#I’m lazy and bad at technology
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#this is silly and I apologise#but also not really#i keep seeing this meme format and asdfghjkl#i had to#911 Lonestar#911 ls#911 lone star#TK Strand#sorry it’s not lined up#I’m lazy and bad at technology
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“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾
PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!
WORD COUNT: 7.4K+
DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.
AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.
The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.
They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.
It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.
A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.
It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.
Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.
The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.
It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.
It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.
“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.
The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.
Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.
Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.
‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.
“Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.
“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.
Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.
Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.
Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.
You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.
To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?
Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.
“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.
Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.
Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.
Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.
One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.
“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.
Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.
She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.
You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.
Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).
You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.
Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.
You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.
‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.
“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”
An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.
“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.
“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.
The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.
You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.
“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.
“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.
“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.
“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.
“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.
“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.
“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.
“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.
Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.
“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.
‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’
Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.
The ride to her apartment.
Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.
You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.
The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.
After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.
She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.
With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.
“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.
“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.
She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.
“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.
She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.
“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.
You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.
Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.
What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.
“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.
“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.
“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.
“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.
“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.
“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”
The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.
Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.
“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”
Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.
“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.
Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.
“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”
You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.
“No, I”-
Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.
“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.
She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.
Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.
“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.
You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.
“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”
The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.
The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.
Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.
“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”
But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”
And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.
With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.
Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.
Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.
Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.
“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.
She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.
“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.
You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.
“Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.
“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.
She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.
“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.
A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.
Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.
“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”
“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.
“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.
But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.
“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.
“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.
You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.
“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.
Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.
“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.
Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.
“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”
She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.
“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.
The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.
A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.
“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”
As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.
Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.
“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”
Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.
Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.
The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.
“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.
“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.
#bloodcasket#resident evil smut#jill valentine smut#resident evil x reader#jill valentine x you#jill x reader#jill valentine fanfiction#jill valentine x reader#jill fanfic#lesbian
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I’m in undergrad but I keep hearing and seeing people talking about using chatgpt for their schoolwork and it makes me want to rip my hair out lol. Like even the “radical” anti-chatgpt ones are like “Oh yea it’s only good for outlines I’d never use it for my actual essay.” You’re using it for OUTLINES????? That’s the easy part!! I can’t wait to get to grad school and hopefully be surrounded by people who actually want to be there 😭😭😭
Not to sound COMPLETELY like a grumpy old codger (although lbr, I am), but I think this whole AI craze is the obvious result of an education system that prizes "teaching for the test" as the most important thing, wherein there are Obvious Correct Answers that if you select them, pass the standardized test and etc etc mean you are now Educated. So if there's a machine that can theoretically pick the correct answers for you by recombining existing data without the hard part of going through and individually assessing and compiling it yourself, Win!
... but of course, that's not the way it works at all, because AI is shown to create misleading, nonsensical, or flat-out dangerously incorrect information in every field it's applied to, and the errors are spotted as soon as an actual human subject expert takes the time to read it closely. Not to go completely KIDS THESE DAYS ARE JUST LAZY AND DONT WANT TO WORK, since finding a clever way to cheat on your schoolwork is one of those human instincts likewise old as time and has evolved according to tools, technology, and educational philosophy just like everything else, but I think there's an especial fear of Being Wrong that drives the recourse to AI (and this is likewise a result of an educational system that only prioritizes passing standardized tests as the sole measure of competence). It's hard to sort through competing sources and form a judgment and write it up in a comprehensive way, and if you do it wrong, you might get a Bad Grade! (The irony being, of course, that AI will *not* get you a good grade and will be marked even lower if your teachers catch it, which they will, whether by recognizing that it's nonsense or running it through a software platform like Turnitin, which is adding AI detection tools to its usual plagiarism checkers.)
We obviously see this mindset on social media, where Being Wrong can get you dogpiled and/or excluded from your peer groups, so it's even more important in the minds of anxious undergrads that they aren't Wrong. But yeah, AI produces nonsense, it is an open waste of your tuition dollars that are supposed to help you develop these independent college-level analytical and critical thinking skills that are very different from just checking exam boxes, and relying on it is not going to help anyone build those skills in the long term (and is frankly a big reason that we're in this mess with an entire generation being raised with zero critical thinking skills at the exact moment it's more crucial than ever that they have them). I am mildly hopeful that the AI craze will go bust just like crypto as soon as the main platforms either run out of startup funding or get sued into oblivion for plagiarism, but frankly, not soon enough, there will be some replacement for it, and that doesn't mean we will stop having to deal with fake news and fake information generated by a machine and/or people who can't be arsed to actually learn the skills and abilities they are paying good money to acquire. Which doesn't make sense to me, but hey.
So: Yes. This. I feel you and you have my deepest sympathies. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to sit on the porch in my quilt-draped rocking chair and shout at kids to get off my lawn.
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the individual intentions of the writers feels kind of secondary when talking about how reactionary the mandalorian has become, but if you wanted to be extremely generous about what’s going on, I think that the very simple and boring answer is that there is no financial incentive to care about what happens in the show anymore. Disney lost over a billion dollars on Disney+ last year, despite the wild success of the mandalorian and other D+ shows. I’m assuming the primary way they make money is off of mando and baby yoda merchandise - this would explain why the showrunners reunited both of them before the first episode of the third season even aired. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the mandalorian now exists primarily to sell the mandalorian merchandise. it has become an advertisement for itself.
and this would explain a lot! It explains why virtually all of the narrative threads from the previous two seasons have either been dropped or quickly resolved. It explains the exponential increase in nauseating Star Wars references like “Han shot first” “it’s a trap” yoda doing backflips etc. It explains why Din has become something of a zombie, going through the motions without any particular motivation beyond whatever deranged escapade he and Bo-Katan get up to on a given week. There’s no point to caring because the only real pressure is getting eyes on the screen and selling more baby yoda stickers. This is why we went from an Ahsoka cameo in season 2 (an obvious ploy to launch another show but still somewhat reasonable for the story) to having Lizzo and Jack Black in season 3 (literally no narrative reason at all). Those celebrities are really popular and their inclusion in the show produces media headlines that combine their names with the mandalorian, optimising search engine results and presenting the opportunity to sell merchandise to Jack Black and Lizzo fans, even if they aren’t Star Wars fans.
but the shape of this not-caring takes on a particular political form in the show - its lack of care for politics doesn’t equally produce progressive and reactionary political conflict, it’s only reactionary. And one of the reasons for this is because I think a lot of pre-existing Star Wars canon, which this show is leaning more and more heavily on, is so politically fraught that using it without thinking about it produces reactionary narratives. I think this is a large reason why 3x03 was so deeply disturbing politically, because it was all set-up for the arrival of the First Order in the Sequel Trilogy. The show doesn’t seem to take any specific perspective on this aside from telling the audience that its all very ominous, but it’s only ominous because the First Order are established as the villains of the Sequels, not because the rise of fascism in a fictional world is a specific horror that Favreau wants to explore, and the reasons for its rise are extremely lazy, boiling down to “the government is too wrapped up in bureaucratic processes to care and too forgiving of the empire to notice.”
and two I think that in general, positioning your story in opposition to politics - not a specific set of political beliefs, just “politics” as a whole - also produces de facto reactionary narratives. the show is not espousing any positive beliefs about what an ideal world may look like, nor is it precise in its criticisms about what it believes to be the flaws that currently exist in the present day world. It’s just against bureaucracy in general, democracy in general, technology in general. and the show abdicates responsibility for taking a position on why it thinks any of these things are bad. Din dismissively scoffs “politics” in 3x06, perhaps the laziest possible admission that the show is not interested in exploring anything it considers political, and aims to position the characters as being outside of politics. but that itself is a reactionary position, to assume that presenting a “direct democracy” as an overly-decadent, hyper-tolerant society who is too scared to give cops guns but will arm citizens if their cultural “feelings” allow them to carry firearms as “not political.” Again to be way too overly generous, perhaps Favreau is attempting to wave in the general direction of current society and say wow doesn’t this suck! too much democracy produced trump, too much technology produced ipad babies, too much bureaucracy produced complicated tax forms. That’s still stupid and wrong but it’s at least not an openly fascist position. but when you don’t confront those things as political and just say “they suck” in a way that you believe to be outside of politics, the perspective you take is that of a reactionary. a refusal to confront what you consider political is itself a political position, one where you intentionally shrink your imagination of politics to, like, government employees who work at the government building, and everything outside of it is just “natural” society - or, in this case, deeply unnatural, perverted by politics. the only apparent solution for the political conflicts in the show is to scale back “the politics” that are preventing natural society from flourishing. That’s fucking reactionary! and like sorry to pull this card but the whole “I’m above politics” schtick has a pretty extensive history of appearing in fascist slogans, from Mussolini to fucking Alex Jones, a rallying cry that these people eternally get behind - “We’re above the Left-Right divide.” positioning yourself as above politics is itself a political act, one that has a lot of baggage that, by virtue of positioning yourself as being too good for politics, you will not engage with.
so like I don’t know if Favreau is “really” a reactionary. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter because his current cultural output is deeply reactionary. but I don’t think any of this is done with intentional malice. I think when you turn art into a purely financial instrument you produce art that is fascist by default, because its only goal is to concentrate financial and political power for the ruling class by appealing to “common man” interests like. fucking Star Wars!!!!!!
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If You Bring a Friend to Dinner...
Kon eyed the multiple laptops Tim had scattered around himself as he lounged on the couch in the manor’s living room, not as hard as he was side eying Tim’s outfit, but he was still eying the technology situation hard. “Why are you researching this today? And why aren’t we doing this in the cave?”
“I’m bored and you know Bruce’s rule about suits in the cave,” Tim answered without taking his eyes off his screen except to switch to looking at a different laptop’s screen. “Also, I’m not changing.” He motioned to his quite comfy, oversized, fluffy dark hoodie, which gave the impression of an adult version of a toddler’s bear coat. The only thing it was missing was little ears on the hood.
“Lazy,” Kon scoffed and collapsed onto the opposite couch, feet hanging over the arm.
“Comfortable,” Tim corrected, now looking at the third laptop.
“You look ridiculous. You should be embarrassed,” Kon grumbled.
This finally made Tim stop and look up. “Of all the things I’ve done, this is what you think I should be embarrassed about? Buddy, this isn’t even in the top hundred this year alone,” Tim scoffed. “Besides, I'm not going to see anyone but you and my family today and I don’t care what any of you guys think.”
Kon opened his mouth to tell him that was probably a good thing because what he thought was that Tim look like a spoiled, sorority girl going through a bad breakup. But instead of passing on this vital knowledge, he snapped his mouth shut and lifted his head to angle it toward the rest of the manor. “No way,” he muttered under his breath.
