#envelope tracker

[creatoveplans3]

100 Days Contest Printable, Save Money, Save Money Contest, Digital Download, Savings Tracker, Savings Contest, Sevings Planner

Description

Realizing your financial goals and living the life you want is now easier and more enjoyable! With the unique Sevings Tracker Planner, you can get closer to your big goals step by step. Designed to buy or save the things you want such as house, car, motorcycle, phone, vacation, this planner allows you to monitor your financial journey while taking you to your goals with its 500, 1000, 1500, 2000 and 2500 dollar savings sections.

It also comes with 10 free stickers, each of which lets you customize your own goals. Write down your own goals and add them to your planner so you'll be motivated to get one step closer to them every day.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1510283618/100-days-contest-printable-save-money

[dreamy-blue-journals]

February 2023: Letters theme

A Line A Day + Mood tracker page 

[alibidesignstudio]

These Cash Envelope Inserts are now available in Hobonichi Weeks size (3,25" x 7"). You can find them in my Etsy Shop.

[ozzgin]

You've heard of a yandere having their plans foiled by a too-willing Reader. How about a yandere who is sabotaged by their own clumsiness? Hear me out pls. Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, obsessive behavior, parody

Clumsy!Yandere who is obsessed with you but cannot properly show it due to his repeated failures. He does his best to stalk you, but he always ends up getting lost. Christ, you're a fast walker. Did you have to pick the busiest street? He's tried to counter it by hiding a tracker in your bag, but on multiple occasions he stumbled upon a dead end, staring at his phone map with a shameful grimace. Perhaps that wasn't the right turn, after all. How was he supposed to know where north is? Sigh.

Clumsy!Yandere who has tried many times to let you know about his unhinged feelings. Most recently, he sent you a long letter confessing his maddening love for you, how he wishes you wouldn't look at anyone else but him, how he's often considered just cutting up all those pesky acquaintances of yours. Then you'd have time just for him. You'd smile for him only. The next day, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "You're my best friend, too", you exclaimed cheerfully. He demanded to see the envelope, then stared at the contents in disbelief. He forgot to include half the pages.

Clumsy!Yandere who is close to giving up on kidnapping you, because he always messes up somehow. He successfully managed to break into your apartment at night, determined to cuff you away. Your bed was empty. "Where the hell are you?", you texted him. "I thought we're having a sleepover at your place. I've been knocking for 10 minutes already." Ah. He gathered his tools, embarrassed, and scurried back home.

Clumsy!Yandere who had to call you in hiccups because he couldn't untie himself anymore. He wanted to practice his rope skills in case you'll end up rejecting him, but the knots refused to come undone. You found him tangled next to his bed. "Don't worry, your secret kink is safe with me", you told him reassuringly. He wanted to vanish in that instant.

Clumsy!Yandere who wanted to pull you in a possessive embrace, but instead tripped onto the floor. You helped him up and gave him a worried hug, asking if he's hurt anywhere. A win's a win, he thought to himself with a smug grin.

Clumsy!Yandere who will definitely make you his one day. Just wait. He's relentless in his pursuit. You may have to offer a helping hand, but he doesn't need to know that. Let a man chase his dreams.

[friendlyneighborhoodshark]

"How to Life" Masterlist

Cleaning and Tidying

Make your bed in the morning. It takes seconds, and it's worth it.

Reset to zero each morning.

Use the UFYH 20/10 system for clearing your shit.

Have a 'drop-zone' box where you dump anything and everything. At the beginning/end of the day, clear it out and put that shit away.

Automate your chores. Have a cleaning schedule and assign 15mins daily to do whatever cleaning tasks are set for that day. Set a timer and do it once the timer is up, finish the task you're on and leave it for the day.

Fold your clothes straight out of the tumble dryer (if you use one), whilst they're still warm. This minimises creases and eliminates the need for ironing.

Clean your footwear regularly and you'll feel like a champ.

Organisation and Productivity

Learn from Eisenhower's Importance/Urgency matrix.

Try out the two-minute rule and the Pomodoro technique.

Use. A. Planner. (Or Google Calendar, if that's more your thing.)

Try bullet journalling.

Keep a notebook/journal/commonplace book to dump your brain contents in on the regular.

Set morning alarms at two-minute intervals rather than five, and stick your alarm on the other side of the room. It's brutal, but it works.

Set three main goals each day, with one of them being your #1 priority. Don't overload your to-do list or you'll hit overload paralysis and procrastinate.

If you're in a slump, however, don't be afraid to put things like "shower" on your to do list - that may be a big enough goal in itself, and that's okay.

Have a physical inbox - a tray, a folder, whatever. If you get a piece of paper, stick it in there and sort through it at the end of the week.

Consider utilising the GTD System, or a variation of it.

Try timeboxing.

Have a morning routine, and guard that quiet time ferociously.

Have a folder for all your important documents and letters, organised by topic (e.g. medical, bank, university, work, identification). At the front of this folder, have a sheet of paper with all the key information written on it, such as your GP's details, your passport details, driving licence details, bank account number, insurance number(s), and so on.

Schedule working time and down time alike, in the balance that works for you.

Money

Have. A. God. Damn. Budget.

Use a money tracker like toshl, mint, or splitwise. Enter all expenses asap! (You will forget, otherwise.)

Have a 'money date' each week, where you sort through your finances from the past seven days and then add it to a spreadsheet. This will help you identify your spending patterns and whether your budget is actually working or not.

Pack your own frickin' lunch like a grown-up and stop buying so many takeaway coffees. Keep snacks in your bag.

Food and Cooking

Know how to cook the basics: a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a sauce.

Simple, one-pot meals ("a grain, a green, and a bean") are a godsend.

Batch cook and freeze. Make your own 'microwave meals'.

Buy dried goods to save money - rice and beans are a pittance.

Consider Meatless Mondays; it's healthier, cheaper, and more environmentally friendly.

Learn which fruits and vegetables are cheapest at your store, and build a standard weekly menu around those. (Also remember that frozen vegetables are cheap and healthy.)

Learn seasoning combinations. Different seasoning, even with the exact same ingredients, can make a dish seem completely new.

Misc

Have a stock email-writing format.

Want to start running, but find it boring? Try Zombies, Run!.

Keep a goddamn first aid kit and learn how to use it.

Update your CV regularly.

Keep a selection of stamps and standard envelopes for unexpected posting needs. (It happens more regularly than you would think!)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Netflix wants to chop down your family tree

Netflix has unveiled the details of its new anti-password-sharing policy, detailing a suite of complex gymnastics that customers will be expected to undergo if their living arrangements trigger Netflix’s automated enforcement mechanisms:

https://thestreamable.com/news/confirmed-netflix-unveils-first-details-of-new-anti-password-sharing-measures

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/02/nonbinary-families/#red-envelopes

Netflix says that its new policy allows members of the same “household” to share an account. This policy comes with an assumption: that there is a commonly understood, universal meaning of “household,” and that software can determine who is and is not a member of your household.

This is a very old corporate delusion in the world of technology. In the early 2000s, I spent years trying to bring some balance to an effort at DVB, whose digital television standards are used in most of the world (but not the USA) when they rolled out CPCM, a DRM system that was supposed to limit video-sharing to a single household.

Their term of art for this was the “authorized domain”: a software-defined family unit whose borders were privately negotiated by corporate executives from media companies, broadcasters, tech and consumer electronics companies in closed-door sessions all around the world, with no public minutes or proceedings.

https://onezero.medium.com/the-internet-heist-part-iii-8561f6d5a4dc

These guys (they were nearly all guys) were proud of how much “flexibility” they’d built into their definition of “household.” For example, if you owned a houseboat, or a luxury car with seatback displays, or a summer villa in another country, the Authorized Domain would be able to figure out how to get the video onto all those screens.

But what about other kinds of families? I suggested that one of our test cases should be a family based in Manila: where the dad travels to remote provinces to do agricultural labor; the daughter is a nanny in California; and the son is doing construction work in the UAE. This suggestion was roundly rejected as an “edge case.”

Of course, this isn’t an edge case. There are orders of magnitude more people whose family looks like this than there are people whose family owns a villa in another country. Owning a houseboat or a luxury car makes you an outlier. Having an itinerant agricultural breadwinner in your family does not.

But everyone who is in the room when a cartel draws up a standard definition of what constitutes a household is almost certainly drawn from a pool that is more likely to have a summer villa than a child doing domestic work or construction labor half a world away. These weirdos, so dissimilar from the global majority, get to define the boxes that computers will shove the rest of the world into. If your family doesn’t look like their family, that’s tough: “Computer says no.”

One day at a CPCM meeting, we got to talking about the problem of “content laundering” and how the way to prevent it would be to put limits on how often someone could leave a household and join another one. No one, they argued, would ever have to change households every week.

I put my hand up and said, “What about a child whose divorced parents share custody of her? She’s absolutely going to change households every week.” They thought about it for a moment, then the rep from a giant IT company that had recently been convicted of criminal antitrust violations said, “Oh, we can solve that: we’ll give her a toll-free number to call when she gets locked out of her account.”

That was the solution they went with. If you are a child coping with the dissolution of your parents’ marriage, you will have the obligation to call up a media company every month — or more often — and explain that Mummy and Daddy don’t love each other any more, but can I please have my TV back?

I never forgot that day. I even wrote a science fiction story about it called (what else?) “Authorized Domain”:

https://craphound.com/news/2011/10/31/authorised-domain/

I think everyone understood that this was an absurd “solution,” but they had already decided that they were going to complete the seemingly straightforward business of defining a category like “household” using software, and once that train left the station, nothing was going to stop it.

This is a recurring form of techno-hubris: the idea that baseline concepts like “family” have crisp definitions and that any exceptions are outliers that would never swallow the rule. It’s such a common misstep that there’s a whole enre* called “Falsehoods Programmers Believe About ______”:

https://github.com/kdeldycke/awesome-falsehood

In that list: names, time, currency, birthdays, timezones, email addresses, national borders, nations, biometrics, gender, language, alphabets, phone numbers, addresses, systems of measurement, and, of course, families. These categories are touchstones in our everyday life, and we think we know what they mean — but then we try to define them, and the list of exceptions spirals out into a hairy, fractal infinity.

Historically, these fuzzy categorical edges didn’t matter so much, because they were usually interpreted by humans using common sense. My grandfather was born “Avrom Doctorovitch” (or at least, that’s one way to transliterate his name, which was spelled in a different alphabet, but which was also transliterating his first name from yet another alphabet). When he came to Canada as a refugee, his surname was anglicized to “Doctorow.” Other cousins are “Doctorov,” “Doctoroff,” and “Doktorovitch.”

Naturally, his first name could have been “Abraham” or “Abe,” but his first employer (a fellow Eastern European emigre) decided that was too ethnic and in sincere effort to help him fit in, he called my grandfather “Bill.” When my grandfather attained citizenship, his papers read “Abraham William Doctorow.” He went by “Abe,” “Billy,” “Bill,” “William,” “Abraham” and “Avrom.”

Practically, it didn’t matter that variations on all of these appeared on various forms of ID, contracts, and paperwork. His reparations check from the German government had a different variation from the name on the papers he used to open his bank account, but the bank still let him deposit it.

All of my relatives from his generation have more than one name. Another grandfather of mine was born “Aleksander,” and called “Sasha” by friends, but had his name changed to “Seymour” when he got to Canada. His ID was also a mismatched grab-bag of variations on that theme.

None of this mattered to him, either. Airlines would sell him tickets and border guards would stamp his passport and rental agencies would let him drive away in cars despite the minor variations on all his ID.

But after 9/11, all that changed, for everyone who had blithely trundled along with semi-matching names across their official papers and database entries. Suddenly, it was “computer says no” everywhere you turned, unless everything matched perfectly. There was a global rush for legal name-changes after 9/11 — not because people changed their names, but because people needed to perform the bureaucratic ritual necessary to have the name they’d used all along be recognized in these new, brittle, ambiguity-incinerating machines.

For important categories, ambiguity is a feature, not a bug. The fact that you can write anything on an envelope (including a direction to deliver the letter to the granny flat over the garage, not the front door) means that we don’t have to define “address” — we can leave it usefully hairy around the edges.

Once the database schema is formalized, then “address” gets defined too — the number of lines it can have, the number of characters each line can have, the kinds of characters and even words (woe betide anyone who lives in Scunthorpe).

If you have a “real” address, a “real” name, a “real” date of birth, all of this might seem distant to you. These “edge” cases — seasonal agricultural workers, refugees with randomly assigned “English” names — are very far from your experience.

That’s true — for now (but not forever). The “Shitty Technology Adoption Curve” describes the process by which abusive technologies work their way up the privilege gradient. Every bad technological idea is first rolled out on poor people, refugees, prisoners, kids, mental patients and other people who can’t push back.

Their bodies are used to sand the rough edges and sharp corners off the technology, to normalize it so that it can climb up through the social ranks, imposed on people with more and more power and influence. 20 years ago, if you ate your dinner under an always-on #CCTV, it was because you were in a supermax prison. Today, it’s because you bought a premium home surveillance system from Google, Amazon or Apple.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

The Netflix anti-sharing tools are designed for rich people. If you travel for business and stay in the kind of hotel where the TV has its own Netflix client that you can plug your username and password into, Netflix will give you a seven-day temporary code to use.

But for the most hardcore road-warriors, Netflix has thin gruel. Unless you connect to your home wifi network every 31 days and stream a show, Netflix will lock out your devices. Once blocked, you have to “contact Netflix” (laughs in Big Tech customer service).

Why is Netflix putting the screws to its customers? It’s part of the enshittification cycle, where platform companies first allocate surpluses to their customers, luring them in and using them as bait for business customers. Once they turn up, the companies reallocate surpluses to businesses, lavishing them with low commissions and lots of revenue opportunities. And once they’re locked in, the company starts to claw back the surpluses for itself.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

Remember when Netflix was in the business of mailing red envelopes full of DVDs around the country? That was allocating surpluses to users. The movie companies hated this, viewed it as theft — a proposition that was at least as valid as Netflix’s complaints about password sharing, but every pirate wants to be an admiral, and when Netflix did it to the studios, that was “progress,” but when you do it to Netflix, that’s theft.

Then, once Netflix had users locked in and migrated to the web (and later, apps), it shifted surpluses to studios, paying fat licensing fees to stream their movies and connect them to a huge audience.

