#or write many versions lol

[mariatesstruther]

Stay with me,,,, (I'm half asleep so everything I'm saying is nonsense. Forgive)

Tommy and Maria being similar to Jake and Amy, right?

HOW DID TOMMY AND MARIA PROPOSE TO EACH OTHER?

cause I'm thinking of how Jake proposed to Amy and how it was the best thing ever, which made me think of tommy and maria, which made me think they should have a similar vibe

BUT IDK!!!!

OKAY OKAY OKAY I HAVE IDEAS ON THIS

first of all im kicking myself bc i read a tumblr post or fic or SOMETHING online somewhere before that inspired a small bit of how i imagine tommy would propose, and now i can’t find it??? so if this*** sounds familiar it’s definitely based on something i’m just blanking on what it is and will give full credit to op or whatever fucking thing im forgetting. this is also partly based off of how my dad and my mom became official

similar to jake and amy, i imagine them having a really goofy and sweet proposal story, like tommy has to ask maria a million times or sometimes does fake-outs like jim from the office, and maybe it’s something the entirety of jackson is invested.

im also thinking maybe maria wouldn’t want to reallyget married again, not necessarily because of her late husband but more because jackson just makes such a fuss out of weddings and she does not have time to plan that shit and she had a big wedding for her first marriage for the sake of her mother and hated it, so yeah no. she’s just maybe not big on getting married, and for the first bit of time she’s with tommy, she know he really likes her but isn’t surely thinking he wants anything serious. so for a while, maybe a year and a half to two years in, it’s just them being in love as tommy and maria, more partners than anything else to eachother, and that’s just fine with her

so imagine her surprise when one day her and tommy are eating dinner in the dining hall and one of jackson’s biggest gossips comes over and is like “y’all are just too darn cute—now tommy, when are we gonna see a ring on that finger?? it’s a shame this lady aint tied down” and tommy, cool as a fucking cucumber, just goes “oh don’t you worry, i got plans for that” because ??????????? huh????—?

she has to hold back choking on her fucking drink, she’s so taken aback. she waits until whoever that was goes on their marry fuckin way and then blinks, going “um????? you’ve got plans???” because maria is always the one with the plans. tommy hates plans. he says he loves that she loves them, but in a life an unpredictable as this, they often just get in the way; she doesn’t always disagree. but now, apparently, his plan for marriage is sure as his shooting aim, because he just smiles at her a dashingly and winks, murmuring out a smooth and flirty “yes, ma’am. i do i have plans.” for the rest of the dinner, her left leg bounces shakily under the table as he smirks as her from across the way.

because suddenly marriage doesn’t sound so bad, not when it’s marriage to her handsome cowboy goofball; the wedding she would still definitely rather just skip, but she’s sure she can convince tommy of that later. so for the rest of the night and week and month, she is on Red Alert to be proposed to, and unfortunately it just wracks her nerves

but because tommy is Tommy, he lovingly teases and fucks with her just perfectly enough to settle her mind down. he starts mixing in fake-out proposals (he does the shoe-tying one from the office while they’re hiking and watching a sunset during a romantic preproposal date two-person patrol, and she threatens to kick him off the cliff) with joking little asks for her hand in between mundane requests (hey baby, could you be a dear and marry me, then pass me the salt? im kiddin, just kiddin, i aint gonna ask like tha—what? what?? maria! come back!), also mixed with genuinely breathtaking little notes to declare how much he loves her one every few days (a note left on her dresser for her to wake up to one rare morning where tommy was up and out before her: “hey baby. just wanted to let you know how much i love you and how lucky i am to be here with you in my life. you guide me toward a greatness i never thought i could even achieve. i want to make you happy everyday. i can’t wait to call you my wife. seeya at lunch, mi vida. yours, tommy”) until eventually the pressure of being asked The Big Thing isn’t something she’s so anxious for anymore, until thinking about it just makes her smile. she’s looking forward to tommy being her husband more than anything

@bearrycool tysm again baby i got to go to sleep and wake up thinking abt this and it puts a big big big smile on my face

#im gonna stop here bc tbh i still have a million ideas about how he actually gets down and does it #might need some more help to pic one or just #or write many versions lol #BESTIE TYSM FOR ANOTHER GREAT ASK #PROMPT ATP THESE ARE PROMTS #sorry this was more jim and pam than jake and amy maybe but i def hc maria and tommy have jake and amy vibes #title of my sex tape is their thing #bearrycool ur very cool #asked and answered #maria x tommy #proposal #my writing #gonna make a fic out this prolly thank uuuuuu bearry

[bi-writes]

it took the end of the world to bring you to where you were supposed to be. (18+, 5.5k words) ghost (+ johnny) x fem!reader (apocalypse au -> dark content ahead)

you know it is luck that you are still alive. in times of anarchy, it isn't the soft and weak hearts that remain. only the unfeeling stay alive. the ones that are willing to do what others are not. the lot that know what isolation feels like. the ones familiar with survival and everything that comes with the wounds it leaves behind.

the loneliness. the paranoia. the heat of hunger and the impossible itch of thirst, on top of the fact that running for your life is second nature to you now.

if it wasn't the sick and dead lurking in the shadows, it was the live ones that would take you. and you have seen what they can do, and you have watched what the opportunities of the unbecoming have given them, and you vow that you will kill yourself with your own dull army knife than let yourself succumb to that kind of death.

you'd rather be eaten alive by the things that don't understand than the ones that do, because they don't know any better, and the others do, and they know what they are doing isn't human, but they don't care.

whether they eat for survival, for pleasure, for power, it is becoming more and more difficult to discern between the sick and the healthy, and in that in-between, you've decided to be on your own.

you know the loneliness will eat at you from the inside. but you are comforted by the fact that you are not being eaten from the outside.

you sleep in the trees tonight. you climb, high enough to be out of sight, and then you use the rope in your pack to anchor yourself to the trunk. as soon as your head falls back, you fall asleep. you have been walking for days now, you think, and with nothing in your belly except for a few scavenged snacks, sleep comes easy.

when you wake up in the morning, you feel the crisp edge of the sky against your face, and you know it will rain soon.

if there is a god above, they will wash you away with it. you hope, at least. you don't know if this is how you imagined noah's ark--the cleansing of the earth, a flood great enough to wipe it of what they deem ugly and unimaginable and irredeemable. and god must be a man, because only a man would unleash something like this that comes with consequences he never intended--the fact that it didn't fucking work. in his effort to eradicate the fucked up pieces of shit he supposedly created by his own hand, he unleashed them.

he set them free.

and like a man, instead of fixing his fucking mistakes, he turns a blind eye. he forgets. he allows it to manifest, and now that it is out of control, he will blame the sins of what he's done on someone else, someone like you. the innocent. the unknowing. the small and the weak, the ones who he said would inherit the earth, where is he now that there is nothing to inherit? how come he's allowed to go back on his promises, and i'm not? what have i done so wrong that this is the lifetime you gave me?

