#c: ben stone

[swayzepatrick]

saanvi and ben's friendship means so much to me i can't even think about it 😭 😭 😭

[billysjoel]

“One more time, on the kitchen floor. // Your tank's on empty but I want more. // I get what I want, it's a one-way trip. // You ain't my lady, you my bitch."

[jolyne-best-jojo]

Say what you will about the accuracy of their scaling but vsbattles wiki is brilliant entertainment. Getting to watch people argue about how "a single Ben 10 universe is 2-A" "no it's 2-B", "Alien X is 1-C" or the fact that Thunder McQueen's is banned from matches against people above him in ap due to basically always being inconclusive is great.

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C��mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 22/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, angst, hurt

Word Count: 6428

A/N: This is part 22 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Two weeks later, you walked towards Annie’s office, to hand her some reports, but as you were about to knock at her door, you overheard her talking.

Annie’s voice rang out, laced with frustration and urgency, as she bellowed into the phone to Butcher. "Why the hell is Soldier Boy still in America?", she demanded, her tone tinged with incredulity. "He should have been transported to Russia by now. What’s the holdup?".

Your breath caught in your throat as her words echoed in your ears, sending a shiver down your spine.

With bated breath, you pressed your ear to the door, straining to catch every word of the conversation unfolding within.

Inside the office, Butcher’s voice came through the phone, gruff and strained. "The Russians are afraid to take him back", he explained, his words heavy with frustration. "They don’t want to deal with the fallout if he escapes again. They want assurances, guarantees".

Annie let out a frustrated sigh, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Well, we can’t keep him here forever", she snapped, her irritation palpable. "We need to figure this out, and fast".

Your heart raced as you listened in, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in your mind.

As you stumbled back from the door, clutching the reports tightly in your hands, a whirlwind of emotions churned within you.

With each step back to your office, your thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of what you had overheard. The tension in the air seemed to thicken around you, suffocating you with the weight of the secrets and lies that permeated Vought.

Once safely back in your office, you sank into your chair, your mind reeling as you tried to process everything you had just heard.

As you sank into your chair, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you, you couldn't shake the nagging questions swirling in your mind. Why would your friends hold Ben captive? There´s no way you misunderstood the hole situation.

The thought of Ben being returned to the Russians, to face the horrors of his past once more, sent a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced like crazy. You knew the extent of the torture he endured during his time in their captivity, and the idea of him being subjected to it again was unbearable.

No matter what he had done, to you or anyone else, this was just cruel.

With a heavy heart, you began to piece together the fragments of information, trying to make sense of the tangled web of secrets and lies that surrounded Ben's disappearance. But the more you delved into it, the more questions arose, leaving you feeling more lost and confused than ever before.

As someone who had spent countless hours tracking down supes in your previous job at Supe Affairs, you knew the ins and outs of investigative work like the back of your hand. If anyone could uncover Ben's whereabouts, it was you.

You should have done something sooner. Damn it, you hated yourself right now. Why did you trusted your team so easily? But… they were your friends, so you never thought about them lying to you.

For eight grueling hours, you poured over every piece of data on your laptop, leaving no stone unturned in your quest for answers. It was a tedious process, but your determination never wavered, fueled by the hope of finally finding a lead.

And then, just when you were beginning to lose hope, you stumbled upon a promising clue—an upcoming shipment from Nevada to Russia. Then it hit you. Your heart raced. A shipment from supe affairs. Fuck.

This could be it, you thought to yourself, the breakthrough you had been searching for. This had to be it. This had to be Ben.

Thats when Annie and Hughie knocked on your door. You were jolted out of your intense focus, the sound pulling you back to the present moment. Blinking away the remnants of your concentration, you forced a smile as you greeted them.

"Hey, come on in", you said, trying to sound cheerful despite the turmoil raging inside you. "Sorry, I lost track of time. I'll be ready in just a minute".

Annie raised an eyebrow at your distracted and stressed demeanor, her expression tinged with concern. "Everything okay?", she asked, her voice gentle.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. Finally, you shook your head, plastering on a false smile. "Yeah, just got caught up in some work stuff", you replied, hoping they wouldn't press for more details.

You joined Annie and Hughie for dinner, you did your best to push aside the rage and confusion swirling within you. The possibility that your friends had captured Ben and kept it from you gnawed at your conscience, but for now, you chose to keep silent about what you had overheard. If that shipment was really connected to Ben, or worse, was Ben, the last thing you needed was them, to react in a hurry.

Throughout the meal, you engaged in polite conversation, masking your inner turmoil behind a façade of normalcy. Despite your efforts, however, a part of you remained preoccupied with thoughts of Ben and the unsettling revelations you had stumbled upon.

As the dessert arrived, Annie and Hughie engaged in light banter, discussing their latest mission at Vought. You joined in sporadically, offering a smile or a nod while your mind wandered to darker thoughts.

Annie noticed your distraction and placed a hand on your arm, concern etched in her features. "Is really everything alright?", she asked, her voice gentle.

You forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, just a bit tired from work and stuff", you replied, your tone carefully neutral.

Hughie glanced between you and Annie, sensing the tension in the air. "If there's anything on your mind, you can always talk to us", he offered, his expression earnest.

You nodded, before you asked cautiously, "Did either of you happen to see anything about Ben lately?", trying to sound casual.

Annie and Hughie exchanged a glance, their expressions guarded.

Annie sighed softly before responding, "No, we haven't heard anything about him. But it's not uncommon for supes to keep a low profile".

You nodded again, but the unease in your stomach only grew. "It just seems crazy", you continued, "that someone as powerful as Ben hasn't been seen by a fan or caught on camera or anything. Especially now that Homelander is no longer a supe, Ben is essentially the most powerful being on the planet. The media should be going crazy about him".

Annie's brow furrowed in thought, but she didn't offer any further insight. "Maybe he just want to have some private time for now", she suggested vaguely.

You knew pressing further would only raise suspicion.

Annie let out a heavy sigh, her gaze distant as she mumbled, "You still miss him, don’t you?".

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yeah", you admitted softly, unable to hide the ache in your voice.

Her next question caught you off guard. "So… there wasn´t just friendship between you two, right?", she asked.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "At first, maybe", you replied carefully. "But… it got complicated. I don't know".

Annie nodded understandingly, her expression sympathetic. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, about your feelings, I'm here", she offered sincerely.

You offered her another fake smile.

How could she sit there and lie so badly to your face? How could the whole team, your friends, lie to you like that and keep you in the dark? And how could you have been so stupid and naïve as not to question Ben's disappearance?

With determined resolve, you booked a flight to Nevada as soon as you arrived home that evening. As you started packing a small bag, you continued your research, driven by the need to uncover the truth. There was no way you could ignore the possibility that Ben might be in danger once again.

If there was even the slightest chance that he was enduring another hellish ordeal, you had to do everything in your power to prevent it. You owed him that much, after everything you had been through together.

With each item you packed, you felt a sense of urgency coursing through your veins. Time was of the essence, and you couldn't afford to waste a single moment.

As your flight took off in the middle of the night, you felt a sense of urgency propelling you forward. You had booked the soonest flight available, unwilling to waste another precious minute while Ben's fate hung in the balance.

Touching down in Nevada in the early hours of the morning, you wasted no time. Calling in sick to work, you made your way to the nearest taxi stand, determined to reach the small airport where the mysterious shipment to Russia was set to depart. With each passing moment, your heart raced with anticipation, fueled by the hope that you might find some answers about Ben's whereabouts.

As the taxi pulled up to the airport, you stepped out, your pulse quickening with each step you took. With every passing second, the weight of the unknown pressed down upon you, but you refused to let fear hold you back. Steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead, you marched forward, ready to uncover the truth no matter the cost.

Taking a deep breath, you approached the guards stationed at the entrance to the airport. "Starlight sent me to make sure everything is ready for the shipment", you explained confidently, hoping to gain their trust. Well, you had a few hours to prepare yourself for every possible argument.

The guards exchanged suspicious glances, their eyes narrowing as they scrutinized you. "We weren't informed of any additional personnel", one of them remarked, his tone skeptical. But they knew your face. Your new position at vought was pretty much being Annie´s PA.

Undeterred, you maintained your composure, offering plausible explanations for your presence. With each carefully chosen word, you worked to assuage their doubts and convince them of your legitimacy.

After a tense exchange, the guards finally relented, allowing you to pass through the security checkpoint. As you stepped inside the airport, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing that you had cleared the first hurdle.

You walked through the airport. For a while.

As you finally entered the security room, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of another two guards. Keeping your composure, you approached them with even more confidence.

"Starlight is waiting at the entrance", you lied smoothly, your tone authoritative. "She needs to discuss some urgent matters with you both".

The guards exchanged hesitant glances, clearly uncertain about the unexpected interruption. However, they seemed hesitant to defy the authority of someone claiming to be sent by Starlight.

Nodding in acknowledgment, they quickly vacated their posts, eager to address the purported issue at the entrance. As they hurried off, you took advantage of the opportunity to slip further into the security room.

"Idiots. This was way too easy", you rolled your eyes.

As you monitored the security cameras and navigated through the building's system, a mix of disbelief and amusement washed over you. The familiarity of the security system, reminiscent of Vought's own setup, struck you as both ironic and unsettling.

With each click and keystroke, you delved deeper into the labyrinthine network of corridors and chambers. It wasn't long before your keen eye caught sight of a series of heavily guarded rooms nestled within the bowels of the basement.

The sight sent a shiver down your spine, the gravity of the situation sinking in. These rooms held the answers you sought.

As you pocketed one of the access cards from the guards, a surge of adrenaline fueled your resolve. With each step towards the elevators, your heart pounded in anticipation and sure some fear.

With a steady hand, you inserted the card into the elevator panel, the soft beep signaling acceptance as the doors slid open before you. Stepping inside, you selected the basement level, your breath catching in your throat as the elevator descended into the depths of the building.

As the doors opened to reveal the dimly lit corridors of the basement, you steeled yourself for what lay ahead. With each step forward, you drew closer to the truth. Hopefully to Ben.

With each door you passed through, the tension in the air grew thicker, your nerves coiling tightly with each step. Using the access card, you navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of the basement, encountering occasional guards whom you managed to deceive with well-rehearsed lies and a calm demeanor.

As you ventured deeper into the bowels of the facility, you couldn't shake the sense of urgency that gnawed at your insides.

With each encounter with a guard, you maintained a facade of confidence, engaging in casual conversation and deflecting any suspicion with practiced ease. The guards, unaware of your true intentions, offered little resistance. Again, fucking idiots.

Finally, after navigating through a series of winding corridors and heavily guarded checkpoints, you stood before the imposing bulk of the last big steel door. Your heart raced as you reached for the access card once more, steeling yourself for whatever lay beyond.

A wave of shock and horror washed over you as the door swung open, revealing the grim scene before you. There, chained up on an examination table, lay Ben, his once-powerful form now reduced to a pitiful sight. Tubes snaked from his body, connected to machines that hummed softly in the dimly lit room.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him, his face obscured by a large mask, his body restrained by heavy chains. He lay still and silent, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of his captors.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you took in the sight before you. The reality of the situation crashed down upon you with force, filling you with a mix of anguish, anger, and despair.

But amidst the chaos of your emotions, one thing remained clear: you had found Ben, and now it was up to you to free him from this nightmare.

As you approached Ben, your heart pounding in your chest, you cast a wary glance around the room, ensuring that you were alone and undetected.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, you gently lifted the mask from Ben's face, revealing his features beneath. His expression was serene, his features softened in sleep.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, your fingers tracing the lines of his face as if to reassure yourself that he was real, that he was still here with you.

As Ben's eyes snapped open, a primal fury ignited within him, driving him to break free from his restraints with a fierce determination. With a low growl emanating from deep within his chest, he lunged towards you, his movements swift and predatory.

In an instant, his hands closed around your throat, crushing the air from your lungs as he pinned you against the wall with a vice-like grip. Your vision blurred instantly, the world fading around you as you struggled to draw breath.

"Mm…Ben", you managed to gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you gazed up at him with pleading eyes, hoping to reach the man buried beneath the rage.

In the final moment before his grip tightened, Ben's gaze locked onto yours, recognition flickering in his eyes as he registered your presence. With a sharp intake of breath, he released his hold, allowing you to crumple to the ground beneath him.

His voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief as he demanded, "Did you fucking know about this?".

You choked back a sob, tears welling in your eyes as you shook your head frantically. "No, no, no", you gasped, your voice barely audible as you struggled to find your breath. He believed you, at least for the moment.

But Ben's rage erupted quickly, his voice reverberated through the room, filled with fury and betrayal. "Those fucking bastards tricked me!", he roared, his chest beginning to glow with a dangerous intensity.

You couldn't blame him for his anger, quite the opposite. You were at least as angry. But when you saw his chest begin to glow, you knew it wouldn't end well if he didn't calm down.

Fear gripped your heart as you pleaded with him, your voice trembling with desperation. "Ben, please, calm down", you begged. "You'll kill me if you explode".

Despite Ben's seething anger, your trembling hand reaching out to touch his. "Ben, please", you pleaded, your voice cracking with fear and urgency. "I know you're angry, I know it´s a lot, but… but we need to find a way out of here… now".

His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with the intensity of his emotions. For a moment, his gaze softened as he looked into your eyes, but the fire of his rage still burned bright within him.

He knew you were right.

With a wild intensity in his eyes, Ben growled at you to stay behind him. Without hesitation, he strode through the door, his movements filled with purpose and determination. As you followed closely behind, your heart raced with adrenaline.

Just beyond the threshold, a horde of guards awaited, their weapons at the ready. But Ben's grin widened, a fierce gleam in his eyes as he cracked his neck with a primal snarl. With a swift, savage motion, he launched into action, tearing through the guards with unmatched ferocity.

The air was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being rent apart and the metallic tang of blood. Ben moved with lethal precision, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake as he fought his way through the opposition, his fury unchecked and unstoppable.

As Ben tore through the guards with unparalleled brutality, you followed closely behind, your stomach churning with each gruesome scene unfolding before you. The once pristine corridors of the facility were now painted in shades of crimson, the air thick with the stench of blood and death.

With each strike, Ben's movements were fluid and precise, his strength and speed unmatched as he dispatched his enemies with ruthless efficiency. You did your best to keep up, your heart pounding in your chest.

Despite the horror of the situation, you forced yourself to steel your nerves, pushing aside the overwhelming urge to vomit as you focused on staying close to Ben's side. With each step, you prayed for the nightmare to end, yearning for the safety and solace of escape.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you emerged from the building.

As the chaos subsided and you both emerged from the building, the weight of the ordeal hung heavy in the air. Ben's gaze swept over the scene, his expression unreadable as he took in the aftermath of the carnage.

Without a word, he made his way to the nearest car, dispatching the last few guards with a swift efficiency that bordered on mechanical. You followed closely behind, your mind still reeling from the violence you had just witnessed.

When you reached a car, Ben paused, opening the passenger door casual. Despite the grim circumstances, there was a sense of familiarity in his actions.

You climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against your skin as you settled in. Ben joined you moments later, sliding behind the wheel with a sense of purpose.

The engine roared to life and Ben quickly navigated the vehicle away from the scene of destruction. As you drove off, the weight of what had just transpired hung heavy in the air, the silence between you filled with unspoken questions and lingering tension.

You couldn't help but stare at him, your mind still reeling from the violent ordeal you had just witnessed. With a mix of disbelief and exhaustion, you blurted out. "Even in this situation, you open me the damn car door?", you asked incredulously, your tone a mix of bewilderment and irritation.

