleshy bit, the button that stood at the top of your slit, the one that throbbed when he pressed himself to you. You whined, his ministrations a bit too rough, too intense as you felt as if you were being electrocuted.

You gasped when his thick finger broke into you, a sting following its path. "So tight baby," He mumbled by your shoulder, your eyelids shooting close in pain. "have to open you up for my cock."

The way he said it made you felt even more dirty, but he was he one staining you, and if he liked it that much, it couldn't be so bad, right?

His wet finger left your cunt to fiddle with his belt, you heard the clunk zip sounds along his grunts as he lowered his jeans.

"Take a look baby," He called, and you slowly peeked your eyes opened to look between his legs.

In his hand he held his cock. It's red hot tip weep sadly, veins decorating its side; it was longer than his fist, and thicker than any vegetable you have seen around. A weird comparison, but it was all you thought at the moment.

You head begun to shake, eyes shooting pleadingly at him. "Joel, it's not gonna- is it even gonna fit?"

He chuckled, proudly, as his hand continued to pump precum around it. "It's supposed to baby, your body is made for that."

You nodded, biting your lower lip; he knew better than you. You felt the urge to ask him if he had done this before, but it was probably stupid.

"Lay down baby," He ordered, and you slowly plopped back onto your back. "Spread this legs nice and wide for me."

He saw you doubt, so he forced his body between them, hands at your knees. He laughed about something, looking down between your bodies. You felt the hot tip heavy against you, against the opening. Your hands clenched the blanket beneath you, knuckles turning white, and he pushed in.

Pressure, pressure, pain.

You yelped painfully as you felt the intrusion, body jolting away on instinct. He tutted at you, hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Baby, now we gotta put it in again." He scolded, your head swag from side to side, scared of muttering the words. You fought against his grip. "Stay still."

He growled the last part, and your heart hammered against your chest. You felt searing pain once again, as he pushed in. Your lips parted and a hoarse scream came out, surprising you.

A hand that could break your neck slapped against it, keeping your head still. He met your terrified eyes, tears rolling down your temples form the pain.

"God baby you wanna get us killed?" He barked lowly. "It's going to hurt more if you keep squirming; gonna do this quickly, rip the bandage, alright baby? promise you'll like it afterwards."

He kept talking, but your mind went blank with white hot pain as you felt his hips flush against yours as the agony stilled for a second. It all came back, crushing you as you heard his deep seated moan, your thighs fought against it, shutting close against his torso.

"Take it," He groaned, unlike his usual sweet demeanor. "Take it like a good girl, my good girl."

His hand still clasped over your mouth, and through your blurry eyes you could see his face, hear him; he was happy, he liked it. The praise went straight to your cunt, allowing some ache to dull.

He was going at it for hours, the sun now long gone as all you could do was feel him; the drag of your cock in and out in quick hard motions, his wandering hands pulling down your dress to lick and suck at your neck. And you heard him too, his groans and grunts and the dirty words he shot at you, becoming dirtier and rougher with each thrust.

"Taking my cock so good, bad girl."

"Such a whore, fucking an old man like me, huh?"

"Stop fucking whining, you love it, little perfect slut."

It became too much, any pleasure his strokes could cause disappearing as he lifted your ass off the ground to fuck into you. You whined, feeling the pressure on your clit, a throbbing. A hand came down upon your sensitive skin, slapping there.

You chanted his name, feeling sweat bead against your skin as he gave you blow after blow, sending you clenching around his cock.

"Gonna cum around my cock, huh baby? as I'm slapping your little pussy?" He questioned, and you blabbered a yes.

His thumb begun revolving around your soft point, the rest of his hand pressing down on your abdomen. You allowed the foreign feeling to take over you as his cock thrust up into you, hitting a spongy spot that sent your back curling against the ground.

"J-joel!" You whined, shrieking as you came undone under him.

Any muscle that tensed came undone too, cramping against you as Joel picked up your thighs, pressing them against your chest as he gave precise fucks into you.

"Gonna cum inside of you," He growled. "Fill you nice and deep, baby."

His body weight fell on top of you, stretching your legs even further as you felt his cock twitch inside you. The wetness spilled further inside you, and you quietly listened to his staggered breaths as you came down from your high.