you don't know why you care. you don't know why you've survived and why you keep trying to. you don't know what drives you forward, but there must be something. there has to be something waiting for you, because you don't think your life can fall any lower than this.

but fuck, there are other plans for you.

there's no one to hear you scream. they cut the branch, unravel the rope, and one of them has gotten ahold of your legs, and they're dragging you. you cry, you scream, you thrash, but all your clawing hands do is leave sporadic trails in the dirt. they laugh, you think, but you cannot hear them over the blood that rushes in your ears.

your nails are raw when they flip you over onto your back. they bleed from how you scratched to be let go, and you don't know why you fight this, but you just have this voice inside you that screams that this can't be how this ends. this can't be the way you go--this isn't the what you deserve, this isn't fair--

you vow to leave your mark. when they come closer, you don't let them come easy. you claw at their faces, rip out chunks of their hair, and when another comes close, you use your teeth, biting off chunks of their flesh, tasting blood, because i won't make it easy for you, i won't go silently, i'll leave you worse than you leave me, i'll take you with me if i fucking have to.

and when it stops, you sob. suddenly everything is still, and there are no hands on you anymore, and all you can see through the blood in your eyes is the sky above you, and how it is early morning, and there's a flock of birds passing by overhead. they fly peacefully. they have no idea what they're observing--the struggle of being alive, the humanity of your will to live, the defiance of dying at their hands, they have no idea that they are witnessing the death and rebirth of something fragile, something so delicate.

you sit up on your hands shakily, and you swallow hard as you look around. to your horror, your savior is a man.

bodies surround you. there's blood staining the dead leaves along the forest ground, trickling from sickening wounds in heads. in one hand, the man in front of you holds a dirty stone, large and jagged, and the sharp edge of it is darkened with red and drips on the tips of his boots. he has wild blue eyes, and while his hair is grown out, it is carefully cut along the sides. his dark hair falls in effortless curls along his forehead and at the base of his neck, and when he meets your eyes, he smiles, wickedly.

he wields other methods of killing people, but he chose a fucking rock. and you think he must be crazy.

you shake, and you find your balance, crawling back on your hands to get away from him, but you're only able to crawl a few feet before your back hits an imposing wall.

you gasp, jerking to the side, and you bow your head to cry when there is another man behind you. this one towers, broad and big, and he wears a sickening skull mask that shadows any human part of him. he might not even be human--maybe he's as dead as everyone else.

you hiss when your hair is pulled. crouching at your level now, the one that wears a real face stares down at you, still smiling. he's chuckling now, licking his lips, and you lean forward and spit at him. it lands on his cheek, a mess of saliva and blood, but his eyes seem to only sparkle. his smile widens.

"what do we have 'ere, LT?" he snickers, and you gather the saliva in your mouth and spit it at his feet this time. there's more of a mess of cartilage and blood and spit, but instead of disgusting him, he just grins up at the ghost behind you. "with a will ta live. ever seen anythin' like it?"

"she's dead fuckin' weight." even his voice has you shaking, low and gravelly, and you hold back a whine when you're let go of. the scottish one is yanked backwards by the scruff of his hair by his superior, who bends to growl in his ear. "she'll only hold us back. dunno why y'even had to intervene, she'll not make another fuckin' day."

"fuck you," you snap, wiping at your face with a trembling hand. you wipe at the tears under your eyes, coughing, and you stare back up at him. with the sun in his face, you can see his eyes. they are dark, and they are unforgiving.

he is one of the ones who is free. he is one of the ones that god intended to kill, and yet here he stands, stronger than ever. and even though you know he's a murderer, an undeserving, broken inside and scarred on the outside, he'll outlive you because he thrives in the anarchy of what is left behind, and you are consumed by it all.

"let's go, johnny," he spits, and you close your eyes. you don't know why you were spared your life. you don't know why luck has been on your side, you don't know why men are what punish you and save you, but you cannot escape them. they send you to slaughter, and then they pick you out of the pen, and you wish you had more control.

you want to be more than this. you want to be more than whatever it is you're made of. you are not meant to be here, you're not meant to be alive, but you are, and fuck, you're so tired of it.

johnny belongs to him. it's obvious, in the way that he lets that man pull on him and order him around, even if they are adorned in military fatigues. you imagine there is no authority anymore, but he listens to that beast anyway, because he's getting up onto his feet, letting it guide him away from you.

if you want to live, you'll have to tame that beast.

"i-i can be useful," you say softly. your eyes are wet and big, and you look up at them as they stand over you. johnny turns his head, looking at his handler, who tilts his head to the side and glares at you. he does not believe you, at least that's what it feels like, but you look right into his eyes and take a deep breath. "you'll just kill me if i'm not. w-what do you have to lose?"

the hum he lets out isn't an agreement, but he doesn't say no either. so when he turns to walk away, you stand, brush your bloodied jeans off, and you follow them. johnny trails, putting you between them. you're pretty, but he doesn't trust you yet, but you're also aware of the eyes you feel on you from behind. when you catch him staring at your ass, he doesn't pretend to look anywhere. he simply giggles.

they are a unit. they can speak without words. johnny tells you his handler's name is ghost. his lieutenant, a man of many talents, and you refrain from rolling your eyes at his sergeant's praise. but instead, you look up at him, and you smile, and you nod, and you give him those doe eyes that you can tell make him a little dizzy.

at night, they alternate keeping watch. they carry lots of gear, and while one guards in his sleep, the other stands in the shadows and keeps their head on a swivel. they take efficient rounds of sleep, getting their rest in while keeping their senses on alert. the first night, you aren't able to sleep. you are too afraid of johnny and how he smiles, because he's a dog, and you don't know when ghost will let go of his leash.

and you are too afraid of ghost, because he looks at you like he wants to kill you, and when he does, you'd like to look him in the eyes for it. you want him to know that you might not be strong like them, might not be the kind of survivors that they are, but you aren't a coward.

you aren't a man, and you'll die the way a woman should--with her fucking dignity.

the days pass easier. ghost hunts, and johnny cleans. ghost scavenges, and johnny kills. and when there is food, johnny feeds it to you, and you put on your best face, opening your mouth, letting him spoon you a mouthful of something that warms your belly. johnny eats your lies right up, but one look at ghost, and you know he sees right through you. with each lick of your finger, he snarls, and with each foot you step closer to johnny, he growls.

he doesn't believe you. you need to make him believe you.

you see your opportunity. it crawls towards him on soft hands, flesh spongy and quiet from the weeks of decay and rot. you see its mouth, black teeth sharp and ready to sink into the meat of his calf, and you lunge, pushing the vase off the table and watching the heavy clay fall until it squishes the head into a heap of rotten matter and dead meat.