Finally, once the studios were locked in, Netflix started to harvest the surplus for its shareholders: raising prices, lowering streaming rates, knocking off other studios’ best performing shows with in-house clones, etc. Users’ surpluses are also on the menu: the password “sharing” that let you define a household according to your family’s own idiosyncratic contours is unilaterally abolished in a quest to punish feckless Gen Z kids for buying avocado toast instead of their own Netflix subscriptions.

Netflix was able to ignore the studios’ outraged howls when it built a business by nonconsenually distributing their products in red envelopes. But now that Netflix has come for your family, don’t even think about giving Netfix some of what it gave to the MPAA.

As a technical matter, it’s not really that hard to modify Netflix’s app so that every stream you pull seems to come from your house, no matter where you are. But doing so would require reverse-engineering Netflix’s app, and that would violate Section 1201 of the DMCA, the CFAA, and eleventy-seven other horrible laws. Netflix’s lawyers would nuke you until the rubble bounced.

When Netflix was getting started, it could freely interoperate with the DVDs that the studios had put on the market. It could repurpose those DVDs in ways that the studios strenuously objected to. In other words, Netfix used adversarial interoperability (AKA Competitive Compatibility or ComCom) to launch its business:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Today, Netflix is on the vanguard of the war to abolish adversarial interop. They helped lead the charge to pervert W3C web-standards, creating a DRM video standard called EME that made it a crime to build a full-featured browser without getting permission from media companies and restricting its functionality to their specifications:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

When they used adversarial interoperability to build a multi-billion-dollar global company using the movie studios’ products in ways the studios hated, that was progress. When you define “family” in ways that makes Netflix less money, that’s felony contempt of business model.

[Image ID: A Victorian family tree template populated by tintypes of old-timey people. In the foreground stands a menacing, chainsaw-wielding figure, his face obscured by a hoodie. The blade of the chainsaw is poised to chop down the family tree. A Netflix 'N' logo has been superimposed over the man's face.]

[ladymarvel27]

Overthinker | Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Description: Your period is late.

f1 masterlist

Your phone dings with a notification from your tracker app. Did you forget to input your period? You sighed in frustration. Period: 3 weeks late. You felt a multitude of emotions. Guilt, regret, uncertainty and fear. What will happen next? How will Carlos react to this information? Is he ready to be a father? Or are you prepared to be a mother? Your eyes landed on a shirtless Carlos in the kitchen, making hamburgers for both of you. Maybe you should discuss it with Carlos. UH! He is the one who got me pregnant!

A wave of thoughts swirled around your mind. It’s just a week late, maybe you’re thinking too much. But what if! What if you are?! What if you two are really going to-

“Mi reina?!” His voice interrupted your thoughts. “Where are you lost? I have brought you dinner.” (My queen?)

“Uh yes, sorry.” You prop your elbows and sit up straighter. “Here,” he put the hamburgers in front of you, “for us,” he smiles. For us, and our little one. You gently rub your lower belly and pick up a burger. He places a hand on your shoulder, “Are you fine?”

“Yes,” you take a bite of your burger, “why?”

“Is your stomach fine?”

You glance down, “Yep hun,” You look at your burger and take another big bite. He gently squeezes your shoulder and looks at you in the eyes, “really?” his big brown eyes staring into your soul.

“I haven’t got my period,” you finally got the courage to say. He retreats as he sighs, his eyes darting around.

You lie against his bare chest and snuggle into his body. “How long?” He spoke.

“3 weeks late,” you reply.

Is she really pregnant? he thought. “This is late, right?” He asks.

“Yeah.” He huffs lightly. Silence fills in the room. Some thoughts run around in his mind. What will be the baby’s name? You thought. Camila? Sofia? Rita? Maria? And a lot of other names he could think of. But if it’s a boy? Felipe? Emiliano? These names didn’t sound right.

“If it’s a girl you will name her, I will suggest names if it’s a boy,” he spoke interrupting the silence. I narrow my eyes at him. "Nothing, just clearing things." I nod slowly.

“You’re overthinking,” he says as he lays back down, “It might be a cycle shift.” Your eyes dart around. I hope it’s just overthinking. You shift as you lay on his muscular arm. He grasps around your waist and pulls you closer to himself. You take a deep breath and lay on your chest, his steady heartbeat clear with the pin-drop silence in the room.

“We should have a bigger house to live with a child, isn’t it?” I nod slowly, “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him as you slowly close your eyes, gently pressing your eyelids together. Carlos looked down at you, admiring your features for a while. A tranquility fills the room. Suddenly, you felt wet down under as your eyes shot open. You remove his arms around yours as you get up from the bed. “What happened?” He asked. “Nothing just-” “What?” You shook your head as you darted to the bathroom. He stayed there, confused, waiting for you. The ripping of some papers can be heard from the outside. After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened. “I got my period,” you take a sigh of relief and sit down next to him. “Are you getting any cramps?” I release my breath. “I just want to sleep in your arms.”

He nods as he envelopes you in his arms. “I already said you were overthinking.” You huff lightly as you nod. “Yeah.” You laid yourself on him, slowly closing your eyes, and drift into sleep.

Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos

[i-heart-slashers]

Get Your Girl

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Paul x female!reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | They thought it was just another night on the boardwalk until Paul catches a scent that will change his afterlife forever.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1 k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of weed

Santa Carla is a place where the night holds secrets darker than the shadows themselves. The boardwalk gleams under the moonlight, a shimmering array of colors and sounds that lulled both humans and vampires alike.

Those said vampires prowled the night with their senses keen and alert as always as they sought out their next bit of entertainment... or meal. They roamed the boardwalk at night, their shadows blending seamlessly with the darkness, their whispers carrying secrets of centuries past.

On one such night, Paul found himself trailing behind David and the others. The air was thick with anticipation, charged with something new—maybe it was that new strain of weed he'd smoked after they'd woken up.

He could feel the energy tingling on his skin, urging him forward. 

That's when he caught a whiff of something intoxicating, a scent that pulled at the primal instincts buried deep within him. This aroma called out to him like a siren's song.

He glanced at David, whose eyes gleamed with a knowing glint. "Follow your nose, Paul," David murmured, his voice low and commanding.

And so, Paul did. 

He wasn't the best tracker in the group, but he let the tantalizing scent guide him through the mass of people on the boardwalk. Neon lights cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the area, and the air was alive with laughter and music, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean.

With his senses attuned to the mysterious scent that beckoned him, he walked, Marko and Dwayne, flanking him, trying to keep his focal point on that scent. David followed behind as he watched the usually wild vampire, keeping an unusually calm focus.

As Paul ambled along, the intoxicating scent thickened and danced upon the breeze, weaving its way into his senses with a seductive allure. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered, a symphony of sweetness and floral notes that set his veins on fire.

He followed the scent like a moth drawn to flame until he stood before a group of girls, their laughter ringing like chimes in the night.

Without thinking, Paul leaned closer, his nose brushing against the hair of one of the girls. He inhaled deeply, his senses drowning in her scent, which enveloped him like a warm embrace, flooding his senses with a dizzying rush of desire. 

He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, pushing his nose further into her hair, and realized with a jolt of recognition that this was the scent he had been searching for, the one whose scent had called out to him across the night.

Feeling someone touching your hair, you turned around, your eyes wide with surprise, as you caught sight of a guy sniffing you. He was a tall blond with wild hair, but an expression of pure pleasure lit up his handsome features.

Paul could see the confusion flickering in your gaze, the wariness that danced on the edge of your expression. And yet, there was something else there, too, something he couldn't quite name.

You lifted a hand to your hair, your fingers brushing against the spot where he had pressed his nose. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, just gazing at the other.

For a fleeting instant, time stood still. In that moment, Paul saw eternity reflected in the depths of your gaze, a universe of possibilities unfolding before him. But before he could speak, a playful smile danced upon your lips.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, you leaned in to press your nose in his hair and inhale his scent, your expression softening with amusement. "You smell like weed," You remarked with a playful giggle. Your words laced with an enchanting charm that ensnared Paul's senses even further.

Paul blinked, taken aback by your words. He had expected fear, revulsion even, but instead, there was only curiosity. He found himself smiling in response, a warmth spreading through him at the sound of your laughter.

"Can I have some?" You say playfully as Paul takes the joint he had placed behind his ear, the one he had rolled in for himself in excitement for a late-night smoke, and held out to you wordlessly. 

Taking the offered joint, you gave him a surprise laugh as you held it. You thanked him with a sweet smile that he hoped he'd see more of, and he moved to speak.

Before he could say anything, however, your friends appeared at your side, tugging you away with a knowing grin. Paul watched them tug you away, his heart heavy with longing. 

He knew then, with a certainty that bordered on instinct, that he had found his mate.

With a parting glance, you offered him a smile that ignited something deep within his soul, a spark of recognition that left him breathless in its wake. As you disappeared into the crowd, Paul stood rooted to the spot, his mind awash with a whirlwind of emotions.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder, and Paul turned to see Dwayne standing beside him. There was a gleam in Dwayne's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between Paul and you just now went beyond human recognition.

"She was something, isn't she?" Dwayne said, his voice low and amused as Marko and David both realized who you were— it looks like they'll be gaining a sister soon.

Paul nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from the spot where you had vanished into the night as his dead heart began to ache, wanting to rush after you. "She's everything," he whispered, his voice barely a breath against the ocean's roar.

Marko bounces as he grins, a flash of his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he throws his arm around Paul with an excitable aura. "Well then," he said, shaking Paul as Dwayne and David sighed at their 'terror twins.' "It looks like we've got ourselves a mission. Let's go get your girl."

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: risk taking behavior / circumstantial self harm kinda / ignoring of injuries / self-depreciation / slight ooc-ness but for a reason! / ]

Post invasion, Leo is fine.

More than fine! He’s better than before, even. That is, if you don’t count the slightly cracked shell and still healing bones, but those are only a problem when the weather wants them to be!

Leo really is better in the ways that matter.

He’s not as cocky, not as self-centered, and overall just more heroic in general if he does say so himself.

Raph even said he was proud of Leo!

So obviously things are going well.

But.

It’s not enough.

Leo’s better, sure, but he’s still got work to do.

So - and here’s something that will probably make his brothers faint on the spot - he needs to train.

_____

His brothers do not faint, but it’s a near thing for Raph. Mikey has to fan the snapper’s face and Donnie almost brings out the smelling salts before Raph shoots back to his feet with an excited grin.

Leo’s big brother gets teary eyed soon after and envelops him in a bear hug, saying once again how proud he is that Leo is growing up.

Leo lets himself be hugged, even hugs back as fiercely as he can, because unbeknownst to Raph, this marks the end of Leo’s childhood.

He lets himself be hugged like a kid one last time, looking through the hole in Raph’s shell all the while.

_____

Leo only trains the regular way with his brothers and occasionally April and the Caseys, but most especially Raph.

But of course that’s not enough, it was never going to be.

So he goes through the motions of the stretches, the spars, the meditation, and then he leaves.

He makes sure to have his excuses ready, usually defaulting to Hueso as his go to since his brothers are easily bought off with the promise of pizza. Leo hasn’t yet found the tracker Donnie installed in him, but when he does that’ll be dealt with too! But for now, this should be good.

See, the invasion made him realize something.

It’s not about him, but it was his shortcomings that led to everything going to hell.

So he just…needs to get rid of those shortcomings.

He’s working on it, gaining fighting skill in training, but there’s more he needs to do, more skills he needs to train.

Leo watches intently as Repo Mantis swindles someone, he memorizes the sleight of hand that Hypno performs, he sneaks back into the Mystic Library and is so quiet the hush bats forget he’s there, he talks Big Mama into honing his manipulation, and he even sneaks into human hospitals and reptile veterinary clinics to get a clue on more serious injuries.

And after any of these, he heads to Run of the Mill to compete in the Maze of Death.

_____

This is his twelfth time going through the (newly remodeled and even more deadly) Maze of Death, and would be his fifth time winning. The first three times had him waking up in Hueso’s office, and each time he wakes his old persona shines through.

He always waves off Hueso’s annoyance and questions and insists on trying again next time before he steals some pizza and bails.

The skeleton actively tries to stop him from entering the Maze after the first time, but hey- mystics are allowed before you enter.

It’s easy enough to teleport on by.

Harder to meet Hueso’s - and later his brothers’ - eyes when he fails again.

When he first actually won, Hueso congratulates him in that typical deadpan tone of his.

“Ah, felicidades, Pepino. Now you can move on, sí?”

“Hm? Nah, boneman! That run was sloppy!”

And then Leo runs off before Hueso can stop him.

He doesn’t even look at his picture on the champion wall when he next comes around. It’s not much to look at anyway.

_____

His second win is much like the first, and only his third win is actually acceptable.

But he knows the field too much now. He needs a challenge.

When he attempts to go through it blindfolded, he’s quickly shown how much he doesn’t know the Maze. So, obviously, he loses again.

He got a bit more banged up that time around.

“Pepino, basta ya, you’ve already won. Where are your brothers?”

“I can’t stop yet, señor! This is for my brothers - no les digas, please.”

Even if Hueso wanted to tell Leo’s brothers, they haven’t been in enough for him to get to, and it’s not like Hueso has their number since Leo’s the one Hueso usually contacts. For now, Leo’s safe to continue as is.

Though his injuries are getting harder to hide, and there’s only so much his shell in particular can take.

So to speed things up, he incorporates the blindfold into his regular training.

His brothers question it, of course, but hey, he initially got the idea from seeing Lou Jitsu do it in the third best Lou Jitsu movie, so it comes as a great excuse now.

He’s only a little put off by how fast Mikey adapts to it when the others try.

“I dunno-“ Mikey shrugs when asked, “You guys shine so brightly anyway, a mask doesn’t do much.”

Seeing their mystic energies is pretty cool, Leo can admit.

He just wishes he could grasp that himself - and that it was useful for a death maze.

_____

Leo’s training pulls off eventually, and soon, after a few more losses, he wins a forth time. But it’s a near loss, and a near loss is the difference between someone living and dying.

He’s gotta go again.

Hueso’s more insistent than ever, though.

“You must stop, Pepino.”

“But I can do better-“

“You don’t have to! Your shell is bleeding - ¡por tu propio bien, poner fin a esto!”

