#he's already done it by now. in his first mandate

[ngtskynebula]

Though I do understand why Biden is 《 a little bit 》 better than Trump (I'm a third world country girlie, after all), I do get why most ppl aren't really into voting for him again. I mean, that fucker spent the last months funding a wholeass genocide and backing up Isr*el, a colony who's not only trying to exterminate Palestine from history but also its nearby countries...

'N don't even get me started on the many other bad things he allowed in the US, or through his international relationships 😮‍💨

I see many, many posts saying, "y'all GOTTA vote for Biden cause Trump will be much, much worse!", and yes, I can see that, but why must you say voting for Biden will save democracy or smth? Do you even hear yourself?

I just... feel like if the rethoric were more about changing the United States into smth actually better, much different than what voting for Biden allegedly will allow you guys, is a more powerful message. It's about time the US stops existing as it is.

From an non-US citizen perspective, Biden and Trump aren't so different. They're US' presidents, after all.

[vintagegeekculture]

I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of violence, mention of putting down / death, etc. words -> 2.8K

abstract -> finally we have a home...

y/n's perspective

My hands have been tied with helping San. His memories are still scrambled but better… he’s starting to remember his past, which upsets him. He still hasn’t tried to get to know Wooyoung or Yeosang. Hongjoong and Seonghwa tried not to confuse him by getting too close yet. 

However, another problem is the rivalry that Seonghwa and Yeosang found themselves in. 

“Yeosang, please just learn to get along with him?” I begged as he helped me with my hair. Today Wonyoung was forcing me out to a business party. So I had to leave… I didn’t want to but I did. And now all of my hybrids have forced me to take one of them to protect me. 

As much as I wanted to spend more time with San, he couldn’t come, and neither could Wooyoung, and Hongjoong either. My only option was Seonghwa or Yeosang. I also couldn’t leave San alone… so I chose Seonghwa. Besides, the tiger hybrid looked happy and excited. 

“Why him?” he asked, clearly annoyed and I sighed. “I need you to take care of San, please,” I asked his eyes softened, and he nodded. 

“I just want you to be okay,” he confessed and I smiled. “I will, but I'm worried about leaving you all alone,” I said and he shook his head. “I’ll take care of the overgrown cat” he confirmed and I was happy he agreed. 

“And if anything goes wrong–” “It won't stop worrying, he’s been getting better. He’s starting to remember Wooyoung. He also follows his instinct, he’ll get his memories back,” he said and I smiled. “Hey, don’t cry now. Wonyoung will get mad if you fix your makeup and make her wait even more” he said and I nodded. 

“Yeosang?” I said and he looked at me through the mirror. He was currently doing finishing touch-ups on my hair. “I love you all so much,” I said and he smiled softly. 

“I love you more than you’ll ever believe, angel,” he said and offered his hand as he led me outside my room. “That tiger better have done what I told him” Yeosang muttered and I chuckled. “Give him a break, he seems to like the life of socialites,” I said and he rolled his eyes. “What’s there to like? The alcohol, drugs, views, likes?” He listened and I smiled. 

“The glamor” I answered and he chuckled. “It's not worth it,” he said and I nodded. “But let his obliviousness enjoy it. He didn’t live through it, so let him be happy” I said and he sighed but understood. For some reason the two have stated their rivalry… but I thought it was sweet – well sometimes. 

“I’m ready!” I heard as I saw Seonghwa. He was in the suit that I got him, his hair gelled up and… oh? I didn’t notice it at first. I never got him a collar? I swear that I…

I did buy them… but I was too scared to give it to them. 

“Angel? Are you okay?” Yeosang asked and I nodded. “Can you do me a favor? There's a box under my bed, grab the black velveted one” I said and he nodded as he went to my room. 

“Is there something wrong?” Seonghwa asked and I shook my head. “When hybrids go out they need collars, it's… the rules” I said and his eyes showed disappointment. “Oh… so–” “I actually bought your collars a while ago. When… you guys ended up accepting me as your owner, I knew I needed to get you two one but I didn’t know if it would make you guys feel angry– but you don't have to wear a collar here if you don’t want to its just so they don't–” “You’re rambling” Seonghwa said softly and with a smile and I chuckled. 

“Oh” I let out and he laughed. “I always wanted a collar…” he confessed and I felt my eyes widen. I smiled, “I’m glad then,” I said and I soon saw Yeosnag again. He handed the box to Seonghwa, already knowing what it was. It was the same brand as his and San and Wooyoung. I would have to give Hongjoong’s collar soon.

The rules mandate that if they found a hybrid without a collar they’d take them to an adoption center immediately. Some areas allow non-collared hybrids just because of how expensive hybrid collars are. Luckily the hospital was one so I didn’t get Hongjoong in trouble and besides Jeno or Johnny would’ve stepped in. However, this was different… This was a socialite party. 

San’s collar was a pretty black jeweled one, whilst Wooyoung was beige, and Yeosang’s white. All of them are jeweled, all the same from the same designer. 

He opened it to reveal his… it was a silver chrome color and his smile seemed uncontrollable and it looked like he wanted a hug. I opened my arms and he lifted me up slightly by my waist. “Hey! You’re gonna wrinkle her dress and ruin her hair!” Yeosang scolded us and made us laugh. 

“How long did it take for you to get a collar?” Seonghwa asked Yeosnag and he shrugged. “I ordered one for him the day I got him officially. I knew he envied San’s and Wooyoung’s since he also held meaning for collars. Though you don’t need to have it on the entire time, you can take it off anytime at home just while we’re there you need to keep–" "You're rambling again” he said and I chuckled. 

“I wanna keep it on, but if it gets overwhelming i'll take it off” he said the same thing as San and Wooyoung. They never take it off, neither does Yeosang. However, he had a different meaning to always keep it on, sure he feels comfort on having it but the scar of his last collar showed if he didn’t keep it on. 

“Don’t get lost in your thoughts now” Yeosang said and I chuckled. 

“Yeah, we have a party to go to…” 

seonghwa’s perspective

I didn’t expect to see so many people laughing and drinking in fancy clothes and jewelry. It was nothing like that run-down and dirty circus… it was the socialites. The consumers who bought the expensive tickets to have us do special tricks for them.

Even y/n seemed like a different person here… she socialized and looked like a natural while I stood beside her clearly overwhelmed. With hybrids looking at me in pity… like I was new, and I was. They, however, looked miserable.

“I would’ve thought you’d bring Yeosang” I heard and I saw a woman dressed in a black dress with jewelry. She glared at y/n… who was she? How’d she know the Doberman?

y/n didn’t respond to her instead drank her cocktail and the woman scoffed. “You have so many pretty hybrids, making a collection are we?” she said and I felt uncomfortable. Hongjoong was right, they do look at us like objects…

“I did my research, you know. You were right about your little panther, he was an illegal hybrid ring fighter. That’s quite dangerous for someone like you, aren’t you scared he’d hurt you” she taunted, making my jaw tighten… I wanted to tell her off but for y/n’s sake I couldn't. I may not get along the best with them but for her to talk about them like that pissed me off… She knew nothing about us. 

“And where’d you find this pretty tiger?” she said and y/n scoffed while glaring at the girl. “You never give up do you?” she said and she giggled. “I can say the same thing about you, and how you took Sangie away from me” she pouted… Sangie? Was she talking about Yeosang? 

“You’re lucky I didn’t get you in jail” y/n said and she giggled while glaring. “Well lovely journalist, we did negotiate. You can have the doberman, I don’t care. In fact I'm thinking of adopting another hybrid” she pondered and I didn’t want to make my stance known. 

I was a hybrid… I was y/n’s accessory tonight. I couldn’t cause any trouble. 

“Ooh, by the way that lawyer of yours was cute! Hendery–” y/n son grabbed my wrist and dragged me away. I could hear her laughing from behind me as I was dragged off. 

She looked annoyed and… hurt? “I understand why Yeosang wanted to join you now,” I said and she shook her head. “Sorry, is your wrist–” “I'm okay. It didn’t hurt, are you okay?” I asked and she smiled a tired smile. 

“Please don’t tell Yeosang about her” she pleaded and I was confused. “She’s his old owner right? The one who… sold him?” I asked and she nodded. 

“Never mention her in front of him,” she warned and I nodded. She didn’t seem like it… but she was a witch in disguise. “This is annoying isn’t it?” she said and she laughed it off but before I could respond. 

“Don’t tell me you were going to run off without saying hello now?” I heard and I saw a man. “Jungwoo!” she said as she hugged him. He looked like a model from Yeosang’s weekly magazines. 

“It’s been a while. I also heard you’ve been busy this year” Jungwoo said and she chuckled… 

“Getting three aggressive hybrids, a popular mistreated hybrid, and Wooyoung. Not to mention created a mortal enemy, been undercover twice, and started a book?” he said and I felt my ears flatten a bit. All of the hybrids have decided to stray away from the topic of writing… she was clearly upset with her draft being ripped by Hongjoong…

“Ah yeah…” she said sadly and his eyebrows furrowed now looking worried. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked and she nodded. “I need to rewrite a whole new book, Jungwoo,” she pouted and he sighed. “If anyone can do it, it's you. You’re the best writer I know” he said and she smiled. “I’m the only writer you know” I said and he laughed it off and shrugged. He soon looked at me curiously… What did he want?

“Are you not gonna introduce me to you hybrid?” he asked and I straightened my posture now that the attention was on me… “Ah! This is Seonghwa, he was a part of the Kim Family Circus. Seonghwa, this is Jungwoo, an old friend.” she said in which he offered his hand, and shook each other's hands. “Are you gonna leave so soon?” he asked and I looked at her as she smiled softly at the man and nodded. “As long as you want to go to Seonghwa?” she asked and I smiled. 

I was here because I wanted to… I regret it already but I need to protect her.

By the end of the party, y/n chatted with many people besides the model. She really was a socialite… a completely different person than the hermit writer from the apartment.

“Let's go home, Seonghwa,” she said with a drunk smile. I hated this party. Everyone kept staring at her… men looking her up and down hybrid owners looking at me as if I’d join their collection… hybrids looking at me with pity.

“Seonghwa?” she said and I looked at her waiting for her to continue speaking. Instead, she smiled and hugged me. I could tell she was a little drunk a few cocktails ago but she was fine, and I was by her side protecting her. 

I took off my trench coat and put it around her. I also started carrying on my back on our way back home… home. I smiled thinking about it. I finally had a place like that. 

“I never want any of you to hate me,” she muttered and I froze for a minute… What was she saying?

“Hongjoong… he scares me sometimes, but he’s trying to be around humans for the first time. You keep on treating me like fragile glass… like I’ll explode and throw you out” she said and I sighed… maybe she was right.

“You keep competing for my attention… Yeosang is the same way. I don’t want you guys to fight each other… get along please?” she begged as she gripped my shoulders hugging me tight as I walked… Her words made me feel guilty. 

“I won’t get rid of you… you’re not trash,” she said and I felt tears from my eyes…

“I’m rewriting my book, you know?” she said and I wasn’t shocked at it. Wooyoung said that she might start writing soon with how much she’s been daydreaming. “You and Hongjoong are in it,” she said and I was shocked she’d put us in the book. “Seonghwa?” she said as I stopped to look over my shoulder at her, she smiled prettily at me with her eyes filled with wonder and life almost like stars. 

“You’re more valuable to me than anything I own… the others are just as important. None of you are a collection, you’re my family” she said and I smiled softly at her soft features. 

“Just promise to never leave me,” she said as she started closing her eyes tiredly. 

“I’d never think of it, princess” 

“Why are you two home so late?!” Yeosang yelled only to be smacked by Wooyoung once they saw her on my back their eyes widened. “Is she okay?” Wooyoung asked and I nodded. 

I noticed San behind the two looking at her just as worried… he’ll be back to normal soon. I'll make sure he does... while even Hongjoong was looking from afar, also worried. I sighed before I decided to speak up. 

“Let’s not fight, '' I said and the three hybrids before me and Hongjoong looked at me confused. “She doesn’t like us fighting… we’re a family to her. The least we can do is try to be one” I said and they all nodded. “Yeosang?” I said and he looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand. 

“I don’t want to fight you anymore. I owe y/n a lot… but I won’t fight you for stupid nonsense anymore” I said and he nodded. “I won’t either… I guess I should try to respect you a bit more. You are very old.” he said and I scoffed. He doesn’t change… I kinda prefer it this way. Our useless teasing…

“You’re right… you’ve been with us for almost a month now. For y/n we should try to get along” Wooyoung said and San stayed silent next to him as we now looked at the tiny tiger. “I agree… we all owe in our different ways. We all want to protect her, and we will for others. It’s useless arguing with each other” Hongjoong said and I agreed. 