ghost turns, looks down, and when he looks back up, he sees you gasping for breath, heaving. there's a desperation in your eyes. it trickles between panic and worry, and you don't know how it is you wear it so well, but it manifests into wet tears that gather at the corner of your eyes.

he's not a beast. he's just a man. and when he passes by you, he reaches up and grips your face hard, nearly shaking you, but it isn't like any other time he's touched you. he glares down at you, right into your eyes, and you melt, stepping just that much closer, sinking your nails into fabric of his tactical vest and gripping it tight.

i can be useful. it rings in his ears as he looks down at you, the burden he has been carrying with him, and suddenly he drags you that much closer, until your open mouth touches the front of his mask.

even your determined conscience can't stop your legs from squeezing together when you feel the warmth of his breath.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

you can be the thing that wakes what is dead inside of him. you can be the virus that infects his veins, the dagger straight through his heart, the heat of the sun, the thing that builds back up what he's buried so far down. johnny keeps him human, but you'll keep his blood pumping. johnny satisfies the itch of authority that ghost needs to keep, but you challenge the fire he keeps under his tongue, and fuck, those eyes.

you pretend with johnny. you play the damsel in distress. you fawn, let him coo over your soft eyes, keen at his touch, but it is a game you play, and he sees it, he sees it, but this time, it doesn't make him angry, and he likes it, and fuck, have you always been this pretty?

you swallow your smile. his grips tightens, and you know you have him.

he's yours. and he's going to keep you. the world ends, god doesn't answer your prayers, the salt of the earth runs free, but it doesn't have to be the end for you. you will learn the hymn of what makes monsters move, and you will sing that song until you can't sing anymore.

you will learn their language, and you will convince them of what you are not, and keep what you really are a secret.

the good, the easy, the soft, you'll keep it inside, because that isn't who lives at the end of the world--it's ghosts that remain, and this one belongs to you.

this one belongs to me, this one is mine, this one you can't fucking have.

and maybe it's selfish. maybe it's wrong to think this way, to take from your saviors this way, because that is what they did, they did save you, but this is the only way you can make sure you make it out of here, that you live. a man takes, and a woman gives, but wouldn't it be nice if it wasn't always this way?

because the dead are still moving now, and there isn't humanity in the living; this is what you are owed.

you think it will be difficult to pretend. when it is night again, and you are staring up at the blue of johnny's eyes, you think it will be difficult, but it isn't. despite what you know he doesn't have, even though you know there isn't anything good in him, he still smiles, and he's so pretty, and you let him kiss you.

it's easy because he's warm. his voice low, his breaths heavy, and it feels like love, and it isn't hard to imagine yourself somewhere else. in another place, meeting him in another time, falling in love with him because it is the only thing you really have to worry about. if you lived another life, you wonder if you still end up here.

you wonder if he would eat your cunt this way in that other place. like he'll never have it again. if he's just as aggressive, spreading your thighs, trapping himself between them, slurping at your folds until you are nothing but a wet, leaking mess underneath him. you wonder if he would groan the way he does, gripping you tight enough to bruise, taking his fill because everything that begins has to end, but maybe if i keep making her see fucking stars, she'll let me stay here forever--

johnny's so much easier to control when he's pussy drunk. anything you whisper in his ear, he just nods, licking into your mouth, mumbling incoherently. he'll say yes to anything you say, and when the gruff call of his name pulls him away from you, he struggles to leave. it isn't obvious, the power you have over him, not to him at least. but it's real, and because he watches you even as he goes, you know he'll do anything for you.

he'll do anything for me. he'll live for me. he'll kill for me. but will he do it even if ghost tells him not to?

because that is the only question that matters. if you and ghost stand on either side of him, who will he go to when his name is called?

if i call both of their names, will they come to me?

if he calls my name, will i come to him? am i just the same? do i wear the collar, am i the puppy, is it me that fell and not the men i hate so much? how do i tell the difference between what the fuck is real and what isn't?

you don't know what time it is. it's dark outside, it must be the middle of the night, but you can make out ghost's silhouette in the doorway. you've been holed up here for some days, and he takes turns with johnny covering the perimeter. your legs are tired, and so are they, and the bed in this house gives way to a comfort and peace that you haven't felt in a long time.

you tilt your head to the side as you watch him there. you sit up, your hair falling around you, and you watch the shadow of him shift in the hallway there.

"scared of the dark, ghost?" you ask softly, and the way he stills tells you he didn't realize you could see him. he steps into the room, and the candle that flickers in the corner deepens the shadows that dance along his masked face.

"nothin' scares me," he murmurs, and you find his eyes in the dark. it unnerves you every time you stare at one another--his gaze is always so intense. he always looks in between all the layers you hide, and it's hard to remember what you are doing here when he looks at you this way.

"i don't believe that," you counter, and he narrows his eyes, shuffling closer, and you tilt your head back to look up at him. "you're terrified."

"not of wot y'think," he pushes back, but you shake your head.

"don't lie, simon," you whisper, and at the sound of his name, he reaches for your face--cups the underside of your jaw, grips the base of your throat, bends down to growl against the skin of your cheek. "are you jealous? is that what it is?"

"of wot?" he mutters, and you hold your breath when he grips your neck firmly. "of m'pet 'n his little lamb?"

"yes."

"nothin' to be fuckin' jealous of," he laughs, but it holds no humor. "what's his is mine."

"says who?" you breathe, and he pulls back to look at you again. there it is--the thing in your eyes that he cannot escape. he doesn't know what it is, but there is something there, and he craves it. he wants it more than anything else--more than food, than water, than survival, he wants to have it, to own it, to command whatever it is there because it's what he thinks he deserves.

he saved your fucking life, and this is the price for it--he gets to have the thing that lives in you that makes his fucking head spin, and you will give it to him, so help him god.

you kiss soft. he hasn't taken his mask off in a long while, but you move it up easily and without resistance, and now you're kissing him, and he moves without thinking. he hasn't even let johnny this close--he hasn't let him underneath his skin, not this way, and here you are, sighing against the scars he wears and kissing them anyways.

the ugly and the irredeemable, that is the skin he wears, and you love it anyways, and the ringing he always hears is gone because you don't seem to care. you caress his face, and you tug on the front of his vest, and then he is with you, and--he doesn't know if this is real.

when you pull away to look at him, his eyes flutter open. you don't say anything as you climb into his lap. the look you share, you don't know how to explain it, but you are almost afraid that it is understanding.

because it's the end of the fucking world, and he isn't capable of love, and you are only here to survive, and yet there is something here that you can't explain. god isn't real, he's just a man, but you think for a moment that that man might be simon riley because what the fuck is happening to me?