Ben glanced at you, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Hey, just because we're fucking knee-deep in chaos doesn't mean I have to abandon my fucking manners", he replied with a hint of amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a small chuckle despite the gravity of the situation. Despite everything.

But his mood changed within seconds.

He turned to you, his chest beginning to glow once more. "Why the fucking hell did your fucking friends capture me?", he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and anger.

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm as you tried to steady his rising temper. "I don't know, Ben", you replied calmly, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "I overheard Annie talking to Butcher about it, but I don't have all the details. They never told me anything".

Ben's expression softened slightly, his features contorting with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "They never fucking told you?", he echoed, his voice tinged with incredulity. "After everything?".

You shook your head, a heavy weight settling in your chest as you confronted the painful reality of the situation. "No, they didn't", you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, Ben. I wish I had done something sooner".

For a moment, silence hung in the air between you, the weight of unspoken words echoing in the car's confined space.

As Ben's chest gradually ceased its ominous glow, a sense of relief washed over you both, the tension in the air dissipating slightly.

"I can't fucking believe this shit", Ben muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief as he processed the revelations. "Four months… I've been gone for four fucking months?".

You nodded solemnly, the weight of the truth hanging heavily in the air. "Yeah", you confirmed softly, meeting his gaze with empathy. "It's been over four months since… since everything happened".

Ben fell silent, his expression a mixture of shock and resignation as he grappled with the reality of the situation. The passage of time seemed to stretch before him, a testament to the countless moments lost in the void of captivity.

"How did you find me?", Ben's voice cut through the silence, his eyes narrowing as he studied you intently.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you. "I… I overheard Annie talking", you repeated yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. "She mentioned something about a shipment from Nevada to Russia, and I knew… I just knew it had to be you and I had to find you".

Ben's expression softened slightly, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "You risked everything to come after me", he murmured. "Why?".

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head. "Because you're not just 'anyone' to me, Ben", you replied, your voice tinged with emotion. "You're…damn it, even after what happened… you´re… you're everything".

As Ben's hand found its way to your thigh, a surge of electricity coursed through your body, igniting a fire within you. Despite the turmoil in his mind, his touch spoke volumes, conveying emotions that words could never fully express.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the intensity of the moment enveloping you. In that fleeting instant, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

With a silent understanding passing between you, you leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand against your skin. In that simple gesture, you found a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the chaos and uncertainty of the world around you.

You missed him.

More than anything.

The landscape blurred past as Ben continued to drive, the silence between you stretching on. Unable to bear the weight of the quiet any longer, you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper as you confessed, "I missed you".

Ben's grip on your thigh tightened slightly in response. Despite the absence of words, his touch conveyed a depth of emotion that resonated deeply within you, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty of your reunion.

After driving for what felt like an eternity, Ben finally pulled the car to a stop in front of a nondescript motel. The neon sign flickered weakly overhead, casting a dim glow over the deserted parking lot.

About 15 minutes later, Ben settled onto the bed with a heavy sigh, you moved to sit beside him, the weight of the recent events hanging heavily in the air between you. His gaze was distant, his expression inscrutable as he stared off into the distance.

You carefully asked, "Do you want to take a shower? I can find something for you to wear that doesn’t scream 'soldier boy went crazy'".

Ben grunted in response, his gaze still distant as he nodded slightly.

With Ben in the shower, you seized the opportunity to dash to the nearest mall. Racing through the aisles, you grabbed a small selection of clothes that you hoped would suit him. After paying in a hurry, you grabbed some food and rushed back to the motel. You didn't really want to leave ben alone, not in his state of mind.

As you arrived, you noticed your phone buzzing incessantly with missed calls and messages from Butcher and the rest of the team. Ignoring them, you powered off your phone, determined to focus solely on Ben's well-being for the time being.

You froze in the doorway, catching sight of Ben lounging on the bed naked, flipping through channels on the small TV. Your cheeks flushed crimson as embarrassment flooded through you, and your hand instinctively flew to cover your eyes.

"Uh, sorry", you stammered, averting your gaze. "I, uh, brought you some clothes and food",

Ben glanced over at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "About time", he remarked dryly, reaching for the clothes in your hand.

He watched you how you covered your eyes, a bemused expression crossing his features. With a raised eyebrow, he reached out and gently pulled your hand away from your face.

"You've seen it all before, haven't you?", he remarked. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?".

Your heart raced at his touch, a shiver running down your spine as his deep, husky voice washed over you. Instantly, you felt a familiar warmth spreading through your body, your arousal igniting at the mere sound of him.

Ben's smirk deepened as he sensed your reaction to his touch and words. "Guess the worst part of me getting captured was that I couldn't take care of you properly". He emphasized the word ´properly´ his gaze smoldering with desire.

As you looked up at him, your heart pounding with desire, you felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance between you. With a boldness born of longing and pent-up passion, you reached up to cup his face in your hands, pulling him down to you with a sense of urgency. It was too long. You missed Ben more than words could ever express. You loved him. Him. Ben.

Your lips met his in a fiery kiss, hungry and desperate, as if trying to convey all the emotions and desires that had built up during your time apart. In that moment, nothing else mattered except the electrifying connection between you and Ben, the raw intensity of your mutual longing washing over you both.

As Ben pulled you up onto his hips, the world seemed to spin around you, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of his body pressed against yours. Pressed against the wall next to the door, you yielded to the passionate onslaught of his kiss, feeling a rush of heat coursing through your veins.

With one hand beneath your ass, supporting your weight effortlessly, and the other cupping your face, Ben deepened the kiss with a fervor that left you breathless. Your fingers dug into his biceps, seeking purchase as you surrendered to the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

A deep, primal moan escaped your lips, reverberating in the small space between you, as the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the fiery passion that ignited between you and Ben.

Amidst the fervor of your embrace, Ben's lips danced along your collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. As his touch ignited a wildfire of desire within you, you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper of pleasure. You were his own personal drug.

Ben's deep voice rumbled against your skin, a hint of amusement laced with desire. "Told you to be fucking careful with those noises", he murmured, his lips trailing a path of heat down your neck.

With a shuddering breath, you tightened your grip on his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch. Every sensation, every caress, sent waves of pleasure crashing over you.

With a swift motion, Ben tore away your shorts and panties in one fluid movement, leaving red lines marking where the fabric had been. You inhaled sharply at the suddenness of his action, but the surge of desire coursing through you overwhelmed any pain as you pressed your lips harder against his.

Driven by an insatiable need to feel him, to taste him, you deepened the kiss, your body arching against his in a desperate plea for more. The raw intensity of the moment consumed you both.

Lost in the whirlwind of desire, all you could think about was him—the weeks of longing, the ache of his absence—all of it culminating in this moment. His presence enveloped you, his scent, his warmth, his touch.

Desperation laced your voice as you begged for more, your words a fervent plea for the release of pent-up desire. "Please", you whimpered, your voice thick with need. "I need you".

Ben's amused grin widened as he teased. "Maybe I should disappear more often if this is the kind of welcome I get", he chuckled, his hand trailing down to his throbbing length.

At this point it became damn clear to you, that this was Ben´s way of handling his swirling emotions of what the team had done to him. Or wanted to do to him.

With a confident grip, he positioned himself at your entrance. As his tip brushed against your slick folds, you gasped.

With bated breath, you braced yourself against the wall, your muscles tensing in anticipation of his next move.

Slowly, tantalizingly, Ben began to push forward, his thick length inching its way into your welcoming warmth.

With one measured thrust, you felt yourself stretching to accommodate him, the delicious ache mingling with the throbbing heat pooling between your legs.

As he sank deeper, your senses were consumed by the heady sensation of him filling you completely. The friction between you driving you to grind against him in search of greater pleasure.

As Ben's hips pressed flush against yours, his breath hot against your skin, he peppered kisses along your neck, his lips trailing a path of fire along your sensitive flesh. Each brush of his lips sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, intensifying the already overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

With a husky voice, thick with desire, Ben whispered against your ear. "You feel so fucking good", he murmured, his breath hitching as he fought to control his own rising arousal.

With that, he started to move, slowly at first. He would never admit it, but he missed you just as much, even though he wasn´t really awake for the last few months.

As Ben's thrusts grew more forceful, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, he struggled to stifle his own moans of pleasure. With each breathless gasp, he fought to maintain control, his lips seeking yours in a desperate attempt to silence his own cries of ecstasy.

Lost in the intoxicating haze of pleasure, you clung to each other, consumed by the raw, primal desire that bound you together. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the searing heat of your passion.

"Fuck, I missed you so much", you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Ben's movements became more urgent, driving you against the wall with force. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed in the small motel room, a symphony of desire and longing that reverberated through the air.

With a firm grip on your ass, Ben lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed where he hovered above you, his gaze dark with desire. His cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you with its hardness as he groaned at the sight of your swollen, eager pussy.

“Fuck, Sweetheart. I nearly forgot how fucking beautiful you are", he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he continued to tease you with his throbbing length.

As you shuddered beneath him, your desire reaching a fever pitch, you pressed your hips against his throbbing length, craving the feeling of him deep inside you.

With a low, guttural groan, Ben captured your lips in a searing kiss.

As you press your hips against Ben's throbbing length, he groans in response, his desire evident in the way his eyes darken with lust. You reach up, pulling him closer as he positions himself between your legs.

Ben thrusts forward, sinking deep inside you in one swift motion. You gasp at the sensation, feeling him fill you completely as he moves with softer strokes. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, intensifying with every movement.

You writhe beneath him, lost in the pleasure of the moment.

As the tension builds and you feel yourself nearing the peak of pleasure, Ben's commanding voice cuts through the haze of desire. "Come for me sweetheart", he orders, his voice low and urgent, his gaze intense as he watches you intently.

His words ignite a fire within you, pushing you over the edge as you surrender to the pleasure coursing through your body. With a cry of ecstasy, you shatter into climax, waves of pleasure washing over you as you ride out the intense sensation.

With each thrust, Ben's urgency grows, his desire evident in the way he moves against you.

"Fuck, I'm close", he grunts, his words strained with desire as he drives himself towards the edge. "Gonna come inside you, baby".

You meet his gaze, nodding in response. With one last thrust, Ben finds his release, his body tensing as he spills himself deep and hot inside you with a primal groan.

As Ben's climax washes over him, he collapses against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath comes ragged and heavy against your skin, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you bask in the warmth of the moment. His dick throbs inside you, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

For a few blissful moments, you both remain tangled together, lost in the intimacy of the aftermath.

As Ben slowly rolls himself beside you, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

"You okay?", he asks, his voice gentle as he caresses your cheek.

You nod, a soft smile spreading across your lips. "More than okay", you murmur, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

Ben returns your smile, leaning in to press a tender kiss against your lips, before you placed your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath.

Ben's chest grew warmer beneath your cheek, and a sense of panic flickered through you. "Ben, your chest", you exclaimed, pulling away slightly, concern etched in your voice.

Ben's gaze shifted to where your hand rested on his chest, his expression tight with controlled emotion. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with each breath as he fought to calm himself down. His grip around your body tightened, seeking solace in your presence amidst the turmoil within him.

"It's okay", Ben muttered, his voice strained with effort. "I've got it under control".

You nodded, though the concern lingered in your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of distress. Despite his reassurance, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As you leaned up and pressed your lips against Ben's jaw, trailing kisses along his stubbled skin, you hoped to distract both him and yourself from the rising tension in the room. His struggle to maintain control was evident, his muscles tense beneath your touch.

You lingered at his mouth, kissing him softly, pouring all your love and affection into the gentle caress.

As you continued to kiss him, you gently cupped his face, urging him to meet your gaze. His eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and turmoil.

"Do you remember what you said to me the night before the fight?", you asked softly, your voice tinged with emotion. "The words that made me feel so angry and hurt?".

As your thumb brushed over his cheek, you felt the heat radiating from his chest, but you fought to keep your composure. With a shaky breath, you pressed on.

"I was angry because it's true", you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "I… love you, Ben".

Feeling the weight of your words, Ben's expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and vulnerability. It was a revelation for him, a moment that he never expected to experience.

For the first time in his life, someone had told him they loved him, and meant it with their whole heart.

———————————

A/N: First, sorry for the long silence. But, I'm back. Well, a lot happend in this chapter. And a lot will happen in the next chapters. I can promise one thing, no matter what you think will happen, it will definitely be different... And that counts for several upcoming chapters... The two of them definitely won't find peace that quickly. Otherwise we would already be at the end of the story <3 Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 23

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara

[longwuzhere]

My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs

Welcome to another week of My Adventures with Superman and what a great episode this one was! I CALLED IT THAT WE'LL BE SEEING A CERTAIN CHARACTER SHOW UP SINCE EPISODE 1 SEASON 1!!! OK lets get to the easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here.

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here.

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

Spoilers if you haven't seen it yet.

At the start of the episode we see Clark discover a new power of his to protect a person (we'll talk about him soon) during a fire. What we are seeing here is Clark using his Bio Electric Aura. Superman's Bio Electric Aura was first introduced in Superman #1 (1987) where Superman is investigating an abandoned laboratory where stats on Superman are plastered over the computer monitors and he finds the body of the scientist who's neck was snapped by something powerful. So in order to to keep the things inside safe and way from bad people (we'll talk more about this later), Superman does this (W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza:

He takes it up to space so the vacuum can keep it preserved. But Superman is able to lift such a large piece of land thanks to his Bio Electric Aura. What it does is help protect the Bio Electric Aura user from damage and enhance their strength, speed, and durability. The user extends their aura to whatever object they are interacting with, in Superman's case, this giant piece of land, and be able to lift it up without IRL physics affecting them. Check out All-Star Superman to see how far Clark can use his bio electric aura!

Clark was able to save the man's life from the fire started by Livewire (I talked more about her here). But before the reveal, we have a fun name drop in the scene! The man Clark saved was Silas Stone, the father of Victor Stone aka Cyborg of the Teen Titans/Titan (yeah I know Cyborg was with the Justice League sometimes but he fits with the Teen Titans/Titans more)!

Silas Stone made his first appearance in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda] as a STAR Labs scientist. After his son's accident, Silas had Victor rebuilt with new cybernetic parts in order to keep him alive, a move that strained his relationship with his son. Here in the pages Raven was showing the Teen Titans that Silas was in trouble trying contact this protoplasmic cell.

Speaking of Victor, we get a reference to him after Livewire threatened his life and Victor was forced to delete the files he had on AmerTek (we'll talk more about that later).

Victor Stone makes his first appearance also in DC Comics Presents #26 (1980) [ W: Marv Wolfman, P: George Perez, I: Dick Giordano, C: Adrienne Roy, L: Ben Oda]. Robin and the rest of the Titans gather at Titan's Tower but for some reason Robin can't recognize the team.

The title for this episode is a nod to Hiromu Arakawa's manga/anime Fullmetal Alchemist, IMO the gold standard when it comes to action manga/anime. Fantastic read and watch highly recommend either watching the anime, Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and the first Fullmetal Alchemist just to see how the two are different, but also read the manga because its just that good! A very appropriate title for what we will be discussing next!

Finally the one character I hope would show up in MAwS, John Henry Irons! In MAwS like his comic book counterpart worked for AmerTek, but in MAwS Irons hoped he could use AmerTek be beneficial for his neighborhood, Bakerline (which I talked more about here.)