“I told you, this is for their own good! For everyone’s own good!”

He forgets the pizzas when he leaves. He claims sickness when he hides under his covers.

He ignores how childish the act makes him feel.

_____

Leo’s getting better, and his reflexes and tact in training shows this. His other training of his subterfuge and medical skills also prove to be useful.

He’s pretty good at hiding injuries, now! Though not so good at hiding a pained shell. Even Donnie looks at him with blatant concern (and understanding) when Leo can’t help but take a sharp breath whenever he lands on his back.

It’s hard not to go right back into waving everything off with jokes like he used to. Deflections are easier when they’re annoying!

But- this is just another reason that he needs to get better, right? So his brothers won’t worry. He doesn’t need the spotlight anymore - he’s over that, thanks.

He squashes down the part of him that perks up when Splinter says he’s growing up. He actively kills the part of himself that cries at the same phrase.

_____

So. Yeah. This’ll be his twelfth time running the Maze. And, hopefully, his fifth win. Maybe he really will move on after this.

The Hidden City is pretty big! There’s probably a bigger challenge somewhere.

Maybe Big Mama has a more secret Nexus hidden away, out of the public eye.

Well, whatever. That’s a future problem for him to figure out, yeah? For now, he carries on like usual, teleporting to the entrance of the Maze and diving right in.

Even blindfolded, he works his way through, dodging and weaving and feeling as he goes. He even tries to evoke his inner Mikey and calls on his mystic energy. Not enough to cheat, but enough to feel.

Usually, when Leo teleports, he swears he feels every part of himself disperse into particles. Now, with energy thrumming under his scales, he can feel particles everywhere.

It’s not refined enough to tell him everything, and he gets a fun new burn and a nice whack to the back by getting distracted. Still, it gives him more than he had before. It makes him more aware of everything, like he licked a finger and held it in the air to feel the direction of wind, but every direction blew wind, all in different ways.

He makes it to the end with minimal injuries after that, and sure, his shell is screaming at him now, but he thinks he did a shell of a good job.

…Ah, he needs to cut that out, huh? Man. Maybe Donnie’s collar idea was a good call after all.

Leo needs to be a hero. Not a face man. Not a failure.

Not a kid.

_____

Leo doesn’t smile when the Minotaur takes his picture again for the champion wall, and he doesn’t listen when she tells him to “go home and never come back.”

He doesn’t plan to, anyway, yeesh.

He’s tired as he trudges out of the exit, and Hueso catches him when he stumbles.

Hueso doesn’t say anything. Leo doesn’t either.

Or, he doesn’t, until he feels a familiar large hand helping him up as well.

Leo’s face whips up as he flinches back, eyes wide as they meet with a worried (so, so worried) Raph’s.

“You told them?” Leo asks Hueso in betrayal, heart thudding wildly in his chest.

“Pepino…”

“Told us what?” Mikey pipes up from behind Raph, coming closer to get a better look at Leo, “Leo, what’s going on?”

“Your shell has been having pretty big setbacks on its healing, is this why?” Donnie demands, glaring fiercely as he motions toward the Maze.

Leo feels unmoored. “I-“

“Leo.” Raph interrupts, and no Leo doesn’t want to hear it- “Are you okay?”

And Leo wants to say “it’s not about me”. He wants to say anything that proved he learned his lesson, that he’s not a liability or worse, an active danger to his own family.

He wants Raph to continue being proud of him. He wants his brothers to trust him.

Instead, he passes out.

_____

The next time his eyes open, Leo’s on his side, staring at his blue lava lamp.

He knows without looking that his shell is re-bandaged. He knows his other injuries have been dealt with too.

And unless Leo learned how to do some pretty impressive medical sleepwalking, he knows he’s not getting away this time.

All three of his brothers being in his room prove that.

“What’s been going on, Leo?” Mikey asks, and his voice cracks partway through.

He’s looking at Leo like he’s searching for something, but Leo doesn’t have anything to show. Nothing’s hidden, he just did some light spring cleaning is all, throwing out all the parts he didn’t need.

All the parts they didn’t need.

And yet despite everything, he can feel himself falling back into old ways, a grin tugging at his beak and lackadaisical deflection on the tip of his tongue.

Maybe he should let that part of him show, just for once. It wouldn’t seem like too much of a setback would it? And he could really use a fun pun right about now-

No.

No it’s not about him. He needs to remember why he did all this in the first place.

“Okay- sorry, guys.” He smiles, softly, quietly, “I guess I got too caught up in training. I’ll work at it some more, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I see. Training. That’s all it was, huh? Training.” Donnie hisses more than says, nearly vibrating in anger.

“…yeah?” Leo nods slowly, because, uh, that’s literally the most honest thing he said. It was training.

“If it’s just “training” then why the secrecy, hm? Why in Curie’s good name did you prefer to sneak around rather than, oh, I don’t know, tell your family?”

Leo feels his shoulders rise at Donnie’s aggression, defensiveness welling up in him, “It was my training! Nothing went wrong, I’m getting better!”

“Better?” Raph asks incredulously, “Leo, you’re wasting away. A tap to the shell stuns you for minutes, you lost weight, and your dark circles are worse than Raph’s ever seen them! You aren’t getting better-!”

“YES I AM!”

The words rip out of Leo before he can stop them.

The room is silent as his brother look at him, all wearing expressions of hurt that Leo put there again.

“Yes I am.” Leo reiterates, shaking, “Because- if I’m not-“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “If I’m not-“

Then what was all this for?

Arms slowly wrap around him, and he knows now from the feel of the mystic that it’s Mikey.

“You’ve gotten faster, and sneakier.” Mikey says quietly. “When I accidentally cut my hand, you knew exactly how to take care of it.” His voice grows firm, and he backs out of the hug, “But those are your skills. You, though, you’ve been…you’ve been…”

“You’ve been dilapidating before our very eyes, and trying to hide it.” Donnie finishes, jaw tight. “You think we wouldn’t notice? After everything?” To Leo’s horror, Donnie’s voice is hoarse with tears, “You absolute dumb dumb.”

“I- but I need to train. The Maze is-“

“Leo, we don’t care that you ran through the Maze. We care you did it alone.” Raph says quietly. “We could have joined you, any time.”

“But- but I’m doing this for you-“

“Listen to your brothers, Blue.” They jump as a new voice joins the fray, heads turning to see Splinter make his way into the - frankly crowded - room.

“Dad, I-“ Leo begins, but trails off, suddenly more unsure than ever in the face of his father.

“It’s good you’re finally picking up training! Especially for your brothers’ sakes! But there’s such a thing as going overboard, you know.” Splinter pokes a sharp claw into Leo’s plastron, “Just because you’re dragging it out this time, doesn’t make this any less of a sacrifice. My son, you’ve taken after Karai an awful lot, haven’t you?”

Leo just looks at his father. At his brothers. Then, he looks down at his calloused hands, bandaged and scarred from overuse.

He swallows dryly. “Is that a bad thing?”

He feels his family crowd in around him, feels his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not wrong to want to be better, Leonardo.” Splinter says, softly and with so much grief and guilt that Leo can never begin to understand, “But you were never bad to begin with.”

Leo’s breath hitches.

“And-” Splinter’s hands rise up to frame Leo’s face. “You are much too young to ever consider sacrifice the best answer.”

“You got me to relax, Leo. So I’ll do the same for you.” Raph grins, eyes wet, “We’re still kids, right?”

And-

Leo smiles, watery but genuine. “Yeah, Raph. We are.”

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 4 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.0k (can you see the trend)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), still a lot of cussing, some mature themes (no smut, sorry), we're finally in the headquarters!, the story moves significantly along here (i think)

a/n. this one took a second to get out, but i hope the wait was worth it! we're going knee-deep into the storyline, so brace yourselves for the nitty gritty. the dialogue here was too fun to write tho lol

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

Neither of you says anything about what happened.

After you used your quirk on Masaki and the rest of his crew, eventually convincing them to let you take off the bugs and censor the cameras in the evenings, you and Bakugou were briefed about a few more details before you went your separate ways, returning home to pack up your things and spend your last night alone for the foreseeable future.

The trek back to the subway station was quiet, with Bakugou leading the way and you trailing a few feet behind. The silence that enveloped the both of you bordered on tense more than awkward, and you itched to confront him about unceremoniously jumping you, but restrained yourself at the looming thought of the trackers planted firmly against your chest.

As much as it pained you to think about it, from this point on, you have to work double time on biting your tongue and watching your words. Just your words and location—if you’re lucky—but your facial expressions and movements, too, when there are cameras around.

Fortunately, there weren’t any when Bakugou didn’t step out of the carriage just as the automated voice announced his stop, nor when he wordlessly got out of the train beside you at yours. Your face contorted in evident confusion in those two instances, to which he only tossed you silencing looks. It didn’t take long for you to realize it’d be suspicious if Bakugou didn’t see you home—his alleged girlfriend—this late into the night.

And so you rolled with it.

You even went ahead and thanked him with the sweetest possible voice you can muster when you reached your front door, as well as wished him a safe trip back home. You think you caught him off guard, but he was able to quickly gather himself and mutter back a few words of gratitude before telling you to get a good night’s rest.

You couldn’t.

Aside from the paranoia that came with knowing someone or some people were listening to your very breathing, the anxiety about this whole mess that you’ve walked into was too palpable for you just to ignore. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours—brain buzzing with a hundred what-ifs and hypothetical scenarios—before you eventually knocked out at around 3 AM.

You promptly woke up at 7 AM a few hours later, albeit begrudgingly and all thanks to your bothersome alarm tone. You had to show up at work, despite it being a Saturday, to file an indefinite leave as soon as possible. Annoyance shot through you as you remembered Kouki’s dismissive remark about your job in contrast to Bakugou’s.

You shook it off.

There were more important things to deal with, such as the guilt that bloomed in your gut as you turned in the paperwork to Yuzuki, your school’s HR personnel, who, at the sight of them, visibly deflated.

“You’re going on a leave?” she asked that cool morning, incredulous and tone somewhat begging you to say no.

“Yeah…” you replied, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

“But why?” she pressed, sitting up behind her desk that’s riddled with knickknacks and picture frames of her and her toddler. “You never take off from work. And,” she enunciated, “…the kids need you, Y/N.”

Your polite smile faltered at the mention of the kids.

“Yeah, well…” you started, unsure of what to say next. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding a temp, what with the recent licensure exam results. The kids won’t even notice I’m gone, I promise.”

She cocked her head to the side, frowning. “I highly doubt that.”

It didn’t matter if she had her doubts, though, because this was happening. You braced yourself to tell Yuzuki just that, but to your relief, she didn’t push further after that exchange, opting to half-heartedly process your request instead.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, you were already cleared by her department and now officially on a short indefinite leave without pay.

In an attempt to take your mind off of potentially losing your job, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home and picked up a few items, such as toiletries and other things you may need for your stay in the headquarters. There was no telling when you’d get to shop for your necessities again, so you went full ham and spent the money you usually budgeted meticulously to the nearest cent. Besides, if you succeeded in this mission, you wouldn’t have to worry about finances for the next year, at the very least.

You were about to head to the check-out counter when your eyes caught the display of…house slippers in the back aisle.

You paused at the sight of them.

If you were going to be under house arrest, you might as well be cozy while doing so.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a beige pair for yourself, and a black pair for Bakugou. You had no idea what his feet size was, but those were the largest they carried, and so that’d have to do. Plus, you doubted quirk supremacists were mindful enough to provide their hostages with comfortable footwear.

It was already around 4 PM when you arrived home with your arm-numbing groceries and takeout dinner in tow. Setting them aside by your kitchen counter, you quickly got started on gathering your necessities. You blasted your favorite album as you packed your suitcase partly to make the arduous process more bearable, but mostly to drown out the voices that fought to take the reins in your head. You were nervous—very much so—but there was no going back from this.

And so with a heavy heart and a churning stomach, you swiftly got to work, and by dinner time, you were already packed up and ready to go. After going through your checklist one more time and confirming that everything was accounted for, you got changed into fresh, more appealing clothes and scarfed down the meal you purchased to-go after shopping.

You sat in your living room with all your things stacked beside you on the couch, waiting, though it didn’t take long for Kouki to materialize by the kitchen with that irritatingly haughty expression on his face.

You tried to ignore the disgust that sprung as you watched him step on your freshly washed rug with his booted feet, choosing to shift your attention upwards instead. You observed him as he eyed your belongings with mild disinterest, before shifting to regard you.

“Ready?” he asked, holding up one hand for you to take, while the other moved to touch the pile of stuff.

You didn’t bother to verbalize your consent, resorting to just nodding as you gingerly took his hand. Your surroundings instantly morphed the moment that you did, and you found yourself going through the now-familiar motions, emerging smack dab in the middle of your floor’s hallway a few seconds later.

Kouki was gone just as quickly as he arrived, apparently way above helping you move your things to the space at the end of the hall. The same goes for the twins, who only watched you as you lugged your baggage into the room.

You locked eyes with the female guard, and for a second, you debated engaging her in conversation.

You already knew what to say. You’d ask her if they were sure about you staying in, when Kouki can just teleport you to your respective apartments at the end of each day if they’re so worried about you getting spotted.

Besides, you thought as she glared at you with seemingly unfounded hate, that means we’ll be out of your hair.

But as tempting as it was to bring up that alternative at the moment, you ultimately thought better against it.

You already used your luck to convince them to turn off the trackers at night—something they probably wouldn’t do if you and Bakugou lived outside due to the lack of backup surveillance. It simply wouldn’t be smart and cautious of them if they did. You also didn’t want to undo that already tall order of a bargain when what you needed the most was the privacy in which you could discuss the mission and steps moving forward.

Besides, you bet your money it’s not just that. The teleportation quirk of that old geezer has to have a limitation somehow…

You let all these simmer in your head as you settled in for the night. To your chagrin—you wanted at least one night where you get to sleep on the decent-looking bed—Bakugou showed up not an hour later with his own luggage.

You didn’t say anything to each other aside from brief ‘Hey’s’ as he entered the room and unpacked his belongings, as well as when he disappeared into the small comfort room and showered.

You decided then and there that you both had to work on your conversing skills if you wanted a shot at making this ruse believable for the sake of the mission.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, decked out in lounge clothes and haphazardly drying his ash-blonde hair with a towel, it was already 8 PM sharp—your agreed-upon time to retreat for the night and consequently, remove your trackers.