"simon--"

he kisses you this time. hungry, all-consuming. if there is anything you've learned about him in the weeks you've spent beside him, it's that he does everything with purpose or not at all. he has a will, a will of what you don't know, but of something, and he does everything with his entire chest. you've heard him talk to johnny when they think you're asleep, the pillow talk that you aren't supposed to be privy to, and suddenly you wonder if this is what johnny feels like--like the only person left in the entire world. because to matter to someone like lieutenant simon riley means you must've done something right, because he doesn't care about anything, and he doesn't love anyone, and--fuck.

he fucks like it, too. he fucks like he won't live another day, and maybe he won't. he fucks like it's the last time he'll ever see you, and it could be, and maybe that's why you're crying. you're sweaty, naked under him, and he can't stop kissing you. he breathes you in and swallows your breaths like it's what keeps him alive, and maybe it does.

"simon--" you cry, because it feels good, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. your hand rises, slipping under the mask, and your nails scratch over his shaved head underneath. god, it feels sacrilegious to feel him this way, to know what's under it, but it doesn't matter.

"know wot y'r doin'," he hums, and you claw at his back when he slows down. your knees try to widen to accommodate the width of him, and he puts two big hands on your thighs and pushes, nestling himself deep and pressing himself right up against your pelvis. "know y'r playin' tricks on johnny, on me--" you cry, and he tsks, shaking his head, "'s pathetic, luv...thinkin' y'could fool us both."

"i-i--"

a particularly rough thrust shuts you up, and you arch your back, pebbled nipples hard against the warmth of his chest as he chuckles, laughing at you, so mean.

he leans down, and all you can do is whine as he mutters into your ear. "johnny's so fuckin' distracted by y'r cunny, swee'eart. and fuck, i get it, 's such a sweet pussy, luv--" you whimper, grinding up against him, needing him to move, but he puts both hands on your hips and squeezes, holding you still. "--such a nice cunt, make a bloke forget all his fuckin' troubles, but i know--"

you yelp when he reaches up and grabs your face. his palm cradles the lower half of your face, squeezing your jaw, and he squeezes your cheeks as he looks down at you and snarls.

"i know wot y'are. wot y'r here for."

"you--" you sob. "'m here for you--"

"can lie to johnny all y'like, luv, but don't you ever--" you whine as he shakes you gently, "--don't y'ever fuckin' lie to me. y'r usin' us. known since we found ya."

you let out an exhale, a deep one. you find his eyes, and he looks down at you, and you swallow hard. because it's true, in a lot of ways--you could never love them, right? this could never be a real thing. the only men that are left are god's mistakes. when man broke off his rib to make a woman, he didn't know a beast like this would come from him someday, did he?

did he know his sons would try to kill each other? in each and every generation? is he watching the dead roam the earth and wondering why those ones died and ones like this one are still living and breathing?

the thing that you don't understand yet is that nothing will kill ghost. his father couldn't kill him, the dark couldn't kill him, the earth he was buried in couldn't kill him, and every bullet that scarred him had missed the vulnerable places of him by just that much. the virus couldn't kill him, and he has an inkling that even if he was bitten, somehow, he would still live because that's his fucking fate.

his fate is to live, to endure, to grieve, no matter what happens around him. the world collapses, and he watches, and he picks up pieces as he goes hoping they will last, but he knows they won't.

he doesn't know how johnny will die, but he will. he doesn't know how you will die, but you will, and he'll be there to watch. for some reason, there's a little comfort, because at least this means they won't be alone. johnny wouldn't handle being alone well, and neither would you, because johnny is a mutt, and you are a leech, and neither survive without a keeper and a host, something else to keep them alive.

"'s olright," he licks over your bottom lip. "'m keepin' you, luv. but let's get one thing straight, aye?" you grunt when he turns you roughly under him, forcing your face into the mattress and caging you underneath him. you can't move much, all you really can do is sit up on your knees a little and push back against him, burying him deep inside you again as he presses his hips flush against your ass. he tangles his hand into your hair, pulling your head back, and he plants a chaste kiss against your throat. "y'r not above me, pet. you can order around m'mutt all y'like. bet he'll like that..." you hum when he cants your hips, the tip of his cock hitting a nice, warm place inside you, "but y'r gonna do as i say. and be a good girl."

you open your eyes, looking up at him over your shoulder. you plant your palms against the mattress and push back against him again, moving just enough to encourage a few slow, wet grinds.

"anything you want, simon," you whisper, pressing your face into his neck, and he grunts as his hand disappears underneath you to cup your mound, hissing as he feels the place where his cock is moving inside you. "can have whatever you want, please--" you whine in his ear. "i won't lie to you! i-i...i won't lie..."

with his other hand, he cups your breast, squeezing, his thumb circling your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"gonna be a good girl?" he asks. "gonna let johnny fuck ya? let my mutt have his fill?"

you nod, panting.

"are--" you sniffle. "--are you gonna take care of me?"

ghost laughs, as if it's a stupid question. he maneuvers you onto your knees, and as you start to push back against him more eagerly, you start to hear the jangle of the dog tags he wears. you want to turn around and pull on them, want to see his face when he comes, but you tell yourself that's for another time--that right now, you need to get him cumming and agreeable.

he leans over you, picking up the pace, punching his hips into your ass. the sound of your skin against his is wet and quick, and as you press your chest into the mattress, he starts hitting you so deep, the air feels tight in your chest.

"need to see you--!" you gasp, and when you're on your back again, you grab for his face. your knees spread again, welcoming him deep, and you force his eyes to stay on yours as you feel the rough grind of his hips starting to build up that sweet, soft feeling in you.

fuck--he's so big. every part of him, it swallows you, and this isn't any different. you come when you feel him, so much of it that it's leaking down your thighs because he stuffs you so full, and there's tears in your eyes, but he isn't sorry.

looking at him this way is jarring. you have really only ever seen his eyes incredibly dull, nothing in them except a void that you aren't able to understand. but you are using him, and he is using you, and you smile, because now you can read him, read what's reflected there.

when ghost shoves his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, you don't fight it. you keen, arching your back as you let your tongue swirl around his thick fingers, and he tilts his head to the side as he watches you. he's making sure you're doing as he wants. he's making sure that you will be pliant and good, that you will do as you are told and nothing else because that is what he asks of you.

he's making sure that even though he knows you are not the submissive puppy you pretend to be, that you will be it anyways because if you don't, you won't like how he bites.

you and ghost are the same. you are equals, even if he will never admit it. you trade different parts of yourself, but this isn't about preservation, it's about survival, and you are willing to give yourself for it. you are willing to say yes, ghost, of course, whatever you want, because you aren't supposed to be alive anyways, but you might just have a chance if you hide in his shadow.

you're still on the bed when he dresses himself. he straps his vest back on, zips his pants, and you watch him lick his fingers clean before putting his gloves back on. you reach down, your mouth falling open when a glob of his cum slips out and dampens the sheets, and ghost has a hint of a smirk on before he rolls the mask back down.