The blood hadn't dried off the blanket as he said it was getting late and walked you to the truck. You waddled, slight pain in your lower belly as you followed him.

"Wasn't that bad, right baby?" He asked you, the light of the truck illuminating his face in a warm glow. His hair was messy, damp with sweat, and he lit a cigarette between his lips.

"It was good." You smiled absentmindedly. "Thank you, Joel."

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

LIKE WHAT??

Weird black neglected!reader

The readers fears

The reader is honestly terrified of looking like Bruce; he is your biological father, but nothing scares you more than getting older and having some random reporter say you have Bruce's nose. You'd probably fall apart at the thought, like shellshock—scared it may not even be in facial features, just how you carry yourself. The confident, cocky stride is only found in Bruce Wayne, and somehow, you seem to have it. When asking Alfred to help tie your tie for a gala, and when he finished, he stepped back and chuckled, hiding his mouth behind his knuckles.

"Oh, young master, you're starting to look just like your father when he was younger."

This fact leaves you in shambles, and you decide not to wear a tie that night, fearing someone might say something. You'd rather look like your mother than him; your biggest fear is that you might lose all your mother's features as you get older, looking more and more like Bruce. At one point, your friends told you that you have Bruce Wayne's smirk, and you didn't smile for a week. You used to deny looking anything like your father—the tall stature? Hey, Jason's taller! The long nose? It's not that long! The cocky attitude? You're just confident, no biggie!

You remember when you were younger, way before going to Wayne Manor, you had asked your mother what your father looked like? It made her giggle.

"You little noisy wart! You wanna see what Daddy looks like? Fine, I'll show ya. Come here." She went to her bedroom, pulled out an old worn photo album, and sat back down on the couch. She picked you up and sat you on her lap. She flipped through the pages in the album. You saw pictures of you as a baby, photos of your momma in college. They looked really old, but then again, you were really young. Then she stopped on the page smack dab in the middle.

"There he is, your daddy," It was an old picture of your mom and Bruce. Your mom looked young, slimmer, and less wrinkled, and beside her was... the infamous Bruce Wayne: piercing blue eyes, killer jawline, and a genuinely soft smile. It made you frown; you didn't look anything like him. Your skin was darker, your hair wasn't straight but curly, and your eyes weren't blue. There were more photos of him and your mother; she looked so much happier, or maybe it was your imagination.

"Are you sure? I don't think I look anything like him," you huffed in disappointment, just for your mother to smile and pull you closer.

"I don't think so; you have his cute little nose." She tapped your nose, making you cover it with a pout.

"And his strong chin," she tickled under your chin, which made you giggle.

"His lovely ears," she tickled behind your ears and neck.

"And those pretty, chubby cheeks!" She pinched your cheeks, and you fell into a fit of laughter, just before she hugged you and nuzzled your cheek with her rounded nose.

"Darling, you are just as handsome, if not more beautiful, than your father."

"I want to look like you more!" you shouted, making your mother giggle.

But those soft and sweet memories faded to black, and the more you thought about it and stared at a picture of your "father," the more you hated it. You didn't want to look like him; you didn't want to resemble a deadbeat lunatic who frightened people in the dead of night. You didn't want to have his voice or his brains; you didn't want to be compared to him at all. You were your own person with your own dreams and ambitions, your own thoughts and ideas. You aren't a Wayne, never were, never will be; you’re an [Last Name] for life. Even if you changed your surname after being in Bruce's custody, you still weren't a Wayne; you're not perfect; you're not an acrobat. You're not strong and buff; you're not that great with gadgets. You didn't drop out of high school to fight crime, and you weren't smart enough to do that. You weren't trained by killer assassins or raised to fight. Your dad wasn't a supervillain, and you sure as hell weren't some metahuman who could shoot lights from his hands. You were just a little weirdo who liked video games, anime, and comics, who would stay up late controlling your Sims, who spent their free time making stupid mods for fun, who had crude humor and was kind of an asshole. That was who you were; you were your mother's child. You had your mother's face, her smile, her laugh, and her soft brown eyes.