John Henry Irons makes his first appearance in Adventures of Superman #500 (1993) [First Sighting: Man of Steel segment - W: Louise Simonson, P: Jon Bogdanove, I: Dennis Janke, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: Bill Oakley] during the start of the Reign of the Supermen storyline where we see John be buried under rubble after saving one of foreman coworkers and with the help of Superman was able to save both of them. However Doomday attacked the city and John was ready to pay Superman back by helping him fight Doomsday as well but the building John was in collapsed burying him.

Like his comicbook counterpart, John don's a suit to help out Superman later in the episode. In the comics John wears the Steel armor in Superman: The Man of Steel #22 (1993) [Cover art by Jon Bogdanove and Dennis Janke]. After Superman's death at the hands of Doomsday, John builds the Steel suit in order figure out why the weapons he created but ultimately destroyed were in the hands of the gangs of Metropolis. He later learns that Amertek Industries, his former employer was still in business distributing the weapons.

As Clark is running late for a date with Lois as Waid's cafe (I talked about this reference here and you hear a bit of the MAwS leitmotif in the cell jingle.

At the AmerTek demo, Lois is in the crowd to see what they have for their showcase and we see Thomas Weston demonstrate the Metallo, two DC characters from the comics.

Thomas Weston and AmerTerk makes their first appearance in Steel #2 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, Andrew Pepoy, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau]. In the comics Thomas Weston is a Colonel and CEO of Amertek Industries where it is a weapons manufacturing company for the government but upon seeing the weapons be used in the streets of Metropolis, John Henry Irons quits his job as their engineer and destroys all the schematics he had on the weapons, but Amertek Industries was still able to steal John's armor designs for soldiers. If you want to check out John's adventures as Steel give Death of Superman, Reign of the Supermen, Steel, and the current series Steelworks, a read. They're all pretty awesome! Also if you like John Henry Iron's premise give Milestone Comics' Hardware a shot too, same with the current Hardware series too!

Metallo's name was first used in World's Finest #6 (1942) [W: Jerry Seigel, P&I: John Sikela) where Metalo, here aka George Grant, was a scientists who wore a metal suit to rob a train.

The next Metallo was John Corben who first appeared in Action Comics #252 (1959) [W: Robert Bernstein, P&I: Al Plastino], the same comic with Supergirl's first appearance. Here, John Corben's car swerved off a cliff and Professor Vale was able to replace his limbs and heart with metal while his heart is powered by uranium until John Corben learned that Kryptonite would be a better substitute because his uranium heart can only last for a day, while Kryptonite would not need to be replaced at all.

The next Metallo is Roger Corben who first appeared in Superman #310 (1977) [Cover art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Bob Oksner]. Here, Roger Corben was part of SKULL who engineered Roger's death in order to create a second Metallo just like his deceased brother, John Corben. SKULL manipulated Roger to blame Superman for his misfortune and to seek revenge for his brother.

The more modern Metallo returns this time as John Corben again post-Crisis on Infinite Earths, in Superman #1 (1987) [Cover art by John Byrne, W&P: John Byrne, I: Terry Austin, C: Tom Zuiko, L: John Costanza]. Here, Metallo was built by scientist Emmet Vale, who transferred John Corben's brain to the robot body after Corben's car accident, and using technology stolen from Clark's rocket ship that brought him to Earth. He found bits of Kryptonite and coined it that which is used to power Corben's new body.

At the presentation Vicki Vale tries to get the story from Lois and I talked a bit about her here and she later name drops Palmer Tech. While not in the comics Palmer Tech is a reference to Palmer Technologies from the CW Arrow-verse where it is specialized in nanotechnology founded by Ray Palmer (played by Brandon Routh who was formerly Superman in Superman Returns and Superman again in the CW Arrow-verse) which segues to...

Ray Palmer aka the Atom who first appeared in Showcase #34 (1961) [Cover art by Gil Kane, Murphy Anderson, and Ira Schnapp]. Ray Palmer is a professor from Ivy Town. He stumbles upon a White Dwarf Star fragment which when shot with ultraviolet light can cause anything touching the light to shrink, however after a few minutes later that shrunk object would explode. When Ray used the fragment on himself though, he was able to shrink fine and returned to his normal height. It's hypothesized that his Metagene is what made it safe for him to shrink and grow and as a result he built a device to control the size shrinking and growing on his belt and thus the Atom was born.

Later in the episode Clark and Jimmy meet up with Flip and John comes in to greet the former two and name drops his niece, Natasha.

Natasha Irons makes her first appearance in Steel #1 (1994) [W: Louise Simonson, Jon Bogdanove, P: Chris Batista, I: Rich Faber, C: Gina Going, L: Pat Brosseau] where she greets John who arrived back in Washington DC. Years later in Action Comics #806 (2003) [W: Joe Kelly, P&I: Karl Kerschel , C: Guy Major, L: Comicraft] where after facing the news of her uncle John retiring the Steel mantle, Natasha discovers the hammer and unlocks a recording he made where he discussed the new suit he built. Natasha dons the cool as hell new armor and takes up the Steel name. Fingers crossed Natasha gets to show up and suit up as well, maybe even team up with Kara in the future if that happens?!

At the end of the episode Lex unfortunately buys out AmerTek and renames it to LexCorp. LexCorp was first mentioned in Superman #416 (1986) [W: Elliot S. Maggin, P: Curt Swan, I: Al Williamson, C: Gene D'Angelo, L: Duncan Andrews] where Superman encounters a hologam message from Future Superman telling him to not pursue Lex who will save a child that will cure him of his obsessive hatred for Superman which then leads to Lex using his brains to benefit humankind like the holocaster that is mentioned in the panels. The later iteration of Lex where he is a shady businessman when John Byrne took over the Man of Steel and Superman titles helped establish LexCorp to what we know today in pop culture (fantastic runs btw definitely recommend reading them).

And with that episode 3 is done! Come back next week for episode 4's references and Easter eggs!

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs ad references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[f4ggydog]

Dom Shauna / bottom Nat PAHLEASE

JUST HOW DEEP DO YOU BELEVEEEEEEE WHEN YOU BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDSSSSS WHEN U CHEW UNTIL IT BLEEDSSSSSS

“do you not get it?” shauna snaps, staring at dead in the eyes. “you’re not the one in charge anymore.”

“this is bullshit,” nat spits, voice unsteady and wavering. she’s trembling, gripping the spear like it’s attached to her hand. “this whole thing is such…bullshit. this trial is the one of the worst things you and your freak clique have came up with.”

“freak clique?” shauna raises an eyebrow, sinister smile displayed on her lips. “you are one with the freak clique, nat. whether you like it or not, you’re just like us. you’re just as deranged as the rest of us.”

“i-i’m not.” nat’s lip quivers, her gaze unable to hold her coach’s. “i-i…fuck you, shauna. go fuck yourself.”

“watch your mouth.” shauna pinches nat on the cheek before giving it a light slap. “you’re doing the fucking honors. he spoke to you last. you do the honors of getting rid of him.”

“i already told you…i’m not doing it.”

“you little bitch,” shauna swears, ripping the spear out of nat’s hands and pressing the pointy tip against coach ben’s chest. “if you’re not gonna kill him, i’m fucking doing it myself and then killing you with my bare hands later.”

“like you’d dare,” nat scoffs.

“nobody fucking needs you, nat.” shauna now directs the spear’s end to nat’s neck, poking her like she’s tempting nat with the dance of death. “shit all went downhill once you got ‘assigned’ as leader. not a single fucker is gonna grieve if i get rid of you.”

shauna looks back at all of the other camp members.

“anybody wanna fucking object? anybody have anything they want to share?”

silence, only bold silence.

“do it nat.” shauna’s eyes flicker back to the antler queen, whose crown she’s hell-bent on stealing. nat should’ve been dethroned ages ago. lottie made an error and if she can’t amend it herself, shauna will pull the strings and unleash her wrath. that’s what she’s best for anyhow.

a tear slides down nat’s cheek. she knows coach ben will meet his demise, but she doesn’t want to be the one to murder him. she doesn’t want the role as the executioner. nat refuses to direct the slaughter.

“don’t start crying,” shauna barks, not giving a flying fuck if nat’s emotions get the best of her. “you know what needs to be done.”

nat sniffs, her teeth chattering and her voice cracking like leaves being stomped on in the wind. “w-why…c-can’t you do…it yourself?”

“i think you should be the one that does it nat,” shauna insists. “more of a symbolic gesture.”

“fuck your symbolism,” nat shouts.

suddenly, the rifle goes off. nat screams until her voice is hoarse and drops to her knees solemnly, gripping her weapon. taissa called the shots. she stands with her hood over her head, fearless and courageous where nat couldn’t be. not a single pinch of empathy or regret crossed her features when she pulled that trigger. tai had the face of stone, unchanging and rock solid. so nonchalant, like she didn’t just end a human being’s life.

nat can’t even look up to view her coach’s brains splattered. shauna gives taissa a silent nod of approval and pats her on the back. she did a good job today. she stepped up and took the role as man of the house when nat succumbed to guilt.

it’s only going to get worse, though. cause shauna’s about to punish her for her disobedience and refusal to take charge. she always made for a disastrous leader anyway.

“i-i’m sorry,” nat whines. it’s been an hour since the coach’s slaughter and shauna’s administering nat’s punishment with no remorse.

“sorry for what?” shauna hisses. “tell me what you’re sorry for and i’ll stop.”

nat’s cunt burned. shauna’s three fingers stretched her out harshly and shauna didn’t bother to bring lube or spit on her fingers to soothe the intrusion. still, nat felt disgusting for feeling pain from being fingered so roughly. she thinks it’s only a quarter of the pain her coach had to suffer through. maybe she deserves worse. maybe she wasn’t treated inadequately enough.

“s-sorry for…sorry for…”

“do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” shauna releases a cruel laugh. “you’re such a fucking joke, nat. next time, just bend over and show everyone at camp your pussy. it’s all you’re good for. let me take care of the food, yeah?”

what a son of a bitch. nat was going to kill shauna after this. that was the straw that broke the fucking camel’s back.

“i-i’m sorry for not killing coach scott,” nat whimpers, the desperation to be free of shauna’s fingers kicking in. “i-i’m sorry. n-next time you…want me to kill, i will.”

“good girl.” shauna simpers. “now work yourself on my fingers until you cum. i’ll stay here all fucking night so you better start convincing your body that this feels good.”

[daniel-nerd]

just found out about order no. 40 from the nakba. i think its a key information in understanding the attack of october 7th and the whole war.

so here the official document.

its in hebrew and a bit hard to read. so i’ll translate the important parts.

“2. role: expulsion of the palestinian refugees from the villages and prevention of their return by the destruction of their villages”

seems a bit extreme don’t you think? well its not ending here

“3. the method:

a) {after} surveying the villages of al-Khisas, Jira, Khirbat Khuza‘a, Bi‘lin, al-Jiyya, Barbara, Bayt Jirja, Hiribya, Dayr Sunayd, gather the residents, load them on vehicles and expel them to Gaza. remove them beyond our(israel’s) lines in Bayt Hanun.

b) separate the locals from the refugees in al-Majdal (as explained in a)

c) burn the houses and demolish the stone houses

d) check the refugees who weren’t expelled among them the enemies and execute {them}

e) check the roads to the refugees and their origin”

e is presumably to find anyone who tried to run back, but this part is my speculation based on context clues. honestly i have no idea what else it could refer to, but i translated it for the full picture. the rest of the document is logistics, it was a top secret document, and even got removed from the official archives even though it was declassified. this order was sent by ben gurion, the highest authority at the time.

zionist never came to live in israel peacefully, the came to inherit the land, by disposing of anyone who refused. the gaza strip was created to house said refugees, because egypt didn’t open their borders, and refused to accept even one refugee.

the gaza strip is an invention of israel, the towns that were attacked on october 7th were built on top of the ruins and blood of the refugees who lived there. and palestinians in gaza are (mainly) 3rd generation of the refugees from 48’.

i don’t know what needs to be done with the people who lives there now(i doubt most of them even want to come back) but this is an indispensable proof, directly from the first prime minister of israel, the highest authority at the time, that the land of gaza and the towns around belong to palestinians, and Israel forcibly expelled them from said land, destroyed any reminiscences of it, and rebuilt their own settlements.

[cosmic-ships]

☆ Moonlight & Starlight ☆

The scent of roasted nerf and seasoned vegetables lingered in the air as the remnants of their quiet dinner sat on the table. Kaden had planned everything carefully, not extravagant, because Kylo would hate that, but intentional. Thoughtful. Just the two of them, here, in the home they had built together.

Kylo sat across from them, fingers curled around a cup of tea. He had been suspicious from the moment Kaden made an effort to mark the day, but he hadn’t argued. Not really. He had muttered something about birthdays never mattering to him, about how Snoke never acknowledged them, how he barely remembered celebrating them even as a child. He said It didn’t matter. Kaden knew better.

So they got him something anyway.

They pushed back from the table, reaching into their pocket. “I know you said you didn’t want anything...” they started, watching as Kylo’s eyes flickered with warning. “I also know you’re not used to this....but you matter, Ben. And you deserve to be celebrated.”

Kylo exhaled through his nose. “Starlight—”

“No, no~” they interrupted softly, standing their ground with a soft smile. “Let me do this for you.”

He was silent, watching them with those sharp, dark eyes that almost looked obsidian in the low light, but he didn’t object.

Kaden stepped around the table and placed a small, square box in front of him. He hesitated before reaching for it, glancing at them once more, as if waiting for some hidden meaning to reveal itself before he opened it.

Slowly, he lifted the lid...

Inside, nestled in soft black fabric, was a pendant. A small crescent moon, crafted from a deep violet gemstone that shimmered in the light. It wasn’t just any gemstone...it was a piece of amethyst. A piece of them.

Kylo’s breath hitched, fingers tightening around the box.

“You… this is yours...” he said, his voice lower than before. “You carry this amethyst everywhere.”

Kaden smiled softly. “I do.” They reached out, brushing their fingers against his hand. “That’s why I chose it. You know amethyst is supposed to bring clarity? Protection? Strength? I repurposed it for this...for you.”

Kylo swallowed, staring down at the pendant as if it held some secret only he could decipher.

Kaden continued. “I’ve carried it for years. It’s been with me through everything. And now, it’s yours.” Their voice dropped, quieter now. “Because you are my clarity. My protection. My strength.”

Kylo’s jaw worked, his grip tightening around the box as though he could hold onto the meaning behind their words just as fiercely.

“You don’t see yourself the way I do,” Kaden whispered. “You think you’re just…” They shook their head. “Ben, you are not just the shadow of a legacy, or a weapon, or whatever else the galaxy has tried to make you believe...”

Kylo was still, too still, as if movement might make something inside him fracture.

“You are strength.” they continued, voice unwavering. “You are kindness, even if you don’t realize it. You are thoughtful, protective, and yes, stubborn beyond all reason at times.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, just barely, but he said nothing.

“You are home.” Kaden finished, their voice barely above a whisper. “My home.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken, something heavy.

Then, without a word, Kylo reached into the box, lifted the pendant, and ran his thumb over the smooth surface. The deep violet shimmered under his touch, like a fragment of twilight caught in stone.

He swallowed once, then again. His breathing was slow, controlled...but Kaden could see the weight of the moment pressing against the walls he had spent years fortifying.

Finally, he unclasped the chain and fastened it around his neck. The crescent moon rested in the middle of his chest. He touched it once before looking back at them.

“I don’t know what to say...” he admitted, voice rough.

Kaden smiled. “You don’t have to say anything~”

He stared at them for a moment longer, then reached out as he stood, pulling them close. His arms wrapped around them, firm and unwavering, and Kaden melted into him, pressing their forehead to his chest as they nuzzled into him.