"don' worry, luv," he mutters, reaching over and gripping your jaw rough. you pucker your lips, and he snickers. "soap'll fix you right up."

"soap?"

"mmm. the fuckin' thing is useless unless there's a mess to clean up, yeah?"

will you take care of me? will he take care of me when it's time? will he keep the dead out of my eyes and my blood inside?

he never answers your question. and deep down, you're certain it's because he would kill you, and maybe johnny would, too, because johnny does whatever he says, even if it isn't good for him. and you aren't sure if it's because this is his lieutenant or because saying yes is the only thing that make's sense anymore.

i can be useful. i can be useful. i can be useful.

when you are not useful anymore, you'll need to be the first to strike then. because maybe you don't deserve to live, but neither do they. god is a man, and he makes mistakes, and ghost is one of them, and he's eaten johnny's soul, and if you go down, you will take them with you.

god is a man, and he was a fool to think he could've cleansed the earth by himself.

it was the flood that cleansed it the first time, and mother nature always does her fucking job.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x you #john soap mactavish #simon thoughts #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #ghoap x reader #ghoap x fem!reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #john mactavish smut #idrk know what this is #just brain worms wanting to write something different #i feel like i have many different versions of how this AU can be lol #this is just one of them #dark!simon #dark!soap

[poopypeepyp]

jean-paul and tim fighting in the batcave is what fandom thinks happened between jason and tim

it's so funny to me that fanfiction version of titans tower incident (teen titans 2003 #29) is basically what canonically happened during knightquest the crusade (tec #668 and robin #1)

tim is actually 14 years old so it was a fight between an actual kid and adult instead of two teenagers

tim is beaten up in his safe place by an ally who he used to have positive feelings about (i mean it was tim who broke in and sneaked around the batcave so i don't blame jpv for self-defense!)

tim is annoyed that he worked so hard to become robin only to be shut down by jean-paul and now having to prove himself to him (didn't go well)

(detective comics #668/showcase '93 #11)

tim sasses jean-paul

(detective comics #668/bloodbath special #1)

jean-paul strangles tim lol

(detective comics #668/robin 1993 #1)

jean-paul intends to kill tim? probably? not really? i mean he kind of threatens to later in knightsend but he is in a silly goofy mood

(detective comics #677)

jean-paul immediately regrets attacking tim and is very sorry and sad wet cat (tim is not buying it (angsty))

(robin 1993 #1)

jean-paul is not in full control of himself because of The System

The System is "lazarus pit rage" except it's a religious programming and instead of seeing green jean-paul hallucinates a templar knight telling him to be batman or something

the strangling incident has lasting consequences not only on their relationship but the plot too (tim can't shut up about it)

(batman #506/#507/#508)

(catwoman 1993 #31)

tim and dick become closer after that (also dick hates jp's guts lol)

(showcase '93 #11/#12/detective comics #681)

(batman: gotham knights #14 the issue is called sibling rivalry btw. you know)

also in his azbats era jean-paul thinks he is so much better and effective than bruceman (while he is actually having a mental breakdown) and bruce feels very responsible for how he fucked up jp's psyche and deems him one of his biggest mistakes (jp and batman angst real)

(azrael 1995 #1/#2/#36 look at him he's so sad)

after knightsend jean-paul feels very guilty and becomes a better person while struggling with mental health and The System (and fights evil cult that manipulated him with his new friends)

also i personally believe none of this would have happened if tim didn't give jean-paul a bad haircut

(batman #491)

#people should start writing fanfiction about it and call it “batcave strangling incident” or something lol #anyways i wish tim and az interacted more nowadays it would be funny. please dc i want azrael #they are brothers your honor or whatever #please note that during knightfall saga jpv is in a bad place mentally.. he gets better! he is more than edgy batman(i love him in any way) #by fanfic version i just mean the tropes and misconceptions that people write ok #dc comics #batman #batfam #batfamily #batbros #batboys #titans tower #titans tower au #tim drake #robin #red robin #jason todd #red hood #jean paul valley #azrael #azbats #jpv #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #fanon vs canon #jp doesnt want to endanger children in his own vigilantism and everyone acts like he's the bad guy🙄 #where are these people who criticize batman for making robins “child soldiers” they would love this guy #this titans tower incident is whatever i just dont understand why everyone talks about it like it was important or impactful when it wasnt #i thought about including all my screenshots where dick calls jpv names but there were too many

[oh-theatre]

Writing dialogue:

Writing scene descriptions:

#alternate version #I saw many people say they felt opposite so I gave #write #writing #john mulaney #ao3 #archive of our own #funny #lol #meme #fanfiction #fanfic #writing memes #writing tips

[laceratedlamiaceae]

they should fuck

#please let this inspire someone to write a fic #please don't let that someone be me bc i already have too many wips lol #also wow i really need to get my hands on a 1080p version of ofmd it looks awful compared to the wwdits episodes i have #our flag means death #ofmd #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #calico jack #laszlo cravensworth #gifset

[another-clive-blog]

Thinking about the Clive and Bill parallels again...

Both started with pretty average goals (gaining money / getting closure). Both became obsessed with said goals to the point of going through with their plans no matter the cost. Both became consumed by the desire to pursue a goal that isn't actually achievable (You can get more money but it will never feel like it's enough. You can lash out in anger but it won't make the anger go away). Both ended up killing innocents.

And yet.

Bill getting rid of his humanity in the hopes of getting money. Clive getting rid of his money in the hopes of getting his humanity back. Bill claiming he despises people like Clive when he has himself killed innocents for his own selfish plans. Clive claiming he hates politicians and scientists but still using science to build a mecha and politics to justify its use. Bill hiding everything, hiding from Claire that the machine isn't ready, hiding his crime from everyone. Clive exposing everything, exposing his secret base to Layton, exposing Bill and Dimitri's crime by his staging. Bill covering up the incident while Clive broadcasted his crime inside the fortress.

I don't know where I was going with this. Maybe that prime minister Bill looks like a honest citizen, just your regular Londoner really, while Clive is so obviously violent and destructive : and yet, Clive is the dove and Bill the hawk. Funny.

