#doing some playing with procedural materials

[creamsicle-art]

Needless to say, I am hopelessly dependent on the ingot

[yannawayne]

iv. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established Relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

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The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

A typical dinner at the Waynes.

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Wednesday, 6:54 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City. 

Three Days Later

THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the occasional rustle of clothing as you pack your things. You carefully fold your favorite hoodie, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. Next, you grab a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and your worn-out sneakers. 

You pause, your fingers lingering on a framed photo resting on the edge of the dresser. It's a snapshot of you and Damian at a carnival, his arm slung over your shoulder, his lips gently pressed against your head. 

It’s been three days of radio silence between you and Damian. Three days of not speaking, which is practically a record for your relationship. And just when you were starting to get used to the peace and quiet, Bruce had to go and invite you and Selina to a celebratory dinner tonight. A gourmet guilt trip.

With a sigh, you place the photo gently on top of your clothes. Then you move to your desk, gathering a stack of notebooks crammed with sketches and half-finished plans scribbled on napkins and crumpled scraps of paper. You tuck them into the side pocket of your bag, carefully arranging the chaotic collection so that it all fits.

The door creaks open, and Selina steps into the room, her arms crossed with a proud smile playing on her lips.

“Packing up for your big adventure?” she asks.

You look up from your suitcase, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s only for a month, but it feels like I’m leaving for a year.”

“A month isn’t so long.” Selina walks over, her feet thudding softly on the floor. She picks up a small figurine from your desk, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think of it as a chance to stretch your wings and maybe learn a thing or two.”

“Thanks.” You smile and turn back to your packing, reaching for your suit. The sleek, black material glistens under the soft light filtering through the window. You run your fingers over the spider emblem stitched into the back, feeling the familiar texture beneath your fingertips.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing the suit, are you?” she asks.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the suit in your hands. “I thought I might need it. Just in case.”

“Well, you’re not planning on fighting crime in Stark Tower, are you?” she snarks, hands finding her hips as she gives you a look that clearly says she’s not buying your excuse. “This internship is a chance for you to have a life outside the vigilante shtick. It’s good for your future. A chance to live a normal life.”

“Normal? Mom, I stopped being normal the day I got these powers. There's no going back to that.”

“Maybe not,” Selina concedes, running gentle fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have something close to it. You deserve to have options, to see what else is out there for you.”

You meet her gaze, your resolve unwavering. “I hear you. But I think I need to bring it. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Selina sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “God. You are just as stubborn as me,” she says, rising to her feet with a resigned smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind about this internship. Give it a real shot, okay?”

“Promise,” you hum, feeling a small sense of relief. As you reach for the suit to tuck it into your bag, your phone buzzes insistently.

Quickly, you glance at the screen.

Morgana:

Busy tonight? There’s a shipment near the docks. Tech equipment from what I see.

You could infiltrate. They have valuable info.

It's… Black Mask.

For a while, you stare at the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen, itching to swipe through the new messages. But Selina is still standing nearby. With a soft cough and a resigned exhale, you place the phone face down on the floor, deliberately ignoring the message for now.

You turn your attention back to your suitcase, refocusing on the task at hand. Selina watches you with a knowing look but doesn’t press further. The silence in the room is filled with the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft clink of zippers as you continue packing.

“Ready for tonight?” Selina asks.

You nod, though a knot tightens in your stomach. Bruce’s congratulatory dinner feels less like a celebration and more like an impending test, especially with the unresolved tension between you and Damian hanging heavy.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you reply, attempting to sound confident.

You zip up the suitcase, taking a moment to glance around the room. Everything seems to be in place, but you double-check, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything essential. 

Selina nods approvingly, then steps closer, bending to pull you into a hug. “I’ll go get dressed. You do too, alright?”

Selina leaves the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Turning back to your suitcase, you rummage through the clothes, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a red jacket. After slipping on some socks and sneakers, you reach for a black shirt. But as your hand hovers over the fabric, your gaze is drawn to your suit laid out on the bed.

The spider logo on its back glares at you, its eight-legged emblem almost seeming to reach out with an imperceptible pull, as if urging you to embrace your other self.

After a moment of inner conflict, you give in. You carefully pull on the suit beneath your clothes, the snug material wrapping around you like a second skin. With the suit in place, you slip on your black shirt, followed by the jacket and jeans. You tuck your mask into the pocket of your jacket.

Wearing a superhero suit under your clothes for a fancy dinner—definitely not a sign of insanity. Totally normal behavior. Call it creative paranoia.

With everything packed and ready, you head downstairs. Selina is still in her room, and you catch sight of her as she steps into view, looking a touch more formal than you in a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that hugs her curves. It’s short, tight, and elegant.

“Done already?” she hums, moving to her vanity and starting on her hair and makeup.

You nod, leaning against the doorframe and giving your hair a casual tousle. “Yeah, figured I’d keep it simple. Not sure I’m in the mood for fancy.”

Selina glances at you through the mirror, a small, reassuring smile curling her lips. “You look great. And don’t worry too much about tonight. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

The clock on the wall reads 7:00. You have three hours before the dinner, and Selina, always the early planner, will be occupied with her preparations for a while.

Pulling out your phone, you check Morgan’s message again. If you played your cards right, you could handle the shipment bust quickly and still make it to the dinner on time.

Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the doorframe and tug your hood back on. You head downstairs, making sure to keep your movements casual and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

“I’ll be heading out for a bit. I want to get some flowers for Alfred,” you call out, your voice carrying through the house.

Selina glances up from her vanity, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We need to leave once the driver arrives.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod, turning and heading out of the room. You make your way downstairs, slipping out the front door and into the crisp evening air.

Once you’re in the privacy of a nearby alleyway, you waste no time. Tugging off your shirt, you shove it into the pocket of your jacket, feeling a rush of adrenaline. You slip on your mask, adjusting it carefully until it fits snugly, the familiar material settling comfortably against your skin. Your jeans, jacket, and sneakers stay on for practicality, and you plan to put the black shirt back on later.

With everything in place, you secure your earpiece and gadgets, pressing the earpiece into position and activating it. The familiar hum of your tech springs to life, and you’re ready to move. 

The city’s sounds fade as you slip into the shadows.

“Morgz? You there?” you call out, already scaling up the side of a building.

A crackle of static precedes Morgan’s voice. “Yeah, I’m here. You on your way?”

“Just about to leave,” you reply, grabbing onto a ledge and pulling yourself up. “Any updates on the shipment?”

“It’s scheduled to arrive in about 30 minutes. The tech equipment is being unloaded from a truck into a warehouse. Security’s decent, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re only 15 minutes away from your spot right now.”

“Got it,” you confirm, reaching the rooftop and taking a moment to scan the area below. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You launch into action, web-slinging towards the docks with a focus on speed. Normally, you’d be showboating and performing flips, but tonight, every second counts. The journey takes a bit longer than expected—20 minutes instead of 15.

As you approach the docks, you spot a boat pulling up to the edge, its silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Surprised you even took this up,” Morgan’s voice murmurs through your earpiece. “Thought you weren't allowed to patrol on school nights.”

“Technically… I’m not,” you reply, weaving between buildings and adjusting your trajectory for a swift descent.

“Yeesh. Going rebellious already?”

“Teenage angst, remember?” you quip, a grin forming beneath your mask as you prepare to intercept the shipment

Landing on a rooftop adjacent to the warehouse, you take a moment to plan your entry. The warehouse is a large, industrial building with a few tall windows and a side door that looks like it’s used for deliveries.

Security cameras are mounted on the corners of the building, rotating every now and then. You quickly survey the area, noting the guards' position.

There are a couple of guards patrolling the perimeter, walking in predictable patterns. One guard is stationed near the side door, checking his watch occasionally. The other two are more mobile, taking turns walking around the exterior and scanning the area.

Beyond the security, you see five workers moving boxes from the boat to the warehouse. The open doors at the far end reveal crates of tech equipment being unloaded.

You activate your earpiece. "Update. Three guards outside. Five active workers. They've got cameras. Can you get those down for me?"

Morgan's voice crackles through your earpiece. "On it. Give me a sec."

You watch the cameras, waiting for them to go offline. The guard near the side door looks at his watch again, oblivious to what's about to happen. 

After a tense moment, Morgan's voice comes back. "Cameras are down. You've got about an hour before the system kicks in again. Oh. That and there are about 5 more guards inside."

"Perfect," you hum.

You time your movements with the guards' patrols, slipping through the shadows. You approach the side door, keeping low and quiet.

Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, with stacks of crates creating narrow pathways. The workers are busy unloading the truck, their focus on the task at hand. You crawl up the walls swiftly and silently.

You spot a terminal near the back of the warehouse, its blinking lights indicating it’s connected to the inventory system.

Time to get to work.

“I'm at the terminal. What’s next?” you whisper into the earpiece.

Morgan’s voice comes through with a steady tone. “Plug in the flash drive to copy the inventory data. While that’s running, find the main control panel for the security system and plant the tracker. This will help us monitor future shipments.”

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Got it. Flash drive first, then tracker."

You slip to the terminal and plug in the flash drive, which hums softly as it starts copying data. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, you head to the security control panel hidden behind some crates and quickly plant the tracker.

"The tracker is set," you inform Morgan.

"Great job. The data copy should be done soon. Once it’s finished, you can pull the flash drive and get out of there."

You head back to the terminal, keeping an eye on the workers and guards. The flash drive's light blinks, signaling it's almost finished. After a few tense moments, the light turns solid.

"Data copied," Morgan confirms. "You’re clear to go."

You pull out the flash drive, tuck it into your pocket, and start heading toward the exit, blending into the shadows. Just as you reach the door, you hear voices nearby.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Your heart stops as the guard’s flashlight beam sweeps dangerously close to your hiding spot. You freeze, pressing yourself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing.

“Probably just a rat. Let's check it out just in case.”

You curse silently under your breath, watching as the guards start moving in your direction.

The first guard steps closer, his flashlight scanning the area. You silently crawl up the wall, positioning yourself above him. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at the flashlight, yanking it out of his hand and into the darkness.

“What the—” the guard starts, but you quickly web his mouth shut and pull him up towards the ceiling, wrapping him tightly in webbing and securing him to the roof. You knock his head against the metal, and he passes out.

The second guard, alarmed by the sudden commotion, turns his back to you as he draws his weapon. The rifle fires, but your spider sense helps you dodge the shots. 

Cursing, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can react, you web his hands to the floor and sling his weapon away.

Dropping from the ceiling, you slow your landing with a web and slam your foot down onto his head, knocking him out.

Despite the quiet disposal of the two guards, the earlier rifle shot already alerted the other workers and guards in the warehouse. You hear shouts and hurried footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s here! Find them!”

Guards scramble, their flashlights slicing through the darkness, casting erratic beams that dance across the warehouse walls. You sprint away, weaving between crates and machinery, but a new threat emerges from the shadows—a massive, burly man, easily twice your size. He’s built like a brick wall, his muscles straining against his uniform, and his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone, etched with a permanent scowl.

“Who’s messing around in 'ere?” the giant roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous space. He brandishes a rifle, and from the looks of it, he seems to be their leader.

You glance at your watch—damn, it’s been two hours already. 

Only an hour left.

Still… you could probably get one fight in before leaving.

…

Swinging out of the shadows, you land in front of the giant, hands on your hips.

“Hi, Mr. Villain!” you call out, catching a punch he throws and giving his hand a playful shake. “I’m Spidey, your friendly neighborhood nuisance. Always nice to meet someone with such a ‘heavy’ presence. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a security problem here—totally my bad.”

The giant snarls at you. He fires his rifle, but you deftly dodge the bullets. With a swift move, you fire a web at his feet and arms, pinning him momentarily to the ground. The rifle is knocked from his hands, clattering out of reach.

The guards scramble to regroup, and you spring into action. Flipping back into the air, you disarm the remaining guards—quick web blasts here, a roundhouse kick there, an uppercut thrown. Each guard crumples under the assault, slamming against the walls one by one, webbed together in a tangled heap.

There’s a snap as the leader breaks free, roaring in fury and charging at you. You duck under his swinging arm and fire a web at a stack of crates. The crates topple and crash into his path, heavy wood and metal smashing together. He stumbles, cursing and flailing wildly.

“Careful there! You might just crush your own merchandise,” you taunt, sidestepping his erratic swings.

In that moment of distraction, you snatch his gun away with a quick webshot. But as you turn to face him again, a jolt of pure adrenaline slams through your veins, sharp and unrelenting, like an electric shock.

The world sharpens into hyperfocus. 

DANGER!

Your instincts scream at you to move. You leap to the side, but it’s already too late. A shadowy figure springs from the darkness, their knife catching a deadly glint in the harsh warehouse lights.

The blade slices through your suit, leaving a searing, agonizing wound. You stagger, clutching your side as blood seeps through the torn fabric and pools on the cold concrete. With a pained grimace, you muster the strength to shoot a web at the attacker, slamming them against the wall with a forceful swing.

“Spidey?! Come in. Shit. What happened to staying stealthy?” Morgan's voice crackles through the earpiece. “PEPPER, run back their vitals on me.”

A mechanical voice responds through your earpiece. “Vitals are stable. The wound is a deep six-inch laceration on the left side, with moderate blood loss, but the suit's padding has helped. The injury missed major organs and arteries. Immediate first aid and stitches are recommended.”

“Looks like I’ve got a new scar to show for tonight,” you heave, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as the giant stalks toward you. “But I’m not done yet.”

The man's roar shakes the warehouse.

“You think you can take me, you puny spider?!”

You lift your chin, tilting your head with a smirk. “Puny? That’s funny. I’ve taken down bigger.”

The giant lunges, brandishing a scrap of metal like a battering ram. You barely dodge, feeling the whoosh of air as it swings past. You retaliate with a web shot to his face, but he roars and swats it away, his massive arms tearing through your webbing.

“Careful there, big guy,” you quip, “I’m not into heavy metal, but thanks for the offer!”

His hand clamps onto your chest, lifting you off your feet with an alarming strength. He hurls you against a stack of crates, the impact slamming you into the wall. You slide down to the floor, dazed and with blood trickling from a split lip.

While you're down, the giant strides toward you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a mini earthquake. You struggle to rise, just as he launches a flying knee. Your senses scream, a blaring alarm urging you to move.

!!!

With a yelp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that hits where you had been seconds before.

“Hey, watch it! I’ve got places to be after this!” you yell.

Before you can react, a powerful punch slams into your face, sending you spiraling backward.

“Owie. That one’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” you groan, pain radiating through your skull. Desperately, you shoot a web at his legs, hoping to slow him down. The webbing holds for a moment before he rips through it with sheer brute force.

Groaning, you shake off the dizziness, rolling your shoulders to loosen them before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Alright,” you mutter, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, the webs aren’t working. Guess we’re sticking to fists. Put ’em up, big guy.”

Laughing with a guttural, mocking tone, the giant charges at you. As he lunges, you brace yourself and bring your fist up to guard your face. With a burst of power, you jab forward. Your knuckles connect with his face with a sickening crunch, the sound of bone shattering and flesh splitting echoing through the warehouse like a thunderclap.

JAB!

The man staggers back, his head snapping violently to the side, blood spraying from his jaw. Before he can recover, you launch into a spinning kick. Your leg connects with explosive force, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud.

You follow up with a powerful jump, driving a kick into his ribs. The impact echoes with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and collapses, slumped against the wall.

With quick reflexes, you shoot a web at a high pipe, coiling it tightly. You yank the pipe down with all your strength. It crashes onto the giant with a resounding clang, the impact knocking him out cold.

You take a couple of deep breaths, blood and sweat mingling on your clothes and face as you survey the wreckage. The giant groans weakly—alive, but definitely out of commission for the moment.

“Looks like the big guy’s all out of steam,” you murmur, wiping the blood from your brow with a grim smile. “Now, time to find that exit before my own steam runs out.”

With a final glance at the chaos you've left behind, you swing toward the exit. The cut on your side throbs with each movement—though it's slowly healing, the pain and blood are still very much present.

"Spidey? You alright? What the fuck, you just beat that guy within an inch of his life."

“He’ll live,” you huff as you swing through the streets. After fumbling around for a while, you pull your phone from your jacket and curse at the time. 

Only ten minutes before the car arrives. 

“Uh, Morgz, do me a favor. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

"Christ. You just busted down an illegal tech deal and now you're out for flowers?" Morgan’s response comes through the earpiece before you hear some typing. “There’s a florist two blocks from your current location. I’m sending you the address. But—You really need to take care of that wound.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply. There's a ping as the location pops up on your phone. “Just need to pick up some flowers. Trust me, it’s important.”

You adjust your swing to head toward the florist, landing quietly in the alley outside. With quick movements, you slip off your mask and start changing. You discard your jacket, revealing the bloodied suit underneath. The suit’s dark color masks most of the stains, but it's still a grim sight.

Pulling on your shirt over the suit, you try to conceal the worst of the mess. The sticky, wet feeling of blood against your skin is unpleasant, and you grimace as you adjust the shirt. Finally, you slip the jacket back on, hoping it will help you blend in and give you a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and glance at your reflection in the nearby puddle. The image staring back at you is a disheveled mess: hair tousled, face bruised and bloodied, jeans stained with grime and blood, and a jacket barely concealing it all.

“Not my best look,” you bite your lip. “But it’ll have to do.”

With a sigh, you step into the flower shop. The bell above the door jingles softly, and the warm, floral scent is a welcome relief from the warehouse’s stench.

The florist looks up from behind the counter with a curious glance. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your disheveled appearance but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

In Gotham, a bloodied teenager is probably just another Wednesday.

“Evening,” the florist says, his voice carrying the neutrality of someone accustomed to the oddities of city life. “What can I do for you?”

You give a quick nod, trying to keep your tone casual despite the blood still seeping through your shirt. “Need something nice. Simple. No need for anything flashy.”

The florist nods and starts arranging a bouquet of flowers. You drift over to a corner and find yourself looking at some daisies, their bright, cheerful colors a stark contrast to your current state.

“Spidey? How’s it going?” 

“Alright,” you shrug, though she can’t see it. “Can I get a rundown on my vitals again?”

Morgan’s voice hums and there’s the sound of clicking keys. “Vitals are stable. The cut is slowly healing, but you’ll need to properly bandage and get some of that stitched later Happy to say you're not going to die bleeding out.” 

She pauses, and then adds, “You’ve got a couple of broken ribs though.”

You blink in surprise and pat at your sides, feeling nothing. “Really? Guess that’s my pain tolerance working overtime. Didn’t even notice.”