“Put her to bed. We should all go to sleep soon now that she’s back” Hongjoong said and everyone listened. I went to her room where I softly put her down… I suddenly hear the door open to see Yeosang. “I’ll undress her,” he said and I agreed.

“What’d she say to make you say that, by the way?” he asked and I smiled. “We’re her family, she said we were her most valuable treasure” I said and his eyes widened. “Her friends said she was lonely… until she adopted San and then it's been busier than ever.” he confessed as he took off her heels while she succumbed to her soft mattress and fluffy pillows. 

“We’re too alike… I come from a world where I was drowning in expensive and luxurious lifestyles… but none of it was worth it until meeting her. You tigers are the same way.” he said and I chuckled. 

“I wished for an owner to pamper me… I saw so many hybrids in shows, lots of them younger ones with their owners. They looked at me like they didn’t know what abuse was. I envied them…” I confessed and the doberman sighed.

“y/n gives us everything… Sometimes I think she’ll get rid of me.” I said and the Doberman sighed. “She wouldn’t ever… I thought the same way. She, however, would never, if she were to get another hybrid I’d feel threatened but I knew she wouldn’t ever replace nor abandon me” he confessed and I nodded. 

“Go so I can put her in something comfortable,” Yeosang said and I nodded. 

“Now get out” he said and I laughed as I walked out to my room I shared with Hongjoong with a smile and for once genuinely of pure happiness…

“You look like a maniac” I heard as I saw Hongjoong… my longest and only companion for a while. I hugged him who hugged me back questioningly… “Are you okay?” he asked and I felt my tail wag uncontrollably.

“We have a family Hongjoong… somewhere we belong” 

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[revelboo]

Happy Late(?) Birthday!I noticed you do mass displacement and i absoluly adore it!Everybody prefers holoforms and i cant seem to find people who do mass displacement alot!Maybe something with Jazz with mass displacement?

I can write either, but I’ve always preferred mass displacement/shift 😁

Over It Now Pt 7

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Snagging an energon cube, he almost misses Blaster as the other mech falls into step beside him. “Haven’t seen you about in a while,” Blaster says, one corner of his mouth twisted up in a half smile that doesn’t dull the edge in his voice. Especially when Blaster very deliberately vents and he knows he should have hit the wash racks. Your scent where he’d handled you is clinging to him still, faint enough he’d felt safe not scrubbing it off. And truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to. Wanted to keep the little reminder of you. “If command figures out what you’re up to, your little pet’s going to be on lockdown like the rest. You know that, right?”

• Tension drawing him taut, his lazy smile doesn’t waver even as he knows he’s made a mistake. A dangerous one. Of course he knows about Optimus’s mandate, but he’s watching you. Knows you haven’t tried to betray his trust, yet. And he can’t just take away your freedom for his mistake. He’d never been great at following orders, anyway. “No idea what you’re on about, pal.”

• “Yeah, sure.” Blaster shakes his head as he walks away, leaving the unsaid liar hanging between them. “Didn’t figure you for the selfish type.” Tipping back the energon he almost laughs because Blaster has no idea how selfish he can be. That he likes your company. That you see right through him when he’s lying and call him out on it. That maybe you already have guessed the truth about his smile and that you wouldn’t judge him if he dropped the act. Didn’t need him to keep that smile firmly in place just so you feel better.

• Leaving the base, he knows exactly where he’s going as soon as he transforms, wheels hitting asphalt. Driven this road so many times it’s almost habit now. How long has it been since he spent an actual night in his own berth rather than cramped in his alt mode in your drive way? He should resent that, but he just needs to see you. Check that you’re okay and hear your voice. You’d gotten under his plating at some point, becoming a necessity in his routine.

• When had you started looking forward to seeing your liar? You’re not sure, but it had been so subtle a slide you hadn’t even noticed at first. Heart beating a little faster as you see him pull down your wooded driveway, a breathless sort of pleasure spilling through you that’s absolutely silly, because it feels suspiciously like a crush. Like you like him, a compulsively lying, too charming for his own good alien. And you freeze as he transforms, his lips in a thin line before he notices you and grins crookedly. Because you realize that’s exactly right. You like him.

• “Out here waiting on me, kitten?” Kneeling, he reaches out to brush the back of his servo against your cheek and you lean away, eyes wide. Avoiding his touch just like you’d done before you’d finally gotten used to him. Face reddening, your eyes drop to your hands folded in your lap. “Suddenly shy?” He teases to hide his own discomfort, because why now? Why avoid his touch? Reaching to touch your arm and his smile almost fails completely at how cold your skin is. How long have been sitting out here waiting for him?

• It’s not like you can just tell him why you’re so flustered. You’re definitely not in the mood to be laughed at, even if you don’t think he actually would laugh at your feelings. He’s staring at you, smile wavering and you have to say something. Anything but blurt out the truth. You inhale when he reaches for your cheek again and then just becomes smaller so fast your own stomach drops and you squeeze your eyes shut as motion sickness smacks you silly. And then a warm hand cups your cheek. When you open your eyes, he’s right there. Somehow much smaller as he moves his hand to press his fingers against your throat and you can’t move, can’t breathe. “You shouldn’t be out here, doll,” he says, the words almost a growl, sounding concerned now not teasing.

• You’re just staring up at him and it clicks. He’s shocked you with mass displacing and it’d be funny if he wasn’t so worried. You’re always colder than him, but never this chilled and you’d made it abundantly clear all the times you’d leaned into him that you like his body heat. So he slides his hands down to your sides and lifts you carefully from your chair, ignoring the little sound of protest as he sits down and pulls you into his lap, his chin on top of your head and his arms curled around you. Playing heater as your stiff body slowly relaxes in his grip. “Jazz, a little cold won’t kill me,” you mutter, shivering when he catches both of your little hands in one of his, rumbling at how icy those tiny fingers are.

• “Humor me,” he says, venting as he carefully rubs his servos over your hands and you relax further. Turn your little face into his neck until he can feel your cold cheek against his mesh, the warmth of your breath. And becomes very aware of the softness of you against him, the way your little form fits against his as he rubs his chin against the softness of your hair and his own tension eases. It’s the contact, spreading warm through him, because how long has it been since he’s held someone else? Been able to actually relax, not having to constantly play a part? You need his heat, but he needs this, his arms tightening around you. Your scent and touch soothing old wounds that had never quite healed.

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[callofdudes]

Hello how are you are you good? May I ask for some headcanons? Please make it longer if possible. A wonderful cook with a female reader. For Ghost Simon and (separately)Konig, please? if you do this can you tag me in the post too please? have a nice day

No I totally didn't lose this in my drafts while trying to come up with stuff. I do hope the length is ok, sorry that it took so long 😓

Y'all are wholesale today! I like it! Thank you for the request @simligul I tried to make it as long as I could so I hope you enjoy.

Female! Cook x The Tall Boys.

(Each tall boy sold separately)

Ghost:

He cannot cook to save his life. He knows how to put honey on bread and that is the extent of his knowledge.

He's gotten used to the MRE's that they're mandated to eat, but the first time you cook him a meal from scratch he falls more than he thought he ever could.

This man straight up either eats MRE's when he's at home or orders skip the dishes constantly to the point where it's kind of unhealthy.

Before you were living together he didn't know you could cook. He'd taken you out to restaurants but hadn't ever witnessed you active in a kitchen before.

So when he does...

You smile when he approached the kitchen, curious of the wonderful smells that are being produced. His nose leads him right to you in your apron with stains all over the cloth.

"What is this?" He asks, admiring the scene from the doorway and the apron you wore.

"What do you think? I'm making food."

He poked his head around and eyed the different ingredients simmering and popping in pans on the stove and his stomach cries out loudly. He looks back at you and you laugh at how he's practically begging you with his eyes. "Get out of my kitchen, I'll call you when it's done!"

He will come back every now and then to check on you (and the food).

When you finally set up the table and call him to eat he is borderline hyper. He sees all the steaming beautiful food and he will devour it all.

You are too good for him. Before he even sits down he will assure you that it looks absolutely delicious.

When he does manage to sit down and starts eating his stomach is beyond grateful. He had gotten so used to eating MRE's that he had genuine forgotten what it was like to eat a real meal. When he gets through the first three thrill bites his stomach grows three times the size. You yourself are a bit surprised by how much he ate. You barely had any leftovers to pack up.

Full of food and warm he'll hug you from behind while your washing the dishes and mutter thanks into your neck.

He'll hang around you for the rest of the evening and gratefully crash next to you in pure bliss.

From the day you first cooked for him forth Ghost longs for the days when he can return from war to your loving arms and a home cooked meal.

After going back to camp he'll occasionally mention that the food there tastes like shit compared to what you can make. This causes Soap to want to come with him on leave just to taste your food.

"I've missed you." He'll hug you close and rest against you for a while before taking off his head and stepping into the living room. Before he can even take his boots off he can smell the thick aroma of food. His stomach praises you loudly, making you giggle.

He takes off all his things and kisses you before going over to the kitchen. Again he will praise you for every bit of food on the table.

If he comes home after you've already packed up for bed, he'll check the fridge for food and there will be a little sticky note on the containers of leftovers. "Hey love. Sorry I couldn't be there to greet you. Tonight's dinner is xyz, have as much as you'd like."

He misses you when he isn't able to come back for the holidays. He loves hanging out with you around Christmas and Thanksgiving. But the food you make is so good around the holidays. He's always surprised by just how much effort you put into meals.

He tries to keep mention of you around base low. While he enjoys talking about you, he doesn't like the constant teasing from the others. But when Johnny starts to hear more about how good a cook you supposedly are, he is on his knees begging to come back to Simon's home with him for the holidays. And Simon was going to refuse, until somehow he didn't.

He thought you were going to be abrasive about all the guests when he showed up at his home with Price, Johnny, and Kyle right behind him, but you welcomed them with open arms.

Ghost smiled when you opened your arms and welcomed Price into your home. How you smiled so kindly and you were genuinely happy they were there.

There was no anger for being intruded on or barging to reach your husband, it was heartwarming to watch how you treated them.

When you'd met everyone and shaken their hands, you greeted Simon who was still taking his coat off. But that didn't matter. You pulled him into a short kiss before urging him toward the couch.

Simon and Price tried to help you with setting up the guest bedroom but you weren't having it.

"You lot must be exhausted. Sit, I'll have supper prepared in an hour." Simon smiled. "You're wonderful." You shoved him down onto the couch. "Rest, hang out with your friends." And you walked off to start preparing the guest room for the three.

You were right to assume they were exhausted. They tore their gear off and settled down on the couches. Finally getting to watch some good TV.

They didn't bother to move for the rest of the evening until you called them to dinner.

"Dinner is served boys!"

Kyle and Johnny were the first ones up and sprinting for the kitchen. Their stomachs empty of anything but the McDonald's they'd had early before their flight out.

Johnny was in heaven when he came in and saw the food. It was enough to feed a small army. He grabbed your hands and shook them roughly. "Oh Mrs. Riley you're an angel." You chuckled and handed him a plate as Simon and Price came in to inspect the food. "Take as much as you'd like, don't worry about leftovers and if I need to make more I can."

"Thank you ma'am." Price served himself.

Once they'd vacated the kitchen Simon gave you another kiss and took what the boys had left. "Do you want any?" He asked.

"Have it darling. You deserve it."

The boys were impressed with your cooking the first time. But when the 25 of December rolled around three days later it was a feast. You were happy to have Simon's friends along with your family for Christmas.

"Any friend of Simon's is a friend of mine. You are always welcome in our home."

Jokingly you get Simon a cookbook for Christmas so he can take it to the base with him. Whenever he gets the chance to go shopping (which is rarely) at least he'll be able to make something comprehendable with the foods.

Simon does eventually ask you to teach him to cook. And you'd thought he'd never ask. You started with basic recipes, something he could remember easily and come back to. A starter. And then you got out of hand. Sauce all over your apron and Simon getting his oil covered fingers all over you.

You taught him to bake as well. Because who else is going to make the 141 cookies? You couldn't keep sending them in boxes every month when mail slots opened up.

Simon enjoys baking more than cooking. He will lick all the utensils. If you're making chocolate cookies he'll lick the spoon/spatula/whisk, whatever you used he'll lick it clean. And you need to constantly supervise him when baking because will 100% eat raw cookie dough without fear of consequences.

"Simon! Don't eat that! You'll get sick!"