And so you wordlessly filed out of your room, only to see the twins already at your front door, waiting. You doubted they ever left their post ever since you arrived.

You eyed the male twin as he sashayed into your room before his sister called you to attention. Other than that, the exchange was nothing but silent and perhaps a little bit hostile as the woman roughly stuck her hand up Bakugou’s shirt then yours, similar to last time, and removed the devices. You fought back a wince just as she ripped it from your skin, leaving a stinging feeling in its wake.

You could tell she was resisting the urge to shove you back to your room when the deed was done. You didn’t want to risk being her punching bag, so with a curt nod, you promptly turned back and once again entered the room, with Bakugou following you just as the other twin exited and closed the door behind him. Looking up, you immediately registered how the cameras were now facing down—covered—and the red, flickering lights were nowhere to be seen.

An instantaneous wave of relief flooded through you.

Bakugou must’ve noticed, because he whipped to face you, and the disturbed expression on his face was enough to shut you up.

He tilted his head, perhaps gesturing to the rest of the room, and it took you a second, but you eventually managed to make out what he was trying to say.

Shut your trap, his icy stare told you. Check the room for bugs.

And so with a nod of understanding, you tossed him a look right back before quite literally turning the room upside down. It probably took you at least 10 minutes to uncover and check every surface, nook, and cranny, but by the time you both were pretty sure you were safe, you were already stifling a yawn.

And having a hawk eye must come with the job description, because that didn’t go unmissed by the pro-hero, who wordlessly took one of the two pillows from the bed, as well as the throw blanket on top of the actual duvet cover, before tossing both on the brown couch.

You were just about to thank him for preparing your ‘bed’ for you, but you didn’t get to, because you were very much robbed of all words when he plopped himself down on the couch, wrapping himself with the quilt.

“What are you—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off, his commanding tone comically juxtaposing how snug he looked with his head barely peeking out of the cloth. You’d laugh at the way his large feet were poking out at the end of it if you weren’t in a contentious mood.

You frowned. “You’re the guest of honor. I should be the one sleeping on the couch.”

“If it bothers you that much—” Bakugou piped from where he laid comfortably on the (p)leather furniture, “—we can take turns. Tomorrow, I get to sleep on the bed, and so on.”

“But—”

“Conversation’s over. ‘Night.”

With that, Bakugou flipped on his side, turning his back against you, effectively shooting the conversation down in its entirety.

You stood there for what felt like a couple more minutes, keen on shaking him awake, maybe even yanking him off the couch and planting yourself on it before he could wrap his head around what was happening, but you ultimately decided to let it go, at least for now.

You wished him a good night as you turned off the lights and snuck into the queen-sized bed a few moments later, although you bet he was already fast asleep based on the lack of a reply.

Which was good for him, because he needed the rest for what was about to crash into you the next day.

Apparently, Masaki wasn’t kidding when he said groups like theirs needed the space to conduct their activities, because they sure handle a lot.

At 8 AM, you were roused awake by a violent knocking on your door, and you could tell Bakugou was awoken by the very same thing, because he shot up in alarm just as you did. You quickly got up and padded to the entryway, trying to ignore the silly embarrassment of being seen in your threadbare pajamas in broad daylight, before whipping to look at the man. You didn’t have to say it, though—Bakugou was already grabbing his pillow and blanket and plopped into the bed, lying down as if he was there the entire night. Only when he was fully settled did you turn the knob open, only to see the female twin scowling at you. Her hand was held up, on top of which were two trackers.

“It’s breakfast time,” she spat out—literally, some of her saliva landing on you. She looked over your shoulder to glare at Bakugou. “Hurry up and get ready. You’ve got a full day ahead of you.”

Behind you, a distinct grumble sounded out across the room, and you glanced back to see Bakugou getting up from the mattress and folding his blanket, a deep frown etched on his sharp features.

Looks like someone’s a morning person, you thought to yourself.

Not wanting to aggravate her even further, you wasted no time in getting dressed and presentable enough. You debated on whether or not to spend five minutes putting on makeup, ultimately deciding to do so, with you ending up patting on just enough product to look eye-catching before you and Bakugou went down to the mess hall to eat breakfast.

Immediately upon entering the space, you found yourself thankful for that extra five minutes because all eyes were on you. Well, maybe more on Bakugou, but they inevitably drifted to you, the person who walked next to him side by side. You could hear the people whisper to themselves as you moved to sit at the table near the back, before it hit you and you froze.

“What?” asked Bakugou from across you, who followed suit and paused, butt hanging mid-air.

“Come and sit next to me,” you blurted out, and before he could react in a way that would incriminate you both: “I want to sit beside you, babe.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened ever so minutely at the pet name, his face then sobering up as if he just realized what you were trying to do.

You wished you could spell it out for him, that couples tend to sit next to each other rather than across, and…you needed to seem like one who is head over heels for each other around these people as well. Thankfully, you didn’t have to, because Bakugou merely nodded without question, before rounding the table and seating himself right next to you.

You did your best to tune out the looks and murmuring throughout the entire meal, after which you got swept to one of the halls for an introductory talk for the new members. There were eleven of you in total, including you and Bakugou, the rest of whom you didn’t recognize. They didn’t even hide their surprise and awe when the two of you walked in and sat yourselves at the farthest row beside each other. You tried to radiate an aura of friendliness, smiling at the others when they looked at you, and then beaming at Bakugou whenever you caught him looking your way.

You could tell he was having a hard time playing the part, his smile strained whenever he attempted to return the motion. It was probably after the third time of trying to get a reaction from him when you mustered the courage to bring a hand to his shoulder, kneading the muscle as a form of an affectionate gesture, but mainly to get him to relax. He initially tensed at the contact, but eventually loosened up as you continued the action.

Soon enough, the talk commenced, with someone you didn’t know presenting himself as Kazuma, one of the officers of the organization. He went on to formally introduce the association, named The Quirk Coalition, as a group of like-minded individuals who aim for a future where quirks are nurtured and fostered to their fullest potential in a democratic society that puts a primacy on said powers. You noted how they conveniently left out the part where they detest the weak and the quirkless, although you did not comment on it. You only glanced at Bakugou one time, who looked onto the stage with tight lips.

Kazuma also went through the hierarchy of the organization, starting with Masaki at the top just as you suspected, then Sayaka and Kouki, followed by Hiroto and Omiru—the two who you recognized as the twins, looking like they just got their mugshot taken in the photos. Kazuma sat there at the lower tier alongside several other officers, under which were the regular members, totaling about 70—some of whom live in the headquarters and most going in and out, having normal jobs during the day and families to tend to.

You don’t know how they got it, but at the bottom row of the chart was a picture of you, right beside Bakugou dressed in his full hero gear.

You let the reality sink in as Kazuma droned on about the group’s beliefs, how they equally valued their ideals and the people who carried out these ideals. You made a mental note of this piece of information, before accidentally zoning out for the rest of the lecture.

The next seven days went on roughly the same way, with either of the twins serving as your unfriendly alarm to demonstrating PDA in the mess hall during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with talks, history classes, support group sessions, and even quirk training nestled in between mealtimes.

You and Bakugou went through every single thing together, from sitting out the ‘classes’ where the teachers essentially waxed poetic about rewritten history with a strong bias against the quirkless, to attending what felt like group therapy where you each took turns sharing your ambitions and goals as members of the organization. Bakugou even partook in one of the quirk training sessions, wherein he practiced shooting precise targets while propelling himself in the air.

You couldn’t decide if he was trying to act all serious for the mission or was just showing off—could’ve been both, really, but regardless, his efforts were enough to catch the eyes of the fellow members working on their respective quirks. You, on the other hand, sat to the side and watched the pro-hero do his thing, not being able to ‘practice’ anything without a partner to ‘boost’—or really, manipulate.

Needless to say, you’ve both been busting your ass pretending to be eager, dedicated members, but aside from the information readily provided in the forums, you haven’t had much luck extracting details that could prove to be useful for the mission, a fact that you’re now planning to bring up with Bakugou, a full week into moving into the headquarters…

…After you finish checking the bedroom for bugs.

It’s become some sort of an unspoken nightly routine for the both of you. The second the door shuts behind you after the trackers have been taken off and you’ve checked that the cameras are pointed downwards, capped, and are not blinking anymore, you go to your respective halves of the room and thoroughly check each inch for a wiretap. Neither of you dare to say anything compromising until you’ve completed the survey, and even then you’ve telepathically agreed to watch your choice of words.

Still, you can’t deny the familiar sense of reprieve whenever this time of the day comes along, and you’ve since associated these moments with Bakugou with comfort.

Which is probably why you have the audacity to joke around.

“Are they comfy?” you ask just as you plaster your butt down into the couch. You’ve had your fun yesterday, sleeping easily in the soft bed. You watch Bakugou as he eyes you warily, sitting on the edge of the mattress, facing you.

He huffs, crossing his legs. “Are what comfy?”

You point to his feet with your lips. “The slippers. They were buy one take one, you know.”

At that, he smirks. You can’t help but feel your own smile growing.

“I don’t think that’s something you should be bragging about, princess.”

Flying right past the tail end of that sentence for your sanity, you force a frown on your face. “Why not? It was a great deal. And, I’m sure yours are comfy. Mine are.”

He leans back on his hands that are firmly planted at his sides. He’s still smirking. “So why bother asking me in the first place if you already knew the answer to the question?”

You open your mouth to retort a witty comment, but come up short. Bakugou’s smirk morphs into a grin when you do. You wrinkle your nose in disdain, “I was just trying to make small talk. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The pro-hero only chuckles at that, before sitting up and bringing his hands forward, one holding and wringing the other arm’s wrist.

You study him for a beat, and then the cameras, which are still turned down and capped with a lens cover.

And when he only continues the rotating motion, you finally speak up.

“…What are we gonna do now?”

Bakugou’s eyes shift upward from his wrist to look at you, the softness that was just in his gaze a second ago now replaced by his trademark caution. You try not to focus on the disappointment of having caused that, as well as the misplaced longing for what was once there.

It takes him a while to reply, his features contorted into a look of deep thought. But when he does so, he straightens his back. “We—”

A barrage of heavy knocks resounds from the door, startling both of you and cutting Bakugou off. It’s immediately followed by a gruff voice, which you can now easily recognize as Hiroto’s.

“You’re not making any noise,” comes his bite, although it’s slightly muffled. “You better think twice about planning something behind our backs, you two.”

You roll your eyes. You understand any hostility coming from the members, as you and Bakugou come with risks that can potentially harm the organization that they hold dearly. But even you can say that the twins are taking it a bit too far with the harsh treatment.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think their being extra hard on you has something to do with Masaki agreeing with the off-surveillance.

���Fucking relax,” Bakugou seethes in their direction. “Just because we’re not audibly having sex doesn’t mean we’re talking shit.”

You snort. Bakugou whips to look at you, the corners of his lips upturned.

That seems to put a plug on Hiroto, because the man doesn’t say anything after that. Once again, you’re met with silence, with you and Bakugou sitting on your respective furniture, looking at anything but each other.

It’s him, though, who finally breaks it a few minutes later with a clear of his throat.

“We keep at it—” Bakugou starts carefully, “—is what I was trying to say earlier. They’re gonna discuss the plans with us sooner than later.”

…Patience, huh?

You can do that.

Nodding, you adjust your position on your seat. You don’t dare to ask him to expound or add your own thoughts on the matter. Better to be safe than sorry, even though you’re pretty sure your room is free of bugs.

So instead, you finally give in and steer the conversation to something that’s been plaguing your mind ever since the commission kidnapped you a little over a week ago.

“Bakugou,” you begin, and he looks at you expectantly. You gulp. “Can I ask you something?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the question.”

“…So might as well shoot your shot,” he finishes when you don’t say anything.

Well, then.

You blurt it out before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Don’t get me wrong, alright? I know you’re strong and all that. But…” you trail off, fixing your eyes on him, “Why did they specifically want you of all heroes?”

Almost instantly, Bakugou’s smug expression is wiped off his face just as it falls.

You scramble to backtrack.

“Sorry if that’s too invas—”

“Are you sure we were batchmates?” he cuts you off, a brow raised in question. “Back in UA?”

You stare at him. Where is he going with this?

“Yeah?” you reply, not at all willing to try and jog his memory with the only prominent exchange between the two of you. So instead, you toss the query back at him: “Why?”

“Because if we were, you would’ve heard about the rumors about me, unless they weren’t as widespread as I thought.”

You feel your brows furrow. “Rumors?”

He peers at you for what feels like an eternity, before shaking his head in what you think is resignation. His body language has changed drastically, you note—the distinct confidence from earlier now long gone, having been replaced with…shame?

He heaves a deep breath.

“I was a bully,” he finally declares, meeting your gaze. “I bullied someone for being quirkless. I guess you could say I had a…” he hesitates, as if he’s trying to filter his words,” …certain mindset up until late into our first year.”

He shakes his head again, which is now bowed down toward the floor. “I did some pretty…awful stuff, to say the least.”

And before you can say anything, he beats you to it. “And don’t ask me about what I did.”

“I wasn’t going to,” comes your speedy response. That causes him to look up again and at you, a surprised look written on his face.

“Well, that’s a first.”

“I don’t have to know,” you reason, schooling your features into a neutral, even sincere expression. “Besides, I can clearly see there’s remorse. There’s no need to reopen that can of worms, especially if you’ve tried to make amends.”

You pause, eyeing him. “Have you?”

He tosses you a look of offense, as if you just accused him of being a serial killer. “Of course. And he’s forgiven me. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who feels remorse—” you chuckle, “—just like I said.”

He shoots you a glare, although it’s playful and has no bite to it. “Smartass.”

You grin at him. “I am smart, aren’t I?”

Bakugou doesn’t verbalize his agreement, but he doesn’t deny it either. Instead, he turns the table on you.

“You’re a guidance counselor, aren’t you? You use your quirk on your clients?”

You gasp, insulted. That grants you a smirk from him. “No! Of course, not. What do you take me for?”

He shrugs, “What? It makes sense to me.”

“So should this thing called ethics, which I follow and is very important, especially for people like me who work in the mental health field.”

That doesn’t seem to convince him. “Why’re you in this field, then? If not for its compatibility with your quirk?”

