#barbara burrowes

[whatisonthemoon]

UC member Barbara Burrowes had connections to the CIA-sponsored fascist dictatorship of Guyana

The following excerpts were originally posted on the old WIOTM by "Don Diligent" posted on the old WIOTM on December 10, 2016. (WIOTM archive link)

▲ Barbara Burrowes Van Praag

Barbara Burrowes - August 1970

(In 1962) NATO called me for a job which was never before given to a civilian. After three years, the job ceased, so I left for Rome.

Barbara Burrowes - July 16, 1971

Today is my seventieth day in Guyana and quite a lot has transpired since my arrival on May 1st…I am working at the National History and Arts Council, a division of the Ministry of Information and Culture. It covers all branches of the arts as well as archaeological findings, Government celebrations etc.

Barbara Burrowes - March 22, 1972

While in Washington our Leader instructed me to send two young men to Washington for IFVC training.

Barbara Burrowes - July 19, 1972

The Guyanese Family is increasing although I would like the rate to be much faster. Some of the young people are jobless so I have to use some influence and get the employment.

Barbara Burrowes - February 1973

On January 19th, the Family entertained visitors with a film show by the British Council at the Center. After the show there was some valuable give and take with ourfriends who were encouraged to return and listen to Divine Principle.

There were two articles about the Family in the Government owned ‘Sunday Chronicle’. The first article was very well written and photos were displayed on the whole middle page of the newspaper. The second article was not as good because many erroneous statements were made, but Barbara was allowed to insert a letter correcting same. This letter and the first article have been the talk of the nation for weeks and many people are beginning to respond positively.

Diane Ngui-Yen, radio reporter, actress and friend of the Family interviewed all the members of the Family. Members were asked what made them accept Divine Principleand why they decided to live in the Center, among other questions. This also stimulated many listeners to visit the Center.

Barbara Burrowes - May 1973

We have a lady lawyer who, after having accepted Principle, has been able to bring many people, clients and her staff, to accept Principle.

Barbara Burrowes - November 1973

Barbara Burrowes…formed the “Unified Family Singers.” Dr. Beryl Simon, the mayor of Georgetown, invited the singers to give a special concert for underprivileged children. They sang at Saint George’s Cathedral, the largest wooden structure in the world, with the President of the Republic among their listeners.

October saw the first semi-public meeting of the International Federation for Victory Over Communism, a national conference of Unified Family leaders, and open house for friends.

Barbara Burrowes - October 1985 - Our Mission in Guyana – A Brief History

During that first year I witnessed to many important people – including the prime minister of Guyana, who wanted to assign me to a special government mission.

I was interviewed by several reporters, so through both the radio and the newspapers people were informed…

August 1980 - Guyana: THE FACES BEHIND THE MASKS

For obvious reasons, given the situation described below, the author of this article, who has spent considerable time in Guyana, must remain anonymous.

Guyana’s history during the last twenty years is replete with duplicity and bizarre occurrences, many of which have been directly linked to covert CIA operations. In addition,Guyana’s Prime Minister Burnham, and his People’s National Congress Party have become accomplished at the arts of deceit, dirty tricks, covert operations, and political violence in their efforts to maintain themselves in power and privilege.

The 1961 elections were marked by further Colonial Office gerrymandering and fierce campaigning that was aided by U.S. dollars channelled through the CIA-linked Christian Anti-Communist Crusade…

On November 18, 1978, U.S. Representative Leo J. Ryan and four of his party were gunned down under the noses of Guyana Defence Force personnel and soon the world and later Guyana was to hear the horror of the Jonestown massacre.

Despite the sensational murders and “suicides” resulting in at least 914 deaths, there has been no investigation by Guyanese officials and only half-hearted prosecution of chief suspect Larry Layton. He was recently acquitted in a Georgetown court on attempted murder charges and many say he will never have to face trial for his role in the killings of Ryan, those in his party, or the hundreds of others at the People’s Temple. (Charles Beikman, the only other person to face charges related to Jonestown, has been sentenced to only two years for his throat slashing of Sharon Amos and her three children.) Defense Attorney for the cult killers is none other than Rex McKay, who has reportedly taken a sizeable fee and made large investments in the U.S.

The Jonestown death camp and related controversy, including the existence of a People’s Temple hit team, will probably never be fully explained. However, persistent rumors and abundant loose ends have led to the recent reopening of U.S. Congressional hearings intoCIA linkages with the People’s Temple. The following is a partial list of some of the factors which have fed flames of controversy.

• Ryan aide Joe Holsinger reports that a White House official told him on the night of the Ryan murder that there was a CIA report from the scene.

• Large supplies of sophisticated behavior modification drugs were found in Jonestown.

• Jonestown also was well supplied with sophisticated arms.

• Unduly large amounts of cash’ were found in the camp.

• A number of Jonestown residents were U.S. criminals on probation or parole.

• Larry Layton’s father, who admits pouring cash into the People’s Temple, was a U.S. government bio-chemist, raising the spectre of MK-ULTRA.

• First reports indicated only 300 dead and one week later the world learned of the 914 person death toll. We are asked to believe that 600-plus bodies were hidden under 300!

• The Justice Department attorney picked to handle the investigation, William Hunter, “coincidentally” had a personal relationship with Timothy Stoen, the former San Francisco Assistant District Attorney who for a time was Jim Jones’s right-hand man.

• Leo Ryan’s name appears in “Who’s Who in the CIA” by Julius Mader.

• The removal of the bodies was conducted by U.S. military personnel.

The list is endless and for the Guyanese and American people, there is little likelihood that the truth will ever reach the surface. In Guyana, the Jonestown tragedy served to focus attention on other cult groups with similar deals involving the Burnham government. These include the Moonies, a Black group from Brooklyn, New York called The East, as well as the House of Israel. The latter is a largely Guyanese cult led by a fugitive North American who calls himself Rabbi Emmanuel Washington.

Those looking for answers about Jonestown should know that the Guyanese official selected to investigate the matter is none other than the faithful Chancellor Crane, who to this day has yet to convene his first hearing on the grisly massacre.

February 1980 marked the promulgation of the new PNC constitution and the publication of still another secret deal between Burnham and CIA-linked forces. It was revealed that in October 1979, the PNC had concluded a deal with a consortium of right wing U.S. religious groups headed by Franklin Graham (Billy’s son) for a massive resettlement of Southeast Asian refugees from Thailand to the Yarikita region of Guyana near the Jonestown camp.

These were no ordinary refugees, but were in fact the remnants of the once powerful Laotian Hmong (formerly called Meo) army which was recruited by and fought for the CIA under Colonel Edward Lansdale, Hugh Tovar, Edgar “Pop” Buell, and others in the secret war in Laos.

Nor were they religious groups of the ordinary variety. They counted among their number elements of the Summer Institute of Linguistics/ Wycliffe bible translators, which has been named as a CIA front by Time magazine.

For Guyanese with a bloody history of CIA destablization, the plan was too much and widespread opposition forced the temporary postponement of this scheme to import a 40,000-strong mercenary army.

At the end of February 1980, James Mentore, head of the Special Branch and assistant Police Commissioner was fired for “leaking information to the opposition.” His dismissal and subsequent disappearance has led to much speculation as to his fate. Mentore, who received little attention by the U.S. media, has much to tell. As Security Chief he holds information that could unravel the Jonestown mystery as well as document the connections between Guyana government repression and U.S. assistance there-to. While many Guyanese suspect his disappearance can be traced to a death squad sanitizing operation, other rumors indicate his presence in the Washingotn, D.C. area as recently as June. It is known that CIA officer James Lee Adkins (named in CAIB Number 9) sought contacts with WPA members immediately following Mentore’s disappearance, ostensibly seeking information concerning the Security Chiefs whereabouts. These attempted contacts were rebuffed and the true purpose of the CIA man’s inquiry is not clear.

there is growing evidence of a well-organized network of PNC supporters in this country who continue to do the bidding of their Guyana-based masters and who finance activity with illicit drug sales. The center of the cover drug and goonsquad operations appears to be New York City and involves elements of a Guyana ex-police organization and the remnants of a New York cult. Green and McClean have made repeated visits since the assassination and are reported to have conferred with elements of the above groups in Brooklyn.

While many U.S. citizens and organizations have joined the growing condemnation of Guyana’s repressive regime, these sentiments have not been echoed by the official Washington establishment. To the contrary…the IMF and World Bank proudly announced a special joint funding package totaling 100-plus million dollars and support for a multi-billion dollar hydro-power aluminum smelter scheme slated for Guyana’s Upper Mazarumi district. These events have been heralded by the Washington Post as “good news for the Caribbean.”

Thus, with masks removed the face of imperialism is revealed and the stage is set for the final phase of the struggle by Guyana’s people against the Burnham dictatorship and the U.S. agencies which installed and have maintained it for sixteen years!

Related links below

Mind Control U.S.A. (1979)

Ex-‘Moonies’ Tell of Suicide Options (1979)

Introvigne’s Jonestown

Private Armies of Mindanao (2010)

Drugs and death squads: The CIA connection (1989)

Was the CIA Behind the Jonestown Massacre? (2022)

[filmjunky-99]

n o r t h e r n e x p o s u r e created by joshua brand, john falsey Tranquility Base [s6ep23]

'Yes.' - barbara

'What?' - maurice

'I said, I accept, Maurice. But no big announcement, no splashy wedding. We do it by the book, or we don't do it at all, you got that?' - barbara

'Outstanding!' - maurice

'Well, aren't you gonna kiss me?' - barbara

[incorrectbatfam]

The Batfam gets in trouble with Alfred. How do they panic.

Dick: finishes all of Alfred's chores before he gets home

Jason: pulls the death card

Tim: goes missing for a few days

Damian: puppy eyes

Duke: deny deny deny

Cullen: curls up and cries

Stephanie: drags one of her siblings down with her

Cassandra: causes even more trouble so Alfred forgets what she originally did

Barbara: brings up something someone else did

Harper: pins the blame on someone else

Carrie: burrows into her gopher hole

Kate: skips town

Selina: creates a diversion and sprints for it

Bruce: at this point he doesn't

BONUS – Alfred: shakes his head at himself in the mirror

[crevicedwelling]

Uncle Chuck’s Mud Puddle

Google Reviews ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️➖ 4.2 (152)

“I had a great time burrowing in the earth last Saturday! I’m coming back with all my friends!” 4/5

“Suitable family environment for burrowing in the earth.” 4/5

“weve been burrowing in the earth at chucks for years love it” 5/5

“that BASTARD chuck dosnt have MUD. its SILT. great fir burrowing though ” 2/5

“Bit By Worm While Burrowing In Earth” 2/5

“IF YOU WANT TO BURROW IN THE EARTH GO TO UNCLE CHUCKS FINEST SOIL IN THE STATE!!!!! —BARBARA” 5/5

[jeridandridge]

Puppy Love

You and Melissa unexpectedly get a puppy.

When you leave Melissa’s house to head to work you have to put your wipers on full speed while you lean forward keeping your eyes and ears alert because of the pelting rain. You knew Melissa would be okay in her truck, but you’re relieved when you get to the school already seeing it parked.

Sitting in your car for a few minutes debating if you should get out and make a run for it, you see something small and fluffy shivering next to a box near the dumpster. You put your headlights back on and squint seeing what you think is a little puppy.