"fuck off!" He'll say as he playfully pushes you away and grabs another handful of dough.

If he ever comes across a dish he likes or thinks he'd like, he'll send a picture of it to you. When he goes to Mexico Rodolfo takes care of meals for the group and If Ghost likes something he'll hint you off like, "Hey Y/N, look at this really delicious looking dish... A shame I'll only be able to eat it once. Unless..."

Another thing he enjoys about it, is not just the food. But watching you cook. You have a smile on your face the whole time and you seem in utter bliss to cook for you, him, or anyone else.

And the apron.

Teasingly pulling on the strings from behind you or helping you take it off. It's small but it manages to mesmerize him every time.

If you are part of the military most of this still stands, when you first cool for him and the boys he's stunned and amazed. Maybe he's a little annoyed that you didn't start making food sooner when everyone was bitching and moaning about MRE's.

In the very, very, very rare instances where Simon is sick you're the type to not let him out of bed. Simon is either so sick he's unable to move or he can power through it, there is no difference to you. You'll lay him in bed and bring in a warm bowl of soup. And while Simon protests you'll cup his jaw and help him eat.

"I don't need help-"

"Shh, lay down Simon, let me take care of you."

"I hate how sweet you are."

"I love you too."

König:

König knows a little about cooking, but not a lot. His mother taught him him how to make basic cultural dishes including some sweets.

He enjoys cooking on the occasion but the military doesn't offer him much for culinary adventure. So he's become less fluent. Put him in a kitchen however and he could make you a warm meal from his heart.

When you first cook for him, his mouth is watering. He's absolutely starving when he gets home from base and his surprise when he came to see you and your house was swimming with the smells of culinary love.

He'll slip into the kitchen and eyeball all the stuff that's going on. In a heartbeat he's on his knees for whatever your making.

"Darling- please! I haven't eaten a proper meal in so long!"

"Get out of my Kitchen König, I will call you when it's ready. Just rest."

This man will sit by the corner of your kitchen. He will make sure he's pressed up against the wall but not entering the space. He'll crawl into a ball and whimper to make sure you remember he's sitting there.

"König, it'll only take a couple of minutes." You chuckled when he starts to slowly drag himself back into the kitchen hoping you wouldn't notice.

When you finish up he is giving you the biggest puppy eyes he can. It's as if his irises grew in size, they're practically sparkling when you motion with your finger and he jumps up. "YES! Thank you!"

He grabs a plate and doesn't hold back to shovel food onto his plate and rush to the table to consume it all. There is barely enough for you this big boy took so much.

He's scarfing it down when you take your seat and all you can do is just lovingly stare at him. His eyes are practically glazed over when he tastes it on his tongue.

"Darling, this is absolutely amazing, thank you."

"You're welcome König, you deserve it."

This man goes into a full food comma. When he's out his plate in the dishwasher he goes and passes out on the couch. You find it absolutely adorable.

He's just passed out. Usually when König comes back home it takes him at least a day or two to take the hood off and another couple to full relax. But tired and full it's the first time you've seen him throw his hood on the coffee table and just pass out without a worry.

You're not even complaining.

König and you exchange recipes. While you teach him some of the dishes he doesn't know how to make, he'll show you how to make dishes from his home.

When he gets back he will not shut up about you. He won't tell new recruits or other members unless their already friends, subject of his anxiety. But he loves to talk about you with his small group of friends and his operatives team. You're his shining light.

When he starts digging into military food again his head is just filling with all the ways you could cook this so much better and slop in a tube was just as bad as it was when he first signed up.

He finds himself getting particularly homesick now whenever he eats food that is not cooked by you. He always thinks about the dish and it will relate back to you in some way.

After König teaches you to make his favorite sweets, you make sure to send him a tightly sealed box of them every month for him. (If they can survive over time ofc)

He shares with his team because he wants them to also taste your baking and cooking. He will proudly tell them how wonderful you are and after tasting the sweets they all agree.

König is a little more lenient with his leave time, so he gets to see you somewhat more often then others. When he returns again around Thanksgiving he isn't expecting utterly extravagant meal he finds.

He slouched against the door, tired and gross. He looks up when you come over. Your apron on and your hair up. You gasp when you see him. "I thought you were coming back tomorrow?"

König tiredly shakes his hand and opens his arms for you to rush into. He's sore but he hugs you tightly. You smell of freshly baked goods and spices. He breathes you in deeply and he knows he's home. He sighs and nuzzles his forehead against yours.

"I've got food on the table love, come join whenever you're ready."

"Thank you meine liebe."

When he does join you he takes in all the smells of home. His mind and his body starting to relax just at the hand of the fruits of your labor.

You guide him to the table and get him a plate. The area is well lit when he returns to make him feel comfortable.

The two of you will talk as he eats. And it's not unusual for him to go back for seconds or thirds. Sometimes if he's extra hungry he'll raid the pantry for food.

Crashing in bed after a warm meal is the best feeling. His stomach sated, he wraps his arms around you and feels his worries slip away.

You crawl in bed next to him and snuggle up against him. "Goodnight" and despite his food coma, König pulls you to his chest, content to stay here forever.

When he's on leave he offers to bring Horangi back to stay with you both, just so you can taste the food. He has no plans for his leave except sitting in the kitchen and enjoying whatever warm meal you've set up for him.

Bringing Horangi back then were both incredibly excited about your cooking. König could almost taste it and Horangi had heard many good things.

You were overjoyed to have Horangi over and cooked a feast for the two. Horangi's mouth was watering and all König could say was "Seeeee!"

Both König and Horangi sit by the kitchen entrance, watching you like cats going back and forth, back and forth.

The smell of the food is not lost on them when you bring them into the kitchen finally. Seeing everything you've prepared.

"This looks stunning ma'am, thank you a thousand times for having me." Horangi took your hands and squeezed them, unable to contain his excitement. Or his hunger. His stomach started to snarl before he could finish his expression of gratitude.

You once again stand back and let the men eat what the want. You weren't at all surprised when Horangi had just the appetite that König did.

It was funny watching them talk while they feasted, occasionally melting and having a brain aneurysm over how good it was.

Compared to the food on base, Horangi will now get on his knees and kiss the ground you walk on. You are a fucking angel for taking care of him when he comes over.

He will not stop talking about "König's wife can cook!! And you don't get any of it, because you're not invited! 😏"

König is just glad you're there for his friends, willing to provide hospitality and food. You can't turn down anyone it seems.

But he wouldn't change that about you.

He loves to dance in the kitchen with you. If you're cooking something and you have music in the background, König will come over, hands cupping your waist and drawing you toward him.

"And what are you doing??" You hold a spatula covered in sauce up to him and he licks it happily. "What does it look like??" You pulls you in and twirls you around the kitchen.

"König, watch out for the stove." You giggle.

He keeps turning and spinning you, pressing kisses to your throat and cheeks.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too you big goof."

He smiles, nuzzling against your neck, the smell of the spices imprinting on your skin. They must have. After you've cooked an apple pie you still smell of cinnamon. And it drives him crazy.

König loves you so much, he wouldn't dream his life any other way. And certainly not without you in it. He gives you another kiss and you shove him out of your kitchen.

"Food isn't really yet."

"But looooove-!" He whines.

"No, you'll have to wait. Like a good boy." You smirk.

He huffs, but he can't say no to that. So he plops down and sits longingly at the entrance of the kitchen, watching you as you cook.

[s1m0nth3swag]

Don't mind me just giving short drabbles because I'm sitting in class and I'm bored :3

Leon is the love of my life and uhm domestic headcanons will forever be my favourite

live laugh love Leon Scott Kennedy <3

Leon grumbles as you practically push him onto the edge of the bathtub, looking up at you with his adorable blue eyes - for everything he's gone through, he still has that puppy look about him when he's with you. He pouts softly, sighing as you rummage through various cabinets and successfully find what you had been looking for - the Bleach and Toner he usually uses on his hair. Even though Leon is the one that has been complaining about the way his hair looks for the last week, he also absolutely despises getting it done. So instead, he normally would do it himself - which he was too lazy to do this time. Still, nothing but complains about how awful his hair looked grown out like this, how it was getting too long. You were a little fed up, to say the least. Now, you had enough and pushed him into the bathroom, determined to fix his hair issue.

[Helping Leon dye his hair - Some time after RE2, but also fits for RE4 | Leon most definetly dyes his hair blonde and then stops sometime after RE4 because he gets lazy (and a lil depressed) but as someone with dyed hair it's a pain each time imo]

He huffs and sighs and pouts the entire time, while you can't help but giggle a bit at the sight, especially with how ridiculous he looks once the Bleach is setting - you curse yourself for not having your phone nearby to take pictures. Leon would fight you over it anyway, and seriously, he was stronger than you - Government mandated Training and all. The now blonde haired only calms down once you finally rinse for the last time, hair still wet as he stares at you, swiftly shaking his head like a dog, sending droplets flying through the room. You scream slightly, laughing as you feel them hit your skin and clothes, trying to shield yourself. Leon chuckles softly, grabing your hips as he pulls you towards him, resting his head against your chest. A smile places itself on your lips, uncaring that your shirt was now properly soaked as you listen to his soft murmurs of thank yous.

[Vendetta Leon with a (much) younger partner - aka Leon and the internet | your honor what if I love older men]

You hold back a laugh as you hand Leon your phone, a funny meme on it that you had found while randomly scrolling social media for hours. He stares at it, his face scrunching in confusion as he looks up at you, holding your phone as if he didn't know what to do with it. You weren't fully surprised, it had already been a hassle to get him to upgrade his flip phone to a proper smartphone. You can't help but grin, and he sighs heavily. "Your humor will be the death of me one day, what is this, love?" He grumbles, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his eyes as you sit beside him, snuggling into his side as you start explaining the meme - in the end only earning a soft chuckle from the older guy, a simple show of endearment.

[Leon with the kitten he said he didn't want - RE4 Leon | He loves cats, you can't tell me otherwise]

He stares down at the small creature, watching as it desperately tries to climb up his leg, meowing in desperation. Leon didn't want a pet, at all. Especially not a cat that wouldn't be able to defend you or the home - he sighs as he thinks of all the puppies at the shelter that would've done a great job at that. He picks the small animal up, placing it in his lap, where it promptly flops down and starts purring. His heart isn't melting. Not one bit.

Only a few days later you practically have to pry the cat from Leon if you wanted to even have a second with it. It was crazy, at first Leon had said it would never get into the bedroom or bathroom, now it was allowed to snuggle up to him in bed and even follow him whereever he went. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he loved the cat a little more than he loved you. At least when you found him during his midday nap, and with the kitten on top his chest.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader Style: gn!reader Character: Ace, Marco, Thatch Vibe: SFW Yandere AU: Government Mandated Marriage Prompt: Soft/Comfort Gift Giver: (⌐■_■) Anonymous!

Summary: The government match program matched you with Portgas D Ace, and as a bonus, his two brothers have taken it upon themselves to help the new young couple adjust.

Content Notes: sfw but as it is Yandere, there are yandere themes, so tread carefully.

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

The Match Program had paired you up with a similarly aged young man with freckles and a bright smile. You were excited to meet Ace, and had been delighted to meet his father and brothers all in the same go. They were all so sweet, and understanding.

His father had spoken with your parents at length, and you and Ace had been supervised by his older brothers, Thatch and Marco. Both were older enough that they’d effectively aged-out of the match program, but since not everyone was matched, it wasn’t too surprising.

Ace’s family was well off and his father had put you both up in a very nice apartment while you had the chance to get to know one another. Marco and Thatch helped the two of you with the wedding planning, and had taken a lot of stress off your shoulders so you could spend more time with Ace.

It had been like a fairy tale.

In a way, it still was. Fairy Tales often had princes and princesses trapped in a tower, protected by beasts and monsters as they waited for deliverance.

As you looked out the back window of your post-marriage house, watching the soft breeze shift the flowers in the intricate and delicate flower bed design, you knew no one was coming to save you. Your parents believed you were still in your honeymoon phase with Ace, who was currently laying beside you, head on your lap, as your fingers combed idly through his hair.

He wanted to give you everything, and keep you safe. Ace and his brothers knew a side of this world you had no familiarity with, and insisted that it was important to protect you from it. When Ace was at work Marco would come over and keep you company, until Thatch showed up and Marco had to leave.

Everyone would have dinner together, and then Marco and Thatch would leave the two “love birds” alone for the evening.

You were safe.

You were cared for.

You were loved, you were sure.