Tim sat up straight, immediately switching to mission mode and scouring the Watchtower’s feed scanning for any crises popping up anywhere in the world. “What is it?” he demanded, his blood pressure steadily increasing with each negative result.
“No way,” Kon repeated again. He bolted up off the couch and flew out the door toward the west wing, moving so quickly, it was close to being literal. Tim rushed after him with absolutely no hope of catching him even if he hadn’t taken a few extra seconds to carefully displace his laptops.
Kon skidded to a stop at the end of the west wing’s hallway barely missing colliding into the two figures that had stopped in the middle of the hallway, the woman clearly didn’t let her significantly smaller stature hold her back as she stood staring up the other man, hands on her hips with a cocky smirk on her lips while the man didn’t look chastened in the least. The woman eeped and jumped back at the sudden intrusion while the man sighed heavily, the amused uptick to his lips dropping instantly. “What are you doing here?” he glowered.
“And good to see you too, Damian,” Kon grinned. He took a step to the side just in time to avoid Tim bowling into him as he rounded the corner but grabbed his arm to help him skid to a stop before running into the other two.
Damian leaned back and crossed his arms as he glowered at their dumbfounded stares. “Oh good, the peanut gallery.”
Tim and Kon would have responded any other time, heartily dished back the attitude Damian was giving them, but they were too dumbfounded at seeing Damian with a friend other than Jon, a female, non-hero friend, to really register his words.
The woman waited a few beats, looking back and forth between them before deciding to take matters into her own hands. She grinned at them and held out her hand. “Hi! I’m Marinette.”
Tim stared at the hand, still too dumbfounded to register what was going on. He leaned back closer to Kon, “What the fuck is happening right now?” He meant to whisper, and technically, he did, but it was still loud enough to travel crystal clear to both Marinette and Damian.
“It’s a hand… you shake it as a greeting,” she explained slowly.
Tim blinked a few times before he reached out and shook her hand woodenly. He looked over at Damian while still holding her hand, eyes wide in shock. “You brought someone home.” He didn’t realize he was still holding her hand until she chortled quietly at his astonished tone, only then letting go of her hand and offering her a sheepish smile.
“Obviously,” Damian retorted. He pretended to flinch when the woman elbowed him in the ribs and sighed dramatically. “This is my friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Marinette, this is…”
“She’s a gir…” Kon cut in. His eyes darted to Damian for just a second before returning to the woman in front of him. “You're a girl,” Kon stated to her, meeting her eyes with an incredulous stare as though she should understand why that was so problematic to his world view.
She straightened instantly and her eyes hardened. “Yeah, well spotted. Good job. Now do something impressive, like figure out what you are. I'm guessing cryptid,” she snapped with a coldness he hadn’t anticipated from someone dressed in so many pastels.
He blinked like he was really seeing her for the first time and leaned back to better view her with an assessing once over and raised an amused eyebrow as his lips curled up in a smile, “Nah, that's usually Tim. He dresses for it and everything,” he motioned toward Tim’s hoodie. “I’m a different type of legendary beast.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m more one of the tall, sexy creatures that visit maiden’s dreams.”
“No, you aren’t,” Damian declared.
Marinette crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, her eyes narrowing. “Like a Liderc maybe,” she scoffed.
Kon hummed in mock consideration and took a step closer to her. “Is a Liric…”
“Liderc,” she corrected.
“… tall and sexy?” he finished leaning closer to her.
She pushed him back with a smirk and a finger to his chest. “Not exactly… more like a little superhuman…”
“Supernatural,” Damian corrected quickly. He shook his head curtly for Tim without bothering to look over and see the questioning glance he knew must be on his face.
“…creature,” she continued without acknowledging Damian’s interruption with a nonchalance indicative of well-established prior experience, “hatched out of a pod…” Her smug expression dropped and her eyes unfocused for just a second before she turned to Damian, missing the way Kon’s face froze, “pod?”
“Egg,” Damian answered. He waited until she’d turned back to Kon before meeting Tim’s eye this time and curtly shaking his head. Tim raised his eyebrows higher and bobbed his head incredulously. Damian subtly shrugged then nodded. Tim’s face stretched in an impressed glower as he returned his attention to the conversation between Marinette and Kon with a renewed interest.
“…egg…” she continued oblivious to the silent conversation behind her, her smug expression fully back in place.
“Pod was more accurate,” Tim snickered just loudly enough for Kon to hear. Kon huffed and shoved his head away.
“…that flies around and attaches itself to single women,” she finished.
Tim doubled over, the sound of his roaring laughter echoing down the long hallway. Even Damian grinned at her description and Kon’s flabbergasted expression. “I thought…” Tim stopped to gasp for breath and grabbed onto Kon’s shoulder for support, “I thought you hadn’t met her yet. She seems to know you pretty well.” Kon scowled and shoved his hand off his shoulder, taking a small measure of enjoyment from Tim almost falling over with the loss of support.
“It also helps form the Hungarian word for nightmare,” Damian added with a smirk.
“See, there you go, she thinks you’ll visit her dreams,” Tim chortled and patted Kon’s chest. “Sounds like you were right after all.”
Damian’s smirk quickly dropped. “There will be no dream guest appearance except between us,” Damian insisted. He tugged Marinette a bit closer and into his side, moving her further away from Kon. “Let me know when Jon arrives.” Marinette glared at him pointedly. “I will not say ‘please’ no matter how hard you stare,” he stated, deftly avoiding her eyes and starting to move them out of the hallway.
“I’m not your assistant,” Tim growled. Damian stopped and raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “You got something to say?” Tim asked sharply.
“Oh, I finally get to meet Jon?” Marinette asked, a bit louder than necessary for their proximity, and moved between the two, directly into Damian’s line of sight.
“Yes,” he confirmed as he finally lowered his eyes from the broken staring contest. His face softened as he continued moving them out of the hallway again. “He will be here in a little bit. He said he had something to do first, then he’ll be over and will stay until the New Year’s party tomorrow. He was quite excited to meet you as well.”
She quirked her head to the side slightly. “Will he be here in time to…”
“He will indeed,” he cut in sharply. He frog marched her away from the bedroom wing and toward the east wing before she could ask anymore questions.
“Wait! Damian, you haven’t introduced us!” Marinette objected and tried to turn around toward the men but had to settle for vaguely motioning over her shoulder. “I don’t even know their names.”
“Yes, good observation,” he praised with only a hint of condescension in his voice and a bit more force in his hands.
“Damian!” she tried to twist to smack his chest but his hands were unyielding. “That’s rude. I don’t want to start out by being rude to your family.”
“First, they are not both family,” he scoffed. “Second, you called one of them a Lidrerc and I’m being rude?”
“Yes! That’s different. And you know it,” she huffed.
He eyed her skeptically but shook it off. “Third, I tried and they interrupted. It is their fault if they did not get a proper introduction. Fourth, and most importantly, they are a waste of our time and attention, and I assure you they will not think of this as a reflection on you.”
“Damian!” She gasped and succeeded this time in twisting under his arm to confront him.
The only concession Damian was willing to give to indicate how impressed he was with her ability to break free from his grasp was a raised eyebrow. The rest of his face remained stoic, if a little exasperated. “I’ve known them for almost 10 years now. I stand by my evaluation,” he intoned as he turned her around again and continued to push her down the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” she called over her shoulder as she attempted to give them a parting bright smile and wave.
“I’m not,” Damian called just as loudly but without taking his eyes off the path ahead of him.
Tim scoffed and shook his head at their retreating backs. “He brought someone home… a girl… and she seems…nice… and normal… and nice,” he murmured incredulously.
“Oh, she seems very nice,” Kon agreed, watching just as intently, but focusing considerably more on one of them in particular.
Tim smacked him in the chest. “No,” he ordered sternly.
“What?” he asked in mock innocence that he couldn’t have pulled off even fresh out of the pod.
“Damian’s friend… well, friend. You know, I’m not sure what that is,” he motioned vaguely toward the east wing, “but you will not interfere. Damian doesn’t make friends. This is big.”
“I haven’t done anything… yet.” He winked at Tim and started back toward the living room.
“Kon…” Tim started warningly.
“Come on, I’m not going to intentionally hurt him no matter how much of an ass he usually is.” He grinned devilishly back at Tim. “Tell you what, you go start the research on her we both know you’re going to do, and I’ll grab some food from somewhere. I can tell you what I heard them talking about when I get back and why he brought her.”
Tim sighed and jogged to catch up with him, smacking him upside the head as soon as he did. “Stop listening in on people’s conversations outside of missions. It’s creepy.” They made it all the way back to the living room before he broke. “But since you heard it already, tell me everything when you get back.”
Kon grinned and shrugged on his jacket. “I’ll bring back Batburger. That feels like a spilling the tea kind of food.”
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“I know where the art room is, you know. I don’t need an escort,” Jon pointed out as he followed closely behind Kon and Tim on their way down the east wing’s hallway.
“Oh, we’re not escorting you,” Tim corrected. He met Jon’s eyes over his shoulder with a look that did not comfort Jon at all.
“We’re tagging along,” Kon clarified, giving Jon the same look, which was considerably more concerning for Jon when coming from Kon.
Jon eyed them suspiciously. “Why?”
“Curiosity,” Tim answered at the same time Kon said, “Interest.”
Jon’s eyes narrowed further. “Uh huh. That’s not fishy at all. I’m not remotely concerned now,” he grumbled.
“Nah, I researched her,” Tim assured him. He moved to the side and slowed his pace just a fraction to match Jon’s. “She’s clean. Seems like a good kid. Might even be good for Damian.”
Jon nodded unsure how to respond to Tim’s candor. “Good, well, that’s… that’s good.” He started to say more, to compliment Tim on looking out for his brother but before he could figure out how to form the words, Kon snorted.
Tim raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Kon waved him off like it was nothing, but the tightening of his jaw indicated otherwise. “Nothing. She's just complementing the composition and contrasts of his art and how talented,” he spit the word out like it personally offended him,“and he is absolutely preening at it.”
Jon smiled. “It’s good to know she’s supporting him. He really likes her, which of course he won’t say, but he talks about her a lot.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard anything until today,” Tim noted curiously.
“Not too surprising,” Jon shrugged. “Doesn’t really tell you anything about his life, does he? Dick maybe, but you…” He let the sentence trail off. They both knew what Tim and Damian’s relationship was.