You think about it for a beat.

“I guess you can say my quirk did play a part in all of this, but not as my crutch,” you eventually explain. “Using it made me realize how much I like making people feel and do better, which is something that I now do with evidence-based techniques as a counselor. Plus, my job trains me in identifying emotions, which, you know…”

—helps with maximizing your quirk.

But you don’t say it out loud for fear of getting exposed, and it seems like that’d be unnecessary, because understanding flashes across Bakugou’s eyes. He nods, and that’s all you need to know he gets what you’re leaving unsaid.

“That’s a pretty noble cause,” he offers, although it comes out a bit awkward.

Still, you flash him a genuine smile. He looks away.

…Right at the wall clock, which now reads a little too late o’clock.

“You should get some sleep,” says Bakugou just as you are about to tell him the very same thing.

And when you don’t respond: “Are you sure you wanna sleep on the couch?”

‘What, are you proposing we share the bed?’

…Is what you would say if you were a fucking lunatic, which you’re glad you aren’t, because you don’t know how you’d survive this hell of a mission if you were.

Instead, you nod, shooting him a grateful look as you move to lay back and drape the blanket over your body. “Bask in the luxury of a proper mattress, your highness.”

You don’t get to see his reaction anymore in your new position, but you bet your cheap but surprisingly ergonomic slippers that he’s grinning with the way he snorts loudly.

“Stupid.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[n3xii]

why do you feel stuck?

this spread is designed to help you identify why you are feeling stuck right now, as well as what you can do to get yourself unstuck. take a deep breath and choose an envelope from below

i also have personal readings available for an affordable price, check my pinned post for more information!!

Pile one-

your current situation: 8 of wands

i honestly think taking action is the biggest hurdle for you, taking the first step and actually taking action may feel bigger than the task itself. perhaps you may have just overcome some hurdles or blockages that might have previously been in the way, and now that the path is clear, it feels impossible to go forward. i also feel that this represents the momentum it takes to get something going, you may feel that your energy ebs and flows, perhaps motivation and passion are fleeting emotions that you cannot rely on to take action. this makes you feel stuck as a consequence.

what do you need to let go of in order to move ahead: the hanged man

ok, i feel like you're waiting for an external force to thrust you into action, you've taken the passive stance towards your own goals because you find it difficult to actually start. you're waiting for something else outside of you to give you the momentum, this could be another person you're waiting on, a sign, the feeling of motivation. but spirit is communicating that this passiveness is something you need to let go of. stop waiting for something else to spring you into action, the first step has to be done by yourself

message from spirit: boundaries

i think establishing some borders between yourself and what you will and will not tolerate is something that can actually help you become unstuck. this can be boundaries with other people, as well as boundaries with yourself, such as what behaviors and treatments you will tolerate towards yourself. people forget that the relationships they have with themselves need boundaries too.

Pile Two-

your current situation- seven of swords

the message im getting with this is self sabotage, you're in a situation where you are trudging upon your own steps forward by looking back, looking to other people, and looking everywhere but in the direction you're going. i feel like you could be comparing yourself to others, even comparing yourself to your past self as well. there may be somehting you feel you need to tuck away to the back of your mind because you perceived it as bad or undesirable.

what do you need to release in order to move ahead: nine of swords

so far im getting that this is an issue occurring mostly on the mental plane which one of the denser energies in someone's aura. this means your thoughts and words need to be something that you become more aware of so you can identify what exactly you are thinking about on a daily basis. journal, get a mood tracker and write your daily thoughts and feelings. become familiar with what you are saturating your mind with. this card tells me that you need to release overthinking, obsessions, and memories. specifically you need to release the recurring thoughts you have, the fears and paranoia that you may have that are causing you to self sabotage.

message from spirit: attraction

you are a powerful person and manifester, you could be spending more of your energy attracting what you want if you wanted to. now can be spent thinking about what you want to attract into your life and what you want to repel from it. your energy is precious, dont fuck with it. instead of comparing yourself or saturating your mind with obsessive, negative thoughts, direct your mental energy towards something that is positive.

Pile three-

your current situation: the star

the star conveys healing, hope, optimism, and a balance between both the physical and spiritual world. you're in a place where you may feel stuck, but you are actually just healing and recovering from something. the star comes after the tower in the tarot, which indicates the healing process after something major has been unraveled, you may feel like you are behind, or that you should be already healed, but let your spirit and body take the time it needs. you are healing from something, mental or physical at this time

what you need to release in order to move ahead: six of pentacles

i feel like you may have this lingering sensation and feeling that you owe other people something, that you aren't keeping your end of a bargain. this could be you feeling the need to maintain balance in a relationship, friendship, work partnerships etc. you may feel that you aren't being fair or balanced in those relationships but that is actually something you need to release. nothing is expected of you at this time, release the sensation that you need to make up for or do something in return.

message from spirit: power + 4 of pentacles

conserve your power, and know that you are powerful. dont expend energy you dont have right now, just hold onto it knowing that you have it. im also getting that ancestral work may be important right now. as you are healing, tapping into your ancestors and your lineage may give you the extra support and power supply that you need to recover. ancestors play an important role in supporting, when channeled you can rely on them to give you the energy and the momentum to support you on your healing energy.

[boop-le-snoot]

rickyl x reader blurb for @sinsandsweetness

cw: facesitting, human disaster rick grimes, teasing. 18+

without further ado,

Daryl's groan echoes throughout his room in the basement and bounces off the bare walls. The next noise is identical, but muffled. The fabric of her skirt rustles as he pushes it out of the way, tucking it sloppily into the waistband of her underwear- those, he doesn't bother removing. Just pushes the damp gusset to the side, fingers twitching from the hiss she releases as cool air meets the flushed lips of her cunt.

He doesn't waste precious seconds, just dives in. Nose smushed into the short tuft of her pubic hair, mouth enveloping both of her fat outer lips, nursing the essence off her like he would be sucking at the flesh of an overripe peach. Daryl hates those things - he's from Georgia, for fuck's sake, where everything is fucking peach flavoured - but she is just so sweet, so soft and sticky, he has problems with keeping his mouth off her most days. The meat of her ass plump under his rough palms.

He pushes at it, dragging her inner labia and clit along the seam of his mouth and she keens. The field of view is narrow - he can just about see the folded fabric of her top and the mounds of her heaving breasts, nipples poking through the cotton - but he can imagine. Her head thrown back, her bottom lip between her teeth. They've got the mostest privacy in the apocalypse in his basement but she is still so conscious of the noises she makes.

The noises he makes her make. Daryl flattens his tongue against her hard nub, flicking it with intent and precision. He wants, no, he needs to hear what she has been forced to hold back. His grip on her hips is bruising but it only eggs her on; experimentally, she rolls her hips over his mouth. Once, twice... he isn't sure who makes the low humming noise. Coulda be both of them, feeding off each other's desire.

“Baby, fuck, don't stop,” she pants through shallow breaths, the roll of her hips becoming a purposeful grind.

Daryl feels her skin protest to the drag of his coarse stubble. He'd gotten back from a long run just yesterday, had barely enough energy to rinse off the blood and grime and scarf down whatever stew that she had made with the Grimes' kids before he crashed down, hard. He is fully intent on making up for it, starting now.

Her hips stutter above him as more weight presses down on his chin; sticky cunt juice is pooling deep in his throat. He's drinking her straight from the source, swallowing her cunt with eager, too eager, gulps. If it sticks to the roof of his mouth, he'll suck it off his teeth just fine later. She grinds on him and he growls straight into her cunt, wraps his lips around her clit and sucks. Sweat gathers under his palms and in the spaces between her cunt and legs.

Her face must be flushed. Sweat dripping from her hair, clear droplets running down her face that he would stick out his tongue and lick, like a parched dog, whenever he gets to fuck her. The thought of her snug cunt enveloping his aching cock makes it pitifully twitch and release a dribble of precum into his boxers.

She's close. Daryl knows it because that's just who he is. Attentive, a hunter, a tracker. He tracks her upcoming release through the fluttering of the entrance to her cunt, through the pulsing blood rushing to her clit. The nub is hard in his mouth, he flicks it easily and with abandon. His neglected cock twitches in sympathy.

Suddenly, there is a creak. There are footsteps, wide, unhurried. Daryl knows those footsteps, is deeply familiar with them, and their sudden presence makes him pause. Somewhat stupidly - his nose is brushing her clit with every single inhale as quiet tremors run through her body. Made that much more obvious by how still he'd gotten under her.

“Listen, Dar-” Rick ends his speech as soon as it begins.

She shuffles in place, leaning on the back of the couch. From Rick's position near the entrance, she knows Rick can't see Daryl face-deep in her cunt. Rick can't see anything at all in the near-darkness, just her still-clothed chest and her stiff nipples.

“Where's Daryl?” Rick, while frowning, seems incredulous.

A silent chuff wafts over her cunt; Daryl's exasperation makes out in the form of a muted chuckle.

“Busy,” she replies without thinking, aware of the hoarseness of her own voice.

“Well I need 'em for a thing,” Rick shrugs and looks around again, as if Daryl would suddenly appear from one of the dark corners in the single, wide room. No luck for Rick, though: the object of his inquiry stays still and doesn't even try to hide his smile as he presses his wet mouth into the inside of her thigh.

She frowns. “Is it urgent?”

“Sorta,” Rick begins to eye her with suspicion. The cogs are turning in his head but the picture doesn't seem to be adding up. It is comical to see his eyebrows draw tight over his eyes. “So where is he?”

Before she has the chance to react, Daryl's strong hands make quick work of dragging her down his chest. He sits up, just enough to poke his head from behind the couch, his face shining wet even in the settling twilight. There is a wet spot lower now, too, on his stomach, where he so ungracefully dragged her sensitive cunt.

Rick's eyes bulge.

“Wha?” Daryl makes an attempt to wipe his mouth and unstick some of the unruly bangs from the mess but it just ends up making him look even more fucked. “Wha's so urgent dat ya had ta barge in here like dat?”

“Uh,” Rick replies eloquently, eyes stuck to the sheen on Daryl's face. Unconsciously, the sheriff licks his lips, and immediately looks away. “S'nothin', it can wait,” he finally says, yet makes no moves to leave.

She snorts. Quietly, under her breath, but the two men are just that good. Both are looking at her now, one embarrassed, one incredulous.

“Well then go or join in, I was just about to cum,” she rolls her eyes, letting the annoyance bubble up and pop on the surface. She was close, until someone so rudely interrupted her beeline for pleasure. She didn't push down and get on Daryl's face for nothin', after all.

It's Daryl's turn to snort. He does so as he's laying back down and adjusting his grip on her hips, ready to pull her back in. “Naw, Rick ain't like dat. He's ol-fashioned,” and it's just friendly banter, all bark and no bite in Daryl's voice, but Rick begins to walk before Daryl's even through with it. In his defense, Daryl seems only mildly perplexed.

Mostly, he's amused. And then his expression is obscured by her body as he drags her cunt back up to his face and begins slurping. Noisily. On fucking purpose.

“Oh,” she gasps, at nothing in particular. At the feel of Daryl's wet hot tongue gathering what's left of her arousal. At Rick's red lips tilting into a haughty smirk. At Rick's finger dragging along her lips.

His hands taste of motor oil, metal and gunpowder. She wraps her tongue around, applies gentle suction to the tip of his thumb. The flavour combination is known to her, by Daryl's own hand, but current configuration is vastly unfamiliar. She meets Rick's eyes and grinds down on Daryl's mouth, her weeping cunt doing exactly nada to silence his satisfied groan.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Running Into Colter On A Job

Pairing: Colter Shaw x reader

A/N: I've been re-watching Tracker before Season 2 starts and I'm dipping my toe in the Colter fanfic world finally! Just a little something short, sweet and sassy to start with!

________

Your heart skipped a beat as you rounded the corner and spotted a man, his expression turning confused. “Colter Shaw?”

“Y/N?” You cleared the room before going to where he was handcuffed to a pipe. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you apparently.” You pulled your lock pick from the back of your jeans, jamming it in the key hole. “How’d this happen?”

“What are you doing here?” He repeated, an edge of agitation in his voice this time. You snapped the cuff open, frowning at him as he popped to his feet.

“Working the same job as you.” You got up, his hand on your arm pulling you up but you quickly shrugged him off. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, grabbing your bicep again, keeping you behind him. You punched him in the arm, Colter dropping you, rubbing his shoulder. “What the hell-”

“Do not treat me like a damsel, Shaw. I saved your ass, remember?” You brushed on ahead of him, taking your small handgun from the waistband of your jeans. He wanted to retort but you shushed him, Colter scowling but staying behind you.

You cleared the building quickly, only slightly surprised when you found the teenager you were looking for sat uncomfortably on a chair while an older man watched TV in the corner. Colter tapped your shoulder, pointing at the kid. You rolled your eyes but went along with it. If he wanted to get in a wrestling match with the big guy, he could go for it.

Two minutes later Colter was sat on the man’s back, securing him with the zip tie you tossed over from your jacket pocket.

“Hey, Henry,” you said, the kid looking relieved. “Your step dad do anything to you?”

“No. I just want to go home.” You helped him to his feet, giving Colter a nod. 

“Then let’s get you home, buddy.”

“Shaw,” you grit out in the parking lot of the police station a few hours later. Colter glanced up from his phone before shoving it in his pocket. “What the hell was that back there?”

“Nice to see you too,” he chuckled. “What are you doing-”

“Are you allergic to answering a question?” you prodded, crossing his arms. His eyebrows shot up, a stupid smile on his face. “I asked you first.”

“Wow. You are not the timid accountant you once were.” You scoffed.

“First off, you met me when I’d been kidnapped. I was having a rough day. Is that why you were so pushy back at the farm?”

He sighed, looking over your head. “Listen, I don’t know what you were capable of. I didn’t need another kidnapping victim on my hands.”

You smiled, stepping in closer, his adam’s apple bobbing. “The balls on you to say that to the person that, oh, literally helped you escape? Hm?” 

He frowned, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure you are,” you said, walking past him for your truck. 

“Wait!” he said, jogging to your side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Does this answer it?” you said, pulling out an envelope full of reward money. Colter looked dumbfounded and you found the expression sort of adorable on his handsome face. “Sorry, seeing as how I found their son, the parents felt I deserved the reward.”