#In today's episode of 'Syl states the obvious' LOL #But yeah basically looks can be deceiving for them both I guess =) #This is once again a very simplified version. Hence why I don't go into too many details #Like Bill losing his humanity is the very moment he decided the risk was worth it. It's not even the explosion itself #Clive doesn't feel like a human because he's so alienated. He's ready to kill people. But he's hoping to get saved. Wrong actions ofc #It's actually so very important to me that Clive goes to jail but we aren't told a thing about Bill. Bill keeps everything a secret #Dimitri also has parallels with both. One day I'll write a good detailed analysis about these 3 #clive dove #bill hawks #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #unwound future spoilers #lost future spoilers #my analysis #This goes without saying but they're both assholes btw. Idc about the actual goals or characters they're both in the wrong and messed up

[luimagines]

Another request because my brain has decided to start working somewhat the chain finding someone not from their world

This one... Is very vague. So don't mind if I take many creative liberties XD

Masterlist

Part one will include Wild, Legend and Hyrule.

Content under the cut!

Wild

Wild wasn't sure if he was meant to be looking at this person at the moment.

She had a high ponytail, with their quiver and shield strapped to their back. The sheath which held her sword rested at their hip, a very familiar sheikah slate was hooked on the other side.

She was blond with blue eyes and burn marks all over the side of their face in a very familiar pattern.

Wild gulped and stuck a hand out, trying to mean no harm. "Uh, hi. Why do you look like me?"

She eyes him with suspicion and slowly puts her hand in his. "I could be asking you the same thing."

"Hey Cub, have you seen- oh god there's two of them." Twilight fumbles out of the surrounding foliage. He blurts his words without thinking and points.

The girl eyes him with just as much suspicion, borderline glaring at him. Twilight shrinks back somewhat, not expecting this. "Hello...Can we help you?"

"You look familiar." She mutters and but shakes her head. "Where am I? Who are you people?"

Twilight coughs. "My name is Link and his name is Link. We're... actually not from here. But you can call me Rancher or Twilight. I respond to both. He goes by Champion or Wild. What's your name?"

She takes a step back, very purposefully looking them both up and down.. "...My name is Linkle..."

Twilight looks just as lost as Wild feels. Wild shakes his head, smacking his cheeks for good measure. He hopes that there's no triggered memory because of this. That would really bad at the moment.

"A new hero maybe?" He ventures tentatively. "We're going to have to tell the others."

She looks even more on guard. Her hand goes to rest on the hilt of her sword. "Others?"

Twilight nods, putting his hands up. "We have a group of others named Link...We're all heroes of Hyrule. Sound familiar?"

She doesn't relax but she nods. She makes no move to follow them though. "Where's Prince Zelden?"

Wild frowns. "Never heard of him....There's Princess Zelda though but she's not here right now."

Everything about her reminds him of himself but it's never been so... off. Is it because she's a girl or too similar to him? Wild cant figure it out.

He looks over Twilight as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He's getting a headache. Wild isn't sure why though. She's his look alike- Oh wait, that might be why.

Wild offers his arm like any good gentleman (Sky would be proud). "We all have questions, I'm sure. Together we can both try to figure out what's happening. Would you like to join us for lunch? I was about to start the fire."

She slowly reaches for his arm and nods. "...Yes. I'd like that actually. Thank you."

Twilight shakes his head. "I'll let the boy know we have company... Please don't set anything on fire."

"...I need to start the fire though."

"You know what I mean."

The girl next to him giggles. "I have a friend just like him. She tells me the same thing all the time."

Wild smiles. "She sounds fun."

Legend

He had to crane his neck to get a decent look at them.

They were huge, as big as a hinox. They had four arms and a massive maw full of razor sharp teeth. They has large scales on their body in a brilliant green color. The closest thing Legend could compare them to were beatle wings but they must much larger and hard as a rock.

"Admiring my armor?" They said. Their voice shook Legend to his core. Something about it spoke of power and restraint.

He finds himself nodding. "It's armor then? How do you put in on? There's no strap of anything."

They laugh. "Of course not. It's a part of my body. They've only gotten this strong because of all the times I've torn them off."

They poke their shells. It makes a small dull sound. They bring it closer for Legend to touch as well. He does, only because he has no idea what would be considered weird in this circumstance. It's smooth but warm. Solid. "Did it hurt, Sniper?"

"Of course." They pull back. "The blood is always a pain to clean up but it's necessary where I'm from. My people pick from the toughest warriors and strongest soldiers. There's someone I have my eyes on so I hope to prove myself tough enough to form a life bond."

Legend nods. He understands only the need to peacock to catch attention. He doesn't understand the rest of it.

"The Drev are a war species." They explain, as if that's an normal to say. "We pride ourselves in being unbeatable and we train our young from a young age to be a merciless on the battle field as out predecessors."

Legend finds himself only getting more freaked out by this conversation. Is this normal? Can someone call him or something? Get him out of this!

"We..." He tries to explain himself and his people. But how does he not piss off this giant behemoth of a creature?

They had met up while they were tracking down the shadow. The shadow ran out of a portal like their life depended on it and this...Drev, came out chasing him. It appears they they did enough damage to be thirsty for more.

It's unnerving.

No one really had a choice when they said they were traveling with hem now to track down the shadow and given their battle prowess... they weren't going to turn them away from that either.

"You are all soft and squishy." The drev pokes his leg. "It's incredibly you've all survived as long as you have."

They laugh and Legend is inclined to let them have their moment. Of course it's obvious that they've all had close calls. What does he even say to that?

Hyrule

Hyrule knew by this point that there were many worlds beside his own. His own world has changed so much that he could hardly recognize it outside of his own existence. It might as well be a different place entirely.

So when he comes face to face with a person who's entire bottom half is a serpentine, he's not exactly inclined to ask many questions at first.

Their eyes are bright and vibrant. Between the slits down the center and their yellow color, Hyrule finds himself drawn further into their differences.

Their tail is black with orange bands. Similar scales trail up their uncovered torso and over their joints and arms. Their hands are completely covered by the scales and end with razor sharp black tinted claws. The scales become more patchy by their neck, face and hairline and end when long black hair starts to grow out of their scalp.

Hyrule seems to focus more on the their face, trying to make the situation as less awkward as possible. It only polite to hold relative eye contact. "Hello."

They slither away, crouching lower to the ground.

The others shout and cry out from just behind him. The creature has made itself known but apparently by mistake.

"Hyrule! Are you hurt?" Warrior calls out, running with his weapon out.

Hyrule forces himself to his feet. The sight of the new being has left him a little unsteady, but he doesn't want them to attack for no reason. "I'm ok! We're all good here!"

That gets them to slow down at least.

Legend makes it to him first with the help of his pegasus boots. Hyrule is tackled into a hug and pushed behind the other hero. "What on earth?"

"This is new to you too?"

"I've never seen anyone like them."

They slither back even farther and start going up a tree.

"Wait!" Hyrule moves away form Legend, even putting his hand on the outstretched blade to lower it. "Don't go away! We won't hurt you."

"But will they hurt us?" Warrior slide in, also holding his weapon.

"They didn't even do anything!" Hyrule tries to defend. "We just crashed together, that's all."

"Looked more like an ambush to me."