But in six months since the wedding, with the exception of a trip for the honeymoon, you hadn’t left the house. At first Ace had excuses about being tired from work and wanting to just nap with you, like he was now.

The more insistent you got the more apologetic he became, but he wouldn’t budge.

When you left on your own, after he’d fallen asleep after dinner, it had become quite the fiasco. You’d only left to run a few errands, things you would’ve done during the day, but you’d wanted Ace to have the chance to go with you and keep you company. He was always worried about the risks to you outside, so it seemed only fair.

You’d been halfway through your list when Marco found you. You’d gotten into a bit of a heated argument in the store, as he’d wanted to return with you to your home immediately, and you wanted to finish your shopping. Marco had caved, but by the time you were done talking with Ace after you got home you felt like you’d done something terribly wrong.

It had taken a couple days for tensions to ease, and after that Thatch and Marco had started to visit more often.

Until eventually they were just here whenever Ace wasn’t.

It was just a sign of how much you were loved, and cared for. It shouldn’t bother you. Ace treated you so sweetly, never doing anything to you unless you said yes, never coercing you into agreeing. He was so warm and tender behind closed doors, so soft and loving.

He was only worried because of all that he’d already lost. Pops’ wasn’t his biological father, like all of the man’s sons, Ace was adopted. His own family had died, he’d lost much and more beyond that, convinced that he was undeserving of peace. Of love.

“If the world took you away too, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

The words echo in your mind as he shifts a bit, looking up at you with that sweet soft smile.

“Hey sunshine.” He murmurs, kissing your knuckles before turning toward you, warming his arms against your back and pulling you into a lazy snuggle. “Let’s go see a movie tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen and you smile. “At the theater?”

Ace grins, nodding against your belly. “Yeah, at the theater. We’ll get popcorn and everything.”

“Alright,” you murmur, running your fingers through his hair again. The warmth was everything you needed, sweet and soothing. It would be nice to get out of the house tomorrow, hand in hand with your husband. Even if his brothers came with you it would still be fun.

You weren’t sure what brought on the change, but maybe time had been enough for him to realize that there was less to fear than he believed. In a way it was flattering, to be so desperately important to someone like this. It was, at least, a way to help you accept all of it.

One flaw, in an otherwise perfect union, and it was nothing more than love a little too strong.

There were certainly far worse things to contend with.

[renthony]

Just curious. How bad has Biden been at controlling COVID-19 in your view?

First: I already responded to a similar question you left on this post.

Second: Biden has been atrocious for COVID-19 safety and management. COVID-19 is still killing people, and our president has done a horribly insufficient job in mitigating that. "Better than the Republicans" is not the same thing as "good" or "effective." Biden's abysmal reaction to COVID-19 is part of why I'm so thrilled that the Uncommitted campaign for the Democratic primary has achieved some success. That particular campaign is focused on ceasefire in Palestine, but the People's CDC explained in a statement how Palestine is also very much a public health issue. We need to scare the bastard and actually do some of that "pushing him left" that people claimed they'd do after getting him elected. Though it seems to me like a lot of people just settled for, "okay, we got rid of Trump, we don't have to worry anymore."

Third: While I'm at it, people have to do more than vote. You have got to get involved. You have got to do more than participate in the presidential election once every four years. Join a union (may I recommend the IWW?), follow the guidance of The People's CDC, volunteer for your local Food Not Bombs, get involved in a tenants union like the Autonomous Tenants Union Network, read Riot Medicine, get trained in first aid and get involved in a street medic group, read up on your local politics and get involved on the small-scale, do something in addition to voting in the presidential election. Even if you're limited in how much you can personally participate, find the people who are talking about these issues and signal boost them, and share the information with others who may be more able to participate more. If you can tell people to go vote in the presidential election, you can also tell them to go do other things, too.

Now, with all of that out of the way, here are some links related to Biden's abysmal COVID-19 response:

During his 2020 campaign, Biden promised immediate $2K stimulus checks. Instead, he delivered $1,400. Sources: [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

Velena Jones for NBC Bay Area: "‘Too expensive': Bay Area residents shocked over new COVID vaccine prices"

Reuters: "COVID vaccine manufacturers set list price between $120-$130 per dose"

Joseph Choi for The Hill: "Free COVID-19 test program to be suspended for now"

Disability activist Alice Wong writing for TeenVogue: "Covid Isn't Going Anywhere. Masking Up Could Save My Life," and the follow-up article, "COVID and the 2024 Election: What Biden and Democrats Owe High-Risk People."

Laura Weiss writing for The New Republic: "Democrats Can't Keep Ignoring Covid in 2024."

David Cohen and Adam Cancryn for Politico: "Biden on '60 Minutes': 'The Pandemic is Over.'"

Alex Skopic for Current Affairs: "COVID-19 is Still a Threat. So is Biden’s CDC."

Adam Cancryn for Politico: "Biden Appears to be Over Covid Protocols."

Paul Thornton for the Los Angeles Times: "Covid Still Rages, and the Biden Administration Isn't Helping."

Eric J. Topol for the Los Angeles Times: "The U.S. is facing the biggest COVID wave since Omicron. Why are we still playing make-believe?"

We should have free, universal testing. We should have free, universal vaccination. We should have free, universal treatment. We should have financial assistance for those of us who can't work outside the home. We should have mandated work-from-home for any job that can be done remotely. We should be emptying prisons and paying attention to the way disease and abuse proliferate inside their walls. We should have COVID-19 safety PSAs and government support for universal masking. We should have free distribution of N95s. We should have mandated masking in medical settings and public spaces. We should have a higher minimum wage. We should have healthcare reforms. We should have strong worker protections. We should have improved infrastructure. We should have a president who gives a single flying fuck about how many of us are dying.

And we have none of it.

But we sure seem to have money to keep dropping bombs, arming cops, terrorizing the vulnerable, and imprisoning innocent people to use for slave labor.

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 1

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

“Tell me again how it happened.”

It’s a standoff in the kitchen. Ellie’s face, flushed and furious, twists in a pout. Joel grips the back of a dining chair with one tight fist.

One week. It’s been one fucking week since school started, and Ellie has already come home with the pink slip of all pink slips.

“She tried to take my pen. Twice.”

“And?”

“So I…I took my knife out…”

“Uh-huh.”

 “...and I stabbed it into her desk…”

Joel winces.

“...and I told her if she tried that shit again I’d do the same to her fucking finger.”

“Ellie–”

“It’s not my fucking fault no one taught her to keep her hands to herself!”

“I know, and she–she shouldn’t have done that, Ellie, but you can’t just–”

“It’s not like I actually stabbed someone, Joel!”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, kid. You can’t–you can’t do that shit here. This ain’t FEDRA. There’s no hole. Keep it up and they’re liable to put us outside the damn wall.”

“Tommy wouldn’t–“

“He doesn’t run this place. An’ Maria’s already on my ass about…everythin’.”

“Maybe we should leave, then,” she huffs.

“You don’t mean that.”

“We made out okay. We could do it again.”

“Ellie,” his voice softens. He draws his palms down his face. The start of a headache pulses behind his eyes. “Look, I know it’s…different. But we’re here now. We gotta make do.”

Four months in Jackson. Four months since he shot his way out of a hospital in Salt Lake City and carried the unconscious girl to safety. Four months since she asked for the truth and he told her the whopper of all lies instead.

When he thinks about it that way, things are going about as well as he has any right to expect.

He’d hoped going to school would give her some structure, that she’d make a few friends, but so far, every morning has been a trudge, every night a standoff. When she’s not clinging to his side like a lost lamb or waking from nightmares to crawl into his bed, she’s hurling sharp words and slamming doors and stomping around.

Months on the road together, but he’s never seen her so goddamn bratty.

He’s taking a lot of deep breaths. He’s counting to ten. He’s trying not to see the judgmental frowns from his sister-in-law when Ellie storms out of a family gathering or calls him an asshole at the caf in front of the whole fuckin’ town.

She’s never had the space to act out, he reminds himself. She’s never been fed enough, warm enough, safe enough, loved enough, and he gets the brunt of her anger. The way Sarah would come home after a long day at school and turn into a grouchy wildebeest for him after being an angel for her teachers.

It’s normal, he tells himself on the worst nights. Ellie’s making up for fourteen years of repression.

But he’s tired and she’s strumming his last nerve like it’s a fuckin’ guitar.

She’s holding out another note, this one hand-written and co-signed by members of the council. He notes Maria’s signature at the top with some disdain.

“Counseling,” Joel sighs, skimming it. “Mandated. Twelve weeks.”

“You’re not really gonna make me go, are you? C’mon, man, it’s a death sentence!”

“Hardly. You’re lucky they didn’t suspend you.”

“I wish they had. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid fucking school.”

“Ellie–”

“I hate it here,” she spits out. Her lower lip trembles and he has to look away, eking out a tight breath.

“Yeah, kid. I know. But you gotta give it a chance.”

“I did, and it sucks.”

“You’re not giv–”

“Going to my room,” she huffs, already moving for the stairs. 

“You need to eat first,” he says, gritting his teeth when she rolls her eyes. “And you’re grounded.”

Those words have never come out of his mouth. He doesn’t even know what being grounded looks like in this day and age.

“What?! Joel–”

“You heard me,” he says, making it up as he goes. “Two weeks. You’re back here every night after your assignments. No wanderin’ around with your friends.”

“Lucky for me I don’t have any fucking friends.”

“That ain’t–“

“This is bullshit,” she seethes, then turns on her heel and stomps up the stairs.

“Damnit, Ellie, you need to eat–”

“I’m not hungry!”

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut, ending the conversation and leaving Joel to collapse into a chair with his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Yeah, this is bullshit.”

One week later she’s sulking over breakfast at the house.

“The guy wants to talk to you,” she says through a mouthful of eggs.

“‘The guy’? And close your mouth when you chew.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose, opening her mouth wide to show him her half-chewed breakfast, a move that’s painfully reminiscent of a different time, a different kid.

“I told you at dinner. The counselor guy.”

He frowns. “It’s a guy?”

She rolls her eyes. “And women can even be doctors! Dude, you are so old .”

“S’not what I meant, smartass,” he mutters. “I just…I know you’ve had some, uh…issues with…guys.”

Since Silver Lake , he doesn’t say.

“Only the creepy ones,” she says, stabbing a piece of potato. “Ezra’s not creepy. He’s, like, cool. He has a huge record collection.”

“Uh-huh. An’ he needs to see me why?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude. Unlike you, I didn’t give him the third degree.”

He bites his tongue. “Alright. When?”

“Before school. Today.”

Joel looks at the clock, then back at Ellie. 7:50 .

“So we need to go…right now,” he mutters, draining his coffee and gathering his dishes to put them in the sink. “Thanks for the notice.”

“I told you last night! Not my fault you’re deaf.”

Admittedly, she’d talked a lot at dinner last night. Mostly about how some kid named Dina was a jerk who deserved to have her finger taken off for being a ‘fucking klepto’ with her pen. But he’d been so tired and the headache behind his eyes won’t give him a rest.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sighs. “Don’t forget your bag.”

They step out into the streets of Jackson on a mild September morning. It’s the rush hour–if a town of a few hundred can be said to have a rush hour–with shift changes on the wall and everyone off to their assigned duties. They pass familiar faces; neighbors Joel still doesn’t have names for, kids he recognizes from Ellie’s school who give them a wide berth. Joel hunches inward, following the maroon cast of her sweatshirt through clusters of Jackson residents.

“You don’t have a brother, do you?” she says out of the blue.

“You know I do,” he frowns.

“No duh. But you don’t have another brother, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid.”

“Like, what if your dad had a secret family–”

“Christ, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“C’mon, it can happen! I just–I wondered–”

“What the heck are you gettin' at, kid? Spit it out.”

“It’s nothin’,” she says, but there’s a weird little smile on her face. “You’ll see.” 

She leads him to the little house at the other end of town and knocks on the blue door. Ellie keeps looking up at him with the same funny smirk.

A dark-eyed man answers, peering through the screen. Dark, fitted T-shirt, slim black jeans. Younger than Joel by at least ten years, probably more, with a wide smile and messy black-brown curls with an odd streak of white at his temple.

He looks like a fuckin’ punk.

“Hi, Ezra,” Ellie says breezily. “This is Joel.”

“Hello, young prodigy,” he smiles, drawling in a southern accent that Joel can’t quite place. “Come in, come in both of you…join me in my humble abode.”

He leads them inside and to the right, to a little den just off the entry. It’s a snug office with a couch and chair, a coffee table in the center, and bookshelves lining the walls on either side. A record player sits on a podium in one corner.

Joel puts out his hand, realizing too late the other man isn’t able to reciprocate, lacking an arm with which to do so. Ellie watches with a smug smirk, lips twitching a little as Joel drops his right hand and fumbles through a handshake with his left. He shoots her a glare.

Couldn’t have mentioned that?

She shrugs, feigning a wide-eyed innocence, then looks between the two men with a kind of manic glee, as if waiting for something.

“...what?” Joel finally asks.

“You don’t see it?” She gestures to the other man.

“I don’t–”

“Jeez, I know you’re deaf but I didn’t think you were blind, too,” she groans. “He looks like you! If you weren’t, like, ancient.”

Joel’s face flushes as Ezra tries to hide a smile behind his hand.

“Enough of that, you little shi–smartypants,” Joel mutters.

“I suspect your young prodigy here gets the sense we might be of blood relation based on a similar, uh, distinguished profile.”

“That’s not, uh…that’s not possible, kid.”

“I agree,” Ezra says smoothly. “The universe is rife with serendipitous occurrences, and I do believe that’s what we have here. The mind is a funny thing. We see what we want to see, Ellie.”

“Seriously?!”

“Your dad here–”

“He’s not my dad,” Ellie corrects automatically. Joel can’t help but feel a pang of indignation at the speed with which she pipes up.

“My apologies,” Ezra murmurs. “I stand corrected. This is your…?”

“He’s just Joel.”

“Of course, gem. Just Joel,” Ezra smiles in his direction. “So I asked your Joel here to ensure you understood what we’re doing. As your guardian, Joel needs to be an integral part of this process.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that–what exactly are we doin’ again?” Joel asks.

“I suspect your young prodigy here is finding the adjustment to life in Jackson a bit…finicky. I’m here to help ease that transition in whatever way I can.”

“You can start by telling the other kids to stop fucking touching my stuff,” Ellie adds.

“Christ, Ellie–”

Ezra holds up his hand, cutting off Joel’s growl and addressing the girl. “Let’s not get weighted down by the minutiae of the situation we find ourselves in, gem. Suffice it to say, we have some work to do, and we need to do it cooperatively.”

Ellie crosses her arms and huffs, but Ezra’s easy manner seems to soothe something in the girl.

“Now that you’ve delivered your…Joel…to me, he and I are going to have a little tête-à-tête . Nothing damning, just the facts. And you, if I’m not mistaken, will be late to school.”

He leans down to scribble something on a notepad, then hands it to Ellie. “Give this to your teacher.”

“You go straight to school an’ home after chores,” Joel adds, watching the late slip disappear into the pocket of Ellie’s jeans. “You’re still grounded, ‘member?”

“Like you’d let me forget,” she mutters, trudging out the door, leaving it cracked slightly.

They hear the front door open and shut, but Ezra holds up one finger, watching the entry with sly eyes.

Wait.

Joel catches his drift.

“Ellie,” he says.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” she grumbles from the entry. “If you’re gonna talk about me, I should get to hear it.”

“We’re not going to talk about you, gem,” Ezra says. “But this is a private conversation between your esteemed guardian and myself. Please give us your discretion and make haste.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Ezra goes to the office door and gently shuts it. Suddenly closed in the small room with a stranger, Joel feels a familiar but unwelcome prickle of fear take root. It’s the same feeling that has him sleeping with a gun under his mattress and locking his door at night, despite Tommy’s assurances that Jackson is safe as houses.

Without thinking, he reaches for his holster–the holster that isn’t there, because he doesn’t wear it unless he’s on patrol, because Jackson is a community and not the fucking QZ. It’s a subtle tic, but Ezra notices.

“We can open it if you’d prefer to partake of the fresh air.”

Joel swallows his fear with a dollop of shame. “S’fine.”

Ezra nods. “Have a seat if you like.”

He takes the chair across the small room, considering Joel through thick lashes. His face is kind, but something about the man’s gaze leaves Joel uneasy, like a bug under a magnifying glass. There’s a warm, simmering coil of tension in his gut that he can’t place.

Indigestion , Joel decides. Too much coffee.

He settles on the couch, old cushions and springs protesting, then leans forward on his knees, glancing around.

“You, uh…you like music?” he says, gesturing to the shelves of vinyl just behind Ezra.

“I do,” he says. “I was fortunate to find this sizable collection in the attic upon being assigned a house. I’ve added to it as I find new treasures to trade. And you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you enjoy music, Joel?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his lips self-consciously. “Play a little here and there. Guitar.”

Ezra’s face lights up. “Ah! A musician!”

“Hardly.”

“Speaking as one who can’t carry a tune in a bucket, color me impressed.”

The office window is wide open, a cool autumn breeze floating through and rifling the other man’s already unruly hair, but a deep heat has settled at the base of Joel’s neck and the room suddenly feels like a hot summer’s day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh…Ellie says you’re a counselor?”

“Indeed.”

“An’ you have, uh, qualifications? Somethin’ that says you’re the man for the job?”

Ezra grins at this. “I know I don’t look the part of the sage, and I can appreciate your frank concern. I do have some experience in this area, surprising as that may be. Before the outbreak, I was a Master’s student in clinical psychology. Although I didn’t get much opportunity to practice for reasons that should be quite obvious.”

“Right.”

“The fine folks of Jackson have been kind enough to give me a place and a profession that suits my abilities. I’m not much use drawing a plow or riding a horse, I’m afraid,” Ezra continues, nodding to his right shoulder.

“But before we proceed, I should like to understand your expectations and to set a few of my own. For one, I’m not here to play Freud. And I’m hardly qualified to make a diagnosis of any sort,” he continues. “A diagnosis isn’t worth a damn in this day and age, and I suspect you’d agree.”

Joel bites his lip. “Look, uh, I’ll be honest. Last time I set foot in a place like this, it did jack shit and ended in a divorce. So you’ll forgive me if I ain’t entirely comfortable with my…with Ellie…comin’ in here and talkin’ your ear off.”

“Trust that you are not the first to express concern or have a, let’s say, downright suspicious quality about this particular practice. But I hope you’ll humor me when I say that I, like you, only want what is best for Ellie. She’s a bright girl, that one. Very perceptive.”

Joel huffs softly. “Too damn smart for her own good sometimes.”

This elicits a tiny smile, leaving Joel worried he’s spoken too harshly.

“But she’s a good kid,” he adds quickly. “A really…good kid.”

Ezra nods. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I think she could benefit from the ear of a friend. As I said, she’s bright. I wanted to try to get a clearer picture of her through your eyes. Your family dynamic, if you will. I take it there’s no Mrs. Joel? Or…Mr. Joel?”

Joel snorts. “Just me an’ her.”

“And she’s adopted?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel murmurs, scratching his chin. “We, uh…I had a job to move her out here. From Boston. Was supposed to find, uh…her relatives…but that didn’t work out and my brother, Tommy, gave us a place here.”

Ezra nods but doesn’t say anything further. He sprawls in the chair, legs spread, almost slouched, one forearm draped over the side. Relaxed but intent, eyebrows drawn together with an unspoken question. Joel swallows, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

“You, uh, need to write this down or anythin’?” Joel coughs, gesturing to the notepad on the coffee table in front of them.

Ezra shakes his head, smiling slightly. “No…no, we’re just having a conversation. No need to put it on the record for now. So…Boston to Jackson. That must have been quite the excursion.”

“You could say that.”

“I expect it wasn’t exactly uneventful?”

“No,” Joel says, almost too quickly. “No, it was, uh…she went through a lot. Stuff no kid should have to see…to do. You’ll have to ask her about it, though. S’not my place to talk for her.”

“I intend to do that,” Ezra nods. “I look forward to getting to know her over the next twelve weeks. And hopefully beyond, if she’ll give me the chance.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Joel mutters. “She’s a bit…gunshy. Especially around, uh, men. Even Tommy…she can’t be alone with him, an’ he’s about as tame as they come.”

“But she feels safe with you?”

“Think so. I mean, I’m all she had for months…out there,” he shrugs. “But that went both ways. We’re prob’ly what you shrinks call, uh…codependent.”

Ezra nods, voice softening. “A little codependency can mean the difference between life or death in a difficult time. And I imagine it’s been an adjustment…all this. I know we–I–found it difficult at first. Even the thickest of walls aren’t enough if we don’t feel truly safe in the heart and mind.”

Joel bites his lip. “Yeah…yeah. It’s different.”

“And how about you, Joel?”

“How ‘bout me what?”

“You’ve been through a similar ordeal, I presume, traveling together. And now you find yourself the unexpected father figure to a dynamic and spirited young lady–”

Joel bites back a scoff. “This ain’t about me.”

Ezra shrugs. “I don’t mean to pry, and you’re free to pass on anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, of course. I’m just trying to build a picture in the interest of aiding my work with Ellie.”

The temptation to pass is strong, but that heat in his gut is still there, a distraction loosening his tongue. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s, uh…it’s been a lot. For both of us, but mostly her,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She’s not used to havin’ someone in her corner. She’s…she was an orphan…before.”

He sighs, allowing himself to sink back into the couch cushions, shoulders loosening a fraction.

“I told her not to bring that damn knife to school in the first place,” he says, glancing down at his broken watch. “But she needed it when we were on the road. She’s prob’ly needed it all her damn life. Seems wrong to ask her to give that up when we’ve only been here a few months. Not that she’s s’posed to be waving it around at folks, or…y’know.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Well, I don’t intend to lay blame here. Raising a child…alone…comes with its fair share of hardships and trials. Regardless, it’s a noble endeavor, to take one into your care.”

He snorts. “Think she’s done more to take care of me than the other way around.”

“If I may be so bold…I suspect you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you,” Joel says drily. “Kid’s not one to hold back.”

Ezra grins. “I sensed as much.”

He stands, offering his hand, and Joel takes it. The man’s grip is firm and warm and the memory of his touch lingers on Joel’s skin long after he’s left. That warm flare in his gut throbs, a not-unpleasant heat licking gently at the base of his spine, and he finally places it.

It’s been so damn long since he’s felt that particular burn, being on the road for months, never safe, never alone given Ellie’s constant companionship. There was probably a time or two in his early days with Tess when he found himself surprised by desire, but it was easily smothered, tamed, wrested into submission.

That night, Joel tosses and turns and finally gives into the low-level arousal that’s plagued him all damn day, palming himself roughly through his sweats until he’s fully hard.

He imagines Ezra’s eyes on him, watching, remembers the feel of the man’s skin against his palm. He bites back a groan of pleasure when he eases his waistband over his cock and takes himself out, allowing his grip to tighten and find a familiar, easy rhythm. He can’t get the younger man’s voice out of his head, that low, rumbling baritone, so oddly soothing.

He presses his face into the pillow to muffle the sound when he comes.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Pull Of You - Part 7

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes

Soulmates - Feeling the pull between each other indicates a bond. A kiss confirms it.

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's t-shirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Chapter Summary: It's been 48 hours and the cracks are starting to show.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of injuries and being held captive.

“Look I know you don’t want me to say it but I think we should head back to the compound and regroup.” Rhodey advised cautiously.

It was at that moment that Bucky lost it. He’d done his court mandated therapy and he’d committed weekly sessions ever since. The elders in Wakanda had taught various relaxation techniques. He’d been keeping his emotions in check or so he thought. With you gone they had bubbled to the surface and now spilled over into what Sam had nicknamed the murder strut and he was headed in Rhodey’s direction. Clint and Pietro blocked his path.

“Move.” He growled.

“Not happening.” Clint replied.

“Move or I’ll move you.”

“Touch him and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Snapped Natasha.

“Yeah, well I’ll spit it out.”

“Why didn’t you have her six?”

“Watch your damn mouth Romanoff!” Steve snapped “You know damn well how he feels about her! You saw her body cam footage. He went to her. She pushed him away.”

“And here we are. My best friend gone!”

“Rhodey might have a point. It’s been over twenty-four hours, nearly forty-eight. We’re going round in circles here. We’re the best there is. We haven’t missed anything. There are no leads, even within two miles of here. We already know they’ve removed her trackers and ditched her camera. We need to discuss other options, maybe call in some help.”

“We don’t need help.” Steve snapped “We, we need, we need.”

Steve stuttered over his words, a lump forming in his throat and tears in his eyes. Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he turned towards Steve pulling him in for a fierce hug.

Vision and Wanda stood quietly watching the back and forth between the team.

“I can feel their pain. All of them, as well as my own. This could tear us apart again.” Wanda whispered to her soulmate. She glanced up at vision to see his head tilt slightly.

“Vis? What is it?”

“I have a theory.”

Meanwhile………..

Pain is the first thing you’re aware of. Everything hurts. Your head probably hurts the most. You can’t open your eyes. You try but realise your eyelids are being held down. A weighted eye mask or tape perhaps?

A wave of panic spread over you and you soon knew that the breathing that came with panicking was not a good idea. A shooting pain went up your side. Broken ribs.

For fucks sake, you thought to yourself. You decided to get your shit together and allowed your training to takeover.

Smell. Damp. Musty. Sound. Tripping. Water. Voices and a radio but far away. Sight. Stuck. Feel. Pain. Body check. Toes not broke. Ankles. Damaged sprain or low level breaks. Also bound to each and whatever I’m on. Legs bruised. Broken cocsic. Ribs broken. One shoulder dislocated. Arms bruised. Left possibly broken. Hands. Bruised and bound. Right possibly broken. Fingers. Two on left hand broken. Neck pain. Eyes still stuck. Head injury. Possible concussion.

You sighed. Fuck my life.

You tried to separate your ankles but met resistance. The same came again with your wrists. You tried to lean forward but couldn’t move. You’d been tied repeatedly. Excessively and well too. You’d extracted agents that had been captured before and, although you couldn’t see yourself, you knew you’d been tied up more than they had. Clearly your reputation proceeded you. You could get in and out of anywhere and you taught others how to do the same.

Being good at breaking and entering, you’d become an escape expert in various ways and you could also slip out of knots, cuffs and traps but that wasn't common knowledge, and yet here you were.

How did they know to tie you up so well? Think.

They knew your skill set. They knew you. Realisation washed over you. They KNEW you.

Enjoy this fic? Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@mcira @imdoingbetternow @mrsevans90 @blackhawkfanatic

[pelynas]

My personal Billy Lenz head canons cause he is like a fungus on my brain rn.

warnings for CSA, Abuse, neglect and child death!!!

to start with my interpretation of his backstory (this is where those warnings come in)

🩸From the moment of his birth his parents are indifferent to him as he was most likely an accident

🩸 he grows up a bit and their pretty neglectful already, but his parents start to become hostile, and act disgusted towards him when he starts showing signs of "not being right in the head" so to say.

🩸 he is basically used as his mother's punching bag when his fathers at work. Emotional and verbal abuse evolving into sexual and physical abuse.

🩸 This causes Billy to develop an extreme fear of women and as a result of this repetitive sexual abuse he's hypersexual.

🩸 His parents plan to have another child (one they actually want) and once his mother becomes pregnant, he gets moved to the attic his only contact with his parents now being when his mother comes up to take stuff out on him.

🩸 Agnes is born and the parents agree due to his unstable nature he should not be left alone with her even if he's in the attic it is too much of a risk.

🩸 cut to a couple of years later Agne's is now toddler aged able to talk a bit but still needing lots of care.

🩸 It is Christmas eve their mom goes out for some last-minute errands leaving a napping Agnes and Billy alone.

🩸 Billy creeps down to see Agnes he has probably done this before during the night he just wants to see the baby.

🩸 Agnes wakes up and starts crying confused about where her mom is and frightened seeing Billy as she does not recognise the dirty scraggly boy staring at her calling her pretty.

🩸Billy starts to panic and tries to quiet Agnes down both concerned for her getting in trouble for crying and for fear of his parents punishing him for upsetting the baby.

🩸 Billy grabs her pillow now feeling and starts to smother her she begs for him to stop she eventually goes quiet and limp.

🩸 Billy wraps her up in her blanket trying to delude to himself that she is still alive.

🩸 He brings the bundle that once was his little sister up to the attic.

🩸 Billy's parents come home at around the same time father panicking "you left Billy alone with Agnes!?" this panic spreading to both parents when they realise that Agnes is not in her room.

🩸 They call Billy down demanding to know where the baby is Billy reassures that she is okay in her relieved state Billy's mom calls him a good boy for the first and last time.

🩸 Billy brings down the bundle showing his parents that the baby is "alright".

🩸 in an emotional rage Billy's parents grab him and start to beat him and verbally berating him with more intensity than their usual filthy Billy's and other things of that nature.

🩸 They tell Billy to go back up the attic, but he instead goes into the kitchen and grabs a knife then the overwhelming impulse he has always been plagued with intensifies and he lunges stabbing his father to death his mother tries to run but gets cornered she tries to plead with him, but it doesn't work and she is also killed.

🩸 the front door still being partially open due to the parents panicking in their rush allows for the neighbours to hear the commotion they call the police.

🩸 What they find is a young delirious and bloody billy sitting rocking and singing to the cold bundle in his arms.

🩸 Billy is deemed mentally unwell and is sent to a mental institution where he spends the rest of his time.

🩸 When he turns 18, he gets moved out of the children's facility and into an adult one which is nearby the town in which Pi Kappa sig is located.

🩸 When he is 21 and it is around the Christmas season, he escapes he somehow finds some clothes so he can get out of the hospital mandated clothes.

🩸 then the events prior to and during the movie happen.

🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄🩸🎄

Yeah, sorry if that was a lot now, we can move onto the general head canons now that you have the context of my interpretation :D

🎄 He definitely has other mental health issues but something I am sure on based on my personal experience with them is that he has OCD and Autism.

🎄 Doesn't just bite his nails he devours them till their red raw.

🎄 Has quite wonky teeth and probably a good few cavities.

🎄Really sensitive to the light much prefers the dark.

🎄large areas can overwhelm him he much prefers confined spaces.

🎄has a big sweet tooth will eat candy and other packaged foods till hes nauseous.

🎄 Claude the cat has basicly become his emotional support animal Claude will come up to him when he's having his meltdowns breakdowns and other things like that.

🎄Speaking of cats, defiently more of a cat person dogs would be too loud for him.

🎄Also speaking of cat's I imagine him really really liking Tom and Jerry (I think they might have showed it as a treat in the kids institute) .

🎄He is kind of jealous of the sorority sisters the fact that they're his age living their lives normally he wants that.

🎄Simultaneously hypersexual and sex repulsed (God help him).

🎄 conflicted because he really enjoys christmas but it has such bad memories attached that it causes him to mentally spiral even worse than he usually does.

🎄as shown in one of the calls he wants to be stopped, he basicly feels trapped by his own mind and not in control of his own actions 99 percent of the time.

🎄 Has rare moments of lucidity, and after they go away he just feels worse.

🎄Desires connection with other people but feels too far gone and alienated for that to become a reality (which is my explanation for why I think he would use He/it)

🎄 Stims predominantly verbally (echolia) and physically (for example, biting and scratching himself or his turtleneck and fidgeting with his hands)

[wonderinc-sonic]

There's a Therapy Office for Robots Now? ○ Chapter 2: The Delinquent.

Warnings for: medical malpractice, manipulation (unsuccessful), violent language but no violence

E-123 Omega has a court-mandated mental health assessment. He knows his own mind.

No need to read first chapter, it's not relevant for this.

Why yes, I am in a draft clearing mood, how'd you know? I need to swap to a new app so I want to throw up the stuff that I think I don't need to import over. The metal sonic chapter and the orbot vague concept of a chapter will need to move over, but this one was already done I just forgot it.

[gardenofnoah]

your god came to you bloody and you fell to your knees

a little priest au for my dearly beloved, for my signs of God and other Devils collab (which you should totally join!!!). i tried something a little different with the style of this one...let me know what you think <3

wc: 2k tags: smutty smut smut, sacrilege, reader is not human (fallen angel but not really)

The old book told him that only those who had fallen from grace would be cast down from heaven. Angels ripped of wings–mouths that would never again speak of the divine. The abandoned blessings of a God that had so painstakingly created them. Purity and holiness strong-armed into something unsightly and obscene–an abomination of truly biblical proportions.

Yet there you were at Nanami’s feet. 

You’d slipped from the old wooden rafters, hitting the cobblestone below with a wet thud, like a calf falling from its mother’s womb. Wings still fully intact, fluttering uselessly behind you. Writhing in your agony, you crawled toward him. 

“Father,” you cried, dragging yourself toward him on splintered nail beds and bloodied palms, “Father–”

He took a step away from you, and then another–unsure of the scene in front of him, and weary of the unfamiliar coil in his chest–the one he’d been warned of, the black snake of temptation. But even broken and flailing in whatever viscosity you’d been covered in in your descent, there was no denying the pull of you that called to him. The realization that he may lack the strength he’d, until now, thought he had came distant and went on just as quickly as his eyes trailed over you. 

If it was a test from God, he’d already failed. 

The notion that you could be the image of gluttony before him carried significant weight–yet it was not heavy enough to keep Nanami from washing the film from you, however undevout it might have proved him to be. If every action had a consequence–if he was truly to be a man of service, after all–then surely to run his hands along your flesh, unmarred from the film of earthly sin, would not be such a bad thing. The consequence could not be so cruel if it was true that it was his duty–mandated by the oath he took–to extend his hand to you. That in doing so, he would not turn away from the God that he’d sworn his life to. Surely no angel could have fallen so far. Surely no angel would have come here to him. 

You spoke quietly and his body followed, like that of a moth to the light of a flame. You could not have been here to corrupt him—to touch your face did not burn him. 

“Father–” you croaked, quiet and rasped from your efforts, “please, it hurts–”

“Beloved,” he murmured back, wiping the thick sludge from your cheek, “what have you done?”

_

The water that trailed down your skin was enough to subdue you into a quiet, or maybe it was out of necessity–Nanami did not know if your silence was out of peace or of pain, as the drops crackled against your the film that encased you and dissolved it in a plume of foul smelling smoke. Unblemished you were underneath, and it was another blinking light to him–you could not possibly have been sent here to ruin him.

But as he raised the cloth to rid your wings of the slime, you let out a sigh as he touched the thin membrane, and he found himself chasing the sound. He’d only blinked and there you were, arched into his touch as he mouthed up the curve of your neck, panting and whimpering at the feeling of your silken wing under his fingers. Something called to him, a far away warning–and he dug his fingers into the flesh of his own thigh to break the spell. Bewildered, bewitched, blinking at you as if he’d only seen you now for the first time. 

“You are–” he swallowed thickly, fighting to come back to himself, “what are you?”

Blinking slowly at him, unperturbed. “You have a notion, Father?”

Like you’d called him to, he found himself moving in again–found himself stuck where he’d started, his tongue catching droplets that dripped from the wrist you’d slung over the rim of the basin. Something sickly sweet bloomed behind his teeth and told him he was damned. 

“You are no angel,” he murmured against your skin with as much certainty as could be mustered, “and yet–you cannot be a demon and remain in this house of God.”

His eyes snapped to yours at your snort, knowing at once that all along he had played to your hand. No longer were you a pitiful thing, scraping your knees against the stone to earn his mercy. Now, you held the answers, and he’d remain on his knees to beg for your indulgence. That he was sure of. 

“Do you speak only in absolutes, Father?”

Unwilling to bear broken proximity and equally unable to respond, your patience could’ve been a gift to him, if it hadn’t felt so oppressive. 

“I know that the path of righteousness is a clear one.”

Your responding laugh was a brand to the softest part of his body. 

“Father,” cooed in his ear like a secret, “your God could not be so kind.”

As you stood from the water, seemingly tripling in size and looming over him with wings outstretched, Nanami was bathed in the understanding that he was never in control. His eyes trained on every curve of your body, every droplet that trailed down your breast– knowing with certainty that what would follow would require his complete submission to you.

Knowing that you’d had it from the minute you’d called to him. 

“You ask what I have done,” your wings reached up and over the two of you, closing him into the world you commanded, “as if you have not called me here.”

All of the knowing you’d dangled above his head, now dropped unceremoniously into his own mind–the truth wasn’t nearly as devastating as it should’ve been. At once he knew he’d been the one to fall from grace. You’d merely come to collect his debt. And yet, he could not bring himself to grieve, as he’d never known a divinity like this one. On his knees, it was he who crawled to you, lowly bent to kiss your feet.  

“You will ruin me,” rasped and pathetic, against the arch of your foot. If he’d only looked up at your bared teeth, he’d have known how true the sentiment was. 

“No more that you have.”

He’d never again know an ache like the one in the pit of his stomach as you’d reached for him, and to go willingly only worsened it. Nanami made peace with the idea that if this was the hell that awaited him, he’d be cast down willingly. If the price for entry was a pleasure so sublime, he’d give every earthly penny he’d ever earned.