“Please tell me you’re getting that treated first,” Morgan says, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Nope,” you reply, moving to pay for the flowers. “Already running late. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

Morgan’s voice is laced with skepticism. “She’s going to find out anyway.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the twinge in your side. “I’ll just say it was a mugging.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that?” Morgan asks, her tone dry.

You let out a small, pained chuckle. “In Gotham, maybe. But realistically…no. I’m just hoping to buy myself a little time before it all catches up to me.”

With the bouquet in hand, you head back out into the night. You tuck the flowers into your free pocket and swing off into the darkness. As you soar through the city, you reach for your earpiece and say a quick, “Goodnight, Morgz,” before shoving it into the pocket of your jeans.

Just as you near the bridge, your phone rings. You glance at the screen and curse under your breath—Selina’s calling, and from the look of it, she’s been trying to reach you multiple times over the past hour.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

You answer the call, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Selina’s voice comes through, clearly agitated. You can hear her huffing as she closes the apartment door, the background noise of a car engine rumbling outside. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting forever. We’re all set to head out.”

You quickly scan the streets below as you swing past, trying to gauge your location. “Uh, I’m on 2nd Broadway… actually, make that 3rd Broadway. And… 4th of Broadway! I’ll be there in… twenty minutes tops. Almost there, Mom!”

There’s a pause.

“... Are you swinging?”

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, narrowly dodging a pigeon that flaps angrily past your face. “Just a bit of a detour. You know how it is.”

“Honey. I can hear the wind. Are you really swinging around? It’s a school night. You know the rules—”

You wince, knowing you’ve been caught. “Just… had a few things to take care of. I’m on my way. Promise. Actually, why don’t I meet you at Wayne Manor instead? I’m near the bridge. Ya know, the one by the docks.”

There’s another pause on her end. 

“Why are you near the docks?!”

You avoid the question, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Long story. Look, I’m running late. Can we just meet at Wayne Manor? I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

Selina’s frustration doesn’t ease, but she sighs. “Fine. Wayne Manor it is. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “Understood. See you soon. Love you, Mom!”

༻⊰───⋅

BEEP.

Selina scowls as she ends the call and heads down to meet Alfred. The gritty streets of Gotham greet her, the cacophony of sirens and street chatter providing a harsh backdrop to her mood.

Alfred, noticing her irritated state, opens the door for her with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you Miss Kyle. May I ask where the young miss is?"

Selina forces a smile, trying to mask her frustration. “She’s… handling something that came up last minute. She’ll meet us at the manor.”

"Very well. I trust she’ll be punctual." Alfred says, a hint of concern in his eyes, but he says nothing more. He closes the door behind her as she slips into the car, adjusting her coat and glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The engine starts, the low hum blending with the city’s background noise. As the vehicle pulls away, Selina leans back against the cool leather seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, her mind already racing through the conversation she knows is coming.

You were dead meat.

༻⊰───⋅

After nearly an hour of high-speed swings through Gotham, you finally touch down in a secluded area near Wayne Manor. You're breathless and disheveled, your earlier efforts to look presentable having fallen short. You quickly scan the area, making sure the security cameras don’t catch your arrival.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you adjust your clothes and press the doorbell. The chime rings through the grand entrance. You glance at your phone and wince—you're an hour and thirty minutes late.

The swinging took longer than expected, and to make matters worse, you had to intervene when this ginger reporter was being robbed. You couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Now, as you wait by the gate, you hear footsteps approaching from inside. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, who freezes for a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and clearly worse for wear. You lean against the gate, your fingers curling around the metal.

“H—Hey, Al.”

“Goodness me!” Alfred exclaims, hurrying over to the gate and pulling it open wide.  He rushes over, opening the gate wider and pulling you inside with a practiced ease. His gaze sweeps over your injuries, concern etched deeply into his features. “Miss Kyle, you’re in quite a state!”

You manage a tired smile, carefully pulling the bouquet from your jacket. It’s in rough shape—torn petals, crushed blooms, and snapped stems. It looks like it’s on the verge of dying.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, wincing as you hold up the sad arrangement. “These… are for you. I, uh, ran all the way here. I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

Alfred takes the flowers with a gentle smile, his concern momentarily overshadowed by a touch of warmth. “Thank you, Miss Kyle. However, I assure you it’s fine. The others have already started eating. They won’t mind if you—”

“It’s fine! This is just…,” you pause, pursing your lips as you scramble for a plausible excuse. You force a smile, shaking your head and pulling your jacket hood further over your face to hide the swelling bruise around one of your eyes. “Hah, you know how Gotham can be.”

Alfred gives you a sympathetic glance but says nothing more. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

He guides you through the grand hallways, your footsteps echoing in the vast space and mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. As you reach the dining room, the door swings open, revealing a table set with care and already abuzz with activity. Selina, Bruce, and the others are seated, their animated conversations abruptly halting as they turn to look at you.

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

Selina’s eyes narrow into slits, her irritation barely concealed behind a strained, tight-lipped smile. Bruce’s complexion drains to an ashen hue, his eyes are wide as saucers, looking like he’s about to pass out from shock. He casts Selina a panicked glance, which she meets with a weary sigh, her hands momentarily covering her face as if trying to shield herself from the mess. She looks utterly drained.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

Next to him, Cassandra’s face is blank. Her fingers fidget with her utensils as she shifts her gaze rapidly between you and Selina, trying to piece together the fractured narrative from your battered appearance and Selina’s body language.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing, stands up and approaches you with slow, measured steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice a deep, resonant murmur. His hands, surprisingly gentle for their strength, settle on your shoulders. His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the dark depths of a stormy sea, now soften with the tenderness of a lighthouse guiding you through a night. “What happened, kiddo?”

There’s a strange, twisting sensation in your gut, flaring just beneath your ribs. A lump rises in your throat, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, your eyes begin to well up.

“I—” you begin, but the words falter. Your gaze drifts across the room and locks onto Damian’s eyes. They’re like emeralds, gleaming with a ferocity that seems to pierce through the walls you’ve built. Though he remains silent, his piercing look conveys a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

A wave of shame is crashing into you, pushing your words back down. “Just… a rough night. Got into a fight.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow, and a wave of seething anger ripples through him. You try to ignore it. 

“And who was this?” he demands, his voice a controlled, simmering growl.

“It’s okay. It ended up alright,” you try to shrug it off, forcing a casual tone. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just a run-in with some rando on the street.”

Everyone’s reactions vary, but it’s the look in Selina’s eyes that strikes you the hardest. Selina’s weary gaze peeks out from behind her hands, and the sight makes your face crumple.

“Pull off your hood,” Selina commands, icy and devoid of warmth. As she straightens in her chair, her blood-red nails dig into the mahogany table, turning her knuckles as pale as frost.

You keep your gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, scuffing the dried mud across its pristine surface. The silence in the room grows heavier with each passing second.

“Take off the damn hood and show me your face!”

Scowling and clenching your jaw, you yank the hood off. As it falls away, the full extent of your injuries is laid bare. Selina’s eyes widen as they take in the black eye, the bruises, and the cuts that mar your face. Her shock quickly morphs into a deepening scowl, her lips trembling as she fights to control her rising anger.

Everyone waiting for the outburst that is sure to follow.

Instead, Selina’s hands fly to cover her face, and she looks as though she might fall apart at any moment.

Bruce stares at you with something akin to horror.

Before anyone can react further, Damian abruptly stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the room. 

His muttered words are barely audible, “I’ll take care of their injuries.”

Bruce moves back to Selina’s side, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he tries to offer comfort. 

You can hear his soft, reassuring whisper as you walk away, “You can stay for the night. It’s too late to head out now. Give her some time.”

Selina, her face still pale and troubled, nods gratefully, her gaze tracking Damian as he helps you toward the manor’s second floor.

Damian ushers you into his room, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. He motions to the bed, and you sink onto it with a heavy sigh, the weight of the day dragging at your limbs.

You watch Damian retreat to the bathroom, your gaze lingering on the raw, bloodied skin of your knuckles, tinged with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Moments later, he returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels before you, reaching out to tug off your jacket, but you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to discover the suit beneath.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” you rasp. Damian silently nods, moving to his closet and pulling out one of his cotton shirts and boxers. He hands them to you with a resigned sigh and leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you need.

You take the clothes from Damian and head to the bathroom. As you push open the door, the dim light casts long shadows across the tiled floor. You deliberately avoid meeting your reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the full extent of the mess you’re in.

Once inside, you drop Damian’s shirt and boxers onto the floor, followed by your jacket, shirt, and pants. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound as it lands. With a deep, steadying breath, you begin peeling off your suit, slow and painstaking.

As the suit peels away from your skin, the blood and sweat that have soaked into it reveal the severity of your injuries. You wince as the cut on your side comes fully into view, a raw, angry red line that stretches from just below your rib cage to the middle of your side. It looks even worse up close—jagged and still oozing a bit despite the healing process.

You quickly change into Damian’s boxers, opting to keep the shirt off for now. You carefully bundle your suit and hide it under your jacket and pants, folding it as neatly as you can manage. With a deep breath, you step back into the room.

Damian’s eyes narrow as he assesses the cut on your side, now reduced to a four-inch scar due to your enhanced healing abilities. His gaze is hard, and you can almost see the weight of the lecture that would have come if he’d seen the injury in its original, more severe state. 

“Sit down,” Damian finally speaks, his voice firm. He begins to open the first aid kit, movements slow. You drop your ruined clothes in a far corner and plop back down on his bed, rubbing your hands together nervously.

A beat passes as Damian finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the anesthesia, preparing to start stitching you up. You shake your head and push his hand away. “I can take it.”

“No,” Damian scowls and continues his work. He applies the anesthesia despite your protests, injecting it around the wound to numb the area. The needle pierces your skin with a sharp sting, followed by a dull, throbbing sensation as the anesthetic begins to take effect.

He sets the syringe aside and picks up a pair of sterilized tweezers and needle and thread. You watch as he carefully makes the first stitch, his hands steady and precise. The thread pulls tight, closing the wound with a series of tight, even stitches.

His long lashes flutter over his hooded eyes with each focused blink, his emerald gaze intense and filled with concern. The warm ambient light of the room casts a gentle glow on his deep tan skin, accentuating the chiseled contours of his face in a soft, almost ethereal light.

The beam of light highlights the light almost invisible scar that stretches from his cheekbone to his crooked nose, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbone and the strong, defined line of his jaw. Your gaze drifts to his full lips, noting the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

His hair is meticulously styled, with longer strands on top falling in inky, sleek waves across his forehead, remnants of gel catching the light. Damian’s thick, well-kept hair frames his face like brush strokes, adding to his strikingly handsome appearance.

Unable to hold yourself back, you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Damian hums, a low, soothing sound that rumbles in his chest. He keeps his eyes focused on your wound but tilts his head slightly to press a soft, tender kiss to your wrist.

With the stitches complete, Damian shifts his attention to bandaging the wound. He secures the bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he smooths out the edges. Finally, he raises his head and meets your gaze, eyes conveying everything he can’t say aloud.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into Damian’s embrace, dropping your hands onto his shoulders. He responds instinctively, taking your hands in his. Large, calloused fingers gently lift yours, pressing a tender kiss to each of them before moving to softly kiss your bruised knuckles.

With a whisper of your name, Damian draws your hands over his shoulders. You smile, sinking deeper into his embrace, arms draped over his strong back. Damian holds you close, lifting you off the bed as he pulls you into a hug. His arms wound up around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“You know, trying to keep secrets from me is pointless,” Damian murmurs, a thinly veiled threat in his words peppering kisses up the side of your neck. “I am the son of the greatest detective in the world. I will find out what happened.”

You chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me hold you, you insufferable know-it-all.”

Damian’s grip tightens slightly. His forehead rests against yours, hearts swimming in his emerald eyes. “You’re lucky I tolerate your nonsense. But seriously, you need to start talking.”

“Maybe later,” you reply, smiling against his shoulder. “Right now, I just need you.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, it’s already 1 AM, but you and Damian are still awake, watching a show on his television. You’re curled up together on his bed, the flickering light from the screen painting the room in shifting hues of blue and gray, casting gentle shadows that dance across the walls.

You rest your head against Damian’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Despite the late hour, the warmth and comfort of his embrace keep you from drifting off.

“This show is surprisingly bearable,” Damian murmurs.

You smile, nuzzling closer. “Told you it was worth a watch. Thanks for staying up with me.”

Damian’s fingers gently stroke your hair, each touch a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “Of course I’d do it, even if it means enduring your rather questionable taste in television.”

You scoff, pretending to be wounded. “Questionable taste? This show is a gem. You just don’t want to admit I’ve expanded your horizons.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Expanded my horizons? More like subjected me to a marathon of pedestrian entertainment.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite his words. The episode continues, the soft hum of the TV blending with the comforting rhythm of Damian’s breathing. The earlier tension and worry seem to dissolve into the background, replaced by a quiet intimacy.

Damian’s hand moves slowly, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumb begins to trace gentle, deliberate patterns on your back. You shiver slightly at the unexpected sensation, a delicate ripple of warmth spreading through you. His touch is soft yet firm, spelling out something with careful precision.

Though you don’t fully grasp the intent behind his touch, Damian’s fingers trace a delicate script across your skin, inscribing the words of Talia’s favorite Arabic love poem onto your back.

“My life shall be sacrificed for her beauty,” his thumb whispers across your skin, “my blood shall be spilled freely for her, and though I burn for her painfully, like a candle, none of my days shall ever be free of this pain. Let me love, oh my God, love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it was and is.”

The gentle pressure of his touch, the rhythmic way his thumb moves, slowly eases you into sleep. As each verse of the poem is imprinted on your skin, you find yourself drifting off, nestled against his chest. Damian tenderly presses his lips to your temple, wishing you sweet dreams.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 3:02 AM - Damian's Room, Wayne Manor.

Dick moves stealthily down the moonlit hallway, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. He reaches Damian’s door and pushes it open with a gentle nudge. Despite his careful approach, the old hinges protest with a loud, protesting creak, shattering the quiet of the night and immediately stirring Damian from his sleep.

The sudden noise jolts Damian awake, his reflexes kicking in. His eyes snap open, and in a heartbeat, his muscles tense as he instinctively tightens his protective embrace around you. The world outside fades as his focus zeroes in on the intruder.

Damian’s gaze narrows into a steely glare as he locks onto Dick. In a seamless, fluid motion, he throws aside the blankets and reaches beneath the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of a gleaming katana.

Without hesitation, he draws the blade with a swift, practiced flick, sending the katana arcing through the air toward Dick. 

SHINK!

Dick stumbles back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. The katana thuds harmlessly into the wall beside him, its sharp edge embedded in the wood just inches from his head. 

"Such a dramatic wake-up call… Good morning to you too," Dick grins, clearly used to this routine. “Alright. I know it’s late, but Selina is still up. I think she wants to talk to Y/N.”

Damian’s snarl is a low, dangerous rumble. “If you wake her, I will cut your hands off.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Come on, baby bird. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let her know she’s needed.”

Damian’s eyes remain locked on Dick, a burning intensity that could have melted steel. Yet, after a long, tense moment, he grudgingly nods, the anger in his posture easing ever so slightly. With careful precision, he unwinds himself from the cocoon of blankets that envelops you, making sure not to jostle you awake.

!!!

But as Damian shifts, your senses stir, your eyes fluttering open to the dim light of the room. Your hand moves instinctively, reaching out to grasp Damian’s wrist, your fingers curling around him with a surprising strength. The sudden contact startles Damian, and he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you.

Confusion and concern flash across your face as you murmur, “Dames?”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting a tender regret. “It’s okay. I apologize for waking you, but Miss Kyle is calling for you.”

You tense immediately, and Damian feels a pang of guilt unfurl in his gut for disrupting your rest.

You sigh softly and rise slowly, wincing slightly as though the wound still bothers you. Although your injury has healed, you  keep up the act, unwilling to make it too obvious that you’re fine. You know you’re on thin ice, and the last thing you want is to make things more suspicious.

Damian instinctively moves to support you, his hand steadying your back with a reassuring touch as you rise. Dick, lingering at the doorway, casts an apologetic glance your way.

Damian helps you to your feet, his touch steady and reassuring. He retrieves his soccer jacket from a nearby chair and drapes it around your shoulders with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The jacket, well-worn and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, envelops you in its soft, reassuring warmth. 

As you and Damian approach the door to his room, you hesitate and turn to him.

“I think I need to handle this alone,” you say quietly. “Can you wait here?”

Damian's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates, his protective instincts flaring.

“Are you sure?” he asks, running a hand up your back.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yes, it’s better this way. I’ll be fine.”

Damian’s expression softens reluctantly. “Alright. I will be right here if you need me, beloved.”

You watch as Damian retreats to his room, his hand sliding around the katana lodged in the doorframe. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he withdraws the blade, the metal glinting momentarily before the door closes softly behind him. Dick, meanwhile, falls into step beside you and guides you down the corridor. His presence is steady and reassuring, a calming force in the tense atmosphere.

As you walk, Dick leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Your mom’s been on edge all night. I’m… not sure what’s going on, but she made it clear she wanted to talk to you immediately.”

You nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady.

Dick’s expression turns serious, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You really gave us a scare,” he says, his tone softening. “Just remember, as a future Mrs. Wayne, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of his words offering a small measure of comfort. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead as you reach the door to Selina’s room.

You turn the knob and push the door open.

Tall windows, framed by heavy drapes, stand slightly ajar, allowing the Gotham breeze to drift through the room. The curtains flutter rhythmically, whispering softly against the glass panes. Selina stands by the window, her silhouette etched sharply against the city’s glittering skyline. Her back is to you, tense and rod-straight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and she turns her head slightly, her gaze meeting yours with a cool, unreadable intensity.

"Are you going to start talking, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I was just—” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I passed by, okay? I saw the situation and I had to intervene—”

Selina cuts you off with a sharp twist of her head. “I have eyes. I know what happened. I was informed about a tech shipment—an underground tech shipment by the docks. It was infiltrated. They found all the men webbed. Webbed. To the walls and floors. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

You sigh, the weight of the truth settling heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah. Okay,” you admit, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. “It… was planned.”

Selina’s eyes narrow dangerously as she strides towards you, heels clicking sharply against the floors. Her silhouette, framed by the soft, muted glow of the city lights filtering through the window, looms larger than life.

“Did you have a single clue as to whose men those were?” she demands, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip crack.

“I knew,” you say quietly, “I knew they were connected to Black Mask. It was a tip-off, and I thought if I could just—”

“You thought? You thought what? That you could handle it alone?” Selina’s eyes flash. “This isn’t some playground for you to experiment with your powers. You’re dealing with dangerous people—people who won’t hesitate to kill. And if you get yourself hurt—or worse—what good are you to anyone?”