“You track rewards? You?” You patted his cheek, shaking your head.

“It’s a good thing you’re so handsome,” you teased, turning your back to him with a whistle. “Better luck next time, Shaw!”

“But…you’re an accountant!” he called after you.

“Former accountant,” you said, spinning around, walking backwards with a grin. “Turns out I make way more money doing this. A little weapons training here, a little martial arts there and a pushup bra go a long fucking way, Colter.”

“The fuck…” he trailed off as you winked at him. “Y/N!”

“Catch you on the next one, Colter!”

___________

[glass--beach]

hi do you like ok computer (1997)

because i really just don't get it (especially as the second-best album of all time) but i reeeally want to & i respect your opinion on that a lot

yea that album kinda changed the course of my life lol. wall of text incoming

first - don’t let rym or aoty or whatever tell you what’s good and what isn’t, everybody’s got their own taste & criticisms that go against the grain are very important!! i will say anything that’s that consistently highly rated across different websites & publications is probably undeniably significant and worth listening to. whether listening feels like discovering a new favorite or sitting through a history lesson is where taste comes in. it’s important to interrogate the canon too as there is an enormous amount of implicit bias in what even gets in front of critics and in the metrics they grade music by. review aggregate sites have democratized this process a bit & all the good and bad of democracy has come with that lol.

so, the album gets praised for a couple of reasons - its innovative production, its commentary on the historical zeitgeist, and the pop appeal of much of the songwriting.

production - the album makes heavy use of cutting edge effects units, digital editing, computer trackers, sampling, and even features little bits of voice synthesis. most of it is stuff that had existed in music before radiohead, artists like aphex twin (and much of the rest of warp records’ 90s catalog) and bjork were ahead of the curve in a lot of the aesthetic aspects of okc and had influenced radiohead a lot, which is even more evident on their followup kid a. radiohead was not breaking new ground in using these sounds, but they were among the first to put it all in a rock context, taking cues from the weirder cuts on the beatles’ white album, the experimental “krautrock” band can, and miles davis’ classic jazz fusion album bitches brew.

context - radiohead had grown up during the decline of much of the social democratic programs that had helped to facilitate the education and performing careers of much of their early influences such as joy division and the smiths. by the time okc was being written they had lived through the austerity of the thatcher era, the fall of the soviet union, and now were watching the labour party turn increasingly neoliberal under tony blair. there was a general sentiment in the west that the progress of history had slowed or even stopped in favor of the neoliberal order. at the same time, tech was booming and computers were starting to find their way into more aspects of daily life. the album imagines a boring dystopia, where machines are rabidly advancing but humans are stuck in stasis. a major connecting theme is infrastructure - the airbag through which thom yorke is “born again,” the “cracks in the pavement,” the family politics that separate romeo and juliet in exit music, the mechanical voice of fitter happier giving contradictory directions for maintaining the status quo. even the escapist fantasy of no surprises comes in the form of carbon monoxide. and then, the record ends with the “ding” of an appliance that has completed its task.

songwriting - the band’s previous album the bends really is a pop masterpiece. i recommend it to anybody who wants to get into radiohead but doesn’t vibe with their later work. okc expands that compositional style through, for one thing, the more apparent influence of classical music on tracks like paranoid android or the Chopin homage exit music; let down even features polymetric layering characteristic of Steve Reich. it also features some songs that are too good to even need to push the envelope much, like karma police or one of my favorites, no surprises, which seems to reference the beach boys’ wouldn’t it be nice or the velvet underground’s sunday morning.

to be honest, i like okc mostly because it really spoke to me at a formative time in my life, when i was like 15 and felt heavily disconnected from the world around me. the album deals with those feelings in a very different context but it’s a feeling many people can relate to for many different reasons - i was closeted in a conservative culture, not a depressed british rock star lol. it also was an excellent gateway into many of the bands’ influences, who are also favorites of mine now. most people who love the album don’t really go as deep as i like to with understanding it, but maybe what i said here will give you something else to listen for, idk. maybe you just gave me an excuse to infodump about an album i love lol :)

[coupleoffanfics]

Hey, it’s almost 1am and I’m riding the angst train I wanted to ask ur opinion on something.

How would the fam react to Y/n getting grievously I hired or dying by the hands of a villain or by Jeremiah and getting caught in the crossfire???

❤️❤️❤️

I'm so glad that people like reading my stuff. It's more self-indulgent, but what fanfic isn't self-indulgent?

Anyway, I'm so excited by seeing this ask because it sounds fun to write about. Let's start with the "less" angsty one. y/n getting gravely injured (I'm assuming that's a typo) by a villain.

TW: Mention of suicidal ideation once and gore.

Getting Gravely Injured by a Villain

It'd depend on the Villain. The family is going to act accordingly in their personas. Their punches are probably hitting harder than usual.

Jason might shoot the villain in the head, but ultimately can't. He's in Gotham following the Bat's rules slightly. So he'll just shoot their knee.

y/n isn't Batgirl anymore. So that means the villain must know the publicity they'll get by attacking, kidnapping, or holding a minor celebrity would give them. The fact that it's Bruce Wayne's daughter who's painted out to be a saint by the media would spread like wildfire. They'd have to be doing it to get attention or money.

How severely y/n was harmed doesn't matter too much. Bruised, broken bones, stabbed, etc are going to make the family more protective. Trying to persuade y/n into coming back to the manor, so that they can keep her close and prevent this from happening again.

Now the Valeska twins will differ in how y/n gets hurt and their reaction.

Jerome is like a child on a sugar high when with y/n. Wouldn't deliberately harm her in any way. Kidnaps y/n and go on a joy ride around the city even though she has no choice and isn't finding any joy from this. She'll probably get a scrape on her legs or arms from falling because Jerome is running too fast while he is holding her arm. Maybe have a bruised arm or wrist because of how tightly he holds her.

He doesn't think too much about things and will get into dangerous situations. Pick a fight or mock the wrong person leading to a shootout. He's having too much fun to care about anyone until y/n is hit.

One of the family members finally caught up to Jerome and was ready to— oh, my God y/n is bleeding from her side! Oh, fuck! AHHH! Jerome knows he can leave y/n in the hands of whatever bat family member showed up. She'll be in good hands while he hunts down the one who shot her.

"I know you're one of the 'good guys', but take care of her. If I hear that you did something that upsets her I'll— actually, I'll keep that a surprise." He looks at y/n who is just bleeding on the floor and in pain with a big ol’ smile. "I'll make sure to give you the head of that fucker who got you. Until then see ya later, toots!"

After that y/n is forced to stay in the manor. They made a deal that it would just be a few weeks, but her stay is indefinite.

Bruce

Opens the door one day to find a large box. It wasn't a delivery because it has no shipping information on it. Just an envelope with y/n's name on top of it. Bruce opens the envelope first and reads the letter which has poor handwriting.

Hey, doll!

Hope you're resting up and not in too much pain. I didn't think picking on a mob boss would get so messy. They just couldn't take a joke. I'll pick a more private place for our next date cuz I know how shy you are. Hope seeing them brightens your day. Made sure to get rid of the eyes since I know how you don't like too many eyes on you. Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone who was there.

Love Jerome.

Bruce doesn't need a minute to take things in. He already knows what's in the box and sends it to the authorities. Does not mention a word of this to y/n. She is already going through a lot and best to not tell her.

He does increase the security around the manor. He ends up putting a tracker on y/n because knowing where she is the only way to keep him from worrying.

This further solidifies that she needs to be in their protection to keep this mentally disturbed boy away. The whole thing is twisted but the line "a more private place" bothers him the most. He's not letting his daughter be alone with Jerome longer than she already has.

Dick

It's early in the morning and Dick wanted to check up on how y/n doing. As he walks up to the manor there's a large box sitting in front of the door. A letter sits on top of it with y/n's name on it. Rips up the envelope and begins reading the letter.

Once Dick was done reading, he looked down at the box. Noticing dried blood around the box. This makes him nauseous and immediately goes to Bruce to inform him. They sent it to authorities so they could identify the heads in the box.

He doesn’t tell y/n or the others about this. Everyone is already in a frenzy from the events prior, so it seemed best to keep this between him, Bruce, and Alfred.

"Made sure to get rid of their eyes," Dick isn't sure why that sticks with him. Maybe it's because he wonders if Jerome beheaded them or took out their eyes first. It doesn't matter though because he needs to keep his little sister safe.

Barbara

Doesn't even want to go near it, checks that there isn't a bomb in there waiting to explode. She takes one peek in the box and immediately looks away. Does not read the letter because what was in the box said what needed to be said. Informs the whole family and that sets the mood for the day.

She checks up on y/n after telling everyone. The poor girl is so overwhelmed by everything that she doesn't want to be around anyone. Spends most of the day with y/n, trying to cheer her up. Get sweets since that's y/n weakness and sugar releases dopamine. She has Alfred cook y/n's comfort food.

The day is meant to help release all of the stress. Barb wasn't sure if it was working until y/n said thank you before going to bed. Barb makes a promise to herself that she'll become better at shielding y/n from this type of depravity.

Jason

Can tell who this is from just by the envelope. y/n's name with little hearts around it. Shoves it into his pocket, he'll give it to y/n when he sees her. Opens the box to be hit with a familiar disgusting odor. Looking inside there are 3 heads. Recognizes one of them being a mod boss he has on his list for a while now.

Jason wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't this. He pulls out the envelope and tears it open to get some sort of context. Reading the letter left him unsettled and a little…satisfied? Grateful maybe? For taking care of those who harmed y/n even though it was entirely Jerome's fault that this happened in the first place.

Closes the box and informs the whole family of what he found. Everyone is put more on edge. y/n isn't allowed out of the manor for a few days. y/n is upset by the news and she’s more quiet the following days.

Jason almost wants to laugh at, "They just couldn't take a joke." Bets that these" jokes" were just thinly veiled threats and pointing a gun at them. He probably would have snickered if this didn't involve y/n.

Tim

All he wanted to do was check the mail. Now he's reading a sort of love letter written by a psycho and looking down at the heads that could not look back at him. Their empty eye sockets had- ugh, God there was so much blood.

Debates on whether he should tell y/n about this, but ends up telling her. There was no point in hiding it because she'll probably find out one way or another. Sees the guilt and horror flash across her face. Wants to comfort her as much as he can, but all she does is detract from him. Of course, when Barb opens her arms y/n jumps into them. What happened to them always being there for each?

Doesn't like, "our next date", one bit. He doesn't like the insinuation or the thought of it. He starts keeping his eyes peeled for Jerome and ears open if anyone has information on where he is or going. The sooner he's in Arkham the safer y/n is from him and going on that next date.

Damian

Not impressed. The delivery was lazy and the writing was so sloppy that he almost couldn't read it. The heads must have been cut with a butter knife with how unclean and jagged the cut is. Every unprofessional. Nonchalantly brings this up at the table during breakfast. Not even when everyone is finished, just right in the middle of it.

Never really had respect for a villain or any, but the whole "Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone" was almost respectable. Damian having a speck of respect doesn't mean he likes Jerome. Still thinks he's stupid and annoying.

He'd give him a 3/10 for the delivery and would not order again.

Per-Spray Jeremiah isn't going to do anything, but Post-Spray Jeremiah is a different story. Will break one of y/n's arms or legs just so that she can't get away from him too easily. Though that's going to the extreme, he's more likely to guilt trip her. Getting into her head isn't hard and more effective.

"I thought you loved me. You were the one who always said you loved me. y/n, who has been here for you the most and always will? Not your best friend, Norah, she's leaving you behind and you know it. Not your family because they never cared about you in the first place. No one will love you like I do. You need me, y/n."

By the time the family saves y/n and brings her back to the cave for medical attention. She's consumed by guilt and almost believes she deserved any harm done to her. Will cry to Barb about this and only Barb.

Concerned by this revelation Barb will tell the whole family. Bruce is worried as it's clear that y/n's mental state is worsening. He knew that it would be after bad being kidnapped by Jeremiah, he just didn't think it would be this bad. Bruce and Tim have the same idea to get y/n another therapist if she's still not seeing one.

Jason and Damian are mad that y/n would think that she deserves any pain. Jason is kinda, sort of, not really more understanding about the whole thing than Damian. He gets how she could feel that she failed Jeremiah. If she has revealed that they had been dating and she can't or won’t give up on him, everyone is conflicted and concerned.

Dick has had the most romantic relationships and will try to convince y/n that Jeremiah is a lost cause now. Leading her to a spiral into a depressive episode. Oops!

If y/n is on the verge of death the family freaking the fuck out. Slowly recovers at the manor and convinces her that staying with them is the best thing for her. Depending on if her injury is life-threatening or not will determine how cooperative she is.

Getting Killed by a Villain

Doesn't matter who it is Jason is shooting them on the spot. Though with how emotional and choked up he's getting, he'll probably miss. Damian would react the same way if his whole body didn't stop upon seeing y/n's lifeless eyes. He doesn't want to step near her to see if it was true that he lost his sister.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim will force themselves to act professionally. They're still in their hero personas and killing was a strict no. If the whole family is there then whoever killed y/n is getting a beating of their life.

It could also depend on who's at the scene. Bruce and Dick hold on to the moral code that killing is wrong. This will prevent any further killings from happening.

Damian and Jason would probably end up killing the villain after seeing y/n's corpse. They know it's not going to bring back y/n, but what else can they do except making the villain to pay their debt?

Tim teeters between the lines. If Bruce or Dick is there then he's on their side of not killing. If it's just Damian and/or Jason then he won't stop them. He won't participate just stands back to let them do their thing.

Depending how and when she died will weigh heavily on their mind. Quick and painless before they got there? At least she didn't have to suffer too much, but still keeps them up at night.

Tortured for hours before succumbing to her injuries? They already feel guilty that they couldn't save her on time, but her last hours of living was being in pain will only intensify it. Out of the whole family, Jason would probably be the most distraught by this. He reopens old wounds and memories. y/n meeting a similar end is horrifying to him.

Get there on time, but it’s too late to save her from her injuries. Then slowly dies in their arms. If they're all there then y/n is dying in Bruce's arms.

"Please tell Jeremiah, I'm sorry and- and that I love him. Tell Norah that I hope s-she achieves her dreams of becoming a doctor. Are- are you still there? I can't see or feel you." She can slightly hear Bruce's deep voice while what seems to be the others are screaming. It's getting harder to hear and her body is starting to feel heavier.