Tim grunted a sound similar to an agreement but suddenly smacked Kon upside the head. “And stop listening in on other people's conversations. It's creepy.” They took a few steps before he leaned slightly toward Kon and lowered his voice as though Jon couldn't still hear him and said, “But let me know if he does anything embarrassing.”
Kon grinned and nodded at him with a wink, but his face quickly dropped into a pout as he scowled at the door just a few steps down from them. Tim looked from Kon to the door slowly, suspicion permeating his expression as he slowly opened the art room door, fully expecting the worst, which is why the fluffy sight in front of him was such a relief.
Damian and Marinette were standing in front of one of his paintings, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist whispering to each other as she pointed to different points in the painting. Tim looked back at Kon as he stepped into the room and snorted at his deepened scowl at the sweet sight.
The noise knocked the two out of their little bubble, seemingly affecting Damian more than Marinette based on the speed at which he dropped his hand and jumped away from her, causing her to almost fall. He reached out to push her back into balance but instantly returned his hand behind his back and straightened up to his full height before them.
“Jon, it is good to see you. Glad you could make it,” Damian welcomed.
“Of course,” Jon said warmly and hugged Damian, which Damian allowed to happen, but didn’t return. “I’m here for you.”
“We didn’t get that greeting,” Kon chortled.
“No, we did not,” Tim agreed. “It’s almost like he doesn’t want us here.”
Damian glared at them over Jon’s shoulder. “It’s not almost like it,” he corrected curtly. He returned his attention to Jon and continued before they, or Marinette, could respond to or chastise him. “Jon, this is my friend Marinette. Marinette, this is my friend Jon.”
Marinette smiled brilliantly, lighting up the entire room, and hugged him. She backed away just far enough to not share breath. “It’s so good to meet you! I feel like I know you already. Damian talks about you all the time.”
Jon blushed deeply and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away sheepishly. “Thanks. It’s really good to finally meet you, too. He talks about you all the time, too. Like non-stop. I can’t wait to spend time with you and get to know you better.”
Marinette, whose smile couldn’t get any bigger, got warmer instead. “Absolutely.” She kept his gaze for a few moments before shifting it over his shoulder to the two figures standing behind him and waved. “Hey again! Sorry we didn’t get to meet earlier, because Damian is rude,” she added pointedly with a glare to Damian added in, to which Damian shrugged unashamedly, “and didn’t introduce us. “I’m Marinette. I believe I heard your name is Tim?” she asked uncertainly, waiting until he nodded before continuing. “So, you must be Tim Drake, yes?”
“I am” he grinned and ventured further into Damian’s art room than he had ever been allowed to venture before to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you… officially.” As soon as she turned her attention to Kon, he smirked at Damian, fully enjoying the glare Damian was shooting him.
Marinette stepped closer to Kon and held her hand out. “And based on the leather jacket, that would make you Jason Todd?”
Kon sputtered and Tim burst out laughing. “Uh… no, not Jason,” Kon corrected.
Marinette’s face dropped almost as fast as her hand. “I am so sorry. It is nice to meet you...”
Kon stepped forward with a small smile and opened his mouth but before he could comfort her Damian pulled her back closer to him and tried to physically angle her toward Jon and main part of the room. “His name is unimportant,” he stated firmly, making no doubt that the conversation was over.
Jon shook his head, exasperation bleeding from his expression and tone. “It’s the holidays. Be nice, Dame.”
“I don’t see how the time of year should affect my behavior,” Damian sniffed.
Marinette dropped her head into her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “Damian…”
Damian sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Fine. That is Jon's brother.” He tried to angle her toward the room again, but Kon took her hand before he could, moving so quickly, it was dangerously close to exposing his identity.
“Kon. My name is Kon. And it is really nice to meet you, Marinette.”
She raised her head slightly and looked up at him, causing her to look through her lashes to meet his eyes, unintentionally taking his breath away. “Nice to meet you, Kon.”
“No, it’s not,” Damian grumbled and pulled her away from Kon, settling her on his other side next to Jon instead. He turned to face Kon full on standing between him and Marinette. “We were in the middle of something.”
“We were just about to go play a game,” Marinette added, popping up over his shoulder.
“We were not.”
“I’d love to play a game,” Jon cheered. Marinette grinned brilliantly at him and clapped like the decision was made.
Damian groaned dramatically and motioned toward the hallway. “Fine. The game room is down the hallway.”
Marinette nodded and started toward the hallway but froze mid-step. “You have a room just for games?”
Kon chuckled, taking more pleasure than he should from the fact that she’d stopped directly in front of him. “Rich people,” he shrugged.
She nodded contemplatively like that explained everything but suddenly popped up. “Oh! I know! Do you have Candyland?” She looked back to Tim and Kon with a wicked grin. “I get the feeling that's a game Damian would absolutely hate.” She made a noise somewhere between a squeal and exclamation and twirled in excitement at the prospect of Damian playing the game, heading out the door in full confidence he would follow her.
“It's pure luck!” Damian exclaimed following after her as expected. “There is no skill involved at all!”
“That's the point,” Jon chuckled. He jogged up to them and slung his arms over both their shoulders.
“What's the point if you can't win through your skills,” Damian grumbled.
“It's just supposed to be for fun,” Marinette chided.
“That does not sound fun,” he huffed petulantly. “It sounds like a children’s game.”
“It is a children’s game,” Jon laughed.
Damian stared at him incredulously. “Then why are we playing?”
“Because you’re just a big kid,” Marinette snarked, her smirk only growing in response to Damian’s aghast look. She turned back toward Tim and Kon who had stayed next to the art room door watching their interactions in wonder. “Did you guys want to join?
“They are far too busy,” Damian assured her hastily and loudly.
“Nah, we’re completely open,” Kon grinned. “And I’ve never even heard of Candyland.”
Marinette gasped loud enough Kon didn’t need to use his superhearing to detect it even from down the hall. She tried to turn back to them but Damian reached around Jon to keep her facing forward. “Damian, he’s never even heard of it! We have to let him play now.”
“We do not.”
“Oh, come on, Dame, it will make it more fun,” Jon insisted. His voice and eyes were filled with an excitement that Marinette seemed to feed off of, her own smile growing at Jon’s response.
Damian looked between them, his petulant frown staying firmly in place, but he let go of Marinette’s arm and continued forward, knowing full well she and Jon would take it as an agreement. “Including Drake has never made anything more enjoyable.”
“Come on,” Tim snickered. “Now I have to play. Plus, I bet she's right about Candyland and I want to see Damian restraining himself from ripping the board in half as he pretends to be normal for her.”
><><><><><><><><><
As it turns out, Marinette was, in fact, correct. Damian absolutely hated the game. If he had laser vision, the ice cream turrets on the Candy Castle would have been eviscerated. “This is stupid,” he groused as Marinette’s piece landed on the final rainbow square. He punctuated his displeasure by crossing his arms and pushing away from the table. He could have handled Marinette winning once, but three times was uncalled for.
“Cheer up, Damian,” she tried consolingly. “It’s just for fun. It has nothing to do with your skills.”
“It’s a game of luck, remember,” Jon chimed in, which was easy for him as his pieces were usually not far behind Marinette’s while Damian kept getting picture cards that inevitably sent him back toward the beginning of the board.
“Yeah,” Damian glared at Kon, “luck.”
Kon looked to the ceiling innocently and mimed whistling. At the same time, Marinette reached up to touch her earrings guiltily, “and I do tend to be a bit lucky. Sorry.”
Kon opened his mouth to ask if meeting him was an example of getting lucky, but before he could say the line that would definitely end in him getting hit with kryptonite-laced brass knuckles, Dick bounded into the room.
“There you guys are!” He smiled at all of them, but his eyes kept darting back to Marinette. He couldn’t stop moving, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his hands as he waited exceptionally impatiently for her to be introduced.
Damian finally stepped up for the task, standing tall in front of Dick and motioning toward her. “Marinette, this is my brother Richard Grayson. Richard, this is my friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”
“Marinette, it is nice to meet you,” Dick grinned, his grin widening as he looked between her and Damian. He took her hand with both of his to shake it, pumping it so hard in his excitement he was almost lifting her off the ground. “Please call me Dick.”
“And you,” she agreed breathlessly. It took a few moments after she reclaimed her hand before she could speak again. “He speaks very highly of you.”
Dick’s eyes sparkled as he watched Damian sidle closer to Marinette, dipping his head just slightly to catch her eye, raising an inquisitive eyebrow and only looking away again once she nodded back to him, but made sure to put his arm around her again. “He speaks of you at all,” Dick grinned, “so I know you must be important to him.”
Marinette blinked and plastered on a smile. “Thank you.” She waited until he’d dropped her hand before adding a quiet, “I think.”
Kon joined her on her other side and smirked. “Don’t worry, when Damian is involved, that’s a compliment.” Marinette pursed her lips and bobbed her head to the side nodding after a moment in agreement.
“Now, the reason I was really sent in, not that meeting you wasn’t absolutely at the top of my list,” he added to Marinette. “Dinner is about to be served. Alfred would like us to start getting seated.” He glanced over at Kon and eyed him for a second before adding, “you should lose the jacket before Alfred sees it at his table.”
Kon glanced down and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, but finally nodded. “Right. Be right back.”
“Take your time,” Dick called as he replaced him by Marinette’s side.
“Don’t worry, I’ll put the game away,” Tim called after them.
“Thank you!” Dick called back to him. “So, you’ll get to meet almost the entire family. Cass and Stephanie are living in Hong Kong, but we hope they’ll make it for tomorrow. Hey!” he called out after a large man shoulder-checked him. “And that is Jason.”
Jason turned around and did a double take at Damian’s arm around Marinette’s shoulders. He looked up from the display to look between them. “What in the fuck knuckles…”
“Dude…” another man mumbled as he shook his head. He sighed and looked back up with a strained smile. “Sorry about him. Hi, I’m Duke.”
Marinette grinned at him and reached out to shake his hand. “It’s okay. I’m Marinette and I do like Pink and making pies, so…” she shrugged then snickered at Damian’s bewildered look. “But there is an important difference,” she met Jason’s eyes pointedly but not unkindly. “We are just friends.”
Jason raised an eyebrow but nodded and moved to take a seat on the far side of the table. “Impressed. Honestly did not think you’d know that one.”
She scoffed. “I have some pretty depraved friends.”
Jason mock gasped, drawing his hand to his chest to accentuate the scandal of the situation. “Depraved! Depraved? Liking that movie makes you depraved?”
Duke patted him on the shoulder as he took a seat next to him. “Sounds fair.”
“Oof,” Kon grunted as he walked in. “Hate to think what that says about me.”