You lower your eyes, feeling the sting of her words as if each one were a reprimand meant to cut deeper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Sorry isn’t going to undo this mess!” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of a table.

A hand tangles itself into her hair, strands of hair failing over her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What you’ve risked by acting recklessly? I’m not just scolding you because I’m angry. I’m scared. You’re my responsibility”

Your anger surges, and you shout, “I know, Mom! I know!” The words escape before you can stop them.

Selina’s expression shifts from anger to hurt, her eyes momentarily softening before hardening again. “Don’t take that tone with me."

“Excuse me?” you snap, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost something? Every time I bring up my mother, you just give me the bare minimum! I was going to start digging eventually.”

Selina’s eyes widen, a mix of hurt and frustration flashing across her face. “You think I’m holding back information from you? I’m trying to protect you! When your mother died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get hurt."

“We’re so past that! I’m already knee-deep in this world,” you say desperately, your voice rising. “Mom, look at me! Just look! I have Spider DNA in my veins. My boyfriend is a vigilante. I’ve faced kidnappings and attempts on my life ever since I was born! You can’t keep treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered from reality.”

“I raised you! ” Selina screams, raw and primal, the words tearing from her throat with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned. “I gave up everything to keep you safe, to try and shield you from the worst parts of this life because I couldn’t bear to lose you too!” 

Her voice shatters mid-sentence, the tears slipping from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. But she doesn’t stop, pushing through, her words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush. “Every time you put yourself at risk, it’s like ripping open a wound that never heals! Don’t you get that? I can’t—I won’t—lose you, too!”

The raw emotion in her voice shatters your anger, melting it away like ice under a warm sun. You step forward, your movements gentle as you grab onto her shoulders, guiding her down into a chair. 

“I know, Ma,” you murmur, your voice softening as you try to soothe her. “I know it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Selina breathes heavily, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I know. I know you’ve been through so much. It’s just—I don’t want you to be a target for Black Mask. He’s a fucking monster, and I didn’t want you to be in his crosshairs.”

“I’m already in his crosshairs,” you whisper, bending down and reaching into your sock, where you’ve hidden the flash drive containing the information you retrieved from the warehouse. You had tucked it in earlier while changing in the bathroom.

“This,” you continue, holding up the small device, “is information on all his future activities. This was the mission I had earlier.”

Selina’s eyes widen in alarm, her fear quickly reigniting into fury. “Have you put no thought into the rules I set? Putting yourself in that kind of danger—” 

“Danger I’m already in,” you cut her off. “Danger I’m about to face.”

"Y/N," Selina hisses out in warning, her eyes flashing dangerously, fangs glinting in the moonlight like a cornered cat.

“What? You think you can stop me?” you scowl as she stands. “I’m done playing by your rules. And if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Selina’s eyes narrow, and a scornful smile twists on her lips.

"Prove it."

“What?” you manage to choke out.

Without a word, she launches herself toward you. Her foot whips out in a sharp, hard kick, sending you reeling backward. You hit the small balcony with a heavy thud, the harsh chill of the metal biting into your skin.

A pained grunt escapes you as you scramble to regain your footing, the cold air wrapping around you like a bitter embrace. 

"Prove it, honey," Selina taunts, her voice dripping with contempt as she saunters toward you. She draws her claws with a slow, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Show me you’ve got some fight.”

Before you can fully recover, Selina is on you again. You barely evade her claws, landing heavily on the cold metal railings. The chill bites into your feet, but you push off the railing with a powerful leap, ready to re-engage.

Selina's leg sweeps toward you with brutal intent, aiming to knock you off balance. Reacting quickly, you shoot a web to the railing, swinging yourself back into position and avoiding her strike.

You retaliate with a hard kick to her chest. The impact sends Selina sprawling, her body slamming into the ground. She rolls to absorb the blow, springing back up.

Her eyes flash with anger as she leaps from the balcony’s ledge, executing a high-spinning kick. You twist in mid-air, grabbing the edge of the balcony to dodge her attack and pulling yourself back onto solid ground.

“If you try to stop me, if you try to control me, you’ll only push me further away,” you shout, breath coming in sharp bursts. “And I promise, I’ll fight back with everything I’ve got.”

"Then fight!" 

As she swings at you again, you snatch her wrist, twisting it with a sharp, decisive motion. With a sudden push, you force her own claws against her, the cold metal slicing into her shoulder.

Selina hisses in pain, her body recoiling as she shoves you away. The razor edges of her claws carve a deep, angry line across her shoulder, a vivid stripe of crimson blooming against her skin and staining her outfit.

The sight of it catches you off guard, a sharp pang of guilt gripping you as her pain registers. You stand frozen, eyes locked on the streaks of red that disrupt the perfection of her skin. 

“Mom—” your throat tightens. “I’m so—”

Selina starts to smile, a small, almost reluctant grin that slowly grows wider. The sight is so unexpected that it momentarily takes you aback. Then, much to your surprise, she begins to laugh—a rich, genuine sound filled with a mix of relief, amusement, and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“You think this is funny?!” you exclaim, bewildered and on the verge of anger.

Selina looks at you with a bitter smile, her laughter fading. She clutches her bleeding shoulder, her expression softening as she lets out a long sigh.

“You really are my daughter,” she murmurs.

You slowly ease from your defensive stance, confusion furrowing your brows.

“Alright, fine. Point proven,” she continues, voice gentler now. “Trying to cage you would only make you fight harder to claw your way out. Literally. I should know better than anyone how that feels.”

“O… kay?” you mutter, still grappling with the sudden shift in her demeanor. “So, I guess we’ve proven my point. What now?”

“Now,” she says slowly, “we talk. Like sane adults. No more clawing each other’s faces off.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, both of you sit on the edge of the bed, cradling cups of warm jasmine tea from the tea set provided in your room—because, of course, each guest room in the Wayne Manor has one.

The steam rises gently from the cups, warming your fingers and offering a soothing contrast to the cool air. Selina sits across from you, her shoulder wrapped in bandages.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you fill Selina in on everything that’s happened: the mugging with Morgan, the shooting when you saved her, and the whole "guy in the chair" thing. You’re honest about all the other stuff and the support you’ve received, but you leave out the fact that Tony Stark knows your secret identity, keeping that bit to yourself for now.

Selina stares at her cup of tea, her eyes wide with disbelief. The steady ticking of a clock fills the room, punctuating the silence as she processes what you've just shared.

“So, you’ve been pulling all the strings?” she asks. "Orchestrating all of this?"

You lick your lips, choosing your words carefully. Orchestrating is a strong word. More like everything is falling into place. But that does sound better.

“Something like that,” you say, nodding.

Selina blinks, taking a slow, contemplative sip of her tea. “Trying to rein you in would be a lost cause at this point,” she says, setting her cup down. “So, what exactly is the plan from here?”

You place your cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, the porcelain’s gentle chime briefly breaking the quiet. “I need to dig deeper into Black Mask’s operations. With Morgan’s help, I’ve got the tech and the intel, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”

Selina nods, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup, her gaze distant. “Batman will notice. The moment you step out into the city proper, you’re going to be a target. And once you’re on his radar, a contingency plan will be set.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your fingers.

Selina’s gaze hardens. “And that’s what worries me. Bruce is just a man—no powers, no special DNA. But if he sets his mind to something, he can take anyone down. I don’t want you caught in that crossfire.”

You open your mouth, but Selina cuts you off.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

You glance at her, a thread of dread weaving itself into your thoughts. “Contingency plan?”

Selina nods, her tone heavy. “When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

Selina’s expression softens slightly. “I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

“Metropolis?” you ask, your disbelief coming through with a half-smile. “Seriously?”

Selina winces, her expression sours. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

She cracks her knuckles, releasing some of the tension in her hands.

“It’s still an option if things get too messy. But for now, I’ll help you as much as I can here."

༻⊰───⋅

Damian walks up the stairs, his steps muted against the polished wood. In his hand, he clutches a thick blanket he’s taken from the storeroom. The absence of your presence has made his room feel uncomfortably cold, and he refuses to go back to sleep without you there.

As he nears the guest room where you and Selina are deep in conversation, he slows his pace, the soft hum of your voices drifting through the slightly ajar door. 

He knows he should respect your privacy—a lesson he’s learned the hard way after being caught tailing you during patrols more than once. But his curiosity tugs at him. 

He lingers outside the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, straining to catch snippets of the conversation drifting through the slightly ajar door.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

The voices are muffled, but Damian can detect the guilt in Selina’s tone.

“Contingency plan?”

There was a pause.

“When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

Damian freezes.

"Metropolis? Really?"

Selina’s voice carries a note of sorrow. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

Damian remains frozen in place.

Hunt? Who was hunting you down that made Selina think it was necessary to move rather than seek help from his father? Did she not trust Batman's abilities? Did she not trust his?

His grip on the blanket tightens until his knuckles turn white, the rough fabric digging into his palms like a searing brand. A bitter, acrid taste rises in his throat, mingling with the bile of frustration and helplessness.

Had he not proven his devotion enough? Each time he threw himself into the fray, each time he fought with everything he had, did she still doubt his ability to protect you? His every act of defiance, every sacrifice, should have been proof—shouldn’t it? 

Did she think that running away was the answer? Did she believe that abandoning Gotham and leaving him and Bruce out of the fight was a better choice? Her secretive plans, her carefully crafted illusions of safety, were they really a solution?

Panic starts to claw at him, twisting his insides into a tight knot. Or maybe it was because of him? 

Gods, he knew you were too good for him, but was he so inadequate that she thought hiding you away was the only option? The thoughts gnaw at him like ravenous insects, feasting on his insecurities. He can almost feel the raw, hot sting of failure as it eats away at him from within. 

He remembers the first day he was left with Bruce, the way his own father looked at him, the way his brothers looked at him—like something about him was inherently wrong. 

He was the outsider, the boy who had to claw and tear and rip his way into their world, proving his worth to a family he barely understood, a family that barely understood him.

Every mistake he made, every bout of uncontrollable rage, felt like blood on his hands—dark, sticky, and impossible to wash away. Another mark on his name. 

And now, Selina’s confession feels like another blow to his fragile sense of self-worth. If even she doesn’t trust him, if even she thinks he’s not enough to protect you, what does that say about him?

His legs grow numb, his head spins with disorientation. The edges of his vision blur, and each breath comes in shallow, frantic bursts. He stumbles forward, driven by an overwhelming need to escape. His body moves on its own, carrying him towards his room.

Was he what Selina was protecting you from?

The thought strikes him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling. The blood, the violence, the cold efficiency with which he was taught to kill—it all comes rushing back. Damian was trained to be an assassin, raised by the League of Shadows to be a weapon, a tool of destruction.

He feels numb as he stumbles into his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to comfort him. He collapses onto the floor, his legs giving way as he sinks to his knees. Clutching the blanket to his chest, he tries to draw some warmth from its fabric, but it feels like an inadequate shield against the cold, hollow emptiness that gnaws at him from within.

The voices of doubt and self-loathing grow louder, echoing in his mind. Damian doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, trying to control his breathing. Time seems to blur, each second stretching into an eternity. His thoughts spiral, a maelstrom of fear and insecurity, until he hears the soft creak of the door opening.

You stumble in, and he freezes.

Your eyes widen as you take in his disheveled state, the blanket clutched tightly in his hands, his face pale and eyes wide with panic. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Dames," you whisper. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head, unable to meet your gaze. He doesn't deserve to.

You hush gently, raising your hands to his face. "Can I touch you? You’re having a panic attack, baby."

He nods, his breath still coming in shallow gasps. Your hands are warm and steady as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

"Look at me," you murmur softly. "Focus on me. Breathe with me."

He struggles to follow your instructions, his eyes locking onto yours. You take a deep breath in, exaggerating the motion, and slowly exhale. He tries to mimic you, his breaths hitching but gradually evening out.

"That's it," you encourage. "In and out, nice and slow. You're doing great."

Damian's grip on the blanket loosens slightly as he continues to focus on your breathing, finding a semblance of calm in the steady rhythm. Your presence anchors him, drawing him away from the chaotic storm in his mind.

"You’re safe," you whisper. "I’m here with you. Just keep breathing."

Gradually, the tension in his body begins to ease. He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The panic that had gripped him so fiercely started to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of security.

He sits there, the silence heavy around him, before his voice breaks through it, rough and raw. "Are you scared of me?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air. He doesn’t mention what he overheard, but the question reveals the depth of his doubt.

You gently brush a strand of hair from his face, your eyes soft with understanding. "Scared of you? Damian, I’m not scared of you."

He clenches his fists, the blanket still wrapped around his hands. "I… I can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like I’m always falling short."

"You’re not falling short," you reassure him softly. "You’re human, and you’re trying your best."

You lean in, your lips pressing against his in a tender, reassuring kiss. As you pull back, your eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" you whisper.

Damian takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor as he gathers his thoughts.

“I overheard part of a conversation between you and Selina,” Damian begins, his voice sharp and dripping with bitter resentment. “She spoke of a contingency plan involving an apartment in Metropolis and expressed concerns about someone hunting you down. If… If she felt the need to protect you from something by leaving, does that mean that I’m not enough? That I’m not capable of keeping you safe?”

His words come out with an edge. He meets your gaze with eyes darkened by hurt and anger. “I wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could safeguard you, not merely another liability. But now it seems I’m just… inadequate. As if my dedication and efforts amount to nothing.”

You start to speak, but Damian interrupts. “Who’s hunting you down? What’s going on? Beloved, I’ve let you into my life—please, let me into yours.”

“I know, baby,” you say softly, running a hand through your tousled hair as you try to gather your thoughts. “Alright, okay, I need to tell you about something important. It’s about the spider vigilante, alright? There’s something you need to understand.”

“Again with this?” Damian scoffs, his hurt evident as he starts to rise from the floor. The movement makes you panic, and you grab his arm, pulling him back down.

“Nonono, wait,” you say urgently, trying to steady your voice. “Forget that for now. There’s something else I need to talk about—something personal. It’s about me, and I need you to listen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay. There’s a lot more going on than you realize. I’m investigating Black Mask. He’s got some operation threatening Gotham, and it’s connected to everything that’s been happening lately. I’m trying to figure out what he’s up to, and…”

You pause, struggling to find the right words. “And I might have something to do with that vigilante spider you’ve seen around.”

Damian’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He stands there, his mind racing as he pieces together the implications of your confession.

The increased absences, the unexplained injuries—suddenly, everything starts to make sense. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. How did he not connect the dots? The vigilance, the secrecy—it all makes sense now.

You’re the one being hunted.

Brows threaded together, Damian steps closer, taking your hands in his. His fingers brush over your skin, gently massaging small circles.

“I understand,” he says with a grave tone. “I suspected as much. You don’t need to explain yourself, beloved.”

You smile in relief, misinterpreting his seriousness for support of your dual life as Spidey.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, your tone warm and reassuring. “Just… couldn’t find the right moment.”

Damian’s eyes soften, but a steely resolve glimmers within them as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering.

If the spider is the threat, then it’s the spider he’ll take down.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 7:53 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Hours later, Damian pulls up to the sleek, glass-fronted Stark Industries building. The structure towers above, its façade a mesmerizing expanse of reflective glass panels that catch and scatter the sunlight, creating a dazzling play of colors. A polished steel entrance welcomes visitors, a bustling crowd already walking in and out.

As the car comes to a smooth stop, he turns to you with a soft, reassuring smile. You reach over, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips.

His fingers gently brush your cheek as he murmurs against your lips, “Be careful.”

“I will,” you beam, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Promise.”

With one last lingering look, Damian reaches over to unlock the car door. You open it and step out onto the curb, unloading your bags. Damian gives you a final wave as he shifts the car into gear, gliding smoothly down the street and disappearing into the city’s bustling flow.

You clutch your bags tightly in your hands. Exhaustion pulls at your every muscle—patrol, the fight, and the travel have left you feeling like you're on the edge of collapse. After everything that went down last night, you can’t help but feel a bit relieved about the month off from school, courtesy of your internship.

Bags under your eyes betray the sleepless night, while the oversized shirt and sweatpants you’ve borrowed from Damian make you look more like you’ve just rolled out of bed than a professional intern.

Technically, you did roll out of bed, having snagged only about three hours of sleep.

How the hell did Batman and the Robins manage to juggle this kind of life week in and week out? Right now, you feel like death is just a breath away, waiting to claim you.

“Hey, kiddo!” Tony Stark’s voice calls out from a distance, cutting through your fog of exhaustion. “You planning to stand there and stare at the building all day?”

He steps out of his sleek convertible, tossing his keys to the valet with a flick of his wrist that’s more showmanship than necessity. As he strides towards you, his eyes do a quick sweep over your state.

“I offer you the top spot in my program, and this is how you show up?” Tony says, giving you a light shove on the shoulder.

You give a weary sigh and shuffle alongside him into the building. “Good to see you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony continues with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first intern to look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone.”

He leads you into the sleek, glass-walled elevator, pressing the button for the upper floors. The elevator hums softly as it ascends.

You turn to him, trying to muster the energy to keep up with his banter. “So, where’s Morgan?”

“Working on your new tech stuff,” Tony replies. “She’s buried under a mountain of circuits and cables. If you’re lucky, you might get to see her emerge from her tech fortress.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the upper floors of Stark Tower. Tony leads you down a pristine, modern hallway where glossy surfaces catch the ambient light, enhancing the tower’s futuristic vibe. He stops in front of a door adorned with a sleek plaque bearing your name.

You gawk at it, your sleep-deprived brain barely processing the sight. “Damn.”

Tony pushes open the door, revealing a spacious, elegantly furnished room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and the room is equipped with a large, comfortable bed, a sleek desk, and a cozy seating area.

“Welcome to your new digs,” Tony says, gesturing grandly. “I’d say it’s a bit of a step up from your old place. Given your current state, though, I’d suggest you take it easy for now. Rest up, and maybe try to look less like you’ve just walked off a horror set, okay?”

Despite your exhaustion, a small but genuine smile tugs at your lips as you take in the surroundings. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. It’s really… nice.”

With a casual salute, Tony heads towards the door. “Anytime. Now, go on and get some rest. I’ll let Morgan know you’re here. If she manages to claw her way out from under her tech mountain, she might swing by to say hi.”

༻⊰───⋅

A few hours later, you’re well-rested and dressed in a much more presentable outfit: a crisp white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked neatly into flared slacks, and paired with white sneakers.

After one last check in the mirror, you give your appearance a satisfied nod, then rub the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You head out of your room and make your way toward the elevator.