"[Name], you have such fabulous fashion! Where did you get it from?" a reporter said, pointing a camera and a mic right at your face; it almost gave you whiplash.

"Thank you, ma'am. I got it from my momma," you said with a small smile as you pushed the camera out of your face.

You'll never look like Bruce, no matter who said so. Sometimes, it irks your soul down to the core when you hear Damian now call you "Sister," "Brother," or "His older sibling." First off, you all were half-siblings, and second, you never considered that little gonk as your little brother. Maybe when you were younger, you thought so, but you're not that delusional anymore, and you barely see Bruce as a father. You're willing to have a whole argument about it, but it.

"We have Wayne blood running through our veins, [Name]," the little hellspawn would say every time you tried to blow him off.

"The only blood running through my veins is my mother's," you snarled. You are nothing like them or like him.

[andywritingstuff]

cw: angst-ish? mentions of death, decomposition, bugs, implied suicidal gojo, sorcery high society and stuff like that <3

Thinking about a grieving Gojo Satoru.

Too young to die, but you did, anyway. There's no way to return you to life - and why? Why must he return you to a life you didn't want? You're better off six feet down, in a wooden coffin that hides and protects your corpse from the thoughts that plague his mind.

Dig you back up. Break that stupid coffin open, and watch your face for the last time. Have the maggots already eaten your face? Have your lips dried and cracked? Were your eyes still in place, or were they already withered? Would you come back to life if he kissed your cold, dead lips again and again? Would the coldness of your body seep into his own? Were your clothes wrinkled or were they as pristine as they were the last time he saw you wear them?

Would you have bugs and insects all over your skin? Were you tainted with dirt? He'd like to feel you against him for one last dance. Would the grayish-blue tint of your skin shine under the moonlight, and would your bones crack if he took you out? What would happen if he pressed his ear against your chest? Does alcohol, formalin and glycerin run in your system instead of blood? If he spoke to you, would your hum like you used to, or would you stay silent? Would you reply to his lame jokes with a “real funny, ‘toru” or would only the caw of crows be his response in the dead of night?

He can't stand to think this. The thoughts only seem to plague his mind. Who would be there to listen to him? He already lost Suguru. Shoko is affected, too, even if she doesn't let it show. Nanamin… He's gone, too. His students are too young. They need him to be strong. They're just kids.

But you were… Well, you were you. You were his only true friend, the only person he could count on even after everything. You were the one who helped him get back on his feet when he thought he couldn't do anything anymore, the one that got him his favorite sweets. So funny how something as mundane as buying him those cheap lollipops makes his chest tighten and a lump form on his throat. They taste like you. He swears he can see you clearly in front of him, a bunch of lollipops in one hand and a family sized bag of your favorite chips on the other, while he carries your favorite chunky sauce and the rest of the groceries for a very much needed Friday movie night in which you both would fall asleep on the first thirty minutes.

But you're not there. Friday movie nights are over. He's buying chips for nobody. Nobody waits for him at home.

Your laughter still rings in his ears, but it's an echo from the past. Your scent clings to him but he's wearing your perfume and your hair tie in his wrist. His usually bright blue eyes blur with unshed tears behind his dark blindfold, but he wears a smile despite everything. He is the strongest, isn't he? He can't afford to be weak, especially not now - his students depend on him.

The weight of the world is on his shoulders, and you were once there with him, helping him carry the burden. But now he's alone again. More alone than ever, and not even Gojo Satoru can stand that. Not after having you by his side, showing him he can be loved for him and not just his power and status.

He sits by your tombstone, with his long legs crossed and his gaze distant. He didn't even bother putting on the blindfold. A couple days old stubble grows on his face, and there's bags under his eyes. His muscles seem less defined, and his clothes seem to get bigger on his body. Unpolished, unlike himself. Small, for the first time.

“I'm tired, sweets.” Satoru murmurs with a strange voice, like a stranger has taken his body and wrecked it from the inside. He can feel himself rotting every single day that passes, the thread of his life getting thinner and thinner - and he can't wait for that final snap. He’ll take the damn scissors from Atropos herself and cut it himself. Just take him out of his misery.

