#INFO HIT ME LIKE A FUCKING TRUCK

[zizzy-rie]

(Rock Monkies AU- info)

I SHOULD'VE KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT

I AM IN SHAMBLES I AM DEVASTATED @bog-in-a-well BOG GIVE ME COMPENSATION FOR THIS *SOBBING*

I SHOULD NOT HAVE GIVEN MAC THAT FUCKING HAIRSTYLE I FUCKING TAKE IT BACK IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE IT'S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE

[pomefioredove]

the overblots (+ rook + lillia? if thats okay) reactions to you calling them your husband…………..

saw the words lilia and husband in the same ask and got so excited I blacked out

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ calling them your husband

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, rook, idia, malleus, lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

Riddle "we're not married" Rosehearts, everyone. and he says it so matter-of-factly too! like, of course, you know that. you were just trying to be sweet and romantic. he figures it out eventually, though (the realization hits him like a truck two hours later, and he apologizes with roses and a slice of tart. Ace makes fun of him for weeks)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona is so smug about it actually. unlike Riddle, he's socially aware enough to know that you don't mean it literally. he's like, "damn right I am" and will defo make you say it again. especially in front of the other housewardens. and his family, and random people on the street (he likes it)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I think Azul would try to actually marry you after that. he is reading way too much into it. I mean, you basically just said you love him and belong to each other in the most intimate and loving way and want to be together forever!!!! (he's already thinking about your wedding rings)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"your boyfriend 😑" THANKS JAMIL. it's not that he doesn't understand what you mean, it's just that he's having NONE of that. thinking about the future scares him he's just a realist!!! and then he fucks up and calls you his spouse without thinking one time... you never let him forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil likes it. he's just sitting there all smug like "😌 yes that's me" definitely also calls you his spouse when you're alone. to him, it's just a symbol of your commitment and a promise of a loving future together. very cute very sweet 10/10

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook lights up like a kid on Christmas morning the first time you say it. it's just so!!!! he thinks about it for the rest of the week, and absolutely starts referring to you as his spouse. will sign all of his love notes with "your husband" from then on

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Idia is going THROUGH it. tells you you're being cringe while his face and hair are cherry red (which means he likes it!) definitely going to think about it while in bed staring at the ceiling for months. Ortho overhears and starts calling you his sibling-in-law :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus. MALLEUS. someone save this poor man. he's unwell. pacing around his room all night, trying to figure out what you meant by that. are you trying to tell him you want him to propose?? you want to marry him?? right now right this second-

you'll have to tell him you meant it as a term of endearment, which both relaxes and disappoints him (say it again, please please pl-)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Lilia doesn't really have a reaction. not on the surface, anyway. he just goes on with the conversation (he is fighting demons in his head rn). he decides he likes it, though, and he'll introduce you to everyone as his spouse from then on

[raeathnos]

.

[bi-writes]

simon being protective of his mail order bride scratches all the right spots in my brain.

mail-order bride

you're almost relieved when you hear the knock at the door. you've been a holding a tree pose for a few minutes too long, and the girl hosting the online yoga class is starting to fry your eardrums with her too-perky voice.

you're sweating bullets, and her hair hasn't moved a fucking inch out of her ponytail.

you mute the television, wiping your forehead before making your way to the front door. you open it with a sigh, not really knowing what you expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the average-dressed man standing on the steps there.

you blink, raising a brow when his eyes roam over you, and you realize suddenly that you're wearing workout clothes, which is showing off a little more than you'd like to some rando standing on your doorstep.

"uh..." you look around a little. "i'm sorry, can i help you?"

he smiles. it's a little unnerving.

"right, yeah, i'm starting a business around here, and i wanted to ask if you've been needing any help with any fixtures around the house. i'm giving a 50% discount if you give me a rating on google."

you open your mouth for a moment, frowning.

"uhm..." you shake your head, "sorry. we don't need any help right now."

"you live here alone? sometimes it's hard to spot when the electric's on the piss, y'know? need a keen eye," he laughs, coming up one of the steps. you shake your head again.

"no, thanks."

he's a wiry man, but he's tall (not taller than your husband, but taller than you). you step back a little and start to close the door. he comes up the steps. out of the corner of your eye, you see the cat slip out between your legs, hissing a little as the distance closes between you and the man.

"wait! can i give you my contact info? i don't have a card, but i can leave you my--"

the sound of simon's truck pulling into the garage gets both of you to look behind. simon doesn't even park all the way inside. he throws the truck door open, stepping out of it, and the man on your steps moves back away from you immediately, making his way off the little porch.

simon looks huge, more so than ever. his steps are heavy, boots hitting the ground like a warning bell, and he's wearing just a short-sleeved shirt that's showing off those glorious fucking arms. you have never doubted simon's strength, but he looks like he could flip a car with the anger that's leaving him in heavy waves. you're surprised that you are not afraid; you just know somehow that simon won't touch you.

"oi!" simon yells, and the man definitely understands he picked the wrong fucking house to be a creepy salesman at when his knees nearly buckle as he tries to walk away. "where the fuck do y'think y'r goin', you twat?"

you sigh deeply, not realizing how much you were shaking until you notice your hands trembling around the doorknob. you watch as simon catches the guy by his dirty jean jacket, nearly lifting him completely off his feet as he drags him towards the fence gate.

"hey! hey! i didn't do anything!"

"i saw ya, ya fuckin' arse, know exactly wot the fuck y'were doin'," simon growls, tossing him onto the sidewalk. he hits the pavement with a cry, holding onto his arm, and simon slams the fence gate closed before pointing at him accusingly. "'f i ever see ya anywhere near m'fuckin' house or even askin' m'wife for so much as fuckin' directions, i'll cut y'r bloody prick off, y'hear?"

you blink as simon comes closer, the cat retreating back into the house once they see him. he keeps walking, crowding you back into the house before he shuts and locks the front door. his chest is heaving, black t-shirt doing nothing to hide the puff of his chest and how large he makes himself when he stands up to other men. he doesn't even need to make himself larger; simon takes up enough space for two men combined.

"he touch you?" simon asks, his voice low. you see his fists clench, and you have no doubt that if you said yes, simon would go outside and paint the pavement a new color with the man's face.

you shake your head frantically, and he lets out a deep breath, reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of your head and pulling you close.

he bends, pressing his masked forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathes in slowly. he rubs at the nape of your neck, soothing you, and you smile when he pulls away, giving him those big eyes that say thank you, thank you, thank you.

simon cocks his head, staring behind you, and you turn with him to see the cat blinking slowly at the two of you from it's place on the windowsill.

"should get you a fucking guard dog instead," simon mutters, pulling his mask off and kicking his boots into the corner. you smile as he walks away, trying to cool your warm cheeks with the backs of your hands.

doesn't he know you already have one?

[finniestoncrane]

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

[honesttoglob]

Ok so few thoughts on the Season 2 Bigtop Burger Supercut:

- Apparently the "freakazoids" that Cesare and the underworld have been keeping tabs on are Cryptids. I had suspected the freakazoids in question might be demons as Hell is taking some responsibility for them but they're cryptids??? Man, that just makes me sad, leave bigfoot alone :(((((

- One of the cryptids pictured is Flatwoods Monster, who, according to legend, is also an alien. The other two appear to be Mothman and though I'm a bit fuzzy on this one some sort of bigfoot or yeti creature. He's wearing a lil stetson hat. Did Cesare use the stetson hat trick before?

- The second still shown in the credits appears to be Munkustrap descending onto Earth on some sort of spacecraft as the Bigtop and Zomburger crews watch. They appear to be in the same positions/outfits as when Cesare whack-a-moled Steve into hell. Which is????? Idk what to make of that. Could Flatwoods Monster have some kind of alien technology that they used to contact Clown World? Are we finally gonna have Clown vs Undead War??????? I wonder how Munkustrap will react to seeing other clowns in the pink-yellow-blue spotted outfit which Tim, Penny and Billie are wearing, which seems to be a pattern which all banished clowns are exiled in. Looking forward to see how he looks now that he's aged! Also, I like that this scene implies the Zomburger and Bigtop gangs stick together! Which I want them too! SO BADLY!!!

- As @fr0stmask mentioned in a reply on this post, the spacecraft Munkustrap is seen on is actually a tire, as in the musical Cats, cats who are deemed worthy are sent up to the Heaviside Layer on a TIRE!!! Thanks for the info!

- What if the Cats performance is literal, and one clown actually gets sent "up to the heaviside layer", and that's what happened to Munkustrap and how he got the tire spacecraft. Steve got booted out via banishment and Munkustrap was chosen to ascend, but in the end they both ended up in the same place.

- Frances, Conrad and Allen look visibly upset when they realize Cesare isn't actually proposing a truce and is still up to his antagonistic bullshit.

- The image of Cesare in his weird little Cabinet of Dr. Caligari coffin makes my stomach do little back filps. We've seen Tim, Penny, Billie, Frances, Conrad, Allen, and Steve all in their own homes (For Steve it's his truck where he sleeps) but Never Cesare! Seeing him in there makes me nervous honestly because in the image, his box/cabinet has two doors on its front, with no handles inside, which suggests it closes from the outside and he's "stored" in there and deanimated (seeing as his eyes are closed and this is the only time we've seen him at rest) when not in use. This would add metaphorical meaning to Cesare's comments about being a puppet vendor, as now that's all he is- a puppet. He looks like a little doll being stored in his box. This seems to suggest something I've long suspected, that the "1000 year sentence" Cesare is being held on by the underworld may be bullshit, and he won't actually be allowed to go on retirement. Instead, this idea of his sentence one day ending is merely meant to motivate and control him, like a carrot being held in front of a horse. Could that candle shown at the end be his lifeforce? When its lit maybe he's animate, while when its snuffed out, he's a lifeless husk kept in a box.

- You think Cesare's and Steve's footie pajamas have a similar narrative role? Like to make them easily identifiable as rejects (in Steve's case) or property (in Cesare's case)? You think they're just meant to be dehumanizing or a source of shame?

- Tim was the first one to find Steve, which makes me feel fucked up that Steve still doesn't know his name and seems to mis-name him the most :(((((( Tom and Toby???????? I mean I get that my man likely has memory issues, he's very old and he hit his head very hard on the ground and he refuses to go easy on that fckng juul

- Baby Tim is so cute and handsome I'm dying

- The alley Steve emerges into in the after credits scene seems to rememble the alley with the hole in the ground that Conrad recounts Cesare getting money from. Is this because the underworld was able to track Steve's ascent through the ground to Earth's surface? Is this the same hole Cesare enters and exits the underworld from?

- Also, Steve spits out some rocks when he reaches the surface. U think that's how he started thinking of rocks as food? They just kimda got in ther and he thought "mmmnm yummy!"

- Based on the timelime and my own calcumalations, Steve landed in Sweden, creating the crater which is now known as the Siljan ring, and emerged a whole continent over in North America (at least I'm assuming the show takes place in North America. The driving wheel is on the left side, right? And everyone has American accents? (Except Tim) Is that enough?)

I have a theory that Penny reminds Steve of his own mother. Both women have the same voice actress (Lindsay Small-Butera, my beloved ;-;), and in season one, while Steve is high, once he hears Penny's voice, he shapeshifts into his child form (which I think might have been the last time he saw his mom before she dropped him off at Christian-Acting Camp) and asks her for soup. He's even in the same Little Lord Fontleroy outift. Also, at the Food Truck Expo, when Steve sees Cesare approaching him, he hides behind Penny's back. Also, they have a similar appearance in hair color and clown makeup.

- Speaking of Steve's family, in the scene where Steve is about to be shot into space, there are three clowns who stick out from the crowd. One, with a haircut resembling Steve's mother's on the right (I believe this is her), Munkustrap in the center (at least I believe this is him, their hair and faces are similar) and a male figure on the left. I believe this figure on the left is Steve's father, and Munkustrap is either Steve's brother or past love interest (I think him being his brother is more realistic because him being Steve's love interest and sending him into space is I think too dark even for this show).

- I think the clown actors in Cats may only refer to eachother by their character names. Munkustrap is given no other name, and Steve being stripped of his name as "Old Deut" is seen as a big deal.

- I noticed whenever male clowns get old, their hair develops into sort of a tonsure style with a little dollop of hair sitting right in the middle of their bald spot. Peanut has this, along with Steve's father, and Steve is also developing this as well, based on the wicked widow's peak he has whenever his hat is off.

- bro I wanna see Cesare and Munkustrap interact so bad. What if they get jealous of eachother like, "No! I'm the only emo twink that gets to make Steve's life a living hell, who the fck are you???"

- I want them. To fight lol

- Cat fight!!!!!

- I may be stretching with this one but Munkustrap and Cesare just look kinda visually similar to me? At least with the black onesie and the dark unkempt hair. You think there's a reason for that? Or is it more metaphorical, as in these are just two people who have an impact on Steve's life in that they do their best to not let him fit in with the general society?

- In the still of Munkustrap descending from the sky, Conrad is build like a brick shit house frfr

Just needed to get these thoughts out of my head so they don't weigh down on my humors and make me bad at art and work and remembering to eat food and sleep and bathe and breathe for the next however many months it is before another episode O-O

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary, nsfw, angst, forced proximity

After a hellish 24 hour shift, you’re starting to think you should have taken him up on his offer. Give me a foot rub then get the fuck out. However, it most definitely would not have ended at only a foot rub. You know yourself too well to think you can keep your grubby hands off that man in any sort of private, intimate setting. Yeah, you’re staying the hell away from Ludlow. 

It’s gross, but you don’t even take a shower, and pass out cold on the couch as soon as your rat's nest of hair hits the throw pillow. 

Dark, honey eyes welcome you to the land of unconsciousness. The place where you can’t control your disobedient vagina so easily. And, apparently, she liked Tom Ludlow a lot. Especially his hands. Fuck. Thick fingers, surprisingly gentle and teasing, tucking up inside you, coaxing at that sweet little spot you can’t quite get at on your own. His mouth swallowing your moans, tongue licking urgently against your teeth, practically eating you alive. Something hard and velvet pressed against your thighs. 

A loud knock wakes you up in the same position you started at. Face down on the couch, except now feeling even grosser because of the slick arousal between your legs. You stumble to the door, pull it open. It’s Ms. Higgs, your sweet next door neighbor. 

“Oh, hello, y/n, I heard…. Yelling? Is everything okay?” 

You look at her stupidly. “Yelling….?”

“Yes, it sounded like you were in distress. Sorry, is this a bad time?” She eyes your just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck appearance, complete with gore and all. 

Oh. The dream. Oh… oh. You feel yourself freeze despite the embarrassed heat warming your skin. “Uh.” Yes, great, make her think you’re out of your mind. You try a terse smile. “Oh. Sorry. I had a long shift and I must have been having a nightmare.” 

How in the hell did you pass nursing school?

Thank God she looks like she wants to leave as soon as possible. “Right. Well.” Clears her throat. “I’m glad you’re okay. Have a good day.” She moves fast for an older woman, shutting herself back into the apartment next door before you can bid goodbye. 

Your neighbor now hates you, and you’re definitely blaming Ludlow for it. 

Shower, eat, masturbate. No, wait. Masturbate, then eat. No. Eat first so then you can masturbate as many times as it takes to get Mr. I’m a Pretty, Dark Eyed Cop With Huge Hands - 

You have to literally pinch yourself to stop this train of thought from turning into a derailed crash. 

Your plans fail miserably, and that is actually Ludlow’s fault, but you refuse to admit it. At least you’re eliminating two steps at once with the handy dandy shower head.

And then again after you eat. And then again in your bed. And, damn, you really need to invest in a vibrator like Sheila told you to do a long time ago. 

You don’t consider yourself a prude by any means; there’s just no time for adult toys or one night stands. Your job, more often than not, consumes your life, and you like it that way. The fast pace, the interesting medical anomalies you get to see, your funny coworkers, cute and oh so nice Dr. Julian who brings you all Starbucks on Sundays. You usually pick up more shifts than you’re scheduled, fueled by rising violent crime rates in the inner cities. There is a satisfaction in bringing someone back from the dead, especially someone young with their whole life ahead of them. Grim Reaper? Psh. Kiss my ass. 

***

Sometimes you need a break, and these next two days you have off are going to be that time away. 

Except, on the second day, you’re bored, so you end up going in for an eight hour shift. 

You have a bad habit of not viewing your patient’s info before you get into their exam room, favoring the ol’ fashioned method of actually looking at the person instead of a computer. As soon as you walk into your next assigned room, however, you vow to change your messy bitch ways. Handsome Cop - the one you refuse to admit you spent two full days rubbing yourself off to - sits on the cot, grinning at you like the cat that caught the mouse. 

You do feel a little bit like a tiny mouse under that hefty stare, scurrying in and going right to the computer so you don’t have to make eye contact longer than necessary - well, long enough for ruined underwear. 

“Hey.” 

“Hello, did your stitches come open?” You try to maintain a strictly professional voice, but you can tell by the sharpening of his grin it’s not working. 

“What? You’re not gonna fight with me today?” 

“Do nurses fight people where you’re from?” Here you are, playing into his game. Stupid. 

“There she is.” 

Your jaw tightens. “What are you being seen for, Mr. Ludlow?”

“Ouch, surnames? Really?”

“Surprised you know what that big word means.”

His gorgeous eyebrow cocks as he looks around the monitor at you, and you tuck yourself further behind the computer to hide. 

“Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. Well, he puts his right hand up. His left can only rise so far into the air. “Yeah, I tore them.” 

“Can you show me?” 

He strips his shirt, revealing a long, toned torso that belongs in X-rated cinema instead of bed number 3 at the South Bay General ED. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, close your mouth or you’ll catch flies?” He asks. 

“It’s actually, shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” 

“Okay, how about this one: My eyes are up here, darling.”

First of all, you didn’t even look at his bare chest that much. He’s definitely exaggerating. Second of all, well - ugh - second of all fuck you, Ludlow. 

His stitches are busted open right in the middle. You have to unstick the bloody dressing carefully and then spray the center with some antiseptic. 

“You should be more careful.” Is it just you or does he smell different tonight? Less sweat and copper, more spice and cardamon.

You do your best to shake it off. Plenty of men wear cologne everyday–it doesn’t mean he got cleaned up just for you. 

“I don’t really have anyone to be careful for.”

“Get a dog?” 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“What why? I don’t know, blue?” 

“So I can pick out a collar you’ll like.” 

He’s joking, but the feral urge to jam your thumb right into his tearing wound is palpable. 

He realizes he fucked up when you don’t have a witty retort. 

“Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean that you’re a bitch.” If you’re giving him credit, he at least looks sorry. And sorry looks far too good on him. The big grinning Doberman turns into a wide eyed puppy dog and it makes your heart squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry. I just meant - hey, hey.” He tips your chin up so you can see the apology in his softened eyes. “I’m an asshole.” 

You flick his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” 

He must be hard of hearing, because he dwarfs your arm in his grip and pulls you closer. “C’Mon, little nurse. Now you have to let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a fancy dinner or something.” 

Pulling away is not an option, so you come up with a better idea. “Okay, fine. I will. If you can answer one question.”

He looks delighted by this. “Try me.”

“What’s my name?” 

You relish the sight of his smile wiping clean. The big grin transfers from his face to yours. 

“Seriously?”

“Well?” It’s your turn to raise a cocky eyebrow.

He tries to flip your badge frontward, but you slap his hand away. He’s quick, catches your wrist, pulls you closer so that your body is pressing into his calves, traps both of your hands in one of his and spins the badge so that he can see your picture and name. He repeats it, first and last, grins back with a vengeance. This little tussle really bruises your ego, because it doesn’t even seem like you made him wince or falter even once.

“Cheater,” you snarl. 

“Takes one to know one.” 

“Let me go.” 

“Make me.” 

“I’ll scream.” 

“Oh yeah you will.” He winks. 

Fucking sexy bastard. 

“Want those stitches worse or better?” You threaten. 

“I don’t really care,” he shrugs, eyes light with humor. “Just did it to come see you anyway.” 

“You tore your own stitches?” 

“No. Someone else did after I insulted their mother.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You put him back together once again (you might have to start calling this man Humpty Dumpty, that will put him in his place) and start to peel off your gloves. “So when can I pick you up?” he asks, those dark eyes shining like high-polished ebony. 

“Half past never?”

“Hey, we had a deal.”

“We did, but then you cheated. Manhandling me at work is a major disqualification.”

“Pretty sure you liked it,” he fires back with a smirk.

You sigh, propping a hand on your hip, because he’s not wrong. You’re more than a little touch starved at the moment, and you’re sure the ease with which he manhandled you will haunt your dreams (your poor neighbor!) and fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. But there’s just something about this guy that warns you not to give in this easily. He feels…a little dangerous. To your physical health, or your personal sanity, you’re not sure. 

“Please try to be more careful with your stitches, Mr. Ludlow. Have a nice day.”

Understanding that he’s being dismissed, he stands, one step in the small room bringing him right in front of you–and boy, does he tower over you. You try to conceal how very much you like that, but fear you betray yourself in the shaky exhale that escapes you. “I’m just going to keep coming back,” he tells you, seeming far too pleased by the idea. 

“For your own health, I certainly hope you don’t.”

“I’m in a dangerous line of work. All sorts of things can happen.”

You pick up what he’s putting down pretty quick, and it annoys the shit out of you. “If you get yourself hurt on purpose, that is not on me.”

“Then save me some pain, sweetheart. Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm?”

“That’s doctors. I took a pledge to practice my profession faithfully–which I’m doing. Didn’t you? What happened to ‘Serve and Protect?’”

“Sure thing. And I keep my oaths too.” The weight with which he looks at you makes something warm and uncomfortable coil in your belly, radiating outwards to your fingers and toes. 

A man who keeps his promises? 

Never heard of him. 

You are too young to be this jaded, but maybe it’s better that you learned the hard lessons quicker than most. Maybe it will save you some pain in the interim. Avoiding this utterly edible man in front of you probably falls into that category. 

You stand silently, waiting for him to leave. He seems to find this funny as hell, and tips an imaginary cap down at you. “See you soon, y/n.” 

You hope not, but you’re afraid that’s a promise he’ll keep. 

[milogreer]

so uhh this is gonna be scatterbrained. but i'm gonna ramble about milo and (what little info we have on) colm. sorry in advance if it doesn’t make sense i just had to exorcise this demon 🫡

i believe "camping with your alpha boyfriend (2021)" is the earliest mention of colm in an audio. obviously we don't actually know milo's side of things because it's told from david's POV, but we still get the mental image of little thirteen year old milo sitting shotgun in his dad's pickup as they drive to their camping spot. gabe's goofing around in the truck bed to make david and asher laugh, and colm joins in the fun by swerving the truck to mess with gabe. very basic dad thing to do, my dad's done the exact same thing to me and my siblings. it feels familiar and silly, and david frames it as a good memory, so it feels like a good memory. which is important to the point of this post

in "celebrating the new house (2022)," we get a little more colm lore:

My dad was forever blowing any cash he made on fucking bets and gambling and shit, chasing some fucking high. My mom was the only reason we didn’t end up out on the fucking street. He didn’t pull his head out of his ass and get some help until after I’d already moved out. So I never got to have that feeling of being in a house that was actually ours, ya know?

already this is a stark contrast to what we've previously heard of colm (i don't think there's any real mention of him between sept 2021 and dec 2022?) and it kinda makes me look at that old memory in a different light, especially with regards to david saying marie was "nagging [colm's] ear off about being irresponsible and a bad example." like. ykwim? like i'm just thinking about that interaction and wondering how far along those problems were at the time, if they were present at all. was this a normal, fun family outing? or would milo have rather been in the truck bed with david, asher, and gabe?