Pressing the button, the elevator doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss. You step inside and swipe your ID card against the scanner. The elevator's high-tech screen lights up, displaying a seemingly endless list of floor options. You whistle as you scan the array, finally selecting the tech room.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, a voice suddenly speaks up, making you jump with a startled yelp.

“Good morning!” the voice says cheerfully. “Welcome to Stark Tower. How can I assist you today?”

You quickly recognize the voice as FRIDAY, the building’s AI system. You’ve read about it in papers and seen it on TV before. The holographic interface on the screen activates, displaying a friendly, animated avatar of FRIDAY. The AI greets you with a warm, digital smile and a cheerful tone.

“Oh. Hi!” you respond, a bit thrown off. “I’m, uh, just heading to the tech room.”

“Understood,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “I’ve already noted your arrival. The tech room is on your left once you exit the elevator. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help with, sexiest vigilante.”

You blink at the nickname.

“That’s definitely Morgan’s touch,” you mutter.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a workshop that looks like it’s been hit by a tornado of technology. Equipment is strewn everywhere, and tangled wires snake across the floor. In the center of the chaos, a few remains of a fire extinguisher lie scattered. Morgan is crouched in the middle of the mess, her hair a wild tangle and her face streaked with grease and soot. She’s working intently, completely absorbed in her task despite the disorder around her.

You clear your throat, and Morgan looks up, freezing mid-action. Part of her shirt is charred, and a small flame flickers from one of the devices she’s holding.

“Let’s be honest,” she says, waving a wrench at you, “you’ve seen me in worse shape.”

Shaking your head, you step into the room.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” you remark, your eyes scanning the cluttered area.

Morgan quickly puts out the fire and brushes a few stray wires out of her path before standing up and stretching with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Between the latest tech malfunction and the mini-explosion, it’s been one chaotic circus.”

“Should I even ask what set off the explosion?”

Morgan chuckles dryly, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. “Oh, just a little experiment gone wrong. Nothing major. Just some excitement to kick off the day.” She steps over to you, grabs a case from a nearby workbench, and hands it to you with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as you take the case from her. With a click, you open it to reveal a pair of sleek, high-tech glasses.

Morgan plucks them from the case and holds them up with a grin. “For you. They’re packed with all sorts of features—real-time data, targeting assistance, and even advanced communication options. Basically, they’re your new best friend in the field.”

You slip the glasses on, adjusting them to fit comfortably. The world immediately sharpens, and a translucent display overlays your vision, showing various readouts and notifications. You gasp in awe, your amazement reflected in Morgan’s fond smile as she watches your reaction.

She then moves to grab another device—a metal-looking belt that covers your entire stomach. At its center is a spider emblem. She clasps the belt around your waist and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Tell it to go on,” Morgan instructs.

Confused, you turn to her. “Huh?”

“Just think of a suit wrapping around you and command it to do so.”

You give her a skeptical look but decide to give it a try. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focus on the idea of your suit materializing.

“Activate?”

Immediately, you feel a tingling sensation as nanoparticles begin to stream from the belt, enveloping your body. The sensation is oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. The suit materializes in shimmering panels, stretching and shaping itself around your form. The glasses transform into a sleek helmet, molding to fit your head with a satisfying click.

The entire process takes mere seconds, and when you open your eyes, you’re fully suited up. 

The suit fits perfectly. The color is a deep, vibrant red that covers the majority of the suit. Black accents trace intricate web patterns that start from the center of your chest and radiate outwards.

The chest emblem is a bold, black spider, its legs extending across your torso and seamlessly merging with the web patterns. The helmet, now a sleek, black mask with a smooth, glossy finish, features white eye lenses that glow faintly. The same high-tech display you saw in your glasses is now visible in the helmet.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

 ༻⊰───⋅

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you

character: alastor warnings: 18+ for mature themes (no smut) minors do not interact, fem!reader, pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (possessiveness; reader is nothing more than a silly little doll for alastor to play dress up with), implied size difference, a hint of blood words: 1.1k

Alastor is a creature of habit, a man of routine. He has his daily rituals, his rigorous schedules, his lists of tasks, all performed to perfection each and every day. 

And Alastor likes to begin his mornings in a very specific way. 

You know the procedure by now inside out, upside down, could recite it backwards, if he so desired you to. 

By the time he wakes you, he’s already laid out your outfit for the day; intimates, dress, socks, accessories, all spread in an immaculate flat lay on his seldom-used bedspread. 

You are always expected to adorn yourself with the garments he’s selected, to pull on each and every piece all on your own, fabrics lovingly caressing your exposed flesh as his gaze slithers after the material, leaving burning smudges on your skin.

But, of course, you can never do it all completely right—not like Master can. 

Because it always ends the same, this little morning sacrament: with Alastor fussing over you—straightening out a bow, smoothing out a wrinkle, tugging up a sock, readjusting a sleeve.

There is always something wrong he has to fix, to make perfect. 

And the finishing touch, the finishing touch is always for Master to add. 

A leather collar, as red as his eyes and adorned with a heart-shaped tag, his name in an elegant scrawl engraved in the platinum. He’s always so tender when he fastens it around your neck, after he has thoroughly approved of your dressing for the day, more tender than you’d ever thought him capable of; more tender than he ever is otherwise. 

It’s all just another way he claims you, degrades you, announces that you are his—his to decorate, his to desecrate, his to do whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

That pretty little silver heart that rests so daintily against your clavicle, that rises and falls and glitters with each of your gentle breaths, will never let you forget that. 

Today, as it is with most days, he has chosen a white colour palette. 

Sitting in his usual armchair with his legs crossed, folded hands resting in his lap, he watches as you undress in front of him, left vulnerable and raw to his gluttonous glare. It stings, his gaze razored and slitting into your skin, prickling as it rakes over your unprotected form, leaving you feeling hypersensitive, overexposed, like he’s stripped away some fundamental layer and left you barer than bare.

Yet to the untrained eye, he would appear only mildly interested, possibly even teetering on indifferent, but you know him better than that.

You are not the untrained eye—not anymore.

You know that the glowing in his gaze is brighter, bolder and more brilliant than normal as he sharply catalogues every action—pretty silk slipped off, dainty lace sliding on. 

You know that his pupils are abnormally large, having gnawed away at his irises in their attempt to consume the scene in front of him—a scene he’s witnessed a hundred times before; a scene he never tires of nonetheless. 

You know that his smile, usually sharp and stretched, is a little bit softer around the edges, a little bit sweeter as it seals hungry teeth behind curled lips.

His chest swells and deflates with calm, even breaths, his unblinking gaze holding yours for a moment—in, out, in, out—and you stand still as a statue, waiting.

Such a good little pet he’s got himself. 

He lets the moment linger for a little, basks in the exquisiteness of your obedience, allows that sweet suffocation of your compliance to grow until it’s nearly unbearable, until you’re struggling to keep stationary under his unrelenting stare, until the weight of it is crushing, compressing your ribs, flattening your lungs as you anticipate his approval.

Finally, he nods, and then, you begin.

First, the intimates; pure snow-white lace encrusted with tiny crystals, dainty material skimming your flesh in a faint caress, clinging to your supple curves as you fasten hooks and adjust waistbands. 

Next, an ivory milkmaid dress, complete with cinched puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, the corset top outlining the natural lines and bends of your torso, skirt flaring slightly at the hips and flowing into loose pleats around your thighs. Little white flowers detail the garment, embroidered in silk across the linen, blooming with each of your graceful inhales. 

Then, a pair of white thigh-high nylons to garnish the outfit, adorned with tiny white polkadots, sleek and sheer as they hug your legs. 

He doesn’t miss the ripple of chills that follow after his eyes as they glide up your body, trailing the curled knuckles hooked in the band of your stockings. Nor does he miss the delicate shiver that dances up your spine, or the tensing of your muscles as you linger in limbo beneath his stare, anticipating his next order.

No, he witnesses it all.

And he smirks, huffing out an airy snort, your frame flinching with the sound.

“Does my gaze make you uncomfortable, dear?”

“No, Sir, of course not,” you respond immediately; well-trained, obedient. 

“No? Then why has your body gone rigid beneath my eyes?” 

“I just—” you begin, faltering a little, a small frown on your face. 

Suddenly, he rises, stalking toward you calmly, both hands clasped behind his back. That infamous collar, held securely in his grasp, jingles with each of his steps, such a delicate sound for something so sinister. 

Stopping an inch or two from your face, your head snaps up, the motion instinctual, eyes wide and subservient—searching for guidance, awaiting your orders like the good little girl you are. 

A palm wreathes around your jaw, points of his claws pressing into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, revelling in the soft pained yelp that hitches in your throat, tangling on a gasp.

“Do you feel like a piece of meat, on display for your owner?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Crimson searches your face, slow and scrutinizing, lids narrowing slightly as his smile sharpens.

“Nothing more than a pretty little prize to be paraded around on my arm, proudly and in public?”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Leaning down, he grinds his forehead into your own, inhibiting your gaze from fleeing his, neck bent at an unnatural angle as he looms over you. He stares at you for a moment, scarlet so bright it hurts to look directly into, so brilliant you’re sure it’ll leave sunspots blotting your vision when you finally look away, but you don’t dare to blink. 

Slim fingers flex around your jaw, tightening, and his claws pierce your cheeks—shallow little pricks that’ll be unnoticeable in a few minutes, dots of blood rushing to fill the tiny dents. His tongue laves over each in a single, slow drag, wide and wet as it cleans the wounds and streaks his tastebuds with copper, sealing them with a thick salve of saliva before pulling away. 

“Good,” he finally murmurs, the word a puff of breath wafting across your face, warm and woodsy. “Because you are. And Master likes for his things to look presentable.” 

[stars-obsession-pit]

I feel like the potential of different methods of treatment of Jason’s Lazarus Pit side effects in DPxDC fics is often underutilized.

Like, yeah, the crossover brings in more ghostly stuff that could help, but it’s contamination on his literal mind/soul (definitely soul in a DPxDC context, idk about in DC canon) brought on by an unnatural resurrection. At least to me, that feels like it should be significant.

Having Danny just reach in and pull it out or Frostbite treat it in a basic procedure feels almost… cheap?

Like, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it being easy. Stories don’t need to go deeply into the soul healing process; if it’s not meant to be major plot point, it can absolutely be just a quick thing! I’m not trying to insult those stories at all!!

But I feel like there’s a lot of room for more complex or esoteric stuff in there to be explored!

Some ideas for such unique condition things under the readmore:

What if his “revenant” thing some fics use comes into play and the only way to remove it is to fully achieve his revenge? And if that’s the case, what if someone/something else kills the target of the revenge without his influence? Yeah, the person is dead now, he’s technically avenged, but he wasn’t the one to get the revenge. So does it still go away, or is he stuck with it? If he still has it, is it just permanent now or can he just find some other revenge method (ruining their legacy or etc) to break it?

Or oppositely, what if he literally can’t achieve that revenge or his body will die again, its mission complete. Thus, his only way to survive and remove the side effects is to smother all those vengeful urges until they fall silent. Which could make that “someone else kills the target unrelated to him” thing from the previous idea now the good ending - basically guaranteeing his survival since he can’t achieve the vengeance as easily now and can move on. Or maybe it’d be even worse as it forces him to move on regardless, dying randomly when the target of his revenge meets their comeuppance.

What if cycling out the corrupted ectoplasm is a long-term process of meditation (and/or emotional control) - something that takes up significant space in his life and forces him to plan/work around until it’s complete (reduced work hours, avoiding certain situations that might cloud his thoughts, etc)

What if he needs to obtain some sorts of special items/materials (either connected to his own life or more general ghost stuff) for a cleansing ritual, forcing him to go on some sort of quest(s) before he can perform it and recover

What if the tainted spots on his soul can’t be fixed, only excised, leaving other types of consequences for his mind/soul (some that will gradually disappear as the “incisions” heal, others that persist in the scars left behind)

What if the healing process requires him to go over his memories and smooth out the jagged emotional edges left by the Pit, and he isn’t experienced enough with ghostly matters to do on his own, so it forces him to get help from another ghost (and thus bare all his secrets to them)

What if the Pit Rage has to be fully pulled to the front - leaving him completely consumed by its control - before it can be literally fought back and suppressed

What if it can be healed only by taking pieces of healthy ghosts to patch him up - which’d require a lot of smaller ghosts (e.g. blob ghosts) or could potentially only need a couple if he’s willing to harm more intelligent ghosts for it (which Jason likely wouldn’t do, but he’s hardly the only person who’s been revived by the Pits…)

[sillystringpasta]

i would kill to see a Home Alone adjacent AU with tim drake. teeny tiny timmy drake, when jason is still robin.

the premise is this:

tim's still feral, still stalks the streets at night, and hasn't yet learned physical combat. but he has unlimited time, and the bats for neighbours, so he has mechanical knowhow already by sheer want of... idk, getting closer to the wayne family through buisiness? being a good heir to drake industry's RnD? being a freak?

he also has Jack Drake's shotgun at home, and a lot of money.

the drake parents bring something home from their most recent archaeological dig. this thing is maybe alien, maybe tech, maybe magic. they don't know that, but they do know it's old, so they add it to their manor's collection.

and then they, canon typically, leave.

so tim has this artefact in his manor's vault, and he studies it because his parents(!) brought it home(!!!). he doesn't figure it out at the start, and he quickly gets distracted, because some crooks come for it.

here is the story my brain has cooked so far:

it starts with the local mob groups' lowest goons who can be trusted not the drop The Artefact. maybe falcone?

tim calls the police on them as they break in, and lists the address as the drakes, the rich ones, so the cops actually help.

tim doesn't know why mobster goons just tried to break in, but he does know that the batman is his neighbour. tim knows that he has some sort of security system from the wayne manor galas (he has, after all, not managed to take pictures of where the batmobile is after investigating the garage).

so tim comes to the totally rational conclusion that he needs to trick out the manor. but, like, subtly, so his parents don't get mad when they come back.

as he's making the traps, for fun mostly, serious goons from falcone, and some guys from penguin show up. they fight each other, and tim, again, calls the cops. they take the unconcious (and shot) goons off the front lawn, and ask tim about being Home Alone.

after some gaslighting, tim builds serious traps.

and thank god he does, because black mask goons show up. and a bm enforcer. ruh-roh. they somehow get taken out by the traps, and tim chugs so much coffee making new ones that he blacks out and can't remember some of the new traps he makes (hello chekov! we've already seen you here :).

then comes the riddler himself, having heard about the puzzle traps, and wanting to just, y'know, play a game. after finding out it's a kid stepping on his toes, he's gonna go, but then tim offers to buy some trap components from the riddler. a lucrative allience is established.

riddler goes to try and find out what the other bosses are trying to steal. catwoman catches wind of the investigation from his questioning; that people are struggling to steal a valuable item from a rich mansion. (tim also learns this is about The Artefact from the riddler, when he drops off some... materials.)

catwoman interrupts a theft attempt from... idk, deadshot, or deathstroke, hired (by luthor?) to get the Artefact. after getting beat up by tim, both are horrified by tim's living situation, ironically the mercenary's more than catwoman because they are Dads tm.

so now tim has two gotham rogue's and a mercenary on his side, who help make more traps (and subtly make them lethal) and give him some shooting lessons with his dad's gun. which is good, because the moment they leave, the court of owls show up, having gotten word from the goons to the social elite about the drake family's new Artefact.

the talon's don't die from the new lethal traps, but they do get their zombie selves stuck in them. the league of assassins show up. the talons were given orders to not be seen. being unseen is standard LoA operating procedure. they kill each other unitl the only one left is a young pru. (from canon red robin's brucequest, if you don't remember her.)

the bodies are dumped outside, into the yard, by being trebucheted off a balcony. poison ivy turns around and leaves without even getting started. she takes the bodies with her. whatever is pumped into the talon's is great ferilizer, and the basic nitrogen in blood is pretty good too.

things escalate more.

the Artefact begins to glow in a lonely vault. a heavy hitter shows up, and so does Klarion, attracted to the chaos. they fight. batman is distracted from this by investigating what is happening in the lower levels of the gangs, and why the riddler is smuggling so much weird, random shit. no seriously, why is he smuggling silly string??? use it to start inefficiant fires? (fun fact, ss is highly flammable.) and the industrial amounts of glitter??? Riddle me this, Batman, who is the world's largest consumer of glitter?

miraculously, drake manor is undamaged by the fight.

tim wasn't at the manor that night, he was stalking batman again. he will never know that this happened either.

but pru was there, deciding if she should stay or return to the league. this makes her choose to stay. tim gets a sister, and he doesn't even have to date her first!

pru also helps tim get ready for school the next morning, and is at the manor during the rest of the day, scoping out the interior.

alfred pennyworth does notice the lightshow, and he goes over to talk to the neighbours himself that morning, because really, he can handle some noise disturbances, he handled young master bruce after all.

he knocks on the door.

the riddler is inside, setting up silly string streamers and glitter with a few other rogues, goons, mercenaries, a baby assassin, and some small children of deadshot/deathstroke.

it's tim's birthday.

alfred considers this situation very seriously, and decides to bring master jason Robin over, to moniter the situation (relax and socialize with other kids).

tim comes home to a surprise party, from people who are concerned about him, and care for him.

it's all he's ever wanted.

(the wish granting Artefact dissolves into shimmery dust.)

the party goes smashingly. it's great. there's a massive cake, and no clowns jump out of it.

tim has spent the last month being harassed by superpowered and unpowered crooks. he goes to another room to cry from happiness, when the distinctive sound of one of his traps goes off. it's not one he remembers making. he hears an adult man swearing.

he gets his dad's gun.

a large figure bursts into the party. tim reacts before anyone else.

he shoots.

it's batman.

tim shoots his shotgun at batman, who broke in thinking alfred had been abducted and used to sign jason out of school.

catwoman catches it on video.

tim is mortified. so is batman. everyone else thinks it's the best party ever.

the party continues. tim is presented with several adoption offers. he cries again, and says yes to all of them.

tim has a vigilante's happily ever after.

[hauntedestheart]

A Business Investment (FxM Body Swap)

Another story from the world of business.

Mason McKinley was sure he was going to be a famous actor someday- he just needed the world to realize it.

Growing up in his small midwestern hometown where he was the hottest guy around, it had felt like being the star was his birthright. He'd netted the lead in every school play since elementary school, modelled for local catalogues, even won homecoming AND prom king. 6'4'', a killer jawline, luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes, literally the poster boy for the local gym… how could Kentucky not be in the palm of his hand? All he had to do was wear a nice tight shirt that showed off his muscles and flash that pretty smile of his and anything he wanted fell into his lap.