Along the weight of the world on his shoulders, something weighs in his pocket. His left pocket, precisely. A small velvet box with a ring he wanted to give you - not asking your hand in marriage, of course, (not yet, anyway), but as a promise. A ring he saw and immediately thought of you. Of you wearing that gorgeous silver band with the azure gemstones that look just like his eyes and had his initials engraved inside, while he wore a matching one, with your eye color as the gemstones and your initials engraved on the inside of the band.

He just never had the time. Neither one. Too busy with missions and paperwork and teaching, it just never came up. And now it sits heavier than the weight of the sorcery society that was put on him. The same society that killed you and he has grown to resent and even hate.

He never got to fulfill the promise of a life together. Worse yet, he never got to confess his desire for a life together, and that's what hurts him the most. You never knew. You died, and he was such a coward that he never got to tell you how much he loved you.

a/n: very high-key inspired by cemetery girl - insane clown posse hehe. i finally wrote for gojo and look what came out. oh well.

[miryalle]

I didn't misgender Bruce. He's not really trans. He chose to vote for someone he KNEW wanted to revoke trans rights. I've always thought it was just for attention. Now I KNOW it was. If he really cared about truly being a trans woman, he wouldn't thank God for all the dead kids this law is going to cause.

Transgender kids and teens have a MASSIVELY HIGH rate of suicide and fakers like Bruce do not help. It only reinforces the "they're not trans, just fucked in the head!" because that's clearly what has happened to Bruce. I have mental illnesses, and help can be obtained. Bruce needs help. Or Caitlyn, if she truly does have something wrong in her brain to make her want kids to die.

Caitlyn is your typical selfish conservative. She does not care about issues until she and her rights are on the chopping block.

It's like thanking your executioner.

[cowboy-doinggay]

the people on the wall

Bruce knows better than anyone about the feeling of losing a parent at such a young age where it is hard to remember the smallest thing, like how many freckles his mother had that she would cover with makeup or the slight curl that his father on in the morning before getting ready for work at breakfast, so because of that the manor's walls were covered with pictures of them, of just Thomas and Martha.

So when Dick comes to live in the manor it takes about 2 months for Mary and John to join the walls with Martha and Thomas. To a normal person it would be weird to have your dead parents cover the walls of your home and even some random people's photos next to your parent's photos, but both Bruce and Dick didn't think it wasn't weird; it was love. Seeing them every day as they passed them in the hall, in a way was a chance for the set of parents to see their sons grow into the men that they become. Bruce sees Mary's blue eyes in Dick and John's smile as Dick saw Martha's freckles in the summer on Bruce's face and Thomas' strong jawline on Bruce.

When it was Jason's turn to live in the manor he didn't want to have pictures of his folks on the wall, which was understandable. But there was a small framed Polaroid on the foyer table that you wouldn't know that it was there if you weren't looking for it, It had a picture of Willis and Catherine with Jason celebrating his first birthday. And in that Polaroid, you can see Willis's smile and Catherine's caring eyes on Jason today. Jason never made it onto the wall, it was too hard for everyone to see that boy never growing older.

when Tim joined the family he didn't really think that Jack and Janet would join the walls because he didn't lose them at a young age like the rest of them so he didn't need to be surrounded with photos of the to remember what they look like, but the next he time that he was walking pass by the hall with the all the photos. Martha and Thomas photos had changed to group pictures of the Wayne couple and the Drake couple and was taken during a gala. And in this photo you can see the way where Tim talks with his hands came from Janet and that cheeky little smile that he gives when he does something bad came from Jack.

When Cassandra joined the family she had the same feelings as Jason about not wanting her parents on the wall, but on the same foyer table there's an old photo with creases and maybe old dry blood that was framed and placed next to Willis and Catherine. Of both David Cain and Sandra Woosan in the league of assassins; in the photo, you can see Cassandra looking like a perfect blend of them both.

As Damian met and joined the family it was a bit weird since both of his parents were still alive and in his life, so he didn't really need to have a photo of Talia on the wall or on the foyer table if the only thing that's stopping his parents from being together is distance and morals. But to the dismay of both Dick and Tim; Talia was added to the wall, as well as photos of younger Bruce and Talia during their time in the league together. In these pictures, you can really see Bruce in Damian, even though Damian is a carbon copy of Talia with Bruce's slight wave in his hair, in the way how his smile reaches his eyes and his nose has a slight wrinkle to it the same way as Bruce has in these pictures.