“Shit.” You huff turning the car off and moving as fast as you can in the downpour. Head down you try not to slip on the slick cement as you get to the dumpster. “Hi, baby.” You smile at the scared puppy. Taking your jacket off you move forward and grab the black and brown creature, the both of you totally drenched.

Wrapping the puppy up you hold it against your chest as you run up to the door letting out a breath when you get into the school. “Okay, it’s okay baby.” You hum drying him off as best you can with your jacket. You’re shivering yourself, the October air mixed with the rain chilled you to the bone. Walking down the hall in your now squeaky shoes you get to the teachers lounge meeting Melissa’s eyes right away with a soft smile through your chattering teeth.

“My lord, y/n, what happened?” Barbara gets up, Melissa hot on her heels coming over to rub her hands up and down your arms.

“I p-pulled in and saw th-this puppy.” You laugh through a shiver nodding to the shaking bundle in your arms, his little ears flopped to the side.

“Of course you’d save a puppy, hon.” Melissa smiles as Jacob brings you a blanket putting it around your shoulders.

“It’s not a towel but it’ll work.”

“Thanks. He was h-hiding in a box.” You explain trying to dry the puppy off more.

“Looks like a German Shepard.” Melissa comments moving to your side.

“He was outside in a box?” Barbara asks.

“He was under it trying to avoid the rain.”

As you talk to Barb Melissa helps dry you off, scrunching your hair with the blanket causing Jacob to look curiously between you two before his eyes go wide.

“Maybe Mr. Johnson can watch him for me until the end of the day.” You hum trying to come up with a plan.

“Let’s worry about getting you warm before you worry about the dog, hon.”

“It’s just rain.” You smile with a little shiver, enjoying Melissa’s touch. Normally you stay clear of each other at work wanting to keep your relationship quiet until you’re both ready to tell people.

You stand closer to Melissa almost leaning into her, still feeling the cold deep in your bones while the puppy cuddles into you, his head tucking under your chin. Giving your girlfriend a soft smile you know you two will have to talk about keeping the dog.

“Cmon, bring the gremlin to my classroom and I’ll give you one of my back up shirts.”

You follow Melissa out, her hand on your lower back.

“So do they still think we don’t know?” Jacob asks Barb who sits at the table with a smirk.

She can only hum.

-

“I know a pet can be a lot but I couldn’t leave him out there, Mel.” You explain setting the small bundle down on the floor next to her desk.

“I know, Tesoro. It’s how you are.” She smiles pulling a soft sweater out of her drawer, the puppy wagging its tail at her.

“Oh no.” You laugh watching the small bundle of fur burrow into your jacket.

Melissa hands you the sweater then the coffee thermos from her desk with a smile. “You warm up and I’ll keep this one entertained.”

You were glad there was still a half hour until the kids got there. You quickly get out of your wet dress shirt shivering when the air hits your cold skin.

As you dry your hair a bit more you smile watching Melissa sit at her desk with the puppy in her arm.

“Definitely a boy.” She says rubbing the pups belly.

“What do you think? German Shepards are loyal, very protective. They remind me of you.” You smile.

Melissa gives you a goofy smile cuddling the puppy. A smile that says you two now have a pet.

-

The next evening Melissa comes home from work to dim lighting and the tv playing softly. She smiles coming over to see you and little Franklin asleep on the couch, the puppy tucked into your hoodie. Reaching out she puts the back of her hand to your forehead checking for any lingering fever. She knows you didn’t mind catching a cold after the previous mornings events, especially now that you both get puppy cuddles.

[hollywoodfamerp]

Hollywood Fame is heading to the most magical place on earth!

Pack your bags for Walt Disney World, a place where dreams come true and a little pixie dust goes a long way! We will be staying at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge, which features exotic animals, dazzling pools, award-winning dining, and more. Who knows? You may even meet a new friend right outside your window! Under the cut, you will find the roommates list for the trip. The roommates were arranged by a RANDOM generator. Unless we got a message from you telling us you wanted to be with a specific person or your FC was listed on the ships list, you were included in the generator.  As we get more people into the roleplay, we will update the list. If you do not see your characters name on this list, please message us POLITELY and let us know! Mistakes happen, and the generator isn't perfect. Hopefully, everyone is accounted for - if not, we’ll fix it! As stated before, as we accept new apps before AND during the event, this list will be updated. This is also applicable if FCs are unfollowed/leave the group, so please understand that this list is subject to change. So, that being said - please LIKE THIS POST so you can not only keep track of this list but also so we know you saw this notice.

Akanishi Jin and Lee Sunmi

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Andrew Garfield and Lily James

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Chloe Bailey and Gareth Southgate

Choi Minho and Kim Ahyoung (Yura)

Chris Evans and Naomi Scott

Colby Lopez (Seth Rollins) and Rebecca Quin (Becky Lynch)

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Danielle Campbell and Joe Burrow

Danny Amendola and Olivia Culpo

David Tennant and Harry Kane

Demi Bennett (Rhea Ripley) and Ashley Fliehr (Charlotte Flair)

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Dua Lipa and Joseph Quinn

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Banks)

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Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively

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Shawn Mendes and Jeon Wonwoo

Sophie Turner and Logan Lerman

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Tom Holland and Natalia Dyer

Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift

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Vanessa Merrell and Solana Rowe (SZA)

Veronica Merrell and Rylee Arnold

Walton Goggins and Ella Purnell

Wong Kunhang and Mason Mount

Xiao Dejun (Xiaojun) and Yoo Jimin (Karina)

Xu Minghao and Jennie Kim

Yoo Siah (Yooa) and Kim Minjeong (Winter)

Zendaya Coleman and Paul Mescal

Zoë Kravitz and Lili Reinhart

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 16: Silent Night

Chapter Sixteen.

Footsteps without a sound, I'm coming home to you, Snowfall blankets the ground, It covers the ugly truth, Things that we hide from view, I get tired around this time, But I will try to make things right, Bring your arms around me fast, Warm my bones and fill my glass, God, I hope this year's better than the last

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,867

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of past childhood trauma, underage drinking, wintertime fluff. I think that's it. Also barely proofread because I really just wanna get this chapter out so apologies in advance for any mistakes, feel free to let me know.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Taglist: @kezibear

Chapter Sixteen: Silent Night

Winters in the Midwest could be dire. Freezing winds rattled your bones and burrowed deep inside them, leaving you to feel their effects for days on end, and cold, wet snow that you often believed you'd sink right through, ending up in the middle of the Earth.

Yet despite the frosty weather, Hawkins in the winter was often referred to as picturesque with all the charm of the Walton's Christmas movie. But you were yet to see it. To feel it.

After the accident that viciously stole your sister from your life, followed shortly by your father's sudden exit, your mother had never really bothered with the holidays again, and maybe a bare Christmas tree in the living room would've been a more painful reminder than no tree at all. Either way, you couldn't remember much about the holidays when your sister was alive, but you were more than aware that there was a version of your family before, and a version after.

But you did come close to feeling it, just one time.

When you were around 9, you had been invited to spend the day at the Holland's home, where Barbara's mother watched you both through the window as you made slightly crooked snow angels, a poor excuse of a snowman that even had a carrot for a nose and a hat and scarf lent to you by Mr. Holland, who was warming up some hot cocoa as his wife whizzed around the kitchen, warm chocolate chip cookies cooling on the side as she hummed along to her Andy William's Christmas record.

It had been a peaceful few hours, and you knew deep in your soul that this was what Christmas was supposed to be about. In the company of loved ones; singing and dancing, and enjoying the time off work and school. Freezing your bones off during a snowball fight, only to warm back up with hot drinks, and a warm bath before bed.

But it didn't last long. Despite the promise of a warm, filling meal, your mother had turned up, tugging at your arm and half dragging you back through the snow as Mrs. Holland rushed after you both with your coat in hand. Your mother would then drive back home, half-cut and full with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. You knew what it was now, of course, but back then, your brain couldn't begin to understand how awful a thing grief was, and what it could make people do, make them say.

Hopper had tried once, not long after he'd called an end to the relationship with your mother. But you had been sure that the man wanted nothing to do with you, despite his turning up with a poorly wrapped gift on Christmas Eve. You'd stared at him for just a moment before shutting the door in his face and leaving him to the wrath of your mother should he insist on knocking again, silently pleading that he would. That no matter how many times you slammed the door in his face, or glared at him across the wobbly kitchen table, he would fight for you.

But he didn't, and you couldn't blame him for that, just as you couldn't be blamed for your fierce loyalty toward your mother.

Eventually, however, you would always find yourself awaiting her inevitable drunken slumber, covering her with a blanket before sneaking out into the dark winter night.

The coffee in the police station tasted like dirt, but it was hot, on tap, and most importantly, free. So you'd make your way there, too worried to drive the car in case the engine managed to wake her, and like clockwork, Flo would hand you a bitter cup of coffee in a slightly chipped white mug and send you through to Hopper, who would already be boring you with some spiel about how it wasn't safe for you to be out walking in bad weather conditions.

You'd watch the snow fall from his office window as he huffed and puffed through the night, claiming he couldn't tell you about any of the 'cases' going on in town, due to their confidentiality. That barely lasted an hour, however, and soon the man would be offloading his annoyance about how Mr. Gillespie had threatened to sue Mr. Caulfield because he'd cut down some overhanging branches from his tree, the latter claiming he would have to rake his garden twice a week because of his neighbor's overgrown tree. Hopper grumbled that they would be lucky if he didn't chop the damn thing down himself.

He had moved to New York to get away from these damn small-town problems and make a difference in the world. Yet, here he was, filing paperwork about how Mrs. Gillespie — he was beginning to think their family was the bane of all his problems — wanted to sue the park for an owl that had mistaken her hair for a nest and began to attack her, which with the amount of hairspray she used, he couldn't blame the damn animal. You wondered if now Hopper missed the quiet, tedious days before Hell opened up and spat out a couple of monsters.

But the Christmas of 1984 was different.

Your mother's meal remained plated up — but by this point, stone cold — on the side and you figured if she awoke and suddenly developed some respect for herself and her taste buds, she could help herself to your still-boxed meal that you just didn't have the stomach for.

You'd returned to your bedroom, a headache gnawing at the edges of your scalp as you considered whether or not you'd be able to get away with turning down the volume of the TV as your mother slept, spread out on the lumpy couch — you did pay the electrical bill that month, after all — when a loud knock echoed through the house, causing you to leap up from your bed and rush to the front door before the perpetrator had the chance to do it again, most likely waking your mother.

Almost ripping the door off its hinges, your glare dwindled to nothing more than a cocked brow as you came face-to-face with Eleven. A thick, heavy jacket hung from her small body and you could tell from how new it looked that she had received it that morning as a gift from Hopper.

“El? What are you doing here?”

Her smile was sweet, full of childlike excitement, and you wondered if this was her first real Christmas with gifts, visitors, and carolers. Even after escaping the lab, her first Christmas in Hawkins was in hiding with Jim. Same bird, different cage. But now… She had been officially adopted by Hopper — forged adoption papers be damned — and was able to experience a real family Christmas for the first time. You couldn’t help but wonder if Hopper's gift-wrapping skills had improved, and how burned was the turkey?

El's eyes darted toward the parked vehicle out front, “Hopper and I came to collect you.”

“For what?” You questioned, dumbfounded.

“It's Christmas,” Eleven grinned, wide and winsome, as if you were a total idiot.