It didn't take long for Hollywood to give him a reality check- turned out that Mason was not actually a very good actor, and once he was up against talented dreamboats rather than the wimps in drama club, his star came crashing down to earth.

After six years in the business and his claims to fame were a handful of minor background roles in some long running procedurals, some poorly reviewed theatre, and an embarrassing ad spot for STD testing that everyone back home was still making fun of him for.

In the small pond he'd been biggest fish around, but out in the ocean? He floundered.

While he was waiting for his big break, Mason needed a survival job, and thanks to some other actor friends he'd gotten employed as an attendant at an expensive country club. The young actor hoped that one day a big shot producer would come in, see him, and cast him on the spot, but since that hadn't happened yet he spent his days fetching water bottles and chasing after lost tennis balls. Not exactly his Hollywood dream.

Still, the tight white shorts of the uniform made his ass look amazing and if he flirted with the wealthy old clientele of the club, he took home a killing in tips. Being a corn fed midwestern hunk made him "exotic" to rich out-of-touch Californians, and Mason had no qualms about debasing himself a bit for some cash. A little wink here, a flex there, a look the other way when someone got a little handsy… it paid the bills.

He had his limits though.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out across the tennis court and Mason winced- luckily his acting skills allowed him to smooth the disgust from his face before he turned around to greet the plump middle aged woman who had materialized beside him.

"It's good to see you again Ms. Grant," he lied through his pretty white teeth, and he was feeling generous so he threw in an extra lie for free. "You look lovely today. Is your hair different?"

It was a stupid question- as the head of some kind of beauty company the woman was always changing her look, in this case from a dark black perm to a platinum blonde bob -but Ms. Grant still let out a surprised gasp and tilted her head side to side as if she were modelling the latest fashion. It was not a good look, but Mason dug deep into his Stanislavski training and managed to keep a smile on his face.

"You like? I just had it done. I think it makes me look younger, don't you? If you're not careful, one of these days I'm going to snap you up!" Ms. Grant threw her head back and let out a stage giggle, and Mason bit his tongue so he wouldn't burst out laughing himself. An attempt at a seductive expression appeared on her face and she 'casually' reached over and gave Mason's bicep a less-than-innocent pat. "And please, I've told you a million times, call me Seraphina."

Your name is Susan, Mason thought. "Of course Seraphina," Mason said.

Her hand was still on his arm, one thumb trailing idly over the curve of his muscles, and Mason gave a polite nod before escaping to ready some equipment, peeking over his shoulder to confirm that Ms. Grant was staring at his tight butt when he bent over to pick up some tennis rackets. He smirked and made sure to arch his back to give her a little show before he straightened up- it never hurt to keep the clients happy.

Ms. Grant honestly wasn't that bad, but she was a herald of destruction, because if she was here, then The California Business Women's Association weren't far behind.

The California Business Women's Association was supposed to be an organization for high powered business women looking to network, but the meetings were really just an excuse for rich bitches to brag about their success and tear each other down… with a smile, of course. Mason thought of them as the Real Housewives of the Wall Street (never mind that Wall Street was on the far coast) and while he got a sick pleasure out of observing their gossip and backstabbing, they were one of his least favorite groups to work with.

Normally a hot piece of meat like Mason could make a killing off of a bunch of mostly single women over thirty, but Dominique Banks (pharmaceuticals CEO and undisputed alpha bitch of the group) made it damn near impossible for him to schmooze. A very public divorce several years ago had made Dominique into something of a misandrist and now she did her best to chastise and shame the other women whenever they tried to engage in any talk of men, let alone flirt with the cute hunk bringing them their towels.

(Mason assumed that was why Ms. Grant showed up early to objectify him as much as possible before Dominique was there to judge her for it.)

Dominique herself descended on the court a minute later with the rest of the ladies in tow, and soon the court was filled with women in expensive active gear (some with the tags still on) milling about and pretending to warm up for a few rounds of low intensity tennis. Mason busied himself offering to take care of coats and bags while also doing his best to eavesdrop on the latest gossip.

Currently, Dominique was complaining to a trio of women about a member of the group who seemed to be running late.

"I think it's irresponsible of her to be so tardy," Dominique said, pushing deeper into an impressive lunge- she was one of the few in the group who actually kept up with her personal trainer despite a busy schedule, something she loved to lord over the other women. "I'm starting to question if she should even be a member of the CBWA."

"Maybe she had a work emergency?" one of her companions offered, watching with mild interest as Dominique stretched her calves. "She did just get that big promotion."

"'Big promotion?'" Dominique scoffed and turned her nose up. "Be serious Lucille, she's a middle manager whose office happens to be on the top floor… or a few floors down from it I suppose." The shade drew a small titter out of the other women, and Dominique smirked. "We all have demanding jobs, but we still make time every month to come to these meetings because it's important for us to connect as women in the male-dominated professional world. We're a sisterhood! If we don't look out for each other, who will? Which is exactly why we need to make an example of her."

Mason had a pretty good idea who they were talking about. There was only one woman in the group who Dominique couldn't stand- coincidentally the only woman in the group who ever stood up to her. But before the young man could search the group for a head of red hair to see if he was correct, a voice boomed out, and everyone's eyes were drawn to a newcomer who was making their way onto the court.

"Sorry I'm late ladies!"

Like a scene from a movie, sauntering across the green pavement was one of the hottest guys Mason had ever seen. He was brown skinned with carefully coiffed black hair and the kind of face that Mason usually only saw in the castings for his modelling gigs- a striking appearance enhanced by the way his eyes burned an unnaturally bright, electric blue. Tall and broad, the tight grey jacket he wore did little to disguise the bulk of his build… and if the fit of his compression shorts was to be believed, he'd brought his own tennis balls to the court.

Mason's jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped a basket of tennis balls with it before he gathered his senses and caught himself at the last second. The sexy stranger wasn't on staff (Mason would have heard if such an Adonis had been hired) but most of the members of the country club were old and gross, so who was this guy? A private trainer hired by a client? A socialite's new trophy husband? Some Middle Eastern prince?

"Thanks for waiting," the man said, making his way towards the benches with a fancy (seemingly brand new) equipment bag bouncing on his hip. "It's been so busy at work with the new startup we're launching, but I managed to move some things around to make room at the last minute."

Mystery stud unzipped his jacket as he walked and stowed it in the bag, revealing a tight grey top that bared huge, muscular arms, and was cut just low enough to allow a tasteful peek of his furry pecs. He looked down at himself and then tugged on his shirt, adjusting it so that it showed even more of his ample chest, which he made bounce a few times. A satisfied little smile came to his full lips at the sight, and when he looked back up at the CBWA, it seemed like half of the organization swooned.

Mason was feeling a little weak in the knees himself, but as much as he'd rather drool over the guy, he did technically have a job to do. He in front of the man and held a hand out, stopping the newcomer before he could join the cluster of speechless businesswomen. "Uh, excuse me sir, this court has been booked for private use by a group already."

"I'm aware," the man gave a chuckle (he was looking at Mason like he thought Mason was an idiot, but somehow, condescension was a good look on him) and tossed his curly black hair. "And I'm a member of the group- Terry Walker. Some of my eggheads at the lab cooked up a new kind of body transferal device and I've been experimenting with it in the workplace. Didn't have time to switch back before the meeting, so I figured, why the hell not?" He winked and thumped a fist into his meaty pecs a few times. "Take the thing out for a spin."

"Oh, body swapping! I think I read something about that!" Ms. Grant exclaimed, and several of the other woman in the group murmured their agreement. Mason had a hazy recollection of getting a note from his boss about something that morning, probably this, but he was saved from having to apologize when Dominique shoved him out of the way.

"You are not Terry Walker," the woman snapped, squaring her legs and and raising her chin like a lioness preparing to protect her territory. "What the hell kind of stunt is this? Did Terry hire a stripper as some kind of joke?"

The man laughed a warm, rich laugh. "You're not the first person to say that but no, believe it or not I borrowed this body from one of the guys who works in my lab. Tariq or something like that? I can never keep track of these things." He kept an easy smile on his face and shrugged his broad shoulders, intentionally stretching his shoulders back to bare his impressive wingspan. "And I'm the real deal- they wouldn't have let me in if I couldn't prove it. I look good, right ladies?"

The man's arms came up into a double bicep flex and Mason didn't know if he should be jealous of the man's muscles (those peaks) or massively turned on by them. The women were having less trouble deciding what to do and many of them were beginning to to swoon, only to straighten their spines when Dominique shot them a withering look out of the corner of her eye.

She turned back around and drew herself up to her full height (she was the tallest woman of the group, but this man had several inches on her and it was clearly grinding her gears) and jabbed a finger at the alleged impostor.

"You can't seriously expect us to believe this nonsense," she scoffed, drawing a chorus of murmurs from the flock of ladies behind her.

A sly smile came to the man's lips. "What do you mean? This is that exciting new project that I've been working on that I posted about it in the organization's official Slack, remember?" One of his bushy eyebrows shot up and he eyed Dominique pointedly. "You've been reading the Slack, haven't you Dominique? I seem to recall you saying it's so important to stay updated- but I guess you've probably been too busy lately to keep up with what's going on with your CBWA sisters. All those patent lawsuits and meetings about alimony must take up so much of your time!"

The vicious barb made several of the women gasp, and even Mason felt a chill run down his spine. In the corner of Dominique's forehead, a vein was throbbing like it was about to burst, but the rest of her expression was frighteningly neutral. Then, her lips pressed into a snarl that tried to pass as a smile.

"Yes, it can be so time consuming being being the head of a company," Dominique said, voice dripping with venom. "You're so lucky you don't have to deal with all that stress Terry. And don't worry yourself about my alimony, I'm just glad I was at least married once unlike-"

The woman realized her mistake too late, and Terry Walker smirked triumphantly.

"No comment on the patent lawsuits?" Walker added, just to salt the wound, and then she brushed past Mason (who shivered at the momentary contact with her large, solid body) and flung her bag down on the benches.

She bent down to rifle through it, giving everyone an eyeful of the tight, muscular male ass that was just barely concealed by her tight grey tennis shorts, and Mason clocked a subtle arch in her back. It was the same trick Mason used to make his butt look juicier when he was hustling for tips, and now that he was on the receiving end of it, he understood why it worked. Mason wasn't ashamed of his own ass (quite the opposite actually), but thought if he had that thing, he'd be unstoppable.

The other women converged on Terry like flies on honey, buzzing about as they all tried to get her attention.

"How did you-" "Look at that-" "So do you really have a-" "I NEED to-" "When is it-" "You have to got to let-" "Where the hell did you find-" "Please can I feel-"

The gaggle of women were all talking at once, making it difficult to make out any one question, but Mason didn't need a transcript to understand what the main topic of discussion was. Everyone was fascinated by the body Walker had borrowed, and who could blame them? A tall, handsome, muscular man with bronze skin and piercing unnaturally electric blue eyes… Mason was half tempted to dive into the crowd himself to get a closer look.

Terry, for her part, was taking the onslaught in stride, basking in the attention and tossing out answers where she could. But her new body did most of the talking as she flexed one of her huge arms in response to someone's question, bouncing the bicep up and down like a softball. She generously leaned down and extended the arm, giving the other women a chance to feel, which they all instantly took advantage of, practically hanging off of the muscled limb like it was a jungle gym.

"Okay, that's ENOUGH ladies!" Dominique snapped- or rather clapped, several times, loudly. All eyes turned to her and the women cowed, drifting away from the hunky man in their midst and falling back into line. After a tense moment of silence, Dominique raised her voice again. "Now, since we're finally all here, are we just going to stand around talking, or are we going to play?" She hefted her tennis racket over her shoulder like it was a weapon and waved her hand at the group. "We'll start off with pairs, everyone partner up."

Pandemonium ensued as all of the women scrambled to grab Terry by the arm, and Dominique was practically steaming.

"Never mind, we're doing singles."

---

Terry trounced the others, of course.

Using the body of a ripped athletic young man in the prime of his life gave her a significant advantage, but perhaps her opponents would have stood a better chance if they hadn't been so distracted staring at the ostentatious mass of flesh that was bouncing around in her loose tennis shorts as she bounded around the court. More than one match had been lost before it began when Terry's opponent's eyes were so trained on the way that hefty bulge jumped when she did that they completely missed her serving them the ball.

The sight of Terry's borrowed body on the court was a sight to behold, all muscle and bronzed skin. The shorts she had selected were shamelessly short, baring as much of the young man's strong, thick thighs as could be considered decent, and those powerful legs pumped like pistons as she used them to dart around the court- the constant action caused the shorts to ride up further as the games went along until they were being devoured by his massive ass cheeks.

Mason found himself mesmerized by the way her body's hairy pecs, which heaved up and down beneath her shirt as she ran, and it was almost funny how on a court full of women, it was the man's chest that was bouncing the most. This only became more noticeable as the matches wore on and her masculine body became sweatier and sweatier, soaking the thin gray fabric of her shirt until it began to cling to her flesh and highlight just how muscular the body she'd brought for the day was.

After an intense final showdown between Terry and Dominique (during which Dominique had been unable to score a single point, resulting her throwing down her racket and screaming at Mason for something or other), the women retreated to the outdoor lounge area where couches and tables were shaded by umbrellas, and Mason did his best to eavesdrop as he served them drinks.

"It's just been incredible ladies," Terry was telling them. The couches were arranged in a "U" shape and she sat at the direct center, leaned back with her muscular arms folded behind her head to give everyone a view of her hairy armpits. Legs sprawled wide of course, just to draw eyes to the heavy bulge that sat between her legs. "I mean we all know how hard it is for women in the workplace, but I still wasn't ready for how much easier it would be as a man! I've started swapping into a male body for all of my meetings and they've never gone smoother."

"You see, men are animals," she continued, snapping her fingers at Mason to bring her a drink. "And animals respect an alpha. That's why they have all of these stupid male rituals- handshakes and bourbon and cigars and all that. When I walk into a boardroom and I'm the tallest, the strongest…" Terry's eyes glanced down suggestively towards her bulging crotch. "the biggest, then men have to listen to me. It's almost disgusting how simple it is."

"Don't you think that kind of thinking undermines the work that we do here at this organization?" Dominique chimed in. Not to be outdone, she'd pulled up a chair so she could sit at the opening of the "U" opposite Terry, and she glared across the space at the smiling male bodied woman. "How are men supposed to learn to respect us when we act like the only way to get ahead is to become one of them? We're supposed to be empowering women, and you're jumping ship like a rat."

"I'm feeling pretty empowered right now actually." Terry slipped one of the arms out from behind her head and flexed it, bouncing the thick bicep up and down a few times, drawing a chorus of giggles from the assembled women, and Dominique frowned. A cocky smile crossed Terry's borrowed face and her sparkling blue eyes glittered in the light, and she casually rubbed at the thin layer of stubble that was starting to sprout on her chiseled jawline. Slowly, as she spoke, her hands began drifting down the masculine body she had rented.

"You do bring up a good point Dominique- I have no intention of becoming a man full-time, this body is just temporary. I'm a woman through and through, but if I can take advantage of the privileges of being a man to get ahead, why wouldn't I? Men only understand power and they won't respect us until we have it. They say, talk softly and carry a big stick, and this…" Terry's hands had reached her crotch and she grabbed at it, hefting the bulge up and down a few times. Everyone was mesmerized. "This is my stick. Today, I'm blending in with the boys' club. Tomorrow? I own it."

Mason was starting to get hard in his own shorts at this point, and he cursed, sticking his fingers into his pockets and trying to adjust himself so it was less obvious.

(A bit of bulge was good for business but standing in front of all those women with a full blown erection was just embarrassing.)

A bit flustered, he dutifully marched over to Terry and handed her the drink she had requested earlier- she didn't thank him, but she did throw him a wink, and it was so sexy on that guy's face that Mason felt his cock twitch. From the way the other women were staring, he was sure they had all noticed, and he jogged off with a red face.

"And there are recreational uses for a male body," Terry commented, stroking herself as she watched Mason's ass bouncing away. "Obviously."

"Walker, that is highly inappropriate!" Dominique slammed her glass down on the table in front of her, splashing orange liquid everywhere. "Sexual harassment is a serious issue, and furthermore, this is a professional organization. Nobody wants to hear about that!"

"Shut up, yes we do!" Ms. Grant shouted, and Dominique was so caught by surprise that her mouth snapped shut. All of the women turned away from her and leaned in towards Terry, ready to hang on her every word. "Give us all the details Terry."

Terry took a sip of her drink, milking the anticipation. As Mason busied himself wiping up Dominique's mess, he kept his eyes trained on Terry- the straw Mason had given her was a larger one usually reserved for boba, but he'd felt a burning need to see what those plush lips looked like curled up and sucking on something thick. The sight did not disappoint, nor did it help calm his pesky erection.

Finally, Walker spoke. "Well… you all remember Marcos, right?"

"Your pool boy?" Ms. Grant gasped, and all of the women burst out into a titter of excitement. The handsome young man had been something of a celebrity for the group ever since they'd had a mixer at Walker's house, and they were always asking her for updates. "You didn't!"

"Oh I did," Terry smirked and popped her pecs cockily. "Quite a few times actually. I never thought I'd get the chance- I just kept him on the payroll because he was pretty to look at -but it turns out he was very attracted to this body. He was begging for my cock and I…" Her hips shifted, a long, lazy thrust into the air, and the outline of the long and thick cock in question made itself known- she was getting hard. "I was happy to give him what he wanted."

"Haven't studies shown that the male orgasm is less intense than the female orgasm?" Dominique cut in, trying to land another barb, but Terry just shrugged her off.

"It felt pretty good to me when I was fucking a sexy twenty-six year old," Terry's hands were on her crotch, and everyone's eyes were glued to it as well as she began to stroke herself up and down through the thin fabric. Her borrowed voice, warm and rich, dropped to a husky growl. "But the appeal is in more than just the orgasm, it's the experience. It's about getting to be the one on top and in charge. I've been fucked by so many men in my life that getting to be the one doing the fucking was goddamn cathartic- and it isn't like some plastic strap-on, I got to use eight inches of top of the line cock to do the job."

"And these muscles!" Wrenching one hand away from her nethers, she shoved it roughly beneath her shirt, the fabric riding up and offering a peak of her host's sculpted brown torso as she groped one of his pecs. From the way her fingers were moving beneath the fabric, she seemed to be tweaking one of his nipples. "FUCK this guy is so goddamned strong! I'M so strong! I threw him around like a ragdoll and he thanked me for it, he sucked on my tits and begged me to manhandle him. I was the man. I was in control."