When Duke comes to live in the manor he had the some feeling as Tim and Damian about having his moms pictures on the wall, due to the fact that his mom isn’t dead and he stills visits her after school. But when he was walking pass the wall of photos to get into a study room he see her right nexts to the the pictures of Graysons and the Waynes with the Drakes and the young couple Wayne and Al Guhul. He see Elaine as he knows and loves her, and in this picture you can see Duke being a carbon copy of his mother they share the same smile, the same kind eyes with the adorable nose.

So when you go to the Wayne Manor there will be old portraits, of the older Wayne’s that had made a name for themselves and helped build Gotham but you'll also see pictures of the Drakes, the flying Graysons, 5 random people in small frames and never before seen photos of Bruce as a teenager during the time when he was studying abroad with a woman that looks a lot like Damian. And when asking any of the Waynes for the reason for all these non-wayne photos they will all say the same thing "Aren't your walls covered in family pictures?"

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ atlas bound

i'm sorry you couldn’t find me ; i have been in the woods i put myself there because i couldn’t be good. i have been running with foxes and running with crows & i have found myself a home where no one goes.

ଓ.° ・ arthur morgan. red dead redemption 2. ଓ.° ・ note: female reader. arthur refers to her as 'missus, ma'am, darling, sweetheart, honey, etc'. she is drunk ( and also very emotional and affectionate ). arthur carries reader bridal style. high honor!arthur. discusses the nature of his self-deprecation. in this house we love and support tht outlaw i dont care what he did !! he is Good to me. quote cr : florence welch. repost!

you're certainly more outspoken when you've had a bit too much to drink. scratch that, arthur muses -- a lot more outspoken. seldom does it happen, but in the far and few occasions it does, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. it's too god damn cute, the way you're much more honest, much more clingier.

( and what can he say? he loves taking care of you, loves the way you murmur those soft, half coherent love you's and thank you's a thousand times over. to be honest, he can't tell if you say it like a mantra because you're just that grateful or if it's because you're so wasted that you've forgotten you said it earlier. )

"darlin'," he can't help but chuckle, managing to shut the door to the hotel room, one arm around your back, the other under your knees as he holds you close, "you really done it now, you know that?"

an instant response.

"no, i didn't."

he pauses, shakes his head in amusement before he gently lowers you on the bed, helps you sit on the edge.

"you ain't even know what i'm talking about."

there's a feign, subtle hint of sternness in his tone, but you see through it with such ease. you just smile in return, though curiosity flickers in your slightly glossy eyes as he crouches before you, calloused hands slowly taking yours in his. he looks up at you, searching with that gentle look that only you have the privilege of knowing.

& there's so much love in those eyes, you think. you always think that, heart quickening and flourishing with affection, every beat yet another blossom in devotion. you could drown in those ocean hues, sink into reverence and reverie, forget the dangerous life you survive, and dream of better days.

this life is not an easy one, but as long as you are with him, you will make it through. you always will.

you take a deep breath, face suddenly very flushed -- and you wonder if it's the alcohol or the overwhelming feeling of his gaze on you. a serene silence between two lovers in the night, hand in hand, so terribly in love in a world in which neither of you belong except to each other.

"arthur morgan," you suddenly blurt out, slipping your hands from his, only to cup his face with such quiet veneration, "i got some words for you, mister."

he blinks in surprise, brows raised slightly. his hands now rest on your thighs, thumbs occasionally tracing small circles against the fabric of your attire.

"some words, huh? i hope they're good ones."

...well, he's joking. kind of. but with the way your brows are slightly furrowed, focus utmost sharp... ah, well. shit. maybe he's really done it now.

"...i love you, arthur morgan." you say, words a little slurred. "...i think i said that before."

he takes a moment, lets out a small sigh of relief.

"...yeah, think i heard it once or twice." he responds, though there is only tenderness in his tone. "i love you too, sweetheart."

you stare. really hard. it's not quite a moment of intimacy, really-- it's more amusement on his end, and... whatever thought and feeling you're having on yours.

"okay." you say, and he almost laughs. you pinch his cheek, teasing. "but listen... 'm not done yet, mister."

"...alright, missus. i'm listenin', loud and clear."

you stay silent for a long while, just studying him intently, though your expression has relaxed, turned into something of an aching. he's not sure what you're thinking, not sure whether it's the alcohol that's getting you or something else, something deeper.

"...arthur," you finally speak up, "you're such a good man. i hope you know that."

he feels his heart break a little-- whatever remains of it, anyway. he looks up at you with wide eyes, and it doesn't take a second before he responds.

"...you know that's not true, sweetheart." a quiet answer, excruciatingly soft, just like the way he places his hands over yours. "i'm not a good man. got too much blood on my hands. did things i'm not proud of."

"you're good to me. to thousands of other people, arthur." you whisper, and he almost wonders if you've managed to sober up that quickly. "we all got blood on our hands, love. you could bathe them in red, for god's sake, and i'll still hold them."

he stills. his heart pounds against his chest, longs to be free from the thorns of doubt that have dug themselves deep into his existence.

"honey--"

"i wish you could see yourself the way i see you." your voice wavers slightly. "i see the way you look at yourself in the mirror, arthur. i hate it." a crack in your voice, and then in the decayed humanity that lays in his chest. "i hate it, love. i wish you could see all the good in you, all that kindness you got and share. you're so good, arthur, and you won't let yourself believe it. i wish you would. i wish you'd be as kind to yourself as you are to the world."

he finds himself speechless, uncertain. afraid. he wants to protest, wants to say otherwise-- because it's all he knows. he's never been a good person. he's killed, robbed-- but he's also saved, given when he's always had so little.

"...tell me that you'll learn to believe it." you say. "i don't care if it takes a week, a year, or the rest of our lives. i don't care if we're old and gray. just tell me you'll try. please, arthur."

there's a strange numbness in the beating of his heart, and just the slightest bit of wonder -- christ, you were so drunk and nonsensical just a few moments ago, and now you're here, on the verge of tears with nothing but ardency in your voice.

he wants to refuse, wants to decline, but he can't. he can never refuse you.

"i'll..." he clears his throat. "for you, i'll try. ain't making no promises, though."

you smile, and he cannot help but return it, though there's a quiet hesitance and reluctance beneath it all, and you see it.

"thank you." you lean down, press a kiss to his forehead. "i love you, mr. morgan." a pause, then a little hint of confusion in your eyes, the intensity suddenly gone ( and ah, he realizes-- still drunk as hell ). "i think i've told you that before. maybe..." you murmur, suddenly deep in thought about something so entirely casual in comparison to the previous conversation that happened, what, a few seconds ago?

still, he cannot help but laugh, and the curve of your lips grows more gentle at the sound. it was a matter of time before you started repeating yourself, anyway.

"yeah, you might've told me." he smiles when you lean down, lips pressing against his in a blithe kiss. "love you too, you drunken fool."

( you won't remember this in the early hours of the morning, he thinks, but he will, forever and always. it's just the faintest bittersweetness that comes with that realization, he contemplates, eventually climbing into bed with you, pulling the covers up as you practically drape yourself over him.

you won't remember this, and his mind haunts him ever so, tells him that you're just being kind, just taking pity. you won't remember it, and maybe you don't really mean all of it. but you have no reason to lie, and you never would-- but the heart and soul is a cruel being, and he cannot shake the thought.

he falls asleep to such troubling thoughts-- nothing new, not really. there hasn't been a single moment in his life where he granted kindness to himself.

& so he wakes to a peaceful sunlight, a nice hotel room, a comfy bed, and a certain half-awake, hungover someone next to him. he pauses, relives the memories of last night, and his mind wanders. he sees the way you look at him : a little disoriented, a little groggy, and it's only a second before your eyes light up the moment you notice he's awake, the radiance in your features so blinding and brilliant sometimes. and it's that very moment, he realizes -- in the way you look at him like he's the god damn world, that you meant every single word last night, drunk or not.

he holds you a little tighter, offering silent greeting through shared warmth. somewhere in that little space between your bodies is a gratefulness, and in time, he thinks, he'll learn to be kind to himself. )

[artbyblastweave]

If you had to bet on which female superhero breaking the Wonder Woman monopoly on Female Superhero Recognized by Non-Cape-Nerds in the near future, who would you bet on?