Your rehearsed excuse was already sitting on the edge of your tongue, and you were fully prepared to turn the girl down no matter how shiny her puppy-dog eyes were, but the words that came out of her mouth next shut you down quickly, “We're going to have a real Christmas dinner together. Hopper said that's what real families do.”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you willed your eyes to not well up as a lump crawled its way up your throat, threatening to expose you for the sad, lonely, and unloved girl you really were. The same six-year-old girl who wept for her mother to wake up as she was starving on Christmas day. The same 9-year-old girl who had felt a glimpse of being wanted before her mother cruelly dragged her backward through the snow in her friend's front yard. The same 15-year-old who wandered through a town much more dangerous than she'd ever know, heading toward the yellow, dingy lights of the police station, toward the only person in her life who had shown her that she meant something to someone. To anyone.

Peering toward the man of the hour, you found Jim watching the scene before him with his window rolled down as he leaned out into the cold, winter air, “C'mon, Kid. Turkey ain't gonna baste itself.”

You didn't mean to slam the door in the poor girl's face, a small gasp falling from her lips that could be heard through the wooden door as you stared at it for a moment. Spinning around, you grabbed your jacket and hat from the wonky coat peg, haphazardly throwing it on before rushing toward your room, knees aching as the floorboards creaked under them as you blindly searched for the wrapped box you'd hidden under your bed a few weeks ago.

Returning to the hall, you took a few cautious steps inside the living room. Your mother remained steadfast in her drunken slumber, snoring almost drowning out the TV, and you took a moment to decide if you really could leave her, but a timid knock on the front door made your decision for you.

El's hand was raised high, but her attention was focused on a concerned-looking Hopper as you pulled the door back open. Moving past her frozen body and closing the door quietly behind you, you eventually settled on her, present under one arm as you held out your other hand to her, “The driveway gets a little slippery in the snow.”

You passed by the snow-covered trees slowly, Hopper's cautious driving surprising you for a moment as he hummed along to the radio. El had seemingly not taken a breath since the moment you'd entered the car, telling you all about her day so far, and how Hopper had bought her gifts but wouldn't let her open them until after he'd drank at least two cups of coffee. You hated to interrupt her, but you couldn't help slamming your hand on top of Hopper's seat, the man jumping as you pulled him from his bubble.

“Can we stop somewhere first? There's something I need to do.”

Hopper's tires barely kicked up any snow left on the long driveway, and you assumed it had already been shoveled for the party the family no doubt held the evening before.

The boy's room faced the pool at the back of the house, so you had no option but to knock on the large red door, trying to blink away the memories of the last time you'd done this, Barb and Nancy beside you, before everything had turned to shit. Well, shittier, you supposed.

You wondered how the Hollands were fairing this year, another year without their only daughter, who was now laid to rest in the cemetery in town. You'd have to visit them, you decided. No matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was for you, Barb's family had been there for you in times when no one else had.

For a moment, you wondered if anyone was even home. It was a large enough house that maybe they couldn't hear a simple knock from a few rooms away, but eventually, the door opened wide, another familiar memory of Steve Harrington appearing in the doorway, his eyes roaming over you with the same perplexity that it had just over a year ago. Only this time they softened much sooner, despite the confusion that still clouded them.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi,” You swallowed, face pinching in embarrassment as you stood on the boy's doorstep awkwardly.

“Is everything okay?” His brow pinched, eyes roaming over you once more and only settling back into place when he realized you were uninjured, nodding like a damn bobbing-head doll in a car.

“Yeah, no. Everything's… It's fine. I just…” taking a deep breath, you couldn't fathom why your heart was beating so loudly in your ears. Maybe it was because of your audience, the piercing stare of both Hopper and Eleven making your face feel much too warm in the cold weather, or maybe it was the fear that Steve very well could reject your offer.

You were friends, you both knew that by this point. And friends hung out, as you often did. But Christmas was a time for family, as El had told you, and here you were, about to ask him to ditch his parents to hang out. It felt silly to be so worried about something so trivial, but you couldn't stop the pounding in your chest.

“I know you're probably busy, but, uh… I was just wondering if you had any plans tonight.”

Steve watched you for a moment as if waiting for the punch line of a joke that he would inevitably be the butt of, but as the silent seconds passed and you visibly became more self-conscious, he finally realized you were not joking.

“Oh, uh… I'm not doing anything, actually. My parents are still pretty hung over from their party last night, but… Yeah, I can do, you know… Whatever.”

A loud honk of the Chevvy caused you to startle, turning quickly to send a glare toward its owner, who continued to watch the scene in front of him, unbothered by the lack of privacy he was giving you both.

“You wanna join us at Hopper's? He's threatening everyone with food poisoning if we don't, so…”

Steve had already eaten, his parents serving Christmas dinner closer to lunchtime, but he couldn't find it in himself to refuse the invitation. Last year, he had spent his Christmas Eve at the Wheeler's residence and although he was coming to terms with the fact Nancy and Jonathan were now definitely an item, he couldn't quite shift the loneliness that he felt, a year later, laying on his bed and throwing an old baseball up toward the ceiling repeatedly in silence as his mother rested in her room, his father locking himself away in his office, claiming he had unfinished work that just couldn't wait one more day.

“I could eat,” Steve nodded, a small smile creeping onto his mouth as he watched yours do the same.

You felt as stuffed as the turkey that was sat atop the small dining table. It was a squeeze to fit you all around it, you pretty much had El sat on your lap for the majority of the meal, but as you collected the plates, you felt a warm, full sensation in your chest that you hadn't felt before, and couldn't blame on your second helping of mashed potato.

“Leave it, Kid. I'll do it before bed.”

Ignoring Hopper's protests, knowing that he damn well would not do the dishes before bed, you continued toward the small kitchen, pilling the plates on the small draining board as El joined you to scrape the leftovers into the trash can.

Hopper was already sprawled back against the armchair, legs wide and pants unbuttoned as he turned his attention to the TV in front of him, despite the volume being too low to hear much.

“Uh, thanks for letting me join tonight,” Steve cleared his throat, his back a little too straight to be at ease as he sat on the small couch.

“Wasn't my idea,” Hopper took a sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola before resting it back onto his jean-clad knee, “Kid wanted to stop by.”

Steve nodded, his eyes flitting toward where you stood scrubbing the stubborn gravy stain from the pot as El blew some remaining bubbles at you from a plate. Flicking some of the water in her direction, Hopper's attention turned toward you both when he heard the younger girl gasp lightly, her eyes wide as a smile stretched across her face.

“Hey, girls, don't start-”

Hopper's words were futile as El dipped her own hand into the sink before flicking the dirty water back at you, reveling in your hearty laugh that he wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard before.

“Not with your parents tonight?” Hopper questioned, his eyes finally settling on the boy who sat to his right.

“Uh, we hung out this morning. Dad had some work to finish up though…”

Hopper watched as the boy ran his hand through his hair, his eyes on the TV, but he could tell Steve wasn't really paying attention to the movie. He hadn't had much of an opinion on the Harrington boy before, originally passing him off as another old money, trust fund kid who rebelled against his parents until he'd eventually end up with a life just like his father's.

The irony wasn't lost on Jim as his own father — the old Chief of Police — flashed in front of his eyes, brows stern before letting out a dejected sigh so loud he was sure the whole town could hear it.

“Well, she's glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too…” Steve nodded, an awkward, tight-lipped smile sent the Chief's way before his eyes slowly trailed back towards where you stood next to the younger girl.

“So, since someone didn't have any ingredients to make a pie,” you began, a side eye sent Hopper's way, “El came up with the brilliant idea to make our own dessert.”

“Eggos?” Hopper sighed, rubbing his stomach. Only moments ago he was certain his stomach would burst at the mention of food, but now… Well, a sweet treat didn't sound so bad.

“Eggos,” El confirmed, perching on the sofa and taking a large bite from her first waffle.

Bringing a plate over to Hopper, he took it with a grateful smile as you returned to the small kitchen. Steve mustered the energy to push himself up, joining you only a few feet away from his previous seat, “I'll, uh… I'll help.”

“You're the guest,” you began, “and I think I can toast a couple of Eggos without burning the place down.”

Steve huffed, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth as he cocked a brow and all but snatched the box from your hands, “Just accept the help, for my sake. I think if Hopper glares at me any harder I'll be the one being set on fire.”

Leaning against the small counter, you watched as he went about heating the waffles before eventually plating them up. Standing side by side, you chewed in silence, eyes darting from the small TV to Steve every so often.

“I'm sorry for dragging you out on Christmas day just to sit and eat Eggos in a cabin in the middle of the woods, but I'm glad you're here.��

Steve stopped mid-chew, quickly swallowing the bite of waffle he'd only just shoved into his mouth, “No, no, it's uh… It's been nice, you know? I was only gonna watch some lame movie on my own anyway.”

The moment of silence that passed between you was briefly interrupted as childlike giggles from El filled the room, watching as Uncle Scrooge McDuck made amends with the Cratchit family. Your eyes softened slightly as you watched the young girl who could barely peel her eyes away from the TV set.

“Are you, uh, going to Lewensky's New Year's party?” Steve asked, his head tilting toward you slightly as he lowered his voice, all too aware of Hopper's not-too-distant presence.

The scoff fell from your lips before you'd even realized, “I'm sure my invite got lost in the mail. Plus, after last Halloween… high school parties really are not my forte.”

Steve's eyes dropped to his feet at the mention of Tina's last party, the memory of Nancy's drunken, harsh words was still a wound that was slowly scabbing over, “Yeah, yeah I get that.”

Taking a deep breath, you placed your plate into the sink and focused back on the boy who had since last year, had his life completely turned around. He'd lost more than you'd originally presumed, but because Steve had money, you had felt that no matter how bad Steve's life got, he would never have to steal for food, bundle up in every warm outfit he had just because he couldn't afford to warm the house or pick up extra jobs to keep a roof over his head. He would always have a sense of security that couldn’t be taken from him.

But Steve had lost parts of himself along the way. Some good, some bad. But looking at the sinewy boy standing next to you, you knew it was for the best. From his asshole friends who kicked him down as soon as he slipped from the top rung of the school hierarchy ladder to Nancy, the girl who had somehow stopped his straying eye and made him believe in love, despite breaking his heart along the way because she fell in love with a boy who wasn't him.

But now, Steve had gained friendships that didn't depend on what he could do for them, or how popular he was. They were no longer transactional and instead relied on how much they cared about him, and how far they were willing to go to keep each other safe. And even if you assumed it would feel like a consolation prize to the boy, Steve now had you and your unwavering loyalty, even if your friendship had originally felt like a slow-building, forced-together situation. He had saved your life multiple times now, and eventually, one day, you would both come to the realization that you had both in fact, saved each other.

“You never told me what happened at that party. Why everything seemed to go to shit after it.”

Steve's plate joined yours in the sink, and he was grateful that he'd already finished his waffles, as his stomach sank and he lost any type of appetite he'd had left, “I should, uh… I should probably get going.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but feel like an asshole. It had been less than two months since whatever went down with him and Nancy at Tina's party, and here you were, pick, pick, picking at his wounds because of your own curiosity. Nosiness. Inability to just let things lie. You sent the boy a strained smile which he returned before pushing himself away from the counter and toward the small living room,

“Uh, we're gonna head out. Thanks for dinner though, Chief. I had a great evening.”

Hopper's brow raised as he turned his attention toward you, then back to the boy, “It's late, I should drive you home.”

Before you left, you handed El the small gift-wrapped present, watching as her eyes lit up like the Christmas tree in downtown Hawkins. With a quick nod of reassurance from you, she began to tear off the paper, a large smile covering her face when she pulled out the cassette tapes from the old, wrapped shoe box, eyes scanning over the black and white picture of Bryan Adams. Only a handful were new, most being your old tapes, mixed tapes you'd made or been gifted by Jonathan throughout the years, hours worth of music she could discover,

“Now you don't have to listen to the old man's music.”

“Hey,” Hopper warned, despite his voice holding no real offense, “Nothing wrong with a bit of Jim Croce.”

“I'm not saying there is, unless, you know… you're a thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Right, that's enough out of you. Go get my keys.”

Once school had broken up, December always seemed to move slowly. The days blended together, and if not for work, you wouldn’t know what day it was. The arcade opened back up on the 27th and your manager was all too aware that with the children off for the holidays, at some point, the parents would get sick of them and send them out for the day, and most of them would make their way to the warm arcade. You’d managed to pick up an extra shift or two, thankful to be working with Keith and not Andy, the latter all but begging you to pick up his New Year's Eve shift. So you’d made your way to work, finishing just after 10. Keith could be an absolute pain in your ass when he wanted to be, but you couldn’t deny that he did a better job closing the arcade than Andy did, and actually did his fair share of cleaning, meaning you were able to get home quicker, especially with the boy dropping you off as the snow had started to fall once more.

Now you’d been back home for a while, you’d settled on your bed intending to read before bed, yet here you were sat staring out of your bedroom window, a book opened, but otherwise untouched as it remained perched on your lap. The snow finally settled, peaceful and undisturbed and you wished you could drown out the noise of your mother’s television show, — Happy New Year, America — the volume turned up so loud that it managed to drown out her incessant snores. You wondered if it was something she did in an attempt to drown out whatever turmoil she’d dream about, but with the amount she drank, did she even dream anymore? Or was her mind as dark and lonely at night as it was in the day?

The red lights from your alarm clock flickered, 11.32pm, and soon the town of Hawkins would ring in the New Year, the rest of America following behind shortly. People make resolutions to work harder, eat healthier, attend more aerobic classes, and only cheat on their wives with their secretaries on Tuesdays and Thursdays evenings. Promises to themselves that would be broken by the first week of February.

All you wanted was a quiet year. You didn’t need a pity party, but your life up to this point, had been difficult, to say the least. Since 1977 your resolutions have mirrored wishes. Hopes and dreams for the next year, akin to what you might’ve wished for when blowing out your birthday candles if you’d ever had a cake. A peaceful 1985, with no interdimensional monsters lurking around the corner, or curly-haired mullet-wearing Californian boys who wanted nothing but trouble. Or whatever the hell had possessed Will.

Blinking a few times, you tried to focus on the book and lifted it from your lap as if that would help, but the words were simply blurring into one big, inky mess on the page. Closing your eyes tightly, you pushed your face into the open pages of the book and let out an exasperated groan. Of course, you could’ve just gone to bed, woke up on January 1st, and continued your life as usual, but something forced you to remain awake. You needed to see this year through, right until the end, even if just to prove to yourself that you had survived it.

You couldn’t wait to see the back of 1984 and hoped the door did, in fact, hit its ass on the way out.

Releasing a long sigh, a cold shiver ran over your skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and the unnerving feeling that you were being watched caused a thick, tense air to settle around you, leaving you almost too scared to remove the book from your face, frightened to catch a glimpse of whatever was waiting out there waiting, observing you.

At best, it would be a peeping tom, but at worst? Well, wouldn’t it just be your luck to enter the new year with the same monsters you were hoping to permanently leave behind, chasing you into 1985? If there was no rest for the wicked, you’d hate to think of what you did in a previous life, something so heinous that karma had crossed over into this one, haunting you still.

A sharp knock against the glass forced your body into movement, the book flying from your hands and into the direction of said sound as if the old, worn copy of ‘A Room of One’s Own’ that you had yet to return to the library would suffice against any kind of intruder.

But before the book could clatter to the floor, dislodging some of the pages that were already clinging on for dear life, your eyes met those honey-colored familiar ones, the boy jumping at the collision of the book, only inches from his face despite being protected by the glass that separated them.

Releasing an annoyed huff of breath from your mouth, you pushed yourself from your bed and all but stomped toward the window, cringing as it scraped and squeaked against the windowsill.

Swallowing down your embarrassment and finally feeling your heart slow down, you sent a glare to the boy, one he happily returned.

“What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

Scoffing, the boy’s frown deepened, “You’ve got a hell of an arm, you know that?”

“Oh please, the window was closed. I probably did more damage to my book than I would’ve to your face.”

The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out as he took you in. He’d asked Nancy about the flashlight incident of 1983 after overhearing part of your conversation whilst you comforted his ex-girlfriend in the Holland’s bathroom, being told all about your ability to throw inanimate objects into the face of your enemies. Turns out, it was a habit — or rather, a reflex — you’d be taking into the new year with you.

“What are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve placed an arm through the window frame, trying in vain to move you aside, “I was at Mark Lewensky’s party, and it totally sucked. Can I come in? It’s freezing-”

“My mom’s home,” you told him simply, as if she wasn’t out cold, sprawled across the couch. But your mother had been very clear about boys being in her home without her knowledge. It was just a shame she didn’t care as much regarding the men she brought home.

With a cocked brow, Steve watched you for a moment before bending over to grab something on the snow under your window, eventually holding up the bottle of cheap alcohol he’d swiped from the party before taking his leave, “I brought a gift."

You considered the boy for a moment, eyes glancing toward your alarm clock, still sitting pretty on your nightstand, the red numbers almost taunting you in a way you couldn’t describe.

11.46

If you really wanted to, you could easily send the boy off, tell him to go home, or even just go sit in his car and drive around town, and he’d do it. You could crawl into bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that this whole year didn’t happen. Or, you could ring in the new year with some shitty vodka warming your belly, and a friend by your side. A friend who looked just as finished with 1984 as you were.

“Just… give me a second, alright?”

Furtively, you grabbed your denim jacket, hat, and blanket from your bed before shoving on a pair of sneakers and clambering out of your window, causing Steve to fumble backward to avoid getting headbutted. Recovering quickly, Steve helped you down onto the soft snow, now sullied with the prints from his shoes.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, closing your window a little more in an attempt to keep your bedroom at least mildly warm before grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and wandering toward the back of your house where the slightly splintered trellis sat against a wall, reaching up far enough that you were able to climb onto the slight slope of your roof.

Steve, however, looked much less certain, worry evident in his quizzical eyes as they moved from you, to the trellis, and back to you,

“It’s fine, Steve. I’ve been climbing this thing since I can remember.”

Grumbling under his breath, Steve not-so-nimbly started his own ascent, arm high in the air for you to grab the bottle until he eventually settled in next to you on the blanket. It wouldn’t stop the cold snow that you’d half-scraped off the roof eventually leaking through, but it was at least a little more comfortable.

After opening the bottle and taking a long sip, Steve handed it toward you, watching as you gulped down a mouthful of the drink, face screwing up just as his own did moments ago.

“So, why’d the party suck?”

Steve accepted the bottle when you held it out to him, taking another large gulp, “It’s just not my scene anymore, you know?”

“Wow,” you huffed out a fake laugh, “never thought the day would come when the Keg King of Hawkins doesn’t want to party.”

Steve rested the bottle in his lap, fingers picking at the peeling label, “Yeah, well, you’re the one spending New Year’s alone with your face in a book. Literally.”

“And somehow, I was still having a better time than you were.” You shrugged, sending the boy an impish smile.

You both remained quiet for a moment, but you could feel the awkward tension that had settled over you back at Hopper’s before you’d left. You and your big mouth had ruined a good evening, and you couldn’t help the heavy feeling of guilt that had settled on your chest since.

“I’m sorry about Christmas, you know? Bringing up the whole Nancy thing. It’s not my business and I shouldn’t pry. And I’m sorry for bringing it up now, too. I just… I felt bad.”

Steve sighed and took another sip of the drink before handing it back to you, his eyes remaining focused on you as he took a deep breath, all too aware that you were looking anywhere but at him now. He hadn’t been avoiding you since the awkward end to Hopper’s Christmas meal. You’d been busy with work and he… Well, he had been sulking in his room alone for the most part. But he’d come to the realization at the New Year’s party that he really didn’t have that many friends, even back when he was swanning around the school like he owned the place.

And maybe, being open and honest to someone would help him move past the shit he’d dealt with this year. Maybe it could help… Maybe you could help.

“Nancy was uh… She was really suffering after losing Barb. And I knew that a part of her blamed us for what happened. Whilst she was being dragged off to… whatever that place is, we were, well, you know…”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, not bothered that he was slightly messing it up, “I just didn’t realize how much she blamed us. Blamed me. She uh, she said everything was bullshit. That our relationship was bullshit. And when I asked if she loved me…”

“She was drunk, Steve. She didn’t know what she was saying-”

“No, I uh… I asked her at school the next day. She was pissed because I didn’t pick her up that morning, and I asked her. I begged her to tell me she loved me. And she couldn’t, because she didn’t. She didn’t love me, and I don’t know if she always knew that, or just realized it then. And then I… Jesus, I went around there like a total jackass, with roses and I was gonna apologize, you know? Because, she can’t help it if she doesn’t feel that way, and I shouldn’t push her into saying it, but… She’d disappeared with Jonathan. And I don’t know what happened between them, but… I mean, they started dating right after, so, I kind of guessed then that we were over, for good this time.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, but there was no humor to it, “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but… I was an asshole to you. And even after all that… You still made sure I was okay that night. Still protected us all at the Junkyard. I just… I didn’t know you were dealing with that.”

“Well, some things are a bit more important than my shitty love life, I guess. Being torn apart by a bunch of Demo Dogs being one of them.”

You placed the bottle back in his lap, placing a hand over his once he took it, “I can’t begrudge Nance for finding happiness with Jonathan, you know? It was kind of obvious from the outside that there was something between them. But you didn’t deserve that, Steve, and I’m sure Nancy knows that, too. She deserves to be happy, but so do you. And hell, it’s not like you’ll have any trouble finding someone else to warm your bed until then. You’ll be just fine, Harrington. I’m sure of it.”

“That night… With Billy-”

Shaking your head, you stopped him before he could finish his sentence, “We don’t need to go there, really. I’d prefer it if we put it down to being drunk and stupid, or lonely and desperate… whatever. It didn’t mean anything, and I knew the kind of guy he was, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“He was an asshole, and I’m sorry about the rumors about us, well... you know.”

Finally, you met his dark, honey-colored eyes, “That’s not on you to apologize for. But I am sorry if that didn’t help shit with Nancy. And for what I said to you after… About, not wanting to hang out or be your friend. You looked out for me when I really needed it, and I threw that back in your face. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Steve smiled, the warmth of your hand still lingering on his skin even after you pulled your hand back, “I mean, there is a way you could make it up to me.”

Your brows drew together almost comically fast, dropping slightly as you sent him a suspicious glare, but when you remained quiet, Steve took it as his chance to continue,

“You could help me study for my exams. I mean, I’m not expecting to do well, or anything, but… I still wanna graduate.”

“You know I usually charge for tutoring-”

“Yeah, that’s not how apologizing works though, is it?” Steve smirked, a playfulness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

A silence passed between the both of you as you took turns passing the bottle around, small sighs and scrunched-up faces as the drink burned your throats on its way down.

“Do you think this year's gonna be better? I mean, as in no more monsters crawling out of the Hell’s asshole that is Hawkins?”

Steve’s eyes returned to you — despite keeping yours front and center — and you could feel their laser-like focus roam over your side profile as if he would find an answer that would pacify the both of you etched on your skin.

“I think,” Steve seemed to choose his words wisely, “we’ve all been through enough shit to last us a lifetime. We’re owed at least one good year, right?”

A small bubble of laughter erupted from your chest as you finally turned toward the boy, “I think that’d be the bare fucking minimum, Steve. And those kids, you know? They deserve to just be… kids. Instead, they’re fighting against interdimensional monsters and god knows what else El and Will have been through.”

“Maybe this town’s cursed, you know?” Steve shrugged, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave?” You questioned, specifying once Steve raised his brow, “Hawkins, I mean. Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna get into any out-of-state colleges.”

“No, I mean like… forever. Do you ever just want to pack up a bag and let this shitty town swallow itself whole?”

Steve’s eyes softened as you peeked back at him, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket, “I guess. I don’t really have anything keeping me here. But… I don’t know. It pains me to say it but... I think I’d miss the little jerks too much. God knows Dustin wouldn’t survive five minutes unsupervised- Oh, hey, look-”

A fountain of light filled the sky, quickly followed by a loud crack as the fireworks spread across the sky, followed by another explosion of color.

You watched the lights as they forced colors into the night, breaking apart the dark sky before fizzling out and falling back down to Earth.

Steve called your name softly, watching as you turned your attention toward him, “Happy New Year."

“Happy New Year, Steve.” You replied, taking the bottle from his grasp with a small smile before returning your attention back to the sky, hoping the cheap vodka would wash down the nauseating panic that crawled up your throat as the sky split open once more, bright reds against the dark navy sky, looking as though it was ripped apart at the seams, and you half expected a monster to fall out of it.

[tiny-merkitty]

selina kyle/cat (gotham) agere & petre headcanons because i heart her !!! extreme self projection warning THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG

(under the cut !)

ok first and foremost she is 100% a cat regressor

you cannot tell me this isn't just basically canon LOOK at her

i think she age regresses but the lines between petre and agere are very very blurred with her

she has a heavy lean with petre I think and some agere mixed in, usually regressing to around 4-7

there are definitely days where she feels more kiddo and days where she feels more catto (haha)

very fussy and pouty most of the time, she tends to be very standoffish until she's acclimated to her environment

i think she's very protective of her regression so it takes her a VERY long time to even remotely open up about it, and when she does she's defensive

feral cat!!! i dont think she has much of an interest in a caregiver, usually she's independent or has an occasional babysitter

do not leave her around glass she will break it

cups too. she's going to knock them over

she likes being called either cat or kitty when she's regressed

she tries to appear very laid back but i think she can get very particular about things

like that she's a tortoiseshell cat, and she will only accept certain colors in things, if her food isn't in a purple, black or grey bowl she will sulk for an hour

she has to make due with things alot since she grew up on the streets and probably didn't have many options

so when she's regressed she likes having the outlet to be overly picky

its HER coping mechanism and SHE gets to choose the aesthetic

burrows into literally everything, don't step on any pile of blankets she's probably under them

i don't think she's super fond of pacifiers, but she definitely bites and chews things alot so teethers are a must

she will bite you given the chance get her a teether ok

speaking of babysitters !!! bruce i think has only looked after her a handful of times

other than that she likes being around tabby or barbara

jim sometimes but she will be annoying on purpose

and then feel bad and draw him something with glitter that gets all over his everything

she's very prone to miscommunication or meltdowns, despite how crabby or rowdy she might get she needs to be handled with care

vent regression for her is a mixed bag but something that happens often

she's either clawing at everything and tearing up paper and coloring books or she's curled up somewhere high and hiding from everyone

the former usually happens if she's around other people, the latter if she's alone

she loves loves loves play jewelry

and regular jewelry. she'll take either. literally

she'll make tabby make necklaces so she can steal them

if there's anything shiny she's taking it (rip barbara's closet)

selina is just always clawing everything, she kneads at blankets and peoples arms, she'd probably like slime now that i think about it

when she's tired or worn out she gets alot quieter

she will communicate only in groans and mewls

it's like when really mean cats calm down once in a blue moon

she'll get very sleepy and snuggly

followed by falling asleep in the craziest positions imaginable

her legs are in the air, her arm is twisted around her back, somehow ???

she loves socks and gloves, with paw prints somewhere on them, preferably

she's always climbing on EVERYTHING don't ask how she got on the mantle she's not getting down

she loves cereal too, because it looks like cat treats or cat food

overall goes from very high maintenance and grumpy to very quiet and clingy within seconds

so like a cat

[lucygxybaird]

never had i seen such beauty before - billinea

never had i seen such beauty before, moment that i saw her... she and i went on the run, don't care about religion. i'm gonna marry the woman i love, down by the wexford border. (nancy mulligan - ed sheeran) Billy has a certain question on his mind. (companion piece to 'one of two ways' & 'shelter and adore you')

Sometimes, when Billy is caught in the gossamer strands that separate dreams from the morning, he has the breath knocked out of him by the certainty that he’ll wake up alone. 

The warmth curled beside him, the scent of her hair as it tickles his cheek, the soft sound of her breathing are all products of his sleep-addled mind. He can’t possibly deserve this — the sense of peace, of belonging, of safety after so long living with the knife’s edge of fear and uncertainty pressed to his throat. Above all, he can’t possibly deserve the woman dozing beside him, or the angelic little creature babbling to herself from the warm, soft nest of her cradle.

His eyes snap open out of instinct, as if he’s still waiting for the sound of approaching hoofbeats, or — worse — the pounding of a fist on his door, calling for Billy the Kid! But it’s quiet, except for Kathleen pontificating whatever great and mysterious thoughts currently occupy her fledgling brain. (Well — quiet, except Kathleen, and Dulcinea’s soft snores. But he’s learned his lesson about mentioning that. She absolutely, unequivocally does not snore, gracias.) 

Billy rolls onto his back, pillowing his arms behind his head. He smiles when Dulcinea turns in her sleep, burying her face against his chest as she burrows against his side. Putting an arm around her, Billy presses his lips to the top of her head. “You know I love you,” he says, and he thinks he sees the corners of her mouth quirk up.

He remembers the first time he saw her as vividly as if it happened just moments before. Standing in the street with Charlie, seeing her step out of her carriage — even before he saw her face, it felt as though his blood had begun to sing, calling to the music that lived in the cadence of her voice. How he knew the melody before he even heard her speak, he still can’t say. He only knows there is no other tune he wants to hear for the rest of his life. He knew it then, too, but it hasn’t been until recently that he’s realized he can actually have it. Her song, her love, forever.

Maybe it’s the arrival of Kathleen, now more than six months ago: this perfect being that is a combination of the two of them, and yet, already, entirely her own person. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that he is not a wanted man anymore. He is what he’s always wanted to be. 

Free.

Free, maybe, to ask her the one question he’s always wanted to ask. A question that has been sitting on his tongue since the moment he met her. 

He doesn’t want to get up, reluctant to wake Dulcinea or set off the baby — not to mention it’s pleasantly cozy under the covers — but in his mind’s eye, he thinks of the lockbox shoved under the loose floorboard beneath their kitchen table. He thinks of the ring wrapped up safe and sound in a silk handkerchief, two pieces of luxury that his mother treasured: one from his father, the other from her own mother, a woman Billy’d never had the chance to meet but apparently had fine taste in hankies. 

His mother had told him time and time again that she wanted him to propose to the right girl with the same ring his pa had given her all those years ago. No one had really come close to deserving her ring until Dulcinea. 

Which was not to say he doesn’t care for all the women he’d known. He does, and a part of him always will, a little piece for each of them. He is, of course, grateful to Alice the barmaid for facilitating his escape from jail, but she had been a friend — a friend who graced his bed and taught him a thing or two, sure, but just a friend. As for Barbara…well, he’d loved her in the way a bee loves a flower, light and innocent and gentle, though at the time it had felt as rich and sweet as honey. It was the first love everyone needed.

Well, if you discounted the fact that she’d been Jesse’s girl all along, and had, in the end, chosen neither one of them. (Which, now that he thinks of it, was probably the smartest thing she could have done. But it sure as hell stung at the time.)

All in all, before now, before this, love had been something he’d yearned for, almost ached for, like a man addicted to the bottle who always wanted just one little taste. Just one more. It wasn’t until Dulcinea that he realized that love does not leave you dry and desolate, desperate for another drop. She taught him — and teaches him, daily — that love is meant to fill you up, easing the ache in your bones and shedding light on the shadowy corners of your heart that you once turned from in shame. And that light is not the glare of the sun, seeking to burn, but like a candle flame in the darkness, guiding you forward. 

Now, she snuggles closer to him, her soft sigh fanning across his chest. Billy holds her tighter, one arm slipping around her shoulders while the other belts her waist. When he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, she stirs again, her cheek nestling into his shoulder. 

“Morning,” she says, her voice slow and warm, a flower unfurling its petals to the new day. Dulcinea lifts her head and looks at him, reaching up to touch her fingertips to his furrowed brow. “It is awfully early for you to be thinking so hard. Tell me?”

She props herself up on an elbow, dark hair tumbling like a sheaf of rich evening shadow over her shoulder, contrasting with the morning sun streaming through the window to caress her cheek. Billy smiles, reaching up to push her hair back over her shoulder, hand moving to trace a sunbeam that is splayed over her jaw. He thinks that maybe God, if he exists, did nothing so great as giving his creations the ability to feel — both the sensation of satin skin beneath his fingertips, and the warmth spreading through his chest like he’s swallowed a cupful of springtime.

“Good morning,” he says. He presses a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. She giggles. 

“So you won’t say?”

He smiles and kisses her again. “Not yet,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows in a pantomime of mystery, which rewards him with another giggle.

“Oh, fine.” She bestows a kiss of her own against his cheek, reassuring him without words that she isn’t actually angry. In fact, he can see a pleased little smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, enticed by the prospect of a surprise. “Kathleen and I will just have to think of something secret and special of our own.”

Dulcinea climbs out of bed, padding over to Kathleen’s cradle. The baby burbles brightly at the sight of her mother, waving tiny, dimpled hands, Dulcinea crooning back in Spanish. “Buenas Dias, mi corazon,” she says, scooping Kathleen up into her arms. 

Seeing his daughter peering over Dulcinea’s shoulder at him, Billy snatches up a pillow and hides his face behind it, peeking over the top before ducking back again. Up and back down again,  up and back down again, until Kathleen squeals delight and reaches for him over Dulcinea’s shoulder. 

Billy reaches for her in turn, and Dulcinea passes her over, Kathleen muttering contentedly at being obeyed. He cradles her against his chest, peppering her face with kisses. “My beautiful girl,” he says, and whispers in her ear: “What would you think if I asked your mama to marry me?”

Dulcinea perches on the corner of the bed, reaching out to gently wiggle Kathleen’s socked foot. “What are you telling my daughter? I hear you pouring little secrets in her ear.” 

“Bah!” Kathleen declares, leaning away from Billy as if to direct her speech specifically toward her mother. “Bahhh-ah!” After a pause, she blows a raspberry, humming as though quite satisfied with what she’s had to say. 

“Ah, I see,” Dulcinea says, nodding as though their daughter has just imparted sage advice.  She stands and puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow as she looks down at the two of them. “She tells me that you are full of hot air, William Bonney.”

Clutching Kathleen against his chest, Billy recoils in mock horror. “She would never say such a thing about me!” 

Addressing the baby, he says, “Would you?” 

She burbles.

“No, I didn’t think so,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. Dulcinea heads into the kitchen, grabbing a pot from where it hangs on a peg on the wall. Kathleen watches her for a moment, intrigued by the clatter of the pot landing on the stove, but looks back at Billy when he addresses her. 

Good manners, already! A tiny, polite genius, his daughter. 

“Not my little girl, huh?” Billy says to her. “Not my little darlin’ — no, you’d never.”

She smacks her lips, patting his cheek. Billy grasps her firmly around her middle and holds her up to look him in the eye, her feet kicking like she’s dancing her own sort of Irish jig. Everything about her still stuns him, almost like a physical blow — from her flyaway raven hair, staring to grow out now in the softest curls — to her rounded blue eyes, her fingers and toes, the creases in her palms. 

Even the way her elbows flex and her knees bend, her every breath, her little hiccups and giggles, all seem tiny miracles which aren’t diminished by how often they appear. If anything, each time feels like the first, like such a startling gift that he can hardly believe it’s for him.

He looks over at Dulcinea, now busy stirring porridge in a pot. He can’t believe any of this is for him, not after all he’s done. 

“Yeah, you’re my girl, aren’t’cha?” He props Kathleen up against his shoulder, both of them looking at her mother. “My girls. I don’t need anything else.”

Dulcinea glances at him over her shoulder. When she smiles, it reminds him of that first beam of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, a reminder after torrent and torment that peace is still possible. He smiles back at her, picking up Kathleen’s little hand in his own and puppetering a wave. Dulcinea blows them both a kiss.

Tucking Kathleen safely against his shoulder, Billy climbs out of bed, making his way over to Dulcinea. He wraps his free arm around her waist, hooking his chin over her shoulder. Preseneted with a golden opportunity, Kathleen promptly begins playing with a lock of her mother’s hair.

“You happy?” Billy asks. 

The question surprises the both of them, but as the words leave his mouth, he realizes how important it is. He can’t ask her that other question, that monumental question, without hearing her answer to this first. He doesn’t think he’ll ever fully wrap his mind around the fact that someone like her — beautiful, brave, intelligent, cultured — ever took a second glance at someone like him, with dirt perpetually carved under his fingernails and regrets living like drunken, stubborn houseguests in the back of his mind. 

“Oh, Billy,” she sighs, and for a really awful moment, he thinks she’s going to say no. Of course she isn’t happy. 

How can she be? 

She was raised to expect luxury, to be waited on hand and foot; instead, she’s living in a little wooden house, scarcely more than a shack compared to the home she once had, so small that their baby has to sleep in a cradle tucked in the corner of their own bedroom. No running water, certainly no servants, so everything has to be done by the two of them. Maybe she has regrets of her own. Maybe she only stays with him because of the baby, because she feels obligated, because—

“Of course I’m happy,” she says. She turns her head and presses a kiss to his cheek, an action somehow not impeded by the fact that Kathleen still has a firm grasp on her hair. “I told you once that you are what I have to live for. Do you remember?”

He reluctantly lets go of her and takes Kathleen back to her crib, tucking in a teddy bear made by Susan McSween’s own sweet hands so the baby has something to occupy herself. Maybe it’s silly, considering he isn’t entirely sure Kathleen could identify her own nose, but this feels like a conversation suitable only for adult ears. Dulcinea waits patiently, stirring the porridge. 

Billy crosses the room to her again, sitting on the corner of the kitchen table beside her. “I remember,” he confirms, as if he could forget. The two of them nestled in that bed, tragedy lurking just outside the curtain drawn around them — but it did stay out there, at least for a few hours. Long enough for them to find joy and pleasure in each other, in a connection as old as life itself, but fresh and sweet for them. 

She takes the porridge off the stove and turns to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I told you that because it was true,” she said. “And if it had only ever been the two of us, I would have still been grateful. A reason for living is a gift, especially after so much loss.” She looks over at Kathleen. “And then you gave me something else.” 

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Billy tugs her closer, burying his face against the crook of her neck. He sighs softly when her arms wind around him in return, tightening his embrace. Sometimes he thinks he won’t ever be able to hold her tightly enough. Words certainly can’t express how much he loves her, so he turns to touch — and even this doesn’t always suffice. If he could show her his own heart, he would. Surely her image is painted on it in his life’s blood. Her face, and Kathleen’s face, perfect and indelible.

Marry me.

He wants to say it so badly, and he almost does, right now. The ring can be scrounged up from under the floorboards later. He’d probably be so nervous asking her properly that it would slip from his shaking fingers, anyway.

But—

The baby starts to fuss, hungry and bored, and Dulcinea kisses him softly on the mouth before pulling away to get her. He watches her move across the room, thinking that each little moment of her is miraculous, too. He’s never thought of himself as a man worthy of wonders, but he supposes he must be, if he has such a wealth of them right in front of him.

He gets up and grabs bowls from the shelf, including a tiny one painted with blue forget-me-nots around the rim (Susan McSween again). He sets the table with spoons and cups, humming softly under his breath. 

No, this morning will be enough, in and of itself. Its own miracle.

Billy smiles as Dulcinea walks toward him again, the baby balanced on her hip. 

Not right now, he thinks. 

But soon. 

[coupleoffanfics]

I'm thinking of having batsis y/n be borderline Yandere for Jeremiah. Not full-on or anything. Just loves him to a degree that it could arguably be called obsessive and unhealthy. She doesn't have many people in her social circle, but the few she does have (Barbara, Norah, and Jeremiah) she holds onto for dear life. She just holds on to Jeremiah a little tighter because they're in a romantic relationship.

She's into the idea of true love and there being someone fated for everyone, but doesn't believe it. Just likes the idea of it. Has thought of what their wedding would be like and thought of baby names after a few months of dating. Living a nice house far, far away from Gotham. Won't admit it though because she knows how its a bit weird.

(Pre-Spray) Any trouble in their relationship y/n is determined to fix it, but it's not like it ever happens often. She's so afraid of him leaving her because she did something wrong. Although her biggest fear is him leaving her for another woman. That he finally realized that there are infinitely better options than her. If that were to happen, I mean it wouldn't but still, y/n wouldn't do anything about it. Cry alone and reinforce the idea that everyone is better than her. 'He's moved on and he deserves happiness just like everyone else.' y/n thinks to herself eating a tub of ice alone in her apartment.

When Echo comes around y/n is internally screaming and also has bi/pan thoughts. y/n gets the reason for Echo and whatnot, but she can't help feeling insecure. Echo is smarter than her and probably doesn't have undiagnosed dyslexia like her. Echo is an excellent fighter who brings up an old insecurity she has when around the Batfamily. Echo is also just so much cooler as well while y/n freaks out about everything. Don't even bring up how hot Echo is. y/n lets out a frustrated sigh, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Echo is hot as fuck and I'd call her mommy if I wasn't with Miah." "I was just asking how your day was."

(Post-Spray) This is when the tables turn actually no. This is when the tables are flipped. y/n wants to still love Jeremiah so badly. She wants to be okay with what he's doing, but just can't. The cult, the death, the destruction is too much. She feels like she failed him. If only she went to the family sooner rather than later. If only she was stronger.

Now for the first time, she has to let go of someone. Not slowly, but rip them out of her heart and never let them back it. No matter how much she tries to stop loving him, she always seems to fall back. He burrowed himself into her heart a long time ago. She'll never stop loving him deep down, but she'll sure as hell try to hide that from the family. Can't handle the judgmental looks she'd get especially with Jeremiah looking a lot like the Joker.

BONUS

y/n snuggles into Jeremiah's side while sitting on the couch. A documentary is playing on the TV. She doesn't even know what it's about because she's thinking of the reasons why Echo is so much better than her in every conceivable. Her blond hair was neat while y/n's was a [hair color] mess. Everything about her was perfect, maybe even down to her blood type.

Bottling up isn't helping and y/n knew she'd have to talk about it with Jeremiah. As soon as the thought popped into her mind she opened her mouth. Knowing that she wouldn't have this impulsive courage later and end up bottling everything once more.

"Hey, honey. Darling, sugar, Miah, Jem, Jim, sweetheart, dreamboat, hot stuff, McSteamy-" Anytime she wants Jeremiah's attention she'll start calling him pet names off the top of her head. Every time it makes his ears turn red. "Did you just call me McSteamy?" y/n shrugs her shoulders, "Did you like it?" Without thinking about it he says no with a flat tone making her smile and lightly laugh.

"Okay, no McSteamy. I'll keep that in the bedroom."

"y/n!" She slightly tilts her head back to laugh at his reaction. He rolls his eyes trying to suppress a smirk. She isn't sure if she's laughing because she's nervous or finds his reaction that funny. Probably a mix of both. After her laughter dies down he asks, "What is it."

The smile on her face disappears. Her pointer finger starts twirling some of her hair and her cheeks are turning pink. It felt so embarrassing to say it out loud. Yet she took a breath and said, "I'm jealous of Echo." Jeremiah can not get a word in because y/n is listing off a hundred things now. Half of things aren't even related to Echo it's just y/n's insecurities. Once she's done she looks at him like her life is in his hands.

Jeremiah needs a moment because he has whiplash from the sudden mood shift. Collecting his thoughts he tells that there isn't anything to worry about. This doesn't ease y/n in the slightest as he watches her [eye color] eyes shift away from him. He can feel his face burning before he even says the sappiest thing in his life.

"Look, y/n, I...I really care about what we have. The whole time we've been together you've...you've made me really happy. Happier than I've been in a long time, maybe ever. Echo and I are strictly professional and I have no interest in her because you know why?" y/n looks at him to continue. "Because she isn't you." A big goofy smile appeared on her face. She bit down on her tongue to spot herself from giggling.

"Aw, thank you. I really needed to hear that and you make me unbelievably happy as well." Jeremiah isn't sure if y/n is being her expressive self or if he actually needs to express his feelings more. He kind assumed that she knew how he felt about their relationship. "Honestly, Echo has been making me have some gay thoughts, but glad that I have nothing to worry about it. I need to use the bathroom, I'll be right back."

Leaving Jeremiah with another case of whiplash.

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: The Problem of Family

Do your characters have relatives who will be important to the story?

Note, such relatives don’t need to be physically present, or even alive, to be important. An inheritance out of nowhere is a classic way to get your detective (amateur or not) involved in a murder mystery. What the deceased left to each inheritor, and what they didn’t leave to people who think they should have inherited, should leave evidence of what kind of people they were.

And then there’s less tangible inheritances. Beliefs, moral codes, advice like “Never play cards with a man called Doc;” relatives and mentors leave their mark on a character, for better or worse. When your character’s in a situation where these apply, and especially when they’re facing a moral dilemma, “What would X do?” is always a valid thought.

Mind, if one of your relatives and mentors was an Evil Overlord, said thought might be immediately followed with, “And I should definitely not do that.”

Living relatives who are directly involved in the story? For better or worse, this seems to be hard for most writers to pull off. A few good examples include Grace Burrowes’ Regency romances and light mysteries, Charlotte MacLeod’s Sarah Kelling mysteries, Pam Uphoff’s Chronicles of the Fall series, and Barbara Hambly’s A Stranger at the Wedding. Her Benjamin January series also has good examples of how complicated relationships can be between siblings, parents, children, and friends, without anyone actually being a villain. Or worse, a whiny, clingy, abusive person the main character rolls their eyes at but “has to put up with because they’re family.”

I’ve read way, way too many of that last type, often used as a way to get the amateur detective ensnared into yet another criminal investigation. Often getting them framed to boot. I have run into so many of these that if I have a hint such a relative is in the story (and there’s usually a pretty strong hint in less than five pages! See said unpleasant character as plot device), then I immediately wall the sample. Abusive family relationships, even if they’re “just” emotionally abusive, are sad and horrible to deal with. Why on earth would I want to read about a main character who keeps putting up with one?

I make exceptions if the main character obviously has an escape plan. Characters getting out of abusive relationships are a Good Thing.

On the flipside, relatives are such a strong influence in most people’s life, you can really startle your readers if they realize your character doesn’t fit the standard mold. A common tactic from someone trying to scold a younger soul is, “What would your parents think?”

If your character’s reply is along the lines of, “Wouldn’t know, they disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle....”

Well. Then you’ve got a story.

[hypnolurker]

Batgirl Ensnared, Part 2

Still unsure what to think about the green stalk poking out boldly from her right ear, Barbara carefully swept her hair to the side until her flowing auburn curls drowned out the delicate green appendage and sighed deeply.

“Pull yourself together Barbs, its nothing. A hallucination or I’m still dreaming or whatever…but I won’t let it get to me. I’ll just act normally until I forget all about this weird trick my sleep deprived mind is playing.” she assured herself as she went about her day as usual getting ready for work at the library.

Things went well, for a while. Barbara was able to relax and push the strange plant out of her mind (figuratively, of course in reality it was only burrowing deeper unbeknownst to her) and do her regular work that morning. It was only in the afternoon, as the day grew long and Barbara’s focus dwindled, that the feeling of uneasiness returned. There was a mild discomfort in her right ear, sort of like an itch. Yet Barbara forced herself not to touch the area. She refused to face the reality that the tendril softly squirming in her ear was no hallucination. Even as her head grew foggy and she began placing books on shelves in the wrong order and losing track of what she was reading, she did her best to maintain her ignorance.

Then the whispering returned. At first too quiet to make out, so the poor distressed librarian ignored it. Steadily it grew louder and firmer, until Barbara could make out what it was saying. In a monotone voice it was repeating the same few words over and over…

“Weak…Submissive…Obey…Mistress…Blank…Dull…Succumb…”

The words bounced around her head as she tried to focus, constantly distracting her until, shortly before the library was due to close, a frustrated Barbara muttered angrily at the droning voice “shut up! Shut up!”

She glanced around awkwardly, realising she had said that out loud and was relieved to see there was no one nearby to witness what anyone would have naturally interpreted as her acting crazy. She redoubled her efforts to ignore the incessant voice and hurried to close the library.

After a tiring day at work, Barbara needed a distraction from the ongoing auditory assault. She found her batsuit, still torn and strewn across the floor and scolded herself for being such a slob last night. The sullied suit was still in its sorry state and had a telling odour. She filled a tub with warm water and added some liquid detergent, then softly rubbed at the stains for a while before throwing the soggy suit in the washer. “I bet Batman’s suit doesn’t tear like this. Its probably made of something military grade rather than this cheap spandex…damn I need an upgrade!” Barbara complained as she washed the suit before setting it out to dry.

Her suit wouldn’t dry until the following morning and she was unable to go on her typically night-time caped-crusades. With nothing left to distract her, Barbara felt the fog clouding her head once more. That voice…Ivy’s voice…was still whispering those same words in her head.

“Weak…” it whispered, as Barbara recalled the sensation of Ivy’s vines coiling around her wrists and  quelling her struggles as she was pinned hopelessly in place.

“Submissive…” Barbara remembered the heat she felt as Ivy fingered her. The pleasure…the need…need for those skilled fingers to slide over her throbbing clit one more time.

“Obey…” Barbara heard Ivy’s soft, feminine voice crawling inside her brain, squashing her own thoughts as it wormed it way inside her head.

She was already dazed and drooling as her hands slid down her body and began rubbing her tender crotch eagerly. Mindlessly Barbara played with her needy pussy as she continued to sink deeper into the voice’s sinister trap.

“Mistress…” memories of Ivy’s plump green lips, her piercing emerald eyes, her enticing curves…they flashed into Barbara’s mind, only adding fuel to the fire growing between her legs.

“Blank…” her head clouded over even more, the room was spinning as her hips wriggled and her crotch ached.

“Dull…” her eyes glazed over and her breathing became more unsteady as her lips quivered and her pussy twitched.

“Succumb…” eyes rolled back in her head as she pressed down on her vulnerable clit and cried out in ecstasy. An intense orgasm swept over her and her body quaked and squirmed excitedly.

This process repeated the rest of the night. Poor Barbara had no idea what was happening. She didn’t understand that she was slowly being reprogrammed. Didn’t realize that the tendril in her ear was steadily tightening its grip around her mind. All she could understand was that the words kept repeating and she kept listening. Getting duller and weaker and succumbing to orgasm after orgasm. Would it ever end?

She awoke the next morning, still wearing yesterday’s outfit except now soaked in sweat and with an unmistakable stain on her crotch.

“Fuck! What is wrong with me? What did I even do last night?” she yelled as she quickly pulled off her clothes and dashed to the shower.

It didn’t take long to notice that the tendril sticking out of her ear had grown. It was not only thicker than before but also quite a bit longer, as it was able to reach her neck and had begun to coil around slightly. Barbara gasped and tugged the creepy green tentacle away from her throat but as soon as she let go it simply began to partially wrap itself around once more. Stunned, the desperate Barbara racked her mind for a solution. She found a knife and pressed the shard blade into the tendril to cut it.

“Aaaaaaghhh!” she screamed as the most debilitating headache she had ever experienced struck her so suddenly that she instantly dropped the blade and fell to her knees in tears.

After sobbing for a while on the floor while the pain subsided she called in sick to work as she was starting to understand just how much trouble she was in. Uncertain of what to do and still trembling, she felt her throat was very parched for some reason. She rushed to get a glass of water.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

Then another glass…

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

And another…

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

Her peculiar thirst seemingly quenched, Barbara’s eyes widened as she felt the tendril begin to pulsate and wriggle energetically. She gasped as it slowly grew right before her eyes and twisted further around her neck. That familiar fog returned as she weakly grasped at the tendril but failed to stop it from coiling fully around her neck. As she continued prying it she felt a tight squeeze and started gasping for air. Terrified, she surrendered as her arms flopped to her side and the tendril eased its grip on her throat somewhat, allowing her to breath again.

The voice started repeating its sinister mantras again and Barbara sobbed and thrashed in anger. She felt deep down that she was running out of time. The voice was louder now, not a whisper at all. It was louder than her own thoughts even. The fog was clouding over her mind still and she knew she wouldn’t last long at this rate. If she started to lose herself like last night…there might be no waking up this time. At least, not as Barbara Gordon.

Yet her struggle was utterly futile. Her hands fumbled and her she crawled around desperately as the tendril gave a controlling squeeze of her neck and she collapsed in defeat. Soon her pussy was tingling again and before long that tingling turned into dripping and aching and begging to be touched. As the tendril continued growing it snaked its way back up from her throat and softly tickled at her lips as Barbara fought to cling to her sanity, fists clenched as she willed them to stay away from her treacherous drooling slit.

The tendril slipped past her lips and squirmed its way deeper and deeper down her throat as Barbara’s hands shook and she humped the air in heat. As Ivy’s voice invaded her thoughts she began to unwillingly imagine herself at Ivy’s feet. Kissing them subserviently as she begged to serve her. Begged for her beautiful mistress to order her, use her…begged to be her pathetic, brainless little slave. Barbara winced and wished she could stop the invading thoughts, but more and more her resistance was fading. Despite herself she felt her pussy pulse and throb at the idea. Soon the tendril around her neck was rhythmically squeezing her neck in time with her own throbbing. The strange sync between her own body and the evil plant choking her only made things worse as she moaned loudly and her hands finally began urgently fondling her body.

Barbara was fading. The words were repeating faster and faster and the tendril in her throat pulsated  like an ejaculating cock as she felt s slimy substance being steadily pumped down her throat every time the tightness around her neck eased up. The combination of choking and swallowing and throbbing and humping was impossible to resist. Barbara could only swallow helplessly and let her arousal take over as the idea of being Ivy’s weak, brainless, slick little slave became her greatest desire and the most incredible orgasm built inside her. Before she knew what hit her, she was spasming and screaming around the tendril as her mind washed away and Ivy’s voice yelling “Succumb! Succumb! Succumb!” was all that she heard before she completely blacked out.

Barbara Gordon never woke up. Batslave opened her eyes several hours later. The tendril had pulled itself out of her mouth and wrapped around her left ear. It had also grown a series of vibrant red flowers along it which complemented her hair nicely. Batslave approached the mirror and admired herself. Her skin had taken on a faint greenish hue and patterns resembling dark green eyeshadow formed around her eyes and her lips had turned a similar shade of green, matching her green eyes. Her breasts also looked a little swollen and her nipples were permanently stiff and tender.

Batslave groaned in pleasure and her fingers traced her nipples slowly as she heard Ivy’s voice in her head. However, this was nothing like before. Not only was the voice much clearer now, but she also understood that this was really her gorgeous mistress. Not some imitation designed to reprogram her or pre-recording, but her mistress talking directly to her. The idea that her mistress had such a hotline to her brain, that she could control her from anywhere at anytime so effortlessly made Batslave’s pathetic slit clench and dribble as a mini-orgasm washed over her.

“I know you can hear me slave. Now its time for you to serve your mistress. You’re going to break me out of this filthy prison they call Arkham Asylum right away, oh and I want you to do it in your little costume.” Mistress ordered.

Batslave complied eagerly, slipping into her suit seductively. Her crotch was still completely torn leaving her puffy pink pussy and swollen clit on full display, not to mention her hard nipples poking through the material around the chest making her look more like a pornographic parody of Batgirl than the real thing. Very fitting for a brainless slave, she mused as she gave her sloppy hole a quick rub before heading out for Arkham Asylum where her new Mistress, and her new life, awaited.

To be continued?

it wasn’t continued.

[garethllane]

FILM LOG || March 2024

★★★★★ - Blonde Ambition, Lem Amero and John Amero (1981) ★★★★☆ - Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom, Pier Paolo Pasolini (1975) ★★★★☆ - Theorem, Pier Paolo Pasolini (1968) ★★★★☆ - Wild at Heart, David Lynch (1990) ★★★★☆ - Chatterbox!, Tom DeSimone (1977) ★★★★☆ - Barbara Broadcast, Radley Metzger (1977) ★★★★☆ - Peeping Tom, Michael Powell (1960) ★★★★☆ - Streets of Fire, Walter Hill (1984) ★★★★☆ - Women in New York, Rainer Werner Fassbinder (1977) ★★★★☆ - Shock Corridor, Samuel Fueller (1963) ★★★★☆ - Pumping Iron, George Butler and Robert Fiore (1977) ★★★★☆ - Rapture, Ivan Zulueta (1979) ★★★★☆ - Superstar: Karen Carpenter Story, Todd Haynes (1987) ★★★★☆ - Pumping Iron II: The Women, George Butler (1985) ★★★☆☆ - Muscle, Hisayasu Sato (1989) ★★★☆☆ - The Death of Maria Malibran, Werner Schroeter (1972) ★★★☆☆ - Reform School Girls, Tom DeSimone (1986) ★★★☆☆ - Hell Night, Tom DeSimone (1981) ★★★☆☆ - Angel III: The Final Chapter, Tom DeSimone (1988) ★★★☆☆ - Mary Jane's Not a Virgin Anymore, Sarah Jacobson (1996) ★★★☆☆ - Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Howard Hawks (1953) ★★★☆☆ - Death on the Beach, Enrique Gomez Vadillo (1991) ★★★☆☆ - Erotikus, Tom DeSimone (1973) ★★★☆☆ - I'm Going to Get You Elliot Boy, Ed Forsyth (1971) ★★★☆☆ - Mondo Trasho, John Waters (1969) ★★★☆☆ - Nighthawks, Ron Peck (1978) ★★★☆☆ - Bloody Muscle Body Builder, Shinichi Fukazawa (1995) ★★★☆☆ - Fortune and Men's Eyes, Harvey Hart (1971) ★★★☆☆ - She Devils on Wheels, Hershell Gordon Lewis (1968) ★★☆☆☆ - Jail Bait, Ed Wood (1954) ★★☆☆☆ - Athena, Richard Thorpe (1954) ★★☆☆☆ - Flaming Creatures, Jack Smith (1963) ★★☆☆☆ - The Hunger, Tony Scott (1983) ★★☆☆☆ - Jesus Christ Superstar, Norman Jewison (1973) ★★☆☆☆ - Beefcake, Thom Fitzgerald (1998) ★★☆☆☆ - Partners, James Burrows (1982)

Shorts:

★★★★☆ - La Ricotta, Pier Paolo Passolini (1963) ★★★★☆ - I Was a Teenage Serial Killer, Sarah Jacobson (1993) ★★★☆☆ - Le Plus Del Homme Du Monde, Jean Mineur (1948) ★★★☆☆ - Sins of the Fleshapoids, Mike Kuchar (1965) ★★☆☆☆ - Ed Fury on the Beach, Bob Mizer (1960)

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Sign Our Names In The Sand So We Remember

by Random_Nerd3 “If you want clear skies you shouldn't have chosen Gotham,” Nightwing said. He dropped to the ground, swinging his legs off the roof's edge, and sitting next to the stranger. “I’m from Harwood County,” his voice was dry. Unemotional. Hoarse, like he'd been crying. “We didn’t see empty skies often these past few years. No ships in the sky makes it clear enough for me.” Right. The alien invasion. "I'm Nightwing," Dick introduced himself. There was a pause... then the stranger pulled down his hood. "I'm Troy." Words: 812, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Power Rangers Megaforce, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen, Multi Characters: Troy Burrows, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Duke Thomas, Emma Goodall, Jake Holling, Gia Moran, Noah Carver Relationships: Troy Burrows/Noah Carver/Emma Goodall/Jake Holling/Gia Moran, Troy Burrows & Bruce Wayne, Troy Burrows & Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Troy Burrows & Everyone, Troy Burrows/Emma Goodall Additional Tags: Other Additional DC Characters, Other Additional Power Ranger Characters, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Troy Burrows Needs A Hug, Carter Grayson is related to John Grayson, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Damian Wayne is Robin, Duke Thomas is Signal, Batfamily (DCU), Power Rangers References, Children of Power Rangers, Morphin Grid (Power Rangers), Other Additional Tags to Be Added via https://ift.tt/MHksD4F

[jeritoodles]

1 - BarbAva :3

i actually put a shorter version of this in the discord a while ago! i’m glad i get to use it again and make it better!

Ava goes out clubbing Friday night. It’s an arrangement her and her girls made years ago in attempt to keep themselves young and exciting. Barbara gets an invitation to go every week but that’s not her scene, so she goes over to Melissa’s house to hang out until Ava gets home.

Tonight, Melissa had a date, so Barbara stayed home. She made herself some dinner, watched a movie she had been meaning to see, and took a very relaxing bath. Barbara was tired, but she doesn’t like to sleep alone, so she decides to wait up for Ava.

When Ava comes in she finds Barbara on the floor in the living room, completing a puzzle while listening to Anita Baker. Barbara doesn’t notice that she’s home and Ava stands behind her for a while, enjoying getting to see Barbara so relaxed. Ava goes and sits behind her placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“Hey! Did you have a good time,” Barbara asks, leaning back into Ava.

“Mmhm. Whatchu workin on?” Ava nuzzles her nose in the side of Barbara’s neck, smiling at the quiet giggle it earns her.

“A puzzle that Jacob got me a while ago. He said the proceeds go to some ‘save the whales’ foundation. But of course it’s a picture of a whale in the ocean so it’s all just blue and grey. I can’t figure out this piece for the life of me.” Ava leans over Barbara’s shoulder to see better and takes the piece from her hand.

“Top left right here.” Ava puts the piece in and Barbara chuckles to herself. “What are you still doing up anyways?”

“I was waiting on you. I didn’t want to go to bed without you.” Barbara bows her head embarrassed, still getting used to being open and vulnerable with Ava.

“You should’ve told me beforehand. I would’ve come home early you big softy.”

“I know. I wanted you to enjoy your evening.”

“I did.” Ava wraps her arms around Barbara’s middle and burrows her face in her neck. They sit comfortably like that for another minute or two before Barbara’s favorite song comes on.

“Ooh I love this song.”

“Mmhm. Get up and show me those moves.”

“Ava, no it’s entirely too late and I’m too tired.”

“C’mon. I didn’t get to dance with you at the clubs tonight. Least you could do is shake it for me here at home.” Ava stands up and lifts Barbara up with her.

“This is not a shake it song, Ava.”

“I can shake it to anything, Barb.” Ava starts twerking to the beat and while Barb is impressed, she wants to dance with Ava.

“Would you stop it? Come dance with me. You wanted this.” Ava pulls Barbara into her arms and they sway together, noses brushing against each others and foreheads pressed together. When the song changes, Ava spins Barbara around so they’re front to back and continues to sway them.

Getting rocked in Ava’s arms was like getting soothed to sleep for Barbara. She felt warm, safe, and loved.

“Ava?”

“Hm?”

“I’m tired. Take me to bed please?”

“Of course, Baby.”

[phoenixthemenace]

Till Death

Day 18. Exhausted-

Johnny was a toucher, and Roy loved it. They were snuggled together on the couch at Roy's apartment, and Johnny was gazing at him, love shimmering in his eyes while he stroked Roy's hair Roy was trying to read but he was so warm and Johnny's touch so wonderful and soothing that he eventually tossed the book aside to burrow his face into the crook of Johnny’s neck with a contented sigh.

Johnny hummed with approval.

"I'm going to go see my Aunt this week when we're off." He murmured, his strong, nimble fingers at work on a knot in Roy's neck. "Come with me."

"I don't think your aunt likes me much." Roy said, thinking of that endless day after Sir had destroyed their house.

"If she is having a good day, and recognizes me, she'll be happy for us. She'll be happy for us even if she doesn't know who we are."

Johnny turned his face away.

"At least she's happy." He said softly.

"Johnny?" Roy sat up.

Johnny glanced at Roy and flashed his grin.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and reached to guide Roy back to his shoulder. He caught Johnny’s hands and kissed them.

"My turn." He said, his golden smile spilling love all over Johnny as he wrapped strong arms around his lover and settled him against his chest. "Johnny. You did all that you could have possibly done for her. You know that. She knows that. She loves you very much."

"I wish I hadn't had to put her in a home." He sighed.

"I know, Junior. I know."

"Thanks Roy."

"I love you."

Roy was always amazed at how easy it was to say that to him, maybe it was because he hadn't said it all that much to Charlie.

Johnny hummed doubtfully. Roy pulled back in surprise.

"You don't believe me?" Roy was incredulous.

"Well…" He said, trying and failing to look innocent. "I could use some convincing."

In a spectacular feat of gymnastics, Johnny was taught several things he never imagined could be done on a couch.

Three days later, Roy and Johnny were on their way to Santa Barbara. As the rover made its way along the rainy highway, they chatted idly, hands resting on the seat between them, fingers loosely tangled together.

"Hey there, Norma!" Johnny called cheerfully to the nurse as they entered the home.

"Hello Johnny." She replied. Roy rolled his eyes at yet another one of the legions who fell for Johnny’s charms. But then he had to laugh and count himself among the number.

"How is she today?"

"Exhausted." Norma said sadly. "She had a really bad night last night. She's asleep now, but go on in. It's almost lunchtime."

Johnny nodded, the light gone from his face. When they reached the safety of the room, Roy softly closed the door and pulled Johnny to him.

"Why did this have to happen to her, Roy?" Johnny asked softly. "She saved me. She deserves so much better."

"I know, Junior. I wish I had the answer. I wish I could fix this for you."

"I know."

They held each other for a while, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Lunch arrived and Roy watched with swelling heart as Johnny woke his aunt, and gently fed her lunch, tenderly wiping her chin when she dribbled and made her smile with his easy chatter.

She didn't recognize him today, but she still stared adoringly up into his face. When the meal was done Johnny introduced Roy to her, and she smiled with half her face, her expression pleasantly vacant.

Soon, too soon for Johnny, she began to tire. She allowed him to tuck her back into bed and fuss about. When he went to get her some fresh water, she beckoned Roy closer. He obliged and leaned in.

The grip on his arm was sudden and strong. Pleasantly vacant was gone, in its place was a lioness protecting her cub. Her eyes were sharp as they bored into his.

"Don't you dare hurt him." Her voice was strong and words clearly enunciated.

"I promise you I won't!" He said, startled.

She nodded once as she began to slide back into vagueness.

"Good." She mumbled. "You make him happy."

"He makes me happy too. I love him very much."

She gave him one last smile before she drifted off.

Johnny was subdued as they left the home and Roy cast around for something to, if not cheer his partner, to at least distract him.

"Hey! Did I tell you about my mom?"

Johnny shook his head.

"Well, Sir had the decency to go on a bender and get hit by a train…"

Johnny’s shocked squawk drew a chuckle from Roy.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"I'm not sure." Johnny muttered.

Roy let him stew for a while as they drove along in silence, Roy behind the wheel. Johnny started to fidget.

"Well?" He demanded finally.

"Well what?" Roy asked with infuriating calm.

"Your mom?! What happened?!"

"Oh! I was telling you about something, wasn't I?"

"Roooy!"

He laughed out loud at the pathetic whine.

"Okay, okay! Anyway, he never took her off his life insurance policies."

"Policies?" Johnny emphasized the plural with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah. We can't figure if he was paranoid or senile. Either way, my mom is now a very wealthy woman."

Johnny beamed.

"Well good for her!"

"I think so." Roy smiled fondly. "Anyway, she has decided to sell the house and move to Hawaii."

"Far out!"

"Yeah. The firm she works for has an office in Honolulu, and this manager that is so difficult that he can't keep a secretary. She said she'd like to take a whack at him."

"Watch them end up married."

Their eyes met as they laughed delightedly and sped on through the afternoon.