(and the fact that it wasn't until after milo moved out that colm tried getting any help?? i could make a whole other post speculating about milo struggling with wanting to move out of that environment ASAP vs not wanting to leave marie on her own to deal with colm)

so then i'm re-listening to "your werewolf boyfriend is worried about you" and having a visceral reaction to (re-)learning that colm was also an alcoholic:

But what he chose to do with that frustration and that feeling of powerlessness was not his job’s fault, those were his choices. He’s the one who decided to lose himself in booze and gambling and never being home. Never being there for the people he said he loved but apparently couldn’t stand to be around.

the last sentence especially is just an absolute heartbreaker because milo's, what, thirty now? and he's been dealing with this since he was a kid. clearly he's not on great terms with colm. the only times he ever talks about him is when he's shit talking the department. that is a crazy weight for someone to carry their whole life. i don't have experience with the gambling side but i do have an alcoholic family member who i used to be really close to as a kid but grew up to intensely resent as a result of his actions, so it hits a little close to home to see that reflected in milo

but i digress. umm. i bring up the camping story to highlight the most recent mention of colm from milo and how there were good times and sometimes maybe it hurts to remember them when the person involved devastated you as you grew up because they weren't what you thought they were. and how these things follow you through life and impact how you approach certain things. milo has to live with the fact that the same system that royally fucked colm is potentially going to do the same thing to the love of his life; i never drink more than one shot or half a beer, if i drink at all, and i don't like being around drunk people. even though we don't hear about colm very often, his influence is still there whenever milo has to deal with the department in any way

anyway i guess TLDR; imagine living the majority of your thirty years of life feeling like your dad couldn't stand to be around you because he was too busy drinking himself stupid and gambling away every penny he had as a way to deal with the strain that his job put on him. imagine having to witness your mom struggle constantly to keep you cared for. imagine the few good childhood memories you have with your dad being overshadowed by thinking he didn't love you or your mom enough to change. imagine watching the department run your soulmate into the dirt physically and mentally the same way it did your father and wanting to be supportive of them but also being so worried for them. it's a really interesting situation for him to be in and i enjoy it but it hurts me. the end

[doublel27]

I think I started following you for TK and Carlos, but you're now one of my main sources of Buck and Eddie as well (because despite having never watched 911 I know who they are lol). And I honestly have become increasingly confused as to whether Buck and Eddie are actually together?? I know one of them is bisexual... but like... are they cannon? It is just a ship? What's their deal???

Oh my dear sweet summer child. You have opened a can of worms. Also, if you’re getting OG info from me then you’re getting a very narrow view.

BUT

Short answer: Buck and Eddie are not canon in terms of being in a romantic or sexual relationship.

However…what’s their deal? I’m glad you asked.

So it all started in season one, when 25 year old Evan Buckley was a hot mess express stealing fire trucks for hook ups with girls.

He then met a dispatcher almost twice his age named Abby who stalked him a little bit and he nearly died choking on a piece of bread but since our sweet summer child has both mommy and daddy issues he imprinted on her hard like a baby duckling

Her mom, who she had been taking care, of died and she went to Europe and promised she’d be back and left Buck staying in her house. (She would not be back gentle reader. But don’t worry it will come back around why this is important)

Season two starts up with a pining Buck and the entry of Eddie Diaz

This is literally our intro to him. Also What a Man is canonically playing as the soundtrack as Buck first lays eyes on him.

They speedrun enemies (onsided) to besties in a single episode.

Eddie has a son, Christoper.

Chris has CP and Eddie moved him to LA because this is where Chris’s mom ran away to when she left them.

Buck also imprints on Eddie and Chris, immediately helping them and getting Chris a home health aid. His sister jokes that he has a man crush and will finally maybe get over Abby. Eddie tries to get back with his ex-wife but she both neither wants to be a wife or a mom and is going to leave them again but gets hit by a car and dies.

And Buck and Eddie and Chris become increasingly more codependent.

Buck nearly gets crushed under a fire truck and can’t come back to work and babysits Chris during shifts and they almost die in a Tsunami and Buck thinks he did a bad job taking care if Chris but Eddie says there’s no one he would trust with his son more.

Buck tries to come back to work but he’s got blood clotting issues from nearly getting crushed by a fire truck and is bared from returning and therefore sues the department for wrongful termination (even though he wasn’t actually terminated he just couldn’t return to active duty). Then he couldn’t speak to anyone from the firehouse which led to the divorced dads era.

Angry, bitter fight in a grocery store with their coworkers ensues. Don’t worry it all works out and we go back to coparenting like normal.

Our boys are both unsuccessfully dating women and the queerbaiting accusations get tossed around. They are unfounded because 1. The show is written by queer people and 2. There have always been gay characters as main and recurring characters. They just all happen to be black. (See racism, lesbian erasure, and 911)

Things are going great until Eddie gets shot at work by a sniper right in Buck’s face.

[Gif redacted for trauma reasons]

It was highly traumatizing. Buck saves Eddie and Eddie is in a coma and Buck has to tell Chris and take care of him, you know, like a dad. Everyone points out he’s basically Chris’s other dad, not Eddie’s girlfriend who is also around sort of.

Buck confesses to Eddie when Eddie wakes from the coma that he wishes it was him that had gotten shot and died which is when Eddie reveals that would be really fucking dumb because Buck is who Eddie wants to take Chris if he dies.

Anywho. Everyone keeps dating women. Buck almost dies a few more times, and gets struck by lighting has an interesting coma carol and is obsessed with death. They remain co-parents of an adorable son.

Enter season seven and Tommy comes back into our lives. In the beginning it’s hard to see who he’s for, Buck or Eddie or just as a device. But he’s for Buck! There was rejoicing. Bi!Buck was no longer headcanon!

Buck comes out as bi, because you know, he thought it was normal for the first 32 years of his life that men were hot. Everyone knew that. Buck has a boyfriend now. People are mad it’s not Eddie. Fandom wars ensue and those of us that like both try our best to avoid the abuse to middling to terrible success.

Eddie has a girlfriend and then finds out that there is an exact doppelgänger of his dead ex-wife (told you she’d come back around) and begins having an affair with her on his current girlfriend. Everything blows up when he and doppelgänger wife are processing his ex-wife’s stuff and his girlfriend and son came home.

Chris leaves his dads and goes to live with his grandparents in Texas, and neither of them can convince him to stay. Eddie grows a terrible mustache. Buck continues dating Tommy. Interviews and canon keep calling Eddie straight but

We then find out that Tommy is the ex-fiancé of Buck’s season one obsession, Abby. Buck tries to process this with Tommy but Tommy has the most projecting ass low-self-esteem meltdown and breaks up with Buck.

Which brings us to now, two sad bestie coparents whose son is living in Texas.

And that’s what you missed on glee 911!

Did that clarify anything or just as confusing?

Canonically, IMO, they’re in a queerplatonic coparenting situationship with no sex, thus far.

What will happen next, gentle reader, who can say?

[arkhamabyssfiles]

Arkham Abyss Files: Robin_MEMORY_02 Loading FILE... JASON TODD: AGE, 17 TIM DRAKE: AGE, 16

And off, his backpack went flying into the pool. Tim sighed, it was the last year of High School and these idiots couldn’t bother even to try to be normal human beings for a second. He briefly wondered who had messed with them so badly in their childhood or spoiled them like this, before he tuned in to what they were saying.

“—smarty pants? Cry to that old hag of your aunt?”

“I didn’t know you cried to your parents when someone was being mean to you at this age, thanks for the info.” Maybe Tim shouldn’t have said that, because his friends snickered behind his back and he turned red from anger. Uh-oh, here came the punch.

Except it never landed because someone had kicked him before he could even get close to his face. Tim looked to the side and there was Jason with a cold glare.

“Five to one? That’s lame as fuck.”

The shock of the other idiots faded away quick enough and now it was a brawl. Tim knew how to fight, or he thought he did until he saw Jason. Man, he didn’t hold back his punches and hit like a truck on a speedway by the look of it. Four minutes later all their assailants were knocked out on the floor, Tim let out a pant and rubbed his leg where a kick had landed.

“Remind me to never cross you,” Tim said cheerfully.

“You’re smart enough to don’t need that,” Jason huffed shaking his slightly bruised knuckles. “So much bark, and they can’t even bite.”

“Well, their parents will definitely come and bark a lot in a couple of hours.”

“Fuck. Probably. Maybe I shouldn’t have beaten them so much.” Jason didn’t sound half as sorry as his words might seem it look.

“Maybe— But I can’t say I’m sorry,” Tim seconded the other feeling as they started groaning while getting up and running away.

Jason blew a short laugh and smiled lopsided then gestured with his head towards the pool, “You probably should get that back.”

They both stepped closer to the edge of the pool and Tim looked doubtfully at his backpack, everything was probably already ruined besides his jacket. “Books probably are useless al—”

Tim didn’t have the time to warn or stop Uriah—the ugly brow-less meaty redhead—from shoving Jason into the pool. Then he turned to the pool and realized something was wrong. He immediately took off his shoes and jumped in, it wasn’t that it was a very dire situation, they were close to the edge so he just grabbed it and then took Jason’s hand then pulled him up and towards the edge. He sputtered then pulled himself up, Tim followed right along. All the idiots had already gone, probably limping and crying about their parents doing something or other while they sat at the edge of the pool looking into his still floating backpack.

“So—you don’t know how to swim?”

“There weren’t many places to learn in the streets beyond the harbor.”

“Guess not. Want me to teach you?”

“Sure.” Jason shrugged but Tim could tell he was very relieved by the offer. He wondered briefly at it but decided he didn’t know him yet well enough to take a guess.

“I think you can pick it up in a couple of days, so let’s meet here after class…”

*      *      *

Three days. It had taken him three days to swim back and forth the 25-meter pool. Anyone who saw his freestyle strokes would think he’d been doing it for years. They had started talking almost a year ago—minus the vacation months where they hadn’t spoken at all—but he still was as much a mystery as he’d been back then, for different reasons now, but still a mystery. He was gruff with most people here—not that Tim didn’t get into that feeling—but quiet and minded his own business, which was studying, he took that pretty seriously and had made Tim wonder why he hadn’t applied himself like that to it, then he’d probably be out of high school already. But it wasn’t just the academics but in sports as well, everything he tried—just like now—he mastered quickly enough… What drove him? What made him want to excel at everything he did? It certainly wasn’t to impress or show off to these deep-pocket kids—himself included of course.

Jason pulled himself up from the pool and shook his head to take the excess water from his hair.

“You could use a cap and goggles you know,” Tim commented dropping a towel over his head.

“I’d rather get used to swimming without them.”

“Why? Planning to swim in a random moment?”

“Something like that.”

Tim crouched and let his elbows rest on his knees and his arms hung limp in front of him. “I can’t figure you out, you know.”

Jason pulled the towel away from his hair and hung it around his neck. “What’s there to figure out?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Jason huffed, “There’s not much depth, really. Just got lucky an eccentric billionaire took an interest in me.”

Certainly eccentric was the word to describe Bruce Wayne, just the recollection of him showing up three days ago after their “brawl” at the dean’s office and seemingly enjoying to fence with a bunch of enraged parents and somehow managing for him and Jason to don’t get into bigger trouble than to write a paper.

“I mean. He’s kind of cool to have on your side, right?”

Jason humped a short laugh and nodded, “You can say that.” He stood up and paused, “You live with your aunt right?”

“Great-aunt,” Tim corrected.

“Is she nice?”

“She’s very sharp with her words—but she’s very good. You know, the kind of sincerely good. She’s going to be ninety this year.” He really liked Aunt Beatrice, he just worried she wouldn’t live much longer and then his last relative would be gone.

Jason raised his eyebrows impressed. “Never met someone that old. By the way, thanks for teaching me the gist of this,” He said pointing at the pool with his thumb.

“Yeah, don’t sweat it…” Tim didn’t know why he always thought to leave it to another time to ask Jason to hang out outside school, but if he kept leaving it off the year would end and most likely their feeble friendship would dissolve. “Hey.”

Jason turned towards him.

“Do you—want to hang out sometime?”

“Sure. What for?”

Tim shrugged and Jason huffed but grinned. “What do people our age do for fun?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I guess we’ll have to figure out our own kind of fun,” Tim said shrugging again.

“Probably.”

END OF MEMORY... For more FILES check previous entries...

[nierly-amazing]

Nier Automata anime Episode 21 disjointed thoughts:

Spoilers, obviously

It had a few good moments but overall I was disappointed in this episode, more so than the last 2. I've been enjoying the anime, especially early s2 immensely but it's gone downhill so fast. It's extra annoying because most of the issues I have could have been fixed/avoided really easily.

The good bits:

THEY THANKED DEVOLA AND POPOLA! After all that time they finally thanked them! (Though I wish they had more small moments of them being dicks to them in past episodes).

FUCK YEAH JACKASS running the truck right into the room!

YEAH THE TWINS KICKED ASS TOO!

OH NO THEY KILLED JACKASS BUT that's probably how she wanted to go tbh

I do think the anime handled the whole fear thing being the machine children's downfall better than the game since they actually did some lead-up instead of Pascal dropping the info after they all died. So that's another good thing. Buuuut...

The not-so-good bits:

I knew immediately A2's idea to send the kids to the resistance camp was a stupidly terrible idea. Idk why they didn't try finding somewhere else to hide them but I expected them to simply lead hostile machines there rather than infect the camp with a ZOMBIE virus. Really? Zombies? Shambling groaning zombies? The whole reason logic viruses are so scary was how strong they make androids and how they'll just attack everything until they fall apart.

I get the narrative reasoning that Lily offering to shelter them ended up being everyone's downfall, but I ended up being more annoyed because of how dumb it was that A2 sent them there. Seems like an easy fix too, Lily could have called in end of last episode after the camp heard the explosions and offered to shelter them herself, then Pascal could have worried about leading enemies to them and Lily assured him they could handle it.

(me) ^

9S has basically no screen time anymore; we can't really feel his descent as well as we did in game. For the most part things are just happening to him rather than him actively doing things. Like, instead of dumping the 2E reveal in the first S2 episode they could have slowly fed it to us over the course of these episodes. They could have made it more fucked up by having the machine network torment 9S with bits of 2E hints or had the damage to his body scramble his mind in a way that he remembers flashes of his past lives/deaths. I think the game's definitely handled showing his mental decline in isolation while still being a sympathetic character better than the anime is doing.

(cymbal ism)

I sort of like how they put the flight unit in the god box and forced 9S to see it but I feel it would have been more impactful if they had a moment where he almost found it in the flooded city but passed it up because he was distracted and didn't realize it was 2B's unit. And oh look he passed out again.

No lunar tears no 2B memorial? Give him a chance to breathe and have some sort of positive or bittersweet interaction. In the game he still interacted with other androids and helped them but the only interaction we got in the anime was him slapping a flower from that one memorial quest guy's hand.

Pascal's 180 is still ehhh for me. The whole thing that made the Goliath fight in game so impactful was he was holding onto his pacifism till the very end until he had no other option. But in the anime he went berserk the moment there was even the possibility of danger. They didn't even know the hostile machines were a threat to the village when the pods told them. They had time to evacuate and it would have been a lot more fucked up (in a good way) if they were followed and picked off and then pascal went berserk when it was only the children left.

One child killed all the others in fear instead of it being a whole group fear effort. And then he bit pascal with a zombie virus? Pascal blew up when A2 wasn't even there??? And she barely even reacted when his arm shrapnel almost hit her. I get that they have to deal with the lack of player input choosing what to do but that could have easily been fixed with a scene cut right before A2 makes a choice.

They could have written it so it showed signs of them all trying to escape but were unable to. Maybe had one of them still alive because they failed to hit their core and explained what happened or had some sort of other visual hints as to what happened. maybe frantic carving on the walls or something idk.

But then again, patient 0 being the one 9S was extra suspicious about and almost hacked back in episode 5 is pretty interesting. Shows he was technically right all along about them being a threat, but for the wrong reasons. Still they probably could have merged the two ideas together to work better. I'd like to know if the machine network infected them on purpose or if it was their own fear that caused them to snap. If the latter then they could have also had the infected resistance react differently than being stereotypical zombies. They could have picked up on the fear and all went hysterical fighting and shooting each other because the virus overwhelmed them with fear and they were trying to put themselves and each other 'out of their misery'.

But then again again I don't really like how they made the disabled one the one that went crazy and ate everyone. Idk, they could have handled it better.

The whole resistance dying is definitely sadder than in game. They both work in their own ways so I can't really say one is better than the other. It hurt but I didn't hate it. I want to see what they have planned for killing everyone in this version before I make my final judgment.

I do hope they have a scene where 9S finds the village and feels bad because that was a nice bit in game to show he still cared about them despite going on his rampage with the other machines.

I really hope the tower episodes are good, I can forgive this fumbling if the next few episodes are bangers.

[morganwrites12672]

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

Warnings: Abuse, crying, trauma

Reader Info: 18-19ish!Reader, Maybank!Reader, Female!Reader

Summary: After a bad encounter with your dad you call Rafe to pick you up.

A/N: @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

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

"Where the fuck is he?" Your dad screamed in your face. You had convinced JJ to spend the night at John B's, the less time JJ was home the better.

"He's spending the night at a friend's house," you reply. Your dad's eyes are foggy and unfocused as he slaps you. Your head jerks left and you can taste blood.

"Don't you fucking lie to me," he growls as he grabs your wrist and slaps you again. After another slap you fall to the ground and hit your head on the wall. You can feel blood dripping from your nose.

There were black spots swimming around the room as your dad's voice turned into background noise. Everything was fuzzy and seemed like a dream.

A door slam brings you back to reality as you scramble for your phone before running outside. You text JJ first, telling him to not come home for a few days at least.

And then you call Rafe.

"Yn? It's late, are you okay?" He asks and you look at the time. Tears blur your vision but you manage to see that it's past two in the morning.

"No," your voice comes out in a whisper and you hear Rafe start rummaging through his sidetable. Probably for his keys.

"I'm on my way," he says before you hang up. You peer through a window and see your dad is passed out on the couch. A beer in hand.

Rafe knew exactly what had happened, it wasn't the first time you had called him bleeding and in tears in the middle of the night.

A text comes through from JJ, asking if you are okay. You tell him Rafes picking you up. And remind him to stay at John B's tomorrow.

Rafe pulls into the driveway and you waste no time running to his truck and hopping in the passenger seat. He sees your shaky frame and the dried blood under your nose.

Rafe doesn't say anything as he drives back to his house. He places a comforting hand on your thigh. You don't break the silence, even when you reach his house.

You don't trust your voice to not break. You both exit the car and walk inside. Rafe grabs your hand softly as you both rush up the stairs to his room. He guides you to the bathroom and you sit on the toilet seat as he grabs the first aid kit.

"This is going to hurt a little sweetheart," he says as he begins to clean off the dried blood with an antiseptic wipe. You wince as he cleans the blood.

Once he's done he puts up the first aid kit before going downstairs to get an ice pack. You were going to have several bruises in the morning.

Rafe returns to you and guides you to his bed before placing the ice pack on your face as he slides into bed behind you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper to Rafe as another tear falls. You felt horrible for having woken him up in the middle of the night. Especially for something you should of handled on your own.

"Don't be sorry princess, I'm glad you called me. I don't want you to be miserable on your own," he says and you cuddle further into his chest.

Everything hurt and your eyes began to flutter shut as Rafe placed a tender kiss to your forehead, "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you said back as your body began to succumb to sleep.

[skyfallslayer]

A Careful Whisper || Chapter 1

-AQP D1: Eric x Fem!Reader-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🔇Chapter Summary: You knew that this day was going to be full of risk and danger, but you didn’t think you’d be stumbling through New York with a hole in your side. All you needed to do was wait for the signal and everything should be okay. Everything… well… from the sound of it, you might be too late anyway.

🔇Pairings: Eric x Fem!Reader

🔇Rating: Mature

🔇Word Count: 3,077

🔇Date: 7/11/24

🔇Warnings: Reader Has Military Training; Reader Has a Potty Mouth; Death/Murdering; Talks of How to Unalive People; Reader Might Have Done This a lot In This Chapter; Gun Use; Assault; Fighting; Mention of Blood and Open Wound. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(And let me know if I missed anything)

🔇A/N: Hot damn! It's finally here. A bit of trial and error here for this one. I hate when I have an idea of what I want and then you either A) have trouble writing it out, or B) start write it until a new and better idea forms and changes everything. Lol. Anyway, it's short, but enjoy!

The day was June 18th, 2020. How did you know this? Well… this was the day you were looking forward to. It was the day you were supposed to change everything, to make sure the inevitable doom didn’t destroy lives. But of course–

Your life went to shit. It always found a way to go to shit. The day had turned sour before you even could blink. And now–

You’re stumbling through the Big Apple with a huge wound on your side.

This whole situation was supposed to be easy, a quick pop in on your ally, a quick exchange that was supposed to be easy – not traumatizing and changing your plans immensely. You’re already feeling dazed and confused as you run out of your colleague’s apartment, a death grip on the laptop he left behind. You’re sure you can hear your attackers moving around and trying to find you.

No. They can’t find you. Not when you had something that could literally save billions of lives worldwide. They can’t stop you. They shouldn’t stop you. You don’t understand why they didn’t want this info to be public. Sure, maybe questions will be thrown around about them, but–

As you turned and were about to bolt down the stairs, you saw one of the men a few feet behind with his silencer trained on you. You duck and nearly throw yourself down the stairs as the casing jams itself into the wall. You pretty much just took as big of a step you could without falling to cut some of your run time down — while you listen to the echoes of the three footsteps above. As soon as your feet touched the floor on the last level you were out of the building in less than a second, blending into the everyday busy streets. 

You and your colleagues agreed to meet at the apartment for that very reason in case someone unwanted came along and wanted to end the party. Yet to be honest, you thought you guys would be out of the blue, safe in a busy city that could have a hundred witnesses at a time. But you were wrong, and now you’re struggling to get through the crowds without passing out. 

You heard the laptop, the ones that could fold in half like a tablet, beep and you glance down. An error message popped up on the screen making your curse.

Fuck. No. You nearly stumbled into a passerby-er upon reading it.

“Sorry.” You said, looking frantically around. The smell of freshly grilled hot dogs hits your nose, your stomach rumbling from the lack of eating for several days, but you push it aside and hide beside the food truck. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You start furiously tapping the screen, typing any code you could muster to get the error to disappear. “Come on, you piece of shit. Work.” You kept typing and typing, the screen beeping and returning to normal. You smile. “...Yes.”

“Hey!”

Your eyes snap up and you see one of the men storming towards you, bitterness on his rough features. With all your strength, and your deepest apologies, you grab and shoved the civilian next to you at the attacker before bolting. You duck through the crowd, occasionally looking back. Your heart was in your throat, dark spots danced through your vision, and your head was pounding.

Come on! Will this stupid thing finish uploading already?! You yelp in surprise as someone’s hand latched around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

“Hey, Baby.” The man said, grinning, and started pulling on you – there was also a lie resting on his very punch-able lips. “Why did you leave in such a hurry? We didn’t even finish our meal.”

You groan at the pressure, and how he starts tugging into an alleyway. You look around again, realizing how ‘normal’ this must look in a city like New York. He starts reaching for the laptop, and you shift your body away from his reach; Upon doing so, he starts applying more force, ready to snap your bone if necessary. You hissed through your teeth, trying to find some kind of an opening. 

“Come on, Lieutenant.” He urges, a deranged look in his discolored eye. “Comply.”

“Comply, my ass.” You spat, before headbutting him in the nose, temporarily stunning him.

You dodged the punch and the attempt to put you in a choke hold; You even managed to grab his own wrist and put him in some type of submission. When you finally see your opening, you push him gently forward while grabbing his gun off his belt, and proceed to shoot him once in the back of the kneecap. He falls flat with a cry, and your gaze looks out of the alleyway, checking to see if anyone heard or saw that (Shocker, nobody notices a thing in this city). You then made your way out of it when your coast was clear.

“L-Lieutenant!” He choked, trying to reach out for you. “You don’t know what you’re doing! Lieutenant!”

You ran back into the crowd, the silencer tucked underneath your jacket. You needed to get out of the city, but how? You look around, you see a taxi, an electric scooter, a subway sign.

A subway sign!

That’s perfect. You made your way down the stairs to the underground system, pulling your jacket closer to conceal the weapon – your ever oozing wound. You knew the subway lines pretty well, it was just the matter of getting on one that’ll take you far, or at least get on one that was already pulling into the station when you get there (You can’t really afford to wait around for one too long). 

But of course, your luck continues to be shitty as you hop over one of the turnstiles. You immediately feel the worker’s hand on your shoulder and you cuss mentally.

“Subway pass or ticket?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek before flashing up a smile. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.” You reply, trying to look and sound really genuine. “I-I lost track of time and I’m running late for work, completely forgetting my wallet.”

The woman’s face softens a smidge, but she doesn’t budge. “I’m sorry about that, but you still need a ticket or pass to get on.”

You sigh, sadly. “Can’t you let this slide once, please?” I mean, people jump these things all the time. Come on, Lady.

“I’m sorry–” She continues, and your eyes catch the two remaining men coming down the stairs. “But it’s policy. Or otherwise–”

“Hey!” You perk up with a giant grin. “What a coincidence!” You start pointing as they suddenly spot you. “That’s my boyfriend over there coming with his brother. Maybe he can pay for my ticket.”

“That’s your– HEY!!”

You’re already flying down another set of stairs when she shouts after you, and your attackers pick up the speed. The platforms were crowded, but that can only give you so much cover, especially since your ride wasn’t here yet. 

“Fuck…” You mumbled, and stole a peek from your laptop. The uploading sequence was almost complete, but god damn it! It was slow as hell. “For Christ’s sake.”

“Y/N!” One of your attackers yelled out, as he and his partner came down the steps as calm as cucumbers. “Sweetheart! Where you at?”

“Shit…” You know what they’re doing. They’re going to try to out you in public. Make people feel bad and accidentally out you. And it seemed to be working as you can faintly hear them describing you to someone what you look like.

You start hanging your head low and slouch your body. Alright, what can I do? If I get on the subway they might not be able to do anything with the amount of people… but what if they don’t care? This is New York. They could just shoot me blank in the head and scare civilians enough to blend into the crowd at the next stop.

You gnawed on the tip of your thumb. But what if I get on the subway and there’s hardly anyone? I’ll definitely be a dead man for sure so…

You heard someone mention what you’re wearing and took a peak, watching as a random civilian nodded at your attacker before gesturing your way. Jeez, thanks, man. 

What do you do? What do you do? What do you do? What do you do?!

You heard the intercom chime and announced the subway was pulling up from your right; So that’ll give you less than a minute for arrival time, and probably around the same time to load everyone up. That’s enough time for what you’re thinking about do–

You saw the men start stalking closer and you said a little prayer. This has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. 

That’s when you took a risk and jumped onto the tracks, heading to the left tunnel and booked it. You heard people shouting, and your attackers screaming your name and telling you not to do this. You wanted to roll your eyes at the thought of what “backstory” they came up with to try to woo people over – probably told everyone you were his wife who forgot to take her meds this morning and is storming NYC in a crazy state. – Sounds like a story two out of three people would believe.

Despite your very vague idea where you were going, your plan was to run to the next platform, crawl out, get above ground and take a taxi out of the city. Or maybe, in the mince of panic you’re about to ensure, you can possibly sprint to your apartment in Central, get some stuff before you’ll have to go off the grid for betraying your country. Heck, the more you think about that, the more that’s probably compromised too. 

But first things first. Get this thing–

The wind was knocked out of you as soon as you tackled from behind. The laptop gets slammed onto the tracks by your weight before slipping out. The guy uses his size as an advantage to hold you down with his legs, and begins applying pressure to your neck with his hands. You make a gasping sound for air as your own try prying him away. Meanwhile, his partner picks up the device to examine it.

“How’s it coming?” The guy holding you down, asks.

“It’s at 96 percent.” His reply made you wheeze. You were so close. So close to finishing what you started. 

“96 percent?” His eyebrows shoot up before looking relatively cocky again. “Man, Lieutenant, I got to say you were one of our best hackers, so I guess I’m not surprised it’s almost complete in… hmm. How long have we been chasing you since Captain Reeds’ apartment?” His gaze catches his partners. “What’s your guess? 8 minutes? 10?”

“I’d say 10.”

“Yeah? Ten’s a good number.” He grins, creepily. “You did quite the number on Michael back in the alleyway. Didn’t think you–”

You managed to slip out your gun and press it under his chin, igniting the trigger. His body falls and you push it off you with a gasp of fresh air. Maybe you really should try to hide away in Hawaii before the world went to–

The other guy heaved you up from behind, an arm around your waist, a hand over your mouth. You start kicking the air and frantically wiggling your body. Your attacker was much taller than you, bulkier too – it was hard enough for you to try to use your gun on him ‘cause he was restricting your arm movement.

“Lieutenant, come on. Just listen.” He pressures, as you send him a nasty look before sinking your teeth into his palm. “Ow!” He removes his bleeding palm to wrap his arm around your head and press it against his shoulder. “Lieutenant–”

“Let me go!” You snarled, wiggling some more. “For fuck’s sake! You know I’m just trying to help!” Can’t these dummies see any kind of sense of what you’re doing? You’re not the bad guy here!

His moments slightly faltered. Slightly. But he still didn’t give in to your reasoning. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

He starts shifting his stance, placing his hands in the position to snap your neck as you start pleading with him. Maybe… lady luck is going to be the one to pity you this time. ‘Cause now, lights were in your view and the rail line was shaking below you.

Like a deer in some headlights, your attacker froze at the sight. He mumbled something and his grip loosened enough for you to elbow him in the chin. You dodged his efforts to grab you again, swooping down to snag the laptop and run – the damn subway hot on your tail. The tunnel was coming up to a split, and you noticed which direction it was going in and headed for the clear side. But…

You had to deal with the other issue first. You still had the silencer you stole, not sure how much ammunition you had left, and part of you wants to risk it all and try to wing it. So when you whipped around to see he was a few steps behind you, you had to wait for the perfect moment to get him off guard. However, in that very moment, something was nagging you. What if there weren’t just three guys? What if there was more waiting for you somewhere around the city? Then what? Your hand-to-hand combat could only get you so far. 

You don’t know what you’re thinking, you almost felt guilty for taking out the man in this form of fashion; Yet when he got to be about an arm’s length away…

You plant a kick square in his chest and sent him into the passing subway car. Then…

You nearly collapse.

You let out a mixture of a sigh and a groan, your hand subconsciously touching your side. You felt like it was bleeding more now, but your adrenaline was so high and your body was a big ball of sweat, you could hardly tell. But you need to get it checked out soon, especially when the dark spots return to your (Y/E/C) orbs. 

Wonder if I do have time to go home? You lick your chap lips, thinking just as the device beeped. You pull it up into your view, the words illuminating your face making you smile like you won a prize.

You did it. 

You actually did it. You managed to get the words of the invasion out to every newsroom, radio station and any big social media platforms out there worldwide. 

You did it. You could almost cry, but you laughed with joy instead.  Andrea, Jose, Matt, Winston. We did it. You guys’ plan actually worked. Took a bit, but it all came together in the end. Now I really have to go off the grid.

But maybe you could help a few souls along the way, point them in the right direction, tell them what they have to do when the invaders come. You know as soon as the news station gets wind of it it’s going to be all over people’s phones and TVs. And when it comes to a place like NYC, you know despite the warning you sent of ‘Not Panicking’, there’s going to be panic. Maybe it’ll be a blessing in disguise for you, a crowd running wild in the streets maybe will give you enough coverage to run and hide.

It’s almost too good to be true. You managed to pull yourself up onto the platform at the next station, surely getting one or two looks, but whatever. You didn’t care. You could care less as you unplugged the USB from the laptop and tucking it away before discarding the device in a trash can. I’m going to head back home, address my wound, get new clothes and take anything that can help me along the way. I just hope nobody’s waiting in my living room for me.

You took the last step up and out from being underground, stopping at the top with a smile still on your face. Sucks that I’ll never get to– What?

It was like time itself had frozen, and you wonder if your dizzy head is causing this, but you suddenly saw that everyone in the city had stopped. Stopped. Stop their walking, their phone calls, their cars, their bikes – stop everything to…

Look up.

You felt the immediate fear and dread in your gut as you dared to see yourself. You swallow and stare into the bright blue sky. That’s when you saw the very thing you swore to stop – The thing came in the form of what people would think would be meteors, coming down so slowly in great balls of fire… great balls of death.

Your eyes widened as you took a step back in disbelief, nearly tripping down the stairs (You steady yourself on the railing). Everyone was so… quiet while watching. Even the birds didn’t chirp, even the dogs seemed too scared to even breathe. You were too, no doubt. 

No.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no–

You had time. You had time. You were supposed to have time before they got here. Time to prepare everything and everyone. It wasn’t supposed to be this early, they– they–

You mentally slapped yourself. Pull yourself together, Y/N!

You knew what to do. You had training. You prepared yourself for this moment when it came. 

“They’re not meteorites!!” You screamed, getting most attention (Even though your throat burned and ached after being choked, you still had to try). “You need to move away! Hide! And stay quiet! These things are attracted to–”

You didn’t even get to finish your warning when one came crashing down just a few feet in front of you.

The impact was strong, strong enough to throw you and a few people backwards like you weighed nothing. You flew back down the stairs,

.

.

.

And that was the last thing you recall before hitting your head and blacking out.

(TBC)

A/N: Sorry it was a bit short. Consider it a teaser.

-Taglist Is Open-

@idontreallyexistyet @pantheracatluv1105 @tjohn63 @temptressofthetarrot @sunmoonstars666

[sonikkublue]

important, plz read

i wanna address sum things, stuff i should've addressed a long time ago when i started to get popular, which i dont ever pay attention too- so its like a truck hitting me w/ that kind of info or smth like that. And by all means im very grateful for every piece of love n support, big or small, but there has been 2 things thats been buggin me for a long long time

fetishes.

right off the bat, i first want to address Mr. H and only *few* of the ppl that have come across him. fetish ppl. plz, like actually fucking plz stop bein so weird abt his body, askin me things relatin that *are*/or *obviously* weird and fetishy. Mr. H's body and his character entirely is not for ur sick fat fetish. i have stated this multiple times on my twitter but not here until now. its fucking weird. stop. i cannot stress that enough.

my popularity

2nd off, i wanna address how sum of the ppl who are fans of my work, smth ive never expected, is on how they approach me- well more so how they view me actually.

i srsly am thankful for every bit of support, even if im a bit slow realizing how fast it was happenin. u can love my art, gush over it, feel however u want abt it- but i dont want ppl viewing me as someone like an idol. ive never strived for popularity, i just like postin funni things and then go eat and play Sonic games after. no matter how big the numbers get, i do not want to be titled "popular" or like sum grand person- i just like to chill out like everyone else online and post art for the funnis. i will say u can look up to me and stuffs, but dont treat me someone higher than anyone else ig is what im tryna say

ive had a friend who was jealous of me in the past cuz of this, we're not friends anymore for more personal reasons, too many, but they would keep bringin it up and tell me to use my platform cuz of how many followers i have, and its always made me uncomfy. i wanna say that they were somewhat ungrateful if *every* post they made didnt hit off, but its whatever to me. i dont want my friends to be jealous of me, i dont wanna make anyone jealous.

but i dont want smth like this or anything stop someone from interacting w/ me. i love u guys and the funni interactions i get

i think thats all i had, thx for readin, i love yall

[claudia-kishi]

life is short and time is weird. ever since i've moved here, the guy who rented the garage under my apt would be there almost every night working on his motorcycle, which annoyed the fuck out of me. i told my friends about it if they ever came over. even complained about it yesterday night when having dinner with some friends.

came back home to see heavy police presence. i had no news or any info after googling and everything, so i figured i'd find out later. woke up this morning to find out the motorcycle dude hit a bump and lost control, and his injuries were so bad that he died at the hospital. and the time shows that it was before i had dinner with friends. which made me feel well awful.

like i don't even know this guy but i saw him almost every day, and he helped me move my couch to my apartment, and he was kind enough to move his truck around so i could get to my own garage. and now my apt is quiet when normally i would have my nightly routine of shaking my fists in the air wondering when the sound would stop.

anyways i just needed to type this out somewhere so i could remember how i am feeling today because death is something i don't really know how to process and it happening was very much and it's making me think very cliche thoughts like life is short and live your life to the fullest. but also. they're cliche for a reason.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA FOR KILLING MY MOM?

Alright there's so much context for this. I (30M) have been close with my mom (68F) every since my dad was murdered by a man I'll call P this was unacceptable and we entered a blood fued.

A couple of years later, when I was 19 and freshly knighted. Me and my older brother G went against P in a tournament. We "accidentally" killed P. Leaving his several sons alive. The only one that matters is L (22M) who was P's favorite kid. He's been pretty chill about everything but for some god forsaken reason he has a hard on for my mom.

He's constantly talking about how hot she is. And how she's the prettiest lady in the land. And how he would lay down his very life for her. Yadda yadda. I thought my mother has enough sense to not sleep with a man whose so much younger than her, and also the son of the man who murdered her husband. (Whose father we also murdered) I was wrong.

I was coming into check on my mom as she sounded like she was in pain (it wasn't pain) in her room. And I caught her having intercourse with L. From the looks of it, it was consensual. But the image of my mom having sex with this son of a murderer was too much for me.

It was all impulse. I drew my sword and slashed off my mother's head. L stopped me before I could behead him. And clarity hit me like a truck again.

L is just looking at my mom in horror. And he starts fucking crying. I don't care for this so I leave.

I run away for a bit and my brother's track me down. They try to kill me for what I did to mom. I would be dead if my youngest brother B didn't step in.

AITA?