This is the end and everyone knows it. Jason, Tim, and Dick don't want to accept it and are trying to patch her wound(s). Trying to get help there as soon as possible. Bruce and Damian are quiet trying to listen to her soft voice get quieter.

y/n starts slightly laughing, it's a nervous tick. "I always fantasize about having enough courage to end it all. Bu-but I- fuck. I'm such a fuck up." She starts crying and any words of comfort are either not heard or ignored. Starts coughing blood, but that doesn't deter Bruce in the slightest. Damian squeezes her hand though he doubts she can feel it.

"I don't even feel the pain anymore…At least I…At least I'm not dying alone." It isn't long before she stops breathing.

Alternatively, I thought of y/n saying, "I wished I was surrounded by loved ones." But she wouldn't stay that no matter how angry she is at the family. Might think it though.

In both cases of the Valeska twins, y/n would be caught in the crossfire. Jerome isn't going to kill y/n because she's his one and only. Jeremiah isn't going to kill y/n because why would he kill his wife? He's already planned out most of their whole lives and she already signed the mentally fabricated marriage certificate.

Jerome gets into a frenzy seeing y/n drop dead. No one is spared from his wrath. He can't bring himself to look at her body and will just leave. Inactive for a short time before getting back into the swing of things.

She is buried next to Jason. The family will catch Jerome hanging around her grave "talking to her" or something. Who knows what the hell he's doing. They'll have to chase him off or turn on the sprinklers if they want him to leave.

He didn't kill her himself, but he's still responsible for the events leading up to it. Meaning the family isn't going to pull back any punches.

Post-Spray Jeremiah has a similar reaction to y/n's death. Honestly, y/n could have died by just jumping in front of him to take a bullet. Doesn't matter how much y/n should hate him, she can't bring herself to. Ultimately it doesn't matter how she died, Jeremiah will blame Batman or the others for their inability to save y/n. Deflecting any responsibility.

This reinforces that he has to destroy Gotham and make it into his perfect image. y/n always talked about wanting to make the world a better place and that's exactly what he's doing.

If she dies in his arms he'll make a quick escape with her body. Having Echo hold back everyone to buy him time. Buries y/n in an undisclosed location and the tombstone will stay y/n Valeska instead of l/n or Wayne.

If he knew of the family's identity, he'd make subtle jabs at them. Mocking them for their mishandling of y/n. When or if he takes over Gotham he'll make sure that they all have front-row seats of the destruction before killing them off.

If he's feeling ruthless he might just have one of his followers get plastic surgery to look like y/n. Even change the pitch of their voice to get close enough to y/n's. Then send the follower after them and make various claims about how they lied about caring about her. How they let her die on purpose. That she'll never forgive them.

Traumatizing the whole family. Will make his follower's death gruesome just fuck with them and have them relive that day.

Bruce regrets not having kept y/n closer. He has a lot of 'should haves’ and 'if only’ in his head. He knows that's not going to do anything, but it'll take a while to accept her death. Always visits her grave every week.

Dick wishes that he'd been a better brother to y/n. He'll often wonder if she's looking down at them from above. Any mention of her will upset him for a while. Tim feels the same as Dick but often finds himself reminiscing about those happy moments. When they're smiling and laughing, once the memory is over he's left feeling melancholy.

Barbara is heartbroken by this. y/n always talked about how she wanted a normal domestic lifestyle. How much she loves Jeremiah and believes that he's the one. Now she's in the dirt and never experienced that simple quiet life she wanted. Carries a photo of y/n and her smiling on her all the time. Believes that y/n is in a better place where she can live out her dreams. One day Barb will see her again and give her a bone-crushing hug.

Jason and Damian think of throwing her body into Lazarus Pit if they have access to her body. Jason seriously thinks of it for only a minute before throwing it out. The pit messed him up and he can't handle bringing y/n back only for her mental turmoil to worsen. Damian doesn't think about that. He wants to apologize for all he's said and done. He wants his sister back, but the family is quick to turn down the idea. Explaining how it could only lead to more pain.

Damian would most likely listen to the family since they're technically right. Although there is a small chance that he wouldn't listen and do it anyway. Right out of the pit, y/n's thinking of her only love. Tries to run back to Jeremiah, but Damian is not having any of that. 

When he returns to the manor with y/n tied up the whole family will have a verbal MMA fight. After that, they lock y/n in a nicely furnished room with hidden security cameras. y/n is like a zombie. Only has one thing, rather one person on her mind. She's a shell of who she once was.

At least they have a second chance, right?

y/n can not go ten minutes without talking or asking about Jeremiah. Will speak with herself if there isn't anyone else with her.

I think this turned out horrible, but hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to ask anything else as my inbox in always open. Also sorry for misspells or grammar mistakes, kinda rushed this.

[fluentmoviequoter]

One More Favor

Pairing: Titans!Dick Grayson x fem!reader (most of this fic takes place in/around Titans 1x2)

Summary: When Dick takes Rachel out of Detroit, he needs help, but he'll have to call in a few favors first.

Word Count: 5.0k+ words

Warnings: POV changes (that hopefully make sense), fluff, a little bit of angst, descriptions of injuries/self-harm (reader cuts her arm open to remove a tracker), several descriptive fight scenes, guns?, spoiler for Titans.

A/N: This is my first Dick Grayson fic, and I actually wrote it several months ago and just got around the editing it. Dick may be OOC, but I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think!

Masterlist | DC/Dick Grayson Masterlist | Request Info (OPEN)

Gotham City - 4 Years Ago

The heavy door creaks as it is pulled open, warm air blowing out into the cold rain. You step inside, dropping your umbrella in the overflowing bin and wiping your shoes on the mat. Shivering slightly, you run your hands up and down your arms, attempting to warm up.

“Hi, Alfred,” you greet as you look over at him, your smile dropping at the solemn look on his face. “What happened?”

“Master Grayson left last night. He left you this,” Alfred answers as he hands you an envelope, your name written in Dick’s handwriting across the front.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” you ask, tears welling in your eyes.

“I’m afraid not. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Alfred. I’m going to go home,” you say as you pull the door open and step out, waiting for the door to close behind you. You take a deep breath and start running, not even thinking about the umbrella you left. As your tears mix with the rain on your skin, your heart feels about as warm as the Gotham City air.

Fremont, Ohio - Present Day

“Where are you taking me?” Rachel asks, spinning one of her rings on her finger as she looks out the window.

“To see an old friend. She can help us,” Dick answers, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

An hour later, Dick checks his phone while he waits in the car as Rachel goes into a truck stop. He tracks her through the window as he dials a number he hasn’t called in years. It rings several times, and he thinks he won’t get an answer.

“Hello?” A voice asks as the line connects.

“Hi, Alfred, it’s me.”

“It’s been a long time, Master Grayson.”

“I know. This is a one-time thing; I need a favor.”

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

You enter the diner, sighing as you fall into a booth. Looking up at the television mounted in the corner, you see a story about yet another murder in Detroit. It’s almost as bad as Gotham City these days. 

“How’s my favorite customer today?” Dan asks as he walks to the booth, his apron still on.

“I’ll bet you say that to all of your customers,” you counter with a smile, your hood still pulled over your head.

“I most certainly do not. What can I get you today?”

“Just some tea, please.”

“You need to eat.”

“Will you let me pay?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I’m not letting you give me free food every day, Dan. Just tea.”

“Fine,” Dan sighs, returning to the kitchen and passing your order to a waitress.

The bell above the door chimes as it opens, a few sets of footsteps echoing as the door closes. You pull your hood up further, turning to face the back corner. Kelsey, Dan’s only waitress at this hour, drops off the mug of tea and a book, smiling at you as she walks away. She’s been lending you books since you first visited two months ago. You slide it closer, shaking your head as you read the summary: a vigilante who gets a new partner. Sounds familiar.

Benton, Pennsylvania – 3 ½ Years Ago

You take a deep breath before you dig the knife into your arm, making a shallow slice from the middle of your forearm up to your elbow. After you drop the knife into the hotel bathroom sink, you grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and dig around, gritting your teeth as you ignore the pain. When you finally see a glint of silver, you grab it and pull. The tracker makes a ‘clink’ sound as it falls into the sink and goes down the drain. You sigh as you pick up the pre-threaded needle and start on the stitches. Good luck finding me now, Bruce.

Norwalk, Ohio – Earlier Today

“If the police are looking for me, is it smart to be on an interstate?” Rachel asks.

Dick sighs, knowing she is right. He pulls off at the next exit, getting on a small Ohio state route and heading south. They drive for about thirty minutes before coming to a small diner, claiming to have the state’s best chicken and waffles. Dick is ready for a break, so he doesn’t fight Rachel when she asks him to stop. They walk into the diner, and Dick looks around, planning escape routes and scanning for trouble. The waitress and the cook both say hello as Dick and Rachel sit by the window, the kitchen and the door visible. Dick looks at the only other customer, a girl in an oversized sweatshirt leaning over a book and nursing a mug of something.

“I’m Kelsey. What can I get you, folks?” Kelsey smiles as she approaches their table.

“Chicken and waffles, please,” Rachel orders.

“Coming up, and for you, sir?”

“Just coffee,” Dick answers, smiling.

Dick watches as the cook takes the order from Kelsey before nodding toward the girl in the booth. Kelsey walks over and starts talking to her, but Dick can’t tell if it is a friendly conversation or a ‘you need to leave’ conversation. Kelsey’s shoulders drop as she turns around and walks back to the kitchen pass-through, shaking her head as she speaks to the cook. A plate and a mug slide onto the counter, and Kelsey carries them over to Dick and Rachel, telling them to let her know if they need anything.

“What are you looking at?” Rachel asks.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s going on over there,” Dick answers, gesturing across the restaurant with his chin.

Rachel looks over and cocks her head slightly, “Kelsey’s happy but a little worried, the other one is really hard to read.”

Dick nods, sipping his coffee as he looks up at the television screen. His heart drops as Rachel’s picture appears on the screen, but it is gone before he can say anything. Dick looks toward the kitchen, but no one is there. Turning his head, he sees the cook talking to the other customer, sitting at the booth with her. Kelsey and the cook stand, and the cook returns to the kitchen as Kelsey walks toward their table.

“How is everything?” Kelsey asks.

“Great. Those were definitely the best in the state,” Rachel answers.

“Need anything else?”

“Just the check,” Dick answers, reaching for his wallet.

“It’s been covered,” Kelsey assures before clearing the table.

“By who?” Dick asks, eyebrows furrowing as Kelsey smiles.

The girl in the booth looks up suddenly, leaning to look out the window. She stands and moves toward Kelsey, telling her something before walking out the back door, the book she had been reading abandoned at the booth. Kelsey whispers something to Dan before turning quickly to walk back to Dick and Rachel.

“Someone is here for her,” Kelsey says to Dick, gesturing toward Rachel, “there’s a room through the kitchen with a back door.”

Dick and Rachel stand quickly, following her through the kitchen. They all freeze at the sound of gunshots, then begin moving again.

“Why are you helping us?” Dick asks.

“Favor for a friend,” Kelsey answers as she opens the back door. “Be careful.”

Dick nods as he ushers Rachel to stand on one side of him, gripping his gun in his other hand as they slowly round the building. The girl in the sweatshirt, who Dick really needs a new name for, is standing in the parking lot, a pipe falling from her hand and three unconscious men sprawled on the ground around her. She looks up before dropping her head, putting her hands in her pocket, and walking away. Dick hears one of the men groan and decides to leave before they come to. Rachel keeps asking him if he knows the girl, and the only answer he can supply is, “I don’t think so.” Maybe he should make it his new catchphrase.

Gotham City – 4 Years Ago

You enter your apartment and grab your backpack, dumping its contents out on the floor before you run around and grab what you consider “essentials”: an extra pair of shoes, a change of clothes, cash, a fake ID, a sweatshirt, a blanket, and the letter from Dick. You slide the letter into the protected laptop pocket of my backpack, promising yourself you will read it someday, but not right now. You put on your best pair of sneakers, comfortable and warm clothes, and a jacket with a hood before walking to the ATM, emptying your account, and ditching your card before boarding a bus to Princeton. As you watch Gotham City fade behind the bus, you cry because you lost a part of yourself, and you know it would hurt too much to see reminders of him. So, you leave.

Glen Easton, West Virginia – 2 Years Ago

You check into the small motel with cash and a fake ID, grateful you can sleep in a real bed for once. You find your room and collapse against the small mattress, setting your backpack beside the bed. You open it and pull out a change of clothes before showering. The letter from Dick is still in the computer pocket, unopened. When you think you are finally ready to open it, you get scared about what is inside it and change your mind.

You retrieve the sweatshirt from the bottom of the backpack and put it on. Then you order a pizza and turn on the TV. The sweatshirt is the only thing that provides you comfort after leaving Gotham City. You left everything that tied you to that life, except the sweatshirt, and nights like this make you wish you had realized Dick was going to leave and chased him.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Why are we driving around in circles? I thought you were taking me somewhere?” Rachel asks.

“I’m looking for the girl that helped us,” Dick mumbles as he looks across the street.

“Oh,” Rachel says with a smile.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve felt different since you saw her in the diner.”

“She just reminded me of someone I used to know.”

“Someone you knew. Seems like a lot more emotion than simple acquaintances.”

“Fine, we were best friends. We did- some stuff together and we were super close,” Dick said, failing to find a way to explain their vigilante activities.

“You did stuff together?” Rachel repeats incredulously.

“Not like that,” Dick huffs. “We just- she was my best friend, and I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Why?”

“I left.”

“You left her?”

“I didn’t leave her; I left the life I had then.”

“And by extension, her,” Rachel scoffs. “Why haven’t you called her?”

“I tried, once. Her number had been disconnected and I didn’t know her new one. Or if she even wanted to talk to me.”

“Surely you know someone who would’ve stayed in contact with her. Call them.”

Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He does know someone.

“Right now,” Rachel adds, “I can feel your sadness and it’s bumming me out.”

Dick pulls over, pulling his phone from his pocket and typing the number. “It’s me again. I need one more favor,” he says when the line connects.

“Of course, Master Grayson,” Alfred agrees.

“I’m looking for,” he glances at Rachel, who is listening intently, before finishing, “her. I was wondering if you had a new number for her. Or know where she is?”