This is a hard topic for me to address because of my Feldspar-and-quartz levels of recognition of B-list superheroes that I think of as A-list because I've been seeing them in things for years.

That said, I think that a lot of what they've been doing with Captain Marvel over the last ten to fifteen years was, in large part, motivated by how the meteoric rise in popularity of the MCU was highlighting how Marvel didn't already have a widely recognized female character who could hit at that weight; some good Carol Danvers stuff came out of that, but we also got Civil War II, and the "girls can join the air force too!" propaganda threaded deftly through the whole affair, so it's not entirely clear the extent to which any of that worked. Relatedly, Black Widow's inclusion in the initial MCU Avengers lineup was, while not a bad decision, also pretty visibly a result of them going, Christ, we need at least one woman and we don't think they'll take The Wasp seriously- who's left? So Widow was pretty big for a minute... followed by dead, and in the absolutely ridiculous position of her solo movie being released after the one in which she died. And Scarlet Witch, she was pretty big for a minute!.... followed by dead. There's an issue here.

A long time ago, like when I was a teenager, I had this pithy observation that it felt like Marvel had a greater range of diverse, idiosyncratic female superheroes who got to exist independently of the branding of a male counterpart, but on the other hand DC got to have Wonder Woman. There are ways in which this was obviously extremely truthy even at the time- most of the female characters I was thinking of- Wasp, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, Invisible Woman, Storm, and so on- existed basically exclusively on ensemble team books, and it was an analysis that left out characters like the Birds of Prey, Starfire, and Raven. Again, I was a teenager. But it does inform what's come to be my real conclusion on this, which is that I'd prefer that both companies just start cranking out a whole bunch of solid, sustainable B-list female superheroes who have a clear niche and reason to exist that isn't "trying to recreate the lightning in the bottle that is Wonder Woman." Like, ten new characters who stick at the reasonably successful levels of quality and fan buy-in achieved by Kamala Khan and Kate Bishop? Way, way better outcome than the other thing that can happen.

Because, like, the decisive answer to your question, the one that occurred to me halfway through writing this? Harley Quinn. They tried to do this with Harley Quinn- maybe less "Wonder Woman 2" and more "DC's answer to Deadpool," but on balance I don't think jacking up her prominence in the way that they've done has been good for her, in the same way I don't think jacking up Deadpool's prominence has been good for him.

[connor-123-idk]

Been dying to ask this, What's up with RSA!Aces mom?

... Oh shit.

Well- There is so much going on I dont even know where to start

Lets start with the fact she's based on Drunk/High Caterpillar, so yes, she smokes a lot, her brain is dead 24/7 and she may even smoke directly into her children's faces, just like Caterpillar did to Alice

I could give so much idea to RSA!Ace, especially since the main thing is his mental illness, so why I didn't stopped at that?

If a person with mental illness, have right support from close family, they will develop better, than neglected or abused person. Some things like surrounding, people you're with, and family, can have huge impact on your brain without you realising it. Sometimes differences are bigger, sometimes they're smaller, but there is always something

And I really wanted to show that, because its not a fault of a child for having said illness, its fault of a person that teaches them how to cope with it

Why mother exactly? For Canon Ace, there is not much said about his mom, and the idea I had would create a certain pattern between Riddle and RSA!Ace

Because Ma'am Rosehearts is very... Well... Herself. She's abusive in her own way. Meanwhile Ma'am Trappola is absolutely never there for her sons

She works as a maid, then comes back home, sometimes gives them food, and what happens next is totally up to them

So RSA!Ace never got a support he needed, making him go insane way faster. He lives with totally not caring mother, after his brother moved out he had no one for some time, and all the smoke in a house just makes all of his brain functions and hallucinations worse.

If not a ginger little cat, Ace wouldnt probably be here (Thank you RSA!Cater)

I think this is all I wanted to cover so far? There are some much more things, but its not for today

(Im sorry if some of that doesn't make sense, Im half awake and half menacing)