Settled over his open mouth, he drank from your sex like it could be the only thing to save him–the ache spread to his teeth and danced, burning, behind his eyes, but there could be nothing to thwart him from this. He’d never known an indulgence so human as this, yet the silken heat of your folds against his tongue was ingrained somewhere deep inside him, and every broken cry from your lips was something owed to him. Outside of his body, he was a voyeur to his own trailing hands, buried in the soft give of your flesh that he knew could not be human but felt that it was, until his fingertips met the slip of your wings and he was reminded again. 

A pleasure so sharp it could have been pain spread through him like you’d lit him ablaze, and he found himself closer to an edge he’d no reason to approach, as untouched as he was. And yet as he closed his fist around the papery thin flesh and pulled, it was as if he’d sunk himself inside you to the hilt. You rewarded him with a cry of the name he hadn’t yet told you and another obscene flood of arousal that flowed down from the corners of his mouth and soiled the neat fold of his roman collar. 

“More,” he groaned, pitiful against your heat, writhing in his own pleasure beneath you, “please, more–”

Suddenly you were gone from him, and mindlessly he chased you, stumbling across the stone beneath, still so damp from you–

“Does it feel good, Father?” he could only know the heat of your breath in his mouth, so close he could just lean forward and be swallowed whole by you, “your lust–the greed in your veins. Is this not what it means to be devout?”

“Yes,” he could’ve sobbed, head bowed forward like it was your forgiveness he’d sought after, “yes, please, I need it–”

Your chuckle was as patronizing as it was knowing, as it lit up everyone of his nerve endings. He knew he’d give you anything. 

“Bare yourself to me, then.”

The movement was unconscious and swift, and then he was splayed out over top the remnants of your arousal, offered up to you like a lamb to slaughter. Sweating, unable to still the incessant twitch of his hips in search of a pleasure only you could give him. Hungry in a way he’d never known in all of his years. 

Your appraisal could not have come without a price, and he closed his eyes to the shame that flooded him. But, merciful as you were, it was short-lived–you stepped to him and sank down, and you could’ve just as well reached inside him and pulled out the very matter of his being. 

It was an unbearable heat you sheathed him in—one that slithered up inside his rib cage and coiled around something raw and animalistic there, only to bring it to the surface and let it devour him alive. He writhed with it, unable to stop the curl of his spine or the snap of his hips into yours as he thought only of the wet silk of your insides. He could come up with no reason why he’d hoped so fervently for a heaven after death, when he’d been spared something far more luxurious, still alive. 

It spread like a slow moving poison until it consumed him entirely. The vice of you around him, the wings that still caged him in–it coated every synapse in his brain, dulling every other sense but to feel, and every other thought but to take, though he could hardly call it a poisoning if he’d drank from you so willingly–

“Is it so awful to give in to temptation, Father?” 

The time for morality had been long gone, and Nanami could only shake his head, moaning broken praises and half prayers to a God that watched on in horror, and still he could not think of a single reason he’d ever denied himself this pleasure. He’d never–he’d never–

“Give yourself to me,” you purred in his ear, taking great care to drag the edge of a feathered wing tip over the curve of his throat.

With only one more devastating roll of your hips, you shattered him completely–body lurching up in search of the comfort of yours, only to be met with wings that pinned him in suspension, dangling him in some blessed agony he’d hoped to never leave and to never experience again, for all it did to turn him inside out. Visions of the true divine came to him in a burning revelation–answers to questions he’d never uttered out loud came and left him as he spilled himself into you until he was reduced to the most basic function of dragging shuddering breaths into lungs that could seemingly no longer expand. 

When he opened his eyes to find himself alone, he could feel no surprise. Nor was he startled to hear a now familiar, echoing laughter against the halls of the cathedral as he let out a low curse and dragged his naked, aching body off of the cold stone. 

It was another unearned indulgence to allow the smile to spread slowly across his face as he pulled his robes back into place.

Perhaps he believed in acts of God after all. 

[netherese-blorb]

Troubling Thoughts on Wyllstarion from my Wyll Origin Playthrough

I started a new run to fulfill my Wyllstarion fantasies of princely good boy Wyll learning to let loose while teaching manic-pixie-dream-pire Astarion about true love. But I'm near the end of act 1 and as I'm gaining a better understanding of these boys, it's pretty clear that this relationship is going to be bleak.

Putting Wyll in the position of the player character, where he narratively has total agency, but also no pre-determined stances on the events of the story, is oddly perfect for him. My initial read on Wyll was that he's an idealist with a rigidly lawful-good alignment that makes him an easy mark for hucksters. But now I get the sense that, rather than having too strict a moral code, his gullibility ultimately stems from being too weak-willed (no pun intended).

He wants to do the right thing, but other than "self-sacrifice = hero = good", he doesn't have a strong idea of what that means. He doesn't have a clear ideology or divine mandate to guide him like a lot of the other companions do, but he also doesn't have any newfound freedom to embrace like Astarion and Karlach. All he has are fairy tales and an adolescent understanding of his father's politics. His confident bravado thrives when there are innocents to protect and/or villains to slay, but the moment a situation becomes more morally complicated than that, he's totally lost.

It's why Wyll the monster hunter still has dialogue options to immediately offer himself up to Astarion the undead vampire without any real convincing. It's why the drama around Mizora is more about her being an abusive boss he personally has to bear, rather than any larger ethical concern about his work aiding an objectively evil demon's agenda - but also why he's so easily convinced to disobey Mizora and accept Karlach. (Also-also, and this may be a cope on my part, I think it explains why tav/durge has to make the decision for him about selling his soul again in act 3. He truly can't handle it.) There's no need to manipulate a man who's already so desperate to martyr himself, or better yet, to have someone just tell him the right thing to do.

To bring it back to the point, Astarion's seduction is designed to ensnare insecure romantics like Wyll. On top of that, his tortured backstory hits all of Wyll's pain points. The fact that Cazador was operating right under his nose, in his city, while he was off dancing at balls (maybe even with representatives of the Szar family) would send him into a spiral. Did the other nobles know? Did his father know? What more could have been done? It chips away at his reality, and he looks to absolute pinnacle of mental health and stability, Astarion Ancunin, to fill in the gaps.

Even if both of them come into the relationship with the best of intentions, neither are emotionally equipped to move past a victim/savior dynamic. Astarion makes Wyll feel like a hero and Wyll makes Astarion feel safe. No one pushes the other to learn or grow. In act 3, Wyll helps Astarion ascend as a kind of reparation for his suffering, Astarion convinces Wyll to put himself first for once and keep his soul. Even if they rescue Ulder in time, eventually the title will pass down. I don't see this going any other way than ascended!Astarion using his spawn Duke Wyll Ravengard to rule over Baldur's Gate with an iron fist for time eternal.

If my feelings change as I continue the playthrough, I might add some updates, but I'm also interested to hear other's thoughts about this, so feel free to add on!

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

its his first day and b is already having issues... as his luck usually goes

also here's what the note they threw at koa said

part sixteen

❝ GHOSTS OF THE PAST ❞

MONDAY — JULY 23 — 9:57AM

KOA WASN'T KIDDING WHEN HE SAID THEIR TEACHER WAS WEIRD.

Ms. Heidi was her name, and she didn't show up for class until ten minutes after the bell rang. She didn't use the door, either, no -- she leaped through the open window from somewhere outside instead.

Judging by the look on Koa's face, it wasn't a rare occurrence.

She was wearing a Redwood Academy mandated uniform — a black pencil-skirt and blazer set, with these tall heels on her feet. Her hair was red, tied up in a weird looking, spiky updo. It wasn't as dark as Bentley's — it was orange-er than his, like Babs'. (Bentley had learned he was kind of a rarity, being born with dark red hair like that — he hadn't seen anyone else with that natural color but his father.)

She then began shooting questions off around the room rapid-fire style (which Bentley was not a fan of, by the way), asking them for verbs, nouns, adjectives, adverbs. By the end of it, she had a perfectly natural sounding story compiled of each of the words she'd been given and a perfect segway into a short lesson on a technique she called spontaneous storytelling.

The boy whose drink exploded came back to class maybe fifteen minutes later in a clean uniform — and he got a detention slip for being late. 

(Oops?)

Thankfully, after the weird spontaneous questioning and short storytelling lecture, Bentley didn't have to talk or answer anymore questions aloud — instead, they were given in-depth get-to-know-me worksheets to fill out for the remainder of the period. While they did that, Ms. Heidi played some strange jazz music from her desk and started doing some weird stretches.

Bentley may have been slightly appalled at her behavior, had he not already dealt with a teacher who was an evil murder scientist. He'd much rather deal with an eccentric weirdo.

There were lots of questions on the front and back of the get-to-know-me sheet -- about their siblings, parents, hometowns, hobbies. Bentley wondered if every school did that every year; because they'd done it at Gotham, too. 

The classroom fell silent, and he started to fill out the first blank: Your Full Name (first, middle, last.)

Bentley Thomas Whittaker-Wayne was what he put down -- because that was his name now. It still felt kind of weird, seeing it on paper, even though he was sure that was the name on all of Redwood Academy's records. Bentley hadn't known his middle name when Bruce first met him (he wasn't even aware he had any names besides his first and last, actually.) so, when he was adopted, Bruce gave him his. He couldn't even remember what they said it was before.

The second was his birthday, easy. October tenth.

The third was his birth city and state -- he put down Drew, New Jersey.

That's about when he noticed that Koa had gone really still next to him. When Bentley glanced over, his pencil was hovering just over the blank for question three, and he was staring at it hard like it was an impossible math equation. Maybe he didn't know what city he was born in?

Bentley watched discreetly as Koa continued to hesitate for almost ten whole seconds before he wrote down Adora, California, in handwriting that was purposefully messier than the rest. Maybe he didn't want her to know where he was born? It did seem like a random question for a teacher to ask, Bentley guessed.

He filled out the rest of the form fairly easily. For parents and their jobs, he put Bruce in the dad blanks, and didn't fill out the mom blanks. For siblings, he took it upon himself to painstakingly write down everybody's names in order of age: Babs, Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Steph, Duke, and Damian. He wrote about their pets. Damian's cow. About Nico and Asten, his best friends. His powers. And the last question was:

What is your dream job?

When he glanced over at Koa's, he was surprised to find that it said professional soccer player. 

Bentley looked back at his own paper, staring at the blank. What did he want to do with his life? He guessed he didn't know. Not really. Being a superhero sounded cool and all, but he wasn't exactly interested in fighting bad guys anymore -- not since he got saved from certain death by Future-Nico while under the alias of Robin. He thought he'd endured quite enough chaos for one lifetime, and superheroing just... didn't seem to be for him. Not with the way he unwillingly managed to find himself in life-threatening, bone-chilling situations without really even trying. 

What did he want to do with his life, if not follow in the secret Wayne-family legacy?

Bentley ended up writing I'm not sure yet, and hoped that was okay. For now.

And he made a mental note to google Adora, California.

--

His second period of the day was art. 

He and Koa had gone separate ways after leaving the English classroom — Bentley wasn't exactly sure why, maybe Koa had to use the bathroom — but with his handy-dandy campus map, he was able to find the art classroom without too much trouble. It was only two buildings away from the English building, which made him happy — he didn't quite feel like running across the entire campus again.

He made it to class just in time, and was immediately greeted by the smell of paint and something like clay. The whole room was layered in paintings and artworks from students long graduated, with two long, wide tables that streaked down the center with over a dozen seats at each. Layla, Koa, and Summer all ended up being in that class with him.

Their teacher was a guy named Mr. Lockwell, who was similar to Ms. Heidi in the sense that he was very odd. He kept going on and on about art and at one point got really emotional, then set them loose to create whatever they wanted in their own style so he could get a feel for their personalities.

Bentley drew a horrendous rendition of Titus the dog. Koa did a watercolor surfboard — which didn't turn out how he wanted, but still looked pretty cool anyways. Layla (who was apparently the next Van Gogh) drew an insanely realistic and detailed picture of a girl and a boy sitting on a rooftop watching the sunset, and Summer did some really intricate charcoal smearing-drawing-stuff. Bentley wasn't sure what the finished product was supposed to be. It looked like a big dark blob... maybe a butterfly? Apparently Koa thought it was the most amazing thing in the world, because he told her how good the blob was multiple times. (Bentley wondered how having a crush on somebody could make something so strange seem so... amazing.)

After various blobs and attempts at art were done, the bell rang, and they split to go to third period — Bentley's was Geometry.

Thankfully, the math building wasn't too far away, either. He crossed the threshold into classroom one-eighty-nine with a quiet exhale, with still a few minutes to spare before the lecture would begin.

The Geometry classroom was set up like the English one, like a lecture hall, but way less... chaotic. There wasn't much on the dark, wainscoted walls, and the only kind of decor that seemed to be in the room was the shelving that held the math textbooks. The desks were already full of students to glanced at him when he walked in. He relaxed just a little when he spotted Varian in one of the front tables, sitting alone, eating a pop-tart. (Where had he gotten more?)

At the teacher's desk at the front of the room sat a man...

 — and the world seemed to stop spinning for a minute.

At the front of the room sat a man. A man with light eyes, white hair, and a bald spot. Glasses. A man that sent Bentley a cold glance when he came through the door. The redhead went rigid, and his legs outright refused to work. He froze in the middle of the classroom, tugging on the strap of his backpack, his heart skipping and muscles twitching like a prey animal preparing to flee.

That guy looked just like Dr. Keene.

Like, actually just like Dr. Keene. Same face shape, same features in the same places, same mysterious air and heavy atmosphere about him.

He didn't look like Dr. Keene. He... it...

It was Dr. Keene.

Bentley was pretty sure he could've thrown up just then, willing it away for the sake of what minuscule dignity he had. Instead, his breathing picked up a little -- and he hoped it wasn't obvious to anyone else.

He blinked once, twice, glancing down at his phone that he managed to bring out of his pocket. His schedule had the all teachers' names on it, and he desperately searched for relief he wouldn't receive.

Keene, Theodore.

Keene.

Keene?

Bentley wasn't sure what was going on. But he was pretty sure he was starting to hear water in the pipes, and that Dr. Keene said something to him, and that he was still standing in the middle of the room. He kind of wanted to cry, but he also sort of wanted to bleed that man dry, literally, but he decided that was too violent, and his muddy brain finally settled on nothing more than staring and feeling awfully similar to how he he felt when he was ten.

He couldn't  live through that again.

Bentley jumped a mile and a half when someone touched his arm, and water roared in his head, blood.

"Whoa, Bentley, what's going on?"

The voice was soft, and quiet, and familiar. Bentley peeled his eyes off of the teacher just long enough for them to drift over and land on the person beside him.

Varian's worried brown eyes were staring back. He took a second to scan Bentley's outward appearance, and he assumed it all came back good when he looked back up at his face. "What is it, Bentley?"

Bentley breathed in. Felt like he might throw up. Heard some water roaring in the distance. "Dr. Keene..."

Varian glanced at the teacher. "Dr. Keene? That's Mr. Keene." 

Slowly, pieces began to click in Varian's head, and a physical, visual connecting of the dots rippled across his features. He moved in front of Bentley in an attempt to shield him from prying eyes — a valiant attempt, and thoughtful, too, but Varian was only slightly taller than him so it didn't really help that much. Even if it had, some of the students were craning their necks and leaning over to catch glimpses of the unfortunate soul who was on the verge of a panic attack at the front of the math classroom. (That was Bentley.)

"You went to Gotham Academy, didn't you?" Varian spoke lowly. "You're a lab meta."

When Bentley responded with only a curt nod, glancing back up at the teacher, Varian moved between him and Dr.— Mr.? Keene so he couldn't see him anymore. "Hey, Bentley, no."

Bentley was hardly able to breathe, to think, to focus, so when Varian grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back out into the hallway, it didn't take much to move him.

Apparently the math building had a lot of water and a lot of blood in it, because Bentley's head was roaring at the sound of it. Dr. Keene couldn't... he was in prison. He'd killed people. He'd... he knew Bentley's face. Bentley had been the one to bring his operation to light — and if Dr. Keene got ahold of him now... he was pretty sure giving him more superpowers would be the least of his worries.

Dr. Keene couldn't be there. Bentley couldn't be there.

Varian seemed to fumble for something to say. He was still holding onto Bentley's shoulder tightly and it didn't seem like he'd be letting go anytime soon. Bentley might've been embarrassed about the whole thing, if he could actually think straight. Which he couldn't.

He looked down at his phone that was clutched tightly in his hand — it was shaking. And he kind of felt like puking. And crying. And passing out. And all of those things wrapped up with a nice little bow was typically the feeling he got right before an anxiety attack.

"Are you gonna throw up?" Was what Varian settled on asking, because apparently Bentley looked like it.

He swallowed thickly and stared at the hardwood. "I don't know."

A moment of contemplation passed across Varian's face. "Are you gonna pass out?"

"I don't know,"

"Are you having a panic attack right now?" He questioned urgently, his grip tightening on Bentley's shoulder. "Oh, Geez, I-"

"I don't know, Varian, God, I... I don't know," Bentley muttered, bringing a hand up to rake through his hair. He had to be hallucinating, or flash-backing, or dying. He felt everything and nothing all at once.

"I heard about what happened in Gotham on the news," Varian inhaled and exhaled. Bentley opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"That's not him. It isn't the same guy. Dr. Keene worked at Gotham — Alexander Keene. This is Mr. Keene, Theodore Keene. It's his brother. He's been working here for a long time, since before Rockie started going here, and Rockie's been here the longest. It isn't the same guy. It's okay. You're okay," Varian rambled.

Bentley raked a hand through his hair again, trying to force himself into some semblance of calm. It wasn't Dr. Keene, it was Mr. Keene. He was fine. He was not going to have a panic attack on the first day of school. It was fine. He was fine. He absolutely refused to make himself look any stupider than he already had.

He didn't have the willpower to say anything when Varian, in a last-ditch effort to make him feel better, stepped up and hugged him.

Bentley went rigid for a split second, his mind still spinning and swirling until it maybe, finally, came to rest. The hallway came back into focus, slowly, and he was able to bring his arms up around Varian in return. Why was life so hellbent on benching him at every turn?

(He would never be able to look at his math teacher in the eye again.)

--

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[fannyyann]

Aleksander Barkov's impact on the Panthers, and how he's taken the mantle as best two-way player in the NHL Dimitri Filipovic

Patrice Bergeron’s departure from the NHL this past summer obviously left a massive opening atop the Boston Bruins depth chart down the middle that would be difficult to fill, which they’ve remarkably done one heck of a job of patching together thus far. 

But it also created a void every bit as glaring atop the Selke Trophy conversation as well. He’d won the award in each of the past two seasons quite decisively, totalling 187 out of 196 possible first-place votes last season. Even as he crept into his late 30s, he truly cemented himself as the gold standard of two-way excellence, consistently operating at a level that was simply unmatched by his peers. 

His retirement created an opportunity for someone from the current crop to step up and take that mantle though, and if the first 30 games or so this year are any indication, that role appears to have been filled rather admirably by Aleksander Barkov.

It’s certainly fitting that it would be him, considering that he’s the last active player to have won the award, but the heights he’s taken his game to in doing so are still awfully impressive.

What he’s doing right now would make even Bergeron blush, distancing himself from pretty much everyone else at his position much like his predecessor had made a habit of doing. The on-ice numbers Barkov boasts right now are downright staggering. In his 323 5-on-5 minutes, here’s how the Florida Panthers have fared:

Goals: 23-5 differential

High Danger Chances: 74-46 differential

Shots: 60.5 percent share

Expected Goals: 61.0 percent share

To put his dominance into even further context, he’s already scored six times himself, which means that he’s currently scored more goals than he’s allowed all of his opponents to muster combined. It’s also worth noting that without him out there, the Panthers are getting outscored 38-29. How they play with him on the ice and without him are two entirely different things, which speaks to his impact. He does it with the degree of difficulty ratcheted all the way up, chewing up heavy minutes against the other team’s top players while shouldering an immense amount of responsibility. 

And despite all of that, he’s still taken just three penalties (while drawing six of his own), finding a way to artfully poke and prod constantly with that pole vaulting apparatus he calls a hockey stick without ever crossing the line. It’s legitimately impressive that he can legally challenge puck carriers with the sheer volume of stick checks that he does, considering how much the league has mandated cracking down on anything even remotely near the hands. It allows him to craftily execute takeaways, while still staying on the ice, which is doubly important for a Panthers team that takes a bunch of penalties otherwise. That seems like a small perk in the grand scheme of things, but it actually ranks as one of my favourites about his game.  

He’s spent the majority of the season with Sam Reinhart and Evan Rodrigues on his flanks, and that trio has been the best line in hockey. In just under 200 minutes together, they’re up 19-3. Rodrigues has been underrated for years, and it’s great to see him finally find a long-term fit this season in Florida. Reinhart is tied with Kyle Connor for fourth in goals, currently on pace to score 50 times. The timing of his spike in shooting percentage couldn’t be better in a contract year, but he’s been so good for so long now, that he deserves to be rewarded for it. Plus, he’s such a smart player that I could see him aging quite gracefully into his 30s, the way that someone like Joe Pavelski has.

I love both players, so don’t take it as diminishing their contributions when I say that the reason all of it is possible for Florida is because of Barkov. His skill set is so unique, and such an enabler for everyone in his orbit. 

The two things that the Panthers have become synonymous with as an organization during this run of success have been a) their supremely aggressive forechecking, and b) their uncanny ability to keep bringing in castoffs from other teams and immediately juicing their production beyond what we had any reason to believe they were capable of at this point.

What they’ve been able to pull off to start the season almost surely hasn’t received nearly enough nationally. The team started the year without having Aaron Ekblad and Brandon Montour available for the first 15 games, who are clearly two of their three best defenders (you’ll see them referred to as their two best, but that’s Gustav Forsling erasure and we don’t stand for that here). Yet they’re currently 17-9-2 on the season, sitting in a tie with the Colorado Avalanche for eighth in the league in points percentage, with the sixth best goal differential. And despite those early absences, much of that success can be directly attributed to the team’s defensive performance. 

Only the Vegas Golden Knights, Winnipeg Jets, and Vancouver Canucks are giving up fewer goals than them at 5-on-5, and they’re sixth in fewest goals against surrendered on a per-minute basis overall. According to Sportlogiq, here’s how they grade out in all of the key categories we care about:

Expected Goals Against: 3rd

Slot Shots: 2nd

Inner Slot Shots: 5th

Offensive Zone Possession Time Allowed: 2nd

By any important marker, they’ve graded out as one of the best defensive teams in the league. Which almost seems impossible based on the aforementioned injuries, and the personnel they’ve largely leaned on along the way. Their top four players in total 5-on-5 ice time so far are Forsling, Niko Mikkola, Oliver Ekman Larsson, and Dmitri Kulikov. The three latter names were free agent signings, who they were able to bring in this past summer for a combined $5.75 million. So how exactly are the Panthers able to keep churning out these types of results then?

Every possible explanation keeps circling back to Barkov, because he represents the throughline that ties everything together for them. The reason why everyone they bring in thrives is because they get to play such a simple, fun brand of hockey. All they’re required to do is to keep unapologetically plowing ahead aggressively, and relentlessly, over and over again. 

The wingers are asked to forecheck as hard as they can, closing off walls and forcing the other team to try to make plays up the middle. That plays right into Barkov’s waiting hands, where his range allows him to cover ground like a ball-hawking safety in football. The defencemen get to pinch down the wall and try to extend plays in the offensive zone, knowing that Barkov will be there to cover them with support because he religiously stays above the puck. 

Barkov's 10 goals and 28 points in 25 games are obviously fantastic, and 99 percent of players in the league would kill to have that stat line. That said, it feels like he's capable of so much more offensively because of how much raw puck skill he possesses. And he honestly probably is, if he were wired differently. But whereas some of his peers may cheat for offence and stay deep in the zone until the last possible second to see possible scoring plays through to their conclusion, he instead circles back to get into the right position defensively proactively.

It's a calculated sacrifice on his part, and it's because of those choices he routinely makes that the scales get tilted in his teammates' favour. Regardless of who you are, because of his habits you now get to freely move forward and attack. With such a simplified decision-making process, everyone that comes to Florida gets to tap into the physical tools that helped get them to the NHL in the first place, without having to worry about some of the other complexities that might’ve inhibited them in their previous stops on other teams. 

The result of creating that sort of infrastructure is a massive competitive advantage for the Panthers. They’re able to routinely shop in the bargain bin, and squeeze value out of sources that might not be as readily available for the competition. That’s turned into quite the luxury for a franchise that hasn’t exactly had a lot of financial flexibility of late, having to turn over the roster and find a way to make the cap figures work creatively. 

Everyone involved deserves their fair share of the credit for creating an environment where that’s possible, but none moreso than Aleksander Barkov. Great players make those around them better, and that’s exactly what he’s done in Florida. By doing so, he's cemented himself as the preeminent two-way center in today's game.