“Thank you..” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “For this. For your faith in me....for your love...for everything.”

Kaden tightened their hold on him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath their hands.

“Happy birthday, my moonlight~”

Taglist:

@riseoftheselfshipper || @dragonsmooch || @kylilah

@mauls-waifu || @literally-just-there || @beskar33

@ama-ships || @mahitosoulmate || @lances-wife

Pro/comship/rpf/neutral dni + doubles dni [this is a self ship post if that bothers you please block me <3]

[swayzepatrick]

i love jared so much but i'm gonna be so upset if they killed off zeke just to get michaela and jared back together. and this whole thing with ben and saanvi is just wrong. let men and women be friends without making it A Thing.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 13

Ben's spiraling. While trying to come to terms with what he's done to Nebbia, he remembers what else he's done in the crucial hours after leaving the brothel. And it's not pretty...

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 5.5k 🟪 READ ON AO3

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

Additional warnings: Violence, murder and lots of angst ahead. Beware!

Chapter 13: The Rage

Ben wakes up on the floor. The light is too bright, his head too heavy, his tongue swollen to double its size. He feels awful, his back hurts, his jaw is tense, there's a weird taste in his mouth. Somehow he manages to sit up without throwing up, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. He's squinting, fighting the brightness of the day, looks around through the hammering pain inside his skull.

Cursing under his breath, he rubs his eyes, his beard, his messy hair, groans. Inhales sharply. “Fuck,” he growls, his voice just a raw little sound in the back of his throat, like stones grinding against each other. His head rests on the bed as he tries to find his bearings. What the hell happened?

Something shifts to his left, and he looks up without moving his head, only moves his eyes to the bundle on the bed. It's a familiar sight by now, the girl curled up in a blanket, a ball of limbs and hair and fabric, barely taking up any space. He extends a hand, on instinct, a reflex of familiarity, but as soon as he feels her warm body beneath his palm, an image flashes before his eyes.

Tears rolling over soft cheeks, trembling lips, wide, panicked eyes, a tiny body pinned beneath him, paralyzed by fear.

He pulls his hand back, only then noticing the broken skin on his knuckles. His confusion grows. Sitting up, his back leaning against the side of the bed, he stares at his hands, turns them, flexes his fingers, feels the throbbing beneath his skin. He can't remember it, but he knows that his fists have been in somebody's face, on somebody's body, breaking skin and bones, and the faint memory of rage fills his empty stomach.

When he shifts on the ground, he wonders for a moment why there are a handful of tiny blue buttons strewn all over the floor. He picks one up, so small he has trouble doing so, and it looks so delicate on his big palm. His head hurts when he frowns deeper, his gaze moving back to the girl on the bed. He can't see her properly, covered and curled up as she is, but something cold rushes through his body.

His breath quickens, his heart accelerating. It doesn't make sense, but he has to make sure. Connect the dots, even though they are all over the place, don't seem to match, to fit, like puzzle pieces bent out of shape. Slowly he lifts himself up, one arm braced on the bed, a knee pushing the mattress down, as he climbs closer, his other hand extended to brush against the blanket, the soft blue fabric of her dress beneath it, a small foot peeking out beneath it all.

“Nebbia,” he growls, his voice still that strange stone against stone grinding noise, deep and low in his throat. “Wake up...”

His hand is trembling when he finds her shoulder in the ball of hair and limbs and covers, and he slowly unfolds her, turns her body, shakes her gently. She inhales deeply when she stirs awake, a fraction of a pale face emerging from behind the tangled strands of hair, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering, a small pink tongue slipping out to wet her dry lips.

He's that shadow over her, waiting, watching her as she comes to, his heart nearly exploding in his chest. Her face looks normal, pale cheeks, clumped lashes, sleep in the corner of her eyes, patterned lines on her skin from the pillow and the clothes she's buried her face in. He realizes it's his plaid shirt she has wrapped around her shoulders. She rolls onto her back, blinking up at him.

And there's a tiny flinch when her eyes meet his, a small little shudder rushing through her fragile body. Her chest starts moving more, rises and falls quicker, her lips part and tremble, and her hand clutches at the shirt she's balled up between her fingers as she covers herself. He leans back, tense and on edge and with his mind racing, trying to make sense of her behavior, of his conflicting memories, of the ache in his hands and his head and his whole body, the taste of blood on his tongue.

She shifts before him, scoots back as she sits up more, her wide skirt tangled between her legs, the blanket only half covering her torso. Her long hair falls over her shoulders, and he can't unsee the shaking of them, the fear in her big green eyes. He wants to ask what's wrong, baby girl? but the words are stuck in his throat when he sees something poking past her dark locks as she turns her head slightly.

He's still too rough and uncoordinated in his movements, drunk on rage and bewilderment, but he's on her in seconds, brushing her hair away to expose her neck. She yelps, winces, a tiny sob emerging from her throat as he stares at the bruises on her soft skin, his hand fisting the sheets beneath her shoulder while she freezes under him. He breathes loudly through his nose, jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. At first he's angry, wonders what happened while he was gone, who did this to her, but then it's like a kick in the stomach, a cold realization, the last puzzle piece falling into place.

He jerks away instantly, stumbling off the bed, turning around, gripping his chest as hard as he grips the doorknob, ready to flee, hide from the memories flooding his hazy mind.

It was him.

He feels it, her soft skin under his lips, his mouth, the rush of blood as he sucks on her neck, nibbles, bites, holding her down as she squirms beneath him. Marking her. Tasting her. His teeth sinking deeper, a coppery thing on his tongue, heavy in his mouth, double its size. Alcohol and blood mixing within him, driving him crazy, making his entire body throb, blood rushing lower, gathering, straining. Her taste is everywhere, her smell, that soft scent mixed with cold sweat and fear.

He was the monster on top of her.

Ben groans, the hand on the doorknob moving to his face, pushing through his hair. He's breathing hard. Leaning his forehead against the cold surface of the door, he grips his head with both hands, trying to push the images away that haunt him, claw at him, sink under his skin, torment him with more and more details.

Her little sounds of distress, her wrists held together by his large hand above her head, his hips pressed to hers, grinding. Blue buttons. Flying through the dark room, the tense air, thunder in the distance, clattering to the floor. Fabric, ripped apart with a strength he couldn't control. A pretty blue dress, torn to shreds, exposing a heaving chest, trembling little breasts, flushed in fear and shock. Helpless beneath him.

Rage fills his stomach, cold and burning at the same time, clawing at his insides, twisting, tensing, tearing into his flesh. A familiar feeling, but never directed against himself.

There's another memory pushing through, faint, but there, a throbbing beneath the dried blood on his knuckles. Unfiltered violence, broken bones, blood everywhere, groans of pain mixing with the echo of words in his mind: kicked her in the stomach... lost so much blood... she's lost yours...

He sees himself gripping someone's collar, his fist hitting and punching and sinking into an unknown face. The pain is not enough to stop the images, the words, the memories of a boot print between shoulder blades, a red hand print on a soft ass cheek, a curled up body, shivering in panic and pain. It all mixes together, old and new memories, revelations and reactions. Like mother, like daughter. Attacked by unknown men. Kicked in the stomach, assaulted, damaged beyond repair, a pain hidden behind pretty faces.

His knees give way, and he sinks to the floor, still clutching his thrumming head, folding in on himself. The haze is still there, the heavy taste on his tongue, but he knows now. Knows what happened.

He left Madam Claire with his mind racing, that familiar rage settling in his guts. As he sat on the horse he'd borrowed from Sarah, he guided it through the breaking morning, back to the house, the camp, the rising sun in his back as he approached it. But it was empty. They were gone. Left him like he left them.

He wanted to confront the men that drove him away, Bill, and Joe, and Bob for good measure, just because. Men who think they can get away with everything, with leering, insulting, touching and assaulting, grabbing what isn't theirs, taking what never will be. Heavy boots on frail bodies. Keira lost his child because a man like them took what he wanted, no matter how. And Nebbia was in pain because one of them couldn't control himself.

And there were men in front of his door, rattling the doorknob, lured to him because another one couldn't keep his mouth shut. Sent them right to them, made them flee. Joe ratted them out, and now the camp is deserted. He looked around, found empty gun shells in the dirt, bullet holes in the doors, windows shattered. There'd been a fight, and another rage settled within him. Guilt.

Ben took the girl, he brought the wrath upon them, they had to fight and flee because of him – all while he was concerned about his very own deranged desires. Completely fucked-up. He, this world, everything around him. Except the girl, the poor, innocent girl, caught in the middle of it.

He wanted to take revenge, but the camp was empty. The men he wanted to punish gone. And the note on the bed in his room, ransacked, dresser pushed aside, most of his stuff gone. “Come near us again, and I'll take you to the gallows myself!” it said in Mitch's neat handwriting. And the rage had grown, guilt and anger and disappointment, and a sadness he wasn't aware of at first.

Years of his life with this group, more with Mitch and Ginny... A family, as fucked-up as they can get, but still a family, to rely on, to come back to. No longer. They banished him. Because he brought a girl. Because he chose a girl over them. The rage was white-hot, burning just beneath his skin. He'd kicked doors, furniture, left-behind crates and barrels, destroyed anything he could get his hands on, overtaken by wrath and violence, and then they showed up.

The reason they were gone, left him behind. The Daniels. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen, sneering and laughing, catching him with his boot lodged inside a broken crate. His pistol was in his hand before they could even announce themselves properly. Big words for big men who didn't have much to say. His first bullet made one of them tumble off his horse. He dodged the replying ones, rolled free and behind a tossed over table. Wood splintered around him, he shot back, emptied the cylinder quicker than they could get to cover.

Frantic fingers pushed in new bullets from the pouch around his hips while shots flew over his head, hot and fast, deadly if they'd find the target, but the sun was blinding, shielding him. He shot, dodged, crawled back until he was inside the empty house, found cover behind a brick wall, reloaded his gun, again and again, until his bullets were all gone and spent, stuck in bodies lining the steps leading up to the house.

There were still footsteps, heavy, angry, driven by rage, and he waited for them, pistol in his fist, ready to strike. Blood sprayed over his shirt when he brought the heavy end to the face peeking around the corner, the cracking of bones loud in his ears. Pained grunts, then another smack, a roar, violent and raw, as he pummeled the man to the ground, gripping his collar, sinking his fist into what remained of his face, until he didn't move, didn't splutter, didn't groan anymore.

The body fell heavy to the floor, a thud in the sudden silence. He looked up then, saw another man frozen in place, eyes wide, pistol falling from a shaking hand as he stared at him, his fist as bloody as the man beneath him. The last of the Daniels fled, and in his rage, Ben stumbled after him, grabbed the gun, fired at his back, screamed and roared, found the target to let his anger out. He emptied all the remaining bullets into the fleeing man who fell over with another thud, loud in the quiet around him.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears, his own heartbeat loud and angry, his heavy breaths like the panting of a large animal. He didn't feel his own injuries, where bullets grazed his skin, cut through his clothes, didn't feel the throbbing of his fist, the burst skin. Adrenaline pulsed through him in the beat of the violence still tensing his muscles.

Somehow he made it to the creek to wash off the blood, his and the others', past the tarped-off area, the baths, and the memory returned of the girl on the ground... The sun vanished behind dark clouds at the same time as his mind spiraled out of control again, a rumble in the air and inside his chest, and the rain that came pelting down was both soothing and aggravating. He stood there, staring into the gray sky, tense and numb and cold and hot, all at once.

Amidst the blood bath and destruction, he found a hidden alcohol stash, five bottles of Bourbon, and he drank them like a man parched, desperate for hydration, ignoring the burn and the dizziness settling in his head. The day slipped through his shaking fingers, and he can't remember how he got back to Sarah's ranch, but he knows he's lost the horse somewhere in between.

Stumbling through the forest as the thunderstorm raged around him, drenched and soaked and pitiful, mind hazy but there's one image that keeps him going. Big green eyes, a shy smile on full lips, a dimple on a soft cheek. Madam Claire's words in his ear. “She's not yours.” The answer he wanted, to a question that got so much more complicated.

He's too drunk to think about the things that happened, there's still a bit of rage and sadness, disappointment and frustration, guilt. The ache in his hurting fist. The emptiness in his stomach. Banished. Left behind. Alone. But not quite. There's one more thing... that isn't his... one more thing that beckons him closer, back to her. One last thing he can claim to have something in the shameful excuse he calls a life.

Nebbia.

He can barely remember reaching the ranch, stomping up the stairs, leaving a trail of mud and dirt, wet and miserable, but driven by a desire he shouldn't have focused on so badly. He found her in bed, where he left her, in the dress he bought for her, cuddled into the shirt she couldn't part from, his shirt. And he couldn't help himself, couldn't control the urges any longer. He was over her in no time...

Now he's a sunken form on the floor, head leaned heavy against the door, held by his hands, dried blood on both of them from smashing faces and smashing furniture, letting out the rage he couldn't project on anything (anyone) else. But the rage remained, just turned into something else.

Need. Want. Desire. A primal urge.

His teeth in her neck, like a predator tearing up his prey. He groans, shaking from trying to suppress that wrath he feels for himself now, that festers inside him, like a disease taking over every good he's ever done, which isn't much to begin with. Every touch directed towards the girl, formerly protective and caring, turned into something against her, possessive and wanting, selfish and dark.

Amidst all the self-pity and self-hatred murmurs a tiny voice in his head, a means to justify what he did, even though that is not an option, cannot be an option. But it's there nonetheless:

It could have been worse. You could have done worse to her.

His fist hits the door, the wood aches, his own sharp pain rushes through him, a garbled cry leaving his lips. A little shriek behind him. He stiffens, breathing hard, his heart thundering inside his aching chest, focusing on the noises around him, outside his raging, throbbing head.

The bed squeaks, naked feet on the wooden floor. The little tip tap coming closer. He can feel her presence, a hand extended, but he only snarls without turning around. “Stay back!” His voice a low, grinding thing like a monster in a deep cave, chewing on his last victim. She pauses, he can tell, frozen to the spot, but she doesn't listen entirely.

Her hands are on his stiff shoulders, warm and small and tender, careful but determined, rubbing up and down his back, easing the muscles. He wants to push her away, tell her to leave him alone, but he also doesn't want any of it, instead he wants her, her soft touch, her unyielding trust in him no matter what he does. Does to her. He exhales through his trembling lips, forehead pressed to the wood of the door.

And she hugs him, the panting beast caught in his own head, ravaged by doubts and rage and emotions he can't make sense of. Her slim arms barely reach around him in his crouched position, but she tries, presses herself against him, hands clawing at the front of his shirt, her warmth sinking into his tired bones. He wonders why she's so trusting, so forgiving, so loving, when she should be terrified of him.

But he knows the answer. Because he made her. He took her out of her old life, severed all the ties, burned all the bridges, made her dependent on him and him alone. He's all she knows now, and she's all he has left too. She needs him, despite everything. She feels safe with him, she's told him, after another man assaulted her. And now he's become that man...

He breathes against her small hands on his chest, raises one shaking hand, bloodied and aching, to put on top of hers. One moment, he gives himself one moment of peace. Then his fingers curl around hers, and he pulls her hands away, shifts on his knees, gently but firmly pushes her back without looking at her, then stands, inhales deeply, grabs the door and slips through the opening onto the hallway, the shame within him winning over the need for comfort.

Yet he keeps underestimating her.

She's with him in an instance, a warbled little sob escaping her as she grips at him, trying to pull him back, to stop him, and he freezes, lets her get closer again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot against his back as she leans her forehead into the curve of his spine.

“Please don't leave me,” she mumbles into him, her voice like the soft murmur of a wave crashing against the shore. A thrum in the atmosphere, beckoning him closer.

He shouldn't fall for it, shouldn't let her pull him back in. He doesn't deserve it, the peace, the comfort, her forgiveness. Her dependency. He took it by force, dragged her away, made her his (even before sinking his teeth into her neck, even before he got the chance to do worse). But this is not for him. She needs him. And he won't abandon her, he's told himself to stay with her, be with her, because her mother couldn't.

Even if she deserves better than him.

Inhaling deeply, he turns around slowly, looks down at her (without really looking at her) as her hands shift from his back to the front of his shirt, her fingers not letting go of him as she tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. He can't bear the sight of her face (her neck) yet, the turmoil in her eyes, so he leans in, hands finding her waist, and she immediately moves her own hands up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses her cheek against his when he lifts her up effortlessly, one arm under her rear, the other hand curved around her shoulder as he carries her back into the room.

The way she clings to him so easily, as if nothing happened, her warmth and barely there weight against him, eases his tense muscles a bit. He wants to set her back down, kneel before her, bow his head to her, show her how ashamed he is of himself, but instead he sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls her onto his lap, arms wrapped tightly around her small frame, holding her close, just feeling her, listening to her soft breathing, the faint drumming of her heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he whispers into her hair after a long moment of silently sitting together. “Or scare you... I'm sorry.”

She's immobile on his thigh, feet tucked under the other, knees pressing into his stomach. Her small hands grip his shirt, head resting against his shoulder, hair falling down her front, covering her neck. “It's okay...” she murmurs softly, a barely there hum in the air.

He shakes his head. “It's not okay, baby,” he says quietly. “I shouldn't have done this...”

“You were drunk.”

He huffs a laugh that sounds like a grunt. “Never an excuse.”

Inhaling deeply, he moves his hand to her face, strokes his thumb over her cheek before putting it gently under her chin, making her look up at him. Meeting her big green eyes feels like a shot through the heart, the trust in them, the blind fucking trust, despite everything. It's killing him. He moves his hand lower, carefully tilts her head, pushes her hair aside.

The sight of her neck is even worse than he's expected. It eats at him, churns in his guts, tightens everything in him. There's a crooked line of thick bruises all down the slim column of her neck, individual spots bleeding together, overlapping, stretched out, from beneath her ear to the gentle curve into her shoulder, right above her collarbone. Red and purple, dark discolorations right beneath her soft skin, blood sucked to the surface. He feels sick.

He doesn't dare touch them, moves his hand through her hair instead, fingers holding onto soft strands as he tilts her back a little. She's wrapped his shirt around herself, buttoned up almost to the top, but he can still see the bite mark over her clavicle. His teeth in her skin, another red and purple bruise with additional indents, the skin even darker where the mirrored curves of his teeth imprints sit.

He's a monster. There's no excuse, no talking around it, no denying anything. A monster who still tastes her blood on his tongue.

He lets go of her hair, covering her neck again, and carefully pulls her against his chest, arms loose around her, afraid to hurt her even more. His heart is beating harder, breaths short and quick. He feels absolutely horrible. His instinct is to put her down and walk away, hide his shame, his turmoil, stew in his own dark thoughts for a bit. But he doesn't want to leave her, so he remains quiet, stiff on the edge of the bed, with her on his thigh, in his arms.

She does the same, immobile, leaning against him, but breathing softer and calmer, her fingers tracing patterns around the buttons of his shirt, a gentle pressure against his chest.

“Ben?” Her voice is quiet, uncertain, a soft hum amidst his racing heartbeat.

He grunts in response. “Hm?”

“What happened?” she whispers, and he takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. He owes her the truth, maybe she'll understand why he's been acting like this. Not that it is any excuse, no matter what happened, but it's worth a try. For him to understand himself as well.

But in the end, he doesn't tell her the truth, not all of it anyway. There are still some things he needs time to work through on his own. Most things actually. So he tells her about visiting Madam Claire, asking her (politely, what a lie) what she knows about Keira. Nebbia looks up as he talks, curious eyes wandering over his face while he stares down at his big hand curled around her knee, applying gentle pressure to ground himself while he constructs his lies (or his version of the truth).

When he says that he found out who her father is, she scrunches her nose and looks down at the mention of the man named Roberto who she doesn't know anything about – unless Sarah's shared his life story with her in his absence. She probably has, she doesn't care about lies or keeping things to herself. He both admires and loathes her for that trait. But it doesn't matter. Roberto is Nebbia's father, and Ben also tells her that he might come looking for her (because he highly doubts Madam Claire will call off her guard dogs, mainly because she can't, and he knows it).

He doesn't mention that Keira's been pregnant before, nor by whom or that (and how) she lost the unborn child. His unborn child. The girl listens when he tells her about going back to camp to check on his people – and he leaves out the tiny fact that nobody was there, that they were ambushed because of him and her, that he found that fucking note, being banished, that those damn Daniels came back for him, attacked him, and how he had to kill them all.

She doesn't need to know that.

Instead he tells her that he got carried away, caught up with Mitch and Ginny, drank one too many and lost track of the time. She watches him closely, and he hopes she'll buy the many lies, hopes they make sense, because his mind is still fuzzy. At least she doesn't say anything as she mindlessly brushes her fingertips over his shirt, her eyes slowly moving down to where his hand rests on her leg. He groans internally when he sees the dried blood on his knuckles, the split skin, feels the ache and the memory of smashing his fists into faces and furniture.

The rage stirs within him.

“What about the bad men?” she asks into the silence after he's done.

“We're safe for now,” he replies quietly. A few less Daniels to worry about, but there will be more, and as soon as Roberto finds out about the whole situation, there'll be absolute hell to pay. He has to take her far away from here by then. If only he knew where to go...

“Are we... okay?” she then whispers, interrupting his hazy escape plans and lack thereof, looking at him from under her lashes, a slight tremble to her full lips.

He stares back at her. “Do you want us to be?” His voice is rough, harsh, his own self-pity bleeding through his words. Why would you want that? he wants to ask.

“Of course I do!” she says quickly, shifting on his lap as she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls herself closer to him. Her eyes are big and pleading, and he hates himself for being unable to look away, to make her see reason, to stop her. “Please don't pull away from me,” she whispers, her hands moving up to cup his bearded cheeks, mindlessly rubbing them as she bites her lip. “I need you...”

His heart sinks. And beats faster at the same time. It's clear now just how dependent she is on him, and somehow, despite the initial reaction of denial and refusal for his own sake, he feels... good about it. Likes the way she clings to him, looks at him, needs him.

His whole life, ever since Keira left him a broken man, he's lived from day to day without any proper purpose. He was never in it for the money or fame or the thrill of it. He just tagged along, helped the people around him with his skills. He would have done anything for Mitch and the others (well, not all of them, obviously), and he had done so many times, but that was over now. The only thing he knew, gone, moved on without him.

And somehow even that seems to be a blessing now. Because he has her, the girl on his lap, looking at him with those big eyes, pleading him to stay with her. And he's sworn it once before, he's told Madam Claire the same. He'll take care of her, not for his sake, because now he clearly doesn't deserve her, but if she needs him, he'll be there for her. It'll be his purpose. A thing to live for.

He raises his hand, puts it on hers, gently pries her fingers off his face to close his own around them, holding tightly. Without saying anything, he leans in, presses his lips to her forehead, hovers there, inhales deeply, takes her in. His arm wraps around her shoulder and pulls her even closer.

“I'm here, baby girl,” he whispers hoarsely. Even if I shouldn't be, he adds in his mind.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath ghosting his skin. “Thank you,” she mumbles barely audible, and he wants to scream at that unyielding innocence and trust. How can she be like this, after everything that happened? After everything he did to her? And thank him even? What is wrong with this girl?

Then again, what is wrong with him... A lot of things, that's for sure. And maybe they are both fucked-up, each in their own way, one too angry and in the end too selfish to let go, the other too dependent and naive to step away. They only have each other now. It shouldn't be, but maybe it was fate all along.

For him to step into that brothel, to find her, to remember his first love, to form a new one, to give her something she's never had: a life away from servitude, a life of freedom to do whatever she wants to do. And maybe she'll find out then that she doesn't need him, that her freedom lies somewhere else. He'll let her decide.

He can't be making any decision like that. He can't just take what he wants. He's done it once, and the repercussions of that single decision are still heavy on his tail. He'll give her the better life he's promised her, and he can only (selfishly) hope that he may have a place in it. And if not, well, that's a thing for the future.

Right now, he has to focus on making it up to her. He can't erase the bruises on her neck, has to wait for them to fade, but he'll do absolutely everything to never repeat anything like that ever again. Unless she wants him to...

He groans when he feels the telltale twitch of his cock at that particular thought. Really not the time, buddy. You're trying to make amends, not make it worse. Inhaling deeply, he shifts her on his lap, away from his hardness, before he leans her back and looks at her, thumb rubbing over her chin.

“I could really use a bath right now,” he says quietly, watching her closely.

“Can I join you?” she asks in a breathy whisper, her cheeks burning up slightly.

He knew she was going to ask that, and it aches him how predictable she is, and how easily he exploits that trait. But he told her he wouldn't pull away, so why not give her what she wants? He's already a fucked-up, selfish man, he won't change that anytime soon, he'll try, but right now he needs the distraction, needs the validation that he isn't as bad as he thinks, even if given by a girl who doesn't know any better.

“Of course,” he replies and gives her a strained smile, hating himself just a little bit more for feeling the growing tension in his stomach when she smiles back.

Ben stands up with her, scooping her up, holding her tightly in his arms, before he sways a little, feeling the strain in his muscles, his head spinning. She slips from his grip with a soft giggle. “I can walk, don't worry,” she says and grabs his hand, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes.

He doesn't deserve her, now less than ever. But Nebbia doesn't care. She doesn't see the monster in him, for whatever reason. And he's too hungover to fight this anymore. So he lets her pull him out of the room, moving on as if barely anything happened.

Chapter 12 🟪 Chapter 14

End notes: The Angst Train is still rolling. Poor Ben. Though I gotta admit: I enjoyed writing his journey through the valley of violence and rage. Was finally able to put those tags to good use.

So, with what happened, with those new lies/altered truths, where are Ben and Nebbia headed? Who knows. Find out soon!

Thanks for reading! Next chapter soon!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Have you seen the recent Adam driver interview re: redeemed Ben solo never being part of the original plans? Apparently JJs idea as pitched to Adam was 'reverse Vader' who begins the trilogy all uncertain and vulnerable and becomes super evil by the third film 😂 considering the mess that was duel of the fates, I'm not surprised. Adam said he was still 'focused' on JJs original arc even though it changed over shooting. Which is baffling to me, because even in TFA you can't seriously believe this character could go stone cold uber sinister. It's terrible how so many good things in the sequel trilogy are there in spite of tptb, not because of them!

I haven't and honestly at this point I don't even want to hear anything else about what a complete fucking shitshow of stupidity and sociopathy this whole production was.

The idea that TFA isn't setting up a redemption is so absurd to me that I'm not even going to entertain it. I don't believe that even JJ is that incompetent, and his commentary plus TROS indicates that he did absolutely understand that Ben must be reclaimed despite his total disregard for the themes and message of SW. So whatever Adam was talking about, I don't know, and I'm not going to listen to this interview to try to figure it out because I'm tired. Maybe he's referring to the earliest ideas where Kylo Ren wasn't the same person as Han and Leia's child?

But in that case I just cannot imagine why they wanted to cast him in that role.

Leaving aside that the entire concept of a 'reverse Vader' is the stupidest shit I've ever heard, because that was a) literally the prequel trilogy, b) antithetical to SW as anything other than a prelude to a subsequent redemption, and c) SO FUCKING BORING. I know this isn't the first time Adam has mentioned this, but it only sounds more stupid the more clear he makes it that they mean 'the opposite of the ending of RotJ'. Which is just 'the ending of every fucking American action movie fucking ever'. Like putting a 'spin' on Vader by having him NOT REDEEM HIMSELF is just called 'being like everyone else' and 'taking away literally the most compelling thing about Vader'.

I need these boring, unimaginative HACKS to fuck off. Like, the idea that JJ's pitch for TFA was 'worse, more boring, less visually creative, less meaingful, more shallow remake of ANH but also we will ruin the heart and soul of the story and make it like all the libertarian slop it literally existed in order to stand against'.

LIKE JAIL FOR THIS MAN. JAIL!

I saw someone say that it's also come out that the reylo connection was Kasdan's idea, which I feel vindicated by bc I've been saying I bet it was forever. But again, JJ was on board for it and knew what he was doing with the imagery in TFA. He is not so incompetent that he didn't understand he was creating romantic subtext. And text.

But like, I'm just so done with these fucking people. That ANYONE at that company much less apparently EVERYONE?? thought it was remotely acceptable to use SW to tell the story of any character whatsoever who was humanised and sympathetic and relatable to children falling into darkness and becoming ''''''irredeemable'''''' MUCH LESS the LAST SKYWALKER, the HOPE AND HAPPY ENDING OF ROTJ, HAN AND LEIA'S LOVE, PADMÉ'S LOVE, the atonement and reconciliation of Darth Vader is just FUCKING BANANAPANTS to me.

George Lucas should fight these people in an alley.

[in-death-we-fall]

Sex, Drugs and One Armed Groupies

...is gonna be the title of this since there kinda isn't one. Scans were posted by @fuckyeswednesday13 a long time ago. I really liked this article and now it's nice and easy to read (especially the columns. Ask me how much I hated the columns.) Enjoy! (drive link)

UPDATED FULL VERSION HERE

The Big Day Out. The Australian travelling musical circus that steamrolls its way around Australia and New Zealand every winter with the hottest bands on the planet flying from all over the globe to join down under’s best bands in a mayhem filled fortnight. This year’s line-up, features among others, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimmy Eat World, The Hard Ons and deathglam monstrosities, the Murderdolls. So far, the Mid West (sic) based five-piece outfit have been the cream of the festival, appropriately headlining the ‘Essentials’ stage. This is the band’s first time in the Antipodes and quizzical music fans have crowded to see the much-talked about live set. With Sydney copping the biggest crowds of all the legs on the tour, the band are preparing something special. But at 3pm in the afternoon you wouldn’t know it. Most of the band are still in bed from the night before, well, actually… the week before.

The ‘Dolls have been in Sydney for five days before their Big Day Out show and not finding much to do early on in the week they’ve just been getting down to the (sic) rock’n’roll’s most popular pastime: hard drinking. Drummer ‘Big’ Ben ‘The Ghoul’ Graves and bass player Eric Griffin are recovering from last night’s binge. While singer Wednesday and guitarist Joey Jordison are recovering from the night before the night before. Acey Slade, who maintains his sobriety, but still stays out ‘til dawn, has been up since 11am and is the only one ready for the show. With the band on stage at 7:15pm, things need doing. Staggering through their beer can and ‘paraphernalia’-strewn rooms to the showers, they’re down in their van and on the way out to the Big Day Out site just after 4pm.

Situated at the same place that hosted the Sydney 2000 olympics, the festival facilities are first rate and the sell-out crowd of 52,000 festival-goers are making the most of it. The temperature’s pushing a blistering 35°C and being the middle of a drought-ridden summer in Australia, everything’s dry, dusty and cracked. It’s a good 40-minute drive from the city to the festival and the sun’s stinging in through the van windows. Not big fans of the sunlight, the Murderdolls have got their leather jackets up over their heads to avoid even the slightest hint of a tan.

