#iceberg badge : )

[fad1d]

8/8 - iceberg badge❄️🥶

1/8 - bug badge

[theoogtree]

Who would win: an entire gym full of elite ice type trainers or one furbait fire fox witch

[burningembers91]

The Taste of You - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

The Secretary Lunch Date Awards Night Overtime

Synopsis: Desperate for more, Park Min-Su takes you to dinner. But you're the only thing he wants for dessert.

A/N: There's probably typos galore because I wrote this at lightning speed

Park Min-Su hadn’t slept all night. You’d been going round and round his mind like a broken record, the feel of your lips on his, the way they stained his skin with your lipstick drove him insane. He didn’t want to wipe away the cherry red stain at the base of his cock, the only evidence that his time with you in his office hadn’t been a complete dream. You made him feel things he’d never felt before, had acted out a fantasy he’d had so many times. And all he’d had to do was ask. You’d been so clear with him; you couldn’t help him if he didn’t tell you what he needed. What he needed was you. Last night had only been the tip of the iceberg, and he was so eager to learn more. He wanted you to show him everything you knew, to teach him how to make you feel as good he had.

He was nervous about going into the office that morning, of seeing you again. He had so many things he wanted to say to you, but the closer he got to his office door, the more his nerves chewed through him. By the time his hand was on the doorknob, he’d convinced himself he’d dreamt the whole thing.

But then he saw you, sitting at your desk, with the same cherry red lipstick on. You smiled sweetly as he entered, handing him his agenda for the day. Min-Su could feel himself stiffen again, could see your eyes trail down his body as you too noticed his arousal. “You have the presentation today at 3pm,” you said, choosing not to comment on his very visible erection. You’d made the first move, but now Min-Su needed to take charge. “Your dad would also like to meet with you at 9am, so I’ve scheduled in 30 minutes with him to go over the work we’ve done. The marketing department want a quick debrief at 1:30 to great ready for the presentation, and finance were chasing your weekly expense report. I tracked down all your receipts, and I’ve sent them off for you.”

You were so confident, so sure of yourself and Min-Su hadn’t listened to a word you’d said. He’d been too busy staring at your lips, wanting nothing more than to have you trail them down his body again. “Min-Su?” you asked, “did you hear what I said?” “No,” he admitted, “I was distracted.” You sighed, but couldn’t help but smile. “Anything you need?” Your words from last night echoed in his brain; he needed to tell you what he wanted. “I want to kiss you,” he breathed, his briefcase clenched in his hands as he stared at your perfect lips. “Then kiss me,” you whispered. His lips met yours softly, his tongue running along your lower lip, just as you’d shown him the night before. His hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, the kiss deepening as his briefcase clattered to the floor. You held each other in the silence of his office, clinging to one another as you lost yourselves in the sensation.

“Your dad will be here soon,” you smiled, finally pulling away, despite every fibre of your being screaming at you to keep going. Min-Su’s lips were stained with the colour you wore, and you carefully wiped the lipstick away, erasing any evidence that he had been kissing his secretary. He wanted to tell you to leave the marks, to let him show them off like a badge of honour. But the feeling of your thumb brushing over his lips felt almost as good as kissing you, and he moaned into your touch.

He couldn’t concentrate all day, especially when you were sat less then 10 feet away from him. He somehow managed to get through the presentation without any hiccups, his eyes trained on you as you diligently took notes throughout. He wanted to ask you out tonight, to take you for dinner at his favourite restaurant. You’d told him to be more assertive, so when you were back in his office, he approached you. “Will you come for dinner with me tonight?” He asked, his voice shaking slightly as he asked you. he didn’t want to be nervous, but you made him weak at the knees. “I’d like that. What time would you like me?” You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest as he asked you, the butterflies that jostled in your stomach. “Is 7 ok?” Min-Su could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for your response. He wondered if he’d always be this nervous around you, or whether it would get better with time. “7 is perfect,” you smiled, “I’ll text you my address.”

Min-Su was nothing, if not punctual. He arrived at 7pm on the dot to find you dressed in a burgundy off-the-shoulder mini dress. He’d bought you a dozen roses and a box of chocolates, clutching them to his chest as he waited for you to open the door. “They’re beautiful,” you smiled, setting the flowers up in a vase. No one had ever bought you flowers before, and the gesture was sweet. You didn’t stop talking throughout dinner, and Min-Su was slowly but surely coming out of his shell. He didn’t want the evening to end, but then again, he could spend an eternity with you, and it would never be enough.

“Can I come back to yours?” he asked, as the two of you left the restaurant. “What for?” you asked innocently, but your sly smile showed him you were joking. “I want to…” Min-Su was struggling again, struggling to voice just how badly he wanted you. “I want make you feel good.” His arms gingerly snaked around your waist, pulling you in for a brief kiss. “I want you to feel how I felt last night.”

Your hand cupped his cheek, your gaze meeting his. He was so sweet, so eager and those butterflies in your stomach started up again. “Ok, Min-Su,” you smiled, “take me home.” He opened the car door you, shutting it gently when you were seated. No one had ever done that for you either. You hadn’t realised just how kind he was to you. He always opened doors for you, pulled your chair out for you when you out for meals, or even just a coffee. He was such a gentleman, more so than anyone else you’d ever met.

As soon as you arrived home, his lips were on yours. You pulled his jacket off his shoulders, throwing it unceremoniously onto the floor as his hands explored your hips and waist. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced the outline of your jaw. His nerves were decreasing by the second, overridden by his desire to please you. “I want to know what you taste like,” he told you, his fingers fumbling for the zip on the back of your dress. He couldn’t believe how bold he was being, but that was the kind of effect you had on him; you made him feel on top of the world.

You led him to your sofa, shedding your clothes for him as you went, until only your underwear remained. Your body was perfection, your curves igniting the fire in his belly as he took in every inch of you. You were so beautiful, the curve of your breasts so soft. His fingers caressed your body, starting at your shoulders and working his way down. You moaned for him, his touch on your skin setting every atom of your body alight. “Where do you want me?” you asked, desperate for him to take control, to tell you what he wanted.

Wordlessly, he guided you to your sofa, sitting you gently down on the cushions as he knelt before you. He looked up at you, his eyes wide as you took you in. You really were the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. You brought his hands to the soft lace of your underwear, arching your hips as he pulled them down over your thighs. You were so wet, so perfect and Min-Su couldn’t help but moan at the sight of you. he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to start with you. “Touch me,” you whispered, propping your feet up on the seat to give him full access. Gingerly, his fingers reached out, caressing your slick folds as you let out the softest moan. You felt incredible, and he couldn’t believe you were this wet for him. He groaned as his fingers found your soft, tight core, pushing them inside you. “Fuck,” you whispered, watching the expression on his face as he explored you. He could feel his own arousal pushing against his jeans, and he palmed at his crotch as he lowered his tongue to your clit.

You tasted heavenly, your walls clenching around his fingers as he ran his tongue over your sensitive nub. He was so gentle with you, so careful as he figured out what you liked. Your moans were the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, his cock painfully stiff as he pressed the softest kiss to your clit. He was driving you crazy, his touch so timid and yet so perfect. His fingers were hitting a spot deep inside you, bringing you closer to the edge. “Feels so good,” you whimpered, “keep going, Min-Su.” Hearing you say his name, hearing you tell him how good he was making you feel was his undoing. He felt himself let go, spilling himself inside of his jeans. His tongue worked against you in rhythm with his fingers, feeling your soft, tight walls contract as you neared the brink. “So close,” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed his face against your soaking core. You came undone with a cry, a noise that send the most blissful shivers down his spine.

You sank down on to the floor next to him, your legs quivering as your lips met. His tongue tasted like you, and you were desperate for more. it was funny how last night he was completely at your mercy, yet tonight you were completely at his. You wanted to replay the favour, to show him how it felt to be inside you. Your hand dipped into his jeans, gripping his cock. “Oh!” Your fingers brushed against the fabric of his underwear, soaked with the arousal he’d hadn’t been unable to contain. “I couldn’t help it,” he whined, “you tasted so good.” “It’s ok,” you smiled, feeling him harden against your touch. You wanted him, all of him. You didn’t want to play games anymore.

As you went to unzip his jeans, Min-Su’s phone buzzed. You both audibly groaned, so wrapped up in the moment. He was going to ignore it, but then his phoned buzzed again. And again. Sighing, he pulled it from his pocket. “It’s my dad,” he sighed. “He wants to see me back at the office.” “Oh, ok.” You’d tried to mask your disappointment, to hide the fact that you didn’t want him to leave. “I wish I could stay,” he breathed, his lips brushing against yours. If it had been anyone else, he’d have ignored it. But his father was not a man you could ignore. “I understand,” you smiled. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

He left you on the floor of your living room, your heart still racing as you came down from your high. You were so confident on the outside, a force of nature who always seemed so self-assured. But on the inside, you were insecure, so desperate to be loved. No one had ever cared for you the way Min-Su had. No one had ever been so sweet, or kind to you. Nobody had ever treated your body like it was a temple, but Min-Su had sunk to his knees for you, worshipped you. This whole thing had started because you’d been desperate to feel something, and you knew Min-Su liked you. But now, as you listened to his car pull away from the street, you wondered if it was something more.

You wondered if perhaps you were doing what no one ever seemed capable of doing for you. Maybe you were falling a little harder for your timid boss that you cared to admit.

[imagionationstation]

Mikey was pretty much a Donnie whisperer.

It was a badge that he wore with pride, ever since the first day that he’d managed to coax a few words out of the nervous, older teen. He went out of his way to stay out of everyone’s way, but Mikey was unbothered. He had dealt with challenges before.

Donnie was a back of the classroom kind of personality, even if his brain totally could have placed him up front.

Mikey was a middle of the classroom kinda guy. Close enough to look like he wanted to pay attention, and far enough back that the teachers didn’t immediately notice when he wasn’t. He was soo chill like that, and he liked helping others chill out too.

So when he saw the high-strung, awkward, stuttering mess of a foster kid, obviously, he had to help him out!

It had been hard, especially with his bulky twin dragging him around like he was personal property (something Mikey stopped judging him for when he learn about the time that they’d been separated for a few months, and Donnie left the home with concealed bruises and a missing tooth), but Mikey learned to manage.

Much like Raph had his ways of keeping them together, Mikey had his ways of inserting himself into their circle. He was always challenged, always with a sneer (“He bothering you, Don?” Never Donnie, always Don-) and heated glare, like he was always expecting an answer that he never got, no matter how uncomfortable his younger half seemed. (“I’m fine, Raph. Really.”)

(Mikey quickly learned that uncomfortable could sometimes translate into joy. He was uncomfortable when he rambles. He’s uncomfortable at the lunch table with Mikey’s friends. He’s was uncomfortable when Mikey first invited him to his house.)

He wasn’t uncomfortable the first time they met. It was something else. Something that stole his voice and made him hunch in on himself, looking at Mikey like he came from another planet.

Mikey didn’t let that bother him. With the sporty twin distracted on the field, Mikey swooped in with the perfect excuse (“yeah, that’s my big bro, Leo, riiiight over there”) an easy lie (“Oh, yeah, I tots come watch him practice all the time.”) and a bright smile to keep the conversation going. (It was a one-sided conversation for the first few times, but he came around eventually. Everyone does!)

Seriously, it took foreeever to start getting a good reading on the guy, but once he did, it was like finally striking a match and getting a fire so big that it burned your fingers. He was awesome.

He had sketch books filled with all kinds of crazy things and a brain big enough to actually build them. Mikey volunteered his backyard as a construction site and, within two week, they had a crazy flying assault drone. One that he immediately used to fire nerf bullets at their brothers as they walked up the driveway.

He’d tried to hand the remote back and Donnie refused.

“You can keep it.” He smiled, eyes shining with pride, “I can’t take it to the house anyway.”

It was always ‘to the house’ and never ‘home.’

It made Mikey sad, but he talked about happy things instead.

There was a lot to be happy about! Mikey introduced Donnie to everything that he knew. Carnivals, movie theaters, arcades, laser tag, and museums (Mikey loved the exhibits, Donnie gushed over the information behind them) were the tip of the iceberg. They went on hikes and had sleepovers and messed around in the dojo and played pranks that their brothers always tracked back to them. They would be uno-reversed and then the dynamic duo would have to get more creative to return the favor.

(Donnie introduced Mikey to things that he never knew too. A patient voice walking him along assignments that he can’t sit through. An attentive eye that noticed the little things that got lost in big groups- words gone unheard, downcast looks flicking by, hidden fears that come out in nervous laughter, false confidence in a bright grin that never dares to fade- and never hesitated to remind him that they mattered. He mattered. Donnie heard and saw everything, and Mikey slowly realized what it was like to be seen without trying.)

They built all kinds of fire things in the backyard- literally set it on fire once!- because Papa was afraid that they’d blow up the house. Leo tattled on them often, but Papa would take one look at Mikey’s big, guilty eyes and Donnie’s honest, sheepish smile, and they’d be off the hook. It frustrated Leo to no end, but Mikey thinks that easy forgiveness is why Raph kept coming over.

(Raph had that rebel vibe and didn’t seem to like anyone, much less his twin, but he still kept coming over, and stranger still, spending all his time with mightier-than-though Leo. He actually listens to their father, looking to him for advice, which Mikey only discovered because he came home early and found them talking in low voice.)

(Raph was relaxed and attentive. Mikey left them alone. Wonders of the universe never ceased to happen in the Hamato home.)

Mikey asked Donnie why he was so mean all the time. Donnie stood up, dirt on his pants and a black smear on his cheek, thinking deeply about a simple question, “Adults don’t care about you when you’re nice. Being mean is the only reason we stay together.”

Mikey catches the paintbrush as it falls off his nose. Some of the paint splatters on his shirt. “You’re not mean.”

“I can do stuff.” Donnie shrugs as he digs in the borrowed tool box. “People notice that too.”

“But you said that his temper gets you guys in trouble.”

“I’m okay with being in trouble.” Donnie turns around, desired tool procured. “As long as he’s there.”

“But I didn’t know you could do stuff.” Mikey presses. (He’s plenty nice and that’s why people notice him. Couldn’t Raph do that too?)

“I know.” Donnie smiles, in his small, sheepish way. It’s infectious, and Mikey always beams back. “Not everyone is you, though.”

“One of a kind, brah.”

“Yeah,” Donnie looks away, kneeling back down. “You are.”

They were both one of a kind. It was what made them so great.

They always managed to make their interests link, to find a way to have both wants met. Something only came between them once.

(Mikey remembers the horrible night of his school play, when Donnie had the mechanics meet where his club would show off their inventions. How the week before they’d bickered endlessly about how Mikey needed Donnie to be in the crowd- he was scared of losing the words, of messing up in front of the school, he needed him- his club could show off the inventions without him!)

(Donnie had gone cold, ignoring his attempts to reach out.)

(The next day, Mikey went to his foster house. He waited there on the doorstep, refusing to budge until Donnie came out. He did, eyes puffy, and Mikey wanted to shake him, selfish and mean and terrified of losing him. “Why did that matter more than me?” Donnie, selfish and mean and terrified too, didn’t hesitate, “No thing matters more than you. But I had to go. I had too.” And Mikey sobbed. And Donnie sobbed. And they hugged. And that was that.)

Donnie opened doors that Mikey never knew had been closed. He was Mikey’s secret-keeper, a lock-box that no force on earth could open. Mikey was determined to be the same, no matter how bad his stories got. Donnie needed to tell them and nothing in this world, not even his crazy, silly brain, would convince him not to listen.

“Kids don’t like nerds.” Donnie placed one of Mikey’s plastic stars on the wall next to his bed. They both loved space, even if it was for different reasons. “They don’t like feeling dumb. I’ve been a lot of places, but it’s always the same. They like you until they learn that you could be in college. And that makes the adults mad.”

Mikey makes a dog with tiny stars. “Why?”

“Because I’m wasting potential.” He stares at the star. “I could be doing great things. I should be doing great things.”

Mikey smiles, “Your constellations are really great.”

“Great enough to make mom proud?” He presses it against the wall. “Or to make Raph’s life better?”

“I bet your mom would be proud.” Donnie lays on the bed, knees pulled up to his chest. Mikey lays next to him, hands tucked behind his head and shoes on the wall. “And why isn’t that the adults job? Why are they mad at you for it?”

Donnie shrugs, “I guess I’m not smart enough to know that.”

“Still.” Mikey looks at him. “Bet your mom’s super proud.”

He plays with his hands, looking at the stars. “Yeah?”

Mikey reaches over to squeeze his arm, “Totally.”

They were the perfect pair. They were the ideal friends.

Everything was great, until the rainy night that the Shen brothers appeared on their doorstep and said that they were being moved hours away. If there was a reason for it, Mikey was having a hard time catching it through Donnie’s heartbroken stutters and Raph’s dense silence. And Mikey couldn’t make it better.

He froze there in the living room and all he could think was,

He’s leaving. He’s going away. He’s leaving.

I’m losing my best friend.

And Leo- rude Leo, perfect Leo, stiff Leo, dull Leo, tattle tale Leo (two-in-the-morning drunk laughter Leo, always gets Mikey the best birthday gifts Leo, first to speak up for the little guy Leo) decides to walk up and wrap his arms around the kid who had been no more than a nuisance to him for months, and say, “I’m sorry.”

Mikey watches Donnie break, knees knocking, tears streaming, hands clawing into the fabric of his soaked t-shirt as he blurts that he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to doesn’t want to why can’t he stay he wants to stay he can’t lose them can’t lose them please please-

Donnie sobs. Raph watches him, motionless.

Their father sets a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I will find you dry clothes.”

“I’m not going back.” Raph says, oddly void of emotion, once again using singular when he meant it to be plural. “They don’t want me.”

His father squeezes, gentle, “I will pass the message that you will be staying over tonight.”

He blinks, like someone in a daze, and looks at him. He mutters. “We’re not supposed to be here.”

His father is quiet. Leo, now in need of a change of clothes himself, says, “It’ll be rude to bother them so late, drag them out here. We can tell them in the morning, right father?”

Their fathers nods. Donnie cries. Mikey scrubs the tears from his cheeks and goes to make everyone hot chocolate.

(And if he crumbles there alone on the kitchen floor while the pot boils, that’s between him and the stove. But the stove will never tell because it can’t, and Mikey will never tell because it’s not Mikey’s place to steal away attention and be this sad when he has it so good.)

When he comes back with the mugs, he finds his father gone and Leo on the rug, running his hands through Donnie’s hair, muttering under his breath, watching Raph.

His best friend, who’s leaving too. Raph stares through the wall.

Mikey sets the mugs down, walks towards him, and wraps his arms around the older teen. He squeezes his eyes shut, cheek pressed into the sticky wet fabric, and says, “I’ll miss you.”

Like a robot learning human affection, his arms slowly inch their way up. Then the hug is being returned, and he grumbles, “You don’t even like me.”

“I like you a lot.” He says, because he learned to while seeing the world through Donnie’s eyes. “You’re a good brother.”

“I’m not.” He bites. “It’s my fault. It’s always my-”

His voice cracks. His mouth shuts audibly.

After a moment, Raph tightens his grip.

His breathing changes. Mikey’s shoulder gets wet.

He thinks it might not be hair that is dripping.

He doesn’t have a clear memory of the rest of the night. He knows that Leo is the only one who drank the hot chocolate, sitting close to Mikey as the others changed. He remembers hugging Donnie, skinny arms clinging around him like they never wanted to let go, and feeling something deep in him tearing when they eventually do. He can see Leo handing Raph his old phone, looking him dead in the eyes like a promise being passed, softly asking, “Text me whenever.”

He wakes up sitting in the armchair, fogged brain taking in Leo’s missing presence and the couch where Donnie and Raph are reclining. Raph’s arm is over his younger twin’s chest, leg hanging off the recliner, free of the blanket that hides most of a friend who’d improved Mikey’s life to the point that he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go back. Back to friends that he can’t share secrets with and activities that are perfectly safe without smiles that make him feel like he single-handedly brought the sun to a dark planet.

He finds out that Leo’s in the kitchen helping their father make breakfast. They’re talking in low voices, quieting when the rest of the small group walks in. Mikey’s clinging to Donnie’s hand. Donnie doesn’t look at him, but he also doesn’t pull away.

Mikey has to let go so he can go to the van in their driveway.

They get a few steps, before Raph pauses in his tracks.

Without a word, he spins around and charges back up the stairs, throwing himself at their dad. He holds onto him, shaking, and he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I am proud of how far you’ve come.” Papa soothes as he returns the embrace. “Be safe, young one. Be strong.”

“Yeah.” He pulls away. “Okay.”

And he stomps back to the vehicle, snagging Donnie’s wrist as he goes. Donnie doesn’t fight him, waving before he gets inside, door slamming shut behind his twin.

Mikey waves until the van leaves his sight and then he runs inside.

He locks his bedroom door behind him and stays there.

Hours later, the door unlocks from the outside and Leo comes in.

The light from the stars on his wall is gone, so Mikey throws a pillow. It bounces harmlessly off his side. He’s quiet, sitting down at his desk (Mikey’s desk that Leo claimed because he never used it and Leo didn’t have room for one in his bedroom) to work. He turns on music (Mikey’s playlist- he hates Mikey’s playlist when he’s working) and starts reading some book that doesn’t matter.

And Mikey stares at him and stares at him and stares at him and then whines, over the music, “I don’t want them to leave.”

“I know.” Leo rubs his eyes, sighing. “Me neither.”

And somehow that makes Mikey feel a teeny bit better.

They numb the ache together until the weekend ends. The twins don’t show up and Mikey gets sympathetic back pats and gentle smiles from teachers and it only makes him more miserable because Donnie’s going to some strange place where he won’t get that.

Donnie is always on his mind, in the fires on the tv shows and the drone under his bed and any smiles with a gap and the long boring lectures and the comic that Donnie’s never heard of and the tools that had been moved to the garage and the dead grass in the backyard. He though of him as he sent out birthday invitations, and when Leo pulled out his phone to check for responses that Raph hardly ever gave because his foster family didn’t believe in meat products, giving wifi passwords, or children with technology.

He thought about him as the guests arrived and presents were all opened. He concentrated on him when he blew out the candles.

Mikey thinks about him late that night when he should have been sleeping, teddy bear taken out of his drawer and hugged close to his chest. (Donnie didn’t think it was silly- he cradled it like it mattered- “I had one when mom was still here.”) He hoped that wherever Donnie was, he had something fluffy of his own to cuddle with.

(He should have given him the bear.)

Mikey wakes up miserable, heading downstairs and smiling at a fully dressed Leo (Mikey should probably find his shoes). Leo smiles back and says that father’s out. (He’s driving and they’re going to be on time, so get he better get his butt moving.)

(Leo proceeds to makes them ten minutes late because he forces Mikey find his math textbook before they leave. Mikey doesn’t tell him that he probably won’t be opening it anytime soon.)

Papa isn’t there to pick him up so Mikey’s forced to sit through Leo’s practice. Mikey can’t bear be on the bleachers, so he distracts himself by making sure Leo consistently remembers that he exists (“DID YOU REMEMBER TO PUT ON DEODORANT? YOU KNOW HOW YOU TEND TO SMELL!” “MIKEY!”)

Leo lectures him the entire way home. He refuses to feel any remorse for his actions, pleased to see papa’s car in the driveway.

He goes inside, kicks off his shoes to reveal mismatched socks (“This again, Mikey?”) so Leo will do his laundry, and dashes to find their father for a very good explanation.

“Papa!” He screeches. “I NEED CHEESY BREA-”

He finds his father. And much more.

Donnie and Raph are in the living room, grinning like Mikey does on Christmas morning (Raph knows how to smile?), and Mikey gets two seconds to decide what to do.

So he runs, and Donnie meets him halfway, and as he stands on his tip-toes (did he get tall?), and hugs and hugs and hugs with all the loneliness and pain and love that he’s held inside, he gasps, “YOU DIDN’T COME TO MY PARTY!”

Donnie doesn’t answer, fingers bunching in fabric (like they always do, like he’s always scared to be ripped away), and Raph announces, “It’s not like we didn’t try. Government sucks.”

“Is it official?” Leo questions as he walks up. He hugs Raph, and Raph repropriates, and then they’re splitting apart. “Not really. But Sharon said he could have us ‘til it was.”

“So just more fostering?”

“Basically.”

“What is happening?” Mikey’s voice wobbles in happy betrayal. “Why am I the only one who doesn’t know anything?”

Donnie pulls away, and gestures helplessly, and admits, “They only told me a few hours ago.”

“Wasn’t gonna get your hopes up.” Raph states.

“What he said.” Leo speaks up. (Awful, evil brothers)

Their father adds, “How about you sit down and I explain?”

Mikey wanted to run around and scream with joy, but he sits down right next to Donnie, and learns their family of three is going become a family of five. And like the baby of the family that he still is, Mikey cries. His brothers- all three of them- three brothers- exchange the first set of looks of many that will define their relationship.

And then Donnie’s taking his hand, squeezing their fingers briefly, and smiling with the gap that always proved that someone can be happy despite every reason to feel sad, and pleads, “C’mon, bro. Show me around my new home?”

“You’ve been here.” Mikey laugh, struggling to calm himself down, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. “You don’t need me for that.”

“I saw your house.” Donnie beams. “Now I wanna see mine.”

Mikey understands everything unsaid. He’s the Donnie whisperer.

And now he gets to spend the rest of his life listening.

[vampv0id]

Nvm. The demons won.

Thought about making one of those 'Your fictional crush as a little kid v.s. your fictional crush as an adult' posts but the contrast is so fucking painfully disturbing and funny I don't think I could bear putting them both in the same post

[ladylaviniya]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧 — 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡é 𝐛𝐮𝐭- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬?

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤!𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐗 𝐅!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐚𝐭, 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭-𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧, 𝐎𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭, 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐩 (𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐞!!), 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐂𝐨𝐧, 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐆𝐮𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐂𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 *𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫*

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝐤+

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥.

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: “𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝” 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @dollywons

𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐛𝐲 @nat111love

Mr Oswald Cobblepot wasn’t such a bad guy, at least that’s what you were told. He was the man who put the lights back on and supported the community with money and shelter because let me tell you, insurance ain’t no cheap fee in Gotham. 

He was often called The Penguin, which if somebody asked you, you’d find both cute but perhaps demeaning- yet Oswald wore the title like a badge of honour. Every waddling step he took with his solid black cane was made with pride, his chin held high and his chest puffed up.

He wasn’t a white trash bum, no, he was a boss, he was a businessman, he was a King with keys to the city of Gotham. 

He took down the Maronis, he took down the Falcones and sure enough he took down every greasy, greedy, lowlife slime ball who came around his turf trying to take what was his- what the people had given him. Respect. 

You see, what made this man so beloved wasn’t for the rumours of his ruthlessly cruel behaviour, it wasn’t for his money he graciously loaned to those in need- no, it was actually his kind and generous behaviour. He was a community man. He cared.

If you had a bill to pay, he paid it. If you’re out of cash and your kids are hungry, he’d bring you a box of food to last a month. If you were scared of some punks trying to vandalised your shop, boy-o did The Penguin handle it. He was even a little chummy with the police, often seen sharing a doughnut and coffee outside a cafe. And there weren’t no one filling the tithes basket like Oswald Cobblepot every Sunday Mass. 

He made sure the priest was happy, cops were happy and people were happy.

Everyone knew about the Iceberg Lounge, his most popular club, but since renovations, it got to be a little classier. It was the place to be of you wanted to listen to the finest swing and jazz. And you had heard strangers on the street gossip about how it sold the best rump steak. Steak? In this economy? 

He even knew your name. Your dad was a handyman, a plumber, locksmith, electrical guy, whatever really. Your dad was a hard worker and often was paid to do jobs for The Penguin. 

So yea, he knew your dad and came to know your name. It wasn’t a surprise when he would wink at you passing down the street with your book bag, sometimes you’d be seen running to catch the last bus of the day.

❆❆❆

The club felt quieter than usual, that’s how the Penguin knew it was daytime without checking his rolex; the usual staff were busy cleaning up shakers and glasses from the previous night’s shenanigans. As the bartenders busied themselves cleaning and tidying up in his wake, Oswald received a call from his trusted right-hand man, Iggy. It seemed that someone had racked up a hefty debt to him, a debt large enough to warrant Oswald’s immediate attention.

Oswald waddled out of the exclusive Iceberg Club with an air of confidence, his doors were lined by his awaiting men admiring his gleaming plum Maserati Quattroporte. He told them where to go. Who to shake down. 

The thugs headed off to do Oswald’s bidding, but before he followed, he took a moment to reflect on the task at hand. 

$100,000 he had loaned...and only $20,000 had come back to him. Normally he didn’t cover gambling debts too high risk in business, but hey he thought he could trust this man. He thought he could trust this working father, just trying to raise his kid, get her a good life. 

Oswald should’ve killed him and he would’ve done too if it weren’t for you. Sweet little princess that you were made him unbelievably charitable. Sadly a debts and debt and he couldn’t let the loss never be paid off. 

It was time to go chop some fingers, ears, mouths and noses. Deliver some punches and encourage a bit of violence.

He slid into the plush leather seat of his Maserati, his callous fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. He pulled out into the street, the purr of the car’s engine giving him a moment of peace to contemplate the road ahead. 

He came to a halt at the end of the road where his club was tucked away. On impulse, he turned his head to take a look at the young woman sitting at the bus stop. 

The sun hung high above the surrounding buildings, casting an orange glow across the cityscape. The evening air held the promise of a hot, sultry night.

The bus stop was a small, metal shelter, its exterior painted a faded red, and the paint chipping in several places. The roof was pitted and rusted, the windows were grime-covered, and the floor was littered with cigarette butts. There was a small bench inside the shelter. 

As his gaze took in the smooth curves of the womans legs, a rare moment of appreciation flickered on his face. Some black kitten heels were on those feet. White stockings. Oswald couldn’t believe it, what type of broad wore stockings on a stifling hot day like this?

His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized it was in fact you sitting there at the bus stop. He quickly rolled down the window and rested his elbow on the sill. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he regarded you.

“’That you, sweetheart?” he questioned, leaning further out of his car window.

You looked up with a totally surprised look on your face, your eyes meeting his. Your eyes widened as you recognized the car before the voice inside of it. The sight of you all alone at the bus stop made his blood heat up, and he bit his lip hard. There you were, looking so sweet with your book bag and a novel in your hands. Anyone could do anything to you, including him.

 “Hi Mister Cobb!” you chirped in greeting. 

He smiled.

He couldn’t help but consider how wicked he was to even entertain the idea of hurting someone as innocent and guileless as you. He was ashamed to be so perverted. What were you? Seventeen? Eighteen? Barely legal. Jail bait material.

He took a quick glance in his rear-view mirror, taking in the surroundings. It was daytime, and most people were likely hunkered down at their office jobs. But come the evening, the streets would be crawling with people eagerly queuing to gain entry to his club. For now, the coast was clear – no one was coming up behind him anytime soon.

He adjusted his dark ray bans and looked at you again, his hidden gaze lingered on your legs once more.

He asked, “Watcha doing out here, sweetheart?” he couldn’t believe he was seeing you of all people near his club, after all, didn’t you know this wasn’t a nice area? All types of bad people crawled these parts of town, he was included that crowd. The lenses of his shades masked the hunger and dark desire in his eyes looking over your legs and wide eyes.

You rotated your body towards him, but remained in your seated position. You pursed your lips, wasn’t it obvious? You glanced at the yellow station sign.

“I’m waiting for the bus, Mister Cobb,” you replied, crossing a knee over your thigh. Fuck he swore he saw your underwear under that shapeless skirt of yours. Your knees, Jesus, they deserved a good carpet burn.

He chuckled as he looked down at his rolex. 

“School finished an hour ago, didn’t it?” he questioned, curiosity and maybe being a little condescending. 

You smiled timidly at him, “I’m in college now, Mister Cobb,” you held up the large book bag at your feet. “And there are only two buses since the floods,” you added. 

Oswald’s gaze dropped to the book you were holding, then travelled back to your face. He wondered if you had been sitting there all day, waiting for the bus home. He took a few moments to study you further, admiring your youthful lips, imagining them around the tip of his cock for a moment.

‘C’mon baby doll, another load for daddy.’

Oswald couldn’t help but let out a small smirk as he heard those words. “College girl, huh?” He jerked a thumb towards the passenger side of his Maserati. “Well, c’mon, get in,” he ordered, “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, no, you really don’t have to do that,” you protested politely, but you began rising slowly, your fingers toying with the strap of your book bag. It would be wildly inappropriate to accept a ride from him. He was the Penguin.

He let out a sharp snicker, shaking his head in disbelief at her sweet rejection, “C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, “Tell me, when does the next bus arrive?”  his rings flashed in the sweltering sunlight.

He watched you pull out a phone and check the time. If your dad was thousands in debt to him, he would’ve bought you a nice watch for Christmas. The cogs behind your eyes worked before you shared the time.

“About an hour,” you confessed.

The Penguin let out an exasperated sigh, “Yeah, you don’t wanna be sittin’ out in this heat for another hour, do ya?” he said, waving at the baking bus stop.  “It’s hotter than hell out there. Come on, hop on in hun, I’ve got the AC cranked up. You can sit up front with me. I’ll drop you off at home.”

You chewed on your lower lip nervously, clearly you were weiging your options. He grinned when you finally rose from the bench, sliding your book into your bag. You made your way around the car and opened the passenger door. 

He cranked the AC as high as it would go.

Once you slid into the leather seat, his gaze dropped down to the supple flesh of your thighs, his throat going dry in response. His throat bobbed, his hand clenched the stirring wheel. God help him if he got an erection. Not that it would bother him too much, but he needed to focus on the road and not on the vision of you fingering yourself on the passenger driver seat.

“Seatbelt kiddo, safety first.”

You smiled at him as you clicked the seatbelt buckle into place and surveyed the dashboard of his car with a sense of awe. The sun made it sparkle. 

 “Wow,” you murmured, your hand slowly moving forward to gently touch the smooth, supple leather. 

The Penguin let out a small chuckle at your fascination, enjoying the way your eyes lit up as you explored the plush interior of his Maserati. You were just another underprivileged girl, unexposed to the luxury of finer things. He knew your father kept you well away from The Penguins world— or else you would be already dancing in heels and a thong in the 44 below lounge beneath the club.

Maybe you could dance for daddy still. Maybe some private dances. Oh how cute you’d be in a white babydoll and some high heels that you would wobble in every step.

The Penguin’s voice broke your admiring reverie, and you looked up at him. “Now let’s get you home, yea?” he said.

Your hands folded on your lap delicately. You were a little lady, a real sweetheart, a princess. Nah, he wouldn’t make you dance.

He knew that the drive to your place would take only about twenty minutes, but he also knew that once you got home, things would go haywire. Taking one final glance at your exposed knees, he pulled back onto the road.

Your wide eyes fluttered slightly as you leaned back into the plush seats. He didn’t miss the chance of watching your knees part lightly. 

“Thank you Mister Cobb for driving me home,” you said with weariness in your soft voice, “It’s been a long day.”

Oswald hummed, “Oh, yea? Why so long?”

You looked down at your hands and fidgeted, nervously picking at your nails as you spoke. “Just anxious about the future, about the exams I’ll might be taking in the future,” you admitted, averting your gaze towards the passing landscape out the window. “I ain’t really in college but it was an orientation day today.”

Your neck and wrists caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but envision how easily he could wrap a hand around your throat. Imagining how easily he could hold both your hands above your head with just one of his own. 

“Nah,” he clicked his tongue, a smirk forming on his lips. “You ain’t got nothing to worry about, sweetheart,” He paused, “You’re a smart girl. You’ll make it.”

Your cheerful smile was greeted with a sly smirk from him. He noticed how well you responded to the praise. God he wish he could pull over down an alley street and turn you into his slut. 

“I’m starting college, If not in the spring, then I’ll start in the fall after summer break. In September.”

He responded with a simple, “Hey, that sounds alright, I didn’t go to college but I bet you’ll knock ‘em right outta the park.” before flicking on the blinker and merging onto the highway. His grip tightened around the gear stick as he skillfully switched gears, causing the car to accelerate at a rapid pace. “Why ugh, why the fall?” 

You cleared your throat, “Oh um-”

Oswald’s gaze shifted briefly in your direction as you spoke. 

You fidgeted nervously, gnawing gently on your lower lip, and explained, “I’ve almost gathered all the money I need. For a full-time enrolment, I still need a consigner, dad’s not willing— but I’m close to having enough saved up to cover a part-time year’s tuition. I can start work at The Corner Diner to make up the difference.”

Oswald’s eyes softened, warmth crept into his smile. He took in your fierce ambition, your unwavering determination to study and better yourself. He noted the spark in your eye, the fierce hunger to rise above and lift yourself out of this hell hole in downtown Gotham and create a new life for yourself.

“I believe you’re gonna go far sweetheart,” he said strongly, “You just gotta put your mind to it, know what you want and know what you’re willing to do and sacrifice to get there.”

In response, a shy smile curled on the corners of your lips as you gazed down at your hands, embarrassment tinged with pride.

Oswald’s gaze flickered over in your direction, memories flooding his mind unbidden. He envisioned the wide-eyed young girl who had once perched on a tall bar stool, sipping a milkshake through a straw, your chubby cheeks puffed up with curiosity and naivety while you asked where your dad had gone. Your dad had business with Carmine Falcone and had no choice but to take you to the Iceberg Lounge with him. You were what? Fourteen back then? He couldn’t remember if you had braces or not. But you’d complimented Oswald for the rosary he wore around his neck.

You still had that innocent look about you, except...a full figure, maybe a little taller, less acne. 

Oswald’s attention lingered on your legs for a brief moment before he returned his gaze to the road, downshifting and swiftly maneuvered the car behind a slower vehicle in the middle lane. He shifted two lanes to the left and gunned the engine, abruptly switching back into the fast lane. Glancing at the dashboard, he kept a watchful eye on the speed gauge, ensuring the speed remained below the legal limit of 90mph.

As the car barrelled down the road, he ventured a conversational question, his tone casual but with a hint of genuine interest. “Whatcha want to study, doll?”

Your cheeks felt unbelievably warm with embarrassment as you hesitantly shared your aspirations with the Penguin. “I’ll be starting with some general education classes, I think, like history, art, maybe writing,” you began, your voice trailing off somewhat. “I hope I do well enough to qualify for a scholarship. It’s my dream to join the journalist program,” you admitted sheepishly.

The Penguin’s lips twitched into a sly smile as he replied, his tone tinged with friendly encouragement. “You’d make a fantastic reporter,” he said. “But you’d best write only good things ‘bout me, ya?”

A soft, nervous giggle escaped your lips, and your hand instinctively travelled to the back of your neck. Your nose wrinkled in a cute, almost bashful fashion as you responded. “Of course,” you said, the words coming out a little more eagerly than you’d meant.

The Penguin took an exit off the highway, signalling with his blinker before turning. He turned to you, his tone both curious and engaging. “What made you choose writin’, doll?”

Your soft lips parted gently as you answered with full sincerely, “I want to write real news, say it how it really is,” you paused. “Sort of like what you do, Mister Cobb.” 

In that moment, you turned your gaze in his direction, and his eyes flicked over to meet yours through the dark tint of his glasses.

The Penguin’s knuckles turned bone-white against the leather of the steering wheel, his mind wandering into dangerous territory again. He mused on how easy it might be to seduce you, how much fun it could be to have you beneath him, moaning his name. You seemed to adore him, and he wondered how you’d react if he placed his hand upon your thigh and told you that you had grown into a bright, gorgeous young lady...how easy it would be to shove you into the backseat and hold you down.

He tried to push those images from his mind. He tried not to dwell. You were out of the question. Not because he had any actual ethical problem with engaging in a sexual relationship with inappropriately young women… but your dad was working for him and most importantly, you truly were an innocent. He reckoned you’d grow up and live a boring life— Marry a highschool sweetheart, raise some kids, join a Parents and Teachers Association group, grow old, bunch of grandkids.

If he tried anything with you, it wouldn’t surprise him if you started squealing bloody murder. 

“I’m impressed, you choose writin’ when you could be a news anchor if you wanted, sweetheart, the prettiest little weather girl of Gotham.” he commented. He turned down a narrow side street, the last vestiges of the setting sun bathing the world around him in twilight. The Penguin kept his sunglasses on, wanting to take one final, lingering look at your legs before you left out of his Maserati totally unmarred. 

“I doubt it,” you replied with a bit of sudden insecurity and self-deprecation. “I’ll be lucky if I’ll be able to even afford the tuition as a journalist let alone a news anchor.”

Oswald wondered if you were trying to ask for money...he would give it to you, but he’d fuck your tight little asshole first before giving out something like tuition money.

The Penguin pulled up in front of the apartment building where you resided with your father. As he parked the car, he was all too aware of the reason why you were pushing yourself so hard, studying until your eyes burned. He knew that you were striving to escape the cycle of struggling to make ends meet month after month. He knew this because, in a twisted twist of fate, he was your landlord, discreetly observing your life from the shadows, silently bearing witness to your efforts.

The Penguin pinned you down with a sly, knowing smile, his hand boldly ventures out and touched your cheek, his thumb rolled over the skin, skating just across your lip before digging into your chin, “You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he hummed, the words rolling off his tongue with blind confidence. 

You felt so small in his palm. The smell of his cologne must’ve been overpowering with how your nostrils flared a little. 

Your gaze rose to meet his, your big eyes fixed upon his face, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. As your lips parted in anticipation, the Penguin revelled in the way your eyes widened, taking in every expression that flickered across your face. It was almost tragic, how easily teenage hormones could control your heart...

The Penguin pushed up his raybans, observing you intently as you stumbled over your words. “Uh... thank you for the ride,” you managed to say, attempting to break away from the intensity of the moment. In your haste, you accidentally fumbled and dropped your book bag. 

The Penguin continued watching, a hint of amusement in his eyes as you knelt down to retrieve your belongings.

The books spilled out onto the floor, creating a small pile amidst the plush carpet of the car. The Penguin’s eyes tracked your movements with a growing smile, watching with a lazy, almost sadistic pleasure as you knelt down, gathering your books, pens, and crumpled receipts. Is this how you’d look on your knees, head bowed, ready to suck his cock? His sweet, innocent, little college girl? 

His smile suddenly froze on his lips as he caught sight of one of the books that had fallen over the cup holder, its cover facing up – the cover of a book on- no, surely not, surely not you. You couldn’t read that, could you? You wouldn’t read that type of thing, fuckin—

Oswald seized the book from your frantic grasp. You tried to reach out for it, but he swiftly jerked his hand away, a cruel smirk cemented on his lips. He relished the brief moment of control, holding the book just out of your reach. But eventually, you managed to grab it from him and shove it into your bookbag, your cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment.

Your voice trembled with anxiety, words tripping over each other in your attempt to explain, “It’s just... it’s...”

But the Penguin cut you off, his voice low and purring as he replied, “I know what it is.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and full of trust, just as they had been when you had first visited the Iceberg Lounge club, your lips parted ever so slightly.

It was the adult novel, ‘The Negatives of Shooting People.’ A cheesy pornography book about some journalist girl getting used like a ragdoll by a mafia leader.

Oswald could’ve laughed. Was this the real reason why you wanted to be a Journalist so bad?

“Please...it’s not mine,” you whispered, your voice trembling. Sweat trickled down your neck. “I’m just holding it for a friend...I promise.” Your eyes pleaded, hoping he’d believe your lie. “I don’t usually read that type of thing...” your voice choked, eyes welling up with tears. Shame truly flooded over you. “Please, Mister Cobb,” you implored, “You must believe me... I’m not...I’m not a...”

“A slut?” Oswald said as he let out a low chuckle, finishing your sentence. “Of course not, sweetheart,” his body shifted. 

He locked eyes with you, studying your face. Those big, innocent eyes. Those beautiful, trusting eyes. He pictured you, your sweet lips, just like your eyes, puffy. He imagined the tears flooding down your cheeks staining them with mascara, while his cock was pressing down the back of your throat and your backside marked with angry welts from a thorough belting.

The Penguin’s eyes flickered up to the apartment building, a pang of guilt gnawing at the back of his mind. A part of him wanted to tell you to wait in the car, to keep you away from the horror that potentially awaited you. But he knew it was too late. This was it. You were about to see the real side of him. 

The car drive home would be the last kind thing he’d ever do for you.

"Let me escort you upstairs," he grunted, turning off the ignition. "I’ve got business with your ol’ pops."

❆❆❆

As the Penguin got out of the car, you scrambled to follow, walking a few steps behind him as he waddled towards the buildings steps. You didn’t want to walk in his way, didn’t want to show that disrespect. You moved your book bag to your other arm.

“Please,” you begged him, “Please, Mister Cobb, don’t tell my dad about the book.”

The Penguin cast a sidelong glance at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, kid,” he chuckled, “Don’t you worry ‘bout it. You got a key?”

The short walk up to your apartment seemed to take forever. Every step into the building, into the foyer, and towards your apartment door was filled with a prickling tension and an underlying sense of dread. 

As you fumbled with the keys, you could feel the Penguin’s gaze boring into the back of your head, his presence looming over you like a shadow. He was much taller, larger, and more imposing than you in every way, his scarred face making him look deadly, dangerous. But beneath the rough exterior, you knew he had been kind to you, warm and almost comforting. And yet, right now, he seemed like a shark, waiting to pounce and strike.

What surprised you was that your dad had never invited The Penguin over for dinner which you found had been customary in the neighbourhood. It was a bragging rights to invite The Penguin over and have that invitation accepted. 

Hell, even Mrs Occhipinti next door; old lady, cat addict— served The Penguin her famous linguine recipe she brought from the Old Country. 

But your dad? Not a fucking word. Not a damn desire to have his Boss and landlord over for a cup of wine, not a loaf of bread to break, not a cigarette to spare— nothing. 

Which you found incredibly odd. And he never wanted to talk about it either. Everytime you brought up the idea of making gnocchi for the notable man, your dad would tell you to not worry about it and to just keep your nose clean and your head down. 

Your dad made it clear from the day one, he didn’t want you to forever live here in Gotham, not in the Downtown at least. He wanted the best for you. Which is why he made damn well sure your grades were good and you studied hard. 

“You can make friends when you’re an adult, focus on your education.” Was his favourite quote. 

And boy, did you live by it. And it paid off. You were going to get a scholarship, a program that went towards kids that had been traumatised by the terrorist flash flooding incident. You were so excited! You would have the opportunity to go to Gotham University! 

You opened the apartment door and heard a loud humming moan come from inside.

“Dad?” You called out, “Mister Cobb is here for you.”

You jumped as a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by the sharp sound of shattering glass. A shiver coursed through you as the low chuckles of nearby men filled the air, a malevolent sound that sent a chill down your spine. A sense of dread coiled in your stomach, and your skin erupted in a sea of goosebumps. Every instinct within you screamed that something was wrong.

As the Penguin moved up behind you, you felt his stomach brush against your back, his large body pushing you deeper into the apartment. You reasoned with yourself that it was just the television, that maybe your father had dozed off watching a comedy show and tripped, causing something to break. You tried to shake off the unease that clutched at your stomach.

You didn’t have to walk long until you saw the chaos of your home. 

The kitchen cabinets were open, the contents of broken glasses and dishes strewn across the countertops. Curtains had been totally torn from their rods. The living room furniture was all askew, the chairs and sofas overturned, and bookshelf empty of all the contents smashed and scattered across the floor. Picture frames were broken, glass spread out like sharp glitter thrown across the rugs. The whole apartment looked like it had been thoroughly ransacked and violated.

And in the center of it all? Your father on a chair, red stained rag in mouth, tied up with rope. His face was a bruised and bloody mess, his right eye swollen shut from whatever besting he’d endured. Over six different men, all dressed in black, stood around the chaos that was your home. 

“Oh god,” You cried out, “Dad!”

Before you could rush forward to help, two arms snaked around your body, their grip tight and cruel. Oswald jerked you backwards into his chest, the sharp movement forced you to flail and gasp in surprise.

“Woah there, sweetheart!” cackled Oswald. 

Fresh tears stung your eyes, as a lump began to build in your throat. You didn’t understand why Oswald was holding you back from going to your father’s aid. You tried to twist and struggle against his firm grip, your feet thrashing behind you in a desperate attempt to break free.

“Let me go!” you yelled, your voice breaking into a sob. “He’s hurt!”

He ignore how you flailed and scratched at his arms. He lifted you back and off the ground for a moment before throwing you into the arms of three men.

“Let go of me! Let go of m—” a hand clamped hard down over your mouth. 

You fought like a wild animal, kicking and scratching at everyone within reach, unable to tear your eyes away from the horrifying sight of Oswald, who was panting now, a sly smile playing on his lips as he looked from you to your father.

“Fuck me, she’s got some fight in her, boys,” he chuckled, his voice was filled with a purely cold and sinister glee. “Who would’ve thought she could pack such a punch?”

The men around you erupted in a chorus of mocking laughter, their voices made your heart sink. The sound of your father’s tears filled the air, a pitiful sound that echoed the despair you felt. 

You were led to an empty chair, forced to sit down as one of the men’s large hands clamped down on your shoulders, holding you in place. The Penguin paced back and forth across the room, his footsteps heavy and measured, his presence imposing. They didn’t tie you up, but the weight of their hands on your shoulders was enough to keep you from making any sudden moves. Someone behind you grabbed at your hair and pulled your head back. 

“Schools in session kids,” Oswald hummed, glancing your way before glaring at your father, “If the Penguin loans Pops one hundred thousand dollars and Pops only pays twenty thousand dollars back, how much does Pop owe the Penguin?”

Your eyes darted between your father and the Penguin, desperate to make sense of the situation. The amount he mentioned was staggering, and you couldn’t imagine your father ever borrowing that much money. But he remained silent, his moans and whimpers the only sounds that escaped his gagged mouth.

Your stomach lurched, and a whimper escaped your lips as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. Frantically, you shook your head in denial.

“Pl-” you gulped, your wobbling lip tried again, “Please,” you whispered in a trembling voice, “p-please, Mister Cobb.”

Oswald pulled a gun from a holster inside his jacket, the black metal gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He checked the bullets with an expert hand before turning back to you, turning the safety off.

“C’mon sweetheart, use that noggin of yours,” Oswald grunted, “How much does he owe me?” 

Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, and you feared you might even soil yourself from sheer terror. With a trembling voice and a sharp intake of breath, you choked out your answer.

“E-eight—” you stuttered, your voice breaking as a hiccup escaped your lips, “Eighty thousand?”

A harsh laugh burst from his lips as he confirmed your answer. “That’s right baby doll, eighty fucking thousand,” Oswald repeated, his voice rising with anger. He rounded on your father, his voice becoming a sharp, booming bark.

“Where the fuck is it!?” he thundered, spitting with rage, “Where’s my goddamn money, huh!?”

Your father's face jerked to the side as Oswald struck him, the force of the blow sending his head jolting to one side. The Penguin turned back to you, his hand on his chest as he continued speaking.

“I'm guessing pops didn't tell you he was borrowing big bucks from the big man, to cover his Gambling debts, huh?” his scared lip curled back showing off his gold tooth, “Here you were tellin’ me 'bout you wantin' to start college and here I was thinkin’ gee what a nice pop, bankrollin' tuition fees. but then you said you couldn't afford it. What a piece of shit father you got here kid.”

There was a sharp and loud click as the safety was pulled back, before the cold tip of the gun barrel pressed against your father’s blood covered temple. Your father began to sob and the front of his trousers grew a large wet patch, the scent of urine filled your nostrils. You felt sick watching the whole thing.

“Where. Is. My. Money!!?” he roared, his eyes were wide and wild.

“Please no! No! God!” You squealed and scratched the hands that were holding you back in your chair. You twisted and wailed, “Mercy! Please!” You coughed, snot dripping down your lips and chin, “Oh fuck! Please god!”

With a burst of energy and adrenaline, you managed to wriggle out of the hands of the gang members, but as you fell to your knees, you grabbed at Oswald’s trousers and shoes, your fingers desperately clawing at the fabric. 

“Don’t kill him!” you pleaded, your voice choked with tears, “Please! I’ll do anything! Please, I’m begging you! Please!” You buried your face into his knee, your wet face soaking into his expensive trousers. 

A heavy hand came to rest on top of your head, patting you gently as you leaned, trembling against his leg and wept. You heard the softest shushing sounds, from the man with the deadly firearm held in his other hand.

"Anything?" he whispered softly with a curious and considerate edge, though the threat in his hand remained ever-present.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you looked back up at Oswald, your fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly. Your father’s eyes widened in terror as he desperately shook his head from side to side, his weak struggles against the bindings doing little to loosen them. He protested loudly against the gag in his mouth, whimpering and grunting in fear.

The penguin rolled his eyes, “She’s doing you a solid,’ Oswald barked at your father, “should be grateful.” His gaze snapped back down at your wet blinking orbs, “How are you gonna pay what he owes me?” he looked honestly interested in what you were offering, he smiled even.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your dry bottom lip. “I’ll—I’ll work at the lounge,” you stammered, “I’ll pick up babysitting.” The words came stumbling out of your mouth, your mind racing as you desperately tried to find some way to satisfy the demands of the mobster. “I won’t go to college, just give me time!”  You prayed he would offer some leniency.

The Penguin’s scoff was cold and dismissive. “Your pops has had a year, honey,” he retorted, “You wouldn’t be able to make that much bussing tables and waitressing let alone playing nurse maid.”

His words stung, and you felt a sharp pang of helplessness. He was right. There was no way you could make that much money to pay off your father’s debt.

Your hands clasped together, your shoulders drooped, you felt just how you looked, pathetic and small, “Please, please Mister Cobb.”

As he twirled his gun idly in his hand, the mobster hummed, “You wanna help your pops? You wanna pay off his debt?” he tilted your chin up with the tip of his gun. The safety was still off.

“Yes, hm,” you whimpered, “yes, Mister Cobb.”

He withdrew his pistol, setting it aside, and now cradled your face in his large, warm hand. His voice was gentle as he inquired, “Be honest with me Doll, did you read that book?” 

Your breath hitched in your chest as you realized he was referring to that smutty book, the one that had caused so much upheaval and embarrassment before you’d come inside to this horror.

Your face crumbled as you choked out your answer, a single syllable word. “Yes.” You wouldn’t dare lie to the Penguin. Not now.

The sinister smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth made your stomach churn. His reaction seemed almost gleeful as if he was secretly pleased by your admission. Extending his hand towards you, he quietly encouraged you to take it.

Your legs trembled weakly as you slowly stood He pulled you into his side, and your body was pressed close against his, intimate and too close for comfort.  He groaned happily, “Alright then, give me a kiss.”

You gulped hard as you tried to steel yourself, desperately holding back the well of tears that threatened to spill over again. He wanted a kiss from you, just a simple little kiss, it wasn’t that hard. You pressed your lips to his cheek. You shuddered and then pressed your mouth to the corner of his. He groaned and squeezed at your waist. Your fingers trembled violently as they gripped his lapels, your breath coming in short, shaking gasps.

“Good enough,” he groaned, “Now say goodbye to your Pops. You’re gonna come with me and you can see him once the debts been paid.”

Your father went back to fighting his binds, hollering behind the gag. He pleaded that the penguin would not take you. 

Your mind raced, filled with a library of questions about your impending fate: If you accompanied the Penguin, would you ever get to see your father again? What exactly would you be expected to do to pay off his debt? What could the Penguin possibly want from you? Where would you even stay, how would you survive?

The panic rose in your chest, and your voice trembled as you asked, “How long will that be?”

Oswald pinched your chin and pressed his nose against yours, “Depends on you, doll face,” he drawled, “I reckon a good six months to a year should be enough.”

Your chest felt tight, your heart clenching in sadness, as you whispered, “Oh.” Oswald allowed you to pull away and step over to your father. You gently cradled his bruised and bleeding face in your hands, tears streaming down your own cheeks.

“I lo-love you, dad.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, “Please, I’m sorry.” Your father cried into your palms, his sobs choking out through the gag.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your mind struggled to take in the gravity of what was happening as fear bubbled inside of your stomach. You felt a thick, black bag being dragged over your head, the rough cloth pressing against your face and blocking out what little light had been left in the room.

To be continued...

  𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒:

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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[dancingontheblades]

This is just a minor detail, but I'm doing another rewatch of YOI and every time, I discover something new. So, while I was watching episode 1 tonight, I've noticed the bilingual writings in Russian and English at the GPF in Sochi.

First, we have the event badges (Russian & English) worn by the people at the venue, like Yuuri's:

...and only minutes later, we have the programme announcement on the wall of Iceberg Skating Palace:

I don't speak Russian, so I don't know whether the writing is correct, but that's beside the point. Mistakes happen when people aren't familiar with the language they try to translate into. What's important here is it that the YOI creators went to such lengths to make this show so realistic and went as far and visited figure skating competitions and locations. They had a very concrete and detailed knowledge about how everything looks and incorporated everything they've noticed into this beautiful, beautiful show. And this includes even such tiny details as these bilingual writings.

(For fans who've been in this fandom for longer than I, this is probably old news, but my point is that this attention to detail is so amazing and I adore it so much!)

[little-puddle-punk]

30 days of moodboards 20: favorite character!

i like to watch avatar the last airbender! aang was trapped in a iceberg for 100 years so he is kind of a regressor I think! honorary agere badge for him

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ˖

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Hi, Alyssa! Could you tell me more about Unfinished, please?

Hello, Miss Mayhem! Thank you so much for dropping by to ask about spooky Marcus! I am so sorry for taking so friggin long to answer!

The next part of Unfinished is Marcus' time to shine. He goes into protect and comfort mode (comfort mode arguably being his default setting) because Reader is freaking! out! re: the whole "it appears as though a man was murdered by a ghost and it was caught on camera" thing. Which, I mean, rightfully so. This leads to a bedsharing scenario that may or may not (does) lead to a waking up in Marcus' arms scenario, which would be so very ideal if not for the whole haunting situation. The next day they go into Philadelphia to track down some information on the man who was killed at Maplewood (cue Marcus flashing his badge and slashing through barriers) but what they end up finding out only leaves them with more questions - and the sense that whatever happened on those cameras is only the tip of the iceberg. Reader also goes into the restoration archives to find as much information on the Ashfords (particularly Eliza) as she can, as well as the name of the artist who did the family's portraits, including the unfinished one that reappeared after decades of it having been missing.

And if all that wasn't enough of a clusterfuck, Teresa calls.

In short: Next chapter is a DOOZY.

[milind52224]

The Hidden Work Behind Every Flight: What Passenger Don't See

I remember being nervous the day before my airport orientation as a Cathay Pacific Customer Service Ambassador. I barely got any sleep that night, and I was so determined not to be late that I ended up arriving two hours early on my first day​. Standing in the terminal that morning with a group of fellow new hires, I felt a buzz of excitement. The staff welcomed us warmly and took us on a behind-the-scenes tour of the airport, giving us our first glimpse into the hidden world that keeps every flight running​. As we tried on our uniforms and received our ID badges, it struck me that I was finally stepping into the aviation industry I've loved since childhood – taking my first small steps in a dream that felt both thrilling and daunting​.

That orientation day opened my eyes to just how much happens beyond the view of passengers. Most people rushing to catch a flight only see a small fraction of the work involved: a smile at the check-in counter, a friendly voice at the gate, and attentive cabin crew in the aisle. What they don't see is the army of people working in concert to make that journey possible. In fact, it can take hundreds of personnel to get a single airplane off the ground. One seasoned aviation specialist estimated that anywhere from 100 to 200 people (or even more) might be working behind the scenes for oneflight to take off​. Think about that the next time you're waiting to board – the few staff you encounter are just the tip of the iceberg.

The small invisible tip represents the pilots, flight attendants, and gate agents you see, while beneath the surface lies a massive foundation of unseen contributors: dispatchers, baggage handlers, mechanics, caterers, air traffic controllers, cleaners, security officers, and more, all supporting the flight

Ground Crew: First to Arrive, Last to Leave

While passengers are still driving to the airport, ground crew are already hard at work. Baggage handlers are loading luggage, engineers are checking for mechanical issues, and cleaners are prepping cabins. According to SITA (2024), "4.5 billion bags were handled worldwide in 2023". And a single narrow-body aircraft might need a full turnaround in under 40 minutes.

Every move has to be perfect. If one step is delayed, the whole flight schedule could fall behind.

Check-In and Gate Agents: Calm Under Pressure

As a CSR, I saw firsthand how intense these roles are. Check-in and gate agents help passengers with baggage issues, rebookings, missed connections, and boarding. Often, they’re the first ones to deal with delays, angry travelers, and nervous fliers.

They perform a high amount of emotional labor. This concept was first defined by sociologist Arlie Hochschild and refers to" how workers manage their feelings and expressions as part of their job"(Beck, 2018). Airline staff have to stay calm, kind, and efficient even under pressure.

Many travelers don’t realize that gate agents also coordinate directly with dispatchers, the flight crew, and ramp agents. They’re not just scanning boarding passes—they’re holding the entire process together.

Cabin Crew

Cabin Crew are usually seen as the friendly faces serving drinks, but they are also trained safety professionals. According to United Airlines (n.d.), "flight attendants go through 6–8 weeks of safety training". They learn emergency evacuations, medical response, firefighting, and conflict management. they are always ready and the first responder of the whole flight.

While passengers relax, cabin crew are checking exit rows, arming doors, verifying passenger lists, and remaining alert for safety risks. Their job requires multitasking and emotional control.

They are trained to remain composed even in turbulent flights or medical emergencies. I’ve seen crew members de-escalate situations with just a calm voice and confident posture. They don’t just serve—they protect. they are also have to prepare cabin after groomers clean a aircraft and even before the flight begins which is a big responsibility and stressful for them even before the time to make the quota and be ready on time to not delay the flight.

What the Passenger Doesn't See

All this work is mostly invisible. The average passenger sees a clean plane, a friendly crew, and an on-time takeoff. But what they don’t see are the ground crew out in the rain, the agents handling rebookings with kindness, or the Cabin Crew ready to respond to a heart attack at 35,000 feet.

Even during my co-op, I didn’t realize how tightly coordinated everything had to be until I watched a delay unfold. One baggage cart issue created a ripple that led to late boarding, missed connections, and complaints. Every role matters, and every person is part of a massive synchronized operation.

Conclusion

The purpose of this blog is not just to inform—it’s to help change how we think about the people who make flying possible. These workers deserve more than just a passing glance. From check-in agents who manage stressful boarding rushes, to ground staff working in all weather conditions, to cabin crew trained to handle emergencies at 35,000 feet—every single one plays a vital role in the travel experience.

As passengers, we can help by doing something simple but powerful: show appreciation. A smile, a “thank you,” or even being patient when things don’t go as planned, sends a message that their efforts are seen. But beyond individual kindness, we should also encourage greater recognition in the industry—through stronger employee support, improved working conditions, and public awareness campaigns.

Air travel is often seen as routine, but it’s actually a miracle of human coordination, professionalism, and teamwork. Let’s not forget the hundreds of people who help get each flight safely into the sky. When we value their work, we elevate the entire flying experience—not just for them, but for ourselves too.

References

Air Transport Action Group. (2024). Facts & figures. https://www.atag.org/facts-figures.html

Beck, J. (2018, November 26). The concept creep of "emotional labor". The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2018/11/arlie-hochschild-housework-isnt-emotional-labor/576637/

SITA. (2024). Baggage IT insights 2024. https://www.sita.aero/resources/surveys-reports/sita-baggage-it-insights-2024/

United Airlines. (n.d.). Flight attendant information. https://careers.united.com/us/en/flight-attendant-information

#COM01 #airtravel #aviation #behindthescenes

[kalosian-woods]

unhinged thoughts on southern kalos?

You have enabled my brainrot, anon, now get ready for the rant of a lifetime mwhahahaha!!! >:D

But seriously, this is such a fun question/ask. Ever since I heard about the ever-forbidden Southern Kalos I just wanted to get it into the AU heh... probably the way how I stopped seeing this as just a 'rewrite' and more 'alt universe'. It didn't help things when I saw this one tumblr post talking about how those episodes where the gang where going to so many towns in XYZ could be in Southern Kalos, like YES that's such a great idea!!

This might get long, so posting this under a read more :P

I've been scratching my head about what can Southern Kalos have as a destination a lot ngl. We know thanks to Sawyer's badges (that we actually see) that there are at least 3 other Gyms in Kalos beyond the main ones- Fire, Water and Flying.

(Don’t get me started on the order of his last ones. Why did you go to Anistar only to backtrack to Valerie again before running down the other side of Kalos for the Iceberg Badge?? Is Sawyer okay?? /lh)

To be fair, two of these are already taken up as Elite 4 Types, as well as these just plain being references to Hoenn (the 4th, 6th and 8th Gyms there), but it really got me thinking. Kalos does have a really big culture centered around Sky Battles, and even reading up about France there's this well-known strong wind near the south of it (called the Mistral lol, which apprently means master wind). What if there were Gyms down there? We can't really judge the distance considering how almost no one apart from Ash are getting the badges in order in Kalos (Alain's last badge being from Shalour, hopefully Trevor had more than one badge by the end of S2 considering his latest known one was the Bug Badge, and I have no idea what Tierno was doing), so it's plausible that these Gyms could be in Southern Kalos.

I mean, let's look at the map from the beta designs of Kalos:

(easiest one to look at for me heh)

The big blue dots are cities and the green ones are towns, with purple (with yellow borders) being significant buildings/artifical and purple (with purple borders) being significant places/natural. Those two islands were going to be, from left to right, Mirage Island and the Battle Facility (presumably Battle Maison). The town that follows Kiloude seems to be a port, and the two leftmost purple on purple dots are assumed to be 'outdoor dungeons' (e.g. forests) while the northmost and southmost ones are 'indoor dungeons' (e.g. caves). I know it would make more sense to have a 'Water' Type Gym over at the port, but hear me out:

Let's have the Flying Type Gym over there instead.

Look at the geography. Lots of winds can come through the sea or the land/I hope they are mountains, and especially since there is Mirage Island (that pops in and out of existance... thanks Hoopa :p) the winds can be pretty unpredictable there. The city can be Water themed considering how close it is to the coast, and at the furthest reaches could be Fire-typed. I’ve heard about the caves being where the Mythical mons could be, like Volcanion, so having the Water and Fire places being next to each other would be pretty cool imo.

But what would the purpose of the Gyms be, if most people go through the main 8 instead?

This is what I posit: these Gyms are training/lower level Gyms, as holdovers from the past in an area where people aren’t so inclined to battle. I mean, we’ve seen the Kalos League—only 64 people showed up, and we already know quite a few of them (and how overpowered they are). I’d like to think that Southern Kalos, and to an extent the whole of Kalos, are extremely used to peace. Their Legendaries are asleep and are alike to Mythicals in their infrequent encounters, the war was 3000 years ago and Mega Evolution is just now becoming more wide-spread and well-known. There’s this subtle theme in XY with what path you want to take your life in: passively, living by, surviving no matter the costs, or willing to be active and making a change. Lysandre proclaims that the world is leading towards a worse tomorrow and that not everyone can continue to live the way they are now— Serena has been seen by her mother as the continuation of the Rhyhorn racing legacy— In the games the Rival Trio have different views on their futures (Shauna wanting to collect memories, Trevor wanting to explore Pokémon and their potentials/differences, Tierno just wanting to have a good time dancing with his Pokémon). Clemont in the anime (I mean what does he have in the games tbh NO HATE btw) has been stuck without an outside view until Ash came along and changed his worldview, Ash is faced with being one of the few strongest and most active people around and facing the consequences of it.

In a world where people and Pokémon live in harmony, where nothing has changed, what would you do? The same thing day in and day out, probably. Following your parents footsteps or just slightly veering off into your own life, eking out a living until you die. Life and death and maintaining order, always. While Northern Kalos is more hectic and running around with new devices, new fashion, new crazes, I feel like there would be a much more calm yet almost aimless (is that the right word??) structure to Southern Kalos. Tbf Vaniville is also pretty south overall, so it would work well I think heh. While even Shalour has started to embrace the future, Southern Kalos would probably stick to what has been proven by time to work best, and so Gyms wouldn’t be so much as to gain a badge but to be prepared for outside. They probably do have Badges but for most it would just be a sign that they can handle Pokémon rather than using it for the League. Not very well-known unless you take the side roads, which may be what Sawyer was doing heh.

(I think in that way of living passively/actively, both sides of Kalos have their own brand of passivity— with north living busy but quickly tiring lives while south being peaceful but a little empty and removed. Man I wish I could explain this better but hopefully you get the point.)

(Yes, I am still workshopping on it but I've Got Thoughts and this really helped me direct some of it outwards. Seriously, feel free to add whatever ideas you want to this heh, I like seeing things from a different point of view.)

More misc ideas ig:

In the actual AU itself I really want the main gang to go to Southern Kalos and just get hit by the totally different vibes lol. Tossing up between after the Lumiose Gym Battle/5th Badge so they get some time off after that arc buildup or after Wulfric. Definitely around there for me.

There will be other characters who go there (it’s not a journey if you don’t travel to some random place) but it’s going to be a ride for sure for everyone involved :P

Mega Evolution will be kept to particular families there I feel like, and people will be pretty friendly but also wary at the same time. Lots of nature and agriculture but also signs of technology and civilisation taking its toll on the land.

Have some sort of idea for the not-really Gym Leaders (going to have to make a name to explain their job heh)?? I think I actually wanted Fire to be Ground instead (to match the secondary typings of the Legendaries with the Gyms) but we'll see. Especially since the furtherest town is surrounded by five locations, so it can symbolise how the ground is connected to all things *wink wink hey Zygarde*

Yes I'm moving the gadget festival here and no one can change my mind

Also c'mon free space for Showcases!! For Ash to battle beyond the Gyms and random people he finds!! For Clemont to see beyond Prism Tower!! For Bonnie to do Bonnie-like stuff!! There are so many possibilities here and we can take those here!!

This has bascially been one big brain fart but just understand that you gave me a good thought today, especially with all of the stress lol. Might revisit this post for more thoughts when I'm less bogged down. But also:

Southern Kalos Real In Anime?? (Not Clickbait) (But seriously whyyyyyy did we miss out on it???)

[clumsy-klutzy-faller]

[ Attached are a couple photos of Sasha nearly tripping and falling on the mechanisms that make up the puzzle for the Snowbelle Gym, a couple photos of her actually battling and looking very cool, and one photo of Sasha posing with the Iceberg Badge. ]

Sasha won the battle! Go Sash!

- Anne

That reminds me!!! I have a theory about how these powers we have work...

- Marcy

[pkmntrainersquid]

Waltz of the Snowflakes

[a video, titled "Dekilou gym battle: Challenger Nika "Squid" vs Leader Augie - Jan 26, 2024. Winter field, 4v4"]

After a brief league intro card, the video begins. Some info pops up in the video layout, including current temperature and weather, just above freezing but raining. The camera is focused on a small frozen pond. On either end of the pond is a pontoon platform, frozen in place. Sparsely populated spectator stands can be seen, many people not wanting to be outside in the poor weather.

Squid is on one platform, wearing her cowboy hat and a light winter coat. He's bouncing one leg slightly as a sign of nerves, or if you know them well enough, to focus through the pain of her bad ankle.

The other platform holds Augie, the Dekilou Gym Leader. He looks to be in his early thirties, sporting a dark beard under a cap. He's wearing cargo shorts and a light rain jacket with league branding on it. A fishing rod is mounted to the platform, line dangling into a hole in the ice.

A drone camera flits past, gathering aerial shots and zooming in on Augie. "So you're the one Zephyr was talkin' aboot, eh? Now, I knows it's your first gym battle, but given your experience we'll give 'er a bit more challenge." He smiles.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Squid replies. Hovering a hand over their first pokéball, the battle begins.

Given analysis of past battles against challengers going for a second or third badge, Squid was betting on his first opponent being Abomasnow. Thus, Shortgrass hit the field, the small fire rodent using its claws for traction on the wet ice.

The temperature dipped as Abomasnow appeared. Rain shifted to sleet and then to snow, giving the ice-type a boost to its defenses and moves.

Squid's strategy is to have the Embrush get in close, hit it with Incinerate, and slide out of its range. This works once, dealing massive damage as an Ice Punch misses Shortgrass, sending out energy that freezes the slush on the court.

Augie laughs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You're fighting a gym leader here, y' should figure I got something to deal with fire-types." Squid registered this a bit late, yelling for Shortgrass to get farther away as the leader gave his next command. "Channel that failure into a Stomping Tantrum!"

The Abomasnow roars, slamming its arms down on the ice as Shortgrass scampers away. A wave of energy pulses out through the ice sheet, causing water to spray upwards as it cracked. The little fire-type squeaks as she gets hit by the move and sent flying. "Shortgrass!" Squid cries, as the Embrush lands unconscious nearby.

They recall her to her pokéball. "You did good, bud. Take a rest."

Taking a moment to think of a new plan and regain her balance on the now floating platform, Squid sends out Humus. The Skiddo hops across the ice flows, able to deftly pick safe landings. "Humus, Take Down!"

Leaping across the battle court, the grass-type cloaked itself in energy before hitting Abomasnow. The large pokémon was pushed backwards, tipping the iceberg up out of the water. Humus managed to get a foothold, but fell over when the ice hit the water again. A Powder Snow struck while he was getting back to his hooves.

Humus stood, shaking from the ice attack and cold water soaking his fur. One more Take Down finishes off the Abomasnow, but Squid is getting worried. It took almost two of her pokémon to remove the first opponent.

Augie sent out Avalugg next, the large pokémon shoving ice out of the way to land in the water. "Alrighty then! Charge ahead and use Ice Fang!" Barreling forward, the Avalugg readies its jaws to clamp down on the goat pokémon.

"Jump onto its back with Bulldoze!" Humus leaps up as the ice turtle snaps at where he was. Dropping back down, energy pulses out from his hooves, directly into the icy shell. Cracks spread out across its back and Humus hops to a nearby ice flow, wincing as the Frostbite continues to damage him.

The Avalugg swings around roaring, readying another Ice Fang. "Give it your all! Take Down!"

Humus' horns met Avalugg's jaws, both imparting their energy on the other. When the mist settles, both pokémon are completely worn out. Their trainers recall them. At this point the weather returns to rain.

"Uffda, that was powerful! Let's see how you deal with this though." He sends out his third pokémon, a Quagsire. It lands in the water, swimming through the path Avalugg made.

"Orpheus! Your turn!" The Procezant takes to the sky, circling the pond.

"That's the pokémon Zephyr told me aboot then? Good. Quagsire, use Chilling Water!" The salamander ducked underwater, drawing in frigid pond water and spitting it up at Orpheus.

"Ominous Wind, build up your squad!" Ghostly winds whip across the water, kicking up the waves and making Squid take a wider stance for balance. Several Spirit Doves form, flying around their leader.

The Quagsire began launching an Avalanche attack up at Orpheus. The chunks of ice fly wildly, aiming for quantity over quality. Two Doves take hits in place of the flock leader, but one does strike true. As they splash back into the water, the surface refreezes from the excess ice energy.

"Air Slash! Take 'em out!" Orpheus swooped low, gathering his troops to launch the attack. This proves enough to take Quagsire out of the fight.

Augie laughs again, grabbing the fishing rod. "Got me down to my ace, eh? But this battle isn't over yet!" He casts it into the pond, the pokéball at the end sending out a rocky fish pokémon. The Sturgeode slid forward into an open section of water, the gems along its stomach scraping the ice.

Now under the ice, it silently repositioned itself as the Procezant tried to pinpoint it from above. "Orpheus, send the spirits in for an Aerial Ace!"

The Spirit Doves dive, phasing through solid ice to try finding their target. Augie nodded to himself. "Interesting... The two of you fight well together. And with the little ghosts too. But let's reel in this battle here. Sturgeode! Rock Blast!"

Crash! Crash! Crash!

Large rocks smash through the ice, seemingly from all around the arena as the Sturgeode kept in motion while attacking. The first dissipates the flock of ghosts and the other two strike Orpheus, who drops from the sky. Calling the bird back to his pokéball, Squid sends out his final pokémon, Remmi. The remoraid dives into one of the holes in the ice, beginning an underwater battle.

The camera switches to a submerged view, dim light filtering through the ice sheet onto the plants and driftwood at the bottom. Sturgeode and Remmi are face to face, circling each other in the water column, listening for their trainers commands.

The battle resumes as Sturgeode uses Psychic to slam Remmi into the ice. A Bullet Seed breaks the bigger fish's concentration, freeing the remoraid who takes to the weeds to hide.

Sturgeode starts glowing as it builds up more psychic energy in its crystals, prepping for a powerful attack when Remmi reappears.

Thunk thunk from Squid's platform.

The aboveground camera catches the flash of orange from Remmi's Fire Blast before it blows apart the ice with steam. The Sturgeode was also thrown into the air, flipping tail over tip.

"Remmi! End this with Aqua Jet!" The remoraid burst from the pond cloaked in water, flying straight up to collide with her opponent.

Both splash back down into the water, but the armored fish is too tired to continue fighting.

"YEAH! Remmi we did it! That was so cool!" Squid celebrates, her pokémon leaping out of the water and into their arms as the video ends.

[lovelyrocker]

Okay what doesn’t add up in the Effie/Armie case? Fill me in 👀

Where to start?

Effie claims Armie r@ped her April 24th, 2017. On January 21, 2021. she stated in a DM about Armie, "I'm not saying he r@ped me, no need for legal rep." as well as "I didn't say anywhere it was not consensual so not sure why so many messages about it".

She claims to not have had experience with BDSM till Armie but was posted working at an elite sec club in LA.

Effie said she was extremely traumatized after the "attack" that she could not leave her house or be near men On January 6, 2021 she posted on her Instagram stories "If you come into my inbox knowing how kinky I am with these long ass messages going on and on about "did he manhandle you like a little rag doll and hot tie you. . .I won't be replying but please keep those messages and me coming."

She claimed to have been r@ped in 2017 then in 2020/2021 sent Armie a message telling him she is "helplessly horny" and states to him she feels like "prime fuckmeat needing to be utilized." and "craving a one man gangbang." To which he responds stating that "I am not going to be able to engage in that specific way right now. It never ends well."

Effie claims to be a SA victim then wished r@pe not only on Armie's 9 year old daughter Harper but Robert Downey Jr's 8 year old daughter as well. No real SA would wish that on children.

Effie was then dropped by her attorney, Gloria Allred, a big women's rights advocate, because Effie refused to sign a penalty of perjury statement. Meaning is she signed this statement and was found to not be telling the truth she would face legal action as perjury is a felony.

Effie also posted pics of her bruises claiming them as a "badge of honor." In screenshots she's posted in shows her bringing up the cannibalistic talk first.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

[transmorolians]

klonoa 1 iceberg

tier 1:

klonoa: door to phantomile

klonoa wii

klonoa phantasy reverie series

tier 2:

klonoa 4koma manga theatre

klonoa guidebooks

phantomilian language

balue's tower

the dark spirit's rebellion and the moon kingdom's exile

klonoa prs achievements

klonoa prs steam badges

tier 3:

mural of klonoa in the ruins of the wind kingdom

tier 4:

original game's different phantomilian text

klonoa chronicles

scrapped designs for bosses and characters

scrapped rival characters

intervision manga

moo evolution tree

morreal, soreal & surreal

tier ???:

endless game ~castle of dreams~

[moonlight-eternal]

Two attempts were required, but I have achieved victory.

[A picture is attached. It shows a Kalos Iceberg Badge held in Gwyndolin's gloved hand. The background is out of focus but seems to be somewhere in the gym building, showing she took the picture as soon as she received the badge and has not yet returned to her hotel.]

The difference between my two battles with this man Wulfric was entirely in timing, rather than power. He hath three pokemon to my two, but one of them is dual typed with grass, and therefore falleth rapidly to Andre. On my first attempt I knew this not, and sent Ornstein to fight without advantage. It was a close battle nonetheless, but sheer numbers won out. After a rest for both our teams, I did challenge Wulfric again, and was victorious.