#so technically crocs

[estcaligo]

Also, Sebek's slippers look like crocodile heads😊💚💚🐊🐊🐊🐊

[moongothic]

Re: Crocodile as the Missing Kuja Empress-theory

I do wanna throw it out there quickly that we know Shakky retired from being a pirate and the Kuja Empress 42 years ago at the age of 22, while Hancock took the throne 13 years ago (age 18), meaning the Missing Empress' reign/era lasted for about 29 years

And while we don't know how long the Kuja might've been without a ruler between empresses (like do they have a system set where they know who will take the throne next Immidiately After the previous one steps down/dies/etc, or might they spend years without an empress until they find a new suitable ruler?)

We do know that when Shakky retired, Crocodile would've been four

So unless Crocodile became The Kuja Empress at Age 4 (or unless the Kuja were completely without an empress for almost a decade and then gave the throne to a literal child), then there's no way Crocodile could be the Missing Kuja Empress

[cryingincrocs]

it's going to be such a jumpscare for some people when I upload a new chapter tomorrow lmaooo

anyways shout out my dedicated handful of readers who will wait ever so patiently for this thing. just finished chapter 33 of a slowburn so slow that one of the two main characters is still dating the wrong person.

[cptn-briggsy-kratch]

*Curses crossroads to have large, womanly breasts*

[Counterspell]

*He raises an eyebrow.*

[leahcee]

.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC When You Are Suddenly Dating a Princess (pt. 2)

[<- part 1]

"What do you mean-" Jason starts, but the girl is already tapping her ear briefly - and only now does he notice a tiny comm there. Fuck, he should have known.

"Oscar? I changed my mind, I want to claim something," Jazz says easily, and, after a short pause, "A Tecpatl, the one with the owl. No, it's for personal reasons- You don't have to, but alright." She taps her ear again, and Jason can't help but ask:

"Who's Oscar?" He is not jealous. He is just insanely curious and very confused.

"My bodyguard," Jazz rolls her eyes, "At least he thinks he is. I'd say he is more of a secretary."

That doesn't really explain anything. It actually just adds even more questions - what kind of a magic user needs a bodyguard? or a secretary, for that matter? - but Jason keeps them to himself for now. He is... kind of intrigued now. Jazz said 'claim', not 'buy'. Which might be just a weird word choice, but somehow, Jason thinks it was deliberate.

A bald, black-skinned guy in a black suit and sunglasses - which, seriously, how does he even see a thing in here with those on - makes his way through the crowd and stops in front of Jazz, nodding slightly to her.

"Lady Phantom, I understand you want to make an impression, but using your status for personal matters-"

"Did I ask for your opinion, Oscar?" Jazz's voice doesn't change. It's still pleasant and sweet, and she is still smiling, if just a bit, but there's an unmistakable steel edge to her tone now. Jason feels a light shiver run down his spine. He's seen Jazz in a lot of different situations and circumstances; he's seen her get mad at a librarian who banned some controversial books in the public library, and he's seen her skillfully take down an armed robbery in a shop all by herself, and he's even seen her successfully stare down Killer Croc on one occasion.

Yet, he's never seen her like this, with her chin raised up high and radiating authority like she is the most powerful person in the room.

Also, Lady Phantom?..

"No," Oscar admits after a pause and presses his lips together, "But the Council of Ancients will not be pleased."

"Council of Ancients couldn't care less even if I declared war," Jazz brushes the comment off, and Jason's levels of confusion are growing higher and higher with every word they exchange. Oscar sighs and finally complies:

"Very well, then," he breathes out with a sense of surrender, and then turns his head to Jason just slightly, "Is this an urgent matter, or should I go talk to the auctioneer and the sellers?"

Jazz looks to Jason, raising her eyebrows in question. And, technically, it's not that much of a time crunch now since Jason doesn't have to try and sneak through the security or wait for the auction to start officially. But he feels a bit petty. Also, this man was questioning his girlfriend, which is offensive on many levels in Jason's opinion.

So, he nods, "Urgent."

Oscar's face doesn't change one bit, but Jason has plenty of experience with emotionally inept men who look like they are eternally constipated. He can see the traces of exasperation in Oscar's shoulders.

"Follow me, then," he tells them both, and turns around, headed to the back of the auction rooms. There's security there, but Oscar only shows them some kind of a badge, and they step aside, letting the three of them through. As far as Jason knows, no FBI or CIA agents should have that kind of clearance.

Which finally prompts him to ask the most important question as soon as the doors behind them close and it's only them three going through an empty hallway.

"Who are you?" He asks Jazz, who is still keeping her hand on his elbow. The girl hums, not looking at him, and keeps walking after Oscar.

"Jasmine Fenton," she answers, and, yes, he knows that much. He's seen the files Bruce has on her, but at this point, he is not even sure how much of the info in there was actually true.

"You are in the presence of Jasmine Fenton, Lady of the House Phantom, Princess of Infinite Realms and sister to a King," Oscar supplies, and his voice is... a bit petty. Like he knows Jazz didn't want him to say anything, but he still did just because he could.

Jazz huffs and rolls her eyes, "Yes, that, too."

Jason blinks.

He's heard about Infinite Realms. Mostly rumors through the grapevine of Leaguers, but also from Diana personally - he remembers her saying she is glad about having a truce with them. He didn't listen much since she explained it as the Underworld, the Land of the Dead, so he thought she was talking about some mythology shit. Turns out it wasn't.

But there's a more important thing.

"I'm dating a princess," he says to no one in particular as they come to a stop in front of one of the doors.

"Technically, you'll be treated as my consort if you ever decide to visit," Jazz admits, and Jason is officially out of surprised responses. There's only a limited amount of bafflement he can feel in a day, and he has exhausted the resources.

He is a royal consort of the Underworld princess. Sure, why not.

The room they step into after Oscar puts in some code into the lock is filled with boxes, packages, and crates. Jason looks around - sure, he knew all the prettily displayed artifacts back in the auction room were only replicas, but he didn't expect the originals to be literally just stacked in piles in the back room. Yet, here they are.

Oscar looks around the room and confidently makes his way to one of the shelves on the side, quickly going through the labels on the containers.

"Do you have, like, a crown?" Jason asks because he sucks at small talk. Also because he doesn't know what else he is supposed to ask in this kind of situation. Jazz snorts and leans to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Not really. Danny has one, and it looks absolutely badass, with flames on top of it, like the ones you would see in cartoons. I have some tiaras and stuff, but they are just jewelry," she explains, and Jason nods sagely. Just jewelry, alright. Seems like he is simply destined to be surrounded by rich people from all sides.

"How about a castle?"

This gets a sigh out of Jazz, "We used Pariah's - that's the previous King - old one for the coronation ceremony, but mostly, it's just for storage. Both Danny and I live on Earth, and Dani, our little sister, travels a lot. So, I do, and I don't at the same time."

"What about-" Jason starts, but he is cut off by Oscar all but shoving a small box in his hands, "Oh. Do I-" he turns to his girlfriend awkwardly, "Do I have to pay you for it or..."

"No, it's from a dead civilization," she raises her head back and shakes it slightly, but after seeing Jason's frown, she elaborates, "I'm the Princess of the Dead. I can officially claim anything that belongs to the dead as mine."

"It's a law that is supposed to resolve any possible conflicts between the denizens of Infinite Realms and the living," Oscar supplies, his voice disapproving. Alright, makes sense why he said it was not for personal matters, then. Not that it's going to stop Jason, though.

"Like, anything?" He punctuates, and Jazz tilts her head, a sly smile on her lips.

"Sure."

"Lady Phantom," Oscar sighs, tired and chastising, but Jason doesn't plan on robbing the auction. At least not robbing it any more than they already did.

He has a different idea.

"Can you ask Batman for the Robin's suit he has in his cave?"

Jazz blinks, and then her smile turns into a full-on grin.

"Of course."

------------

@akuworld777

[uluvjay]

Needy-L. Norris

Lando Norris x fem! Reader

Lando can be good at hiding his feelings and overthinking with his heart, but this time around he has you to show him how good it feels to be needed :)

Warnings?; slight angst, sad Lando, insecure Lando, hiding emotions, lots of reassurance, happy ending, sorry for any errors I missed. Ps this is VERY old but I found it and felt like it deserved to see the light!

He couldn’t help it, after years of his ex girlfriend telling him he could be to much and that he was so needy he alway backed himself into a corner when he felt like he was doing to much.

Technically you hadn’t shown any signs or given him any reason to believe that he was to much or to clingy but he just felt like he was.

His head told him to do it, told him he was spending too much time with you and that you needed a break from him. His heart raced anytime he thought about replying properly to you, ached when you were giving him quick and steady replies but he couldn’t man up and give you what you deserved.

His mother always did say he overthought with his heart.

“Baby?” He heard you call from the entryway of his apartment, you must have used the key he gave you.

“In my streaming room.” He replied.

“Are you streaming?” You asked before you entered the room, not quite in the mood to be on camera.

“No, just looking over this video for our Quadrant athletes announcement.” He spoke softly, turning in his chair to find you standing in the doorway. One of his hoodies swallowed you while you wore leggings and the crocs he always made fun of you for.

You smiled sweetly before entering the room, moving to stand beside his chair you ran a hand through his messy curls, leaning down to place a sweet kiss to his lips.

But when your lips touched his you couldn’t help but notice his lack of usual enthusiasm that’s there when you kiss him.

“What’s wrong?” You questioned.

“Nothing.” He mumbled, pulling his head from your grasp and standing up.

“Lando what’s going on? Did I do something to upset you?” You ask following him into his living room.

“What? no, why would you think that?” He scoffed.

“Because ever since I left on Monday you’ve been weird, giving my short and dry replies, cancelled dinner last night. I just thought that maybe I did something to upset you while I was here over the weekend.” You shrugged.

Shit he thought, this always happened. He got in his head, pushed people away, made them feel like they were the problem; when in reality it was him and his issues.

“No-No you didn’t do anything, it’s just me and my stupid emotions.” He shook his head voice rough as he sat on the sectional in his living room.

The sight made your chest ache, his head in his hands he looked frustrated and upset, guilty over something you couldn’t place.

You hated when he spoke of himself like this, spoke like his emotions weren’t important, as if how he felt was Irrelevant.

Typically you only saw this after a bad race weekend, when he didn’t drive how he wanted and the medias cruel words got to him and made him think less of himself.

“Lan, talk to me honey. What’s going in that head of yours?” You questioned softly moving to sit next to him on the lush cushions.

He shook his head in dismissal ready to get up and hide away, hide his emotions like he always did, watch from afar as he was once again left for not opening up.

But none of his past girlfriends understood how he felt, they all thought men should be manly and that men shouldn’t feel, men shouldn’t be held and cuddled.

And while you’d never acted that way towards him and had never made him feel like he was to much, he couldn’t help the way he reverted back to his usual ways.

However this time as he looked up at you he found your eyes full of nothing but concern, your eyebrows creased in confusion as you looked at him like all you wanted to do was help him.

And for the first time ever Lando found himself opening up to a girlfriend or anyone for that matter about this particular feeling.

“I’m just a lot you know? The busy schedule, constant travel, always wanting to be close to you when I can, the way I get emotional, how I like to be held and kissed? How i constantly apologize for literally nothing? How I pour my rants about the team onto you? That’s a lot for you and I shouldn’t put that all on you.” He explained with a sad shrug.

Your heart broke at the racers words, too much? The simple truth of being loved and cared for being seen as too much? Who had told your sweet boyfriend that?

“Lando-I do not think that you’re too much. I knew what I was signing up for with your schedule when we got together, if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t have said yes when you asked me out. And to be quite frank I like how cuddly and loving you are, it’s never to much when you love on me.” You spoke softly hand reaching to hold his shaking one’s.

He couldn’t help the way he flushed at the touch, “You don’t find me needy?”

“Needy? Baby no, and there’s not one damn thing wrong with being needy or wanted.” You laughed baffled by his words.

“I love when you curl up with your head in my lap and take a nap, I enjoy playing with your hair and cuddling you. My favorite way to wake up is when you kiss me awake-hell I even pretend I’m still sleeping sometimes just so you keep going, I love the way you hold me after you come back from a race weekend, and I love that you love to be around me. It makes me feel good and needed as well Lando.” You explained.

Lando felt ready to cry at the honesty in your words, the way you spoke to him like he meant something, like his wants and needs actually meant something.

“You really mean that?” He questioned quietly, so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it.

“I do, and you know why?”

“Why?” He raised a brow

“Because I love you, and I love loving you.” You smiled pulling the man in sealing your words with a kiss.

Lando felt ready to cry when you two pulled away, “I love you too.” He smiled.

“And thank you, I’ve never had anyone talk about me like that. In the past I’ve always been judged by girlfriends for the way I am, they’ve always told me I’m too needy for a man.” He sighed pitifully.

“Well I don’t think that, there’s nothing wrong with being needed or wanted Lando, and I’ll show you that for as long as you let me.”

“Yeah?” He asked and finally there was that sweet smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“Yeah.” You nodded kissing him one last time before standing to your feel and holding a hand for him.

“Where are we going?”

“To cuddle, so I can show you how good it feels to be needed.”

Lando didn’t hesitate to stand after that, his hand wrapping around yours as you pulled him towards his room.

That night Lando realized as you allowed him to lay his head on your chest, fingers running through his tangled curls that this was okay. Loving hard was okay, wanting to be kissed and loved was okay.

And even though he was ‘needy’ it felt really really good to be needed and wanted by you.

-

[novelistwriter]

The Phantom of Arkham Origins

DP x DC Prompt (Been playing the Arkham Games recently, so I got inspired to make a prompt)

Danny had moved to Gotham while Bruce was training to become Batman. He couldn't ignore his obsession but couldn't risk going out as Phantom, as he was on the run from his parents, the GIW, and Vlad. He got attacked by both his parents after revealing himself, and then they teamed up with the GIW. Jazz and his friends stayed behind to give Danny time to escape. He doesn't know what happened to them, and he doesn't want to find out if they are dead (He doesn't think he could handle it).

Danny had been doing some vigilante work as a human, using both the martial arts and magic he learned in the Infinite Realms. He uses some of his Ghostly abilities when he can, but he can't use them too much. Otherwise, he'll be found by those hunting him. He's been tracking the "Calendar Killer" when he encounters Batman/Bruce. Danny isn't appreciated in Gotham by the man.

By the time the events of Origins do happen, Danny is there the entire time. He's there when Blackgate is attacked, healing and saving any guards that were unfortunate. He only makes it to Bruce when he finishes up with Croc and escapes the cops that arrived to arrest him.

Danny is heading to Penguins ship to participate in the "Boiler Deck Fights," unaware of the Assassins that are after Batman.

Danny replaced the Electrocutioner "fight" that Batman has to do. The battle between them is almost as epic as the Deathstroke fight. But the battle ends in a tie, but technically, Batman won, as Danny fled when Batman almost got him tied up (not like it would've held him, but he will give Batman the thought that it will work on him).

Danny isn't there when Batman does the Lacey Towers and GCPD parts of Origins, as he's doing his own Vigilante work by getting to Anarky's bombs and destroying them. He learned of the bombs' locations because of the shades that came to him.

By the time Danny destroyed the third bomb is when Anarky contacted Batman but was surprised or outraged by all his bombs being destroyed already. Danny let Batman deal with Anarky, as he needed to get something from his home to help him figure out what is going on on Christmas Eve.

Danny learns of the Assassins sent after Batman with a gift from Clockwork, a Time Orb meant for him, the Ghost King, he got after his coronation. This takes up the time Batman spends in the steel mill. He learns of the Assassins meeting in the Royal Hotel with the time orb and heads there but is stopped by some shades that told him about a bomb in a building. Danny gets the people in that building out while Batman scales the Hotel, and when the Joker blows up that building, Danny is almost caught up in the explosion, but makes it out in time.

Danny spends most of the Bane Fight helping injured people hit with debris. But when the police helicopters start to come is when he uses his magic to get up there, but he arrived too late, as Bane is escaping and Batman diving after Joker. He decides to follow Bane.

Danny fights through Bane's henchmen and then Bane himself in the man's hideout, but Bane manages to get away to deal with Alfred and the Batcave under Wayne Manor while Danny is beginning to become overwhelmed. Danny contemplates whether he should unleash his Ghostly side when he is saved by Batman, who scolds him for coming to Bane's hideout, but stops himself when he comes across Bane's equipment that show that he figured out his identity.

Danny didn't listen to Batman when he was told to head home. Instead, he followed the man to Pioneer's Bridge to stop Firefly. Danny takes out some thugs guarding the bomb that Batman couldn't get to, but before he could difuse it, Firefly had returned, and he left when he heard the police officers coming. He arrived on top of the Bridge as Batman and Firefly were fighting, so he joined in to douse the flames with his magic. Like with Gordon, Batman is beginning to see Danny as an ally to count on.

When the riot at Blackgate happens, Danny is there, helping guards subdue the inmates and healing the wounded, occasionally helping Batman whenever the two of them meet up.

Danny helps with the TN-1 boosted Bane Fight by being the distraction so Batman could take him down. Danny couldn't go with Batman to confront Joker, as he is starting to feel very exhausted, he had ran out of magic during the first Bane Fight, but was using his Ectoplasm to replenish his magic for the rest of the night. When it was over and done with, Danny was escorted home by Gordon.

When Cold, Cold Heart happens, Danny is still recovering, as he overworked himself so much more during Christmas Eve than any other time he was Phantom. But after Victor Fries was defeated and saved, Batman contacted Danny to look for a way to help Nora Fries heal on the magical side of things, just in case the scientific side doesn't work.

[bogleech]

Lately I keep thinking about environmental campaigns since roughly my childhood had to play up rainforests as these bright, shiny, heavenly fairy-tale utopias in order to get people to care about them. But in older media they're like dark, terrifying, brutal primordial deathworlds, the "SAVAGE UNTAMED JUNGLE!!!!" to the point that we still call the same exact thing a "jungle" in media if it's supposed to be more dangerous and exciting, even though there's really no technical distinction there. The reality though is that both are simultaneously true. I keep going on this rant lately but everything scary, painful, disturbing or dangerous about nature IS beautiful and wonderful and awesome!!! It fucking sucks that the majority of people only want to care about nature if they can comfortably hike it in their jorts and their crocs and only care about animal species if they're pretty to look at, useful or cuddle-able. "Rainforests" are absolutely kickass brutal primordial deathworlds. They're beautiful and precious and fantastic but they are also places where leeches will rain down on you from the trees until all your clothes are bloodstained and stinging ants the size of your thumb will make you feel like you're burning to death with a sting and one scratch from that adorable little monkey can torture you to death with sepsis. You'd never even guess, from how rainforests are portrayed on TV, that the thick canopy means they're actually dark as shit 24/7.

We get told piranhas actually aren't scary and that's true! The dreaded candiru is also so unlikely to attack humans we still don't know for sure if it really happens! But you don't hear about the Amazonian catfish, the size of a piranha, and incidentally also sometimes called a "candiru catfish," that convergently evolved with a cookie cutter shark and comes out at night to bite big round scoops of flesh from unsuspecting thighs:

I would love to meet all of these terrible awful things and I want them all to thrive forever and ever. Please love nasty things. We are nasty things. We're the nasty things planet and it rocks.

[sillyteecup]

A Lethal Shot Of Passion

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/Cursing

Minor injuries

Alcohol consumption

Innocent character held at gunpoint

Smut

Unprotected sex (please bazalwane, one condom one round)

Gunplay (minor) (logic does not live here besties)

Breath play

Degradation

Impact play

Edging

Orgasm denial

These people just might hate each other

Technically stalking ig

Word count: 5468🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: so, here's my very late submission for the Terry Birthday bas by @megamindsecretlair . Also, introducing the Milaverse where I will be writing a bunch of oneshots, all in different universes with there only being 3 constants: Mila, Terry, and smut. I really wanted to do a fluffy one this time around but I couldn't get this out of my head, so the next one will hopefully be some cutesy stuff. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this, and thanks for reading and engaging. (also, let me know if you wanna be on the taglist for all Milaverse fics)

~Tee❤️

Ah yes, Sundays.

Good food, a glass of wine, good music, maybe a good trip, but most importantly, good old peace and quiet. Relaxation aside, Sundays meant no work calls for Mila, which meant no dealing with her annoying Team Leader, Terry. In another life, this would have been enough for her to believe in God.

Having finished what was supposed to be a weekend-long mission in Singapore in a mere day, Mila had taken her early clock out as a vacation opportunity. And so there she was, in Phuket with her locs in a ponytail, and a clay face mask, wearing nothing but her older brother's old Outkast t-shirt and a pair of white crocs, lounging before a lush mountain view enjoying her third glass of Shiraz. A knock sounded at the front door of the villa, making her groan. The knock was soon followed by the familiar voice of one of the housekeeping ladies announcing herself. Mila pressed her lips together in mild annoyance as this was the second time she'd have to exist in the company of the older and mouthy lady, completely killing the peace she enjoyed in solitude.

“Coming!” she called as she ruefully placed the glass of wine on the table in front of her.

In 5 long, impatient strides, she reached the door and opened it to a view that irritated her to no end.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, glaring at the disruption standing before her.

“Oh, room servi-” Mrs Suwan began to respond before being cut off by Mila.

“I'm sorry Mrs Suwan but I'm actually talking to the big headed oaf behind you,” Mila said, eyes narrowing at the 6’1, now green eyed, honey skinned, undying pain in her ass behind the much shorter and somewhat terrified looking Thai woman.

Terry's lips quirked into what one would swear was a smile, but to Mila was a nasty sneer. “Now Mila, that's no way to talk to your husband who's trying to surprise you,” he spoke cooly, baffling Mila. She noticed Mrs Suwan wince slightly as her body jerked suddenly.

Which meant-

“Especially after everything I went through to make it happen,” he added, now through gritted teeth, confirming her suspicion. Terry was angry, and angry Terry was someone nobody dared to knowingly tango with. Even more so when he had a weapon in his hand. So Mila played along, hoping he would release the older woman between them if she let him in.

“Mila,” Terry said, snatching her out of her head and right back into the real world. The real world where he glared at her expectantly while still maintaining that strained grin.

She swallowed her pride and wore an expression that rivaled his. “I'm sorry sweetheart, I just wasn't expecting you. Come on in,” she bit out as sweetly as she humanly could.

Although the intense staring contest with Terry continued, Mila caught a glimpse of Mrs Suwan’s posture relaxing in her peripheral, as the quiet click of a gun being put on safety sounded behind her. “Thank you, Mrs Suwan. I'll be leaving a generous tip for your services,” he said, not once letting his smoldering glare at Mila falter.

Suwan nodded and scurried away, likely about to cry or throw up from trauma. Although sympathetic, Mila paid her no mind, only focusing on Terry, whose smile instantaneously dropped the moment she left.

“She couldn't even see you smiling, you fucking idiot,” Mila hissed, making no move to let him into her temporary space.

"I was committing to the bit.”

“While holding her at gunpoint?”

“Nudge in the right direction.”

A beat passed in the middle of their back and forth as Mila took in his appearance properly. With a duffel bag slung over shoulder, he was dressed in a royal blue knit golfer that revealed his bulging muscular arms, and navy slacks that likely shaped that juicy ass she often stole glances at during training, at the gym and during post-mission se-

His face however, didn't sell the polished image too well. Aside from the likely cut that was hidden beneath the bandage on his eyebrow, the remnants of his last fight were glaring. A split lower lip, dark with dried blood, a cut healing along his tense jaw, and most obviously, the dark bruise forming below his left eye, all told her everything she needed to know about his weekend.

“You look like shit,” was all she said though, not sure if it was safe to ask why.

Terry's features scrunched up in momentary distaste at the comment, before he took another to scan her appearance, basically eye-fucking her with his cutting gaze.

“Well you don't look so fresh and so clean yourself 3-stacks,” he retorted cooly, his bluff making Mila roll her eyes.

“Whatever nigga,” was all she said before she stepped to the side to finally let him into the villa.

Terry stepped in but not without immediately dropping his back onto the one of the couches, slamming the door behind him and grabbing Mila's wrist to drag her into the kitchen. He cornered her against the counter where the rest of her ingredients lay abandoned. His nostrils flared subtly, as his usual even glare bore through her with a tinge of fury. His large hands were on her sides, gripping at the edge of the counter and caging her in should she attempt an escape.

“You've been annoyingly hard to find,” he stated, his tone low and dangerous, like him in the field.

“It's almost like that's my literal job description,” Mila bit out sarcastically, her fiery glare matching his to a T.

Terry's jaw shifted as he likely ground his teeth. Mila fought the urge to respond with a quip about how that was bad for his precious pearly whites that he cared about so much. But she had already committed to being passively rebellious and she figured he was in no mood to hear a joke about his appearance. Especially considering his current state.

“Last I checked, ghosting your Team Leader wasn't in your contract,” Terry scoffed, his burning gaze setting her skin ablaze.

“Neither is having said Team Leader barge into my personal space on a Sunday, yet here you are,” Mila snarked, getting increasingly impatient.

Terry let out a sardonic chuckle, before firmly grabbing her chin. “Mila, I am not in the best mood right now, so I advise that for your own sake, you watch your fucking tone,” he snarled, venom dripping from his deep baritone.

Ignoring the shiver his tone sent down her spine, she tilted her head up even further, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Or what? You stick a gun against my forehead till you get your way? Nah, you're too much of a bitch to do that to your equals. I know, you're gonna pull out the usual! Bend me over and fuck me silly till I catch an attitude again? Huh Bitchmond? You gonna-” her tirade was promptly cut off by the hand that previously held her chin, now firmly gripping her throat, almost promising to tear it out. An additional surprise was the cold barrel of a gun pressing her chin.

“How ‘bout I do you one better? How ‘bout I shut that big ass mouth of yours and make you gag and slobber all over this here glock. And then when you've got it all nice and wet for me, I'll use it fuck that pretty little cunt of yours till the only thing you can remember is that I am your fucking superior,” he muttered darkly, every last ounce of restraint turning to dust.

Tears pricked through Mila’s eyes as with every word he cut off more and more air from her lungs. This made her pooling arousal all the more disgraceful to an unfamiliar spectator. However this was what Mila decided she wanted the moment she invited him in. No one, except Mila dared to knowingly Tango with an angry Terry, because to her, angry Terry meant sweet, twisted release that nobody else could grant her. Only she knew which buttons to push and how. Only she could rile him up and get exactly what she wanted from his rage.

Still, she mentally cursed herself when she noticed how her lack of underwear caught his attention, like a wolf catching the scent of prey. His hazel irises darkened even more than what Mila thought was possible, as a dark sneer spread across his face.

“Of course you like that shit. You. Filthy. Little. Whore,” he snickered mockingly, punctuating every word with a taunting tap to the cheek with the gun.

“Safe word?” he demanded, loosening his grip on her neck but not completely removing his hand.

“Moonstone,” Mila choked, struggling to speak between the breaths she was trying to catch up on.

“Who?”

“Sir.”

And with that confirmation of consent, the show was back on as Terry grinned slyly. He traced the butt of the gun along her left cheek, drawing lines and circles until he reached the corner of her lips. “Safety’s still on. Open up,” he commanded raspily.

Ever defiant, Mila parted her lips and spat out a defiant, “fuck you.” Terry's grin morphed into a malicious sneer as his grip around her throat tightened once again, snatching her right to breathe.

“Now I already told you that I ain't in the mood for no bullshit, so open that fucking mouth or God help Me I'm going to rip your fucking jaw in half with my bare fucking hands,” he seethed, fury laced in his still low tone.

A spark of rebellion passed through Mila's eyes as she spat in his face. Anything to get him to completely snap and make their little game go faster.

Children, this is a cautionary tale to be careful what you wish for.

His eyes went cold, and the rest of his features emotionless. He removed his hand from her skin and took a step back to retrieve a handkerchief from one of the pockets of his slacks. He wiped the substance from his face, his features not moving an inch from their stoic state. He then balled the now wet material up and marched back up to Mila whose triumphant smirk fell into a fearful grimace as she tried to book it for the room upstairs. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough, as signified by Terry's iron grip on her ponytail yanking her back against him.

“You know that was fucking stupid right?” he demanded, voice ragged from his labored breaths.

Understanding that she had flown too close to the sun, Mila internally surrendered. “Yes sir,” she whimpered in a mix of fear and pain from the sting of her thoughts being snatched out of her scalp.

“And you know what comes next right?”

Mila sighed as realization set in. Nothing is ever worth a week of paralysis from the waist down, yet that was exactly what she had ordered. Lust made her irrational and now she was gonna pay the price. But what else was new?

“Yes sir.”

While parts of her legs ached from being pushed and practically dragged up the stairs of the villa, a disgusting sting of excitement burned all over Mila’s skin. Yes, she was fucked, but she was also about to be fucked: a win was a win. Even when Terry let go of her locs as he discarded her onto white covered, large double bed that took up most of the space in the room...until Terry stepped in of course, she couldn’t help but to rub her thighs together to quell the anticipation making itself known underneath the oversized t-shirt. Her Team Leader, for all his quirks on the more annoying side, was what she considered an amazing lay who never failed to shake her world up whenever it collided with his. And that was just on his more mildly frustrated, but relatively nonchalant days. Although she had never crossed this far into the inferno that was Terry’s notoriously violent rage, she had learned on a few occasions that once her little green-eyed monster’s nostrils flared, a time was about to be had, albeit at the cost of functional lower limbs.

You win some, you lose some.

She used all her might to fight the smirk that threatened to tug at her lips, but it was futile. By the way the flecks in Terry’s irises darkened blazed momentarily, she had lost dismally. He stood silently at the foot of the bed, the decade in Academi evident in his bone straight posture. In his hand, like an extension of the limb, was the tool that had aided his rampage, threatening as it gleamed against the dim glow of the lamps that illuminated the bedroom. Even with the remnants of his last fight, he still looked unreal. The soft, luscious pink lips, the glow of his honey skin, and those deep bright eyes whose natural state eluded her due to his guarded demeanor and ever changing moods, had maintained his otherworldly appearance; but the bruises and cuts that littered his godly face, came with the addition of something more rugged. His steely and borderline hateful glare melted with a drizzle of desire while he likely contemplated how to deal with Mila’s blatant disregard for his authority. Mila itched with the need to break the biting ice. She had even settled on a quip about how he looked even sexier when he was beat up, but Terry’s low and cold tone beat her to the punch. 

“You’re excited,” he noted, a hint of irritation inflecting in his tone. 

“I know what I’m in for. Sue me for reacting accordingly,” she retorted with a shrug, a miniscule prior semblance of submission having evaporated under the heat of his gaze. 

Terry let out a near silent but all the more sinister snicker as he shook his head and scratched his jaw. “You a smart little bitch aren’t ya? Aight then Einstein, that little toy you carry everywhere? In my hand. Now!” the command came out as a growl that Mila immediately obeyed. 

After a quick search through her suitcase and her second toiletry bag, Mila retrieved the hot pink and royal purple silicone toy and its accompanying lube, and immediately placed them both in his outstretched palm. Terry hummed approvingly at her obedience before speaking again: “I’m giving you 5 minutes to wash your face while I head downstairs and get something to drink. By the time I get back up here, I want you on this bed, naked, on your back and with your legs wide open for me,”  he instructed, leaving the two new additions to his arsenal on one of the complementary towels splayed across one of the corners of the bed.

And that’s exactly what she did. She rinsed her mask off then cleansed and scrubbed away at her face before moisturising. She tossed her t-shirt into the guest hamper in the bathroom and slid the crocs off her pedicured feet. She then assumed the given position, slowly lying back into the foam mattress covered in white sheets and duvets, and spreading her legs wide enough to give Terry a clear view of what awaited him.

The man of the hour returned to the room with his duffel around his shoulder, the bottle of Mila’s Shiraz, and a single glass. Mila watched, antsy as he dropped his bag near the bathroom door and set the wine and the glass on one of the nightstands. He then wordlessly moved to climb the bed, kneeling at the edge and reaching out to grab Mila by the backs of her thighs and yanking her towards him, eliciting a sharp squeal. A loud slap rang through the room, followed by a yelp. His calloused hands struck the outside of her thighs, one by one, one sharp smack after another. All Mila could muster were cries of pain and lust as the stinging on her thighs birthed an ugly baby named arousal. The suddenness of Terry’s attack sent her reeling and unable to think straight, which was ironic considering the fact that she was trained to maintain cognisance regardless of what was being thrown her way.

Unfortunately no amount of training can prepare you for the wrath of Terrence Richmond, fuck or foe.

“Just ‘cause ain’t a paddle, don’t mean you shouldn’t be counting,” Terry stated gruffly as he increased the pressure of each smack.

“I don’t know-” she cried out before being promptly cut off by a moan that tore from her own throat at an even harder crack.

“Then figure it out. Ain’t that what smart-mouthed whores like you do?” he asked, mockingly. “You better get that shit right too, ‘cause I don’t mind improvising and starting from the top to wear that ass out properly,” he promised with a malicious sneer.

Mila mentally clawed at her own brain, desperate to figure out what number they were on. Maybe in the first 5, she would have gotten to the answer immediately, but Terry had waited before reminding her, and worst of all he wasn’t even stopping. This light-skinned, grinch-eyed motherfucker had set her up for failure from the start and judging from the growing tent in his slacks, he was getting off on it. Except Mila would have had the chance to avoid the brick wall if she had just remembered to count from the start. And there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he would keep his promise and get creative: painfully creative. But right as the thought crossed her mind, Terry’s assault came to an abrupt halt, leaving Mila’s thighs a smoking debris on the outside and a soaked mess on the inside. He was getting dangerously unpredictable.

“Hmm, I’m over here singing your praises, calling you a genius little slut, but you can’t even do something as simple as count? Disappointing,” he taunted with a scrutinizing glare. He sucked his teeth in as he leaned over to grab the vibrator from the towel, slowly moisturizing it with the lube next to it. 

Her teary brown eyes met his steely, focused silver ones as he harshly wrenched her legs apart. His features softened when he once again caught a whiff of her sweet, vanilla-peach scent, eyes closing as the pads of his fingers danced lightly on her skin while he basked in it with a slow inhale. Mila bit back a smile at what was to come. Her pussy may have just thrown Terry off whatever treacherous course he had intended for her…or he had just cut her punishment short and was about to fuck her anyway. Either way, what bliss. Terry’s expression however turned back to stone as he had freed himself from the momentary trance. Mila held space though, hoping that despite whatever he had planned, she would still get her fill.

“You’ve gotten too damn comfortable with me Mila. I knew that little attitude of yours would be a problem the moment you were assigned to me, but I thought I could fix it. I tried tougher drills, I tried harder warm-ups, and you just got worse. So I got alternative, I tried being nice, and unfortunately all that did was make me care about you beyond your safety on the field,” he vented, still keeping his tone low and menacing. Mila recalled how he had been a nuclear asshole when she had first joined his team. He had already been a bit of a standoffish prick by the time she arrived, but her defiance against his tone and unreasonable drills sent him over the edge. 

So Mila pushed even further. Terry then reverted-actually became more tolerable than when she had met him. Sure, his tone still had a bite to it when he spoke to her, but he was more considerate and more respectful. Never nice though. Which is why she had been surprised when he told her that she was slowly becoming his weakness and that he was finding it harder and harder to pull away from her. And despite their past spats, Mila was forced to confront her desire for him and her enjoyment of their incessant push-and-pull. That was how they built what she called their “healthily toxic love affair”. Without the love of course, because to Terry, outside of his concern for her safety, it was still about keeping her under control.

“Then you let me take creative liberty when you let me fuck it out of you. I thought giving you wanted would quell that agitating fire in you, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong, because now you’re disappearing on me, ignoring warnings, calling me out my name. Spitting in my gotdamn face,” he gritted through his teeth, fingers still tracing light circles, effectively igniting another flame on her inner thighs.

Mila tucked her lip between her teeth, keeping a snarky retort down her throat because the universe knows that Terry’s fury would likely tear through it and her if she said what was on her mind.

“I can’t keep giving you everything if you can’t give me the one thing I expect of you. Come on Einstein, tell me what that is,” he said with an expectant glare.

“Respect,” Mila replied softly, earning another sharp smack, this time to her inner thigh at the incomplete answer. “Respect sir, ‘m sorry,” she whimpered.

“Trust me Mila, unless you tap out and say your safeword, you will be,” he expressed, his dark promise coated in sincerity. 

“I don’t wanna say it sir.”

“Mmmh.” 

She watched intently as he turned the vibrator on, the low hum growing with every increasing setting. Her eyes widened as he inserted the toy in her sopping cunt, immediately sending unearthly shockwaves through her body. The unholiest of potential noise complaints spilled from her lips as the vibrator worked at her clit and g-spot at once. The overwhelming sensations dulled her mind, weakening her resolve than any of the drills Terry had ever thrown at her. All she could see was the orgasmic light at the end of the tunnel, a light she ran towards until her path was blocked by an evil set of greens and her breathing being cut off. 

Fingers pinching at her nose and a heavy forearm pressing against her chest, his gaze burned through her skull as he spoke: “Nah, none of that. Orgasms are for respectful little whores. And you,” he paused to chuckle, “ain’t even halfway there.”

With that, he was off the bed, leaving Mila there to curl and writhe in the bed she had made. He bent over to rummage through his duffel before finally retrieving…a book. A fucking book. He grabbed the wine and glass from the night stand, stealing one last glance at Mila. “I’m not gon’ hold you though, this is a nice ass place,” he noted lightheartedly before retreating to the balcony, closing the sliding door behind him and getting comfortable in the hanging loveseat.

30 minutes.

That was the amount of time that Terry had left Mila to suffer for before making his return from his me-time. By then, Mila only existed between a deep seated regret for crossing someone as twisted as Terry Richmond, and an even deeper desperation for release. Although he was seated beside her, he had made no move to remove the torture machine from her pussy. All he did was watch indifferently as the toy repeatedly drilled the lesson into her while she writhed and squirmed about. Finally, he lulled her from her frenzied state, rolling her to her back and removing the vibrator. His touch felt cold against her raw skin, eliciting a pained groan. Her vision was blurred, but she could still see him smirking down at her in twisted satisfaction. 

She heard him tsk at the soaked toy before he redirected his attention to her. 

“Always gotta make shit harder than it has to be, huh? Now look at you,” he spat, still fairly vexed by her display earlier.

“‘M sorry sir. So sorry,” she managed to whimper through quivering lips. 

Terry only clicked his tongue before getting up and taking his belt off. He made a single loop, wrapping one end around his knuckles. Naively, Mila tried to crawl away, only to be manhandled onto Terry’s lap with her stomach against his muscular thighs. “You miss a number, I start again, understood?” he inquired sternly.

“Yes sir,” Mila replied with a desperate nod.

Smack! “One, sir!”

“You gon’ learn how to fucking talk to me Mila!”

Smack! “Two sir!”

“You gon’ learn to treat me with some fucking respect!”

Smack! “Three sir!”

“You gon’ learn that me and you ain’t equals!” 

Smack! “Four sir!”

“I am your superior in every sense of the fucking word!”

Smack! “Five sir!”

“I fucking own you!”

Smack! Six sir!”

“Say it,” he growled, arching her back as he held her up with a first in the now loose ponytail.

“You own me sir,” she whimpered, earning another stinging crack of leather to her bare ass.

“Ah-seven sir!”

“And?”

“We’re not equa-” Smack! “Gyahhh! Ei-eight sir!”

“Again,” he commanded.

“We’re not equals!” 

“Because?”

“Because you own me sir!”

With two final cracks of his belt to the pricking skin on her ass, Terry rolled her body off his lap, ragdolling her onto her back. He wasted no time discarding his shirt before taking his dress shoes off. His dick had all but strained against the material of his slacks from snuffing out the brat in Mila and he was ready for his more personal dues. He made quick work of his pants along with his boxers, long and girthy glory springing free for play time. Roughly grabbing her thighs and wrapping them around his waist, he lined himself up at her entrance. Her body jerked as he rammed his way into her now flooded cunt, filling her like a piece of herself that had been missing. The feeling of him bottoming out felt like she was being completed.

Mercilessly, he rammed in out of her, the sound of his pelvis slapping against her ass akin to the clap of thunder. Moans, cries, and screams of pleasure and praise slowly ate away at Mila’s voice. Her throat had begun to dry and fizzle from the way she exerted her vocal chords. The next person to hear her would think she had been at a Beyonce concert. Until they saw her body of course. Terry made her skin a foster home for his mouth, kissing, sucking and biting at whatever he could taste like a starved bear. 

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” he rasped as he fucked her mind into nothing.

“It’s yours sir! All yours,” Mila screamed, unable to contain the fire Terry's unforgiving thrusts into her.

Bright green eyes darkened with lust bore into her soul, the erotic stare making Mila even wetter. The familiar knock of impending release began knocking for Mila to open up, and she had no issue reaching for the handle after turning it away for so long. However she hadn’t accounted for Terry reading her like a novel he had finished 4 times over. Suddenly his hand was wrapped around her throat, squeezing like she were a foe.

“You thought this shit was for you wasn’t it? Nah baby, I’m just trying to catch a nut before my nap,” he growled tauntingly, a damn near demonic smirk splayed across his features. 

“Don’t get it twisted Mila. The only reason I cut shit so short is jet lag. You ain’t earned shit yet,” he chuckled menacingly, feeling spurred on by the tears in Mila’s eyes making their umpteenth appearance that afternoon.

“Bu-but…I said…I said I…’m sorry,” Mila whimpered helplessly.

“I’m sure you are. But I need that shit to stick. Need you to remember what happens when you boutta forget who the fuck you talking to. Need you to remember the consequences for taking my kindness for granted,” he said, finally about to chase his own high.

All he granted Mila was a warning before he came inside her with a guttural groan. As he caught his breath, Mila held onto a hope that maybe by some miracle, Terry was joking. Unfortunately her hope was snatched away with the feeling of him inside of her when he pulled out. Her heart dropped as he grabbed his duffel from the hardwood floor and made his way into the bathroom. With the pent up tension eating at her, she couldn’t even console herself with the view of his retreating ass. The sound of water rushing into the bathtub reached her ears, deepening her disappointed frown. But it wasn’t long before he had come back out though, once again fueling a spark of optimism in her heart, until he gently scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the en suite bathroom. As the water began to fill the large tub, Terry gently placed her body inside before retreating into the shower a mere step away.

Unsurprising considering his chronic fear of non-sexual intimacy.

Mila sighed in contempt as she slid further into the tub. The hot water soothed most of her body while stinging at her ass. If she hadn’t survived worse, she would probably be crying in pain. The water reached her neck, prompting her to close the faucet. She turned her head slightly to glance at the shower. The glass doors were blanketed in condensation, obscuring her view of the delectable looking cause of her ruining cleaning himself up. Then a mischievous thought crossed her mind.

If she couldn’t see Terry, then that meant he couldn’t see her.

So she slowly inched her hand down her abdomen, touching herself until finally her fingertips ghosted over her clit-

“Don’t even think about it!”

Mila was back in the living room, nose buried in one of Terry’s many books he always had on him, while the man in question napped upstairs. Gold Teeth by Blood Orange played softly in the background to drown out Terry’s slightly less soft snores from upstairs. Flicking to a new page, something fell onto her lap. Absent-mindedly picking up what she thought was a bookmark, Mila lifted it to hold it against the page Terry had marked. As the object lifted into her view, her eyebrow arched. The bookmark was Terry’s I.D. Her attention was immediately on the picture, displaying a slightly younger Terry with less frown lines and a mini-fro Mila wished he had kept. Even younger Terry wore the same stoic expression he was notorious for unless he was yelling. She snorted to herself before her eyes shifted to the words on the side.

Terrence James-yeah he seems like a James-Richmond

03/17/1992

Mila frowned at his birth date. She thought Terry was at least in his 40s with how uptight he was. She always chalked his appearance up to good genes and “black don’t crack”. Then there was the date formatting that never failed to irk her anytime one of her American peers or friends would show her their licenses or the time on their phones.

Oh, and there was the fact that today was March 17th.

“Kganti le Terrence wa birthday’a? I never expeded it,” she joked to herself right as the card was snatched from her hand.

She craned her neck up slightly to find Terry’s tired, unamused stare trained on her. She grinned innocently, not sure how he’d react to her little quip since he had clearly heard it. To be fair, he didn’t really move like the laws of humanity applied to him.

“You know contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a regular person,” he snarked, turning Mila’s grin into a smirk that said, “really? You?” 

He simply clicked his tongue before snatching his book too and making his way to sit on the opposite end of the couch. Not letting him enjoy his peace since he had taken hers away, she moved closer to him, nearly close enough for their arms to touch. The point was to annoy him, not violate his boundaries. Still, she poked him in the side, earning a mildly annoyed glare. For someone who had probably flown across the world to find her, despite her ensuring she was impossible to track down, he sure had a funny way of expressing his desire to be around her. She didn’t mind it though. This was the closest to nice she would ever get out of Terry and if she was being real, she liked him like this. 

“Happy birthday Dumbo,” she said, taking a shot at his ears. He rolled her eyes, a ghost of a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Whatever nigga.”

[formulaonecrumbs]

what’s he supposed to be? an alien.

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: lando helps ollie and reader build a ‘spaceship’

warnings: NONNNEEE

A/N: i have had a bunch of these prepared already so u’re getting them now cuz i don’t feel like studying but i wanna do something productive 😚 specific anon, i’ve seen ur request about this series (u know who u are) and i will get to that but i just want to get out what i already have written for them. it’s also basically what u asked for but it includes the other norris siblings less which i will start to do 🙂‍↕️ also i aged ollie up. TECHNICALLY he’s 3 years older than lando but i’ve made him 5 years older just to fit reader in YAY! LOVE YALL. ENJOY ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #2 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: back garden, norris family home, bristol)

timestamp: 1:16 pm 06-30-2003

the camcorder clicks on to the sound of children screaming—not the scary kind, the giggly kind, the kind that makes cisca laugh as she fumbles with the zoom.

the screen comes into focus: it’s the back garden, and it’s absolute chaos.

there are cardboard boxes everywhere. big ones, small ones, some half-crushed. there’s a pile of tape rolls sitting on the grass. scissors someone definitely shouldn’t be using are lying dangerously close to a puddle of glue.

“what on earth are they making?” adam’s voice says off-camera.

“a spaceship,” cisca answers, zooming in.

and there you are, about seven years old, hands on your hips like you’re the commander of some serious construction mission. ollie’s off to the side, about nine, wearing a bucket on his head like it’s a helmet. he’s wrestling with two boxes that clearly do not fit together.

and then there’s lando.

three years old (almost four). wearing socks on his hands. and crocs. the socks are red. the crocs are neon green.

“what’s he supposed to be?” adam asks, trying not to laugh.

“an alien,” you say proudly, turning to the camera. “he’s helping.”

“yeah!” lando yells, waving his sock hands in the air and immediately falling over the tape roll.

you rush to help him up, giggling the whole time.

“careful, bean,” you say, brushing grass off his shirt. “aliens can’t fly if they break their knees.”

“nooo,” he pouts, looking dramatically at his legs. “my knees are fine.”

ollie throws a pillow at him. “you’re slowing down the launch!”

lando squeals, picks up a cardboard tube, and starts swinging it wildly. “defending the spaceship!!”

“lando—no!” you shout, ducking as the tube nearly knocks over a pile of boxes. “this is delicate engineering!”

“delicut en-gen-eering,” lando repeats proudly, not knowing what it means but saying it like he invented the word.

the camera shakes from cisca laughing.

you and ollie eventually finish taping the boxes into a big, wobbly shape with windows cut out and scribbles drawn all over the sides. you even stick a paper plate to the top.

“what’s that for?” adam asks.

“satellite dish,” you reply, like it’s obvious.

the three of you crawl inside. the camera moves closer, catching a shot through the “window.”

ollie’s at the back with a walkie-talkie. you’re at the front pressing buttons drawn on with markers. and lando’s in the middle, holding the cardboard tube like a sword, eyes wide.

“commander y/n ready for takeoff,” you announce.

“copy that,” says ollie.

“alien lando ready too!”

“where are you going?” cisca calls out.

you grin. “we’re going to the moon to find more beans like lando.”

“beans like me!” lando says, clapping his sock hands together.

the screen catches a final shot of the three of you inside your “spaceship,” squished together, laughing like it’s the best day ever.

the spaceship collapses thirty seconds later.

“oops,” lando says from under a pile of cardboard.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[suzukiblu]

Day three of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh,” Kon tries for a third time, clearing his throat and then sort of awkwardly . . . patting the kid’s shoulders, for lack of a better idea. Right, just . . . the kid still thinks he’s Clark, he guesses, so that’s gotta be like . . . what’s going on there, yeah. “Um–thanks, Jonno, but we should probably get off the street right now, we gotta get to, like . . . where we’re goin’ and all.” 

Ideally before Batman gets too Bat-paranoid about how long they’re taking, even if he knows what’s going on with the whole Croc thing and everything. 

“Oh, right, um–sorry!” Jon says, blushing in embarrassment, and then Kon feels like an asshole because the kid’s just–like, he just thinks he saw an alternate version of his dad do some superhero shit up close and personal, so he got excited or whatever. 

“It’s cool, you don’t have to be sorry or anything, just we’re still, like–actively in a situation here, technically,” he says, feeling even more awkward and patting the kid’s shoulders again. Fuck, he fucking sucks at this. “So like, better to get the intel on it, right? And like, locally-speaking and all . . .” 

“Right!” Jon says again, and at least stops looking embarrassed, so Kon guesses he could’ve done worse here. Though also he really wants to tell the kid he’s not Clark, but even if he switches vocal frequencies he doesn’t know if there are Batbugs in the towncar that would pick up anything he said, or even if this version of Jon won’t accidentally blurt something out or just freak out, and–

Yeah, this is still an “explain this shit face-to-face, ideally after testing the waters on the reality’s general thoughts about cloning technology and the results thereof” situation. Like, for sure. 

Though that does make him feel like kind of an asshole with, like–the kid. Like, he feels zero percent guilt about keeping a card or two held back with the Bats, but Bats are nothing but held-back cards and also, like, none of them are ten and all freaked out to be alone in a new reality and think he’s a version of their literal dad, so . . . yeah. 

Okay, yeah, he feels way more than just “kind of” like an asshole. Like–way, way more. 

Goddammit. 

Jon ducks back into the towncar and Kon spares another glance for Alfred, who just barely inclines his head, which is again totally unhelpful, so he just ducks in after the kid for lack of, like . . . literally anything else to do. Well–okay, that’s not true, he could just grab the kid and go anywhere on the planet they felt like, but he really does want intel from a local who knows what he fuck is going on and he has yet to meet the reality where the Bats aren’t the ones with the intel, so yeah. 

Also, they dropped a pair of half-Kryptonians into the middle of Gotham uninvited, so like, it’s probably polite to at least swing by the Batcave. Touch base or whatever. Report in on the whole “invasive species” thing. And he really wants to know what the local reality in general thinks about clones before he has to find out what the local reality’s Superman thinks about clones. Especially, like, face to identical face. 

Normally, Kon would be using the drive to wherever Alfred’s actually taking them–since obviously it is not actually gonna be the Batcave, much less the manor–to figure out how to maybe, like, figure out the local clone opinion without getting Bat-whatevered into a red sun cell or some weird magic circle or fuck knows what. Like, whatever the local Batman does to Kryptonians that his reality’s kryptonite won’t work on. 

Normally, though, there is not a starstruck ten year-old who immediately starts talking his ear off again the moment Alfred closes the car door behind him involved.

[jscrawls]

🦇🦇🦇

Addams! reader who moves to Gotham for the terrible sights, the smell of hazardous chemicals in the air and the screams of angsting orphans.

Addams! Reader who buys a haunted house and absolutely adores their newest poltergeists, they hold a seance in celebration.

Addams! reader who tries to have ace chemicals ship right to their door for their baths.

Addams! Reader who tries to duel Batman in ritual combat as often as possible.

Addams! Reader who would kiss killer croc and scarecrow right on the mouth, or mouth area technically.

Addams! Reader who doesn't even blink when the bats are acting like little freaks.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: brief disclaimer i watched the sixties Addams family when i was a kid so any lore stuff i mess up is because I'm ancient now and I've slept since then 🥹😅🖤

[fractualized]

So I picked up a copy of Batman Masterpieces: Portraits of the Dark Knight and His World, understanding it collects the images and text from the Fleer Master Series card set from 1996. As a bonus, it includes each initial painting idea submitted to the artist and the artist's commentary on the final product.

What I didn't know until I had the book in my hands is that this card set told a story, one about the (seeming) death of Batman. And is there batjokes in it? Of course there is like 95% of my posts are batjokes related what else would I be doing here

(The book as a whole is very enjoyable outside that, of course.)

So for one thing, while technically the first image of the book is Batman swinging through Gotham, repeated mention is made of how the card set is bookended with a picture of Joker's face at the start and Batman's face at the end.

[art by Scott Hampton]

The story opens with Joker's escape from Arkham. Not long after, Batman's death is announced with this image:

[art by Scott Hampton]

Afterwards, for the most part, the cards fall into a few categories:

Various people in Gotham reminiscing about Batman's role and reputation

Alfred, Dick, and Tim setting aside their mourning to review possible suspects

Joker thinking up possible answers

Other rogues explaining their own theories

The resolution of the mystery

One of my favorite images is of Scarecrow. I just love his demeanor and his skull spraycan.

[art by Dermot Power]

Took me a few moments to catch the details in this one of Croc.

[art by Dermot Power]

But anyhow, the thing with Joker's part in this tale is that he naturally cannot accept that he wasn't the murderer, even though he can't remember doing it.

[art by Carl Critchlow]

[art by Carl Critchlow]

He can't convince himself that other rogues managed to murder Batman, though, starting with Catwoman.

[art by Dermot Power]

As you can see, the whiskers are there, so it looks cool, albeit upsetting.

Two-Face is another prime suspect-- until Joker realizes Harvey is still in Arkham.

[art by Dermot Power]

I thought the text for this one was interesting, if only because I'd say that nowadays variant covers serve the function of letting artists run with ideas that don't necessarily show up in stories.

This Talia one is fun given that the framing for this portion of cards is that they're from Joker's POV.

[art by Dermot Power]

The idea of a woman loving a flying rodent is disgusting! What would so do? Hold him dramatically? And lovingly? And romantically? And stare deep into his broody eyes...

After his review of suspects (including Poison Ivy) yields nothing, Joker starts developing wild theories about how maybe he is the Batman's killer after all.

[art by Carl Critchlow]

The scenarios often take after known elseworlds like Gotham By Gaslight and Bloodstorm. But I'm highlighting this one, based on Holy Terror (which I'm pretty sure Joker doesn't actually appear in).

[art by Duncan Fegredo]

Some scenarios are from non-DC stories, like this Frankenstein painting, which may be my favorite of the book.

[art by Duncan Fegredo]

Finally, Joker runs out of ideas and breaks. If he didn't kill Bats, then Bats cannot be dead! And then he hears that the police have recovered Batman's body and they've already interred it in a special memorial crypt. Joker must go see the proof for himself.

And gasp!

[art by Scott Hampton]

Happy clown. :) But gasp again! That shadow to the right?!

That's right! Batman is alive! And he promptly punches Joker in the face.

[art by Scott Hampton]

"Nothing could flush my nemesis from hiding except for himself. And his undying love obsession with me."

So yeah. Batman faked his death explicitly to trap Joker. Like I guess it's a strategy worth trying for the single time it could work, but I feel like I'd save it for a moment of urgency. In the story as described, it doesn't appear that Joker had gotten up to much of anything by the time Batman "died."

And, as noted, Bruce's family completely believed he was dead. I mean, probably only for a matter of hours, but– Wait, nope, an early card notes that the batsignal went unanswered for three nights.

I don't know how many comics there may be about members of the batfam trying to kill this man, but I'm going to guess not enough.

[artificiallita]

i got bit by the butch wolverine bug and trust me im in lov w her BUT have we considered futch deadpool???

(headcanons and upcoming fic snippets under the cut)

working on a big silly fanfic about this hot mess boinking logan in the odyssey. here’s some headcanons while the story finishes cooking.

- so. kept her first name as wade. i’ve seen a few alt names floating around for f!deadpool (big love for the winnies, winonas, and wandas of the ladypool extended universe) but genderfuck ‘not rlly a name’ just fits my vision for her. her parents were weird idk.

- deadpool is a woman in all variants except one in my personal headcanon. he is called dudepool. also her corresponding nicepool is male gaze-ified pre-mutation wade. she’s bleach blonde and her suit has a titty window.

- ex special forces turned mercenary whose life shit the bed when she was diagnosed with cancer. tried to be proactive about it long enough to get a mastectomy, then found out said cancer was pretty much everywhere else, and we know the story from there. since this predates her healing factor, she’s permanently single-boobed. has padding in her suit to even her out since it doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, wears big t-shirts and ignores it in her civilian life.

- bisexual disaster zone. spent many years in a very happy and deeply perverted relationship with a male stripper named van carlysle, until that went down the toilet. a solid 70% of the casual sex she has is with women.

- dresses like the shitshow nightmare we know and love, loves an awful t shirt and a pair of crocs. put little to no effort into her appearance pre-mutation and that hasn’t really changed, had a brief phase of screwing around with makeup and wigs and then decided it was basically - to use a line of internal monologue from the pending fic - rolling a turd in glitter.

- speaking of, has a real complex about the changes to the way people perceive her post-mutation, namely that they seem to find her super fucking irritating and odd in a way that they very much Didn’t when she was still conventionally hot. between her military background and the general company she keeps, she’s quite often the only woman in her circles, and has always been a dysfunctional mess of adhd and unfiltered word-vomit, but that was generally read as mpdg ‘cool girl’ behaviour prior to her transformation, and now people seem to just think she’s a lunatic. less ‘oh god im hideous’, although she *absolutely* has those moments too, more ‘oh god everyone i know has thought i was a weird pain in the ass this entire time and only tolerated me because they wanted to fuck me’

- wears a lot of poorly applied eyeliner and purposely sleeps in it because she thinks it looks cool. it does not.

- had absolutely zero plans to snitch to cassandra about johnny’s rant, right up until the ‘bald hell’ line. she took that shit personally (almost definitely didn’t need to but whatever. i support women’s wrongs.)

and some snippets from the fic, all of which are me wade objectifying logan. technically spoilers but also what else did anyone expect

[4sh-n4]

Based on ^^^ that post (kind of)

Dick and Bernard don't get along. Well, they don't hate each other but they're not best friends. They're barely friends at all. Vaguely connected acquaintances through their mutual love for Tim at most. So why is it that Dick exits his bedroom one morning (in his personal apartment!! In Bludhaven!!!) to find out that his little brother's boyfriend has set up camp in his kitchen and seems to be attempting to conduct a coup over the pathetic electrical appliances in his kitchen that he had refused to replace when he first moved in as rebellion against Bruce's need to control every aspect of his life and then had just...not gotten around to doing it because he barely ever had the energy or time to cook for himself anyways.

Dick must've made some noise of surprise because Bernard turns around from where he's currently trying to curl the wire of the toaster into different angles and shapes in hopes that it'll turn on. Bernard nods at him before turning back to his task like this is a regular situation (which it decidedly is not!! Dick thinks with a tinge of hysteria).

"What are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Making breakfast? Or well, lunch technically but they're breakfast foods and also the first meal of the day for both of us. So, brunch? I was gonna make eggs and toast but I don't think I'm going to be able to wrangle your toaster under submission anytime soon so how do you feel about pancakes?" Bernard doesn't even have the decency to turn around as he answers. Or wait for a response clearly, since he's already going through Dick's cupboards for ingredients, abandoning the failed toaster to the side.

"Uh, the flour is behind that box. Yeah, right there. How did you get in here? How did you even know where I live? And again, why are you in my house??" Dick would maybe put up more of a protest usually, but he's had a really bad time for the last couple of...forevers really, so he's decided that his new policy (decided two seconds ago) is to never refuse free pancakes from anyone. And he's not an idiot, he's stolen Tim's leftovers enough times to know that these pancakes are about to be quite possibly the best things to greet his tongue in the last week. So instead of knocking out the blonde in front of him and dumping him on Tim's doorstep, he's deciding to be the bigger person. The more mature person. Who really wants some pancakes.

"Did you know the Riddler really likes pancakes? I found out that one time he'd decided to set up his base of operations in the back of that Waffle House on main street that closed down 2 months after it opened. Probably due to the aforementioned criminal activities actually. I was looking for Condiment King's cousin, you know the one that's been stealing all the dessert sauces in Gotham to feed them to Killer Croc as some sort of weird courting ritual even though everyone knows that Killer Croc only has eyes for Ratman since they cohabitate in the Gotham sewers? I made a video on it and everything for my youtube, complete with powerpoints. That's why there's a city-wide shortage of the good strawberry sauce and I have to travel all the way to Metropolis to get some even though theirs does not taste the same, no matter what Tim says. Don't listen to Tim, he doesn't know what he's talking about when it comes to dessert sauces. Other than marmalade, he's got a pretty good tongue for that. He's got a good tongue for other things too, but don't tell him I said that, I've been trying to convince him that he needs to practice with it more and I think it's finally starting to work. Or Tim is just humouring my request to kiss him more, I'm not actually sure yet."

Dick blinks as he tries to process everything that he's just heard. He blinks a few more times, just in case that improves his comprehension and then comes to the conclusion that no, whatever Bernard is talking about makes no more sense after sitting with it for a few more seconds and also that he's currently sharing a kitchen with a madman. His brother is /dating/ a madman, oh god.

Bernard has somehow managed to find everything he needs in Dick's kitchen (how? even Dick doesn't know where he'd put the chocolate chips, he'd lost them after hiding them from Damian) . He's also too chipper for...12:30 in the afternoon. Dick needs him to take a step back and give him a few more hours to wake up on his day off, please and thank you.

Dick thinks about addressing Bernard's inane chatter but decides he has bigger things to worry about and instead says, "That answered exactly none of my questions."

He knows for a fact that he checked his locks before going to bed, and his door has Wayne manufactured (and Batman enhanced) protection that should not be able to be broken by a civilian. So if he's got a security issue, he'd like to know about it before the Joker or someone decides that Dick Grayson would make the perfect target for their next scheme.

Bernard sighs and turns to give him a put out look like he's not the one currently standing in the kitchen of someone he barely knows and is being highly inconvenienced by Dick's perfectly valid questions about his safety. Dick simply stares back silently. He does seem to realise that Dick isn't willing to just let this go, so faces the stove before actually answering his questions instead of deflecting.

"Well. If you must know, my darling boyfriend is away on urgent 'Wayne Enterprises business' in Jump City," Bernard makes sure to add the quotation marks with his fingers and turns again, this time looking at Dick dryly as if telling him just exactly what he thinks of that lie. Dick jolts in his chair, eyes widening slightly before he gets his facial features under control, feeling slightly more awake all of a sudden. As far as he knows, Bernard should have no knowledge of the family's... extracurricular activities.

Luckily (or unluckily), he isn't given the chance to respond before Bernard continues, "I heard you had the day off from Duke who was complaining about how you haven't been visiting recently and got bored enough alone that I decided to drop in. I figured your windows are probably less impenetrable than your doors to account for late night visits, similar to Tim, except you also live too high up for anyone to get up without help." (At this, Bernard rolls his eyes). "So I waited until your downstairs neighbours- that lovely couple, Belinda and Mark- left the house for date night before picking the lock for their house instead and climbing up the windows for only one floor instead of five."

What the FUCK. Where did Tim find this guy?? Does Bruce know that his son's boyfriend is a maniac? Dick gapes at the man opposite him, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He runs his hand through his hair a few times. At least that answers the question about whether or not Bernard knows about his night time activities (HOW?).

"Okay. Okay. Wow. How do you know my downstairs neighbours?" That's definitely not the biggest concern right now, but Dick honestly and truly has no idea where to even start with the rest of it so this seems like a good point to address.

"I helped Belinda carry her groceries yesterday because Mark was at the vet with the stray cat that they're thinking of adopting because they've been feeding her for a few months."