In the cool, air-conditioned shade of backstage I get to sit down with Joey Jordison and singer Wednesday 13 to gind out how the band are doing after their meteoric rise over the past eight months. Joey is straight down the line, measured and professional. “This si the first Big Day Out for all of us. Slipknot have only been down here once but not that (sic) this festival. This is something I’ve really wanted to play – something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

For Wednesday, this is another notch on his rise as an international rock’n’roller. “It’s awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be out on the front of a rock’n’roll band at a festival like this. After struggling doing my own band for six years I actually quit my job back in April and I’ve been touring every since. I’ve done all the things I ever dreamed about. I’ve been to Europe three times, Japan twice and here we are now in Australia and that has all been pretty much in the last six months! Holy shit we’re doing some things that some bands have never done!”

“We just checked out the videotape from the Auckland show the other day and fuck man, it was awesome!” enthuses Joey. “People are saying we are pulling the most people to that stage out of everyone. Our band has been doing really well especially since we’ve only been going for a short time. We hope that after the BDO we’ll be able to come back and do some real headlining shows down here. We are having fun though, thinking about it, we’ve never had so many days off between shows before, it’s more like the Big Day Off!”

The band wasn’t supposed to be so idle. Most overseas bands on the BDO bill play a bunch of satellite shows in various cities around the country and for a month prior, the Murderdolls had been slated to perform a Sydney show with fellow US rockers The Deftones. But with very little warning, the Murderdolls were dumped from the bill just before the show. What really pissed off Joey and the lads was a lot of the Murderdolls fans had bought tickets on the basis that the band would be playing but in the end had to watch the Deftones supported by ex-At The Drive-In chancers, Sparta.

Without much choice in the matter the Murderdolls issued a statement on their website apologising to their fans and kept trying to fly their flag with some instore appearances at local record stores. One in particular at Utopia Records, was insane. There was such a roar when the band turned up, they looked truly surprised at the number of kids who had showed up, most dressed in black and red outfits.

“Someone told us there was only going to be about 150 kids, which was supposed to be a good turn-out for Utopia records for a new band,” retells Joey. “But when we turned up there (sic) almost 500! We talked to fans and signed everything that they had. We were there for a good three and a half hours. And at the Channel V interview it was pretty much the same story. Hordes of kids that wouldn’t let us get away.”

“That’s the cool thing with our fans,” explains Wednesday. “We’re not a radio band or an MTV band with this created army of little kids which I think is more pure than being the Number One radio band or liking it because someone tells you to like it. I know that our fans are real. It is really cool to see these hordes of kids show up, they are dressed like us, they know everything about us, it is just awesome.”

Thinking further ahead fans will be please to know the band are not going to let up on the groundswell already created by the Murderdolls. “I have to go back and finish recording some Slipknot stuff,” reveals Joey. “Then we (the Murderdolls) are going to do some more touring. There’s usually a three to four month sort of break between recording and when an album comes out so we are going to tour pretty much all the way from the end of May all the way to maybe the beginning of October. Which will be good because there’ll be less sunlight at that time of year,” jokes Wednesday raising his non-existent eyebrows and throwing his arms, heavily tattooed with b-grade horror heroes, into the air.

As the hot afternoon drifts into an only slightly less simmering evening, there’s a small problem with guitarist Acey. He’s got indigestion. This amounts to a small crisis because first aid officials must follow procedure and administer the medicine. This takes two St. John’s Ambulance men on pushbikes in a five minute ride from their base at the side of the main stadium. Very un-rock’n’roll indeed.

With the gig just 45 minutes away, the boys are pacing around their trailer, having their pics taken for Hammer. Acey inside in front of the mirror still applying the last of his make-up, Ghoul is getting powdered up, Wednesday’s still with the photographer, while Joey’s nervously pacing around, in the trailer, out the trailer, back in… Eric meanwhile is ready for the stage and cracks open the obligatory bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As a Murderdolls ritual, they’re applying the slap, the band have to listen to Kiss. “Must. Have. Kiss.” stipulates Joey. “‘All American Man’! We sometimes change that to ‘All American Ghoul’,” chimes in the Ghoul.

Just 10 minutes before showtime and the long lanky frame of Ben Graves is stretched spider-like up against the dressing room wall. “I’ll be in pain afterwards,” he explains. Wednesday has by now finished his solo shots with Hamer’s photographer. The day is hot enough anyway, and under the photographers lights the heat is even more stifling. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking hot!” exclaims the frontman. “But I don’t mind… I’m a naturally dead person in front of a camera” he laughs.

More Kiss blares out from the dressing room, this time ‘Dr Love’! Then the moment comes: ground fucking zero at the Big Day Out! The band clamber into the van and head around the back way to the Essentials stage. The bottle of Jack’s being passed around as they approach the stage the band take a quick peak (sic) to see how the crow’s building up. It’s the biggest yet, taking up most of the grassy area out the back of the main stadium. Joey – who regularly suffers from pre-gig nerves as his pre-stage vomiting on Slipknot’s ‘Disasterpiece (sic)’ DVD proves in all its technicolour glory – is bricking it.

Five minutes before the band are due to hit the powerchords and the guys are milling around in the wings. Ghoul is banging on some warm-up pads and everyone is getting psyched. They’ve left the Kiss CD backstage so they have to hum ‘All American Man’ together. Then they make their way to the stage.

A couple of huge Murderdolls logos adorn the stage and in an eruption of noise and energy, the Dolls take the stage and instantly kick off with ‘Dawn of The Dead’. Jordison in black leather Gestapo hat is jumping around stage left, Acey is wailing away stage right while Eric bangs away on the bass doing his best Nikki Sixx impression, while the Ghoul wrecks the trap kit. Wednesday is the last to take the stage and screaming, “We are the dead, coming for you!” And the crowd goes fucking wild.

The kids down the front, dressed up in full glam-goth regalia, know every word and sing along fervently with the band while among the throng watching from the side of stage are some of the biggest names in the Australian music industry. Members of bands like 28 days, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cog, Jimmy Eat World, Pre-Shrunk, and Sparta all stand wide eyed and mouths agape at the outrageous rock revisionism being unleashed onstage.

By the time the band have launched into ‘I (sic) Was a Teenage Zombie’, ‘Let’s Go To War’ and ‘Slit My Wrists (sic)’, the crows know what they’re in for. Most who have showed up for curiosity (sic) sake are still hanging around, but if anything the crowd is building and everyone looks like they are right into it having fun. The intro to ‘Twist My Sister’ is a kid’s nursery rhyme ‘Old McDonald’ which gets the whole crowd singing along.

Unbelievably, some lunatic in the crowd starts throwing bangers at the stage, but the fireworks only make it as far as the front row of fans before blowing up in their faces. Wednesday tries to get the guy to quit while geeing up the rest of the crowd. “All the people down the front tell the people at the back to ‘Die Die Die… my bride!’ he yells as the band grind into the song…

Today’s set includes two new songs, and we can report that both are killer kitsch rock rippers. The first, set for legendary status is called ‘The Devil Made Me Do It… And I’ll Do It Again’ while the second is the set closer, a crowd sing along gem ‘I Love to Say Fuck’. Wednesday grabs his big black umbrella, emblazoned with the word FUCK, Eric, Acey, and Joey are going crazy, jumping up and down in unison, Ghoul is all arms and legs behind the kit while Wednesday is right down in the crowd’s face urging them to stick their fingers in the air and yell ‘Fuck!’. It looks great to watch. “It isn’t choreographed,” says Wednesday later. “Everything’s pretty much spontaneous. There are some things like we all jump on an ascent in the music or whatever but everything else is stuff that just happens on stage.”

They (sic) crowd are almost passing out from the combination of frenzied activity and the extreme heat, but still manage to scream out for more as the band leave the stage. “A lot of people don’t know that’s what drives a show,” explains Wednesday about his relationship with the audience. “You have to make fans feel part of the event and I think we do it better than anyone else.”

The band then jump back into the van for the two minute trip back to their dressing room behind the main stage. When they get back there the guys are all super hyped up. Excitedly buzzing around their dressing room, drinking beers, telling jokes. Joey is busy analysing the gig, and the BDO circus in general. He and Wednesday have got an interview to do with Australian TV scheduled for 8:45pm. It’s almost 9pm and Joey has another issue: “I want to eat! I must eat before I talk!” he exclaims. The interview is postponed for 20 minutes.

Bass player Eric is hanging around, so I grab him for a quick chat. Of all the Murderdolls, Eric seems the shyest but is probably the one most up for anything, especially if it is party related. He may only be small, (even in his Ace Frehley six-inch platforms he’s still barely average height!) but he’s a true rock’n’roller with a party attitude to match. “‘Machine Gun Fellatio’ that’s a cool fuckin’ name,” he squeaks discussing some of the other bands on the BDO bill. And he does squeak, kinda, like annoying Brit ‘comedian’ Joe Pasquale.

I bring up the fact that esteemed record producer, Nick Launey (Silverchair, INXS) was side of stage watching the show and had an interesting story to tell me about Eric. “I think I know where this is going,” smiles Eric slyly. “I met him about two years ago in LA at a party and we were all fucked up. I got dragged down three flights of stairs by my hair and he reckoned it was the biggest rock’n’roll moment of ‘00 for him. First impressions count, man.”

“It was so rock’n’roll!” Launey informs me later. “It was the launch of Orgy’s album and they had these models dressed as prostitutes lying on a bed and Eric jumps up on the bed with them, which of course you weren’t allowed to do. So the bouncers are dragging him out by his hair, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. His head was literally bouncing down each stair like a cartoon character and all the while he’s just got his middle fingers up on each hand and is yelling out ‘Fuck You!’, ‘Get Fucked!’, ‘Fuck you, mind the hair!’ Somehow he got back into the party and I asked him ‘how’s your head?’ and he just said “Whaddya mean?” - it was just so rock’n’roll!”

Eric has pre-arranged with their tour driver to take him over to the Boiler Room, where the BDO’s electronica acts are playing. He wants to see German electronic innovators Kraftwerk. “One of the bands I was in before the Murderdolls was very digital and computer based,” he reveals. “Kraftwerk don’t do a lot of live shows and I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity to see them again. They’re pretty important to the genre and even if I catch just 10 minutes of their set I think it will be worth coming over. A short ride through the back entrance, we arrive at the Boiler Room and manage to get in, via a bit of a labyrinth, through the backdoor and into the main arena just at the side of the stage. The Kraftwerk guys are standing robot-like in front of their computers while the huge dome-like venue is dripping with sweat from the 10.000+ strong punters who have basically been locked in the room all day listening (sic) the dance bands. We get a good vantage point but after about five minutes we’re leaving. “Jeez! That was the most boring piece of crap I’ve seen!” exclaims Eric when he gets back to the dressing room. “But it was worth going because I scored some drugs!”

Acey’s just hanging around backstage with his camera and a little doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He has a ritual where he takes a photograph of the doll in front of landmarks all around the world. “I have him in front of the Eiffel Tower for instance,” he says. “The other day I took a pic of him in front of the Sydney Opera House.” And with that he takes a photo of the doll sitting in front of a sign that says ‘Sleazy’. Hmmm. Odd man.

Acey and Eric are loving every minute of the Murderdolls ride. They’re both on their first trip to Australia and according to both of them it is (sic) has been “Cool as hell!” “The Gold Coast was really on,” says Eric. “It’s been kinda mellow since we got to Sydney because we’ve had four or five days off before this show so we’ve just been trying to find out what’s been going on. It’s been building gradually… and we’ve been partying a lot – maybe too much,” he adds sheepishly. Rick the tour manager – who’s passing by – agrees: “Yep, they’ve been very naughty boys – they’ve got to go to bed early tonight with no supper,” he jokes.

“He knows we’re the most dangerous band on the tour,” counters Eric. It’s a fact that seems to deter any other bands partying with the Murderdolls too. “The only band that has even reached out to us are the guys in Jane’s Addiction, in particular, Dava Navarro,” offers Acey. “He actually came out of his way to come over and introduce himself. And pretty much comes up and talks to us everyday he sees us along with the drummer, Steven [Perkins]. Everyone else is just kinda like, ‘What’s Up?’ Maybe it’s because we don’t look like we’re the most approachable band. Then again no-one has done anything to piss us off at all.”

No one may be talking to the Murderdolls but there is talk of the Murderdolls all over BDO. Most centres around their appearance with most Australian musical luminaries agreeing the band are the best dressed at the festival. One member of Aussie band the Resin Dogs even goes as far as to say, “The Murderdolls rock the wardrobe”. Acey is kinda flattered but non-plussed by the comments. “What image?” he exclaims. “This is how we are all day! Obviously we knock it up a notch for the show but this is the real thing. We don’t care if people like us as sexual deviants or not, but one thing’s for sure – they’ll fucking remember us.”

Big Ben Graves strides over to join us at the table. “Did I hear the words sexual deviant?” he announces in his deeply rounded US accent. “I’ve always been like that! Some people have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other – I just two devils. There is NO voice of reason!”

We ask him if he has had any interesting adventures since he’s been in Australia and then instantly regret it…

“Dude, it has been nothing but interesting adventures. For instance last night, he (indicating Eric) he almost screwed a one-armed girl!”

���She had three tits and one arm,” giggles the dimunitive (sic) bassist.

“Yeah. It was weird,” continues the Ghoul, “one of her arms was like a stump and it looked like it had a nipple on it. I must admit I almost fucked her just for the freakiness of it.”

And with that starter for 10, the Ghoul is off. He starts ranting on with these sick freak jokes that crack everyone up and inside a minute you get a window to his personality. “Our drummer is one bona fide sick fuck,” jokes Wednesday of him later. “He stills (sic) freaks us out. I’ll just look at him sometimes and say to myself, ‘holy shit, dude, what planet are you from?’”

“It was weird on the Gold Coast,” says Eric, picking up on the tour adventure thread. “The girls there were the hottest chicks I had ever seen in my life but by the same token I had never got as much shit for the way I look than I have there as well. It was like two opposite poles. At first it was, ‘hey freak, where’s the funeral?’ and the next was, ‘sit down have a drink with us.”

“As far as people looking at you weird, I found Sydney is where I got the stares,” admits the Ghoul. “Sydney sucks! Although we did have some girls staking out our hotel which was pretty funny and I did have an over-zealous fan thrown out of the bar. The guy was just touching me a little more than he should and I didn’t like it,” he says animatedly. “I was like, ‘man, don’t make me waste this perfectly good bottle of Heineken by breaking it over your head. I’ve done it before’. Eric looks at him and says, “yeah he has!” But he was on something. I remember thinking ‘I want whatever he’s on… times ten!”

“I gotta say though, the Sydney crowd today was one of the best crowds we’ve had so far,” offers Acey as he joins the throng. “It was insane. It is good for us this tour, because the kids don’t know what we are all about yet so we have to prove ourselves. By the end of the set they all had their hands in the air.”

By this time Joey and Wednesday have finished their feed and their hastily re-scheduled interview and are looking for some more mischievous fun for themselves. “First of all, I’m going to go back over to the stage we played because there are a lot of kids hanging around over there still wanting to see us,” explains Joey. “Then after that, I’m gonna go directly where ever (sic) the free drinks are at…” Suddenly, Eric’s doubled over in the doorway of the dressing room. It’s been 45 minutes since he visited Kraftwerk in the Boiler Room and the pharmaceuticals are beginning to take effect. We ask if he’s OK. “Yeah man, I just think I’m gonna spew!” he grins. The rest of the band are baiting him ceaselessly.

“C’mon chuck it up man!” they urge and all crack up laughing together.

In the middle of all the commotion Wednesday is taking a piss in the corner of the dressing room. The place is a wreck: there are empty bottles of booze, food scrapes (sic), squashed fruit, hairdryers, make-up, boots, clothes (black and red if (sic) course) and of course a giant mirror. Wednesday is actually pissing into a bottle of Corona. At the same time I am just about to pick up my freshly opened bottle of Corona from the table which is besides (sic) a now suspicious looking bottle. “Yeah I always piss in the empty bottles,” giggles Wednesday. And then I leave ‘em on the table just to piss off anyone who might want to grab some of our rider or whatever. Just be careful just to get bottles from down there in the ice box, he laughs mischievously. Suddenly the oddly warm bottle in my hand seems less than appealing…

As the clock turns 1am the only people left at the stadium are the cleaners, the roadies and the still-partying Murderdolls. Last to leave, the van is parked just outside the dressing room and all I can see through the opened door is the Ghoul chucking around a baguette, now baked hard as a rock over the course of the stifling hot day. “Look at this - it could be used as a weapon to seriously maim you!” he screams bouncing the French loaf off the wall. A post vomit Eric cracks up, as the two hold a mock baguette joust oblivious to the outside world. They eventually make off back to their hotel room in the city, but don’t hang there for too long. The weekend lights of Sydney beckon and they cruise down William street in King’s Cross, to an underground rock venue called Club 77. It’s glam night, just their crowd and they spend the wee hours of the morning hanging out with fans and getting stuck into the sauce with a vengeance. Australia has officially been Murderdolled!

Blood and Glitter

Gavin Braddeley charts the rise of shock rock

Glam is hard evidence that what goes around comes around. Long dismissed as the definitive climax of 70s bad taste, in recent years glam rock has arisen from the grave, albeit with a veil of cobwebs draped over its original dusting of glitter. Originally a violent reaction to the 60s happy fad for all things natural, worthy, meaningful and drab, glam was all about being deliberately artificial, selfish, throwaway and garish.

In the States Alice Cooper was impaling baby dolls and throwing blood bottles around the stage from ‘70 onwards culminating in the vaudeville theatrics of the ‘Welcome To My Nightmare’ album/tour of ‘76.

Back in the UK, the Glam pioneer was lame pop pixie Marc Bolan (sic), photogenic frontman with T-Rex, who caused a sensation when he took to the stage on Top of the Pops in ‘71 with glitter under his eyes, clad in what looked suspiciously like drag. Never one to miss a trick, the lizard-like David Bowie soon jumped from the hippy ship to take on his otherworldly Ziggy Stardust persona.

The older generation may have thought that smearing make-up on your face and covering your clothes in sequins made you look like a ‘pooftah’. Alice Cooper got around this by replacing Glam’s overt ‘fagginess’ with ghoulish melodrama, prompting one critic to observe that Americans were more comfortable with necrophilia than homosexuality. And then came Kiss. Gene Simmons’ monstrous blood vomiting, fire breathing ‘Demon’ persona enslaved an entire generation of US children crossing Glam’s theatricality with heavy metal machismo to create one of the most influential bands in rock music history.

W.A.S.P. and Mötley Crüe supercharged Kiss’s sleaze and violence quotient to spectacular effect in the 80s, and provide the missing link between Glam and the Murderdolls, who happily cite the back-combed bad boys as a large part of their creative DNA. The chief inheritor of the Glam tradition in the last decade, however, is cross-dressing controversialist Marilyn Manson. Bowie may have metaphorically murdered his creation Ziggy Stardust in the summer of ‘74, while Bolan (sic) died more literally in a car accident three years later, but quarter-of-a-century on, Manson used his own dark arts to conjure their spirit on ‘Mechanical Animals’, his own tribute to pop’s most decadent decade.

Dead… and loving it!

The Murderdolls’ five favourite movie death scenes of all time…

The Murderdolls are proof positive that nothing gets some folks’ creative juices flowing quite so freely as a truly delicious cinematic death scene. Joey and Wednesday have a few favourites – both carnage connoisseurs identifying the ‘74 classic power toolfest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the gory cream of the crop – a movie currently being remade with a certain Mr. Manson in the soundtrack composer’s chair. (As a curious aside, you never actually see the girl hung on the hook – just a shadow – but such is the film’s sordid impact that most viewers swear you do!)

Joey 1. Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Friday The 13th Part IV “When the knife comes through the bed and impales the chick.”

3. The Exorcist “When the priest is hucked out through the plate glass window.”

4. A Nightmare on Elm Street “Where the girl is getting dragged across the rooftop.”

5. Necromancy “Where a group of devils and monsters take a girl apart.”

Wednesday 1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Dawn of the Dead “When the spiked ball comes down and rips the guy’s head apart.”

3. Phantasm “A silver ball hits the guy in the head and sucks out all his brains.”

4. Hellraiser “Where (sic) the end sequence where the guy is being chased by all these hooks. They attach themselves to him and rip him apart.”

5. Nightmare On Elm Street “Where Freddy rips out the guy’s veins and uses them like strings controlling a puppet.”

Schlock n’ Roll

B-movie classics that have influenced shock rockers of now and then…

Some horror movies are best watched not so much with your tongue in your cheek, as thrust firmly through it, films that by accident or design are more about fun than fear. The same could be said of numerous horror loving bands, including the Murderdolls, where an ‘everyday is Halloween’ ethos prevails. Here are a few examples of B movie blood fests which may not have won any Oscars, have been paid tribute to by schlock loving bands over the years…

Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) It is no surprise that the mother-of-all cult movies inspired the mother-of-all cult bands, and when Glenn Danzig created a label to release early Misfits material he dubbed it ‘Plan 9’. Frequently voted the worst movie of all time with its ludicrous script, mind bogglingly bad special effects, cardboard sets, and even more cardboard artistry, Plan 9 From Outer Space is irresistibly entertaining. Directed by the cross-dressing caliph of crap Ed Wood Junior, featuring proto-goth babe Vampira and Bela Lugosi (dying of drug addiction, he was replaced mid production by a stand-in who looks nothing like him).

The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971) Featuring horror cinema’s kind of camp Vincent Price as the fiendish Phibes, avenging the death of his wife using maniacal methods borrowed from the biblical plagues, all against wonderful, strangely psychedelic sets. Also possessed of a strange psychedelic sensibility are punk pioneers the Damned, though in the 80s, lead singer Dave Vanian’s horror sensibilities took centre stage, attracting a goth following. The 80 track ‘13th Floor Vendetta’ is a classic example of the band’s game-topping which, if you listen carefully, is all about ol’ Doc Phibes.

Mars Attacks! (1996) Director Tim Burton’s tribute to the drive-in shockers of the 50s and 60s, Mars Attacks! was actually based upon a ‘62 series of bubblegum cards, discontinued because of their gruesomely graphic pictures of earthlings being exterminated by alien invaders. As such this inspiration might suggest Mars Attacks! has little by way of plot, but for anyone with a weakness for vintage schlock sci-fi it’s a true Technicolor treat. This must certainly include the Misfits and when they reformed, they did so without the blessing of founder Glenn Danzig, but with their monster movie obsessions intact – among a multitude of horror movie tributes on their ‘97 comeback album ‘American Psycho’ was ‘Mars Attacks’ (and even an instrumental coincidentally titled ‘Abominable Dr Phibes’!)

I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957) The drive-in movies of the 50s and 60s typically featured juvenile delinquents or monsters, and this bargain-basement effort delivered both in one lurid package. Before becoming ‘Pa’ on TV’s Little House on the Prairie Michael Landon stars as a troubled teen – though when he starts growing hair in strange places, it’s more than just hormones to blame. A howl from beginning to end, Teenage inspired a number on ‘Songs the Lord Taught Us’, the ‘80 debut from drive-in movie loving ghoulish rockers The Cramps.

Murder, mayhem and a right old mess

Minging Murderdoll tales from the Big Day Out

Who is the messiest Murderdoll of them all? Wednesday: “That would be Eric and The Ghoul. They are just messy as fuck. But you know you’ve just got to get used to living with these people. We’ve been on the road since July. You live on a bus for six weeks which means you’ve got (sic) live in everyone else’s shit.”

Who is the tidy anal doll? Joey: “No-one. We’re all pretty fuckin’ messy.” Wednesday: “I just took two garbage bags of mess out of my room. And just put it in the hallway. Just full of chicken bones and beer bottles and all sorts of shit like that, it was just smelling really bad so I had to get rid of it.”

So you do that yourself? Wednesday: “I don’t let the cleaning staff come into my room and tidy up. I put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the whole week I am there.” Joey: “The housekeepers are scared shitless to come into our rooms anyway so we keep it easy for them and put the ‘Do Not Disturb” signs up the whole time. They are going to be so scared to come into our rooms and clean up after we’ve been there for a fuckin’ week!”

[fensherohair]

Shadow of You (Charlie Weasley x GN Reader)

Words: 1.5k Warning: Grief, Mourning, Mentions of Characters death. Note: Based on the Hogwarts Mysteries mobile game

Charlie could remember when he first saw you. You were one of his closest friends in school. Although your brother had left a rather questionable reputation behind, you had slowly proved, although mischievous and a rule-breaker. You did it for a good reason. You had broken so many curses that threatened the students of Hogwarts during your time there. Just as you lost people you loved dearly, he could still remember you arguing with Ben in the courtyard; you had called his reckless behavior stupid and admitted you missed the old him despite him being terrified of nearly enough everything, including his own shadow.

Even now, when the Battle of Hogwarts had ended, he still remembered how the pair of you were at Hogwarts. He could remember the Valentine Howler he had sent you asking you to be his Valentine that year, just as he remembered how you had gone on to save him from the Hungarian Horntail dragon when he had stormed off in a strop at the Dragon Sanctuary. He wouldn’t tell anyone, but he often went there to remember you. You had changed his life in so many ways; some of it he hated you for, but others things he loved you for it.

“I wish you were here (N/N),” quietly muttered Charlie, his red hair tied back in its normal ponytail. His freckles, which you had loved so much, were still firmly on display, even if some of them were covered by the burns that scattered his body. It wasn’t long before he pulled out the letter Bill had sent him. A picture of (Y/N) and himself stood together with bright smiles. To anyone, you were happy; no signs were pointing to the tragedy that was set to take you away. There was nothing to say his life would change forever. His smile only grew upon seeing a picture of the group he had once been a part of. The Circle of Khanna. Each member had come together to find the final cursed vault, break the curse on Hogwarts, and avenge Rowan’s death. In a way, it was your way of handling the loss.

Hey Charlie,

I know with everything that happened during the war and losing Fred. It would have reminded you of (Y/N) and what happened. I know you loved them, even when you don’t want to admit it out loud. Fleur suggested I send something to you that might help you truly come to terms with what happened to (Y/N) and know that they're at peace.

I hope you put the Resurrection Stone to good use. Harry destroyed the Elder Wand and kept the Invincibility Cloak. We figured you would appreciate the stone and that it would be safe with you. I’ve also got some news for you. Our Ron is engaged to Hermione, George is starting to move on again, Fleur is expecting our first child, and Ginny is celebrating securing a place with the Holyhead Harpies. Oh, and would you believe it, Percy finally figured out there is a world outside work.

You’re going to be dragon-crazy, Uncle Charlie. I hope to see you soon, little brother. Mum, Dad, and the rest of the clan, including the extra members, also hope to see you.

Bill.

Charlie reached into the envelope, pulling out a small black stone, holding up to the light coming from the abandoned cave entrance. He wondered if it would work and show him (Y/N). If it did work, how would you appear? He soon closed his blue eyes, focusing on you. Remembering your beauty, your stunning (E/C) eyes, and ever changing hair. Remembering your laugh when you were amused and your determination to find and break the curses. Yet Charlie hadn’t noticed the person standing at the entrance of the abandoned cave. The wizard who had run away years prior in an effort to stop R once and for all. The person whom Charlie had ultimately blamed for his friend's dying. Jacob (Y/L/N).

“What happened to her?” questioned Jacob upon seeing the small tombstone with your name on it. Charlie could only stiffen upon hearing the voice again, he soon turned around to face (Y/N)’s older brother, with so much un-repented hate and anger in his eyes. He had hoped never to see the older wizard again but knew it was inevitable. He knew eventually Jacob would come looking for (Y/N), although he hadn’t expected it to take this long. To Charlie, it was almost like Jacob had suddenly taken notice he hadn’t seen or heard from his sister for years.

“Rakepick and other members of R,” angrily replied Charlie; even now, all these years later, he could remember when Bill had told him you were gone. He could still remember his heart-shattering and as if you had taken a piece of him with you. “She, Merula, and Ben were surrounded by members of R. They were tortured for information about you. They killed all three of them because you never answered the calls for you,” spoke Charlie through gritted teeth. Your mother had allowed him to take you to Romania with him. There, he buried you in the cave where he had first told you he loved you. Every few days, he took fresh flowers to put on your grave. Just as he would take things that he thought you would have liked there, too.

The second Weasley brother soon returned to his little cabin, a sad smile on his lips at seeing how quiet it was. The picture of you on the mantelpiece did little to help his mood. The red head once again took hold of the Resurrection Stone, thinking of you again in the hopes that the stone would allow him to see you again.

“Charlie” spoke a soft voice. The redhead opened his blue eyes in seconds upon hearing your voice. At first he thought he was hearing things, you weren’t anywhere in front of him. “Charlie,” when he heard your voice again, he turned around. There you stood, next to the window overlooking the sanctuary. Upon seeing the dragons flying freely above, a small smile on your pink lips. A small smile come to Charlie’s dry lips to see you there, exactly how he remembered you when he had last seen you. Tears in his eyes to see you again, even when he knew you were just a shadow of who you were in life.

“(Y/N),” uttered Charlie; his smile grew a little bigger to see who stood at your side. There, right next to you, was Fred. It was almost like you were his guardian now, showing him the ropes of the afterlife. Both of you waiting for him to join you and watching over him and the others you loved. “Fred. I missed you both so much,” stuttered the older redhead. He honestly didn’t believe the stone would work but was happy that it proved him wrong. “Nothing is the same without either of you here,” almost sobbed Charlie. His little brother stood next to the one who held his heart, a sight he thought he would never see. It was almost like his family was whole again, seeing the pair of you stand by each other as if you were working on some secret plan to course havoc.

“I promise she’s taking good care of me,” said Fred, a cheeky grin coming to his lips as he looked over to (Y/N). He knew Charlie had been lost for years, since the day you were taken away by R. The entirety of Hogwarts knew of the murders, Dumbledore having announced it as you were technically a hero for breaking all six curses on the school, saving both staff and students alike. Even now, you stood for what a Gryffindor student should be.

“I tried (N/N). I tried to move on without you. To find love again, but I couldn’t do it,” whispered Charlie as you moved over to him. Your (H/C) braided, the braid hanging over your left shoulder. You could see tears in his eyes whenever he remembered finding out what happened to you. “I don’t want to move on (Y/N). Moving forward means I’m leaving you behind. Something I know I won't be able to do. Not when I love you so much. I was going to ask you to marry me when I saw you again,” confessed the redhead. Pulling the chain from underneath his jumper, where a small engagement ring resided. Tears soon appeared in your (E/C) eyes upon realizing why he had been so excited for the next time the pair of you would see each other. A meeting that never got the chance to happen.

“I’ll always be here with you, Charlie,” whispered (Y/N) with sadness in your voice. “I’ll be right behind you when you're with the dragons out there, smiling with you. I never left you, not even for a second. You’re the one who made me laugh when I was down, helped me find my brother when I wanted to understand him, and always held my heart. From the moment you saved me from injury during that Quidditch game. I will always be walking at your side. Even when you don’t see me,” you add, watching as the realization dawned on him. You would always be there with him even in death. You smiled once more before Charlie put the stone on the mantle piece next to the photo of you. The picture makes him smile as you were laughing at something when it was taken.

“I love you, Charlie Dragon Tamer Weasley. Forever,” spoke a whispering voice in the wind. One last time.

Fens Masterlist

[ben10-lostandfound]

What Lost and Found Means To Me

Hello again, everyone! I apologize for the lack of content in recent months, it's honestly become harder and harder to find new material, especially without there being a current Ben 10 series to focus on. This is the longest time we've had without an incarnation of the show running since the hiatus between Omniverse and the Reboot!

So I wanted to take a moment to reflect on this blog as a whole. I've been doing this since I was about 16 or 17, I'm 24 now. That's kindof crazy, huh? And granted, the place has had ups and downs, more recently downs due to a lull in the content, but that doesn't mean I'm not still working on stuff behind the scenes. I'm still trying to find another home for my research, a more permanent home that I have better control over how the content is presented.

I'm also trying to get into game development so a certain project from my past, prior to 2016, can finally come to fruition. But we'll get into that another day... hopefully.

I had an interaction last night with a follower who reached out to me about who the painter was for the alien stills featured during the Original Series, as their university had asked for art pieces that inspired them to pursue art. Of course, I answered "Andrew C. Robinson", which the answer was met with huge thanks.

That's always been part of why I do this, you know? To put a spotlight on all the artists and other incredibly talented people that make (or made) this franchise come to life in the various ways it has. Not just Dave Johnson or the late Derrick J. Wyatt, but everyone.

There could be so much more out there that I don't know about or have access to, or could be tucked away in the distant, obscure links of the Wayback Machine, or somebody could come forward with something rare like the Leapster Exclusive Concept Art, but I'm just one silly girl with a blog. You'd be surprised how much work goes into looking for this stuff!

But I'm glad my contributions to the fanbase haven't gone unnoticed. From people like KuroTheArtist, all the way to just a handful of people who work on the show itself, I'm grateful I've gotten to leave some kind of mark.

Don't take my wording as like, meaning I'm going to stop though. This isn't a "I'm done with this" type post. As long as there's still material out there to find, I'll keep this going for as long as I'm able.

-Rahk-Zi: Galvan Archivist Extraordinaire, A.K.A. Roxanne Stones, Ben 10/CN Lost and Found Moderator.

[julesthequirky]

Beautiful Trauma - A Soldier Boy Miniseries: Chapter 2

Beautiful Trauma

Pairings: F!Reader x Ben/Soldier Boy

Summary: The reader is the real widower of Ben/Soldier Boy and loved their life together before the incident. In 1983 she took Compound V, so she could be with Ben forever, but in 1984 her life crashes to the ground, and she’s stuck in a world without him. In 2022 a knock at the door changes her life, and when she’s told that Ben is alive she hopes that there can be a forever after all.

A/N: Reader has certain traditional gender values, that are antiquated today.

Chapter Warnings: Antiquated views, language, and mentions of domestic violence.

Chapter W/C: 2435

This work is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

1984

The baby slept in the bedroom, and some random crap played on the radio – the busted tv still in its place – it never got replaced. The stubbed-out end of a blunt lay in an ashtray along with the others, its job complete in dosing you up. Trapped smoke lingered around the room with nowhere to escape, and you were dozing on the sofa after smoking enough to take out a whole football team.

The boot bashing in your door jerked you awake. Still high, you rubbed your eyes and watched Payback, minus Gunpowder, and Swatto, storm in.

“Jesus, fuck. Smells like a ganja farm in here.” Mindstorm commented, coughing and waving his hand to waft the smoke away.

Confused, mind foggy from the blunt, you continued to stare.

“Look at her. She doesn’t know what time of day it is.” Crimson Countess noted, walking around the apartment living area.

“She probably doesn’t even know we’re here,” Tessa said, and she and her brother laughed.

“I do.” You slurred.

Crimson Countess picked up a photograph of you and Ben on your wedding day. You were standing on tiptoe, kissing Ben on his cheek, and he looked handsome as ever in his Philly baseball shirt, with one arm hooked around your waist and the other in the pocket of his slacks. It had been taken outside the registrar’s office. She put it back with a curl to her lip.

“Disgusting.” She muttered.

You blinked, and she continued to loiter, mumbling under her breath about the photos on the mantle and the Soldier Boy memorabilia. Then she spun on her heel, marched to the closed door where your daughter slept, and ripped it from its hinges.

“Mindstorm, do your worst.”

Instinct kicked in, if a little too slowly, and you flew off the couch only to topple to the floor. Stumbling, head-fogged, you attempted to barge through the TNT and Mindstorm barricade.

You shoved Mindstorm to one side, but the TNT duo pushed you back.

“I don’t understand.” Mindstorm muttered as you fell on your ass.

“TNT! Detonate!” Tommy and Tessa yelled in unison and joined hands. Then, they each held a hand up, aiming at you.

Your eyes widened. Shit. In your stoned-out state, you froze and waited for the electric bolt that would surely come your way. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the inevitable. Nothing. No electric. And certainly, no nightmares.

“What the fuck!” Tommy and Tessa screeched.

“Nothing’s happening.” Mindstorm muttered.

You opened your eyes. Mindstorm and TNT were staring at you, trying, but failing to use their powers against you.

“I can’t hear her. It’s so quiet….”

You didn’t understand. Compound V had been a dud. You hadn’t gained any powers – not even the most common – super strength. You’d sobbed on Ben, and he had comforted you as best as he could. Compound V had meant to be the way forward – it had meant forever with Ben. And the lack of powers had destroyed that. But here you were, gasping in breaths with three members of Payback powerless in front of you.

“Crimson! We’ve got a problem!”

Crimson walked out with your daughter on her hip and a hand on the other. “What?”

“Our powers are useless.” Tessa said.

“Sweet peace…”

“Useless…” Crimson muttered and held out a hand. She smirked, and where a fireball typically erupted – nothing. Not even a wisp of smoke.

“The hell?” Crimson attempted another fireball, this time putting some effort into it. But still nothing.

You used the fact that three out of four were stumped to your advantage to grab your daughter from Crimson Countess. Then, still unsteady, you stumbled and fell into TNT.

“Don’t just stand there. Do something!”

Spurred on, Tommy yanked you up by the collar, but Tessa got excited. Her manic smile swam in your view as she clocked you in the jaw. Stars burst, and Tommy pushed you down. Unable to save yourself, your head bounced on the carpet, and in the distance, you heard their hyena cackles and Crimson’s throaty voice, “Vought sends their regards.”, before blacking out.

2022

Silence fell around the room as the information was revealed to them. Looks were exchanged that you weren’t privy to.

“What? That’s what you didn’t know about?”

The unkempt one cussed under his breath.

“Butcher, this just got a whole lot fuckin’ complicated.” The black man said. His tone warning.

“Nah. It’ll be fine, MM.” Butcher said, waving him off.

He then gave you a sly look. “Hang on, if you were wiv Soldier Boy back then, ‘ow come you ent snapped out of the cuffs?”

You tugged at the cuff attached to the table leg. “I would if I could.”

“But you’re a Supe.” Butcher stated.

You laughed bitterly. “I’m not a Supe.”

“Well, excuse my French lady, but you look fucking phenomenal for 70. Fuckin’ ‘ell, bo’le, what you got up and rinse that shit for all its worth.”

“The V didn’t work. I didn’t get powers,” It wasn’t entirely true, but some secrets were worth keeping to yourself. “Except for the no ageing thing. That’s it.”

Butcher sat with his hand on his chin, taking it in. Then, finally, he opened his mouth to speak, but the youngun beat him to the punch.

“Are you the one that keeps leaving flowers on Soldier Boy’s statue?”

You nodded. Every anniversary, Valentine’s, birthday, and Christmas. And sometimes whenever you felt like it. Ben’s statue embodied the only living resemblance that he had been alive in a world that continued to slip from your grasp. Sitting there and talking to him restored balance in your life.

“If you know that Vought are scummy fuckers, why ent you done anyfink about it?”

“Like what? Storm in there and demand my daughter back and for them to tell the truth? Yeah, that would work really well.”

Butcher held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, luv, don’t getchur knickers in a twist.”

“Those fuckers stole a baby. Mon Dieu...”

The Asian beside him rubbed her hand up and down the Frenchman’s back, comforting him.

“Somethings not sitting right,” MM started. He stood and paced the room. “Vought grabbed your child, and they didn’t kill you?”

“Why would they kill me? They got what they wanted. Taking my daughter sent the message plain and clear– that they can get away with anything.”

“But—”

“Oi, leave off, wouldja.”

MM tensed his jaw, his fists clenched, but he questioned you no more. Instead, he sat and glared at Butcher.

You turned your attention to the leader of the gang, Butcher. “Can I please go now?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Tell us where Crimson is first.”

You huffed, annoyed.

“I don’t know where she is.”

“The fuck you don’t. She was Soldier Boy’s public girlfriend, and I fink you hated her wiv ev’ry fiba of your being.”

Yeah, you hated her, but after they’d taken your daughter, you just didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Waking up sober with Vought lawyers knocking on your door with papers to sign about your daughter’s “untimely death” put you into three decades’ deep depression.

“I lost everything. You think I’m gonna care about some washed-up, has-been cooze? Ben was Payback, and without him, those losers are nothing.”

“Tell us!”

“She’s a two-bit trailer trash whore! Now tell me where Ben is!”

*

The bastards left you handcuffed to the table leg as they searched for Crimson Countess. As they left, you heard MM to Butcher, “There’s something she’s not telling us. Something’s not adding up. Why would they leave her alive after sending…”. You strained to hear the rest, but they were too far away.

Stupid fucking cuffs. You screamed in frustration, eventually managing to snap the table leg and free yourself. The handcuff dangled from one wrist – that would have to wait. More important things were at stake. You threw a chair at the window of the door, smashing it. With another one, you swiped the window free of glass and escaped. Nothing would stop you from getting to Ben.

Ben was in America. And he wanted revenge. He deserved payback for what those fuckers did to him in Nicaragua. And you would be there right by his side, supporting him.

*

The car swerved as a boom went off. The glass in the windows disintegrated, and the earth shook. You saw a bright light erupt into the sky. What the fuck? Desperate to return in the right direction, you turned the steering wheel until it gave out as the car continued to hydroplane.

It spun out, and you conceded death as the car careened into a fence post. The airbag deployed, and you smacked into it. Dazed but otherwise alright, you left the car and ran to the explosion site.

The lactic acid burned in your chest and legs, but you kept running. Ben was your world; you’d been without him for so long.

“Hughie!”

Butcher’s cockney accent punctured the air nearby, and you almost knocked into the kid.

“Fuck!” He yelled, jumping out of the way as you came whizzing by. You heard the sound of a Geiger counter ticking for a split second.

An orange glow emitted from Cuntess’ trailer, and a figure stood amidst the wreckage. Your heart leapt, and you used the last ounce of adrenaline to run to him. He moved away from the burning trailer.

Hope bloomed. Your pride and joy. Your world. Your feet pounded the grass. Your heart hammered in your chest. You shouted his name, and Ben turned around, ready for the threat pursuing him, but when he saw you, he stood stock still, his shield dropped, hitting the grass with a clank.

Ben stumbled a few steps as you latched on, arms wrapped around him. He stunk of smoke, but you didn’t care. Overwhelmed, you stuffed your face into his chest and broke down. Never in a million years had you thought it possible. You’d dreamt of reuniting with Ben, but the sad reality began again when dawn’s light pushed through the crack in your curtains, and you awoke alone.

His hand threaded into your hair, his head dipped, and he pressed his lips to yours.

“I’ve missed you so much, woman.” Ben breathed you in, taking slow and steady breaths, recounting for all the lost time.

The off-kilter angle of your world started to adjust itself, and you felt whole. Complete. You had your man. Now you just had to find your daughter.

He tilted your chin up and wiped the tears away with gentle thumbs, softly telling you to hush.

Nearly forty years later and this man still managed to leave you breathless. He honestly was flawless. Dark hair, which flopped over, so inviting your hands itched to sink into. Green eyes so dazzling and pretty, along with sinfully plush lips that whispered lewd things in your ear and gave scalding kisses in the dead of night. The fuzz he sported brought his flawless, gorgeous look together.

“You’re giving me a real chubby looking at me like that.”

You matched your bedroom eyes with a come hither smile. “Let’s go find some hay to roll in, then.”

You couldn’t catch his words, but the searing look told you of his intentions for the night.

“Sorry to interrupt the reunion.” A certain Cockney accent butted in.

Ben’s eyes became cold and flinty, and his stance became protective. He bent and picked up his shield, stepping in front of you. Irritated, you sidestepped, noticing Butcher and Hughie. Ben gripped your arm and shoved you behind him again.

“Stay put, woman.” He demanded.

“Charmin’. If I talked to my missus that way, she’d give me a bloody nose.”

You couldn’t see, and his hand on your arm stopped you from moving. He had a nice back, but you were getting tired of looking at it, so you leaned over, but he yanked you back in place.

“Well, mine knows her place.”

You couldn’t see, but you were sure he wore a tight smile. Probably pissed that you were showing him up.

Being a good wife to Ben gave you pride. Keeping him happy made you happy. You had dinner ready for him as he came through the door, fetched him beers when he asked, and, importantly, made sure you looked pretty for him. It gave you a purpose, and having your daughter only expanded that.

At times he could be abrasive, but you attributed that to Payback and Vought. They demanded so much from him, and he gave what he could. Whenever he did snap, you snapped back, which let him know you weren’t gonna take any of his crap. Sometimes if you crossed a line, he would rebuke you with a swat to the cheek. But you were always ready and willing with your apology – between his legs, on your knees.

“Alright—” Butcher started.

“I’m in. Meet me tomorrow, and don’t forget the stuff.”

In? Tomorrow? Stuff? Ben dragged you away before you could ask. If Butcher and his team had spoken to Ben, you’d bet your bottom dollar that they’d conveniently forgotten about you.

“Ben, I know them. The English bastard falsely arrested me, and they hounded me for information on Cuntess.”

“I’ll deal with it.” He gruffly snapped.

This side of Ben was all business, and you knew better than to cross Ben like this. Getting on the wrong side warranted a visit to the hospital with a well-thought-out lie.

“Okay.”

A heavy hand laid on your heart. Ben could be harsh, but he had a heart of gold and meant well. Your happiness resided in him. If he wasn’t happy, then neither were you. You couldn’t let it disrupt your forever. But something would until she was found. It wasn’t fair for him not to know.

Ben reached a car. He popped the trunk and placed his shield in.

“You gonna get in, or are you gonna stand there looking gormless?”

“Ben. I need to tell you something.”

He turned to you, irritated. “What?”

You stalled, and he gave you that look, meaning he had no patience for your antics.

“Vought took Heather.”

The air stilled, and the tang of burnt metal filled your nostrils. Ben bared his teeth, and the roof edge creaked as it bent under his hands. His breaths came out fast, like a raging bull. You expected another explosion, but nothing.

“Ben?”

At your tentative question, he looked up, fixing you with an intense stare. “I’ll get those fuckers. Don’t you worry.”

And you knew he meant it.

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