"Fuck!" A masculine grunt escaped her lips, and she began to stroke herself harder. Now fully hard, the tip of her cock was peeking out of the waistband of her shorts (allowing everyone to see that her host was in fact, circumcised) and it bobbed up and down as she thrust into her own hand. "There's something incredibly… visceral about being able to shove yourself inside of a man, I wouldn't even begin to know how to describe it. But it feels incredible. It feels… it feels…"

And then the rest of the sentence was a wordless roar of pleasure as she ejaculated, grinding her hand up and down the length of her shaft like a man possessed… which in a sense is exactly what she was. The mushroom head of her borrowed penis throbbed as it spewed out an impressive load of semen, staining her shirt, her face, even splattering onto the cushions next to her and the table before her, and she slumped back onto the cushions in a heap. Panting, her huge chest heaved up and down, and she waved at Mason.

Like everyone else in attendance, he stared dumbly at the debauched man in front of him for a moment until he remembered his job and realized what she wanted- usually the towels were only for sweat, but he supposed they'd work just as well for cum. But when he offered her one, she just rolled her electric blue eyes and stripped her shirt off, leading to a chorus of gasps as her borrowed body's furry muscles were fully unveiled. Wordlessly, she gestured to the mess that dotted her torso.

Mason's mouth was suddenly dry but he didn't dare swallow- swallowing was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about in this particular moment. He felt the heavy eyes of the entire CBWA on him as he dropped to his knees in front of the strapping male figure, and the young actor had been in Hollywood long enough to recognize when he was being asked to play a role.

And he had auditioned for enough productions that were basically soft-core porn to know how to play this one.

He casually ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing his golden locks, and plastered a smile on his face as he peeked up at Terry, looking for all the world like an innocent wide eyed farm boy eager to serve like no one was watching. White spunk was already starting to dry in the forest of chest hair so Mason doused his towel with water from a glass on the table to better scrub it out, meaning there was just a thin sheet of wet fabric between his hands and the perfectly sculpted body that Terry Walker had claimed for the day, so it didn't take much acting for Mason behave like he was turned on.

The young actor cheated out and angled his torso slightly so the horde of horny businesswomen watching could get a good view of his own muscular torso as he worked, perversely eager to remind his clients that there was more than one stud on the court that day. He took his time working Terry's pecs, squeezing them slightly under the guise of scraping out some particularly hard to remove spunk, and then worked his way down to her abs, digging his fingers into the crags of her six pack to make sure he got out every little speck.

And when he reached the waistband of her shorts, he let his fingers drift along the deep v of muscle that vanished beneath, teasing everyone that he might go deeper, before he reluctantly pulled himself back.

Drawing up to his feet, he dusted his knees off, and then he noticed Walker's drink- semen dotted the rim of the glass and a thin layer of white was laying atop the liquid inside. He reached for it to take it away, but Walker stopped him. She grabbed the drink herself and slowly, deliberately, licked the rim, then downed the remainder of the glass in one swallow. Only then did she let him walk away.

Terry, shirtless and smug, smiled at the other women of the CBWA, who sat there speechless. Mouths were hanging open, some of them were fanning themselves, Ms. Grant's right hand was tucked beneath her skirt, and an unexpected voice broke the silence.

"How can I try that out?" Dominique asked, her voice strained and almost desperate, and then the floodgates opened and all of the other woman began chattering. Terry lifted up a hand and everyone went silent.

"Well as luck would have it, I'm actually starting my own company to distribute this particular service, and we're working on acquiring some seed funding." A bushy eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose any of you ladies would be interested?"

"You want our money?" One of the women asked, and Terry shrugged.

"I'm offering you all an investment opportunity. Isn't that the point of this group? To uplift each other?" She smiled across the table at Dominique, who for once kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. Terry sniffed triumphantly. "But I promise that this is a surefire win. Anyone interested can message me and I can set up an appointment so you can test the technology yourself- I'm sure the experience will uplift you like nothing else."

At that, she rose to her feet, allowing everyone to see that her tenacious rental dick was already half-hard again.

"Feel free to bring your own boys too, we've got lawyers and payment plans already drafted up. Pick someone you wanna be, and we can make it happen."

Then she walked away, her exit an unofficial signal to the other women that the meeting was now over, and everyone began to disperse. The women were abuzz with excitement, but Mason kept his eyes trained on Terry Walker as she sauntered off, eager to get one last look at her borrowed body's incredible ass.

What, he wondered to himself, would these meetings look like if the entire CBWA hopped on the same train as her? Mason imagined the tennis court full of ripped, shirtless men, frolicking about playing tennis in little shorts. It was such a pleasant image that it almost made up for the fact that he'd received no tips that day.

Shit, he thought to himself, crashing back to Earth as he remembered the rent payment he had due in a few days.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out, and Mason saw Ms. Grant walking over towards him. She was wiping one of her hands on her skirt, and there was hunger in her eyes. "Dear, could we talk for a moment?"

Mason's stomach sank- he had an idea what she was going to ask him about. And unfortunately, he knew what his answer would be too.

[joocomics]

warm like the sun

day 6 — temperature play w/ jooyeon ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 boxer!jooyeon x fem!reader

genre: smut ( 18+ ) ── 1.7k words

✎… established relationship, soft!dom!reader, sub!jooyeon, oil massage (m!rec), edging (m!rec), sensation play (m!rec), temperature play, handjob (m!rec), pet names

( kinktober masterlist )

Jooyeon breathes in, deeply and slowly, as he gets more and more enveloped in the soothing scent. The rich herbal aroma wraps his body like a comfy blanket, but also relaxes his mind as you focus your touch on his upper back.

He’s resting on his stomach, face pressed against the mattress while your gentle hands glide over his broad shoulders, squeezing with a nice grip that has him humming delightfully from time to time.

His sore muscles feel not so irritating as they did before while he was at the boxing gym.

You strictly follow all of the instructions you read on the internet - you massage the hot oil into the skin using circular strokes to reduce tension, and you work the neck, shoulders and upper back first, before moving onto larger parts such as arms, legs and lower back.

Judging by his blissful state, you're doing something right.

“You did so well today.” You lean a bit as you straddle Jooyeon's hips, letting your hands slide down his back before going up again. At this point, they’re almost burning from the natural oil as you keep rubbing it into his soft skin. “Feeling a bit better now?”

He almost didn’t hear your mellow voice since he’s close to falling asleep.

“Yeah, thanks, baby.” He murmurs. Keeping his eyes shut, he focuses on your body movements on top of him, and the temperature that’s only rising higher. “I’ve recorded some of it so we’ll see how I feel about it after I watch it.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” You keep your voice low before grabbing the bottle next to you. You spill some oil in your palm and resume to free him from all pressure. “You’re improving every day, enjoy the process.”

Jooyeon’s face frowns for a second when you press against one spot at his left shoulder, but quickly forms a lazy smile once he hears your words.

“Wise princess.” He comments slowly. “Baby, this is soo hot.”

Your hands slow down the pace until they stop completely on his waist before you move to kneel on the mattress.

“The oil…” He adds, still sounding half-asleep. “It’s too hot.”

“That’s the point, Joo.” You explain, amused at your own silly assumptions. “You can turn around now.” You playfully pat his butt and watch him struggle to flip on his back.

The towel underneath him messes up and the sheets are now getting stained from the oil as he gets comfortable, but you decide to ignore that. You lay eyes on him as he rests one hand on his forehead after running it through his chestnut colored hair. It’s a mess, but it only makes him even more enjoyable to stare at. His knuckles are still a bit bruised with reddish hues you’ve already kissed multiple times.

“Is this supposed to burn?” He asks slightly opening his eyes with comedic suspicion.

“Just a little,” you reply after straddling his lap again. The material of his sports shorts creates muffled sounds beneath you as you adjust. “But you’re mostly just being dramatic.”

“No, I kinda like it actually.” He smirks lazily, but just a second later, his lips part in a silent gasp; your palms slowly travel up his chest, then they gently close together when you reach for his neck. “Mmm...”

Your touch roams around, wet and hot; so warm that he’s convinced there’s no place on his body that isn’t burning up right now. He stays with eyes closed shut, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation; the powerful earthy scent that makes his brain fuzzy.

Your fingertips brush over his nipples and you finally see a reaction from him once your thumbs tease with one or two circling motions.

“Miss,” he speaks out, centring his head so he can look at you, “is this a part of the procedure?”

You grin at the playful spark in his eye. His cheeks have earned a cute pink blush and he looks so attractive, you cannot look away.

“I do it for special clients only,” you tease back, and to make sure you’re sensing it right… you grind against the stiff bump beneath your crotch which causes his smirk to grow with zero shame. “Really, baby?”

“If you were a guy getting a massage from your hot girlfriend you’d get hard too.”

Your hands don’t stop gliding around as you fool around. The oils are soaking into his heated skin and the effects are obvious to you, but you’re not sure if they’re obvious to Jooyeon. The comforting fragrance in the room in addition to the hot stimulation lingering on his body, spread by your two loving hands, turns him on.

Excitement flutters in your tummy as you realise you just found a new interesting way to have fun with him.

Despite acknowledging your sly smile, he still doesn’t have a clue about it.

You lean into his flushed face and press your lips against his; he separates them right away to accept your tongue. Subconsciously or not, his hips shift beneath you, and the friction against his semi hard on makes him groan into the kiss. The warmth in his flesh, and the warmth radiating from your fingers, wrapping around his wrists to keep his hands above his head is still strong and electrifying.

Not long after, you back away and he whines quietly at the sudden separation, but once you pull down his pants he grins approvingly at what’s about to follow.

Usually, he’d say something, something dirty or teasing, but judging by the tiredness covering his face and making his eyelids heavy, he remains silent, for now. He rests his head against the pillows and lets you do whatever you want.

With a good amount of oil on your hands, you explore the area around his now full erection; you make his lower abdomen glistening, you take your time caressing his inner thighs which at one moment causes him to breathe more heavily.

His senses are tingling; extra heightened by every light scratching of your nails as you graze them up and down. The heat is radiating all around his cock, but the thrill feels like it’s shooting right through his core.

His cock twitches, and he finally gives you a look.

“Baby, come on…” His voice leaves his dry mouth with a small whiny note. “Stop teasing me, baby.”

You laugh at his desperate sigh, and after giving his pretty panting mouth one last look, you lock fingers around his length and slowly tug at it; his own bruised fingers turn into tight fists, clenching at the bedsheets as you do so.

Sound of relief slips through his lips as your damped hand hugs his erection. There’s still some slippery texture left on your skin making each tug effortless and slick; so lewd sounding too.

Jooyeon cannot resist the urge to moan already. The pleasure invaded his body too quickly, making him rock-hard in your palm.

“Shit—“ he gasps although you’re still twirling your hand around slowly; the strokes are perfectly firm and smooth, coming through a sensual pace. He’s never felt this good before. This is some type of numbing pleasure. His voice rises despite his exhaustion, provoked by your other palm squeezing his balls gently. “Fuck, baby—“

You let go with a chuckle, and Jooyeon’s sleepy eyes look down with disappointment. But he doesn’t complain, he drops his head back into the cushion, breathing excitedly. One of his hands gets a hold of the sheets again.

“How are you feeling? Is it too much?”

You lean down, placing a kiss under his bellybutton. He’s gotten so sensitive that even this small touch makes his tummy clench. Even your breathing so close to his skin stimulates him further.

“Like I’m about to cum,” he murmurs and his closed eyes start to squeeze harder when your nails begin to move up and down his thighs again - these super light lines that drive him crazy. “Please, please, no more of this…” He grabs one of your hands to stop it.

At the same time, his hips buck up, thrusting into nothing. He laughs at himself too, when he hears your giggles, but solely out of desperation.

“No more of what?” You continue to edge him, but with words. “What do you want, pretty boy? Say it.”

You keep your hands still, but your eyes are constantly alternating between his gaze and his parted lips.

“I want to cum, baby, soo bad,” he guides your hand to his cock, and you let him. “Please, make me cum, I really need you.” His hand presses yours against him, his hips shift upward again, but this time he really feels something, and it makes him groan despite it not being as strong as he needs. “However you want,” he adds weakly while glancing at your little shorts so quickly you almost missed it.

But you didn't.

The oil is starting to do its thing and Jooyeon feels how his erection heats up as you push the head of his cock against your clit. The nicely scented moisture is smeared along your folds and his length glides between them perfectly, making you feel good too.

His body is completly still, his attention stays on your fingers that are holding him pressed against your pussy. The only movement is the one of his teeth biting on his lip as your hips move sensually, pushing him closer to the edge with each following rub.

That's if he's not moaning how hot you are, making you want to peek at his face where droplets of sweat are glistening on his forehead. You notice his neck is sweating too.

“Fuck—“

His eyes roll back.

While pressing his head against the pillow, the veins of Jooyeon's glistening neck become more evident than before. You can see them up close once you let your body fall forward in order to rub yourself against him better. The view waters your mouth as you remain focused on moving your hips.

You haven't quicken the pace at all. You don't want to and you don't need to. You both want to cum like this - slowly, with flushed bodies sticking to each other and warm like the sun; while the pure aroma in the air comforts your senses, and the pleasure rising from each brush of your clit along Jooyeon's length gets you both high.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[hendrik-ten-napel]

So you've missed a couple of sessions, what do you do?

Well, you could always write your players a Love Letter. This particularly hackable procedure from Apocalypse World puts character right back into the thick of it. Honestly, even if you haven't missed a night, you might want to introduce some more material to the story, so the characters never run out of levers to pull.

If you like to receive blogs like this every two weeks, sign up for my newsletter.

[blacktabbygames]

Hello, after enjoying Slay the Princess and checking out your other game, I absolutely fell in love with Scarlet Hollow. It is such a beautiful game with such a comfy yet horrifying atmosphere, it’s so unique and it is undoubtedly my favorite narrative of any game I’ve played, I eagerly await your continued efforts. 

With The Roads Untraveled and Chapter 5 next in your sights I had a couple questions regarding that state and current features of the game. 

“With new routes being made and narrative alterations happening for the currently released chapters, what will be the status of current saves and will they be able to be continued when Chapter 5 is released?” I intend on continuing my first save when any new chapter releases so my very first ‘complete’ playthrough will be seeing all the content blind. But if you go back to change material previously implemented, I am curious on what will be the procedure if existing saves contain decisions that have been changed. 

“Will hardcore mode be expanded to new chapters, and if so will it remain available from the beginning going forward or will we have to clear a chapter normally to unlock its hard mode?” 

“Hardcore mode allows for the choice of 3 traits rather than 2 when Scarlet Hollow is clearly designed around having 2 with the different synergies and certain choices that use both. Is there any chance that hardcore combination will be added that use 3 traits?”

“In general, is there any intention to expand hardcore mode?” Hardcore mode is my personal favorite as I really enjoy difficult decisions in games and not being able to always have a perfect option. For a game with ‘You can’t save everyone’ on all the marketing, the trait get out of jail free cards always kind of rubbed me the wrong way. So an option to disable those and get an extra trait meaning more dialogue and character strengths had no downside to me. I am curious if there are any plans for differences between a hardcore route and a normal one in regard to story or otherwise, seeing as a hardcore world is one with every sacrifice made. 

You have made an amazing game and I have been hard at work spreading your gospel among my friends and family. 

Hi! Thank you for being a hardcore mode superfan. I think it's pretty neat and that everyone should do a hardcore playthrough at some point for maximum pain. :) Answers in bold: “With new routes being made and narrative alterations happening for the currently released chapters, what will be the status of current saves and will they be able to be continued when Chapter 5 is released?” We never make any narrative changes to the game that invalidate pre-existing saves.

“Will hardcore mode be expanded to new chapters, and if so will it remain available from the beginning going forward or will we have to clear a chapter normally to unlock its hard mode?” Once you unlock hardcore mode, you unlock hardcore mode, but as more episodes release in the future, its initial unlock will continue to move to the end of the most recent episode. (So if you haven't unlocked it yet, you'll have to finish Episode 5 to unlock it after that release, and then when 6 and 7 release as a pair, you'll need to finish the game. But if you already have it unlocked you'll retain access.) Hardcore mode is very much a supplementary way to enjoy the story, so placing it at the end of the game feels right.

“Hardcore mode allows for the choice of 3 traits rather than 2 when Scarlet Hollow is clearly designed around having 2 with the different synergies and certain choices that use both. Is there any chance that hardcore combination will be added that use 3 traits?” No. It's a lot of extra work for a supplementary game-mode. There will probably be some instance where tree logic means you effectively get something like this, however. (i.e. situation X requires traits a and b to reach based on earlier decisions, we forget this while writing, and add a menu option for trait c.)

“In general, is there any intention to expand hardcore mode?” Hardcore mode is my personal favorite as I really enjoy difficult decisions in games and not being able to always have a perfect option. For a game with ‘You can’t save everyone’ on all the marketing, the trait get out of jail free cards always kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Yes and no. Hardcore mode was designed to offer a rich alternative to the base game primarily through emergent narrative. So while we're not consciously adding something specific to hardcore mode, there will likely be dialogue combinations and scenes that are only attainable through a combination of things that can happen over the course of a hardcore playthrough. These are interactions that would have been written regardless (because we're as thorough about fringe worldstates as possible) but may not have been accessible (or would be very difficult to access from the main playthrough.)

From a labor perspective, we built hardcore mode because it offered a whole new way to play the game in exchange for very little development effort — I think it took about a day to set things up and rework the logic around major decisions. Putting a bunch of extra development time into it defeats the purpose of that efficiency, especially when the game is complicated enough as is. We do have more projects we'd like to get to after Scarlet Hollow is done, which does require it being done at some point ;)

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 62

While looking back on her adventures, an older Susan reflected that by Gallifreyan standards she had just been a baby and that the First Doctor had been an adolescent. (Audio: Here There Be Monsters)

Some Gallifreyans can fly. The Third Doctor took to flying for a while after he learned how to out of a book. (Comic: Levitation)

The Eighth Doctor has such sharp reflexes that he can use a pistol to shoot bullets out of the air. (Novel: Trading Futures)

The Twelfth Doctor once made a sonic spoon when he was locked in The Prison (on a trumped up charge.) (Novel: The Blood Cell)

Autumn Tace was head of astronomy at one of the most impressive observatories ever. She had feelings for Adric but ended up being seriously injured while saving Nyssa and Tegan. She died in Adric's arms. The Fifth Doctor had to explain to Adric that he cannot go back in time and change this because it was part of established events. (Audio: The Star Men)

The Fifth Doctor's sonic screwdriver and a vial full of plague virus survived the Great Fire of London. It eventually comes into the possession of Deakin, someone who collects alien technology, in the 21st century in a Mayan temple in Belize. Deakin mentioned that sonic screwdrivers were not incredibly unique as the Doctor has lost so many over the years. Indeed, he also knew of the Tenth Doctor's sonic screwdriver, abandoned in a hospital. (Audio: The Tactics of Defeat)

Indeed, a damaged sonic screwdriver was also found in Leadworth, eventually making it to San Juan. UNIT had sent Charlie Sato to collect it, but the Eighth Doctor claimed it and threw it in a drawer in his TARDIS. (Audio: The Turn of the Screw)

Gallifreyan blood contains temporal platelets, allowing them to recover from injuries much faster than humans do. (Audio: The Bride of Peladon)

When the TARDIS is in Artron II Recharge Mode, other people (but especially humans) cannot be inside. The Thirteenth Doctor remembered that doing so caused David Bowie's eye to become dilated. (Short story: Press Play)

There is a box-room on the TARDIS full of boxes of objects the Doctor has collected. The Sixth Doctor once found a spaceship full of refugees in his box-room after the TARDIS must have materialized around them at some point. (Comic: Exodus)

The Old High Gallifreyan alphabet is actually called the 'omegabet.' (Novel: The Gallifrey Chronicles)

At one point, Gallifrey had a third moon called Botoya. Inside this moon, there was a device capable of rewriting history dramatically; thus, the moon was hidden. It became a legend on Gallifrey. (Audio: The End of the Beginning)

While at the Academy, the Doctor kept a poster of Marcella Retaxus, a reverse fusion engineer and singer, on his dorm room wall. (Audio: Time in Office)

Socra, a member of the Celestial Intervention Agency who took part in the Second Doctor's trial, helped decide to send the Third Doctor in search of the Doomsday Weapon, and was present for the First Omega Crisis, was eaten alive by one of the Rani's giant rodents. (Short story: The Legacy of Gallifrey).

One time, Nyssa was captured and experimented on. They gave her anesthetics, cut her open, and sewed crystals of anti-matter into her stomach. She turned into an anti-woman (an anti-matter monster with red eyes.) This procedure left a scar on her abdomen. (Novel: Zeta Major)

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[theresattrpgforthat]

i want to go treasure hunting with maps n traps. any recs?

THEME: Maps, Traps & Treasure.

Hello friend, you seem to be in the market for a dungeon game. I have good news for you: there are many dungeon games!

For most OSR games, the book might come with some rules on how to make your own dungeon, rather than coming with pre-written maps. If you don’t want to create your own dungeon, there are oodles of pre-written dungeons that should be pretty easily convertible for whatever OSR game you choose to play. I’ll list a few below!

Dungeoneering, by Grinning Rat.

DUNGEONEERING is a quick-and-dirty tabletop role-playing game where players explore dungeons, gather treasure, and fight monsters. Game Masters are encouraged to use the sample dungeon within, or generate their own with the creation tools, to facilitate these dangerous delves.

Dungeoneering feels like a quick one-shot type experience about gathering as much loot as you can inside a dungeon run. The amount of treasure you gather is also a measure of how well you did - a “score”, if you will. The game states that it is best built for exactly 4 players, each with a different character class and skill-set. For the dungeon master, the game has instructions on how to build a dungeon, complete with roll-tables for dungeon types and layout. You’ll probably do well enough with a grid map and some markers, although the creators of the game have a few supplements available: Catalysts, which expands character options and Wanderers which not only provide two new roles, but also gives you more dungeon options and loot.

Errant, by Kill Jester.

You have no home. You have no job. You have no friends. You have no family. You have no prospects.

What you do have are a handful of pennies, a blithe disregard for your own life, and a particular set of skills. The kind of skills that make respectable folks avoid you. 

Out there, beyond civilization, lies danger: monsters and magic and  ancient ruins pregnant with treasure. Death is likely, but what did you  have to live for anyway? At least out there is the chance to make  something of yourself, and maybe even get back at those who wronged you. This is no life for decent folk, but you’re not decent folk. You are an Errant.

What is Errant? Errant is a classic fantasy role-playing game in the vein of the first few editions of that role-playing game and its many imitators and descendants such as Knave, Into the Odd, and The Black Hack. It is freely compatible with material for all those games as well as the newest edition of that role-playing game, with conversion guides provided within.

With over 200 pages of rules, Errant provides detailed instructions for all kinds of things that could happen in play: travel, magic retainers, exploration, combat, and more. The players will create a map as they play, filling it in according to what they understand - and importantly, not necessarily accurately. The GM’s map may have many more secrets or truths that the characters will likely have to work to discover.

Errant happens over the course of different kinds of turns, which have a different procedure depending on what is happening in the game. There is a process for Exploration, for Combat, and for Downtime, which might provide you with the structure to move from one part of the story to the next… but it also might be a bit slower than the kind of game you’re looking for.

If you want content for Errant, it’s certainly out there! Kill Jester has an adventure called Tomb Robbers of the Crystal Frontier, as well as a module called The Curse of the Ganshogger, to get you started.

Crowns, by Ward Against Evil.

Humanity hides in sheltered villages. Monsters prowl the wilderness.  You are the few foolish enough to leave safety. Find your fortunes in the dungeon. And try not to die.

Crowns is a simple enough dungeon system with advancement tied to the amount of gold you acquire - so I think it meets the treasure requirement for sure! There are very specific rules for line of sight, doors, lighting, and creating your own openings in the cracks and nooks of the dungeon, which can help make the dungeon feel alive and exciting - although definitely not safe.

As is typical in the OSR style, you won’t find a fully fleshed out dungeon in the rules, although you will find rules on how to make your own. If you want some extra bits to play with, Crowns does have some interesting supplements, such as Season of Crows, a war-based expansion event, and Armies of Man, a bestiary that looks like it works rather well with Season of Crows.

Crawlr: Basic, by BLK Feather Press.

From the Black Sludge seeping from the lip of the Primordial Cauldron crawls the descendants of dead men. YOU are born from that sludge, and when you die, you shall return to the sludge.

CRAWLR is a table-top role-playing game where you and your friends take on the role of adventurers, cutthroats, profiteers, and even heroes all in the collective imagination of your minds. All you need is pen, paper, and 2d6.

Crawlr: Basic is rather lightweight, but it has rules for changing the dungeon as you go, and a neat little mechanic for timing how long a torch lasts, which might heighten the danger of the dungeon. It also has a table for creatures’ reactions upon stumbling upon you, and a d66 table for useful items that you might pick up. When it comes to traps, I think you might have to get ideas from other modules, but the creator looks like they might be releasing an “Advanced” version in the future.

You can also get blank monster cards and character sheets for free!

.dungeon remastered, by snow.

Welcome to the ruins of Annwn. The once populated hills of this massively multiplayer online game are now void. They call it a Dead MMO. A polygonal mess of PS1-era graphics, empty plains, and dungeons that grow and grow and grow from the inside of the planet's wounds. Up above, the eye of the sad god glares its chromatic light down upon the remaining players, while its tormented hand contorts into magical shapes, rarely crossing paths in their messy orbit. When they do, the shadow magic that powers the game explodes with its ancient might.

In .dungeon, you play through character creation as if it was a game of its own, with each step formatted like the room of a dungeon. You generate the world using dice rolls, while the game itself is played using a hex map. You can run an adventure like a hex crawl, which generates interesting encounters and scenery every time your characters move to a new hex. You can use elements from the book to generate a hex crawl, but it looks like there’s also a “tutorial” level that your characters will encounter directly after character creation.

.dungeon is also fantasy-ish: it takes place in a video game, so your adventurers are likely to run into a few places or things that have something a bit more sci-fi in nature. I think that overall, the layout of this book makes the game easier for the group to learn how to all play at the same time, which might be good for a GM who wants to spread the responsibility of game knowledge a bit more evenly. I’m not entirely sure how a hex-crawl would map onto a dungeon, but I think that a lot of the vibes carry across.

Slash Hex, by Danielaurence

Slash Hex is an adventure role-playing game in which players will use their creativity and imaginations to explore a wild and dangerous world, hunting for treasure, defeating monsters, and engaging in other mostly heroic exploits.

This game is heavily inspired by giants that have come before, most notably in name by the /X side of the original B/X books, but also Basic Fantasy, Knave, White Box, and The Black Hack.

While it is inspired by the aforementioned games, Slash Hex has morphed into something that has a footprint of its own, while still remaining largely compatible with classic modules.

What I think Slash/Hex has going for it is the list of fantasy monsters - typical monsters, but there’s a lot of them - as well as the well-detailed list of magic items that you can pick up and use while exploring a dungeon. Most of the focus of this game is on character abilities, so if you want a more unique character, you might like this game. The downside is that the game as it is has little to no advice on how to create a dungeon; I’m thinking that perhaps the creator is relying on you to find other established dungeon modules and use their rules to run through those.

Dungeon Crawl Classics, by Goodman Games.

You’re no hero. You’re an adventurer: a reaver, a cutpurse, a heathen-slayer, a tight-lipped warlock guarding long-dead secrets. You seek gold and glory, winning it with sword and spell, caked in the blood and filth of the weak, the dark, the demons, and the vanquished. There are treasures to be won deep underneath, and you shall have them. 

Return to the glory days of fantasy with the Dungeon Crawl Classics Role-Playing Game. Adventure as 1974 intended, with modern rules grounded in the origins of sword & sorcery. Fast play, cryptic secrets, and a mysterious past await you: turn the page…

DCC RPG is a fast-paced, open-feeling rules set allowing for epic game experiences without unnecessary tethers. It uses modern game-play while paying homage to the origins of role-playing and the fun that it inspired.

Dungeon Crawl Classics is one of the largest, most popular OSR titles, with more than just fantasy up its sleeve. You can find the same rule-set in its sister products, such as Mutant Crawl Classics (post-apocalyptic), or X Crawl Classics (dystopian fantasy). There’s also oodles of content built for this rule-set, which will give you a story or adventure ready to run right out of the box. This is traditional dungeon-crawling, complete with treasure as a reward, and plenty of puzzles and traps to work through.

You can get the free Quickstart rules here, and I’ve heard that the fanbase and creative community is also very supportive!

Some dungeon modules to consider include:

White Scales, by 1pagedungeons, which introduces a low-level dragon.

The Valley of Flowers, by Phantom Mill, which was Ennie-nominated this year!

Trouble in the Gladden Brook Reservoir, by AoSmiles, a short tri-fold adventure about a body of water that refines crude magic.

Candleberry Jam by GLASS/CUTTER, a murder mystery on a sleepy island!

Other Notes….

You might also like Cairn, by Yochai Gal, which has a 1st and a 2nd edition, both of which are free. There are many many supplements for this game, and it often matches well with Into the Odd adventures as well.

I’ve also talked about Sojourn in the past, as a dungeon-crawling game with some solid high-ranking reviews.

You can also give me a tip by donating to my Ko-fi!

[sleepyjump]

Hii I like your blog a lot!! That thrall middle management post pressed a lot of good buttons for me 😵‍💫

Also hey what's a sleepyjump?

YAYYYY i'm so glad you liked it. i was talking on discord and then i was like "hold on i was kind of cooking. im gonna post that one >:-]"

anyway, you SURE you wanna know about sleepyjumps? they're a little, um, unethical. but sometimes that's just what you need! so. take caution if you're gonna try one. it's seeerious identity play. be kind to yourself and your vessel.

so. sleepyjumping is a technique you can do to someone while they're ALMOST all the way asleep. the sweet spot is, like, 90% of the way there. get them there however you like -- a good induction, a back massage, a pill under the tongue, or a good old-fashioned whack in the head oughta get them mumbling and yawning. don't let them fall all the way asleep, though! keep talking to them in a voice that's soft but firm. breathy but with a very direct, straightforward tone. treat it like a lie detector -- ask them some questions they obviously know the answer to, listen to their responses, and tell them they're SO good for being so responsive!

really stress how easy it is to just let their natural response to a question slip out. they're not thinking, just talking. a machine that produces words. if they start thinking about their answers, slip another pill into their mouth with a kiss or just say "shhhh" and run your hand down their hair and the back of their neck. keep them talking and then -- after a handful of questions, when you're confident you've got them in the sweet spot -- ask them their name. they'll answer, but you have to tell them they're wrong! be subtle. gently redirect them to using your name and say that they can just answer how you'd answer.

do not let them think about it!! if they get nervous or hesitate, repeat the above soothing procedures and tell them they already know the answers. even if it feels wrong, it's right, and they can just say it. the material of the answers they give is less important than that name question. ask them again. ask them again. keep asking them until there isn't even a momentary blip.

say that they're good. say that they're so responsive. say that they're such a good vessel, and that they're just too sleepy to operate such a wonderful body! so you had to fill it for them. and you've taken all their thoughts about you and made them into a brand-new operator that'll move their body around for them and take care of them and make sure they can always feel this good.

give them another pill. run a hand down their shoulder. when they shiver, pull them in for a kiss, and then tilt their chin up with your hand and stare right into your eyes.

tell them that it should feel like looking in a mirror, and then nod their head for them. then, and only then, can you press a finger to their forehead and lower them down onto the bed where they'll finally drift off to sleep.

and when they wake up, if it worked, they'll be you! or, at least, you'll be somewhere inside of them. don't forget to say hi to your clone. give them a fist bump. kiss with tongue or something. that's your business. everything that happens after the sleepyjump is up to you and you.

[elizabethsnuts]

Little Surgeon

Alex Karev x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Alex plays pretend surgery with you on his day off.

———

As Alex walked into the living room, he found you on the floor surrounded by your toys, wearing a tiny doctor's coat that he had gotten you for your birthday so you could match him.

"Daddy!" you exclaimed, your eyes lighting up as you saw him. "Look, I a surgeon just like you!"

Alex chuckled at the sight of you in the miniature lab coat. "Oh wow, I can see that!"

You nodded and put a shower cap on your head, pretending it was a scrub cap. “I boss surgeon and you be helper”

Alex nodded and chuckled as you put the shower cap on your head. “Alright, we can do that, you ready? Surgeons have to be very ready for surgery.”

You nodded eagerly, your head bobbing with excitement. "Yes, Daddy! I ready, I ready!"

Alex settled onto the floor next to you, joining you in your imaginary OR. "Okay, Dr. Karev, let's go over the basics. First, we need to scrub in."

You giggled and nodded, running over to the sink. "Daddy help! I need to wash!"

Alex laughed and got up to hold you up to the sink to wash your hands. "We wash our hands really well to make sure they're clean," Alex explained, turning on the tap.

You nodded and rubbed your tiny hands together as you washed them under the water. "Like this, Daddy?"

"Exactly like that," Alex said with a proud smile. "Now, let's put on our gloves."

You eagerly grabbed a pair of plastic gloves and struggled to pull them on, your small fingers fumbling with the material. "These gloves are too big!"

Alex chuckled and helped you adjust the gloves. "There you go, Dr. Karev. Now, let's get ready to operate."

You nodded and went over to your stuffed bear that was lying on the coffee table. “It okay Mr Bear! We gonna make you feel all better!” You said with a smile.

"Okay, Dr. Karev, let's start with a simple procedure," Alex said, handing you a plastic toy scalpel. "We need to perform surgery to remove Mr Bear's appendix."

You held your toy scalpel confidently as you began your pretend surgery. You mimicked your father's every move with precision.

"Okay, Dr. Karev, we need to make a small incision here," Alex instructed, pointing to a spot on the teddy bear patient.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I know, Daddy. I know what I doing. I boss, you helper."

Alex raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, you do, huh? Well, let's see what you've got."

With a mischievous grin, you made a swift incision, your movements surprisingly smooth for a toddler. "See, Daddy? I do it."

Alex couldn't help but laugh at his daughter's confidence. "You're a natural, Y/N. But remember, surgery is serious business."

You nodded solemnly, your expression turning serious. "I super duper serious!"

Alex matched your face, trying to suppress a chuckle. "That’s a good surgeon face you have on."

You nodded again seriously and suddenly shouted. “Bandaids! I need bandaids! Right now! Helper I need bandaids! Pink one! Pink one! Pink for emergency!”

Alex laughed and quickly handed you some pink bandaids. “Here! You have to save Mr Bear!”

You put on your concentration face and started to frantically put bandaids on the stuffed bear. You were very focused and determined to ‘save’ Mr Bear.

“He okay! I save him! He not bleeding no more.” You smiled triumphantly and wiped the imaginary sweat off your forehead.

“Well done, Dr Karev! I think you should become chief of surgery.” Alex said with a smirk. “Alright, now close him up.”

You nodded and pretended to stitch up the bear’s belly. “I closing don’t worry.”

You eventually finished your surgery and smiled. “I all done, he all better. I save the day!”

Alex smiled at you, he loved that you wanted to do what he does. “Perfect! I think that’s the best stitching I’ve seen in a long time.”

You giggled and gave Alex a big hug, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for being my helper, Daddy! You very good.”

Alex kissed your forehead and hugged you back even tighter. “Well, I think you were an amazing surgeon.”

As you continued your pretend surgery, Alex couldn't help but smile at you as you played together. He didn’t regret taking the day off at all.

[anim-ttrpgs]

i'm terribly sorry if you've answered this before, but i'm curious if the nature of death bed's progression means that it's more or less impossible to run as a oneshot? i love your work!!

Our upcoming game Death Bed: An Impenetrably Medieval Dungeon Game, is definitely intended primarily for longer term play and character progression, but I wouldn’t say it’s impossible to play as a one-shot. In fact I have plans to include instructions specifically more one-shot-y play.

The intended campaign structure of Death Bed at its current state of development is this:

Players, including the GM, create at least 3 PCs each, which all start extremely weak. They have a settlement they live in, and in order to stave off hollowness and improve quality of life in the settlement, they set out on dangerous expeditions to places outside the settlement, which function as an old-school dungeon crawl would.

The party, usually consisting of a very large number of PCs, goes into an enclosed or semi-enclosed space full of traps, puzzles, the occasional monster or non-hostile NPC, and treasure. They try to survive exploring that place, gaining EXP as they accomplish things, and bring back as much treasure as they can. The world of Death Bed is post-apocalyptic, so there isn’t too much of a wider economy. What this means is that gold ornaments and silver coins are not always the most valuable treasure to be found. A book, a chessboard, or some good tools or building materials might be a more valuable find. “Treasure” has a value associated with its ability to immediately improve the day-to-day quality of life of those living in the settlement. For every 100 points of treasure value they bring back, the their hollowing decreases by 1 point, and it’s one of the most efficient ways to reduce hollowness.