“Probably something pretty accurate,” Damian clipped. “Marinette, you remember my father.”
Marinette straightened instantly at the figure walking in from the opposite side of the room. “Of course. Nice to see you again, M. Wayne.”
“And you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng. Welcome to our home. I hope your showing went well,” he answered warmly.
“It did, thank you,” she smiled back.
“Are you an artist?” Dick asked as he took his seat next to Duke, to the left of the head of the table.
“A designer, actually,” Marinette offered.
“A brilliant designer,” Bruce corrected. “I was quite impressed,” he assured Marinette firmly as he took his seat as well.
“I’d love to see it sometime,” Tim smiled.
Marinette blushed brightly but nodded with more confidence than she felt. “Okay.”
She eyed where Tim had sat, two seats away from M. Wayne, and Kon making his way to sit between him and M. Wayne, and knocked her arm into Damian, looking pointedly at the last seat next to Bruce. Damian nodded and cut in front of Kon to take the seat. Kon blinked at him but quickly changed course to sit on the other side. Jon stepped up next to Marinette and looked between the two remaining seats, one next to Kon and one next to Jason. He looked at Marinette questioningly. She shrugged and took the seat closest to her, next to Kon. Jon nodded and sat next to Jason.
Tim leaned around Kon to verify that was really where Marinette had sat. He was about to offer to switch spots with her so she could sit next to Damian, but Alfred entered at that moment and started serving the food. As it turned out, she was fine where she was. Marinette integrated with the family easily, laughing and joking with all of them. It may have worked out better that way anyway as it gave her the chance to chat with Jon and Kon about Metropolis and get more information on the city before she decided if she wanted to move there after graduation.
The dinner was going amazingly so naturally it had to get cut short. Everyone in the family knew something was wrong the moment Alfred entered mid-course. “Sorry to interrupt, sir. But there appears to have been an incident at Wayne Enterprises.” Alfred leaned over and whispered in Bruce’s ear. Whatever he said must have been really bad because he immediately stiffened, but in the blink of an eye, it was gone. He gave Dick a pointed look. He nodded at him, then bumped Duke and nodded to Jason.
Bruce stood up quickly, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, quickly followed by the other three men, although they didn’t bother to wipe their mouths. “So sorry for the interruption, Marinette. Please continue your night. It was very nice to see you again.” He was gone before Marinette could say goodbye.
Damain stood and moved over to Marinette whispering in her ear too low for anyone but Kon and Jon to hear. She squealed and hugged him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he straightened up. Jon rounded the table to clap him on the back as well. Damian nodded to the two of them then followed the others as they made their way out the door at a considerably slower pace than Bruce.
“You don’t have to come, Dame,” Dick whispered just outside the door. “We have four people, we’re good. If we need another, we can call for Tim. Stay and keep your friend company.”
Damian glanced back into the room. Marinette was smiling at something Jon was saying, which apparently required him to use both hands in uncoordinated movements. He snickered at the scene. “No, she will be okay where she is. I won’t ignore my duty.”
Duke shook his head. “We really need to work on your skills, man.”
Damian looked at him affronted. “My skills are impeccable. It’s your skills that need honing.”
Duke opened his mouth to respond but shut it and shook his head instead.
><><><><><><><><><
The mission had taken considerably longer than the family had anticipated, but seeing as it was a rogue team up, it wasn’t entirely surprising. The only thing that was surprising, was the fact that Damian wasn’t acting like more of a constipated gremlin. In fact, he was positively beaming, well, not glowering, which for Damian was roughly the equivalent of beaming.
Nobody knew what to make of it. The mission had taken him away from his friend for almost the entire night and he seemed… happy about it. Nobody who had seen them together earlier doubted he cared about her, so the fact that he was so blasé about having left her behind for so long, even to do something he valued so thoroughly, was confusing. Even now as they walked into the living room, he wasn’t leading the pack to get to her sooner.
Which was a small mercy because it meant he didn’t have to be the first to see what they were seeing. “What the hell is going on!” Dick roared.
Marinette’s head jerked away from Kon, their lips separating with a pop. She eeped and tried to jump away from Kon, but he held her tight against him, allowing her to bury her face in his chest to hide her bright crimson cheeks.
“Oh damn,” Duke mumbled, eyes wide in surprise.
Kon kept one arm right around her and waved with the other. “Hey guys. You’re back early.”
“That’s all you have to say?” Jason hissed.
Kon scrunched his face slightly and looked to Dick for a clue, but his expression was just as thunderous. He quickly shifted to Tim who shrugged, just as confused about the reaction as Kon. “Uh… sorry I didn’t help?” he offered.
“Oh, no, its okay, you were too busy helping yourself,” Dick seethed.
“Helping my…” Kon trailed off. He gaped at Dick and opened and closed his mouth a few times but before he could formulate how to respond Damian finally came in, his eyes down as he focused on dusting off his shirt, missing the way the entire room had stopped to watch him.
It took several more steps before he finally sensed the hostile atmosphere of the room. He froze mid-brush and slowly lifted his head to take in the scene, just as slowly panning across the room until it settled on Kon’s arms around Marinette. He lifted his eyes up, pausing momentarily at her hands on his chest. His eyes snapped to hers. “What are you doing! How could you do this to me?” he yelled. Marinettes eyes widened in shock and confusion while the rest of the room except Kon moved to comfort Damian. “That is the wrong brother!”
“Excuse me?” Conner growled.
“Uh… what?” Duke asked uncertainly.
“You were supposed to end up with Jon not him!” he growled, moving in Marinette’s face and motioning harshly toward Kon.
Dick’s hands that were still perched from having been rubbing circles on Damian’s back slowly retracted. “Wait. I thought... why would you want that?”
Damian huffed and crossed his arms over his chest again, evoking the image of a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Because it would be extremely convenient for me if my two best friends were dating.” Tim had the misfortune of snorting when everyone else in the room had gone frighteningly quiet. Damian’s eyes shot to him. He pointed at Tim accusingly. “She was supposed to end up with my idiot not your idiot.”
“That's why you brought me?” Marinette asked. “You said you wanted me to be here to support you while you spoke with your father because I made you feel better. But you were just trying to pimp me out?” Kon’s grip on her tightened at the hurt lacing her voice. Damian’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and Dick had to adjust to holding him back instead of comforting him.
“I was not pimping you out!” Damian objected more annoyed than concerned. “There was no payment involved and sex was entirely up to you.”
Marinette stared at him incredulously. “Oh, thank you for that,” she snapped.
“You’re welcome,” he nodded, seemingly satisfied with her gratitude.
“She's not... isn't she here with you?” Jason asked carefully.
“Yes, she is here with me as my friend. I brought her here so she could meet Jon and start dating him,” Damian gritted out.
“So... you two aren't dating or pre-dating?” Dick asked again, hoping Damians answers this time would somehow make more sense. He had been so absolutely confident that they were just dancing on the edge of dating.
“Obviously.”
Dick stared at Damian, his answer not making the situation make more sense. The room was completely still for a few moments before Duke finally broke the silence. “What is pre-dating?”
Dick blinked at him. “It’s when… it’s like before you’re dating.”
Duke shot him the flattest look he could manage. “Yeah, thanks, got that from the ‘pre’ part. I know how the English language works.”
“It’s when you’re laying the groundwork. You haven’t actually asked them out yet but you both know it’s just a matter of time,” Dick clarified, his hands waving around in a pattern that seemed to accentuate his point in his mind but seemed completely non-sensical to everyone else.
Duke studied him. “Do you both have to know? What if it’s a surprise to the other when the one asks them out?”
“Still counts,” Dick answered at the same time Jason said, “That’s one-sided pining,” and Tim said “That’s just real life.” They stared at each other in confusion.
“Hold up!” Kon cut in. “I’m not an idiot.”
Damian scoffed. “Based on how long it took you to figure out I’d insulted you; you appear to be mistaken.”
“You thought I was dating him?” Marinette asked, finally breaking away from Kon’s chest, though his arms were still resting lightly on his waist to direct the question to the rest of his family. “We said we were just friends… multiple times.”
“Yeah,” Dick started slowly, “but I thought... right. No, we knew that,” he finished as casually as he could manage.
She wiggled out of Kon’s embrace, much to his enjoyment, so she could step closer to Damian and smack him on the chest. “I told you they would think we were dating no matter what we said.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “And I told you they would figure it out.” He motioned vaguely toward the rest of the room without taking his eyes off her. “Look at that they have.”
“Hey guys!” Jon greeted everyone as he tucked his phone in his back pocket. “Welcome back. Oh hey, you two finally separated. Nice. Perfect timing.”
Damian stared at him for a few seconds before rounding on Marinette. “You've ruined the entire plan,” he growled at her. “You were supposed to be here not separating from him!” He motioned toward Jon.
“Well, you didn't tell me the plan, did you?” she hissed back. “It helps to have collaboration on a plan when you INFORM YOUR COHORTS WHAT THE PLAN IS.”
“Yeah, Damian,” Jon added. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. I'm dating someone else."
“What?” Damian exclaimed, rounding on Jon. “When did that happen?”
“A few weeks ago. I was going to introduce you at the party tomorrow. I just got off the phone with him,” he motioned toward his pocket.
“You cannot be dating someone,” Damian scoffed. “I didn't approve of anyone. I haven't done research on them.”
Jon and Mari let out matching scoffs. "I don't need your approval to date someone," Jon reminded him.
"We are not chess pieces you can move around at your will to suit your whims," Marinette chided. Damian glared at her, a calculating look in his eyes.
"She was not issuing a challenge," Jon cut in before Damian could make any plans.
Damian huffed and rolled his eyes. "You're more like checker pieces anyway. Maybe even Candyland."
“So... you're not mad about...” Dick motioned between Mari and Kon.
“Furious,” Damian huffed.
Mari rolled her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. The fact that he didn’t shrug her off signaled to the rest of the family more about his state of mind than any words either Marinette or Damian had said up until that point. “But he'll get over it. Are you guys going to join us for the movie marathon now?”
“You just missed Trading Places,” Jon nodded.
“We missed Trading Places?” Jason gasped.
“I mean, they pretty much did too,” Jon grinned, looking pointedly at Marinette and Kon.
Marinette batted at him, her cheeks blushing profusely, but Kon grinned proudly. “He’s not wrong. So, I’m okay with putting it on again.”
“Mon Dieu,” Marinette whimpered. Kon wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the crown of her head. But Damian pushed the two apart with a harumph.
“We will get popcorn while you guys get things set up,” he announced as he pulled her out of the room. Marinette grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him along with them.