The snake being pulls themself higher into the tree, never taking their eyes off of the young boys as they begin to gather around.

Hyrule bounces his knee nervously and coughs. "Do you have a name?"

The person tilts their head and looks to the rest of them.

Legend clicks his tongue. "Do they even speak?"

"....Kara."

The entire group stills.

"My name is Kara."

Part 2

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #I'm going to make so many new characters #and keep none of them #are they aliens? from a different universe? alternate versions of them? #it's going to depend #i'm going to have to pull out all the stops lol #the drev are from starr-fall-knight-rise #they write for humans are space orcs #and they have an ongoing story and i love it #i might add their Vrull later... but I feel like that would be cheating XD #but go check them out if you're into that fandom

[mamawasatesttube]

this isn't like comics-fandom specific by any means, but one thing i do think about semi-regularly is that like. some people are so insistent on stuff being "for fun" so that they can justify never actually thinking about what they're doing, and that's... idk man. in a world where we are inundated with propaganda and bullshit all the time, media literacy, critical thinking, and reading comprehension skills are pretty important. and yeah like no one can have their brain running at max capacity 24/7 but you still gotta like... put in SOME critical thinking. otherwise you just get people being like SO WHAT if this comic is really racist??? you can't ask me to think critically about how it portrays characters of color!!!!! im just here for fun!!!!!! and it's just like. dude.

#rimi talks #kinda rambly but im thinking about a post i saw yesterday. and also a post i saw a few weeks ago. and a different post i saw before that #comics ''fans'' who go ''there's just so many comics so every single interpretation is valid and i don't have to think about anything-- #--bc im just here to have fun uwu'' my beloathed. one of the posts i refer to was about morrison's talia lmao #''dont call me racist for preferring the racist version of talia so i can make manpain for white guys!!!'' is an actual take i have seen. #and like there's a difference between writing shit that's inoffensive but just poorly written vs writing shit that's racist #but if you don't have critical thinking or reading skills. can you tell the difference? #and if you espouse the view that critical reading skills don't matter in hobby spaces. you sound white lol #anyways like i said this is kinda rambly and not about any specific thing #but i am very sleepy in a library so you get my unfiltered thought process. jazz hands

[davidjrpalos]

1.24

#gonna start doing little month posts like this here’s january #a sophisticated(TM) version of my monthly posts if you follow my finsta lol #<<<just for mutuals tho #I have so many pics and things I never know when or where to post like hello tumblr duh #writing is technically from june but I still like it lol it’s the one I thought I lost #2024 #photo #writing

[paradisepoisoned]

Last dumb sketch for now I promise. I'm just in mourning that I'll never be able to afford a ball jointed doll and this is the only way I know how to cope.🐰🪓🫖

#death note #death note fanart #near #nate river #near death note #WIP #my art #do you guys like my scribbly sketches??? #i used to think it was bad posting so many WIPS but they get more likes than the finsishe art lol #not that im complaining jist trying to have a census cause i got plenty of scribbles i can post #i have 3 fics i needs to finish writing and 100 wips in procreate and yet here i am #drawing puppet near looking like a wonderland version of bozo the carnival clown #but he has a little tea cup hat

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

I still think that American comics fans being elitist is annoying. Like I get there are lots of characters and series that have been running for literal decades, but here's the main reason I like manga and reading manga more:

Say you're a normie. You watch the One Piece Live Action and get interested in the series. You ask "hey, where should I start?" and most ppl will say "Episode 1 of the anime or Chapter 1 of the manga". You might get told about One Pace but that it's largely for post-timeskip arcs, and you're told about the filler arcs but it's pretty straightforward.

You see your nephew wearing a Jotaro Kujo t shirt and want to check out the series. Where do you start? Part 1, Chapter 1. The first part is called Phantom Blood so you watch the first episode of it.

You play Batman: Arkham Knight, you thought Nightwing looked cool and maybe you liked watching the Diniverse cartoons as a kid. You've never read the comics though, so you ask "Hey, I want to read some Nightwing comics. Where should I start?". You're gonna get dozens of different answers from different people, with dozens of potential starting points/universes/reboots/authors/artists. For people getting into comics it can be really daunting lol. It's no wonder that adaptations like shows and games stick with a wider audience appeal, especially when you encounter Those Fans of the comics that shit on any adaptation and character interpretation they don't like.

I get disliking and hating how one adaptation can ruin public perception of a character you love. Like I love the Justice League cartoon and Shayera Hol in it, but DCAU!Hawkgirl and actual Comics!Hawkgirl are entirely different. And because JL Shayera IS so ubiquitous and known by the public, it means that even more comic-accurate versions of Hawkgirl get derided as "not the real Hawkgirl" by people who've never read a comic with her in it.

Like the Diniverse is far from perfect adaptation wise. Mera is one of my faves in DC and she gets little to no characterization in JL and JLU. Her turning into a Red Lantern defined my adolescence on so many levels and you'd never know how rad she is if you only were exposed to the animated series like JL as a kid to shape your idea of the character.

It's hard to be patient with tourists entering your hobbies and acting like they know everything, I get it. But I really wish those loud asshole comics fans would chill a bit when people genuinely want to get into a series or character lol

#and while i love that American comics can vary wildly with so many authors/artists giving their own versions of the same character #it makes those characters a bitch to pin down personality and character wisr #what runs you like and what characters you like and what authors you like make reading US comics an eternal Rorschach Test #.sillyshit #sloot bitches about things #sloot's essays #like just bc Nightwing fucked Barbara right before marrying Starfire doesnt necessarily make that behavior in-character or canon even if it #did actually happen. sometimes a writer just Does Not Get the character you like and it hurts lol #but then you have to wonder how to determine whats in character when a char in comics is so widely adapted and variable #how do you determine the core tenets of a character when they change depending on whos reading or writing the story?

[merrygejelh]

what's up with "human nature"?

Houghohoughih

I mean the first thing you need to understand is that interpretation is generative, right

So by watching doctor who you are inherently Creating doctor who because you are creating an idea of it in your head and stringing together continuity in a way that is slightly different to everyone else who has done it. Your dr who is not my dr who, okay.

The doctor who that Paul Cornell was a fan of as a teenager and young adult was a doctor who in which the doctor Cannot fall in love due to the fact that he’s not human. Human Nature (the 1994 novel) was his answer to the question “what would need to happen in order for the doctor to fall in love?” In Paul Cornell’s mid-90’s reading of the show thus far, the only circumstance under which the doctor could be a sexual or romantic being was if he were to become human.