They also spend their EXP, which is semi-diegetic, with the Maiden to increase stats and gain traits by both strengthening their bodies and recovering memories from their pre-death lives.

After the party is done with a particular dungeon, the GM rotates into a player “seat,” and a player becomes the GM. Another dungeon is connected to one of the far exits of the previous dungeon, and the party travels to that dungeon to plunder it. This repeats as each GM rotation adds a new interlocking region to the world outside the settlement. If a GM does not rotate out to play their own PCs, those PCs will start to gain hollowness from being idle. (If you really wanted to be a forever-GM you could axe that rule but this GM-rotation thing is something I want Death Bed to encourage.)

Later on in development, I plan to add a procedure for one-shots where you can optionally create characters with a semi-random amount of free EXP to beef them up a bit in case you want to play just a single dungeon in isolation and not do all the character progression and settlement building parts.

Of course, the way I plan for Death Bed dungeons to be designed, even starting characters should be able to make it out of any dungeon with some treasure if they’re smart.

[existentialterror]

ARG notes: ZampanioSim, part 2

Hey guys. catfishAnabasis (Light) here, continuing my… uh, ZampanioSim Let’s Play? That’s dumb. My investigation into the Homestuck/Magnus Archives/House of Leaves-inspired alternate reality game ZampanioSim. Read Part 1 first.

Now we have the bare minimum on Zampanio Sim’s format. Actually, we don’t know much and it’s constantly changing, but we at least have an idea of what we’re in for. Cool.

What is the story unfolding within Zampanio Sim?

So we know from the Classpect Menu game, the one that “is” ZampanioSim, that this was an effort to simulate a now-deleted game from the 1970s called Zampanio, based on a now-lost* FAQ on how to play it. At some point, possibly just search engines, I have learned that Eyedol Games is the company that makes Zampanio. Let’s take that going in.

*dubious

A lot of the “routes” off the house at the start of ZampanioSim – see the diagram – are procedurally generated places to explore or are otherwise collections of content. But other have a more directly obvious narrative to them. I have marked these places here.

Let’s go. We'll start... Uh...

…

(Okay, so there’s a recurring meme in ZampanioSim about whether personality-typing you based on whether you traverse labyrinths clockwise or counterclockwise.

But I’m confused about which one that means – like if I’m looking at a drawing of a labyrinth top-down, and I go from the entrance to the right passage, I guess I’m going counterclockwise. But if I were standing in a physical maze, the clockways framing wouldn’t occur to me – I mean, they’re both chiral processes, but like, the hand of a clock moves to the right, so which reference am I taking?

Maybe I’m not cut out for labyrinths. When I’m caving in minecraft I go to the right, so if I’m coming back into the house through the north door, then... I guess:)

We’ll start with the non-existent West Route (accessible by clicking on the west side of the house, where you’d expect a door to be.)

AdventureSimWest

AdventureSimWest is an audience-participation adventure game that, like Problem Sleuth or Early Homestuck, takes suggested commands from an audience that guide a character, and the author tells a story around it. This one has been running for quite some time, so there’s a lot of backlogged material!

AdventureSimWest gives us a lot of info right away. It’s about a character named Peewee, who is hired by Eyedol Games. Peewee and the staff of Eyedol Games are trapped inside a Space Loop. A Space Loop is like a Time Loop except that once you die, physical space (within the loop) and many of the circumstances reset, but its point in time is… not fixed. Peewee is a snakelike alien called a lamia. He first appeared in a different SBURBlike game on FarragoFiction.com called Farragnarok, which he remembers but which I don’t know anything about. He is a COOL GAMER who has lived various other lives including through the destruction of his home planet, Segundia. Keep in mind that he is from a SBURBlike.

Oh, hey, according to an offhand exchange in AdventureSimWest, solving mazes by following the righthand wall means you’re going counterclockwise. Everyone jot that down. We can bootstrap this. We can do this.

I read up through the “JR Rambles about Spoilers” interlude. And it was fun! It’s Peewee’s quirky, haphazard series of adventures in a quirky, sharp universe. The style is fun, self-aware and whimsical. I don’t know how much about the AdventureSimWest lore applies to mainstream Zampanio, especially given the multilayered narrative Zampanio serves up to us like a delicious but concerningly non-Euclidean cake, but some of the characters and concepts appear in other places, and so the worldbuilding might too. Here are some things we learn about the world of AdventureSimWest:

Peewee arrived here from his old universe by jumping into a giant, spiky, magical wall of flesh called an Echidna. He’s actually one of the set of gods who created this universe, but seems to be the only one left.

People central to the space loop remember the space loop exists.

Eyedol Games may have caused or be causing the space loop, but does not appear to be completely in control of it.

The space loop started in 1971 and is spiraling towards the end of the world in 2022.

Eyedol has other employees, including:

Wanda, the “CEBro” and “Lord of Space” (homestuck classpect). She’s tremendously rad and maybe a shapeshifter.

The Intern, a college-aged dude from Ohio, who Wanda is always trying to find and who seems unexpectedly critical to the existence of Eyedol Games. (I might apply a little homestuck logic and guess that he’s the “Muse of Time”, but this is my own speculation.)

The Closer, an aggressive businesslady in a suit and cape

Someone called the Eye Killer, who, like, lives in Eyedol’s basement and kills people.

Flower Chick, some kind of identity-stealing fae, who keeps a copy of Peewee’s skull on her desk.

Quotidians, which are another alien species – these ones are shapeshifting crows and are a hivemind. Many of them are named Tom.

Parker, a “waste”, who has made his business out of learning glitches, hacking, etc, in reality itself.

There are also just two other teams of people who don’t work at Eyedol Games, who both got ejected into some kind of infinite labyrinth around the same time. They have kind of SCP energy. I don’t know what their deal is. Yet.

What about that FAQ?

The mysterious lost ZampanioFAQ actually exists, more or less.

When I found it, it felt like natural game progression: I beat the Classpect Menu game, then there got a link to the official Discord. Then buried in one of the Discord channels, one of the pinned links goes to – yes – THE Zampanio FAQ.

But then it turned out the thing I’d found a link to was a fan-made transcript (by @verbosebabbler) of a different “official” ZampanioFAQ PDF. And through various link-hopping, most of which I now forget, I also found the original PDF on a different website by JR. So I don’t know if I got there the way I was “supposed to” or where else I might otherwise have found the FAQ. But we’re here now!

(The official discord, by the way, does not have talk permissions open in any channel. They are all frozen conversations from years ago, with only a spare few used threads acting as the actual usable channels. So the discord is its own labyrinth too. ITS A-MAZE-ING)

Okay. The ZampanioFAQ. In the frontnote to the FAQ, JR describes this finding a printout of fic they'd read long ago, and sharing it as evidence that they did not invent Zampanio – that this is a sburbsim/glitchFAQ (we’ll get to that, hang tight) crossover fanfic by someone else that they read once, lost, and recently re-found - and that it has a couple indications that it’s referencing Zampanio.

Mostly, contentwise, this FAQ is sort of a interuniversal document about how to play SBURB (the universe-creation game that the characters in Homestuck play), written by a group of players. The Zampanio FAQ has, unfortunately, been heavily redacted by interdimensional forces, perhaps SBURB itself.

It’s like it’s written by a new set of characters who are playing their own game of Sburb. They’re learning about it as they experience it! Haha, that’s a cute gimmick.

Oh, the skull? Yeah, don’t worry about that. Hah, no, I get how it looks. But it's actually totally fine.

The redacted words in the ZampanioFAQ seem mostly to do with certain details of SBURB itself, like SBURB is trying to keep its players from spoilers.

Drawing from VerboseBabbler’s transcript and partial de-redaction of the FAQ, I gave my hand at making what sense I could out of the original PDF.

Excerpt. You may not like it, but this is peak ARG performance: multiple collaborative layers of nested PDF annotation.

--------------

Trying to fill in these blanks made me appreciate the potential of the fan-ARG.

Homestuck is a story that both rewards a lot of knowledge about its worldbuilding and also often doesn't explain itself – I think that’s why it has such intense fanwork, because it implies so much but leaves you to fill in the gaps.

Like, okay, classpects, alright? Fans make a big deal about classpecting and it’s cool but it’s also kind of nothing, like, we get some gestures about what it means but not much. (Quick, what does a mage do?) There’s so much fanon trying to make sense of it that even the wiki explanation is based on fanon. But fanon can be dope and people have done some really, really neat stuff bouncing off of the gaps in canon.

ZampanioSim is about nested realities and missing information, and it's heavily based on specific fanworks of homestuck. And filling in missing information on this document, I could use my knowledge of Homestuck to make inferences about this related-but-separate storyline and worldbuilding. That’s so cool!

In the same way that the best fanfiction draws from and interacts repeatedly with canon, the fan-ARG can act as a commentary on or a dialogue with its sources - a story made stronger by connection to another.

There have been other fan ARGs and this is really my first experience with the genre (well - does EverymanHYBRID count as a fanwork? discuss), but like, holy shit, I get it now.

-----------------

Okay, let’s regroup. So the FAQ is a bunch of advice written collaboratively by a group of people playing SBURB. The FAQ is about a kind of SBURB that is very similar to the one in Homestuck – but it’s even more similar to another game on the FarragoFiction website, SBURBsim, which is “is a fanmade browser simulation” of SBURB.

In SBURBsim, you can throw in a randomly-generated or customized set of characters into their own session, and SBURBsim will invent plotlines, fights, character progression, romance, alchemy, time travel shenanigans, and more, eventually telling you a story about how that session might go. It is mind-bogglingly ornate and cool, check it out.

Okay, anyway, so the game described in the FAQ is mostly Sburb-y but has some clear Farrago/SburbSIM elements in the form of the fan-classes – wastes, graces, smiths, and more. But it has some stuff that feels more Homestuck-classic-SBURB, like in the FAQ [EDIT: SBURBsim] there’s a convention where all the randomly generated player-usernames have the same initials as their classpects, so like the session’s Bard of Time might have the username belugaTrainer or belligerentTriangle or whatever, which isn’t a thing in Homestuck nor in the FAQ. It also adds a few elements all its own, like that there’s a recognized pantheon of gods who have sway over the rules of the universe, with their own usernames and classpects.

(Hey, synthesizing that with some background Homestuck knowledge + what we’ve learned from AdventureSimWest, I think the ‘gods’ are the players whose Sburb session created the ones that the FAQ authors were born into. Elegant!)

Oh yeah, as JR mentions, the Zampanio FAQ also takes heavy and pseudo-explicit inspiration from a fanfiction called the Sburb Glitch FAQ, a sprawling fanwork I haven’t read that’s sort of a game guide and technical manual to SBURB. Maybe more of this is references to that, I don’t know.

(Sidenote, Rose’s GameFAQ was one of my favorite plot points in Homestuck. I’m only sorry it wasn’t used more. So I’m delighted to see all these fanworks that took inspiration from it.)

So okay whether the FAQ players are more playing OG-SBURB, or SBURBsim, or a game that has aspects of both – well, they’re all pretty similar, I don’t’ think we need to split hairs. This document is an in-universe survival guide for a SBURBlike.

You know what it’s not particularly like? ZampanioSim, the game it supposedly inspired!

This is so fun to me. SBURBsim existed long before ZampanioSim. If you were going to make a simulator game based on the Zampanio FAQ, that game would be SBURBsim. But SBURBsim was already a thing! JR knows this – they worked on SBURBsim! Their sburbsona is on the about page!

They mention this in the introduction to the “found scanned printout” of the FAQ - they initially read it deeply to figure out, through the redaction, if it was a fanwork for their own project (SBURBsim). They write:

this is obvs JUST the faq, not any of the like, description or author name or all that shit that eventually lead me down the rabbit hole. like, you could find the missing sections in this weird ...not arg? I don't THINK? and they started talking about things like the achievement system and shit, stuff that stuck with me a lot more if what i chose to focus on in zampaniosim is any indication. still. having a record of the START of this branch is better than nothing

So, okay, the FAQ itself is not explicitly Zampanio. We’re missing the description and whatever else that’s supposedly out there somewhere, as lost media. I tried to find some reason to think the fic was supposedly out of time, like that it would have been from before SBURBsim was made, but there isn't any - everything lines up with what JR said in the forward.

So I think maybe reading so far into the FAQ without that other supposed metadata was a great time and, yes, sold me on a new art form, but it wasn’t that productive in terms of the broader Zampanio story.

... Or was it?

I've connected the dots

There was a reference somewhere – I think in the South route, though I can’t swear to it – that was pretty outright something like “JR added Magnus Archives elements to Zampanio because of an at-the-time obsession with the Spiral from TMA.” Now, some stuff like the south route is less in-character than in other places, so I don’t want to necessarily say that everything like that will “carry through” to the rest of canon, if that makes sense. But it helps put those pieces together, so here’s my running theory:

In the story, Zampanio is a memeplex that moves and spreads between dimensions - very diverse multiple dimensions, including different fictional worlds. (Think the Big Bad in There Is No Antimemetics Division - effecting "universes which embed ours as fiction".) Sort of a psychic prion that goes around twisting orderly systems and punching its way between meta-layers. The core of it stays similar between - it has a predilection for spirals, mazes, meta bullshit, and games - but some of the specifics change from instance to instance.

Zampanio probably spread rampant among this constellation of Sburb universes, perhaps because Zampanio is affiliated with games and Sburb universe is a game. (Or at least uses a game to reproduce.) It’s a great carrier. From there, Zampanio rode into our universe on the back of the FAQ. (Game FAQs being a known way to throw information between Sburb dimensions, in Homestuck.)

JR took the seed that came with the FAQ and instantiated Zampanio in this universe, and added their own compatible TMA-spiral flavoring to it.

(This also lines up with another cool aspect of Zampanio, which is that if you make your own fan-work or fan-story about Zampanio, that’s canon too. It is impossible to gamejack this. Thus far I’m focusing on JR’s ZampanioSim canon, but there are other people out there putting their own spins on it, which are also canon.)

Questions I have now, if that theory is true:

What other aspects of ZampanioSim carry on between versions?

Is Eyedol necessarily associated with the Zampanio memeplex? Does or did it actually create ZampanioSim in some causal way?

Does the Space Loop that occurs in AdventureSimWest have ramifications or equivalents in other instances of Zampanio?

Why does Zampanio like games so much? (Is it because interactive games are a convenient way to punch through from one dimension to the fictional dimension within it?)

There are comments about someone, maybe Eyedol, trying to scrub the ZampanioFAQ from the internet (in our dimension). Why would they want that?

What’s the other missing metadata that would have associated the ZampanioFAQ with Zampanio?

Who wrote the ZampanioFAQ? Was it written (...IC) as a fanwork of SBURBsim or did it “come from a SBURB universe”? Who censored it?

Aw man. And there's still so much I haven't even gotten into.

Like, okay, do you guys know gopher? It’s an early alternative to HTTP as a way of organizing the internet that was mostly sidelined, but a few servers are still around.

Apparently there’s a bunch more Zampanio stuff only accessible via Gopher and I’m going to have to figure out how to use it.

Thanks, JR, YOU MAD SORCERER.

So, that's where I'm at vis a vis ZampanioSim. I gotta get back to my own stuff for right now, but thank you ZampanioSim discord for helping blaze trails and mostly to JR for weaving such a wonderful weird mystery.

If you have questions or comments you want me to talk about in a future one of these, my ask box is open.* Also, if you get into ZampanioSim yourself, feel free to say hi on the discord.**

*(okay I know people have been involved in this for years and I’m still mostly trying to formulate my own opinions about what’s going on, so if you know something that’s like “an actual answer” and want to share, then consider phrasing it as an ominous clue instead of telling me outright – but I’m under the strong impression that this is an ARG where there’s not gonna be like a canonical underlying “answer” to a lot of things so, you know, do what brings you joy.)

**Your first challenge is to find the discord. I wanna be cryptic too!

[buckitweride]

This fandom is…whew. I stick around for the fics and gifs because no show has captivated me in recent years like this one but venturing into the tags is a cesspool of negativity. My dash is a relatively safe place but outside of that, it’s impossible to avoid some of the weird pervasive narratives in every corner of this fandom.

At this stage in the show, I definitely would prefer to see the BuckTommy relationship reach a satisfying reconciliation and grow into stability. But if for some reason this show goes on another 10 seasons (as procedurals sometimes do) and Buddie canon is legitimately on the table one day? I’m gonna be excited about that too.

It’s wild seeing bucktommy shippers act like anyone who ships Buddie is crazy for seeing their chemistry. Like… give me a break. We can love Buck with Tommy and still acknowledge that 6 seasons of history, love, trauma, and family bonding do in fact mean something. Entire fandoms have been built on less than what Buddie has established in canon.

But on the flip side, the “buddie canon season 7/8/9 TRUST” crowd is deluding themselves. And I’m not saying that to clown, because when I was binging through 8a for my first watch, I too thought it was imminently possible based on fandom noise. However, stepping back from the hype of it all, most of the “evidence” about the possibility of imminent buddie canon came from interviews and not the actual show. And it makes sense when you think about it. Of course the actors and showrunners are gonna acknowledge and even lean into buddie when it gets them engagement. The general audience doesn’t read those interviews anyway so it doesn’t matter what they say about a ship they likely don’t intend to make canon. It keeps the online community engaged with the show and that ultimately works for them.

It would be healthier for people still wholly convinced buddie is gonna be canon any minute now to accept this and take the show for what it is. There is always fanon to build off the amazing canon buddie moments we do have. There’s no need to disrespect the amazing queer rep we are getting in this show just because there aren’t any imminent buddie canon plans (and may never be).

And for those of us who love Buck and Tommy together, why are some of y’all seeking out opinions of the ride or die buddie shippers? And then getting yourselves upset over what they have to say? Who cares. Seriously. The whole point of fandom is to take moments from the source material and use it as a launching pad for fanon theories. And whether you wanna admit it or not, there’s tons of sand to play with when it comes to buddie. Of course there are also the people who’ve made it their entire personality to warp every canon moment, bts nugget, and interview as proof that buddie is going canon tomorrow. 2+2=whatever they want it to be, regardless of reality. Every fandom has those people.

By all means, call out bullying, racist, homophobic etc behavior when you see it. But seeking out their harmless theories and hopes just to clown on them makes you look mean and petty. And contributes to what makes this fandom so hard to participate in if you’re just here to have a good time and aren’t concerned with “winning” a ship war.

Similarly, dealing with the asinine “queerbaiting” complaints because a ship no one promised would be canon continues to not be canon makes it tough to enjoy fandom for those of us who are drawn to this show because of the queer rep. I’m begging this fandom to get it together. We easily have some of the best material to work with and feels like we are consistently having the Worst Time 🙃