“So... you and Marinette…” Dick started carefully.
“Yeah…” Kon hedged nervously.
“Congrats,” Duke cut in before Dick could say anything.
“She seems like a good kid,” Jason agreed.
“She's our age,” Kon grumbled.
“But Damian's friend, so a kid,” Tim grinned.
“No. I'm dating her so we won't be calling her a kid. No matter what Tim says, I’m not creepy, and that would definitely be creepy,” Kon ordered, voice firm. He looked between Jason and Tim to make sure they heard him then narrowed his eyes at them. “But what is creepy? You two agreeing.”
Dick chuckled and popped up between Tim and Jason, throwing his arms over their shoulders. “Fair. Now come on, we need to get the room set up. Jason, get out the blankets. Duke, you’re on pillows. Tim, Kon, and I will work on a plan to keep Damian from killing Kon.”
“I appreciate that,” Kon nodded.
“We got your back,” Jason nodded.
“If only to keep Damian from stabbing you in it,” Duke grinned.
Kon’s appreciative gaze turned flat. “Thanks.” Duke snickered as he dropped more pillows on the couches and chairs. “Come on,” Kon implored, “he brought a beautiful, brilliant, creative, kind woman he wasn’t interested in dating home for the holidays. He should have known something would happen. You guys don’t bring people home because of that, right?”
Dick scoffed and threw a pillow at Jason who ducked easily under it before dumping his blankets on one of the chairs. “I just assume he’ll go after them after we’ve broken up.”
“Hey,” Jason objected. He threw one of the blankets at Dick. “I only did that once… that you know of,” he added under his breath.
“What was that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing,” Jason said innocently.
“I don’t think we have the same taste,” Tim shrugged.
“I don’t bring anyone around for entirely different reasons,” Duke snorted.
“What reason is that?” Jon asked with a knowing grin.
Marinette and Damian followed closely behind carrying trays. “We come bearing popcorn!” she cheered, holding up her tray with several bowls of popcorn.
“And candy,” Jon joined in, holding up his own tray with bowls of candy. “And drinks.” He motioned with his elbow to the tray in Damian’s hands, who grumbled and rolled his eyes rather than holding up his tray.
“Oh, this looks great!” Marinette squealed and started distributing the blankets. Jon and Damian angled one of the couches toward the television before plopping down on it. Marinette was slower to move, her eyes darting to Kon who grinned at her attention. He reached out to pull her over to the couch he and Tim had just angled toward the television as well, but before he could Damian yanked Marinette down onto the couch with him.
Kon huffed but Marinette broke down in giggles. When she finally stopped, she scooted closer to Damian and looked pointedly at the space next to her she’d just left free, a space just big enough for someone to fit in snugly. “Let’s get started,” Damian huffed.
“Can’t wait,” Marinette agreed quietly, her attention squarely pointed away from the television and on the man next to her.
Kon grinned and threw his arm over her shoulders. “Me either,” he agreed.
Damian made a retching sound and turned his whole body toward the television. “Disgusting. Never bringing a friend home again.”
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To Know Your Heart Is a Brave Thing
💜📱…Flowerbyte drabble (but also not a drabble cus I lack self-control) @vhstown @noharaaa
anybody let me know if you wanna be tagged for flowerbyte fics or any other fics
“I feel like you being passive aggressive right now, listening to this song while you talking to me.”
🎶If you don’t want me then don’t talk to me…
“Go ahead and free yourself,” Margo sang to Miles, picking up the lyrics.
Miles shook his head with a grin and Margo matched it before lowering the volume of the music playing through her speakers.
She’d been blasting music all day from various different genres, though she did agree that maybe “Free Yourself” by Fantasia was a bad selection for the moment.
Plus that song was old even in Miles’ world, it was pretty much ancient in hers.
She flicked one of her hands in the air, shuffling her playlist and turning the volume back up simultaneously.
The beginning of “Let Me Love You” by Mario started playing and Margo grinned.
It was still an old song but she knew Miles had a soft spot for it.
He smacked his lips and gave her a wry look.
“Don’t try to butter me up now Ms. Kess.”
“Boy, nobody’s buttering you up, I put my playlist on shuffle.”
A cocky grin spread over his face and Margo rolled her eyes, but her stomach still flipped.
“Even your algorithms like me.”
Though she rolled her eyes again, she knew there was truth in his statement.
In the four months they’d been dating, Margo has noticed the way the world around seems to have changed. Both the physical world and the virtual-verse.
She’d started exploring the physicality of the world around her thanks to her many visits to E-1610.
She walked through the same park where she and Miles hung out for the first time.
She had walked it before maybe once or twice, but after visiting Miles it was like the whole place lit up. She felt drawn to the spots she’d recognized from Miles’ world.
It was like there was something pulling her to sit under a certain tree or rest her hands against a certain fence.
And when she did, her heart would fill with an inexplicable sort of warmth that she knew only came from Miles.
She knew she probably looked crazy to the rare onlooker as she stood in the middle of a nearly deserted park, all alone and with a dumb smile on her face. But she still made it a top priority to visit it at least once a week.
It had become her happy place, and before Miles she didn’t even think it was possible for her to find solace in reality.
She’d never expressed these thoughts to him, she didn’t even know how, but she was sure he knew.
Margo wasn’t completely confident in how her connection with technology worked but Miles’ comment about her algorithms wasn’t too far off.
“I’m so tired, this song might just put me to sleep.”
Margo is pulled back into the present by Miles’ voice.
He’s lying down on his stomach with his phone propped up in front of him. His eyes are low and he blinks them rapidly in effort to stay awake.
Margo feels that warmth in her heart spark up at the lazy smile that’s spread across his face.
"Why are you still up if you're so tired?"
He yawns and his eyes drop a little lower as he rests his chin on the pillow in front of him.
"We haven't talked in a while, this is worth staying up for."
A wide grin splits Margo's face and she ducks from the camera to try and tamp it down.
When she reappears it's still just as big and bright, but Miles is looking at her with eyes that are a little less tired and a soft small of his own, so she knows they're sharing the same feeling.
A physical connection being reciprocated across highly advanced technology and between two teens in different worlds.
"You still need to go to sleep," she says.
He hums and looks away for a second.
"Are you uh...busy tomorrow?"
Her grin widens again but she doesn't hide this time.
"Nope. I'm completely free all day, which is very rare so I should really take the opportunity to do something special."
"Well then a very special person might come to see you."
"Very special, huh?"
"Yup."
They both laugh softly and Margo finds herself lost in his boyish grin and soft eyes.
She's pleased that he seems to be equally as fond of the cheesy grin that has yet to leave her face.
"Goodnight, Miles."
"Goodnight Miss Kess."
There's another shared laugh and then the holo-screen in front of her goes black. Her reflection shows a girl charmed-sparkling eyes, a wide smile, and straining cheeks.
These are the only times her reflection truly matches her real feelings.
This was inspired by "Young Love" by Cleo Sol
#y'all the way I was smiling the whole time while writing this🤭🤭🤭#I love these two so much#fromphoetou#miles morales x margo kess#margo kess#1610 miles morales#flowerbyte#cyberflower#cybershock
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grub snippet
“Right.” Cub looked amused, “I guess that means you’ve made plans then?”
“Of course I’ve made plans!��� Grian straightened up, pleased, and flared his wings to show them off, feathers recently preened and painstakingly brushed through. It took a moment for him to catch the undertones of Cub’s words, the hint of disappointment behind the question. “I- I mean unless you had any ideas! I’m very flexible.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much, really. I was just curious about that government building all the superheroes file in and out of, y’know. Where you and HotGuy have been working out? You said a lot of stuff was centralized there, right? Tailors and such for costuming, private gyms and break rooms, weapon smiths.. anything a hero could need, really.” Cub shrugged, a lazy, deliberate smile crossing his face, the kind of expression Grian only saw on Cub when he was about to suggest something stupid or illegal.
“Okay..”
“You think they have gunpowder? I mean, I’m sure they do, but I’m also looking for other minerals, dyes, things along those lines. I bought the casings already, but I was just thinking, your place probably has an abundance of the stuff I need, and I doubt they’d notice if a few things went missing.”
So stupid AND illegal today. “Cub, are you asking me to steal extremely shady materials from a government facility for you.”
“Of course not. You don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, and you don’t have the tact for this sort of thing. I’m asking you to bring me with you so I can steal shady materials from a government facility.”
Grian was suddenly forced to reconsider every denial of his feelings for Cub at therapy today in one fell swoop. He barely had the words to speak, the revelation making his mouth run dry. “That sounds very illegal, Cub. They don’t even like me there, I don’t know if that’s a great idea at this point in time.” There was no rejection or denial under Grian’s voice, only some sort of lovesick fascination, the kind of feelings he always felt when he remembered Cub was easily just as fucked in the head as he was.
“I don’t think we’ll have any issues. If I’m being honest, I’m sure you’re far from the only bad tempered hero in their roster. They probably hate everyone who goes in and out of that place. I was thinking you get me in as your private scientist, assistant, whatever. I make you shit. And if they push back, you give them hell. You’re probably high profile enough to get what you want, right? Or maybe you should be nice instead. They might appreciate that. Or they might be suspicious. It doesn’t matter. I bought a lab coat and everything.”
“You- seriously?”
“Well I wanted one anyway, and I thought I might need it. You’ve got a job now, so I figured I’d treat myself.”
“Lab coats can not be that expensive- actually, don’t respond to that. I don’t want to know. I do want to know what you’re planning on doing with gunpowder though. You’re not making bombs, are you?”
“Not like, big bombs.”
“Cub!”
“I want to make fireworks. I want to try. How much do you know about fireworks, Grian? They’re really very cool. I’ve been watching all sorts of videos; went all the way down the rabbit hole. They’re awesome, man. I gotta try. I gotta.”
“You. Are going to lose all of your fingers. Possibly your arms.”
Cub didn’t miss a beat. “Technology is crazy, I bet they can sew that shit right back on.”
“Not if you blow yourself up!”
“I probably won’t blow myself up. I’m assuming that’s a ‘no’ then for working on this in the apartment.” Cub smirked, and Grian could only gape stupidly for a few moments, utterly shocked.
“You absolutely can not play with explosives in our apartment!”
“Gotcha,” Cub laughed, and Grian groaned into his hands, dragging them all the way down his face.
just a wip I wanted to share. I’m having a bad day so I just wanted to post a little something. If you’re interested in the rest of the story you can read it on ao3 here
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Change yo mind
Contains: angst (towards the end), Riri has a crush and reader is oblivious, canon college, hard to get reader.
part two: (coming up)
Word count: 1.3k
Summary: You’ve been into technology since you were a baby, the older you got the hungrier you were for more knowledge on tech so you enrolled in M.I.T collage. Successfully you got excepted and met someone just like you, unfortunately your focus on work is more important than relationships to you.
A/N: This will have some “bad grammar” if that’s what you call it, I tried to type the way Riri talks to match her accent.
. ೃ࿐ You’re chilling at your desk reading the details about your shared dorm on the email you just got then quickly shut your laptop to finish packing your things.
“I can’t wait to take over your room.” Said your little sister running to jump on your bed “Aye don’t ruin my clean walls with your drawing and keep my floor clean.” You said strictly before giggling at her excitement, she jumped one last time before plopping down to sit at the edge.
“Will you visit us?”
“Of course i’ll visit, i’ll even call when I can too.” You give her a kiss on the forehead. “Hurry up you’re gonna be late!” Your mom yelled from downstairs.
You kicked your suitcases down the stairs, too lazy to walk with them. “That’s all the clothes you got?” Your mom glared at the two suitcases on the floor. “Only for now, I ordered some clothes online and gave away the clothes I don’t want to a thrift store.” You jogged down the steps picking them back up.
“Mkay get in the car i’ll be with you in a minute.” She said rushing up to get your sister.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
After a long drive you finally reach your destination, “Wooow it’s so big!” Your sister leaning out the window for a better look. “My money for your dorm and books better pay off, and if you don’t like your roommate you call me first.” Your mom was always protective over you when it came to meeting new people.
“Yeah yeah okay thanks,” A man came towards you with a huge luggage cart. Your mom and sister got out to help, once you guys were done they got back in the car. “We’ll miss you!” said your sister, “I’ll miss you guys too goodbye!!” they waved back as you rushed into the campus.
You were looking around for a hall director until someone tapped you on the shoulder. "You new here?" A tall white guy was smirking down at you. You had to hold back a stink face from the sweaty stench he had.
“Uh yeah i’m looking for the director so I can move into my dorm.” You said shifting your body to face him. “I can walk you to the hall director.” You found his tone in voice extremely creepy. “Uhh sure.”
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
He walked you to the director and to your dorm but he wouldn’t leave you alone until you gave him your number, “Listen I like girls bruh you ain’t getting my number.” You said sternly “What? I did all this shit for nothing.” He waved you off and walked away.
Rolling your eyes you entered your dorm and you were met with two beds on either side of the room, one side already decorated. You started removing all of your bags and boxes off the rack. “You don’t got a lotta stuff huh?” A voice came from behind.
You nearly jumped out of your skin whipping your head to where it came from, “oh my gosh I didn’t think anyone was here.” You held a hand to your chest, “You ight, you need help unpacking? It should only take a couple hours since it’s just a few boxes and suitcases” She pointed to the pile you made on the wall. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
She glared at you, but not in an intimidating way, more of a lustful way. Her eyes gliding up and down your figure. “My names Riri, whatcho name shawty?” She asked opening a box, “Y/n” you said smirking at the pet name.
It’s been 3 hours, you’re finally done unloading your things and decorating your side. “You lucky you moved in at the start of spring break. Got a whole week before you start classes.” She said man spreading on the edge of her bed. “Yep, I timed everything perfectly.”
“So what do I do now? Study?” Riri bursts out into laughter, “No ma just chill, it’s called spring break for a reason. They have residence hall activities and shit but they only talk to me when they want homework off their shoulders.” She shrugs. “What do you mean? You do people’s homework?”
“Yeah I get paid a tun too, I gotta whole site and everything. You ain’t gon snitch though right?”
“Of course not…”
There was a few seconds of awkward silence until you spoke again “Uh i’m gonna go pick up my books, I’ll be back.” You got up and walked towards the door.
“You know where to go? I can give you a lil tour or whateva.”
“Yeah, i’m down.”
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
“God that was the longest walk i’ve ever had, It’s pretty cool student’s get to see the museums for free.” You two were walking into the dining hall because the both of you were hungry.
The two of you sat with your food and Riri started the conversation, “You the only muh fucka here that genuinely talk to me.” she confessed. “Don’t tell anyone I said that though.” You were too busy fucking up your food to respond until she asked “What made you apply for m.i.t?” Riri seemed more interested talking to you than eating, her food slowly getting cold.
“I always had a passion for technology and I wanted to learn more so bam, here I am.” You said taking a sip from your drink, finishing your last bite. “Really? me too, my dad put me onto tech and ever since i’ve been obsessed.” She paused, almost like she was considering something. You were still focused on eating to notice.
“Aye I got a lab- well, a garage I work in, if I take you It gotta be a secret.” Riri was biting the inside of her mouth and rapidly bouncing her leg up and down, you can’t tell if you make her nervous or she really wants you to keep this secret.
You leaned back in your chair lazily turning your head to her, “You’ve only knew me for not even 24 hours and you be making me keep your “secrets”, why?” She cocked her head back, almost like she was offended. “I jus feel something witchu, I don’t normally do shit like this. You something special, I aint never meet someone with so much similarity to me.” She said softly, shrugging her shoulders. Your heart flutters at her compliments but not hard enough to show, your facial expression not changing.
“Listen Riri, I don’t want love. That’s not what I came here for, I just want to learn and bounce okay?” You rejected her affection, Riri had a face of hurt. She looked like her heart has been ripped out of her chest as she stayed silent. “Ima just go, see you later.” You said getting up, “What if I change yo mind?” her voice cracked.
You stopped in your tracks, “What? You can’t, I just told you I came here to expand my knowledge and that’s it.” you rejected her again. “Please mama give me a chance, I swear you won’t regret it please.” She got up not caring at the stares and glances she attracted. “If I say yes will you stop being so loud people are staring.” You said in a hushed but stern tone, she nodded. “Okay then start by walking me back to our dorm.”
Riri smirked as she lead the way.
A/N: I got super lazy at the end yall, hope you like it though 🤭.
#riri wiliams x reader#riri black panther#riri williams imagine#riri x reader#riri x you#riri williams#riri fluff#riri angst#riri x f!reader
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Books I Read In September
45. The Oleander Sword, by Tasha Suri
Pre-ordered this, and I’m entirely happy with what I got. I mean it’s got intrigue and angst and the literal and metaphorical selling of souls and lesbians and eldritch horrors and war crimes, what’s not to love?
But really, I’m pretty sure I already made the joke, but SFF lesbians and weird power dynamics around fealty and martyrdom sure are a pair, huh? (Or maybe that’s just a random bit of selection bias in the books I read/see talked about, but eh. I should catch up on Montress.)
Anyway, Malini is a joy to read, and the Yaksha are absolutely gorgeous and come across as rather believably alien, though I really do wish they weren’t quite so straightforwardly malevolent, and the temple/palace intrigues with whatever the asshole emperor’s name was and his priests was great. Can’t wait for book 3.
46. None the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
My other pre-ordered book of the year. And look, I am largely outsourcing my opinions on this book to the ongoing 24/7 symposium digging into every bit of symbolism and possible reference in these things going on here in the tag. But, like, book good.
Also Pal and Cam, my beloveds. And Nona is adorable.
I need to go scream in the wilderness a bit again.
47. The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
This month’s attempt to acquire some Culture, via what was apparently the most influential book of 2007 (literally recommended to me because a coworker’s book club is doing it).
But no, this was good! Very much of it’s time, though less in a ‘dated in a bad way’ way, and more in a ‘future generations of college students will get assigned this and told to write an essay about the cultural fallout of the War On Terror.’
It really, really committed to the whole ‘life story told in a conversation over dinner’ framing device, to a degree that books basically never do - the prose of the whole thing still felt conversational and like it could actually be said by one person to another. The constant asides to the cuisine being served and the order of the courses and everything did eventually start to grate, though.
The big central twist is, well, barely a twist - except that the title gives you a very definite idea of where the protagonist’s arc is going to end up that you bring with you into the book. Still, really well done.
I’m surprised you don’t see the janissarya analogy made more often in modern polemic. Shoe doesn’t exactly fit, but close enough that you’d think it’d get some use.
48. Exit Strategy by Martha Wells
I really do adore Murderbot stories. They’re just perfectly sized for a lazy afternoon or two of reading, they’ve got the plot structure of a tightly edited 40-minute tv episode, and they’re just great fun comfort reads. Perfect book pringles. (Also Murderbot is one of the greatest protagonists of all time).
This one in particular would have honestly worked pretty well as a finale to the series? Or, since it clearly isn’t, I guess ‘works as a season finale’ is the better way to put it? It resolves the central underlying plot thread that’s been running through the books so far quite nicely, anyway.
I totally admit that aside from Murderbot only, like, four characters have made a sufficient impression that I can reliably identify them by just their names, though.
49. Elder Race by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Hey, I finally finished the last Hugo nominee! Now to start feeling properly guilty about failing to answer that ask about my ranking/opinions from a month ago.
But no, this was good. The only Tchaikovsky I’d read before was Children of Time/Ruin, so this was definitely a change of pace (obvious similarities in setting aside). The whole central conceit of ‘fantasy setting is actually the result of an apocalypse destroying a technologically advanced civilization and the descendents of the survivors viewing the remnants as magical relics and sorcery’ is so thoroughly cliche I think people just stopped writing it for a couple decades, but the execution is really well done.
Nyr and Lynette are both fun POVs, anyway, and I absolutely adore anything that has multiple POVs seeing/taking part in the same events and interpreting them wildly differently. The one chapter that had two columns with Nyr providing exposition on one side and what Lynette&co actually understood him as saying on the other was great.
Tchaikovsky also did a really excellent job of capturing the whole horror and grief and ennui of being the Last Of Your Kind better than I usually see, and also saying Fuck the Prime Directive, which is always appreciated.
Also incredibly endearing that Nyr’s whole transhuman civilization gave themselves giant badass horns and then collectively decided to pretend it was for pragmatic utilitarian reasons.
50. Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells
Because it’s 2 murder 2 bot month, I guess (but no all my holds on these really did just come in at once).
So apparently this was actually written after the novel, which I only found out after finishing it, but chronologically it seems to have taken place before? Which conveniently means I didn’t accidentally ruin any big twists for myself.
Anyway, this was a fun detective story sort of thing. Murderbot being continuously annoyed at how much harder the lack of a dystopian panopticon made their job was a great running gag.
51. The Thousand Eyes by A. K. Larkwood
Because it’s magical lesbians month, I guess.
But no, this was a fun read. The whole setting and tone were very, hmm, D&D? Like a real mixture of super fantastical elements and generic fantasy things given different names (there are elves, and orcs, and for some reason specifically yuan-ti) and then the vision of society and the economics and the mindset and vocabulary of everyone who hasn’t been asleep in a ditch for ten thousand years is just incredibly modern. Not a complaint, it’s just very much a thing.
My actual complaint is that this was like four different discrete stories stacked on top of each other and put into a compactor until they all fit in one book. There were a lot of times where I was kind of left feeling that Larkwood was relying on me knowing how a given story/character arc goes so she could just skip through the high points and then resolve it without necessarily building it up beforehand.
(I also have a perpetual dislike for the plot beat of ‘oh no, the abusive cult who raised you was just doing their religion wrong. We’ve got a direct line to your/their god and he’s actually a great guy!’)
Interesting how minor a character Csorwe is in this one compared to Unspoken Name, really, but Shuthmili and Tal are both incredibly fun POVs so can’t say I really mind. Tsundere dragon goddess of betrayal and destruction was also a great time.
#book review#monthly tally#analysis/review#the thousand eyes#a.k. larkwood#murderbot#fugitive telemetry#exit strategy#martha wells#elder race#adrian tchaikovsky#the reluctant fundamentalist#moshin hamid#nona the ninth#tamsyn muir#the locked tomb#the oleander sword#the burning kingdoms#tasha suri
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Writer’s Block Masterlist
I’m reopening this series with a new set of fandoms, characters, and ships for you to request. All previous requests that didn’t get written have been deleted. You can find the list of fandoms and characters available for requesting here!
You’re welcome to suggest others but they may not be accepted. Also, because there are prompts, I’m not taking detailed requests. Just choose a prompt and a character or ship, the gender of the reader (automatically written as female if not otherwise specified because I’m female born and can’t help myself), and if you’d like fluff, smut, angst, etc.
I’ve only tagged the fandoms I’m currently accepting. The options were different when I first opened this series so there are a few fandoms, characters, and ships down below that I no longer write for.
1. Out to dinner - Takashi Shirogane (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
2. Dancing - Cat Noir (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
3. Flowers - Shigaraki (trans!male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
4. Windows
5. Photographs - Marshall Lee, Dait
6. Technology
7. Coffee - Overhaul x Shigaraki
8. Sharing
9. Comfy cozy - Todoroki x Bakugo x Midoriya, Lee
10. Furniture shopping
11. Favorite TV show - Tetsuro Kuroo, Alex
12. Drinks
13. Friendly competition
14. Boyfriend does my makeup - Keith Kogane, redandgoldgirl
15. Reading - Ben x Harry, Lady_Luly
16. Work day
17. Cooking
18. Build a fort
19. Enjoying nature - Todorki x Midoriya, AriJordan
20. Just an average day - Keiji Akaashi, Alex
21. Long distance - Hitoshi Shinso (trans!male!reader)
22. A mystery
23. Family in town
24. Not according to plan - Matt Jeevas (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
25. Surprise gift
26. Skating
27. Ice cream
28. Fire - James Griffin, redandgoldgirl
29. Getting ready
30. Bedtime - Hitoshi Shinso x Denki Kaminari
31. Aquarium
32. Coffee shop
33. Book shop - Harry Hook, Dait
34. Good movie
35. Bad movie
36. Drive-in
37. Park
38. Zoo
39. Home with parents
40. Home alone - Kyo Sohma (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
41. Parents
42. School dance - Sweet Pea x Fangs, Multifangirl69
43. Forest - Killian Jones, RubyRose226
44. Night beach - Tamaki x Kyoya, alasdaring
45. Day beach
46. Boardwalk
47. After school
48. Amusement park
49. Concert - Luka Couffaine x Marinette Dupain-Cheng
50. Pizza parlor
51. Magic show
52. Good morning kiss
53. Forehead kiss - Iwaizumi
54. Drunk kiss - Male!Loona x Tex, SuicidalConnorMurphy
55. Awkward kiss - Kei Tsukishima (male!reader)
56. Angry Kiss
57. I'm sorry kiss - Katsuki Bakugo
58. I missed you kiss - Harry Hook x Carlos de Vil
59. Seductive kiss - Hatsuharu Sohma (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
60. War's end kiss
61. Goodbye kiss
62. Spiderman kiss
63. Nose kiss - Tamaki Suoh,
64. Ear kiss
65. Neck kiss
66. Back kiss
67. French kiss - Mal x Evie
68. Shy kiss
69. Surprised kiss - Takashi Shirogane x Lance McClain
70. Sad kiss
71. First kiss
72. Selfie - Lance McClain (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
73. Sharing a shake - Jughead Jones, anon
74. Grumpy morning
75. Picnic
76. Baking
77. Wedding
78. Umbrella
79. Building
80. 1950s
81. Snapchat
82. Ballroom dance
83. Lazy Sunday
84. Princess and knight
85. Clothing swap
86. Sad - Katsuki Bakugo (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
87. Gaming
88. Pocky game - Keith Kogane (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
89. Fight
90. Water fight
91. Twister - Shoto Todoroki (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
92. NSFW
93. Stargazing - Kaoru Hitachin (male reader), SuicidalConnorMurphy
94. Ugly sweaters - KiriBaku, Cloud
95. Karaoke
#writers block#masterlist#requests#one shots#reader insert#ships#my hero academia#haikyuu#adventure time#voltron#helluva boss#miraculous ladybug
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Hi I'm burgertank!! U can call me Julian or Juju or Burger. I'm an 18 yr old scottish caveman and I use he/him. I’m queer and trans and have an awesome boyfriend B) !! I'm also on Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest and Tiktok with the same user as here. I usually just post doodles on here and instagram, but I'm a lot more active on insta. I’m kind of a tumblr noob so if I’m doing weird shit it’s because idk how to use this damn newfangled technology… I repost and post a lot of random stuff here I’m so sorry…. I see something I like and I just go insane
I'm a full time college student. I'm hoping to just improve my art skills and hopefully one day make a living out of my art. It would be cool :^)
Okay I have a bunch of interests but here’s some; China IL (and professor brothers I love you Steve and Frank), Simpsons, Adventure Time, Clone High, The Office, Breaking Bad, Texas Chainsaw, Halloween, Childs Play, The Beatles, Sims 4, Stardew Valley, L4D2, COD Zombies, fnaf. I also just love music and cartoons in general. And I like animatronics like chuck e cheese and stuff. Theres more but I'm lazy
I use a tag system kinda…. Art by me is tagged “my epic art” and just rambling or random other stuff is “caveman thinks for the first time”
Okay this is long but. I needed an intro to feel important. Pls don't take my art very seriously I draw for like five minutes and then post it if I want. Everything I draw on here is just for fun :) U can ask me to do requests in my ask box and I’ll try to do them when I’m not busy !!
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I work at Bullseye and it’s the time of year where we do the car seat trade-in event for Earth Week.
Everyone at work has been irritated by all the customers who stop us from working to ask “How do I get the discount?? Can you show/help me!” When the trade-in box LITERALLY has ALL the information on it for them and TELLS you step by step on WTF to do!
Basically you turn your old car seat in at the trade-in box by the entrance of the store. The instructions on the box to get the coupon for your new car seat purchase says to “Scan barcode on box with your app. Add car seat discount to your saved offers in the app to scan at checkout”
Most of the time the customers don’t bother reading the instructions, even though it’s 3 short sentences. And when they say “Can you help me?” They just want us to do everything for them because they’re too lazy to follow simple directions.
I was walking out of the bathroom today and was heading behind the counter to throw away my paper towel. When a customer rushed up behind me saying “EXCUSE ME!! You WORK here don’t you???” No, I’m just wearing this uniform, name tag and going behind the counter for fun 😒
She basically told me she was “bad with technology” and needed help to get the car seat discount. I don’t mind helping, but if you’re going to keep saying “I don’t know how to do this stuff! I’m so bad with phones! I don’t see how you do this stuff!”
The WHOLE time I’m trying to instruct you on what to do. It’s not gonna make me sympathize with you. This was a young woman too and the way she said it just felt like she couldn’t bother to do it herself.
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this is still bothering me, so i’m going to talk a little bit about something that cropped up in Act 5 of Wandersong. if you saw my liveblog, you can probably guess what.
bit of a warning for, ah, discussion of war, particularly the World Wars, under the cut, as well as discussion of racism in fantasy.
it’s always tricky territory when you’re writing about war, because of how many factors that can go into a war. it’s not inherently bad to write about war, it just gets. complicated when you start drawing on real world aspects, especially when you do not have the specific context yourself.
i was not happy about the war between Rulle and Chaandesh to begin with, but frankly, as a whole the worldbuilding of Act 5 does not sit right with me. i’m going to keep this as brief as i can because i am not the Most knowledgeable on what i’m talking about here, but i did live this. i grew up with this history, and it’s disappointing, to say the least, to see them so carelessly handled in this game (that i otherwise adore).
one of the first things i noticed is that the major city in Rulle, which you spend a significant amount of time in, is called Xiatian. that’s pretty obviously ripped from mandarin; 夏天, xia4 tian1, means ‘summer’ in mandarin. it’s probably to keep with the theme of Rulle being more of the land of sun, and Chaandesh being the land of moon. what i don’t understand is why they chose to name the city that when seemingly nothing else in Rulle or Chaandesh has a similar theme. so there’s just one random city that happens to have a very obviously mandarin name.
it just makes me very wary in general to see stuff like this, because it often is a sort of... orientalism, so to speak? not sure if that’s the right term. specifically, what i’m referring to is the racist depiction of (usually east-) asia that amalgamates the different cultures in the area into one mess. in wandersong, there’s also people who have names that are also obviously mandarin based, like Ping, but aren’t real names people would have in mandarin. ‘Ping’ is nothing. that’s not a name. a nickname, maybe, but look at that man, do you think he walks around with a nickname? and there’s also the architecture style, which. oh my god, this is so common, but the architecture is japanese. even if not, because admittedly the two can be similar, it’s still basically the most stereotypical (east) asian thing you can find out there, and it speaks to lazy worldbuilding.
i don’t trust this sort of worldbuilding. most of the time it just feels like they wanted to build an area that felt ‘foreign’ or ‘exotic’, and then looked around for the quickest way to achieve this, which is so often based on non-white cultures. my culture isn’t ‘exotic’, white people just don’t bother to learn about other cultures. i don’t see why someone would choose to base aspects of a fantasy kingdom off of real countries but only take the bare bones and get everything else wrong, unless they were lazy and didn’t properly do research. frankly, i would have loved to see a fully chinese inspired area in wandersong, but Xiatian just isn’t that.
the reason i even bothered typing this up though is specifically because of the (possibly scant) japanese influence in Xiatian. if you’ve paid any attention to your history classes, you will know japan participated in the world wars, and they were fighting alongside germany in world war two. there is so, so much history of the violence japan enacted against so many countries in asia that just isn’t discussed, because people like to think of japan as the ideal technological utopia that can do no wrong. even today, japan refuses to take responsibility and adequately apologize for its war crimes.
[image description: a screenshot from Wandersong, taken from Skurry’s vod of the game. Kiwi and Miriam are crossing a red bridge, depicted in a markedly East Asian style. In the background is the sun, a dull red, with rays of orange coming out from it in stripes. end image description]
this specific screen... worries me. i’m aware that it’s almost certainly just the game’s art style, which is very shape based, with simple colors often used to provide contrast. but given the japanese influences, as well as the fact that Rulle and Chaandesh are at war, it made me think of this:
[image description: the Rising Sun flag. It has a red circle set slightly off center, with rays of red and white radiating out from it. end image description]
the Rising Sun flag has extensive war history, and it was the flag that was flown when japan participated in world war two. to this day, this flag is associated with japanese military violence and imperialism in china, korea, and other countries in asia. even now, it’s flown by the japanese navy. as much as japan may want to deny it, this flag has military ties.
which is why it’s alarming to me that an area with japanese influences that is at war has iconography that reminded me of this flag. i highly doubt this was intentional, but it truly speaks to the lack of care put into the worldbuilding in this act of the game. if they’d even put slightly more effort into refining the worldbuilding, maybe changed some aspects around, made the area feel less japanese, etc, i probably wouldn’t have noticed. they should have put more thought into building this area, and frankly, the choice to make the area east asia inspired adds literally nothing to the game. i’d rather they kept doing pure fantasy.
this is unfortunately not surprising to me, as i’ve seen so many other games do something similar, though i do have to admit that wandersong is the first game to stumble into something that so painfully represents military propaganda for some people. just the general lack of commitment to researching what you’re borrowing aspects from is very common in games that have some elements of fantasy. it’s exhausting. so much of what’s considered ‘exotic’ in media is really just watered down and blenderized aspects of non-white cultures, and people just don’t acknowledge it.
and, like. look. i still love wandersong. i think the message it conveys is really important. i know the devs really put their soul into making this game. but they could have spared some of that to make their story less racist. i’m tired of seeing white people do less than the bare minimum when engaging with non-white cultures, and even then sometimes, just stomp all over culture altogether. you can all do better.
#wandersong#if this sounds too blunt? i honestly don't care#this is mostly just me getting the thoughts out#i know japanese imperialism is not really something that's discussed in the us but now you know ✨#god i'm just fucking tired okay#i can't play Anything without running into racist bullshit#eyestrain#also the rising sun flag hurts to look at
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as if I don’t already feel bad enough because everything keeps stacking up around me and I’m sick as fuck constantly, now i get to have a 68 year old grown ass man scream at me because he’s too fucking lazy to figure out technology to adequately fill out his time cards on time
yes, that is my fault
verbally abuse me fucking harder, sir, it’s not like you make $4,000 a month off my body solely existing. because i sure as fuck let you get away with everything short of murder to collect your paycheck. I don’t even have the money or energy to feed myself most days but boohoo your time card was late because you didn’t fucking do it or remind me to? TRAGEDY. ABUSE. CRIME OF THE GODDAMN CENTURY.
#ooc#tbd#[ i am so exhausted getting upset by their own stupidity ]#[ if I am sick and you need help you should probably remind me well beforehand yes? ]#[ not nearly TWO DAYS AFTER SOMETHING IN DUE ]#[ I have adhd and listen I have written everything with minutes to spare ]#[ because I am a chaotic little gremlin ]#[ but even I don’t fucking do this shit ]
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Why Screen Time Hurts Parents More Than Kids
I’m in the car on my way to a poetry gig with my friend Martin. He’s driving and I’m regretting agreeing to buy my son dinner from Nando’s and having to place the order online using my phone.
Switching back and forth between his texts and the Deliveroo app I screenshot the completed order having just received a photo from my son with the menu item I was missing circled in blue.
“How do you even add blue circles to photos?”
I wait for a message from him that I’ve got it right and maybe a “thank you”.
The message doesn’t come as quickly as I’d like.
While I’m beginning to feel disgruntled, I get a cheery “Perfect. Thank You! xx” smiley emoji.
Tech has created an invisible wall between me and my children. One that I don’t suppose they notice. I feel jealous of their screens because they spend more time with my kids than I do.
Among all the warnings of the dangers of too much adolescent screen time, there don’t seem to be any about how it has a negative impact on the wellbeing of parents.
Once, during a conversation with my daughter about the impact of too much screen time she said “Blaming everything on phones is just lazy parenting.”
As if being a parent isn’t hard enough the stakes are apparently high when it comes to knowing the difference between parenting properly and abdicating responsibility. I don’t want to be a lazy parent so now I never blame phones, even when phones are at fault.
I don’t want to be critical of something which makes my children happier than I can but it’s hard not to feel inadequate.
When my children used to play Minecraft together I encouraged the teamwork, the gentle and cohesive hum of their relationship. I told myself it was just Lego for the modern age and that felt justifiable. Even when we couldn’t prise them away for their tea it didn’t seem so bad. Then my son got into GTA and instead of mining for natural resources with his little sister, he was popping prostitutes on street corners and dragging respectable-looking women from their cars by their hair.
I tried to ignore it.
Worse still was that for a while I began to feel left out so I downloaded and installed Minecraft on my own laptop and would sit playing it instead of joining a teleconference on marketing budgets for the fourth quarter. I was worse than what I feared for my kids, isolating myself and not doing the work I was supposed to be doing. I imagined my boss firing me and, while ushering me off the premises, telling me “You’re always on that bloody phone”.
In the kitchen, I am making cookies. A place my children always helped me when they were younger. I have a photo of the two of them covered in flour one time before technology got a hold.
In another, taken one rainy afternoon, we’d made fresh pasta and meatballs. They look happy. They still do.
I call to my daughter, “Do you want to help me cut the cookies?”
“Nah”.
Putting my head around the door she has the TV on, is listening to music through her headphones and is glued to her phone chatting with friends.
I dig out the photo of the flour children and stare at it longingly.
Last week I was relegated to disciplining my daughter by phone. She wasn’t home when she’d said she would be. She read my messages but didn’t answer. I felt impotent.
Complaining to my wife I said, “She’s 18 next month so I don’t suppose there is much we can do”.
“Well she still lives under our roof”.
I’ve lost confidence in using 1970s discipline on children of the future.
Then there's the ignominy of having to go to them for help when something isn’t working.
Last week my wife was experiencing some trouble with the email on her phone.
Me: “I could try deleting it and reinstalling it?”
Her: “Whatever, but if I can’t find a way to sort it out this phone is going through the fucking window”
My son fixed it in an instant and harmony was restored while I ached for the days when he needed a puncture fixed on his bike.
Back at the car park after the gig, there is a massive line waiting to pay while people find they don't have the right app.
“Why isn’t there some faster way of doing this?” I say to Martin looking at my phone with disdain.
"You mean, like cash?"
When we are eventually back on the road I get a message from my daughter. It’s a picture of her snuggled up with the dogs and a message.
“Hope you had a lovely evening. I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow xx”
#screen#parenting#anxiety#self-help#self improvement#wellbeing#happiness#psychology#Positive Psychology#mental health
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1899 Episode 1
OK so right off the bat, I have so many thoughts running through my head trying to guess the truth behind the main mystery/each character and what the overarching message of the show is all about given all the hints we’ve received so far.
I definitely already see the theme of people from different backgrounds working together and realizing they have more in common than not. Speaking of which, it’s so cool watching the actors speak in their native languages (it feels natural to me since I watch so many international shows in their language of origin) and for the show to actually blatantly point out when characters don’t understand what the fuck someone else is saying to them/don’t speak perfect English because they don’t all magically know the same language.
It’s also interesting to see when body language manages to communicate the main point instead and how the listener reacts in those instances (like the scene with Maura and the little Danish girl, or Angel and Krester). The exchange feels a lot more intimate in those instances.
In terms of the characters, I’m already intrigued by pretty much all of them. I think Maura and the Captain have great chemistry, as well as Angel and Krester (is it just me or was there some serious sexual tension between them during that one scene? maybe I’m just looking for some gay representation haha). I’m also rooting for Olek and Jerome. Although I felt bad for her at first, the French girl (I didn’t catch her name) scared the fuck out of me when she smiled creepily. Perhaps Lucien was right about her putting up an act. I’m definitely looking forward to finding out more about her.
There are honestly too many things to note/theorize about and I’m too lazy so I will just summarize some of the things that jumped out at me/some of my theories.
Maura and the Captain both received very similar letters. Did all the passengers (or at least the ones significant to the story) also receive one?
Shadows was a recurring theme. Hmm.
The pyramid symbol was pointing down for the majority of the episode except when the boy at the end gave Maura the pyramid. Could it represent enlightenment?
What’s up with those beetles? (I don’t know if they’re technically beetles but I am not looking up insects to verify that lol.)
Could the stranger at the end be Maura’s brother? From her dream, it seems like her family is heavily involved with whatever is going on and her letter states that he knows the truth. Also, given how he plants one of those beetles into a room once he boards the ship, I’m wondering if the telegram was just a lure to get him on board.
The intro gave me modern vibes so I wonder if this is an experiment or simulation of some sort. Or there could be like multiple dimensions? But then that’s similar to the time travel theme and the creators already said it’s not relevant to this show...
I noticed the ending song was filled with Alice in Wonderland references. Given the opening monologue about the brain, and the “wake up” lines, there’s definitely some sort of message about our consciousness but I can’t pinpoint it yet.
Overall, although I admit I found the pacing of the episode a little slow (it felt longer than one hour), I think it was a good way to ease us into the universe, introduce us to the characters, and build up the suspense (that ending scene gave me the creeps). I’m guessing the pace picks up in the next episode.
Last but not least, I was looking forward to seeing how the new technology they used for filming would turn out and it’s pretty awesome. It really does look the same as when they film with actual props.
Now, on to the next episode! I don’t know if I’ll have the patience to keep writing out my thoughts honestly haha.
#1899 netflix#1899 netflix spoilers#my opinion#I'm supposed to pace myself with 2 episodes a day but idk how that will go haha
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