The thing is that this reading conflicts with the reading that Russell T. Davies canonized in the first two seasons of nuwho. RTD’s doctor IS a romantic entity; he can and does fall in love as a time lord. So the 2007 episodes “Human Nature” and “Family of Blood” are responding to a version of the doctor who no longer exists. To a viewer of the modern show, the question these episodes is asking is “what would it mean for the doctor to be human?” Which has a very different answer, but the plot isn’t portrayed all that differently from how it is in the book, which creates an implication that being human means being racist. The episode’s commentary becomes about MARTHA, not the doctor, because it seems to imply that this deeply romantic man can fall in love with many people as long as they aren’t Martha (as long as they aren’t a black woman). It’s weird as fuck.

Also, I’m just generally more fond of the book - I think a romance between two middle aged people who haven’t been in love in a long time is far more interesting than a love triangle between the 10th doctor, another ambiguously young blonde woman, and Martha. We’ve been here before!!! We’ve seen 10 be a dashing young man falling in love!!! There’s a version of these episodes that focuses much more on themes of War as a central aspect of human nature and I think with what nuwho had been doing to that point leaning more into the fact that this takes place on the eve of WWI would have been much stronger thematically. There’s a whole section in the book where John Smith lectures his students on the horrors of war and it’s so BAFFLING to me that it isn’t in the episode. Sir you are The Time War Man.

#I have many more thoughts (this is what the thesis chapter I’m currently writing is about) but this is a passable tumblr post version lol #the show of theseus #doctor who

[hanzajesthanza]

also regis swearing at stygga is so meaningful to me because he swore over milva’s dead body and also in front of angoulême (and assumedly cahir too)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#txt #especially because milva was like… not only his friend but he cared for her medically… #i mean he did for everyone (including cahir and dandelion’s head injuries) but #idk regis seeing her dead when he had saved her life under the bridge and counselled her about pregnancy and abortion #and (i guess it’s headcanon but) when her ribs were broken by the druids and she was healing from that he was there for her #milva was beat up by the narrative but regis was always there with bandages lol #so to see her DEAD completely DEAD with no possibility of healing her #also because *he was off* and he paused for a drink (or two—who knows how many) #of course he’s like ‘fuck this place. i’m going to fuck this shit up’ because how shitty of a surgeon must he feel right now #and if he can’t protect his friends now with medicine well the only other option in his arsenal is Fucking Shit Up #his NOSEDIVE begins early in the halls of stygga castle and he just starts losing it #milva: dies | me: oh… oh they’re *all* gonna die huh… #who knows if regis had returned to the rest of the company and milva was still alive. who knows. maybe he wouldn’t have continued to drink #and maybe he wouldn’t have made that suicidal leap towards vilgefortz in the end #i think that in the loss of the rest of the company regis had nothing left to live for #both from an in-universe POV and from a narrative writing POV #because remember that there were previously written versions in which regis survived and lived #so paying attention to not just when he dies but when he starts to go on this downward trajectory is relevant #because sapkowski intentionally devised a way in which he would die that would be plausible for his character #which means that his death isn’t just random. this version was a specially crafted version to ‘allow’ for his death #i love how AS was like well yeah of course milva and cahir are going to die. but yeah i admit angouleme and regis are just stupid #(to clarify he said angouleme dies stupidly) #but i think saying ‘there were other versions in which the vampire survived’ = this is the version where he is stupid #c: regis #analysis #IN THE TAGS lol #book: lady of the lake

[laufire]

Anything you can tell us about the Cass ans Jason AU?

We know that, after Cass was made into an assassin as a kid, she fled and lived for years on the streets, homeless and guilt-ridden, eventually making it to Gotham around age 17*, IIRC. Just in time for the city to go to shit and the No Man's Land arc I've told you about to get started.

We also know that after Jason woke up inside his grave and dug his way out of his coffin (roughly half a year* after dying?), getting hit by a car and taken to the hospital, slipping into a comma, waking up catatonic and slipping away *deep breath*... he lived for a while on the streets of Gotham for some time (before one of the league's associates identified him and he was taken to Talia), still catatonic and simply operating on instinct, sharing the food he stole with other homeless people.

*the timeline doesn't quite match (it's accepted Cass and Jason, at least in this continuity (?), are roughly the same age), but if detective comics comics can play fast and loose with that, whatever. I can ask myself, what if Cass had made it to Gotham a lot earlier? What if she and Jason crossed paths? What if someone of her fighting abilities was there when league operatives arrived?

ask me about my wips!

#i'm 100% sure i'm not the first person to think of this but I like how my version is shaping up to be lol #writing cass and jason interacting is VERY tricky and I do it in other wips #but this one will be really different because in many ways this is before jason becomes jason AND before cass becomes cass #as the characters we know them at least #and that makes it both trickier yet also easier and less tense #it's fun #replies #artemis tag #talking to the void #my thoughts #dc #dc thoughts #my wips #dc comics #writing woes #cassandra cain #jason todd

[shinelikethunder]

my other hot take about s11 is that the midseason fics where "Castiel" seduces Dean and everybody except Lucifer has a real bad time are hot, but the world is sorely lacking in versions where Sam walks in on them and Realizes, immediately or eventually, who it is

#i'm sure all four of them would have a super chill and fun and friendly and relaxing day about it. zero atrocities would occur. #yes this is one of the fics i'm not writing. yes i think many people's versions should exist besides the one in my head. the possibilities! #supernatural #spn s11 #casifer #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #spn!lucifer #dare i tag this #destiel #the concept does kinda hinge on it being something those two might conceivably have done or been interested in already #...dealer's choice on what other pairings might be involved too lol

[stainedpast]

His relentless search for information and leads on those who dared take his family away so BRUTALLY has lead him here. It has been long, but in his mind and heart, it is as fresh as the first time he saw their bodies, the smell of their blood at the memory is reignited, the anger, the need for vengeance, for a reason to such monstrosity. He is taking a risk playing the role of a security guard he has knocked down and hid until he retrieves the intel he needs off the device there. He scrolls, scrolls, scrolls— Click! Yes, that’s it! He just needs the names. Maybe the excitement of a near-success turns him deaf to the steps behind, or maybe they are just light on their feet, but he is caught as he returns the clothes to their rightful owner after getting into his, and it startles him. Yes, it is not only excitement that has made his heart RACE, it is the worry of getting caught, the area filled with high security measures he won’t be able to run just like that, and getting caught here is the last thing he needs now. ❝ You must have passed your audiometry test with flying colors- or numbers, or whatever, to be able to hear a normal heartbeat. ❞ Humor, it is his way of dealing with this situation now, keeping it casual even when he recognizes the character in front of him. Maybe, just maybe he is lucky enough they did not witness the snoozing body behind the door.

@bruz3r : “I can hear your heartbeat from here.” - @ Klaus maybe | accepting

#ic: klaus klotzmann #bruz3r #[hkhv thanks for this! been so excited to write with u!!] #[also lemme know if anything needs editing! i had so many versions lol #and i tried to leave it open for u to choose wether he is brucie or bats in this!]