“Master Grayson,” Alfred says sadly, “we haven’t seen her in four years.”

“Four years?” Dick asks, eyes widening.

“Yes, sir. She left right after you did.”

“Did you give her the letter?”

“I did. She ran out of the manor, literally, after I gave it to her. We have not heard from her since.”

“Any idea where she went?”

“Last we knew she was in Benton, Pennsylvania. But that was nearly three and a half years ago. I’m sorry, Master Grayson.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick says before hanging up.

“Sorry,” Rachel says quietly, “I shouldn’t have made you call.”

“Not your fault,” Dick assures her before pulling out. He slams on his brakes and backs up, turning into an alley and parking.

“What?” Rachel yells, gripping her seat.

“I think she’ll go back to the diner, they seemed to know her. Enough to give us free food on her behalf.”

“That’s what you think happened?” Rachel asks sarcastically.

“You’re the one that read their emotions.”

Rachel sighs before agreeing, “You’re right. She’ll go back.”

They find a small motel and get a room for the night, leaving their stuff in the room before returning to the diner. Entering, Dick and Rachel look around but only see the cook and a different waitress. 

“Welcome back,” the cook, who introduces himself as Dan, greets.

“Hi, Dan. We’re looking for the girl who was in here this morning. She was wearing a grey sweatshirt, reading a book, and left quickly out the back door,” Dick explains.

“Yeah, I know her. Why are you looking for her?”

“She helped you. That’s why you’re so nice to her, if not a little protective, isn’t it?” Rachel asks.

Dan’s brow furrows as he answers, “Yes, she helped me.”

“We’re not trying to hurt her or get her in trouble or anything. She helped us this morning and we’d like to repay the favor,” Dick promises. “Could you at least give us her name?”

“I don’t know her name,” Dan answers. “But she’ll probably come back here in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Dick and Rachel say together.

The following morning, Dick checks out of the motel and drives to the diner. They both look to the booth where she sat yesterday as they walk in, frowning when they see no one there. Kelsey smiles as she greets them and takes their order, exactly as they had yesterday. Dick spins his mug around as he watches the television, trying to keep himself from staring at the door.

“Dick,” Rachel whispers a few minutes later. She gestures toward the counter, where the girl is now sitting, wearing the same sweatshirt as yesterday.

Before Dick can do anything, Dan’s voice fills the diner. “All three of you need to get somewhere safe. Everyone in town is talking about some secret service agents asking about you folks.”

“All of us?” The girl in the sweatshirt asks.

“You know how these people feel about cops, but they’ll come in here eventually and you don’t need to be here,” Dan says.

“11 North Country Road 29,” the girl in the sweatshirt calls as she stands, “you got that?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Rachel answers, practically dragging Dick to the front door.

Dick gets in the car and speeds toward the address, hoping that the girl in the sweatshirt will meet them there. And give them her name. He parks between the house and a row of trees, where the car is hidden from the road. The back door is unlocked, and Dick sweeps the house before ushering Rachel in. Several minutes later, the back door opens again, and the girl in the sweatshirt walks in, coming face-to-muzzle with Dick’s gun. Her hands are raised as he lowers the gun.

“Sorry,” Dick apologizes as he holsters it.

“Not a problem. I’d give it a few hours before leaving,” the girl says, moving past them.

“Thank you. For yesterday and right now,” Rachel says.

“Least I could do. I’ll be in the back room if you need anything.”

Rachel waits until she is out of earshot to turn toward Dick and ask, “She really reminds you of this girl doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “That obvious?”

“Your shame is practically choking me. Why did you hurt her?"

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s not an excuse, Dick.”

Rachel walks toward the back room, determined to find a way to help Dick get over his hurt.

Omar, Ohio – 2 Months Ago

“Take your hands off the girl,” you demand as you enter the dark room.

Three men turn toward you, one raising a gun as the others take a step closer. You see a girl tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth, blood everywhere, and fear in her eyes. 

“You don’t know who you’re messing with, sweetheart,” the man with the gun growls.

“Right back at ya,” you say, taking a threatening step toward him.

The two other men charge toward you. You catch one of their fists as they throw it toward you, twisting him in front of you to encounter the brunt of the other man’s hit as he throws it. Their shared momentum knocks them both to the floor. You slide across the floor, elbowing the third man’s knee as you grab his hand, flipping his wrist so the gun falls to the floor. You pick it up and level it at his temple.

“One more time: let the girl go,” you demand slowly.

One of the men on the floor throws a knife, which spins in the air and nicks your arm. You glance toward him before swinging the gun and taking three shots, taking out one knee on every man. As they groan in pain and roll on the floor, you untie the girl and ask her where to go. She directs me to her father’s diner.

“I’m looking for Dan,” you say as you carry her through the back door.

Dan comes running, grabbing his first aid kit as he sits beside her. “Your arm needs attention?” he asks as he points to your scarred forearm and the small bloody patch from the knife.

“No, I’m all good. Thank you.” You begin to stand, but he stops you, refusing to let you leave until you eat something.

“You’ll never pay here. Come back anytime,” Dan says when you leave an hour later.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“Sorry about him,” Rachel says as she walks into the back room.

“It’s completely fine.” The girl in the sweatshirt laughs softly, her hand playing with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rachel says as she sits in a chair across from her.

“How long have they been looking for you?”

“About a week. Since they killed my mom.”

“I’m sorry.”

Rachel shrugs. “Just so you know, the guy I’m with, Dick, he’s a cop. And he’s not usually this weird.”

She laughs again, looking up long enough that Rachel can see her face.

“You remind him of someone he used to know.”

She shakes her head before changing the subject. “You’re Rachel, right? I’m assuming you can do something, otherwise, they wouldn’t be looking for you.”

“I can feel what other people are feeling. There’s something inside of me, but I don’t know what it is.”

“Rachel, you can learn to control it. It’s obvious you’re a good person.”

“I tried to read your emotions at the diner yesterday,” Rachel admits, “but you have a lot, and they were overlapping.”

“A lot has happened to me in the last few years. I don’t even know what I’m feeling all the time.”

“They’re clearer now. You’re sad and regretful,” Rachel says quietly.

“I don’t care that you’re looking, Rach. The more you use your powers, the better you’ll get at them. And you’re dead on.”

“Sometimes, when I touch people I can see some of their memories,” Rachel explains.

The girl in the sweatshirt smiles. “You don’t even know my name.”

“What’s your name?”

She extends her hand and answers, “Find out.”

Gotham City is cold in winter, and the freezing rain is not helping the temperature issue. Robin is fighting behind me, our backs touching as we take down the last of the numerous bad guys.

“Nice work,” Robin says as he smiles at me. “But you’re cold, stop touching me.”

“Oh? I am cold? Your Kevlar is practically frozen,” I respond sarcastically.

He pulls me into his side, pressing the button on his belt to turn on his cape heater.

The setting changes: a large door opens, and an umbrella is placed in a bin, destined to be forgotten.

“-left last night. He left you this.”

An envelope trades hands, and a name is written on it. The door is opened and closed, then running in the rain gives way to stressed packing and boarding a bus. The same envelope is unopened years later, a new scar appears on a forearm, the same backpack is stashed in a motel, and a sweatshirt is the most prized possession.

Omar, Ohio – Present Day

“It was you,” Rachel says, her eyes wide as her hand slips from yours.

“What was?” you ask.

“You’re the girl Dick left, the one he’s feeling so guilty and sad about.”

“He what?”

“He saw you in the diner and was reminded of a girl he used to know. He said they ‘did stuff together.’ You don’t look like that girl; you are that girl.”

“What did you see?” you ask, confused about how exactly her powers work.

“I see some of the most important things in your life. I saw you fighting with Robin and then learning that someone left. You’ve been on the run since then, haven’t you? And the sweatshirt means something.”

“What do you know about Robin?”

“I know who he is. I know what he went through. I think you two should talk.”

A noise outside causes you to stand suddenly. “Stay here.”

You walk out, seeing Dick holding his gun as he moves toward a window. You move to the other side of the room, by another door, and stand against the wall as the door is kicked open. A hand holding a gun comes inside; you grab the wrist and slam it down against your knee. The gun hits the floor and slides away. The man raises both hands to your shoulders, pushing you backward and into the wall. You form a fist and slam it up into his chin, his head snapping back as his grip on you loosens. While you fight him, Dick takes on a second man who enters the house.

Dick moves behind the door, grabbing the man’s shirt collar and flipping him to the floor. He attempts to get information from him but comes up empty. Slamming his fist to his nose repeatedly, Dick doesn’t stop until the man loses consciousness. He looks over and sees the girl in the sweatshirt standing from the floor, wiping blood from her nose.

“That was impressive. You two could be partners,” Rachel says as she walks in, smirking as she looks over at you.

Dick opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, telling them, “You two should get out of here while you still can.”

“I’m not leaving,” Rachel says, crossing her arms. “Not until you two talk.”

“About what?” Dick asks.

“Rachel,” you warn.

“She’s right. We do need to get going.”

“Show him.”

“Either we need to leave, or I need more information,” Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A phone rings in the back room, and you walk away to answer it, releasing a breath as you realize it was Kelsey.

“What was that about?” Dick whispers.

“You two have to talk before you never get a chance again,” Rachel says.

“Someone broke into your house and assaulted several officers,” you say as you return, “the police are calling a nationwide manhunt for you, Rachel.”

“I am not leaving without you,” she says, stepping toward you and grabbing your hand. 

Her eyes fall to the sleeve before she glances up at you and pushes the sleeve up. You push it back down quickly and look away from her.

“I can’t go with you,” you say sadly, shaking your head.

“You can if you want to,” Dick offers, “you’ve been a huge help.”

You look toward Rachel, who only nods as she squeezes your hand.

“Just tell him,” Rachel whispers.

You take a deep breath before you look up and pull your hood down. “Hi, Dickie.”

Dick’s eyes widen as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“Rachel said I remind you of someone,” you say. “I thought-“

Dick cuts you off by rushing forward and hugging you tightly. You return the hug, gripping him tightly and burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I left,” Dick whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“Tell him everything else,” Rachel encourages from beside you.

You squeeze Dick one more time before pulling back and saying, “I left Gotham City after you did. Alfred gave me the letter and I just ran. I’ve been in a bunch of small cities since then, but nowhere as long as here. I saved Dan’s daughter from some kidnappers and just stayed for some reason.”

“Alfred said he didn’t know where you went after Benton,” Dick says.

“I cut my tracker out in Benton,” you explain, pulling your sleeve up and exposing the scar.

He reaches forward and gently runs his fingers up the scar. “Tracker?”

“Right. Bruce told me he sedated you when he gave you yours, something about you being too excited about being in the bat cave.”

“He put a tracker in me?”

“He put trackers in all of us.”

The phone rings twice before silencing. “That’s our cue to leave,” you say.

Columbus, Ohio – 1 Week Later

“How’s your arm?” you ask as you enter the room.

“Healing quickly,” Dick answers, smiling as he looks up at you from the hotel bed.

“Looks good,” you say, gently holding his arm, “yours probably won’t scar.”

“Pizza’s here,” Rachel calls as someone knocks on the door.

Dick answers the door and gets the pizza while you and Rachel get drinks from the mini-fridge. You all sit on the small couch as you eat, and you can’t help but think of old times. The following morning, you, Dick, and Rachel load into Dick’s car and drive toward Covington. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Rachel asks as we wait in the car while Dick goes into a police station. 

“Tell him what?’

“That you still love him.”

“I-“

“I can feel it. I could feel it when he was Robin and when you found out he left, in the safe house, and right now.”

“I don’t know, Rach.”

Dick sighs as he gets back in the car. “I got the description of the woman who broke into the crime scene.”

“Where to now?” you ask.

“Arcade. 5 miles north,” Rachel answers.

You laugh lightly as you shrug at Dick.

“An hour,” Dick says as he puts the car in gear.

“And a half,” you and Rachel correct together.

You give her some cash before you and Dick find a seat where you can see the entire arcade.

“You’re good with her,” you say as you steal a fry from his plate.

He playfully swats your hand away before moving his plate closer. “So are you,” he agrees.

You watch Rachel for a moment before looking down at your sweatshirt sleeve.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, his hand landing on your arm.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod, still looking down. “This sweatshirt is the only connection I’ve had to you for the last four years.”

“What?”

You extend your arm toward him, watching his face as he grabs your wrist and looks at the sleeve, his initials and a small Robin messily embroidered on it. 

“You kept it?” he asks.

“Of course, I did.”

“Mine’s in the trunk of my car,” he admits, smiling as he looks back up at you.

“Really?”

“You think that I’d leave it after all the hard work we put into them? I couldn’t leave it behind; it felt like leaving you behind. I tried to call you.”

“I left my phone; didn’t want Bruce to come after me.”

“Why does Rachel keep telling you to talk to me?”

You laugh before answering, “There’s something I haven’t told you and she wants me to.”

“What?”

“That I’m in love with you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.

Dick is silent as he stares at you, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said any-“

Dick pulls your wrist gently, slamming his lips to yours. His other hand raises and wraps around the base of your neck, pulling you closer. You move your hands to his waist, pulling yourself closer to him as you kiss him like he’s your source of life.

“I take it you told him,” Rachel says, suddenly standing on the other side of the table.

Dick pulls back, smiling at you before saying, “Shut up, Rachel.”

“I’m out of money.”

Dick pulls a fifty from his wallet, handing it to her and smiling in gratitude as she walks away. She nods and returns the smile.

“I love you,” Dick says.

“I love you,” you respond, stealing another one of his fries.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I wanted to find you but had no idea where to look.”

“Rachel was right. We could be partners. Again.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Grayson,” you smile before kissing him again.

“You didn’t read the letter did you?”

“I couldn’t,” you admit, shaking your head, “hurt too much. Why?”

“I wrote it to tell you I loved you. I wanted to take you with me but was scared.”

“I guess I should read it then, because I love you, too, Dickie.”

You and Dick watch as Rachel walks toward you, a tall woman with bright Magenta hair on one side and a green-haired boy on her other side. 

When they reach the table, Rachel says, “This is Kory and Gar. They have some interesting stories.”

“This feels familiar,” you mutter to Dick as you stand up.

“I’m gonna need a bigger car,” Dick says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders.